Bless’d art those whose Names appear upon these Hallowed pages. Thou hast been Plucked of all Mankind to serve as Glorious Chuubroth’s earthly heir--Thy Soul now bound with Primordial power to the Queen of the Shoggoth. Most Bless’d of Men, thou shalt wield the power of Mighty Chuubroth’s eternal Judgement, and cast it upon those you deem Unworthy.
Dakota flinched away from the book, a cold shiver crawling down her spine. Flipping quickly through the pages, she caught glimpses of incantations and spells, sometimes accompanied by an illustration. The people depicted came in all shapes and sizes, but none of them looked particularly happy with their situations.
With sudden conviction, Dakota slapped the book shut. The image of her twisted face on the inside cover was making her skin crawl, and the dark contents weren’t helping. Stashing the book swiftly in her nightstand, she threw the covers over her head, determined to forget all about it...
000
A few weeks passed rather uneventfully. Dakota began to go out more with her new friends, and slowly became acquainted with some people around town. She had to admit that Daven’s Port wasn’t a terrible place to live, once you got to know it.
However, there was still the matter of the book. Though she’d vowed to forget about it’s existance, that... hadn’t actually happened. It still lurked ominously in her bedside stand, all dark and foreboding. And, well, she’d actually... y’know, taken it out once or twice, glancing through the thick pages. She’d always enjoyed a good book - especially a fantasy - and this was as good as one could get! She read about all the mysteries of the cosmos, marveled at the impossible geometry, and most of all, drank in all the dark incantations within. Most had little to no description of what they might do, but some of the former authors had scribbled tidbits of insight along the margins.
‘A real show - don’t over-do, ends poorly.’’ read one. ‘For extreme cases only,’ read another. Perhaps her favorite was a curt, blocky script that said simply, ‘A good one’. The english-speakers never seemed to be very precise. The most fastidious note-takers, unfortunately, seemed to be the asians - their tiny characters crowded the text, barely discernable from one another. Dakota, of course, couldn’t make heads or tails of it - however, they also drew the best pictures. One particularly graphic piece showed a woman with a horribly pregnant-looking stomach, crying as she shoved yet another piece of food down her throat. The accompanying text was simply two characters, bolded, and circled twice. Dakota had shuddered when she’d seen it - but she hadn’t looked away.
She told herself it was just curiosity, but really, it was something more. Something about this book felt real - maybe it was the strange notes, or maybe the ancient smell of dust as it was opened. And - though she’d deny it to her dying day - Dakota really, really, really wanted to find out. She was just waiting for somebody to try it on... And eventually, she did.
It was just after six on a sunny afternoon when Mrs. Johnson heard the door slam. Without warning, her daughter flew past her without even a cursory hello. Her footsteps pounded on the stairs as she flew to her room. Hannah sighed. It would probably be a long night.
Dakota slammed the door to her room and rushed to her nightstand. If only her mother had gotten a look on her face, it was obvious what was wrong - she was quite obviously...
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
