In the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, on December 8th, 2021, Buck W. Curwen was arrested on charges of grave robbing, kidnapping, breaking and entering, destruction of property, assault, double homicide, and resisting arrest. Upon pleading guilty to all charges, he gave the following testimony to the court.
The ordeal began on the night of the third of December, three days after the funeral of my beloved wife, Nora, and eight since the day she was so brutally taken from me; from the hands of a vicious serial killer running rampant in the streets of that time. My mind was completely blank that night, and I was unable to sleep. As a means to remind myself of her, I went to her study to read through some documents she had left behind. You see, she had a hobby of researching the occult; a hobby so important to her that it often overshadowed her real job and in some cases replaced it as she sold articles about her findings to magazines and universities. I hadn’t gone into her study since the day she passed, unable to stomach the thought of it up until now.
When I turned on the light, I saw that the desk, which was almost always covered in papers, was completely clear of any documents, except for one large thick book in the dead center. The thing was closed shut with a small gold lock (though the key was placed parallel to the spine right next to it) and the cover was an old leather-like material with a large red symbol resembling a seven-pointed star with rings on each point, while the spine was held together by five metal rings. I thought back to the week before she was taken from me; that the door to her study was locked 24/7 and was only ever unlocked in the few seconds when Nora was leaving or entering. I also thought back to how she had acted before she died- very distant and uncharacteristically aloof, especially when leaving or entering the room. I know I should have been wary of this book and room in general, yet something compelled me to look into it. Some sort of pleasant, familiar, warm, feeling that made me feel at ease; like as if nothing bad had ever happened recently.
I took a deep breath and, almost automatically, like a sort of reflex, I took the key and smoothly slipped it into the lock and opened the book, another feeling a pleasure waving over me, though interrupted when my cat, rather Nora’s cat, Carter, appeared in the doorway hissed at me. I turned to the animal and tried to calm him, but he backed up again. I set the book on the ground, which only seemed to make him angrier as he sprinted away down the hall. I shrugged this off as a cat being weird, and picked up the book. The text was in some kind of language I didn’t recognize, and it was covered in sticky notes with translations, pronunciations, and latinizations. I mindlessly flipped through it and my legs, with almost no input from the soul, began wandering down the hall, scaring Carter off yet again. I kept walking until I flipped to the passage where the red string was placed upon. These pages had the most sticky notes, photos, and translations out of any page I had seen. I looked up to see that I was at the door to the basement.
The door was old and wooden, and cracks covered the frame. I opened it and descended the old flimsy stairs, each step creaking as I went. I felt around the walls for a light switch, but finding nothing, I went out to grab a flashlight and, when I returned, I found the rusted chain hanging from the one lone light bulb on the ceiling. I pulled it, which flickered several times until it revealed the interior of the cellar. It was made of concrete, unreasonably dusty, and every wall was home to either an empty wooden shelf or plastic box so old I didn’t even recognize its contents. Before I could do anything else, I was startled by an uneasy creak coming from behind me. I turned around to see Carter sitting on the top step, looking down at me with disapproval, his eyes almost glowing. It was then that I realized that I had no actual purpose for going to the basement other than because I felt like I should. The cat hissed and went back to the hall, disappearing behind the door.
I looked back at the book and, that comforting feeling returning to me, I folded up one of the sticky notes to see what was beneath it, revealing some kind of crystal, though its geometry was much more simple that any crystal I had ever seen. I looked back to one of the latinizations and saw one circled in red. I don’t fully remember what the passage said, though if I did, I certainly wouldn’t dare repeat it anyway. I carelessly read the text, struggling to pronounce everything correctly, but after getting halfway through, the light started to flicker and I heard Carter shriek from the other room. Ignoring it, I continued. After finishing the passage, the light went out. I pulled on the chain a couple times, though nothing happened. I shined my light across the cellar to see that nothing else had changed. I sighed, returned the book to Nora’s study, locked it, and went back to bed. It was only when I returned to bed when I actually began to think about what I had done and why I had done it. I couldn’t remember any reason for any of it, other than I guess curiosity, but other than that, my mind was drawing a complete blank. However, the second I thought about something else, I fell fast asleep and slept like a baby.
The next night, I was yet again unable to sleep. Not because of any bad feelings, however, but rather because I felt a strange vibration coming from within the house. I assumed it to be some kind of storm and tried to ignore it, but then an eerie, pulsating sound penetrated my ears and waved through my head, like if I was listening to music with stereo headphones on and the guitar sliding between channels. I tried to sleep through it, but I was finally stopped when the lights of my closed eyes got too unbearable and flashy to stand. I relented and crawled out of bed. I wandered the halls of my home looking for the origin of the vibrations and noises, following it to find where it got harder like a game of hotter-colder. I of course found the vibrations to be strongest at the door of the basement, where Carter was waiting. Flashlight in hand, I prepared myself for whatever could possibly be beyond that door. I took a deep breath and threw the open door, and instantly the noises and vibrations ceased. Everything was silent; even Carter kept quiet as he ran away. I shined my flashlight around, yet barely needed it given what was positioned in the middle of the floor.
Silently floating in the center of my basement, just below the lightbulb, was an ever-shifting 3D object, resembling the crystal I had seen in the book. The faces were folding and expanding on themselves and each other, though the overall body was always keeping a relatively uniform kite shape. I was entranced by the thing, as a light breeze sent dust slowly flying around, glistening like heavenly snow. I walked down the stairs, my eyes transfixed on the shape. The thing was ever-shifting, not only in shape, but also in color. It wildly shifted between blue and red, but it never passed through purple, pink, or green on its way between them. I stood closer to the thing as it floated there, and when I got close enough it shined brightly in my eyes, seemingly darkening the flashlight with it. I slowly and thoughtlessly placed my hand upon one of the thing’s surfaces, stopping the shifting dead in its tracks.
I know that you probably won’t believe what I have to say next, and I, quite frankly, understand exactly why. But nevertheless, I request that you at least hear me, as it is vital to my motives for what I am charged. I swear, under oath, that when I placed my hand on that thing, it glowed brightly and spoke to me. I remember it had the voice of neither a man nor a woman; that it could pass as one or the other or both. It spoke softly and slowly, like an AI from a science fiction movie. It spoke to me and greeted me with a calm and comforting “Hello, Mister Curwen.” Instinctively, I jerked back and stumbled to the ground and looked up at it in awe. It glowed again and whispered, “Be not afraid, Mister Curwen, for I know your sorrows and can help you overcome and reverse them.” I asked what it meant by reverse, yet I was met by a long pause, until it finally replied “I had spoken to Misses Nora Curwen frequently before. I too was saddened by her loss. I understand that you too have entered a deep sadness from the event, and I can work you through it. With your full cooperation, of course.”
“And by reverse, do you mean…” I suggested, of course believing that it implied some sort of resurrection.
The shape paused again, shifted some more and replied with a quote, though one I didn’t recognize. It said, “‘That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange eons even death may die.’” I knew that the thing meant resurrection and simply could not believe the thing. I felt I was either dreaming, hallucinating, or that the passage I read had brought some kind of specter forth. The shape seemed to know what I was feeling and stated, “I understand you don’t believe me, yet I know I can persuade you of the truth.”
Suddenly, all my senses stopped in an instant. I couldn’t see, hear, feel, taste, or smell anything. Before I could comprehend the fear of the darkness looming in every facet of my being, my senses were brought back in a wild explosion of incomprehensible sensations. My eyes were flashed by formless shifting masses of bright, wild colors swapping off between milliseconds. My ears were accosted by screeches of every pitch and tone, flying though each other and painfully overloading my ears. My tongue was met with a mix of every taste I had ever had, and my nose smelled a sharp cold essence that was neither good nor bad, as all over my body was sent an unbearable sensation of stinging and tingling. I held my hands to my eyes but couldn’t see them. I screamed for help, but couldn’t hear myself. As quick as it happened though, it was over, and the strangest was yet to come, as next I was sent flying through important historical events of varying meaning and importance, which I was able to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel entirely. First it was the Jews’ Exodus from Egypt, followed quickly by the Honnō-ji Incident of Japan, then the assassination of Rasputin, the Coronation of Charlemagne, the Cadaver Synod, the Watergate scandal, the death of Blackbeard, and dozens more things I couldn’t even recognize. I was finally thrusted back into my basement where I shakily struggled to get up from the shock of the bombardment of my senses. The incredible geometric creature asked, “Now do you see? Do you see what I can create from none but the dust of this room?”
“What are you?” I stuttered, attempting to stand, though I collapsed to the ground and fell with my hands behind my torso.
“An angel of life, of death, and of all that which lies between.” It calmly replied, “I called you to the book through the power of a lover’s grief, and now I have brought myself to you, and I wish to help you get back what was so cruelly and viciously taken from you.”
“What must I do?” I asked, crawling towards the crystal like an idiot.
“Blood, Mister Curwen, blood.” It replied, its tone ever constant. “I know how it sounds, yet I need you to trust me.” I paused and stared blankly at the thing. Seeing my horror, it continued, “Your wife knew the inner workings of death and life, and for it she has been marked for the capacity of returning. You should be thankful, as very few ever get such a chance to see their beloveds again.”
“What do you mean by… blood?” I asked, standing up and stepping back.
“Three kinds,” it replied, “First the blood of one she loved, then the blood of one for why she died, and finally the blood of the one to which she was to be eternally bound. You’re lucky to have all three at your disposal.”
“At my disposal?” I asked.
Ignoring my question, the crystal glowed with a cyan hue and continued, “First the blood of what she loved.” I couldn’t understand what it meant by that, until a sensation ran through my brain and down my spine as I heard a sound from the floor above. It was the sounds of pans crashing against each other followed by a loud hiss- Carter’s hiss. I looked back at the thing in fear and, understanding me, it added, “Is it not a worthwhile sacrifice? Isn’t Nora worth infinitely more than the creature?” I swallowed my fears and, being led by that feeling again, ascended the stairs to the base floor. I slowly stepped into the kitchen, where Carter was, crawling backwards at the same speed as I was approaching and hissing wildly until he was backed into a corner. I took a deep breath and picked up the cat, and despite its protests and my own, returned to the cellar and coldly placed him down on the floor in front of the crystal. The cat crouched into a pouncing position and hissed. I looked away and begged the thing to do what it was to do.
After no response, I looked back to see the cat and crystal staying exactly where they were before, with no change. The thing stated, “I am not in enough power to do it myself, Mister Curwen. I’m afraid that you will have to do it.” It shined a light towards an old hand saw covered in dust sitting on a wooden shelf. I attempted to protest, but it convinced me by reminding me of how much my dear Nora meant to me, and how she would be worth billions of Carter’s. I took another deep breath and retrieved the saw. The handle was a little cracked, and I had to wipe the dust off with my shirt. Once again I felt that familiar, warm feeling calling me towards my Nora’s cat. I crouched down to Carter’s level and held him still as I took a deep inhale and, as the poor thing clawed and hissed, I closed my eyes and held the saw to his side. Ignoring the pain of the scratches and the undeniable sadness of Carter’s cries, I sharply exhaled and cut his side, blood spilling out. I instantly let go as the cat sprinted away and hid under a wooden shelf. I saw the crystal glow a brighter blue, which shifted into white, and then took over my entire vision as I passed out there on the cold, dirty, unforgiving concrete floor.
After a dark, dreamless sleep, I woke up hours later, just before sunrise, to see that the crystal had vanished. Seeing that Carter was still lying beneath the shelf, I stumbled upwards and inspected the cat. The poor creature was dead; he bled out while I was unconscious. I reflected on how that was the only true living tie I still had to my beloved Nora, but a small voice in the back of my head reminded me not to take my eye off the ball. Being that the day was Saturday, and I thus didn’t have to go to work, I spent the rest of my day burying the cat in the backyard. I returned to the basement and noticed that all the blood was gone. Curious and angry, I went to Nora’s old study and reopened the book, reading through some of Nora’s old notes. The pages declared that the crystal, which was confirmed as an angel, was named “Musca.” I also noticed that the pages following Musca’s entry had little to no notes on the pages. I spent the rest of the day trying to make sense of the notes, but Nora’s admittedly poor handwriting and intellectual language made it difficult.
I was taken from the book around sunset, when I heard a large thunder-esque sound. I naturally expected it to have come from the basement and, to no surprise, I was correct. As I stepped towards the door, the sounds continued to play louder and louder until when I opened the door, they once again stopped. When I descended the stairs, I saw that the crystallic thing, Musca, was back. It was still shifting, only now in a much cleaner and orderly manner. It was no longer shifting from red to blue, just from red to light red, and a small angular groove opened up near the upper third, where the shape was the widest.
“Hello again, Mister Curwen.” It greeted.
I ignored my doubts, as I had decided to go all in with this thing. Rather than ask any of the questions barreling through my head, I simply asked “What next?”
“The blood of one for why she died.” It answered, “She was murdered, correct?”
“That’s.. That’s right…” I stuttered, “But I don’t even know who- the police don’t even have a suspect!”
“Have you forgotten what I am capable of?” Musca responded, “Do you not remember what I showed you only one day ago? I can show you who.”
“Who… killed her?” I asked, “Would I have to get his…”
“Yes.” it answered, “But remember- he has been rampaging for months now; it would be a favor to the world, to the police, to Nora, and of course to you, Mister Curwen.”
“That’s… true…” I sighed, “But I don’t even have the slightest inkling of where he is!”
It said, “That is true, right now. But it won’t be for long.” And before I knew it, a splitting pain was running through my forehead. I fell to the ground again, grasping my head as I cried out in pain. I felt something open up; something that felt both large and small- it slowly and painfully ripped my skin open, as bits of flesh cleared around the slit’s opening; forming some kind of new orifice. As its growth was ceasing, I felt it cover itself up in a new fold of skin awfully sealing the hole. As I desperately tried to recover from the pain, I felt it open and close quickly, as if it was blinking on its own, and with each opening, an unrecognized fluid faintly leaked out and across the rest of my forehead. I attempted to touch it, first when it was closed, where it felt like a massive, wet raisin. I then touched it as it was opened, sending a splitting, burning sensation through the new appendage. Despite barely getting a feel of it, I could feel some sort of wet, spherical, object there slowly moving around like, once again, an eye. I rushed upstairs to investigate it; my forehead sealing even more as I ran up the stairs. I finally stumbled into the bathroom, where my reflection looked mostly normal, if not a little sweaty. I felt a little relief, until I subconsciously opened the new orifice- revealing a sideways, massive eye- at least twice the size as my other eyes. The iris was looking around constantly, never focussing on one particular area, and it was of a green-ish yellow color, even though mine were blue, and the sclera appeared agitated and its capillaries were more visible and throbbing harder than they should. Frozen from shock, I simply stared at the thing as it closed once, setting my forehead back to normal, then opened again, looked around some more, and sealed once more.
I collected myself enough to run downstairs and demand to know what it was about; and each blink of my normal eyes I had on the way there was not of darkness, but instead looked more like security footage from a bank or something. When I made it to the basement, before I could even demand an explanation, Musca said “Fear not, Mister Curwen, for the eye in your forehead is not permanent. It will be removed when the objective is complete, and its purpose is no more. If you concentrate and close both of your normal eyes, you may be able to see why I granted it to you.” I did as it said, and my vision once again looked like security footage, only it was a lot clearer, and instead of being fixed in one area, it was following one man: a short, blonde, bearded man with a black coat. Musca continued, “That man is Obed West. He is responsible for what happened to Nora, Mister Curwen. He is the very same man whom the police have been looking for so fruitlessly. What this eye will provide is a full-time view of everything he does from now on for as long as he lives.”
“As long as he lives…” I noted, “Meaning I’m going to need to… get him?”
“Yes.” It replied.
“Okay,” I accepted, “If it means taking one more monster off the streets, and bringing Nora back, then I’ll do it. Just tell me how.”
“You will have to wait, Mister Curwen.” Musca stated, “To know where he lives, and when he is alone, and when you can strike. But we can do that tomorrow. For now, get some sleep, Mister Curwen. You need it.” I followed Musca’s advice and went to bed. I was unable to sleep with the thought of having to kill a man ever spinning in my head, until that feeling returned and I fell instantly asleep.
The next day was filled almost exclusively with me watching the day of Obed West. I watched him leave his home, wrote down his address, watched him go to work, wrote down what friends or plans he had for that night (none), watched him stare blankly at people like the psychopath he was, watched him pick up tools for what purpose I could never understand. After the sun had set again, I found a gun, steak knife, pair of gloves, eyedropper, sponge, and plastic container from my house. Hiding them all in either a bag or in my coat, I went to his home. Using both my main pair of eyes and my third, I was able to sneak there without being spotted. I felt no remorse for what I was about to do, nor do I feel any remorse after the fact. He got what he deserved, and I did the world a favor. That lobotomite psychopath was a stain on the people of this town, and his abhorrent misdeeds were taking others along down to the cold endless abyss where he is sure to burn for all eternity. I broke into that creature’s dark fortress by distracting him at a window with a rock, using my third eye to make sure he was occupied, and then messing with the window from the outside until I managed to get it open and crawl inside. I snuck up behind him and, as soon as I could, shot him in the shoulder, which sent the freak falling to the ground.
I can’t fully remember what I did to him from there, but I do know that I was unloading all my anger and stress upon him in the form of furious rants. Also, I had shot him at least twice more times and, keeping the lunatic alive, stabbed him repeatedly in the face, arms, legs, and stomach; his hot red blood exploding out at incredible rates like geysers and splashing all over my arms and face until he was finally dead. Ending the life of this horrid beast was an exhilarating feeling; one that forced me to take a break from my stabbing and rest in the puddle of blood I had created. Thoughtlessly, I tried to wipe my face clean of blood, yet my hands were bloodier than my face, and I only spread the blood, shreds of skin, and tiny shards of bone further across my face. After I had taken my break, I got to work. I tried to collect some blood with a sponge, yet much of it had dried off and the rest wasn’t absorbing well into the sponge, and after barely getting any into my plastic container, the sponge had been ruined. That plan had failed, so instead I got the eyedropper out and tried to squeeze it through some of the wounds, having the peel off more bits of flesh to widen the holes. Unfortunately, I widened one of the holes too far, which caused piles of viscera and chopped bits of organs to slip out and get in my way, so I had to clear those away with the tip of the eyedropper. I inserted the eyedropper into the slit and tried to collect some blood, but the heart had stopped pumping, and some chunks of tissue were clogging the eyedropper, so no blood was being collected.
Running out of options, I tried to think up a new plan. I remembered that blood was mostly stored in the spleen, and after an internet search, I found that it was located in the lower left rib cage. Taking another deep breath, I picked up my knife and removed Obed’s shirt. I felt around for where the rib cage was, and thrust my knife directly into the groove beneath the chest. Maneuvering the knife around the ribs, I slowly cut out a large portion of tough flesh out of the body until I could see where the spleen was. I reached my hand into the opening, tightly held some of the ribs, and pulled as hard as I could, yelling no results. I positioned my foot against West’s side and tried again, but I slipped in the blood and lost my grip. After another failed attempt, I positioned Obed’s body up against a door sideways; his back parallel to the wall. I got a washcloth out of a drawer, which I cut thinner and tied around the ribs. I tightly held the washcloth, pressed one foot against the corpse’s stomach, set the other firmly on the floor, and pulled as hard as I could. Finally, I tore the ribs out and fell backwards with them. I ran back to the body and dug around the new hole for the spleen. Making sure the vein and artery were still connected, I gently set the spleen down in the plastic container and cut it open, blood spilling out to my delight.
As all the commotion of retrieving the spleen was distracting me, I hadn’t even noticed that my third eye had permanently sealed. On edge and shivering, I quickly went home whilst concealing all my illegal evidence, desperately hoping that the blood would disappear like Carter’s had. Tiredly, I took the container with the mutilated spleen and blood downstairs for Musca. I opened it up and slid it beneath the tail of its kite-shape. “Thank you, Mister Curwen.” It whispered, as the blood drained from the container and flew all around the shape as some kind of vapor and whirled into the shifting crevices of Musca’s body, “You have done well; Nora will be returned to life very, very, soon.” I dumbfoundedly watched as it seemed to grow three pairs of dark gray raven wings, all flapping and merging between and inside of each other. It continued, “Now get some rest, Mister Curwen. You have earned it. Goodnight.” And after a flash of light of Musca sliding back into itself, I sighed and robotically went to bed, sleeping like a baby.
The next day, I had to call off work as I was far too excited for the upcoming return of my beloved Nora to go. I spent the entire day sitting in the cellar, flipping through the book and waiting for Musca’s arrival. I could barely pay attention to what the book said, as I was far too excited for its return. Upon waiting several hours, I checked my phone to see that the sun had set, and I looked up to see a shining red line floating in the middle of the room. The line expanded into a 2D kite shape, then into a more 3D shape, no longer shifting. Then followed the wings, which were flapping like normal instead of phasing through each other like before. Finally, the wide part of the front side folded open, and an uncharacteristically non-angled slit was beneath the groove. The slit opened up to reveal a gigantic eye with a blue pupil and pulsating capillaries. “Hello again, Mister Curwen.” it greeted, “Shall we get started?”
“Of course; the blood of the eternally bound!” I replied, “My own, right?”
“Not necessarily-” Musca noted, “Though the two of you pledged yourselves to each other for eternity, you weren’t the first to do so, correct? She had been wed once already, and even though the two had divorced their love, their souls are still to be bound.”
“So then, it’s not my blood you need,” I realized, “you need Walter Legrasse’s…” I reflected back on Nora’s funeral, where Nora’s ex-husband, Walter Legrasse, had visited. The two had split up not because of anything all too bad or because they hated each other, but instead because they had simply gone through everything too fast and weren’t romantically compatible. I met Legrasse at the funeral, and he was a pretty good guy. A little distant, but that was understandable given that his friend and former wife had passed. I was concerned about getting his blood, but I thought back to what had happened with the cat, who really didn’t need to die in order to get the blood. I decided that, if I could only get him here and explain everything, he would understand and be onboard for everything.
Musca continued, “He has returned home to Boston. You’re going to have to call him over. Tell him that you are in distress again over Nora’s passing, and that you need his help because he is already knowledgeable of the experience of having lost her.”
I quickly pulled out my phone and stumbled with it to get to Walter’s number, which I had picked up at the funeral. I don’t fully remember what I said in the call, but it doesn’t really matter. I told him I was in distress and I needed to speak with him in person. He believed me and agreed to meet up the next day at my home after he was done with work. At night. Alone. With me.
After the call was concluded, I looked up to see Musca, who was previously unable to display any kind of emotion, give some sort of happy or smug expression; one that made me feel uneasy at first, but then that emotion was swept away when the calming, soothing, warm, feeling that had become so familiar to me returned and made me feel much better. It also subconsciously told me about the final thing I needed, other than Walter’s blood. Excited for the next day, I gleefully went to bed, and when I woke up late the next day, I didn’t even bother telling my boss that I couldn’t come in to work, as I had much better things to do. I had to retrieve Nora’s body. She had been stabbed in the stomach and bled out, so I believed that the body could be put back together to its original state fairly well. I picked up some amateur sewing equipment to make for a temporary seal on the wound, and not too long before Legrasse was supposed to arrive, I made a quick stop at the local cemetery.
I snuck a shovel in via a trenchcoat and, carrying a wheeling cart and Christmas tree box, snuck out to Nora’s grave. Making sure the coast was clear, I got to work and dug nonstop for so long I couldn’t even remember when I started. Eventually, followed only after practically drowning in dirt and my own sweat, I made it to the coffin. Getting it open was difficult, but I managed. I retrieved the beautiful Nora’s body, pausing as I reflected at how important this was to be, and how much I had missed her since her passing. I looked up at the stars, closed my eyes, smiled, and sighed a breath of relief. I took the body out and got it into the Christmas tree box, which I in turn set upon the wheeled cart. I didn’t have time to refill the hole, as not only was Walter about to get to my house, but I also saw an old man getting out of the church not too far away, but still far enough so that he couldn’t see my face, who simply stared as I stared back. Instinctively, I wheeled the cart away as fast as I could, though looking back now I can see how foolish that was, and that it likely made myself seem even more suspicious. The old man yelled something and got his phone out of his pocket as I tried to get Nora’s body in the trunk, having to ditch the shovel and cart. I drove off, just hoping that I would be able to complete the ritual in time, and praying that the police would just believe me.
When I sped back to my home, thankfully with no police nearby, I saw that Walter Legrasse was already at my door. He ran over to my car to ask if I was alright, seeing me covered in dirt and sweat, but I simply demanded he help me get the box out of the trunk. Luckily he couldn’t see what was inside of the box, so he helped me get it inside. Together, we took it to the cellar (wherein I had placed a knife previously) and placed it in the middle of the floor. He asked me what was going on and I desperately tried to explain the situation to him. He didn’t say a word in response. He simply paused, looked down, then slowly turned down to the box. He moved his hand to the loose flap of the box, took a deep breath, and opened the top. He saw the body and jumped backwards. He turned to me and said, “Buck, please. I know you miss her, but you need real help! This is too far! Please turn yourself in, or I will.”
“NO! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! You don’t understand! Just please, all I need is some of your blood!” I begged, “Then you’ll see!”
“Buck, please!” Walter pleaded, backing up the stairs, “You’re not thinking straight. You’re under a lot of stress; it’s understandable, but you can’t release it like this!” I saw him try to hide his hand as he got his phone out and opened the calling app. I lunged for his hand and tried to wrestle the phone out of his hand, but he pushed me away and I tripped down the stairs. I helplessly laid on the hard concrete as I watched Legrasse call 9-1-1. He told them where he was, who he was, who I was, and a summary of everything I told him. As tears were rolling down my face, I stumbled to my feet and ran to get the knife. I ran at him and tried to just cut his leg, but he ran up the stairs to escape.
I grabbed his arm and pulled him back down, but I pulled him into myself and we both fell down the stairs. I tried to keep my arm steady so as to not lose the knife and hurt myself. I tried to stab Walter’s arm, but he slipped out of my grasp and stood to his feet. I too shot to my feet and held the knife to him and begged for his understanding. He just continued backing up, begging for his life, and holding up his hands to hide his vitals. Seeing this as an opportunity, I tried to get blood by harmlessly slashing his palm. But tragically, as my heart was pounding, as I was lunging, as his hands were waiving, and as he was walking backwards, my knife slipped across his left hand and directly into his throat. We both stood there, shocked, as blood sprayed from his throat and covered me, Nora’s body, and the floor. He collapsed into my arms, cold and dead, while I slid to my knees and cried into the blood spray, which got smaller and smaller until the blood stopped pumping and nothing came out. Tears running down my face, I dropped Walter’s body and looked towards Nora. I wiped my tears with a part of my shirt that was still dry and laid Nora’s body out on the ground. I sat next to her head, book in hand, and watched as Musca returned.
It was no longer glowing, and instead looked like a dark red mineral. I was barely paying attention to its words at this point, but I understood that it was happy for me, yet sorry over Walter’s passing. It demanded me to read off the next incantation, which I did without question. As I read it, the now changed lightbulb flickered wildly, a whirlpool of wind sent dust flying everywhere, flies flew out from seemingly nowhere, and to my delight, Nora’s body began twitching. When I finally finished reading off the text, Nora slowly and inhumanly stood up, arms drooping, and head tilted back. I started crying again, this time tears of joy as I shouted the final lines as loud as my lungs could allow. Musca glowed once more, brightly flashing as its eye shined brightly and its pupil looked around wildly. Once I finished reading, I dropped the book and stood up to embrace my lost beloved, but once I tried to wrap my arms around her, my hopes were dashed against the rocks, as every part of her body seemed to fall off one after another and her body was destroyed in my grasp, reduced to tiny, non-bleeding, non-breathing, non-living, pieces laying in my arms as I fell to my knees, my tears of joy shifting to tears of sadness, of grief, of anger, of betrayal, of exhaustion, and of shock, the room returning to normal around me, with only the flies as companions.
I looked up at Musca, the treacherous demon floating indifferent in my basement, and screamed at it for answers, demanding it to explain all of its lies. “I would never lie, Mister Curwen. Lying is the tool of only the ignorant and uneducated deceivers. A true deceiver would never have to lie to get what they want” It defensively declared, not even trying to hide its true intentions, while its body continued to change rapidly and dozens of flies began flying out of its tear ducts and swarming around the confines of the basement, “I didn’t lie about my origins- I am an angel who used to converse with Misses Nora Curwen. Though I never told you the full story: I am more of what you would call a demon, or fallen angel, and my meetings with Misses Curwen were not of the friendly nature. The entire process I had you perform was the correct procedure, and it did indeed bring Nora back, though certainly not as much as you would have wished, nor for as long. You see, Mister Curwen, I am no demon of lies. I am a demon of truth- the truth that you will never know, yet the truth that you must always accept.”
As Musca uttered those final words, the flies had already covered all of the walls and were crawling all over the two tragically deceased bodies, as well as my confused, motionless face; some even crawling over my eyes or flying into my agape mouth. I closed my eyes, put my head in my hands, and tried to cry, though nothing came out. From upstairs I heard a loud bang on the door, followed by the police yelling for me to open the door. I calmly stood up and, having nothing left, opened the door to meet my fate with the police.
Credit: Chase JW Docter
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