Speaker 1: I travel a lot. Without getting too in depth about
the particulars of my life and career, I will say
that my job ends up taking me all over the world.
I've been to just about every continent on the planet,
with the exception of somewhere like Antarctica, and the number
of countries I haven't stepped foot in rapidly shrinks every year.
It's absolutely amazing as I've been able to see and
partake in so many different customs, cultures and lifestyles. And
one thing I always love to do is purchase a
souvenir to take home with me, a sort of keepsake
to mark my first time in a new country that
I can take down from the shelf and look at
when the nostalgia hits me. It can be anything, whether
an ornamental figure, a glass, or a book. That's where
the reason I'm posting here comes in, you see. A
few months ago I was sent to Algeria to help
oversee a business deal that a client was involved in.
The main dealings had wrapped up, and after a few
days of exploring the capital city of Algiers, I decided
to take a final straw through one of the many
bazaars I had come to a door perusing in my
off time the day before my flight left back to
the States. I had already had it in mind to
find something to buy some memento, and so I strolled
past the vendors selling fruit and various foods, looking for
something interesting. And as I passed the table which was
selling various bits and bobs, it caught my eye. It
was an old leather bound journal, clasped tightly shut with
what appeared to be a belt closure of some kind.
The leather looked extremely weather beaten and worn, as if
it had sat in the burning desert sun for decades,
and the edges of the pages I could see were
yellowed with age. My curiosity piqued, I pointed to it
and asked the seller about where it had come from.
Rather strangely, he seemed weary of saying exactly where and
when it had come into his possession, instead only saying
that he stumbled across it during his travels. My curiosity
now firmly in the red zone due to its mysterious nature,
I inquired to its price. He had no sooner quoted
me a price than I was pushing the money into
his hand. It was practically as steel. However, I admit
one thing which unnerved me, to say the least. As
I hurried back in the direction of my hotel, I
chanced a look over my shoulder and found that the
man was watching me leave, a strange, almost intense look
on his face. That night, my bags packed and dying
in bed, I found myself unable to sleep. After trying
to tempt the Sandman for a few hours, I finally
gave up, and, wanting something to pass the time, I
picked the journal up, unbuckled it and opened it to
the first page. To my surprise, I found the entries
were in English. The journal had belonged to a British
explorer and adventurer whose name, according to the inscription on
the back cover, was Liam Wentworth. The day inside ranged
from the late nineteen forties through the early fifties, and
I read each page with rapt attention, extraordinary images swirling
in my mind as Liam narrated to me expeditions which
range from continental Europe to Africa. I couldn't help but smile,
as the infectious excitement in his writing pulled me further
and further into the past. And I must wish that
I could be transported back in time to join him.
That was until I began to read the last expedition
log in the journal. From the very first entry, I
could tell there was something different about this particular journey,
Something about the man's words filled me with an unexplainable
sense of unease, and as the entries went on, I
felt any sense of excitement and wonder wash away like
a flood victim. The initial uneasiness first replaced with tension,
then a strange sense of paranoia, and finally, as much
as I hate admitting it, fear, a palpable sense of fear,
an existential dread I've never felt before, one which raised
all the hair of my arms, and even in the
safety of my hotel room, made me turn on every
single light, vanishing away any shadows in the corner, especially
because the final written pages are stained with long dried liquid.
That God, I still hope isn't what I think it is.
And when my plane took off from Hiri Bermardine the
next morning, my window giving me a clear view of
the sprawling Algerian desert stretching out away into the distance,
I involuntarily shuddered. For months, I was unsure what to do.
I considered taking the journal to a historian or museum
to verify its authenticity, but I'm worried that it will
be simply written off as a hoax or a forgery.
A few friends and acquaintances of mine I have shared
a little of the contents with I've met it with
the same response, it has to be a stunt, just
something to scare whoever bought it. Worse still, I've had
some of the worst nightmares of my life, horrible dreams
that wake me up covered in a sheen of sweat
even months later. Finally, though, I've decided to just share it.
This is transcribed exactly as originally written, and are all
relevant entries from William's last expedition. Let me know what
you think of it and if there is any shred
of truth to what is written here. As much as
it might cost me work in the future, I may
never step foot in that part of the world again. Monday,
twenty third of June nineteen fifty two, after a four
month rest, another adventure is at hand. A fortnight ago,
I received a call at home from a wealthy American,
a business magnate by the name of Tally. Apparently mister
Danvers had boasted of my qualifications and invaluable help during
his expedition to Mauritania at luncheon with him, and when
told of a similar endeavor that the man wished to
embark on in the nearby country of Algeria, he instantly
recommended me to him. I was already interested when he
told me of his intentions, and after he quoted me
the fee he would pay, I hastily accepted. The amount
of money offered is the kind that not even many
film stars in the country receive. Indeed, it is triple
what Diana Dawes was reportedly paid recently for a part
in the last page, and with my dear sister's health
always in flux, it is an amount I would be
a fool to refuse. And so, after much planning and
subsequent connecting flights from London, I am now in the
city of Algiers, where the rest of our party have assembled.
I first met Tally as he met me just outside
the airport at all lankach with thinn and black hair.
He instantly struck me as inexperienced with such expeditions. It
set me a little on an edge, if I may
be Frank. Too many parties have tragically failed due to
such sponsors. Yet, as I was taken to a nearby
cafe and introduced to the rest of the team, I
felt somewhat relieved at the faces that greeted us. Three
of the expedition's nine members are ones I've worked with before, Soign,
a hulking giant of a Dane. Richter, a quiet yet
intimidating German Erne Muretti whose boastful demeanor sometimes hides how
brilliant of a leader the Italian can be. Three of
the four, excluding myself and Tally, are people who have
heard spoken of in similar circles. Blake is the group's archaeologist,
a fellow britt and alluring brunette who seems as if
she should be on a movie screen instead of here.
Karn the group's medic, a bloke who earned the scars
on his face from his time in the war. And
Tamir is one of our two guides, a man whose
wild hair and beard doesn't seem to match the intelligence
that I see behind his eyes. The final member of
the group is our second guide, an almost gaunt young
man no older than twenty whose name I was told
is Tarik. He did not speak when introductions were given. Instead,
he merely nodded at us. I find he gives me
an uncomfortable sort of aura. But according to both Tali
and Moretti, he is indispensable to our ultimate goal, which
is when discussions shifted over to our ultimate aim. In
a hush tone, Tally leaned in and told us of
a tale he had stumbled across during his dealings in
the area. He had hinted about a great tra measure
lost in the desert decades ago over the phone, But
as I listened to him extrapolate, I felt my jaw
drop open. According to accounts, a decade and a half
or so ago, a group of soldiers belonging to the
French Foreign Legion, searching for a safe haven, had stumbled
upon a fortress built into a vast mountain range centuries old.
The structure had been abandoned, and after discovering that a
pump connected to an underground water source of some kind,
the soldiers had set up a base camp, complete with
radio and arsenal. They stayed in contact with their superiors
for approximately five months, reporting back periodically and requesting supplies.
Then on the sixth month, the forts went silent. No
matter how long it was hailed, no one ever answered
the radio calls. A reinforcement group had been sent to
try and as attained what had happened to them, but
they seemed to disappear into the desert as well. Eventually
all of the men were declared lost in action. It
wouldn't have been the first time that soldiers had met
their end on the receiving end of the local swords
and guns. After all, fearing further casualties, the fort was
declared a hostile's own, and any further attempt to reach
it was forbidden. As the years went by, and with
the outbreak of the war, the fort's location and the
reports on it were lost in the shuffle, further hampered
by the fact that it seemed someone in a high
position had stricken it from all maps and public record.
But somehow, after hearing the stories, Tally had used his
connections to obtain one of the only remaining maps which
marked its location. As he finished, I cocked an eyebrow
and asked him how this all connected to what he
had lured me with Here the reports of a vast
lost treasure, an almost childish smile spread across Tally's face.
You ain't heard the best part yet, my dear boy.
That was when the penny dropped. According to a radio
report that the fort's commanding officer had made, they had
found in the bowels of the fort a room which,
when breached, had revealed a staggering amount of jewels, coins,
and other treasures. The exact monetary value it had had
never been calculated, but seeing how most of the horde
was dated back to the Ottoman Empire, it had to
be a tremendous amount. By this point, our sponsor had
our undivided attention, and dreams of being forever logged in
the history books danced in our heads. That's when Tally
let us in, and the most important fact of this expedition.
If we locate the fort and find the treasure was
only a tale, or failed to find it at all,
you will all be paid the exact amount I quoted you.
He began, his eyes twinkling. But if we do find it,
each of you will receive an equal share of the treasure,
in addition to your name's forever written as the finders.
To say that you could have heard a pin drop
amongst us would be a grievous understatement. For a moment,
nobody spoke. I was the first to open my mouth. Yes,
bloody hell, Yes, As if my words had been a
sort of catalyst, everyone else pied up with their own agreement.
Tally beamed. He knew he had ensnared us, and he
reveled in it. He told us that we would board
a plane bound for Sellah in the next day. From
there we would continue on landrover into the desert itself,
and with that he bid us good night, retiring with
Moretti to their hotel After a few drinks. The rest
of us disbanded as well. And now here I sit,
staring out the window at the rising moon with my
pen in hand. I am beyond thrilled. The prospect of
becoming wealthy, beyond my wildest dreams, of being able to
afford all of my sister's medicine and procedures, to say
nothing of my own frivolities and fantasies, is intoxicating. And
yet I can't help but feel a strong sense of
trepidation over what I was told. As well, the fact
that two different groups of soldiers seem to simply disappear
without a trace. It gives me pause. Even though I
attempt to push it away. A small whisper of dread
climbs over me. Sure the men carrying at night guns
frantically aimed into the dark as something moves towards them,
But surely anything that happens to them so long ago,
any people who did them harm surely have moved on,
which means we should be perfectly safe. I worried too much. Tuesday,
twenty fourth of June nineteen fifty two. I write this
entry by the firelight next to my tent, and the
only thing that banishes away the almost impenetrable darkness that
stalks the edges of the flickering embers. Early in the morning,
just before the sun rose, our team bordered a chartered
plane and flew south to Insula. There we found two
land rovers, paint shimmering and fresh off the production line
in Soliul. They had been special ordered by Tally for
the journey. Supplies and enough fuel the lasts a fortnight
were loaded on board, and after wedging ourselves inside the
space that remained, we set off in a westerly direction,
following the road past towns with names such as Ghar
and Olaf. Finally we passed through Regane, and after a
last look back at civilization, we left the road and
headed out into the desert itself. Saying that the intense
heat would rival the flames of Hell itself would not
be much of an understatement. The sun beat mercilessly down
upon our vehicles, turning them into saunas, and as we
were attempting to conserve our water supply, soon we all
felt the first inklings of heat exhaustion. After stopping to
quench our thirst quickly, and following the blessed liquid with lunch,
we continued on as the sun dipped lower into the sky.
As I was riding with Tally, I had the opportunity
to ask him about Tarak. The man still gave me
a bad feeling, and I inquired as to why he
was so important to our expedition, after all, I asked,
would simply somemear not make a decent enough guide. It
was then that he revealed to me the secret surrounding
the man. Tarrek was one of the few men left
alive who had seen the fort with his own eyes,
or so he claimed. He had told Tally of a
time as a small boy, traveling through the desert with
his father and grandfather and spying on the horizon, perched
the upper mountain range like a sentry, the imposing structure.
Both of his elders had warned him away from it,
telling him that it was a cursed place, load of
local superstitious bull tally said to me, waving a hand
as if to physically repel the words. For my part,
I too did not believe in such things, and yet
that his words, I was unable to suppress the shiver
that flowed my spine slightly. It felt too coincidental, too
close to the feeling of dread that fell over me
last night. The second thought came to mind, as if
pushing away the emotions, I asked, with not knowing if
the young man was telling the truth, how he could
be sure he was not simply luring us into the
desert for a sinister purpose. With a small, almost concealed wink,
he raised his shirt, revealing a hidden pistol underneath in
a holster. Informed me that several others were armed as well,
and a shotgun and ammunition were among our supplies. Liam,
my boy, relax, I have thought of everything. We will
be ready whether the locals are, if any surprises in
store for us, or either of our guides do just
enjoy the trip. In the meantime, I pray that his
confidence is not misplaced. We are a long way from
where anyone could help us if things were to go
barely up, And that is in all I'm the only
member of our groups still awake. All the others have
retired to their tents, or, in the case of Tarak
and Samir, into the land rovers to sleep. The only
sounds I hear are the crackling of fire and the soft,
almost lonely sound of the wind whistling in the darkness.
And yet I can't help but feel watched. Even though
we are certainly the only people for miles, I feel
as though eyes are upon me, upon all of us.
It is a feeling that is most unwelcome, and it
makes me again wonder about the fate that befell the
French soldiers. I find myself shooting the looks out into
the dark. Every few lines I write, almost convinced I
will see eyes staring back at me from the blackness.
As much as I don't want to, I must retire
to my own tent dawn will be here soon enough,
and we will need all of our strength for the
next few days. Thursday, twenty sixth of June nineteen fifty two,
after a second day of driving straight and following both
the map and directions that Samir tells us Tarik had
given us, as the man speaks no English, we seem
to have finally arrived at the base of a mountain range.
According to Tarak, these are the mountains in question, and
we are not far now, less than a day away.
I crane my neck to look at the imposing walls
which rise higher over our heads. I'm not a good
estimator of such things, but I would not be surprised
if the top lies hundreds of feet above us or more.
If the fort is real, then how are we to
get to it from down here? All questions that will
have to be answered soon. For now, though, I will
go and sit with the others, eat supper, and go
to sleep. If we are being told the truth, tomorrow
will be the day. Friday, twenty seventh of June nineteen
fifty two. It's real. I find that even as I
write these words, I feel I'll suddenly wake up from
a dream. And yet right there in front of my
eyes is the bloody thing terracles indeed telling the truth,
and it looks exactly as tally heard. The structure is
perfectly nestled atop and similarly among the mountains, surely built
there by some Ottoman architect or soldier with a perfect
idea of strategic planning. The fort has a clear view
down the desert where we stand below, and is set
far enough back that the surrounding land acts as a
sort of natural shield. It is the perfect choke point,
to say the least Churchill himself would be impressed. According
to Blake, the style and architecture is indeed indicative of
the Ottoman Empire, either Arabic or North African. The three
front turrets rise imposingly above the rest of the complex,
their windows dark and unrevealing of their secrets. Surprisingly, and
thankfully as well, there will be no need to worry
about climbing. Tarak pointed us to a set of steps
carved into the mountains themselves. They are fairly steep, but
they surely beat the alternative. As it is late, we
will make camp here at the bayse tonight, and in
the morning we will pack all our supplies and make
the climb to the fort itself omittedly, I must admit
that the feeling I had in the desert two nights
ago remains. In fact, it almost feels stronger in a way.
But with the excitement palpable amongst all of us, I
refuse to let it sour the mood. It will be
stored away in the recesses of my mind. Tomorrow we
begin to take a step towards both history and possibly fortune. Saturday,
twenty eighth of June nineteen fifty two, I write from
inside the central courtyard of the fort itself. I was
correct in my assessment that it would be a steep climb,
But aside from a few scrapes among all the bloody
knuckles suffered by Son, we reached the top uneventfully. From
there we found a path already made, albeit almost hidden
by the ever sweeping sands, but the cracked wooden rail
that marked the edge of the cliffs showed the way.
After a trek of about a quarter of an hour,
we found ourselves at a gate which marked the outer
rim of the complex. The top was wrapped in barbed wire,
and an unlocked gate sat half open in front of us. Richter,
feeling that we would be better off closing it behind us,
walked into a neighboring guardpost and lowered a barrier to
prevent anyone from entering. When our backs were turned together,
we made our way up a steep path to the
front of the fort itself. At the front gates, we
discovered a relic from the First World War, a French
ft tank sitting empty and half buried in sand. The
turret faced away from us back the way we'd come.
Wundered both how it had gotten up here and what
it had been put in place for. With a last
look at the armament, we pushed open one of the
two colossal wooden doors and entered the fort. We found
ourselves inside an expansive courtyard that stretched out before us
to both sides. To the right was what appeared to
be a smaller courtyard of some sort, embellished with a
few small bushes and date palms. Wandering over to it,
I found that the far end of the smaller space
was a fountain, a rusted pump set into the back corner. Tentively,
I put my hand out, gathered some water from the fountain,
and raised it to my lips. The water tasted somewhat stagnant,
but otherwise was fine. Reaching out and operating the pomp,
I found it readily supplied fresh water. Turning, I found
Moretti beside me. He smiled, hit a water garden. Well,
then this solves any concerns of running out of water.
There must be an underground lake or river somewhere beneath us.
I agreed with him, and after a last look around
at the peaceful scene, we returned to the others. After
telling them of our discovery. We set our supplies down
and began as a group to explore. Aside from the
water garden, there were two main buildings inside the fort.
The largest building, according to the rickety wooden sign hung
by the front door, declared it to be the living quarters,
while the second sunken building was designated the arsenal. After
a small deliberation, we chose to enter the main building first.
The interior showed that nature had taken its toll on
the fort. Beams had collapsed from their upper levels and
sand rose up in small man, making us have to
navigate around the debris. The rest of the quarters were
in much the same condition, though with much more signs
of life. Pillows, rugs, and other furniture were around. There
were also plenty of candles and lamps hanging from beams above,
all of which we lit. As we passed. We located
the radio room, which I noted with a pang of
her knees had been vandalized. Both the radio and telegraph
machines had been destroyed. Clearly, someone had not wanted anyone
to send any messages or calls for help. What made
the scene worse was the obvious signs of struggle, which
are ever present throughout the whole building. Some of the
group didn't notice, but I saw that Soreren and Richter,
along with myself, the three who saw the most combat
in our lives did. The spilled chairs, crumpled blankets, and
broken glass and wood all told a tale, and it
was one that made the feeling of dread rear its
head in my mind, and worse, the feeling of eyes
on me was at a feverish pitch. As we made
our way through, My head swung about like an owl's,
looking not only to the shadows, but up into the
rafters as well. At one point, as I brought up
the rear of the group, I felt as though fingers
as slipped along the nape of my neck, and my
pulse quickened, my breathing going shallow as I froze on
the spot, terror filling every fiber of my being. I
whirled around and found no one. All I could hear
was the soft creaking of the building and the whistling
of the wind outside. Not wanting to remain alone, I
hurried after the others. After leaving the main quarters and
with daylight fading fast, we made a quick pass through
the arsenal, where we discovered a grisly scene. In the
Ford's jail, we discovered the remains of a man dressed
in one of the old uniforms which designated him as
part of the French Foreign Legion. His body seemed to
cower in the far corner of the cell, away from
any of the bars. Stranger still, Samir pointed out that
he had locked himself inside a set of keys, could
be seen by the desiccated corpse's hand. From what we
could tell, the man hadn't died of any injuries either.
Mouretti summarized he must have either perished from hunger or thirst.
We retreated back to the courtyard afterward, where we set
up camp in the water garden. For this, I'm eternally grateful.
While their living quarters may offer more shelter from the
elements than the ten, I would not be able to
sleep a wink inside. I feel constantly on edge after
what has been seen today, and I pray to the
Lord that in time they will fade from memory. And
I still feel we are watched. In fact, the feeling
is stronger than it ever was, as if whatever is
doing the watching is almost directly over us, staring down.
I wonder if the feeling has anything to do with
the corpse in the arsenal jail. After all, what could
drive a man to such terror that he would rather
face a slow death from lack of food and water
than it? Perhaps I hope to never find out, nor
where the rest of the soldiers disappeared to. I hope
we can find the fable treasure quickly and be gone
from this place. As much as I love adventure, I
long for being back in the bedroom of my home
in Maidenhead. Monday, thirtieth of June nineteen fifty two. Two
days have passed since my last entry. We've continued to
work to locate any hint of the treasure, but have
failed to find any trace of it anywhere in the fort.
I'm beginning to think it may never have existed. Tally
is trying to bolster all our spirits, but I can
sence him begin to grow weary like the rest of us.
A foreboding feeling that has hung over my head like
a noose seems to have spread among the expedition. I
see it in all their faces. It increased when we
found more signs of a struggle around the fort. Fingernail
marks etched into the walls as if someone were dragged away,
spent ammo casings, and more. I catch others swinging around erratically,
as though they had sent somebody near them. I caught
some mere Tarik and corn huddled together, whispering softly to
one another. When I approached, hearing words about leaving spoken,
they stood up straight and gave me a strange look
before moving quickly away. I also find that Blake tends
to stick close to me. Now. She says it's because
she feels safest with another from Britain, but I know
there's a deeper reason. She would not admit. Back in
the war, my sergeant had told me that paranoia is
one of the forces that whittle men down the quickest.
I do believe he is right. Tuesday, first of July
nineteen fifty two, we are trapped. During the night. I
awoke to hear a thunderous crashing sound, but in the
darkness know what it was. When daylight broke, we set
out for the steps down to the land rovers. We
found that during the night something had caused a large
section of them to give way. Whether it be a
crack in the rock which caused the landslide of some sort,
it doesn't matter. The section is too vast to be
able to safely jump down from a gap of over
two hundred feet, and without rope he couldn't climb down.
We are stuck hundreds of feet above the desert floor,
with no signs of people anywhere. Fortunately, Tarak informed us
through Samir that he believed, as a boy, he had
seen a way down further down the ridge. After a
quick deliberation, it was decided that Samir, along with Richtor,
would set out and try and find it. The weapons
we had brought were finally broken out from our supplies,
and the two men were given a pistol each along
with a small supply of extra ammunition and two torches.
They said they would attempt to return at nightfall if
they could not find a way down. It is dusk
now and they have not returned. I worry that they
might have slipped and fallen to their deaths, or worse,
may have successfully made it down and bolted well. I
may have worked with Rictor before and heard good things
about Sameir. In a situation like this, even the most
rational men can do the wrong things. I wait, I
thought I heard something. The silence has fallen again over
the fort. But for a second, as the wind had died,
I almost swore I heard a cracking sound in the
distance two three times, then nothing, but it sounded too
small to be gunshots. It can't have been. I hope
they come back soon. Wednesday, second of July nineteen fifty two,
Samir and Richter never returned. At dawn. I volunteered to
try and set out to find any trace of them.
Blake asked to accompany me, as did Corn, who said
if they were injured, they would need his training. So,
gathering the medical kit, we prepared to leave when Muratti
stopped us. I want you to take this, he said,
reaching into a supply bag. He withdrew the shotgun, when
I instantly recognized as a Winchester Model eighteen ninety seven,
handing it to me. He also pulled out a box
of shells and passed them to Blake, who placed them
in a pack. Be safe and God be with you,
he said. I nodded, and holding the gun tightly in
both hands, the three of us stepped out of the fort, and,
after locating two sets of footprints, set out following them.
None of us spoke a word as we followed the
trail along, occasionally having to navigate around boulders and passed
treacherous narrow paths in what I hoped would lead to
our compatriots, our friends. But as we continued on, the
footprints seemed to endlessly continue. I began to feel as
though we three had, like them, seemingly slipped into an
alternate reality where we would be trapped forever alone. That
was when we discovered the end of the tracks. I
don't mean to say that they led to a way down,
or even to the edge of the cliff. Rather, both
sets came to a halt in the middle of an
open space dominated by low hanging clif faces behind us. This,
this doesn't make any sense, Corn said, as he looked around.
Where the hell did they go? Neither of us could
answer him. But as I focused again on the tracks,
I noticed two small details I hadn't before, ones which
made my heart begin to beat quicker in my chest.
The first was that the footsteps, one so oddly and
in rhythm with one another, suddenly began to ratically dance
around each other, almost as if the men had begun
wildly spinning around, looking in all directions. The second was
the glint of brass I saw hidden among the sand.
I reached out with one hand, and brushing away the
top layer that had settled over it the night before,
found myself looking yet several spent bullet casings. There were
approximately three or four of them, all clumped together, as
if someone had emptied a revolver on the spot. I
picked one up, rolling it over in my fingers. The
beating sun made it almost too hot to handle, but
I could instantly tell they were fresh. Wariness and dread
began to gnaw at my insides. Something had happened here.
That was when I heard Blake gasp. Turning, I found
a staring at a section of wall behind and to
the left of us, a section which had been obscured
by an overhang before. Her face had gone as white
as a sheet and her eyes wide as saucers. With
a trembling hand, she pointed at something and moaned out
three words, Mother of God. A single smear of blood
ascended the rock face. It wasn't a lot, but it
was enough to spite my dread into full blown terror.
Quickly arching my neck, I could see where it led to,
but it was obvious that its owner had been dragged
upwards and in a violent manner. Instantly I raised the shotgun,
feeling my hands go cold, and Clammy, Blake and Corn
huddle behind me. As we looked around rapidly, both at
the overhang above us and farther down the path. All
I could hear was the whistle of the wind, nothing more,
and that fact alone terrified me to no end. That whistle,
that silence, it all seemed to hold her threatening edge
to it, now a prelude to something horrific to come.
I motioned silently for the others to begin to back
up behind me, alternating the shotgun's aim between the area
above us than in front of us, trying not to
make any noise. We slowly began to move back to
the fort. As we retreated, I swear I thought I
heard the small pitapatter sound of pebbles moving. I thought
I saw a slight blur of motion just beyond my
line of sight. My heart was raising in my chest,
and my mouth turned as dry as cotton. In my
time during the war, I'd bore witness to many horrific sights,
many atrocities. More than once I was sure I was
about to die, And I swear on my sister's soul
that I never felt as terrified as I did in
those moments, my hands holding the gun beginning to shake.
Despite feeling as though whatever had taken Samir and Richter
were lurking just beyond our field of view, we made
it back to the fort unharmed. As soon as we
were inside, I dropped the shotgun to the ground, and
I found what must have been the board to barricade
the doors. I picked it up and slammed it into
place in the large metal hooks. As I did so,
the others raced out from the water garden, demanding to
know why we were sealing them inside. Korin turned to
them as we finished, his eyes wild and face ashen
in the fading light. Because Samir and Richter are dead.
That's why his tone slammed the words home, and I
saw horrified looks cross everyone's faces, even Tarrex, even if
he couldn't understand us that well. Trying to remain calm,
I stepped forward, and with as much rational clarity as
I could, Muster explained in crystal clarity everything we had seen,
everything we had come across. As I finished, a deathly
silence settled over us. All. In those moments, all we
could hear was the wind, which had now risen from
a whistle into a howl. The sun was beginning to
set on the horizon, and it cast eerie shadows over
the fort's courtyard. Nobody dared speak as the implications of
our predicaments sunk in, until I began to hear a
low whine. For a moment, I was unable to discern
where it came from, but as I looked around, I
realized it was coming from Tarak. The Algerian looked, if possible,
petrified to death, and beyond his face held the expression
of one which had just had a death sentence passed on.
The wine intensified, and he suddenly began to babble, speaking
rapidly strings of sentences. I didn't understand what is he saying,
Tali demanded. Moretti, knowing a little Arabic, raised a hand
to silence him and stepped forward, asking a question to
the panicking man. In response, Tarek babbled some more at him,
and after a moment, I saw Moretti's brow furrow in confusion.
He asked another question and received another panicked response. Tally
stepped forward. What did he say? Please tell me? Moretti
continues to look at Tarak for a moment, then turned
towards us. I'm not sure, but I think he says
that they are in the mountains, They hunt in the mountains,
and they are wise. Father and grandfather warned him to
stay away from here. Suddenly, and without warning, Tarek turned
and bolted for the fort's living quarters. I saw Maretti
begin to take a step after him, but then stopped.
We watched as the man slammed his shoulder into the door,
rushing inside and slamming it shot behind him. Fortunately we
did not hear it lock. After a moment, Tali turned
back to us. He took a deep breath. Right, everyone,
we need a plan. The man's words seemed to bolster us,
and we quickly and quietly began talking among ourselves. We
decided he was no longer safe to stay outside, and
following Tarak's footsteps, we would shelter at night in the
living quarters, barricading ourselves inside. We would also try to
repair the broken radio to try and send a call
for help. Blake, in a to being an archaeologist, was
also proficient in repairing equipment. Our plans set in motion.
We grabbed our supplies from the tents and moved inside,
and now we all huddle trying to sleep in shifts
in one of the main bunk rooms. Blake sleeps beside me.
I can hear her uneasily rolling over. As I write,
Corn is doing the same a few cuts away. Sorry
to Moretti. Patrol the wholes of the building with two
of our four remaining guns. Tally holds onto the third,
and in the meantime, I've traded Moretti the shotgun for
a pistol of my own. I know I should try
to rest my own. Patrol shift will be in a
few hours, and yet I cannot. I feel as though
my dreams will be worse dreams seeing what happened to
Samir and Richter, seeing the dragged upwards to a fate,
I feel it is a blessing not to know, and
I'm terrified that if I close my eyes, I'll open
them to find something looking at me, half hidden in
the shadows from the dull light of the lamp over
our heads, ready to leap, and in my existence in
a blister of pain and horror. God, please save us. Thursday,
third of July nineteen fifty two, I write today with
what feels like for the first time in an eternity,
a shred of good news. Blake has given an initial
inspection of both the radio and telegraphs, and it's come
to the conclusion that while he will take a small
amount of time, the damage dealt to both is within
her means to repair. She told us that it will take,
with her combination of supplies found within the living quarters
and from our own bags, a maximum of two to
three days to get them back up to snuff. I
can also report that during Soren and Maretti's watch, as
well as accompanied by corn my own, we saw and
heard no trace of whatever lies out there. I hold
no delusions that they may have left, though all throughout
the night I could feel their eyes upon the fort,
especially when I passed the window. Several times I would
stop in front of them, swinging my head around and
squint into the blackness. Of course, I saw nothing, but
the hair that rose in my arms every single time
assured me that if the night were able to withdraw
and allow the secret it covers to be visible, I
would have borne witness to a sight both blood chilling
and macarb in its appearance. In the past, I often
wish that God had given us the night vision that
large predators were bestowed with, but now I'm beyond thankful
he did not. For the most part, we have remained
inside the living quarters, only venturing outside for brief periods
of time to fetch water from the water garden. The
fear and tension felt when doing so, though, is palpable
enough to slice with the bloody razor, especially as it
sits directly next to the main wall of the fort.
When it was my turn to refill our canteens, my
head swiveled around my neck, not unlike an owl's, turning
this way and that and feeling that if I allowed
even a second to glance away from a particular spot,
I would turn to find the last thing I would
ever see gazing into my eyes. Fortunately, due to the
material the fort was built with or its position against
the mountains, the interior remained relatively cool, even as the
noonday sun beat down to the point I could see,
both up close and in the distance, the air itself
shimmering from the temperature. I do have to mention one thing. Ever,
since Tarak fled inside the building the other day, he
refuses to try and help us in any way. When
asked by Moretti, all he would do is shake his
head and repeat the words he spoke to us the
other day, the words about the ones who live in
the mountains. Before retreating into a supply closet. He remains there,
only coming out briefly for food or water before returning
to it. One other important thing to note. As we
had some free time on our hands, I used it
to further explore the living quarters through a checking every
lock box in supply case for anything we could possibly use.
In most I found only medical supplies, and in the
upper levels of the building two cannons along with fuses, gunpowder,
and half a dozen cannon balls. However, as I further
explored the upper areas, I found a metal lock box that,
after breaking the h lock with the bottom my revolver,
held two flare pistols within. Each one has a single
flare already loaded inside, with no sign of additional flares nearby.
I showed them to Moretti and the others, who agreed
that they should be stowed away to be used if
any sign of life was spotted in the desert below.
These may be what end up saving our hides, Tally said.
The sun is setting now, and with the descent of
the orange, almost blood red sun over the horizon, it
feels like whatever say we felt in the daylight is
disappearing before my very eyes. I pray we make it
through the night. Friday, fourth of July nineteen fifty two.
The screams. I find it a struggle to put ink
to paper the abject horror and shock that I feel
this morning. But I must, if only to try and
help reserve the fleeting sanity that almost seems to precariously
cling to me. Last night, Soron and I were tasked
with taking the first watch patrolling the halls and rooms
until half past one in the morning, when we would
rouse and be relieved by Moretti and Koren. Sarren carried
the shotgun while I remained with my pistol. Slowly, silently,
we moved through the building, occasionally convening to confirm no
sign of trouble, and poking our heads into the bunk
room to check on the others. The only sound that
could be heard, aside from the whistling wind and creaking
of the ancient building, was the soft ticking of the
watch on my wrist, its unstoppable march, seeming to bring
a little comfort to me. That was when I heard it.
At first, I couldn't identify the sound. It was too
far off in the distance and too muffled to properly
make out. It barely carried on the wind, almost being
whisked away completely. But as the moments spilled over into minutes,
I realized that it was slowly growing louder, which meant
whenever it was, it was getting closer. Feeling my heart
begin to raise in my chest, I raised my revolver
and pulled back the hammer, my eyes straining to sea
in the darkness. The sound continued to increase in volume,
and for a moment I froze. For a moment I'd
almost recognized it. A shiver passed through me as I
gripped the window sill tightly in one hand, the other
shaking slightly as I aimed the gun into the black.
That was when a hand fell on my shoulder. I
nearly jumped out of my skin, whirling around a fine
sorens standing beside me, the shotgun raised toward the ceiling
in his free hand and an intense look upon his face.
He looked at me. I hear it too, he said, simply,
in response to my unspoken question. For another moment, the
two of us stood there, straining our ears as we
held by the window. The sound continued to grow nearer,
and I felt another shiver pass through me. I couldn't
understand why, but I almost swore I recognized the sound. Finally,
I whispered back to Saron, what is there? He remained
silent for another moment or so. Then I saw his
face go slightly pale in recognition, his expression changing from
stone to clearly unnerved screaming. There was another stretch of
silence between us as we both strained our ears. I
prayed for a moment that he was wrong, But as
the wind fell for a moment, I felt the blood
in my veins turned to ice as it came again clear.
This time it was indeed screaming. What's more, the sauce
was unmistakably human. I had heard far too many men
to count scream on the battlefield during the war. Heard
men shriek their last after they had stepped on a
land mine and lay blown apart and rapidly bleeding out
on the ground with it too dangerous to try and
retrieve them. I heard the screams of captured Germans and
the bunkers as operatives went to work extracting information on them.
These screams not only rivaled them, but surpassed them. They
were the most horrible, panicked, and pained sounds I had
ever heard a human being utter. It sounded nothing less
than if the screamer were being flayed alive, feeling every
single cut and peel of their skin, and then their terror.
I felt compounded as the second rose up a second scream,
one which rose and fell beside the first, occasionally overlapping it,
until it sounded as though we were hearing the damned
souls of hell itself crying out for release. His eyes
wide saw and turned to me and said only three words,
roused the others. Soon we were all standing by the window,
every expression a mirror of fear on the other as
we listened to the infernal sound that now almost sounded
as if it were coming from just beyond the sealed
front doors of the fort. Blake clasped a hand over
her mouth, closing her eyes and leaning against me. I
wrapped an arm protectively around her, pulling her close to me.
As I looked at the others. Karin looked as though
he were about to faint from terror. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
He breathed. I saw Tarie swallow hard. But it was
a look that swept across Maurette's face that drew my attention.
It was one of recognition. He fought to find his
voice for a moment, then softly spoke. His voice was
lost to the shrieks outside sameir. Everyone turned to look
at him. At this single word he uttered, I felt
a small wave of confusion wash over me. Then, if possible,
I saw Soren's face grow even paler than it already was.
God Almighty that is sameir and that other scream. I
remember how Ricty yelled as he broke his angle a
few years ago. That's him. Fresh ways of horror rolled
over us like the sea as the information sunk in.
I had been on the same expedition with the two
men when Richta had broken his ankle climbing a rock.
I prayed to the God. I hoped was listening that
they were wrong, But in my bones I knew they weren't.
I knew we were hearing the screams of our two
lost compatriots. Tally suddenly began to turn towards the stairs
to the lower floor, yanking his own pistol from his holster.
We have to help them, he yelled, beginning to sprint away.
Just as quickly, Sorron and Moretti began to chase after him,
telling him to wait, Still holding on to Blake, I
jerked my head for Carran to follow, and hurried after them.
When we descended the stairs, we found Soren restraining Tally,
his face enraged in the flickering light of the lamp above.
Like go of me, damn you, he yelled, attempting to
kick the larger man to free himself. Moretti leaned forward
towards him. Ucy brain, your stupid fool. There's a reason
why it's coming from just outside the fort. It They
whoever or whatever he's out there, wants us to go
out there. It's a trap. Tally kicked at Sorn again,
but this time it was weaker. I don't know that,
he protested. They could have fought their way back. Sorren
shook his head after what Liam and the others found. No,
they couldn't, especially not after two days. I'm sorry, mister Tally,
but Alessandro's right. They are counting on our emotions to
get the better of us. It's designed to lure us
out into the open. Tally closed his eyes and turned
his head away, almost in denial of what I had
realized was true myself. But I could see the words
sinking in. He slowly slumped Sorren, releasing the man and
allowing him to crumple to the ground, pulling his knees
towards him and wrapping his arms around them. Standing in
the narrow hall, we all listened to the screaming of
our two friends continue outside for a few minutes. Then,
as he began to feel as though the sounds would
drive us all mad. They Slowly he began to move away.
The screaming grew fainter, the sound of the wind beginning
to mask it again, until finally he couldn't hear it
at all. For a moment, nobody moved. I glanced at
my watch, seeing that it was a quarter to three
in the morning. I hadn't realized how long the terrifying
ordeal had really lasted. Finally, Tally stood up. He refused
to meet any other eyes, and slunk back upstairs. Karen
followed closely behind him. I felt a sense of worry
at what I saw in the second man's eyes. The
look was akin to one a cornered animal. Weares, and
revealed that he was close to the edge. Soon all
of us had returned to the upper levels, Moretti relieving
me of my watch and ordering me to try and rest.
But sleep is the last thing I feel I could
obtain right now, not when the horror of what we'd
experienced is still so fresh in my mind. Blake has
somehow managed to drift back off, though I can tell
her dreams at nightmares by how she moans and wriggles
and are caught, so I write, not knowing what else
to do. I pray for the rising sun to come
soon and banish away the small taste of hell that
I witnessed to night. One last thing I only noticed
once we returned from upstairs. But not once during the
entire ordeal did Tarrek join us. I only saw him
when we returned upstairs, peeking out from the closet to
stare at us with wide eyes. The look on his
face is when I remember well from the medical tents,
on the faces of wounded soldiers who knew they were
about to die. It was the look of a man
who was resigned himself to his fate. Saturday, fifth of
July nineteen fifty two, whatever lives in these god forsaken mountains,
it will not allow us to make a call for help.
Blake finished repairing both the radio and telegraphed today. For
a few moments, we clung to a tiny scrap of relief,
like a shipwrecked victim to a life ring. We crowded
around her as she began to send a distress call,
tuning to the proper frequency. Something answered us, but not
what we had hoped. Almost as soon as she hit
the transmit button, A sound spilled from the speakers. At
first it was too soft to make out, but soon
grew in intensity until we could clearly recognize it. Whisper voices,
dozens of them or more, all whispering in a language
none of us could ascertain or understand. It was not Arabic.
I doubt it a language any human has spoken in
a millennia, if ever at all. The sound made chill
after chill shoot up my spine. I could see horrified
looks in the other's faces. The whispering continued, soon joined
by screaming, and I swear I heard some Mirra and
Richter's screams among the others, the same screams we heard
the other night. Finally, the radio just seemed to die completely,
the glowing dial dimming to black. No matter how much
Blake fiddled with it, she couldn't get it to turn
on again. And no sooner had she turned to the telegraph,
using Morse code to type out an S O S,
than we received an answer far than anyone could possibly respond.
I remember the look of confusion on her face as
she reached out and pulled the small piece of paper
from the machine, raising it to her eyes and reading it.
When she lowered it, she looked to be on the
verge of tears. What does it say, Moretti asked her gently.
She took a moment before answering, swallowing hard, no saving.
I find myself terrified now, not just for my life,
but my very soul. Sunday, sixth of July nineteen fifty two,
Soren is gone. I was roused shortly before dawn by Moretti,
who gazed down at me with an expression which shocked me.
Throughout the entire ordeal, the man had attempted to remain calm.
Now as he pulled me to my feet, I found
myself staring at an almost panicked face. Trying to keep
his voice level. He explained that when he had not
seen Soren crossing his path after doing so thrice before,
he had gone looking for the man. He discovered the
shotgun leaning against the wall near one of the cannons,
with no sign of him at all. What's worse, as
there was not a single sign of a struggle. It
was as if it had been ambushed and simply lifted
up and out of the world, with neary a splash
of blood or a scream. He handed me the shotgun,
asking me to help secure the building with him. Quickly,
and with the worried eyes of the others turning on
us as they awoke, we swept through the living quarters,
our guns at the ready and eyes darting around. To
my dismay, we discovered that the door to the court
yard was still bolted from the inside, indicating that Siren
hadn't walked out, which meant whatever had happened to him
had happened in here. Every shadow cast by the flickering
candles and lamps now seemed threatening whatever safety we felt inside,
torn away like a favorite blanket from a child. I
wanted to say my eyes were playing tricks on me,
but I fear that as I moved through the living quarters,
my eyes occasionally would spy something moving swiftly and silently
among the rafters over our heads, only stopping for a
moment to watch us before darting out of sight. When
storm broke, and despite the door being locked, we left
the living quarters and moved out into the courtyard. We
still found no trace of the man, and the front
doors were still barricaded. We made a quick pass through
the armory, still finding nothing, before quickly stopping to refill
our canteens. While water is obviously not an issue, we
will soon begin running low on food. But I fear
it is not starvation that will be the end of us. Sunday,
sixth of July nineteen fifty two, A dendem. The scream
is back. There came just after nightfall. It is still
some here and read to screams, sounding almost exactly as before,
only now I hear sorens, deep cateuro cries among them. God,
I don't want to die here. I don't want my
fate to be whatever theirs are now. Monday, seventh of
July nineteen fifty two, Tarek is dead. At first, when
we awoke, nothing new seemed out of place. The same
creaking of the building could be heard, but nothing more
screamed of the change. Until I went to try and
bring the Algerians and water and food. I found the
door to the supply closets standing wide open, and when
I peered inside it was empty. Feeling tensions suddenly erupt
from my body, I turned and began calling for the man,
attracting the attention of Moretti and Tally, who were on
their patrols. Once I showed them the empty closet. The
three of us found out, all calling the man's name,
and Moretti calling out what had to be soothing words
in Arabic, but there was no response at all, aside
from the confused calls of Korin and Blake as they
awoke and joined us. That was when I saw the
open front door. The sight of the living room stoor
hanging wide open, gently waving in the breeze, and showing
the sand outside, the sun just beginning to spread across
it filled me with a sense of dread. Quickly I
called the others, and after a quick discussion, Moretti and
I moved outside. More tally closed and bolted the door
behind us. Me instantly spotted a set of footprints in
the sand, moving away from the building out into the
center of the courtyard. We followed them, seeing that they'd
stopped near the steps of the armory, as if the
man had contemplated running to it, before turning and headed
towards the front doors of the fort itself. Even from
here I could see the board had been pulled down
it now lay haphazardly on the ground, and one of
the great wooden doors had been pulled slightly open gripping
the shot un tightly. The two of us moved and
looked outside. Nothing moved in the stillness, and beside the wind,
no sound could be heard. I looked to him and
he gave a short nod before stepping outside. Instantly I
felt far more vulnerable with other buildings around me, just
as when I had gone looking for Samir and Richt.
My hands turned cold and clammy, and I nervously eyed
the still, shadowy areas around us. Every sense was unalert.
We followed the man's footprints as they continued forward, and
with a sinking feeling, I realized that they were heading
for the edge of the cliff. Moretti seemed to have
realized it as well, and I saw him intentively take
a few steps forward, putting one hand on the rickety
wooden rail and peering over the side. For a moment,
he said nothing, then he closed his eyes. What the hell?
Quickly I hurried to his side and looked over. A
small sense of vertigo overwhelmed me, and I felt dizzy
looking down at the straight drop. But I instantly spied
what the other man had seen. Tarrek's body lay far
below us. His arms and I explayed out in various directions,
bright crimson blood splashed out around his body. Even from
here I could tell he had not landed on the sand,
but had instead slammed into one of the boulders at
the base of the cliff. The man had jumped, only
taken his own life. I whispered a silent prayer for
the man, hoping that God would have mercy on him
for such a terrible sin. Then I looked at Moretti.
All he could do was shake his head as we
stood there attempting to process it all. The noise behind
us caused us to turn around the pit, batter of
sand and small loose rocks being shifted aside. Instantly, all
thoughts of Tarak vanished as the sensation of eyes on
us returned with a vengeance. Terror began coursing through my system,
and we aimed at just about everywhere possible. Nothing moved now,
but I knew he could feel us being observed being stalked.
Without delay, the two of us ran for the fort,
rushing inside and pushing the door closed before again setting
the barricade. Just as quickly as we moved to the
door to the living quarters, banging on it and yelling
to be let inside. To our relief, the door unbolted,
revealing the ashen face of Blake as she yanked the
door open. We hurried inside as she closed and redid
the lock. Before we could tell her what we had found,
she pointed back towards the hallway to the stairs. You
need to see this, she said, before leading the way
back towards the main bunk room. Moments later, we found
ourselves at the supply closet that Tarak had hidden in.
The Others crowded around it, and I noticed something I
hadn't before. In my haste to locate the man, I
hadn't noticed that using a small, sealed kind of black
paint and a brush which had been left inside, he
had written something hastily on the wall in Arabic. Dally
turned to Moretti, asking him if he could read it.
He stood in silence for a time, either unable or
unwilling to answer. Then he turned towards us, his face grim.
Roughly translated, it says that death is better than what
fate awaits those who are taken. It is dark now.
Night has fallen again, though mercifully the screaming is not returned.
All I can think as I sit here writing, is
that whatever lies out there, whatever watches us from the
shadows in here up in the rafters, that I now know,
isn't a trick of my eyes. It is slowly toying
with us and picking us off one by one. They
have taken our strongest members first, a strategic move that
reveals their intelligence, and drove possibly the only person in
our party with any knowledge about them, to the point
he chose to take his own life rather than face them.
Whenever they are they will not stop until we are
all dead. Tuesday, eighth of July nineteen fifty two, I
saw them. Dear, sweet merciful God, I wish I hadn't.
I wish I hadn't decided to take a torch with
me when I was roused by Tally to take a
second watch with Coran. I wish I'd ignored the urge
I'd had to turn and look out the window. I
wish so much, But if wishes were horses, it happened
just a little before four in the morning. I'd just
finished speaking briefly with Corn. Ever since yesterday I grow
more concerned for the medic. The man looked nearer and
nearer to insanity, and I fear with a loaded pistol
he may do something brash or violent if he snaps,
but he assured me that he was still her sane
as he could possibly be in such a situation. And
feeling somewhat relieved, I moved off to patrol the outer
hallways again. As I passed a window which looked out
over the courtyard, the ceaseless sensation of being watched suddenly spiked.
I felt the biggest shiver yet shoot up mysel, and
I reached down for my belt. I chosen to take
a torch with me to light up any dark corners.
I flicked it on, turning and aiming it out toward
the window, into the dark towards the armory, and I
saw it. It crouched almost felinelike on the roof of
the armory, arms and legs wrapped around a section of
stone for support. As my light fell upon it, it
looked towards me before quickly leaping out of sight, but
not before I had time to see the details. The
sunken eyes sunken so far back that it almost looked
as if it had none, the recessed nose almost entirely
erased from its face, the mouth filled with jagged, razor
sharp teeth I could easily tear a man apart. All
of this filled me with in existential horror I only
ever felt when hearing about hell during church sermons. It
was the one additional detail that slammed me like a
freight train, the torn, tattered, and decaying uniform that hung
of its emaciated body. It was a uniform I instantly
recognized I had seen an identical, albeit much more intact,
one on the corpse of the man in the armory jail,
the uniform won by the soldiers in the French Foreign
Legion during the First World War and into the nineteen thirties.
As my mind scrambled to process the information, another shape
darted in view of my torch beam, and this one
nearly caused me to scream, because it wore a different,
much fresher uniform, the same one that Richter had won
when he set off with Samir that day. It is
midday now as I write this, I've not told anybody
what I have seen. I know I must, and yet
I cannot. I cannot bear to share the horrible truth
that I now know what Tarek almost certainly knew and
what made him choose death by his own hand over it.
Even though I now know that none of us will
leave this mountain alive, I feel that it would be
too cruel for them to know those things out there.
They may have been hidden in this mountain for lord
knows how long. When the fort was first built centuries ago.
They may have watched as it was constructed with the
horrible part about them was that when they came for them,
the same as they came for the French soldiers stationed
here decades ago, as well as the rescue party, is
that they did not kill them. They did not devour them.
As horrific a fate as that might have been, it
would have been a mercy in comparison. They dragged them
off and they changed them. They somehow turned them into
more of their own. And they have done the same
thing to those of our team who they took samir,
Ricter and Soeign. That's why the screams we heard always
came back, because even though they're not the same men anymore,
they're not even human anymore. Their souls have been stripped away,
leaving what I can only describe as demons spewing from
the mouth of Hell itself to wear their bodies. They
still retain enough for their intelligence to know how to
lure others to them, like a dock hunter with a
call to draw their prey out into the open. Tally
says he wants to try and use one of the
flair pistols to signal anyone who might be nearby. I
haven't had the heart to tell him that even if
anyone human is nearby, they know better than to approach
this place. They know it is cursed. It is only
a matter of time before they for the rest of us,
God of Mercy, and all of our souls. Wednesday, ninth
of July nineteen fifty two, These will be the final words. However,
right the others are all gone, and I'm the only
one who remains. Night is coming fast, and if I
do not act quickly, I know they will return for
me as well. So even if nobody finds this journal
of mine, I feel I must put to paper how
it ended, if nothing more than to serve as a
warning for anyone who hears the tale of this accursed
place and finds themselves one part brave, two parts full
to try and reach it. What awoke us was not
the hellspawne that lay in wait for us. It was
the sound of arguing, of babbling, screams, and finally, the
sound of a weapon of some sort being dis charged.
I remember the look on Blake's face as she awoke,
looking at me with wide doll like eyes. I snatched
at the shotgun from beside me, seeing Maretti pulling his
pistol from his waistbend as he shot to his feet
in unison. We sprinted for the hallway outside the bunk room,
and we opened it. It was to a truly grisly sight.
Tally lay on his back on the floor. The shocked
look was permanently affixed to his face, his wide eyes
glassy and forever staring at the ceiling. The sparks from
the flare that had been shot into his mouth still
skewed from inside, the horrific smell of buying flesh filling
the hallway. Standing in front of him, still pointing the
flare gun was caring. When he turned towards us, I
instantly knew that the man had snapped. An insane grin
was plastered on his face, and his eyes flew about
in the sockets Instantly, Moretti and I raised their weapons,
but before anything could be done, Korin had shoved past
us and raced down the stairs. We heard him unbolt
the front door, and running to the windows, saw him
sprint across the courtyard to the armory, disappearing down the stairs.
A moment later we heard the faint sound of the
door slamming shut. Nobody could speak. When I turned back,
he was to find Blake standing over the body of
our sponsor, unable to stop crying. Quickly, I raced to
her and embraced her, allowing her tears to soak my shirt.
After a few minutes, her crying had reduced the sniffles,
and she pulled back, wiping her nose with her shirt sleeve.
I look to Moretti. The man looked beside himself with
shock and confusion. He hadn't realized how close to the
edge his medic had been. Then he regained his composure,
looking towards me with a steely edge in his eyes.
When he spoke, his voice was deadly, calm. We have
to go after him. I was unsure as to why,
after murdering our sponsor, the man wanted to pursue him,
whether for a twisted sort of retribution, or a sense
of duty to those under his leadership even in such
extreme cases. I'll never know, but I didn't dare argue
with him. I knelt down, gently, prying the pistol from
Telly's hand and trying not to look at his face.
Standing up, I handed it to her. Can you fire
a gun? She looked at me and nodded, after a moment,
nodding in return. I quickly retreated back to the bunk room,
picking up the pack with the still held shotgun shells
and slinging it over my shoulder, Returning at the others,
and together we headed downstairs and out the front door.
The wind howled as fiercely as a banshee as we
made our way across the courtyard, all three of our
guns shifting around aim I remembered what I had seen
the night before and felt my muscle's tents gaze shifting
to the tops of the ridges high above the fort.
I felt I would see the demons climbing quickly down
towards us. Thankfully, I saw nothing. Reaching the steps. We
descended to the front door of the armory and found
it unlocked. Stepping inside, the gloomy interior. We moved slowly,
occasionally calling out Koran's name. Not a soul answered, and
for a moment I wondered if the man had been
taken as well when his back was turned. After all,
we had barely explosed the building, choosing to huddle inside
the living quarters. As we rounded a corner, though, I
saw signs that it was still here. Barrels of gunpowder
lay on their sides, the black grains spilling out onto
the floor. A workbench had its tools scattered about. That
was when I noticed the hole in the floor, one
I hadn't seen previously. I would have ignored it completely
if it hadn't been for the sparkle that came from
something lying next to it. As we approached, I realized
it was a diamond, one of the largest I'd ever
seen in my life, and when I peered into the hole,
I couldn't help but feel my mouth drop open as
I saw precious gems and gold coins that filled the
entire hole, piled into what I could tell was a
hidden room below. The treasure had been real, even in
our predicament. The three of us couldn't help but look
at each other and laughed. Softly. Well, at least we
know that the stories of the treasure was true. Tally
was right, Blake said softly. For another moment, we stared,
and we slowly tore ourselves away from the treasure, moving
on and calling out Coran's name. Still nobody answered, and
I began to feel that we should simply leave the building.
As much as I understood to a degree Mourette's reasoning
this was being dangerously foolhardy. But I never had a
chance to voice my thoughts. As we rounded the final
corner to the jail, a shot rang out, the bullet
striking the wall, not a foot from Mourette's face. The
three of us leapt back, pressing up against the wall
for cover. Another shot rang out, then another, for a moment,
and eerie silence fell over the hall. Then I heard
Corn scream, the insanity audible in his voice, stay away,
I found the treasure. It's mine, mine, not yours. Mattie
chanced to look around the corner, snapping his head back
as the third shot rang out. His managed to get
the keys from the dead man in the cell and
locked himself inside, he told us, and he's got some
of the treasure. Scattered around him. He looked at us,
and I already knew what he would say before he
opened his mouth, scrim we have to go quickly. The
three of us back tracked through the armory to the
front door. We slipped outside and began to run across
toward the living quarters. They were waiting for us. We'd
barely made it halfway across the courtyard from what I
can only describe as a blur of motion flew down
from the window of the Living Quarters. I saw Maretti
look up at the shape rocketing towards him, screaming, saw
him raise his pistol to fire. He never even had
a chance to let off a single shot. The creature
slammed into him, knocking him to the ground and sending
the revolver tumbling from his fingers. The beast looked at me,
and with a horrified realization, I recognized the blue eyes
set deep in the already recessed sockets. Then gripping Marette's
shoulder with one of its clawed hands, it leapt off
the ground, pulling the screaming man with him as it
rapidly climbed the rock and out of sight. We had
no time to grieve or process any of it, because
the rest came for us. Everything blurred together in those moments,
much as it does in war when adrenaline and reflex
takes over. I cannot remember anything clearly, only faintly recall
the sounds of deafening gunshots as we fired at all
We could see the motion of reaching into the pack
for extra ammunition for Blake and myself, the sound of
the two of us shouting and screaming, and the pained,
enraged cries of the creatures as our shells and rounds
slammed home. I was dimly aware that we were moving
towards the water garden. Next thing I can recall is
the silence I found Blake and I slumped against the
wall near the fountain. She pulled me closer to her,
and she cup some water in her hands, using it
to sprinkle over my brow and drip into my mouth.
The refreshing, blessed liquid brought me back fully, and when
I asked what had happened, she told me after a time,
they had all retreated. None had died even after we
fired at them, but they still retreated. As I looked round,
wondering for a moment if we succeeded in frightening them off.
My eyes fell on a sight which wrenched whatever hope
I had left from my soul. The sun was beginning
to set in the sky. I instantly knew that the
only reason they had retreated was to wait until darkness
fell again. It had been a strategic move. They would
wait until night blinded us and they could still see perfectly,
and then they would come again, either to kill us
or drag us off like the others, like I'd seen
the best Sorn had done to Moretti, to make us
like them. In those moments, any remaining thoughts of surviving
fled from me. I said nothing, however, I climbed to
my feet, looking around. Then I looked down at Blake.
She gave me a strange smile. Even still, it made
her look beautiful. I smiled back. Finally, she sighed and
pushed the mousy hair behind her ear before looking up
at me. What do we do now? I didn't answer her. Instead,
I simply shook my head to indicate I didn't know.
I waited until she had lowered her head and closed
her eyes. Then, before she could open them again, I
swung the barrel of my shotgun and aimed. I find
a sort of peace in that she never knew what
was about to happen. And now that I am done
writing my account of all this, I have but one
thing left to do. I refuse to let the demons
change Blake into one of their own. As much as
I know, my soul is damned to hell for the
unforgivable sin I have committed against her, and it is
the same mercy I will give myself. I am going
to follow the same path that taraktuk. I will jump
from the cliff. I will face my own death at
the hands of the rocks below, rather than the fate
that has befallen the others. That is, beyond all shadow
of a doubt, her worse faith than any death imaginable.
I pray from my own soul, I pray for Blake's.
I pray for talies. I even pray for corns. I
hope that, like the soldier before him, it is thirst
or hunger that takes him. Please heed the dire warning
this journal contains. While there is treasure above, you do
not attempt to climb and retrieve it. You will not
live to spend a single bloody ship of it. The
beasts above have claimed it, and the fort is their own.
Let it be if you value not only your life,
but your humanity and very soul, For if you don't,
you will find yourself facing a fate that is more
horrific than written about in any tone. And please, if
you find this, get word back to my sister in
maiden Head. Tell her I'm sorry. God forgive me