An Ancient Shadow - In progress

         To the authorities:

         First, you must understand, I never intended to kill Mr. Crowell. As anyone who knows me can attest to the humanistic qualities of my character, and as hideous and malevolent as the crimes that have surrounded me would invoke a deep and dark speculation in regards to my position within them, you are obviously then entitled and required to speak with anyone you wish that may have known my acquaintance. May I suggest that you first speak with Dr. Phillip Witherspoon who resides and practices family medicine in Frombay, the small seaside town just northwest of Shelbyville where most of my investigations took place. As a friend, and more importantly as my personal physician, no one could speak more thoroughly in regards to the stability of my physical and mental well being than he.  As to the root of my current predicament, I believe that it was my extensive background in forensic science and my semi-private studies regarding ancient South American languages that must have placed me in the position you have now found me. My name was Richard Salvador Risenthon and I was a private investigator. May God have mercy on my soul.

         In the course of your investigation you must have discovered these papers from which I can only conclude led to the discovery of my untimely demise. Please see that I am buried properly in my family’s mausoleum at the Risenthon Estate in Shelbyville, and please, above all else, make sure that the ritual on the last page of this manuscript is explicitly followed as I am laid to rest. My last request may seem at first incredulous but I implore you to consider the state of my mortal frame as you have found it. While I am not a student of human physiology, and can therefore offer no specific explanation that would account for the apparent aberrations before you, I would ask that you re-consider the course of your investigation, and in the name of all that is holy and pure discontinue its pursuit. Something that may be unnatural has now found you. It may be mimicking the truth of the matters involved in this misadventure, and may indeed somehow inhabit the abomination before you. Please take great caution with regards to my earthly remains; do not leave them alone with anyone until they have been buried in Risenthon. Of this I beg and plead of you; do not take for granted the resting dead.

         On August 14th I was approached by a disarming young woman named Angela Richten while I was perusing the latest manuscripts delivered to the anthropology department at the Barlow College library. It is primarily by her convincing demeanor and seemingly infinite grasp of the Aztec culture that I found myself engaged in a lengthy debate. The topic of our discussion regarded the veracity of an ancient text purportedly attributed to the Incan civilization which was rumored to have been lost at sea sometime around the end of the 19th century. The matter of the text was controversial to say the least as it supposedly dealt with a process with which mankind could attain some form of ‘immortality’. Skeptical as to its existence, and to a larger degree its matter, my interest was piqued nonetheless  and since having finished my latest investigation more than two weeks prior I must admit that I was anxious for yet another adventure.  I brazenly inquired as to Ms. Richten’s connection with the topic of our conversation, and at great length she recounted her family’s history with the acquisition of Incan antiquities for numerous museums in New York and Washington. Recently though, she had been contacted by an elderly gentleman of eastern European descent who was looking to acquire the text in question. After she had reminded him that her family did not do business with private collectors, he made a simple offer that she had found impossible to reject. A substantial donation would be provided to the museum which engaged in the acquisition of this archaic text and as the principal organizer, she had been referred to my acquaintance on behalf of the Smithsonian Institution, the benefactor in question. Once the text was acquired, it would be presented to the Smithsonian to be included in its own exhibition after extensive research had been done to verify its authenticity. The elderly gentleman in question simply wished to undertake a private investigation of the text under the direct observation of the museum authorities, a stipulation that the Smithsonian had agreed to. After taking a moment to digest the information she had provided me, I agreed to engage in the investigation upon one stipulation; In order to do this properly I would need to work alone with no outside distractions. A finder’s fee was negotiated and with our agreement in place, she provided me with the information she had been given regarding the last known person to have allegedly had contact with the Incan manuscript. I then proceeded to make reservations for the first train to the New Mexican town of Roswell to meet with Mr. Ivan Crandell.

         Upon arriving in the desert I was met by Mr. Crandell’s son Levin, a boy of about fifteen years of age. At first observance, he appeared both sullen and exhausted, both facts that I attributed to excessive work under a desert sun. Upon further observance though, I came to believe that he was indeed physically ill. I neglected to inquire into the cause of his dilemma as it was obvious that he had been forced to make the trip to the train station despite his condition. We introduced ourselves briefly and then the poor young man found us a coach which would take us to his father’s ranch just outside of Roswell. I only attempted minimal conversation with the young Levin as his affliction appeared to only grow worse as our journey across the hot desert continued for over the course of an hour.

         When we arrived at the small ranch, Levin introduced me to his father’s brother Isaac and then excused himself from our company to complete his chores. It appeared that I would have to wait one more day before I could meet with Mr. Crandell as he was unexpectedly delayed by a business matter and would not be able to return until late the following evening. Isaac apologized for his brother’s delay and then introduced me to the family’s housekeeper Maria, who quietly but graciously showed me up to their guest bedroom. Maria told me that the family would be having dinner around six that evening, to which I politely declined as I was weary from my journey and simply wished to rest, a matter which Maria promised to relay to the elder Crandell and his nephew. With the matter of my business put on hold for the day, I decided that it was indeed time for me to get some quality bed rest, forever thankful for the much needed sleep that I hoped to receive. As such, it was not to be, as I slept fitfully throughout the afternoon, my dreams haunted by visions of the young Levin I had met earlier, his symptoms having grown worse, his body changing, rearranging itself, becoming something so inhuman that mere words are inadequate to describe such corporal chaos. After tossing and turning for hours, I awoke suddenly with a scream in my throat, only able to reclaim it as the late afternoon sun struck me so viciously through my bedroom window that my eyes burned, shocking me into consciousness. Once fully awake, I was completely unnerved by my visions and found that I was unable to focus on anything else. Realizing that my dreams could only be exaggerations of the symptoms I had previously detected, I decided to reflect upon my original observations, to rid myself of the unfounded anxiousness that I was beginning to experience. For the record, reminding you that I am not a physician, Levin’s apparent symptoms for the most part mimicked the influenza virus, a dangerous condition under the best of circumstances, but one that was not unnatural by any stretch of the imagination. There was, however, something else that happened, something that would forever cloud my focus. Something to which I must confess caused me to question everything that I thought I knew in regards to the young man in question. Had I not experienced it first hand, I would forever doubt its existence, even as I write this down I find myself shivering in the quake of its memory.

         Gentlemen, it is my testimony that what follows did indeed happen as I have stated below, with no exaggeration or thoughtlessness on the part of my rational mind, my sanity intact upon the point of observation. Indeed, without a full reckoning I fear that you will not understand the dire circumstances that lay before you. In this matter above all others I again urge you to discontinue your pursuits; your full knowledge of these matters however incomplete is immeasurably imbalanced by your frail and fragile existence. Return to your loved ones while you can, as a life in ignorance is yet a life to be led.

         Just after dusk, the warm desert wind swept wearily across the small ranch. The shadow of the evening had come forth to reclaim the desert. With a flick of its ebony stained cloak, an opaque wave had washed across the sands, blurring the horizon as it drowned the falling sun. Yet, to my eye, to my trained eye, I was still keenly aware of every detail. I saw Levin by himself. He appeared to be feeding two of the horses that his family kept just inside of the small barn that sat to the south of their farmhouse, directly across from my window. As I silently studied him I began to realize that his condition appeared to have improved dramatically. My spirits rose at this thought, as the poor boy had seemed ever so beaten down and close to collapse earlier. I continued to watch him work, as he labored heavily stacking bushels of hay at the edge of the barn door, no signs of the previous morning’s illness present to my eyes. As if he had read my thoughts though, he suddenly stopped, and turned ever so slowly only to deliver a nightmarish gaze in my direction. As God is my witness, his eyes glowed both silver and gold, never quite one or the other but somehow entwined, imbedded along with a malevolence that was at once disorienting and horrifying with a most terrible intention! I immediately turned away from his ghastly appearance, as I could no longer bare the stare of the farm boy, for more than one glance into hell was enough for my soul. In haste, I locked my bedroom door and threw myself under the covers of my bed, praying that the devil had not seen me at the window. As expected, that night I was unable to sleep as I was filled with an infinite dread, not just for myself, but for all of humanity. The remainder of that terrible evening I spent waiting, waiting for it to knock on my bedroom door. For if what I had seen was not a hallucination, if I had truly not been dreaming, then an unnamable abomination had just stepped forward into this world and I feared that nothing would ever be the same again. It would most certainly not fear me as I did it. The sureness of my demise overwhelmed my senses; every tapping of a tree limb becoming talons scratching at the door, every whisper of the desert wind an indecipherable fugue promising insanity.

         The following morning came uneventfully. I ventured downstairs carefully as not to disturb anyone. I encountered both Isaac and Maria; the young housekeeper busy preparing a modest breakfast for everyone, and Isaac relaxing at a small table as he smoked from a long coal black pipe in the corner of the dining room. I sat down with Isaac to drink some of the coffee that Maria had provided us.  After what had happened the night before I was now unsure of what direction I should take in regards to the acquisition of the alleged Incan manuscript, indeed I wished to depart as soon as possible with or without it. I attempted to casually inquire as to the condition of Levin, not really knowing what to expect, when his uncle looked at me as if I had somehow infringed upon a family secret or such, and then excused himself in order to attend to his morning chores.