The Portal - IX

Part 1

“Fiends and apparitions will be my slaves with the ascension to higher realms. I simply hope I can be humble enough not to destroy them all in my wake. This power I intend to wield will be immense. Perhaps I will need to train myself to be a merciful god.”

Coming across the old book was simple, trivial even for the young Matthew Darrows. All he needed to do was write a few letters, express some concern for the health of his aged grandmother to her allies of old, and wait for the visitors to arrive. The first to come was the relative of a Doctor Starcross that had treated his grandmother in her youth. This nephew, not ten years older than Matthew, came bearing gifts a plenty in the name of old bonds.

                “I do wish she gets better. I had hoped to meet her once more before the end but as I must be short in my visit I cannot take the time to stop in properly. Please take these things you have requested on her behalf. Let us know if there is anything else she needs.” The young man gave Matthew a stack of papers and notes handed down from his great uncle tied with a piece of twine. The request that Matthew sent away was for any relics or notes about the creature that had haunted his grandmother in her youth as a way to assuage her mind in her final days. In reality Amelia Darrows was quite well when the letters were sent abroad and she herself was abroad in meetings with others she had become acquainted with in years of learning of and speaking about the occult.

                This level of acquaintance with the dark world of eldritch knowledge gave Matthew an in when he decided he wanted to delve deeper into his grandmother’s world. She was very abrasive when it came to questions of her flights out of the country and was very hush-hush about her time away only ever sharing inklings with her family as to her travels. Matthew heard whispers behind closed doors about dark machinations in distant regions and the attempts to quell such devices from coming to a fruition of mal intent. The words would have sent shock to any normal listener, shying them away from what they heard and hoping that a world such as described was only in talk and not in reality. But Matthew was not one to shy away from the dark and mysterious. His penchant for curiosity had gotten him into trouble but now he felt this world he had stumbled upon one dark night while spying on his grandmother speaking to someone in her study would be the key to his future.

                So, one week when his grandmother was away he decided he’d write a few letters to a list of names he found in his grandmothers desk drawer. A list of colleagues in the world of occult reformation and extinction. His words, for a young boy of twelve were distinguished enough to feign reality of his claims yet still amateur enough as not to come off as arrogant. He wrote to some that his grandmother needed help with a certain case of malcontents in North Umbridge, or that she had heard tales of dark cycles in the west past Greenwich that needed quelling. He was also smart enough to give a plausible reason for his asking for their notes instead of her stating that she had made him a helper and was tasked with sending correspondence out. He thought of calling upon her old age for all the inquiries but limited it to a few. Saying such words as “she is growing ill in her time” or “not many years left for my dear grandmother, yet she still wants to keep up the fight”.

                After the young Starcross came to call, Matthew received responses to a number of letters, all expressing concern, well wishing, a congratulations to his induction into the union of cult fighters, and some leads on information to help with the problems he had laid out. He wanted so much to fall upon some dark piece of information that would lead him to some sort of dark salvation. The words he had heard spoken of occult rituals and practices for power made his blood rush to his extremities in excitement for the possibilities. His wish would be granted on August 18^th, 1898.

                A package arrived by post of a heavy book wrapped in newspapers and stamped with a crude language that Matthew couldn’t discern. The melting from rain and rough handling destroyed most of the writing but with close examination he discerned it as Arabic. He was not knowledgeable in such things but took the package all the same quietly to his room. With it was contained a letter responding to an inquiry he had sent years before when he had started his inquest. The package was sent from a Mr. Harrison, a colleague of the union, that had been traveling abroad for years, he states, before finally arriving home to receive the letter. He expressed that he hoped he was not late in his reply and that the text enclosed would be beneficial. The book, some ancient forging of arcane knowledge and mysticism, as Harrison put it, fell into his lap while digging up information in the Sahara about malignant occult groups sowing seeds in the desert hovels of nomads. The book to him had no name but he felt that firstly it would be better kept in the illustrious hands of Amelia Darrows in her lockbox of trinkets, and secondly that if it could be deciphered it might be an end all be all for their group. With a cheers he signed off to keep fighting the good fight.

                Matthew, holding the book in his hands, felt his heart beating out of his chest. Here it was, finally after years of attempts and spying for secrets he had his reward. He planned on deciphering the text right then and there but a knock came at his door and he swiftly tossed the old book under his bed. At the door stood his grandmother’s steward, Mr. Lovell, who whisked the boy to her study in the large house. Amelia, now much older, almost one hundred years old, beckons the boy over as she sits before the firelight. He can barely contain his excitement for the path that lays before him. Oh the pleasures he will reap, the rewards! He tries to calm his breath as best he can when Amelia speaks to him.

                She tells him once more of the dark world that exists outside our comforts. She has never spoken about her clandestine meetings, or the work she has done, so to her it must seem simply as a grandmother shedding one more ounce of light on her grandson. While Matthew stands there in full knowledge of her accomplishments, her deeds, and her work. She tells him to be very afraid of the dark and to never give in:

                “For the powers we wish to wield are greater than we can comprehend and will destroy us like a match destroys a straw house. Fast and with purpose.”

                These final words before Matthew left the room never to see his grandmother in the living again, as she died in that very same chair not twenty minutes later, sent a shiver down his spine. Had she known what had come? What Matthew had been attempting to do all these years? Surely not. If she had he would have been accosted, thrown out, reprimanded, if not for the truth of his thoughts, but for the letter writing at the very least. No, Matthew thought, she can’t know.

                He stole away to his room and retrieved the book from under the cover of shadow and flipped through the waxy worn and tattered pages. He would have to learn a new language, he would have to spend years, he would have to delve deeper into this world of the arcane to succeed. To achieve his goal of power.

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