Anthropology Lessons By Night - Part 2
Posted by Marchio Naberius | Posted in horror story | Posted on 10:26 AM
His body has been repatriated a month after the last record and the autopsy report was filed confidential the moment his legs, before him, landed in...
At first I was hysterically confused by the terrible new.
The funerals were sober and accompanied by federal agents who ensured that the coffin stays closed until completely buried. Fairly common, isn't it? I tried to discover why he went there by turning his office upside down, but someone already did. I tried to get his autopsy report illegally but the report was missing. I asked his wife but she had no clue herself. I wandered night and day at the very edge of madness to find a way to know what happened to this man. After two long years of relentless juridical, illegal, violent, or peaceful attempts to quench my thirst for knowledge, I attempted the unholy and unforgivable.
In a grim and desperate determination, I decided to dig up the grave of my very special friend. I remember that night perfectly. I took my coat, my shovel and walked in the night silently. Unburying him was the only decent thought I had in a while and knowing that, a strange serenity soothed my torments. It was the only and inexorable way. I knew God could be wrathful, but you know... he forgives everything, I hoped that tomb robbery was in the long list of things He could forgive. The one thing I knew is that if the truth were to come out, his family would probably not understand, for they were done mourning him...
I managed to enter the graveyard on that decisive and ghastly night and headed to my friend's tomb. I remember that iron fence creaking in a dark complaint as I started to dig. After 5 hours of relentless digging I finally managed to uncover the coffin enough to allow me to open it. Covered in sweat and my heart menacing to break apart, I pulled the cover and saw the poor remains of M. Vimont. He was deeply rotten, but that is normal indeed. His jaw was extended and weirdly shaped to allow some kind of teeth mutation I can hardly explain or describe. But of what I reckon among all his blood tainted clothes that were ripped close to his neck. I think he was still alive when they entombed him for the lid of the coffin was covered in scratches, blood and occasionally broken nails. I looked down and saw that his rib cage was broken, revealing a deep cavity into his chest (along with insects I will not describe), probably at the emplacement of his heart. I am ashamed for what I did next is to loot his body, seeking for some kind of clue I could manage to exploit... that is where I found the first mentioned journal.
Indeed, in the journal I found the incomplete story he managed to keep note of and realised that the truth was hiding in the Republic of Congo. I got home in a hurry and prepared my luggage. After 30 minutes of argument with the airport receptionist I finally got a rebate on an economic class flight for my destination, and left within an hour for the departure site. I only took my breath once seated in the plane, exhausted, panicked and thrilled by the events that happened. After I calmed down, and only then, I realized that there was going to be great dangers to come, and feared the future a little more and fell asleep, soundly, for the first time in a while...
When I woke up, we were almost at destination. I managed to get my luggage back and move on to the closest village. I asked for the emplacement written in the book but, without the name of the village it was hard to find. I finally found some buy-able guide who, with all my cash in hand, guided me up there. I finally arrived at the village, where Vimont landed. I was experiencing a weird feeling, a feeling which only archaeologists and such can experience. The sensation of being on the trail of history, uncovering mysteries lost by time... Anyways, I asked my guide to lead me to the village in the mountain, which he did with a lot of hesitation. After a short night of sleep in a hut, we left for the mountain. The road was abrupt and the climate so hot and damp that I feel this perpetual sensation of discomfort just thinking of it...
After an exhausting walk up the hill, we arrived in sight of the dark temple. The place was magnificent but something was wrong about this temple. The architecture was impossible, the stones' shapes were improbable. The whole deteriorated building seemed to come from somewhere else. Unlike my lost friend, I decided to not sleep and venture fourth in the direction of the temple, just in case. My guide abandoned be at this moment, deciding that it was too dangerous and that he had done enough for the money I gave him... selfish bastard.
I walked in the sparse jungle silently, approaching the lake and the temple. There was a heavy supernatural silence, so intense that I had the feeling my steps were loud bangs upon the earth. I entered the temple's gate, leading to a very weirdly designed sanctum. The whole place was built in a way no human civilisation could fathom. I pushed a wooden door covered in strange sculptures and penetrated in an even darker room. I lit up my flashlight, and kept going. The walls were angled as if I was inside a pyramidal room. They were covered in strange drawings of creatures being adored by the Pygmies, just like they were gods. Then I saw paper on the floor. It was a ripped page of my old friend's journal...
"I am in the temple but it's owners are close. They still exist! Those godlike beings they speak of in the paintings are real somehow. I could decipher some of the paintings. The beings they were worshiping were some kind of homo-phages. They speak of demons, but I think more of a genetic mutation. I saw one a few minutes ago, and he bit me savagely in the neck. I am bleeding now, he is not far. The door will not hold him forever, and I am in the middle of nowhere... God please save me!" - Last Record
When I read those last words, I left the temple in a hurry. Now persuaded of the truth of what I read I ran out the jungle as fast as I could. I don't know why I was left alive, but I could manage to take a plane back home...
When I tried to tell the truth, they laughed at me. When I gave them the journal, they saw me as a delusional mad man. Then after a few attempts to reveal the truth I was put in a mental institution... The government knows but remains silent... This is my good bye letter to the world, hoping that somehow, someone will believe this anthropology lesson, and be more careful at night.
At first I was hysterically confused by the terrible new.
The funerals were sober and accompanied by federal agents who ensured that the coffin stays closed until completely buried. Fairly common, isn't it? I tried to discover why he went there by turning his office upside down, but someone already did. I tried to get his autopsy report illegally but the report was missing. I asked his wife but she had no clue herself. I wandered night and day at the very edge of madness to find a way to know what happened to this man. After two long years of relentless juridical, illegal, violent, or peaceful attempts to quench my thirst for knowledge, I attempted the unholy and unforgivable.
In a grim and desperate determination, I decided to dig up the grave of my very special friend. I remember that night perfectly. I took my coat, my shovel and walked in the night silently. Unburying him was the only decent thought I had in a while and knowing that, a strange serenity soothed my torments. It was the only and inexorable way. I knew God could be wrathful, but you know... he forgives everything, I hoped that tomb robbery was in the long list of things He could forgive. The one thing I knew is that if the truth were to come out, his family would probably not understand, for they were done mourning him...
I managed to enter the graveyard on that decisive and ghastly night and headed to my friend's tomb. I remember that iron fence creaking in a dark complaint as I started to dig. After 5 hours of relentless digging I finally managed to uncover the coffin enough to allow me to open it. Covered in sweat and my heart menacing to break apart, I pulled the cover and saw the poor remains of M. Vimont. He was deeply rotten, but that is normal indeed. His jaw was extended and weirdly shaped to allow some kind of teeth mutation I can hardly explain or describe. But of what I reckon among all his blood tainted clothes that were ripped close to his neck. I think he was still alive when they entombed him for the lid of the coffin was covered in scratches, blood and occasionally broken nails. I looked down and saw that his rib cage was broken, revealing a deep cavity into his chest (along with insects I will not describe), probably at the emplacement of his heart. I am ashamed for what I did next is to loot his body, seeking for some kind of clue I could manage to exploit... that is where I found the first mentioned journal.
Indeed, in the journal I found the incomplete story he managed to keep note of and realised that the truth was hiding in the Republic of Congo. I got home in a hurry and prepared my luggage. After 30 minutes of argument with the airport receptionist I finally got a rebate on an economic class flight for my destination, and left within an hour for the departure site. I only took my breath once seated in the plane, exhausted, panicked and thrilled by the events that happened. After I calmed down, and only then, I realized that there was going to be great dangers to come, and feared the future a little more and fell asleep, soundly, for the first time in a while...
When I woke up, we were almost at destination. I managed to get my luggage back and move on to the closest village. I asked for the emplacement written in the book but, without the name of the village it was hard to find. I finally found some buy-able guide who, with all my cash in hand, guided me up there. I finally arrived at the village, where Vimont landed. I was experiencing a weird feeling, a feeling which only archaeologists and such can experience. The sensation of being on the trail of history, uncovering mysteries lost by time... Anyways, I asked my guide to lead me to the village in the mountain, which he did with a lot of hesitation. After a short night of sleep in a hut, we left for the mountain. The road was abrupt and the climate so hot and damp that I feel this perpetual sensation of discomfort just thinking of it...
After an exhausting walk up the hill, we arrived in sight of the dark temple. The place was magnificent but something was wrong about this temple. The architecture was impossible, the stones' shapes were improbable. The whole deteriorated building seemed to come from somewhere else. Unlike my lost friend, I decided to not sleep and venture fourth in the direction of the temple, just in case. My guide abandoned be at this moment, deciding that it was too dangerous and that he had done enough for the money I gave him... selfish bastard.
I walked in the sparse jungle silently, approaching the lake and the temple. There was a heavy supernatural silence, so intense that I had the feeling my steps were loud bangs upon the earth. I entered the temple's gate, leading to a very weirdly designed sanctum. The whole place was built in a way no human civilisation could fathom. I pushed a wooden door covered in strange sculptures and penetrated in an even darker room. I lit up my flashlight, and kept going. The walls were angled as if I was inside a pyramidal room. They were covered in strange drawings of creatures being adored by the Pygmies, just like they were gods. Then I saw paper on the floor. It was a ripped page of my old friend's journal...
"I am in the temple but it's owners are close. They still exist! Those godlike beings they speak of in the paintings are real somehow. I could decipher some of the paintings. The beings they were worshiping were some kind of homo-phages. They speak of demons, but I think more of a genetic mutation. I saw one a few minutes ago, and he bit me savagely in the neck. I am bleeding now, he is not far. The door will not hold him forever, and I am in the middle of nowhere... God please save me!" - Last Record
When I read those last words, I left the temple in a hurry. Now persuaded of the truth of what I read I ran out the jungle as fast as I could. I don't know why I was left alive, but I could manage to take a plane back home...
When I tried to tell the truth, they laughed at me. When I gave them the journal, they saw me as a delusional mad man. Then after a few attempts to reveal the truth I was put in a mental institution... The government knows but remains silent... This is my good bye letter to the world, hoping that somehow, someone will believe this anthropology lesson, and be more careful at night.
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