Account 15: Corruption

Background information

• Name: Cal Miller
• Pronouns: She/her
  
• Date: May 12, 2020
  
• Occupation: College student
  
• City of residence: Robin, Michigan
  
• Date(s) of account: 2016-2020
  
• Subject of account: A book by Richard Farrow
  

 

Interview transcript 

THOMAS WAKE: Testing, 1, 2, 3...

CAL MILLER: You're sure about this?

THOMAS: You can write it down if you'd prefer.

CAL: No, it's fine, I'll just say it. I mean, you're already recording.

So, it started off back in 2016. You already know what happened to my dad- I mean, Peter, Peter Hail, I mean, he gave you that account, and that's how I found out about this whole... project... thing.

 

See, my dad- um, I'm supposed to use full names, I guess, so Harold Miller- he was off hunting deer, and my mom, Lily Miller, was staying home with me. We decided to start cleaning the house, since it was starting to get a bit, you know- a bit crappy. Thought it would make a nice surprise for when he got home. Partway through, Mom asked if I wanted her to go pick up some fast food and bring it back, and that sounded pretty good to me.

 

I was 15, so it wasn't like I'd never been home alone before, but I was still a little nervous. I decided to just keep cleaning until Mom got back to take my mind off being alone. I ended up finding this box full of old books while I was down in the basement. Most of them were books from when I was a kid that my parents were too attached to get rid of, but there were also some books I assumed were Mom's, books on ancient mythology and stuff. I think one of them was called Prometheus Bound. They all looked really old, and some of them practically looked like they were about to fall apart.

There was one book in particular that looked really dusty, but I could tell it was paperback, and that it was called The Pallid Mask, by R. Farrow. Its condition wasn't as bad as a lot of the other books, and it was right on top, so I carefully picked it up and opened it. There was a bookplate that said "Library of Matthias Clark" on the inside, and the paper was yellow. I checked the page that listed publishing information. Apparently it was only from 2008.

As soon as I started actually reading it, I knew I had to read to the end. I didn't really understand why, though. I mean, the book wasn't all that exciting. It was this romantic play set in... Victorian England, maybe? I've never been too good with history, but the main character, Lord Scott, was an aristocrat, and it mentioned street lamps a few times, so I don't think it could've been much earlier or later than that.

Anyways, before the start of the second act, there was a poem that I can still remember:

"Beware the man
Who is not,
For he brings madness
And festering rot."

There was an illustration below it of someone, who must have been the man the poem was talking about, wearing robes and a mask. He was starting to take off the mask. It was hard to make out what was behind the mask, but it had the outline of a face, at least. The hand was really bony, and the more I looked, the worse it got. It was like no matter how closely I examined it, there were always scabs or bruises or something I hadn't noticed earlier.

I started to read the second act after that. It was... different, somehow. I really couldn't say how. I mean, the story was still continuing, but there was something off about it. The dialogue was kind of stilted after that. Lord Scott and his love interest, Camilla, got together at the end of the second act.

In the third act, Lord Scott was at home with Camilla, and he heard a knock at the door. Lord Scott was about to send one of his servants to open the door for him, but he wasn't there. Lord Scott looked around, and Camilla had disappeared too. The weird thing is, he didn't seem surprised. He just walked to the door. There was a person standing there, wearing tattered yellow robes. Lord Scott started to say something to his visitor, who he called "messenger," but the messenger just shook their head and said that it was "high time he sought the King." Lord Scott started protesting, and just like the first time, the messenger cut him off.

The messenger asked Lord Scott if he remembered what happened to the three people who had defied the King. Lord Scott started to answer, but the messenger put their finger to their mouth, and he stopped talking. So the messenger kept telling their story.

There were three people: a farmer, a soldier, and a priest. I think the farmer kept pigs, the soldier had a pet snake, and the priest had a pet bird. One day, the King summoned the three of them to his palace, but none of them had gifts for him like he wanted. The farmer said he didn't know what to bring. The soldier spat on the ground and said he hated the King. The priest didn't say anything as the King turned to look at him. He just kept stroking his pet bird.

The King had them executed. Nobody knew what happened to their bodies.

Lord Scott was shaking at this point. The messenger laughed quietly and left. The rest of the third act was just Lord Scott, alone, trying to decide whether or not to visit the King, and what gift he should take if he did.

I never got to see whether he finally left for the King's castle. Before I could, I heard the basement door open behind me. I just about fell over- I'd completely forgotten about Mom by that point, and I figured I must not have heard her drive up to the house. I turned around and saw that she looked like she'd been crying.

I'd, uh, I'd rather not go into details here.

THOMAS: No, by all means.

CAL: Thanks.

(Cal sighs)

Point is, Dad disappeared. He just vanished while he was out hunting with his friend Peter. Peter Hail, I mean, the one who gave you his account.

It was hard. Of course it was. I mean, I didn't have a dad anymore. Nobody should have to go through that as a 15-year-old. That's not supposed to happen. You're not supposed to... to feel that absence in your life where you know a person is supposed to be, like they're just out of sight, and you just have to spot them and everything will be back to normal. And it was even worse because we didn't even know what happened to him.

I still hadn't really processed everything when I looked out my bedroom window one night and saw someone looking back.

Whoever was staring at me seemed to disappear as soon as I caught sight of them. I couldn't tell who they were, or even what they looked like. All I could tell is that they were dressed in white from head to toe.

In the years since then, I've seen glimpses of the stranger who watches me constantly. He wears white priest's clothing, and his eyes look like he's staring right into you, like he sees everything you've ever done, you know? But his expression is so hollow. He never smiles or frowns or anything. He just watches. And waits. And he's everywhere, and you can never escape him, and he shows up in your dreams and he stares, and...

I'm sorry. I'm getting kind of upset.

THOMAS: It's okay. Take your time.

CAL: Right.

(Cal sighs.)

Right.

So, like I was saying, I keep dreaming about this man. I don't know who he is, but sometimes, at night, when I think about how much I miss Dad, and I finally get to sleep, I dream about that priest just standing there, watching me from all the places Dad used to be.

You know, there's this song, Holland 1945. It's by Neutral Milk Hotel, and one of the lyrics is something about a "dark brother wrapped in white." I think about it a lot.

THOMAS: I can see why.

CAL: Yeah. Anyways, I just... I just miss Dad a lot. And I'm scared.

(Cal clears her throat.)

Okay, um, that's everything.

(A pause.)

THOMAS: I'm- God. I'm sorry.

CAL: Don't feel sorry for me. I'm doing enough of that for both of us.

(Cal laughs.)

THOMAS: Well, in that case... thank you, I suppose.

CAL: Don't mention it.

(Cal's phone buzzes.)

I should go. Girlfriend's here.

(A pause.)

Thanks. Felt good to get that off my chest.

(Cal walks away and opens the door.)

See ya.

THOMAS: Right. Have a nice day.

(Cal laughs.)

CAL: Sure. You too.

(The door closes behind Cal.)

THOMAS: Right. So, that was... certainly something.

We've established at this point that Matthias Clark is a name worth keeping track of. As to R. Farrow, I actually own a book by someone called Richard Farrow, a book called Chronicles of the King. I picked it up at a second-hand bookstore a few years ago because the cover looked interesting.

After hearing Cal's story, I'm suddenly grateful I have too many books to actually read all of them. I don't want to think about what another Farrow story about the King would do if you read it.

Account 05: Being Watched

Background information

• Name: Diane Richter
• Pronouns: She/her
  
• Date: March 23, 2020
• Occupation: Freelance artist
  
• City of residence: Atkins, Michigan
• Date(s) of account: 2008
• Subject of account: A visit to a local museum
  

Account
I'm a freelance artist. This tends to translate to making things in Adobe Illustrator for clients who provide frustratingly vague instructions on how they want their commissions to turn out and then get irritated when they don't look right, but occasionally it means I visit museums in the hopes of finding some inspiration.

I was making one such visit in 2008. More specifically, I was visiting the Pierre Museum of Art, named for the famous Atkins-based sculptor Charles Pierre (an immigrant from France, if you hadn't guessed from the name alone). I'd heard they were showing one of his best-known pieces, The Seer in Stone.

If you're not aware, The Seer in Stone is a marble sculpture of a hooded monk holding a leatherbound book in one hand, the other held in front of itself. It was created to commemorate the then-recent death of Pierre's friend and patron Robin de la Noye. Pierre worked on The Seer in Stone to the exclusion of all his other projects and even his own health. He said that he felt like he was being watched while carving it, but that he had terrible nightmares while working on anything else. He refused to explain just what these nightmares involved, only that they "made him feel like he would never be safe again."

I arrived right as the museum was opening. I didn't want to lose the chance to look at it for as long as I could.

I stared at that statue for hours on end. I didn't even realize how long I'd just been looking at it from every angle and sketching it over and over on my tablet until I noticed how hungry I was and looked outside. It wasn't dark out just yet, but it wasn't as bright as it had been earlier. I tried to check the time on my tablet, but it had apparently died in the time since I had looked outside. My phone had as well.

I began to walk to the entrance of the museum to find somewhere to eat. Something seemed strange, but I couldn't quite decide what. It was... too quiet, maybe.

It was when I passed by a receptionist's desk and saw it was empty that I realized that I hadn't seen a soul since I had begun to look at The Seer in Stone.

Starting to panic, I started to hurry towards the nearest door outside. I pushed on the handle, but it didn't move at all. I walked towards a spot where I knew another door should have been, but the only thing there was The Seer in Stone, which should have been behind me.

I walked around, trying to find a map, but I couldn't seem to get anywhere near the glass case I knew they were stored. Every turn I took, I was met with The Seer in Stone.

Almost as soon as I realized that I was trapped, my hunger disappeared. It was like my body accepted that it would have to wait this out.

I stared at that statue for an impossibly long time. At some point, I noticed that the book the monk was holding wasn't the same as it had been during past visits.

I looked more closely, and I saw that it had The Knowing written across the spine in faint gold lettering.

When I looked back at the monk itself, I noticed something else was wrong. It took me a second, but the reddish-brown belt around its waist looked off. I leaned in closer and saw what it was.

There were several flecks of dried blood on it.

I backed away.

I closed my eyes, trying to clear my head. When I opened them, the statue's mouth, the only part of its face that its hood didn't obscure, was no longer neutral. It was smiling.

I tried to move away, but it felt like there were strings pulling on me, keeping me in place. I could almost hear the statue laugh as I pulled against my invisible captors.

I turned my head away from it, trying desperately to stop looking. The strings pulled my head to stare at The Seer in Stone once again, and I saw that its empty hand, which had once been outstretched in front of itself, was extending a finger to its smiling mouth.

I screamed, but I could feel myself strangled by invisible strings, and no sound came out.

All at once, the strings released me. I looked outside and it was dark out. I checked my phone, which was once again fully charged. Apparently, it was over three hours after the museum had closed.

I went home, but it was hard to sleep that night. I felt too much like I was being watched.

I haven't visited that museum since then. I thought I wanted to know about the statue, but now I understand that it wants to know me.

Analysis
The backstory Richter provided on The Seer in Stone is accurate. Of course, that doesn't necessarily imply that her account of being haunted by the aforementioned statue is true.

As to the book The Seer in Stone was holding, Richter contacted the Pierre Museum of Art later in 2008. They looked into it and found that at some point, the book had been stolen and replaced with another by a former employee of the Pierre Museum of Art named Mary Jude, whose exact motives are unclear.

The Knowing, like the original book, is a leatherbound King James Bible. However, unlike the original, it has a bookplate reading "Library of Matthias Clark," and several parts are underlined in red ink:

Job 21:22: "Shall any teach God knowledge?"

Psalm 56:8: "Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?"

Psalm 139:1: "O LORD, thou hast searched me, and known me."

Proverbs 15:3: "The eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and the good."

Jeremiah 23:24: "Can any hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him?"

I need to learn more about this Clark person. Maybe the fact that he collected books like The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter has caused people like Richter to write stories inspired by them.

Or maybe I just I don't like the idea that something deeper is going on here.

Account 02: The Ruins of Castle Roche

Background information

• Name: Fergus Kelly
• Pronouns: He/him
  
• Date: 1923
• Occupation: Unknown
  
• City of residence: Dundalk, County Louth, Ireland
  
• Date(s) of account: 1923
• Subject of account: The ruins of Castle Roche
  

Account

My name is Fergus Kelly. I am an amateur archaeologist from Dundalk, County Louth, Ireland. The year is 1923. I must write as quickly as possible. Forgive me if some of this is difficult to make out.

 

It happened yesterday. All of it. It sounds so strange, but it all happened in one day.

 

My flatmate is named Oscar Sloane. He is a short man who wears a tattered brown coat that looks like it was made for someone much larger.

 

I have dragged Oscar along to Castle Roche several times in the past. I do not know why yesterday was any different.

It should not have been.

The fog curled around our feet as we walked the path up to Castle Roche. It would have been a foreboding sight in ages past, but as it stood, it was clearly a shadow of what it once had been, crumbling and desecrated.

 

Cold fog drifted in through holes that had once been windows as I stood for the last time in the ruins of Castle Roche. The fog was impossibly thick, and the longer I remained there, the more it bit into me. Oscar seemed unaffected, which I found odd, as he's always been one to complain about minor inconveniences of the sort. In fact, he seemed quite happy as he and I began to walk forward, pressing on deeper into the ruins.

 

We normally don't find much there. We really only visited because it was a familiar sight by that point. It was comfortable. Yesterday was different, though.

 

As I walked, I saw a wall before me that I knew was unblemished. It was covered in images of eyes and hands painted in dried blood. 

 

I heard something behind me and turned around. It was Oscar, surrounded by cold, thick fog that obscured most of his body. I could just barely make out that he had a strange bright glint in his eye. 

 

He walked forward through the fog, and I saw a knife held in his strangely twisted hand that was used by the Irish soldiers at the time Castle Roche was built.

 

Somehow, it was only then that I realized that Oscar's fingers were all the same length.

 

Oscar jumped forward, his knife brandished in his wretched hand, and drove it down into me.

 

I elbowed him in the chest and slowly drew the knife out of my own shoulder with a sharp pain. Aggressive with fear, I stabbed him in the stomach. Oscar stumbled back and fell to the ground. His strange eyes were wide with pain. My fearful violence gave way to abject terror, and I fled.

 

I am terrified even now.

 

I hear someone tapping on the window. I see that cold fog blanket everything outside. I know that the person at the window, the person concealed by the fog, is a short man in an oversized coat.

 

I know that although Oscar Sloane was the man with whom I entered that place, the thing that accosted me within its walls was not a man at all.

 

All I do not understand is why this is happening.

 

God deliver

 

Analysis
This account comes from a book I found at my local library which I have been unable to find records of elsewhere. Unfortunately, this persisted even after I looked into the individual who wrote it, one Matthias Clark. It is entitled The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, and contains a series of clippings from newspapers, journals, and notes regarding strange occurrences up to 1924, when it was written and published. All of these materials are left largely unexplained but given a degree of context by Clark.

According to Clark, Fergus Kelly was found dead in his home some time after this journal entry was written. Investigators were unable to find any trace of disturbances at Castle Roche, including the body of Oscar Sloane or the writing on the wall. They were, however, watched by a strange man in an oversized coat as they entered Castle Roche, and both seemed terrified after they left for reasons they refused to explain.