Adventure-Treff

*closure*
by Jay Bogoslovov
Dedicated to Agustín Cordes, for the inception of “Scratches”, Vlad K., for its
inspiring soundtrack, and John Bell, for the life he gave to Michael Arthate.
Reminiscence of October 14th 1976

(Excerpt from Michael Arthate’s Journal)
I’d been kneeling at the workshop for about a quarter of an hour, eyes fixed firmly on the little stove that had been poised upon a long and brittle wooden plank. More importantly, my gaze was centered on the awkward and foreboding blend of herb and flesh that had been gradually burning into an ominous concoction of a somewhat occult nature. The intoxicating scent of the exotic fruit had overpowered the rather repulsive odour of ground teeth, but hadn’t been enough to ease the pressure of the atmosphere, which grew denser every second.
As I remained motionless, I couldn’t help but think that I was losing my mind, slowly submerging into a pit of nonsensical occurrences and notions. They had driven me to the point where I was about to resort to using an unorthodox, if not a pagan approach in order to appease a disgruntled deity.
The mixture appeared to be ready, so I put out the fire, and let it cool off before I drew out the odd branch I’d been carrying along with me. I stood up and stretched my neck. The house seemed unusually quiet, as if anticipating something. I took the eerie product from the stove and gently placed it within the wooden fork. No sooner had I done that than I felt a peculiar breeze from behind my back. Although it felt very tactile, it didn’t seem to have originated from inside the room. That made me think of one thing only…
It was luring me deeper…
The manor was asking me to finish what had been started years before I’d even stepped foot in the place. I felt as though the greenish amulet was pulsating in my hand. I turned round and left the room, then carefully made my way down the stairs and into the small hallway. For a moment, it felt like it hadn’t been me controlling my own body, but rather the unsettling presence that had been residing in the house for decades.
In what felt like an instant, I found myself facing the two grand doors leading to the gallery. I took a deep breath and pushed them inward, entering the ornate room. Surrounded by a dream-like haze, I proceeded to the hidden storage room, as a number of indigenous and ghostly voices seemed to have engulfed my mind. The hinges of the wooden door creaked alarmingly, and I stepped inside.
The mask immediately pierced me with its horrid eyes. It was confronting me, defiantly. And yet, I felt as if it were urging me to carry on with my task, to wave the amulet in front of it, so it could sink right back into its dormant state, waiting for the proper time to be unleashed again and sway the sanity of decent men.
I stayed like this for several moments, just examining it, endeavouring to see into its mind, like it had undoubtedly crept inside my own. Nevertheless, the ritual had to be completed, so I raised the amulet, until…
My thoughts began to waver.
What was I doing?
I allowed myself a moment to assimilate this unforeseen digression.
Wasn’t that just what it wanted me to do? Wasn’t this all but a sick game to entangle the minds of innocent people?
This new course of reflection felt almost uncalled for, but the more I pondered over it, the more its reasoning became apparent.
Truly, if this “curse” had been real, what good was I about to do by fulfilling this bizarre ritual? Perhaps it would’ve cast the evil spirit into slumber, but it certainly wouldn’t have banished it. And wasn’t this the point, after all? To rid the manor of this menace? To put a closure to this story?
Not fully aware of what I intended to do next, I hastily grabbed the mask and rushed out of the gallery. The air felt heavy and distressful, as I made my way across the hallway and down the stairs to the living room. The grandfather clock was ticking listlessly as always, and there were a few small logs still burning in the fireplace. I turned to the table where I’d previously found the diary of Dr. Milton.
My mind was beginning to tear itself apart. I wasn’t at all sure if this had been a proper idea.
But there couldn’t be any mercy. Not when the lives and sanity of any possible future residents could be at stake! I seized the diary, tore out a few empty pages from it and threw them into the fireplace. In a split second they burst into flames, and I knew I had no time to waste. I quickly grabbed the wretched mask and thrust it into the open fire; the amulet followed. Within a matter of moments they were both consumed by a growing blaze…
My forehead was dripping with sweat as I sat down across the sight. I was overwhelmed by an array of emotions that were all so terribly unlike me. My mind must’ve been playing tricks on me once more, as I could’ve sworn I’d heard several faint cries or moans coming from underneath the burning wood. But I wasn’t afraid anymore… and neither was I troubled with the mystery of James Blackwood.
I was merely savouring the victory.
* * *
After about half an hour of this scene, the dwindling fire had convinced me it was best to head upstairs and pack my luggage. The time had finally come to part with Blackwood Manor.
Once my typewriter and the rest of my belongings were neatly arranged and loaded onto my car, and I’d even taken the time to make my former bed, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to give the fireplace one last glance, just to reassure myself there weren’t any remnants of the Dhalmaar’s accursed idol.
I approached the embers and frail ashes, and to my astonishment, beneath them all, there appeared to be… a grating!
I felt a knot in my stomach, because I knew I had to look into it. Weary as I’d been, I slowly slipped my fingers through the rusty bars and lifted the hatch. To think I was about leave without even spotting this obscure entrance!
I warily crept through the opening, down a ruefully decrepit ladder, only to find myself in what I’d gathered to be an imperceptible extension to the cellar. There were numerous old bricks and bottles lying about, as well as a generic sink. There was barely any light reaching from outside, and the air was even worse than that of the basement. A small opening in the wall revealed the furnace from where I’d witnessed the silhouette of my “mutant rat” the night before, and right across the opening there was a massive wooden door with metal fortifications and a standard slide lock.
I was completely unprepared for what might have lurked beyond it…
With a lump in my throat and a wild palpitation, I slid the iron rod, and pushed the door.
I was instantly taken aback by the hideous and unbearable smell of concentrated urine and feces, as if I were entering the lair of a very sick and dirty animal. The sheer intensity of the air brought tears to my eyes, but as soon as I’d regained my vision, I was paralyzed with horror.
On the muddy ground, completely still, and surrounded by a heap of rubbish, there lay a twisted human being!
I wouldn’t dare move, let alone go anywhere near him! His body was positioned in an extremely distorted way; I had no idea whether or not he was alive, but he appeared to have gone through some intense agony.
Still reluctant to budge, I worriedly cast my eyes onto the surrounding objects, amongst which were a fallen chair, a plain table with some gnawed bones on top of it, possibly a metal bucket in the adjacent corner, and an enormous gaping hole in the opposite wall. The bricks appeared to have been gradually plucked from it, ultimately leaving nothing but a deep darkness beyond the orifice.
My gaze went back upon the static body.
Had he been trying to escape this entire time? To scratch his way out?!
Albeit shaken with fear, I managed to convince myself to go a bit further. The sight got more gruesome with every step, revealing an appallingly disfigured face, and a body that wasn’t only filthy, but seemed to have fresh bruises. I assumed they must’ve been self-inflicted. He definitely wasn’t breathing. Oddly, though, the wretch’s expression was that of a struggling beast, scrabbling and scratching for his life, as if an unseen oppressor had strangled him to death just moments earlier.
But there was no sign of such a perpetrator, nor did that idea seem likely.
Who was this pitiful man?
It couldn’t have been James Blackwood. Indeed, this poor being seemed battered and weak, but he wasn’t old.
As I pondered his identity, I caught a glimpse of something quite uncanny – a pathetic little teddy bear had been rested on the left wall. What was even more disturbing was the fact that its small head had almost been ripped off… The sight of it triggered an alarming stir of memories that for the first time seemed to fit into place.
Robin!
It had been him all along! He’d never died! Moreover, it must have been he who’d murdered Catherine... Thus Blackwood had subsequently seen him as the evil spawn of the Dhalmaar’s curse… Who wouldn’t?
What a deplorable fate! To condemn your own son to such a life, letting him eat nothing but raw meat, confined to such a prison… I wasn’t sure, however, if I’d have acted any differently, considering the dismal circumstances. And the mask…
It had killed him when I’d burnt it... So it must have been real, there was no other explanation.
At that moment I was stricken by a short-lived pang of guilt, as I realized the unknown victimizer had been me. But I couldn’t feel regret for that. All I’d wanted was to put an end to the burden… and perhaps I had.
I couldn’t bear the prospect of it anymore, so I withdrew from the lair, slowly shut the door behind me, and then left.
* * *
On my way back home, my mind was haunted by the lifeless face of the Blackwood son, and that would endure for years to come, but in the end I’d come to know that I had done the proper
thing. Not only had I single-handedly put together the pieces of an age-old mystery that had plagued the minds of many.
I had also sealed it shut.
(End of Excerpt)

Im Keller als auch im Gewächshaus (und eigentlich so gut wie immer) hatte ich das Gefühl, dass ich gleich angesprungen werde und alles ist vorbei.
Genauso in der Kapelle ertönt erst ein Gesang der immer lauter wird und ich dachte jetzt gleich kommt was und ich kreische wie ein kleines Mädchen, aber zum Glück für meine Nachbarn wurde der Gesang dann leiser.
Ich finde es gut, dass Michael und der Polizist noch entkommen konnten.

Was ist wohl mit der Magd passiert?
Sie ist wohl zur Polizei und hat dort durch ihre Aussage gemacht und ist dann zu Ihrer Mutter gefahren. Ich glaube nicht, dass sie zu Tode gekommen ist.
Zu wem gehört das Skelett im Sarg?
Ohne das Wissen aus den DC-Tagebuch hätte ich es für das von James oder Christopher gehalten.
Aber in einem Tagebuch-Eintrag des DCs steht doch, dass es der Arzt Christopher sein soll, der noch James´ Namen hinterher gerufen hat.
Wer ist das am Schluß im Spiel? / Was war nun das Kratzen?
Die Kreatur, die für den Sohn halte, habe ich immer für die Kratzgeräusche verantwortlich gemacht. Vielleicht hat Robin versucht durch die Wand aus seiner Zelle in den Heizkessel zu gelangen.
Ist der Fluch nun weg?
So wirklich glaube ich es nicht, weil wenn Robin wirklich seiner Mutter den Hals aufgerissen hat, so es beim Teddy zu sehen ist, dann steckt das Vermächtnis des Fluches noch in Robin drin.
Gab es überhaupt einen Fluch?
Ich glaube, dass Robin durch den Fluch fehlgebildet zu Welt kam und der Gott der Dhalmaar auf in übergegangen ist. Durch die Besessenheit hatte er genug Kraft um seine Mutter zu töten. Auch unklar finde ich warum in Last Visit erst die Maske und dann die Kreatur in der Badewanne waren. Evtl. hat der Gott die Macht sich in die Maske zu verwandeln (z.B. um unscheinbarer für die Menschen zu wirken und sie in Sicherheit zu wiege) oder mit dieser den Platz zu tauschen. Oder vielleicht noch eine andere Macht.

Eine klitzekleine Unstimmigkeit hab ich noch:
Warum hatte Cathrines Leiche schiefe Zähne die zum Halsaufreissen geeigneter sind als Gerade? Einfach nur so, weil damals Zahnkorrekturen nicht so ausgefeilt waren wie heute oder hat sie bei oder nach der Tötung noch ein paar auf den Mund gekriegt?

LittleRose hat geschrieben:Will? Bist du sicher, dass er es nicht tut? Ich fand die Geräusche ziemlich eindeutig.

Also ich höre nach dem Sprung keine (entsprechenden) Geräusche, ich finde er "freut" sich einfach nur, dass sein (Zieh-)Vater wieder da ist.