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Chapter I
Henry Archibald Grimma’s Journal
5 January, 1920. I sat at my desk. It was late, although the
hour was not what piqued my interest. The moon was strange to me. Its glow
pierced through the fog looking almost like a hand of pure light was reaching
down to me. I could not shake this feeling. I was in the safe confines of the
manor, but I could have easily been convinced otherwise. I could not smell the
leather of my chair or the papery dust of my books, not even the rich smoky
lacquer of my desk. I’ve never felt so naked and cold. The cold ate at my bones
and gnawed on my mind. Why was this night different than the rest? I finished
my glass of scotch and put on my waist coat. I pulled out my pocket watch; it
was 1:11 A.M. The watch was an heirloom passed down from my grandfather to my
father and finally down to me. It always comforted me as if it held some hidden
power. Etched on the back was a Valkyrie, the Norse believed Valkyrie decided
who would be slain in battle. Although it holds no weight with me, I have never
been in a battle, nor do I plan to be in one. The fiercest battle I have faced
is that which is against the cold and a warm hearth always brings me victory.
As I strolled out of my library I heard something stirring upstairs. It must be
Miss Belcourt. Out of the corner of my eye I saw black gleaming eyes poking out
behind the wall leading to the dining hall. As I turned they disappeared and something
stirred behind me. It was like heavy scraping upon the wood floor, but there
was nothing behind me. I looked in the library and watched the shadow from my chair
stretch forward then rear up upon the wall. I spun around toward the stairs of
the front hall. I could hear it making sounds in such a way that it felt like it curled up from my neck to my ear. Something
is wrong, I’ll record this later.
6 January, 1920. The events I am about describe still baffle
and horrify me. After leaving my desk the second time, I noticed there was
something behind my banister. Its visage was menacing and it looked like a wolf
red as blood. The hairs on my back stood up as a shrieking howl sounded off,
tormenting my ears till I fell to my knees blacking out entirely.
I remember the blackout
somewhat clearly because I instantly began to dream. I understood the feeling all too well. Weightlessness
combined with pictures, images, and realities that constantly shifted with no
direct connection to each other, but still felt real somehow. There was one
memory my mind always went back to, it was stuck upon this one short moment in
my life.
In the summer, ten years
ago, I hosted a party. It was a party unlike any other that had been witnessed.
Music was pounding through the lavishly decorated rooms and halls of my
residence Wolf Manor. Glasses of every assortment of liquor were circulated throughout
the rooms on silver trays. There were three bands playing that night, one in
the entry hall, one in the ballroom, and one on the balcony. Try as you will,
but no one could escape the sound. The rooms were filled shoulder to shoulder
with men in dark sharply cut suits and women wearing every manner of
extravagant color on dresses styled to their seductive peak. Nights such as these
pass swiftly by, this one surely did, but not before my gaze was stolen by a
fair lady of unworldly beauty.
She stood amongst the
dancing crowd with golden hair and a golden dress. I cleared my throat,
straightened my necktie, and made my way through the throng of dancers. Her icy
blue eyes caught mine, I was several steps from her, my heart beat
uncontrollably and every instinct was telling me to turn away. When we finally
stood in front of each other she looked shyly at the ground and I stumbled out
an introduction. “Hello Miss, I’m Henry Archibald Grimma, son of Grandhoff Grimma,
and I welcome you to my summer party.”
“I’m Aurore Ansel, I have
never seen such a party.”
“Nor have I,” I couldn’t
help but smile as I spoke; her voice was enchanting and infectious. It was a
night with no equal and the warm feelings faded away as the dream shifted to
blank darkness.
The thick pounding of my
heart woke me up. My head felt smashed open and my ears had bled. I looked to
the window behind me. The moon was still casting its bright rays upon my desk.
I checked my watch; it was still 1:11 A.M. My heart near stopped, what was
happening. Two knocks buffeted the door, “Mr. Grimma, Mr. Grimma, this is the
Redfield County Police.” I rolled over, stood up, and stumbled over to the
door. I yanked it open and two officers in
snazzy dress stood before me. They both had thick mustaches which spilled over
their lips.
“You look like shit Mr. Grimma.”
“Don’t insult the man Dent
and stop blurting.” The officer on the left hit the officer that spoke behind
the head.
“Why are you always hitting
me Graham?”
“Because you make us look
the fool.”
“Officers?”
They both
turned to me as if they had forgotten I was there.
“Ah yes, Mr. Grimma, my name is
Roger Graham and this is my
partner Peter Dent, we are here because of a disturbance some passersby heard. May we come in?”
partner Peter Dent, we are here because of a disturbance some passersby heard. May we come in?”
“I’m sorry officers, but its late,
come back on the morrow.”
“It is 2 P.M. Mr. Grimma.”
I felt asleep and yet I knew I was
awake. I could not move, I was petrified, and I could not see the world.
Everything was a shapeless white. It felt as if I was floating in the air.
Officers Dent and Graham hoisted me up and dropped me onto a sofa. I heard Dent
whispering to Graham, “I am going to take a look around, he is not acting right
and something about this disturbs me, keep an eye on him.”
“Yes yes, toddle on.”
The white light began to fade into
red. Then I saw those eyes, black eyes, the eyes of death itself. At some
moment I lost consciousness, I dreamt of nothing but those eyes. Staring into
my soul with devours gaze. Light broke through those black pupils and I woke
up. My hands were cuffed behind a small metal chair, the metal bit into my
flesh bringing a reminding pain. A highly reflective and brightly lit table was
before me, the effect of which was quite blinding. Across from me was Roger
Graham, although I couldn’t see him too well so it could have been any other
man with a brimming mustache. “Good, looks like you are up, welcome back Mr.
Grimma. You are being questioned because your maid Miss Belcourt was murdered,
and you must comply with our investigation.”
“Murdered?”
“We found her body by the stairs;
her throat torn and lacerated.”
My mind started to drift back to
those eyes and that wolf, I could not shake it. It gnawed at my mind
just like the metal cuffs and chair cut into my flesh. And for all I knew
I could have murdered her, there were many hours unaccounted for.
“What did I do? Did I do something, what did you find?” Rage started building; I struggled in my chair, “Why am I cuffed?”
“What did I do? Did I do something, what did you find?” Rage started building; I struggled in my chair, “Why am I cuffed?”
Roger Graham raised an eyebrow, “Because we believed you to be unstable and prone to fits of rage, which is why Miss Belcourt was found in such a state.”
I stopped struggling. This was unlike me. I have always been stable
and calm. I started to feel scratching at the back of my mind like there was
something I had forgotten. Then it came to me, my watch, the time, and all my
questions. Each question led to more questions, but without
my watch I felt empty. A hallow shell with no substance, it continued
to scratch at my mind. It must mean something. The watch must be the answer
somehow. For reasons I cannot ascertain I felt as if I was late. Late for some
meeting I never knew existed, I implored Officer Graham, “Where is my pocket
watch? It is not here. You took it didn’t you?”
“Why do you have plans? You aren’t leaving.”
“Give me my watch!”
“You are handcuffed a watch would do you no good.”
“At least tell me the time.”
“It’s 5 P.M., happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
The scratching continued, knowing the time did nothing, why did I think it would do something? I shook in my chair, my head rolling around, I wanted out, my mind wanted out. I felt like I was going mad and Roger Graham looked at me horrified, “Are you okay?” I could not see it, but I felt the blood dripping from my ears and mouth. It was pouring out from some unseen wound. I started to choke, coughing blood from my lungs, struggling desperately to survive. It is about here that I start to question the validity of my memory as I write this down. God…what have I become?
Chapter II
Henry Archibald Grimma’s Journal
7 January, 1920. I
don’t know what happened at the police station and maybe I don’t want to know. I blacked out again, and all I saw was
that bloody wolf. The incessant scratching stopped. What does all this mean, there must be a reason. I feel as if I am
not alone. The cold I felt, it felt
like it was a part of me somehow. What
am I saying? Maybe I’m just mad,
maybe I’ve always been. Do the sick
know they are sick?
After the police station I woke up
in the woods, my clothing was tattered and blood stained. There were holes in
it that looked like bullet holes, but I had no wounds of any kind. My hands
were soaked with blood, as if they had held a beating heart in their clutches. I
couldn’t wash it off in the river. I was stained. Stained and yet I haven’t a
clue why.
As I take a moment from my story I
will reiterate. My name is Henry Archibald Grimma, and I don’t have anyone to
pass this journal onto. I don’t even know if anyone will end up reading it, but
if you are somehow, then you must do something. There must be something someone
can do. Whatever is happening must be stopped. I fear what may happen. At that
moment I noticed I had my pocket watch and I held it to my breast. It felt warm
somehow, it comforted me, for a while all the questions vanished. I thought to
the inscription on the back, maybe I am in a battle and maybe the Valkyrie will
pick me to live. If all else descends into madness perhaps I’ll live.
I stumbled through the woods
with the pocket watch at my breast. It adopted a pinkish red hue from my
stained hands. My heart beat slowly, yet powerful as if I had the heart of some
great beast. My watch bounced off my chest with each thudding beat. I did not
know where I was going. I was blindly hoping I’d stumble upon Wolf Manor. I
needed to see it, where it happened. It was all that mattered to me now. I had
to know. I had known her for some twenty years. Miss Belcourt was a friend whom
I trusted and respected. Now she was dead, brutalized by some evil that dwelt
in my home. I have been walking for hours, each step sent shards of pain up my
legs. Then I saw Wolf Manor off in the distance, its three stories, massive
windows, and gothic appearance. Then I looked to the Gargoyles that sat upon
each corner. They really failed their job… If I make it out of this, the first
thing on the list will be to take down those Gargoyles and replace them with a
team of priests. They’d need hats to avoid sunburns, I’d probably need multiple
shifts of them to cover the different times of the day, hmmm, it could work I
think.
I
stopped dead in my tracks. I was being followed. I could sense it and the hairs
on my neck rose. My ears tried to pinpoint the sound. I stood there not wanting
to turn around, but I knew I must. I slowly turned and I felt relief, nothing
was there. I turned back around and there it was before me. I could feel it
breathing on my face, it stood on two legs, with its eyes so close that they
enveloped my entire vision. Everything turned to darkness. I stepped back and
noticed it was coated in fresh crimson, dripping in it. Its dead eyes followed
me and the corner of its mouth rose in a grin. I was crushed by its presence; I
stumbled to the ground and crawled backwards. It opened its mouth and howled at
me, the shrieking howl that plagued me before. My hands went to my ears and I
curled into a ball. I was helpless. I’d black out soon, and who knows what
would happen. The world already began to darken, shift from day to night
almost.
Then I felt the warmth of my
pocket. With all my might I ripped my hands from my ears. It was more painful
than anything I could fathom. I stood up holding the pocket watch in front of
me. In defiance I stood before death. In faith of that watch I stood saying,
“Come take me Demon. You will find no victories here.” The wolf stopped, looked
at me, grinned again and vanished as mist against the wind. I fell to my knees,
the pain did not leave me, my ears felt cold, burning from the cold of Hell’s
fire. The scratching in the back of my mind returned. It was stronger than
ever. I felt it taint my mind with cold. The cold that gnaws on my thoughts,
and as I wept, my tears rolled down my cheek then froze. The cold was consuming
me slowly.
The wolf was gone, but I still felt its presence. It was still
with me somehow. Time seemed to speed up and the sun retreated behind the
mountains. The sun was scared of what I saw. It grew deathly cold, a cold which
crawled up my spine and wrapped its hands around my neck. It whispered in my
ear, “Your mine.” I ignored it. I kept moving toward Wolf Manor in the
moonlight. Its silver glow comforted me. It made me feel warm, complete almost.
I began to gaze at it. I felt lost in its sweet embrace. It made me forget
about the cold scratching at my mind. Always scratching, so cold, and yet the
moon made me forget. It made me forget about what happened at Wolf Manor.
I approached Wolf Manor and it did
not welcome me. I felt as if it fought my every movement. It did not want me here. The Gargoyles looked
as if they were staring at me. Utter loathsome stares, perhaps they knew I
planned to replace them. The house had police tape at the door. No living soul
was around for the hour was dark. I crossed the threshold and I felt a surge of
cold bite my bones as it did the first night. The windows were open and the
curtains danced in the wind. The moon illuminated the now grim looking hall. I
did not know what I would see upstairs, but I had to prepare my mind for it
lest it be torn in two.
I haven’t the slightest clue
regarding what’s going on here, but I intend to record every last event. If I
die, my hope is someone will take my place and solve this…This, I don’t even
know what to call it.
I approached my desk and began to
skim through a story I am quite fond of. It talks of a man who lost everything.
A man who stood against death and in defiance stood against fate. In the end he
cried at the sky because his memories brought pain. All he knows was gone, this
man died, but his memory lived on. In the wake of his death it was written the
people avenged him. True story or no, it speaks of justice even if it’s delayed
justice. And so I ask the same of you unknown readers of my journal. Should I
fall forget me not, bring your vengeance and your fury. I have no family; they
left me some years ago.
Here I sit in Wolf Manor alone,
writing to you. It has been like this some time, I dare not think back to
Aurore and her fate. Her memory is so sweet and yet like a dagger it cuts into
my heart. Then there are the questions, why did she have to die? Why did I
never find her? I didn’t even have my wife to burry. It was like she was wiped
from existence. Aurore with her golden hair, sweet demeanor, and bright pink
lips, I wish she was here to comfort me. Aurore was my rock.
I tightened my fists. I am ready to
face what has befallen Wolf Manor. As I walked up my moonlit staircase I
began to think. I am very much like the moon, alone in darkness. My love is
alone in a much brighter and better world, one that basks in the sun. When I
set she rises, when she sets I rise to the cold silver darkness. Each step up
the staircase brought a weight to my heart. The burden of what I may see, what
I may realize.
As I write this down I still wonder
if I can live today, maybe life is not my path.
I gazed upon the massacre, so much
blood. The whole place smelt unholy, the floor boards were slashed and
splintered. The walls were stained, the rug was soaked. I sat against the only
wall without blood splatters. I closed my eyes trying to forget about the blood.
Attempting to focus, to remember, then I felt something. Air brushed down the
back of my neck, soft with the force of a whisper. And yet I heard nothing but
the rustling of the curtains as they danced solemnly in the wind. I got up and
looked upon the wall. Blood was dripping in a line out of its seam. I placed
both hands upon the wall. It was cold and it licked at my hands. With the force
of the world I moved the wall, revealing a room I had never known to exist.
Bodies were lined against the wall,
the smell of which nearly knocked me down. They were colored silver by the
skylight overhead. The throats of each were torn asunder. The further I walked
down the hall the more decayed the bodies became. At the very end it was only
skeletons. I grew very cold. It was different this time, as if the cold was
embracing me. It felt evil, as if I was being transformed. I grasped my watch
and held it to my breast. It kept fire in my heart while the cold started to
gnaw at my bones. I entered the next room, an archive crowded with rows of
shelves stuffed with thick tomes. In the very back was a lone desk and chair.
It was encased in a circle of silver light from the window above. One small
book lay upon the desk. I wiped the dust from the book, a note sat upon its
cover. To my son Henry Archibald Grimma. Here is what the note
said.
I hope that you never have to read
this my Son.
There is much to our family, our
manor, our legacy that you do not know.
I wish I could have told you in
person, there is so much your mother and I wanted for you.
I did not want you to follow this
path, Wolf Manor is not well.
If you are here then it has started,
the change has begun.
I couldn’t stop it Son, but I hope
that with my knowledge you will prevail.
The pages of this book hold all that
I discovered.
It contains the secrets that cost my
life, but I had to know.
I had to make the questions go away.
Scratching always scratching.
So many questions.
I skipped to the last page, I could
never wait to get to the end.
I don’t have much time, it is coming.
It has a place for me; I won’t
resist it any longer.
I just want you to have a chance
son, the chance I did not have.
My tears darken the pages as I write.
I left you my pocket watch and the
manor for a reason Archibald.
The manor must be in the possession
of a Grimma.
Should it pass to another family,
the result would be chaos.
Keep your watch close it holds great
power.
Power which I failed to discover.
So I tell you this now son. That
watch is the key to everything.
The key to all the secrets of the
Grimma’s, our origin, our past, and our present.
Follow the fading wind. Beware of
the wolf red as blood.
My time is nigh, good luck my Son.
I sat down in the chair. Slumped in
like a mindless zombie. I was in shock, I poured through the pages of my
father’s book. I could not believe what I was reading, more importantly I did
not know where to begin. My family’s past was disturbing to say the least.
There are so many unexplainable events and tragedies, Aurore’s end being chief
of all. Then my father mentioned the Wolf, now that I think about it, that Wolf
was familiar to me. It was if I had seen it before, but no longer remembered
when. I could not bring my eyes from the page. I had to read every last word.
With each word read I become more captivated and disturbed until I finally
passed out with my head on the dusty desk.
I woke up to the burning heat of the
sun overhead. The wolf haunted my dreams throughout the night. I can’t let my
father or family down; I am the last of the Grimma family. I must make what was
wronged right. I slammed my fist into the desk, a torrent of dust shot in my
face. As I entered into a fit of coughing I noticed something. There
was a sword on the ground beneath the desk. Its scabbard was knocked into the
corner. There was old blood on the blade. As I held the aged sword in my hand I
recognized it. My father, Grandhoff Grimma, used to wear this sword with his
uniform. The sword was in rough shape from the years of neglect and it had seen
battle. Along the bloodied hilt it read, Vi Veri Vuniversum Vivus Vici.
I said aloud, “By the power of truth I while living have conquered the universe.”
I remember this from Faust, but I don’t remember this being on my father’s
sword. Faust made a deal with the devil, why would my father draw a connection
to Faust near his end. Father, what madness overtook you? I left the
hidden room and took my father’s book and sword with me. I grabbed my journal as
well so I could record on the move.
8
January, 1920. By the time I got outside I could
hear the police walking down toward the Manor. It sounded like Roger Graham and
Peter Dent. I could vaguely hear Dent say, “I don’t want to go back here, not
after what happened at the station.”
“Just calm down, it was a freak
event, nothing more; Grimma must have snuck out in the chaos.”
“You aren’t getting me Roger, it
wasn’t right, what it did, that thing.”
“Enough! I do not want to hear any
more about your conspiracies, keep your composure.” Roger lowered his tone to
whisper. Good God man we are officers of the law, we have a reputation to
uphold. If we are scared how do you think the people of this town will feel?
Pull yourself together!”
“I just can’t shake it, the beast,
and the cold. It was unholy, evil, it wanted us dead Roger.”
“Well it failed didn’t it. We got a
couple flesh wounds nothing more.”
“How can you be so calm Roger, it is
unnerving.”
“Someone has to! We can’t lose our
heads at the first sign of danger.”
“Do you think Grimma killed her?”
“Undoubtedly, no living family
members, not a friend in the world since the parties stopped. He’s been locked
away in his manor all that time, and you saw how he acted in the interrogation
room. What happened to Mrs. Grimma alone would have been enough to drive him to
insanity.”
“I don’t know Roger, he doesn’t seem
like he’d actually kill someone, yes he is a bit eccentric, but what rich
person isn’t.”
“You can see it in his eyes Peter.”
They were getting close. I had to
escape to the woods. I needed to get to the library; they had a massive archive
of old mythology. It could be my only chance at discovering the secrets of this
watch.
I ran through the forest like a
madman. With haste in the same way a crazed ghoul in search of flesh is
imagined to have. The secrets were all that mattered. My thirst for truth
blocked out the incessant scratching. I had my journal and my father’s book in
my coat, my pocket watch tight to my breast and the sheathed sword in my right
hand. I grinned; I was beginning to look like a plucky hero straight out of a
classic novel. But this was no story, no fantasy, this was real, this was my
life. The swish of pen would not decide my fate. I held my life in my own hands.
My actions in of themselves would choose if I am to live or die. I was
beginning to understand why, in the face of defeat, warriors of distant lands
would take their own life. They did not want their death to have no meaning;
they wanted to die by their choice, by their hand. To have control of one’s
life was to have control of its legacy. To die with honor was a choice. If I
were still a man of faith I’d say my life was in the hands of fate, but alas.
Chapter
III
H.
A. Grimma’s Journal
9
January, 1920. The cold air froze my lungs as I
snuck up to the library. It was closed I would have to break in. I grabbed a
rock and smashed through the window of the back door. I sliced my arm as I put
it through the window to unlock the door. It was utter darkness in
the library and I heard a voice from the corner.
“Henry Archibald…Grimma, so nice of
you to finally stop by. I have waited a long time Mr. Grimma. Far too long”
I was speechless. How did he know
who I was in this darkness or that I’d be here?
“Speechless hmmm, no matter, I am
Sir Rigar Finch. I was a good friend of your Father's.”
“My father, I have never heard of
you Sir Rigar.”
“That is what he wanted. He told me
that there’d be a day when you’d come here looking for answers. Once I saw you
were a wanted man I knew that the time had come. Although I’ll admit I had
expected you sooner, ever since the passing of your wife. I thought you would
have come then, but I suppose we aren’t always at our sharpest.”
“Enough! How much did he tell you,
about us, about my family?”
“Everything, but that is of no
matter, did you bring the watch?”
“It is in my hand.”
“Comforting trinket isn’t it?” He
lit a candle, “Now let’s see what we can learn of it.”
We walked along a dark hall before
descending into the basement of the Library where the archives were located.
“I have been the caretaker of this
library all my life, never have I researched such evil, your family’s past is
something.” I hung my head, I knew exactly what he meant and I was ashamed;
I felt as if I was to blame.
“If only your father could see you
now, you are a little slow, but he’d be proud. You are a good man and that is
something you’d be best to remember. You walk a dark road Grimma, the likes of
which you may not return and it is the most natural of virtues that will save
you from folly.”
“What do you know about my pocket
watch?”
“I know it has been passed down by
your family since your dark legacy began; it was a symbol of protection
that your lives were in the hands of the Valkyrie; your forefathers rested
their lives on it. In the end the Valkyrie chose death; they almost always
choose death.”
“Why?”
“Death is the greatest honor.”
I was in slight shock, “My family
never were warriors.”
“Oh really, you should have read
your father’s journal more closely. Your ancestors fought a war between reality
and mythology; holy and unholy.”
“What do you mean?”
“They fought them, those things,
those creatures; cursed your family became.”
“A war between my family and those
creatures is the origin of the curse?”
“Precisely so, and the end to that
curse lies in your watch I have no doubt.”
“What do I do about the Valkyrie;
they will kill me won’t they?”
“In all likelihood they will, the
Valkyrie rarely see reason, only death.”
“How do I reason with them?”
“Your watch is like a bridge, a
gateway between their world and ours, if I have done my research it should
allow you to speak to them.”
“What am I to tell them?”
“Everything, you must convince them
you are worthy of life.”
I sat down in the chair and kicked
my leg out as I soaked all this in, I was never much for making cases, I would
be a terrible lawyer at any rate; this time it would have to be different. I
felt rage build within me, why me, why my family?
“Control yourself my friend, lest
you find yourself standing before a noose on a fine morn; hold your watch to
your breast it will calm you.” As I did the rage subsided and I began to think
clearly. “If you cannot control yourself you will lose this war and your family
will never be redeemed; I am sad to say I know your father never made it to the
Great Gates beyond.”
“How do you mean?”
“I believe he still walks this
world, in purgatory so to speak, as penance.”
“If I stop this all of it, his soul
will be free?”
“I believe so, but I am no God. Here
take this book it has everything you need to know, good night to you Mr. Grimma.” I left Sir Rigar Finch at the library and thanked him upon my passing.
He gave me another piece to the puzzle. The leather cover of this book was tattered and worn. It looked as if it had caught fire once upon a time. I returned to the woods and by luck happened upon a cave. There I sat in the darkness resting my head against the wall recording what I could in my journal through the dim moonlight. I would study the book in the morning; I then fell to dreams of struggle
10
January, 1920.
I woke up. The sun had not yet risen.
I began to doubt my chances of survival. Judging by my past and the fact no one
had yet to survive. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched or
followed. I kept seeing eyes from the cave entrance. Looking at me almost
tenderly for a moment in the same way a father looks to son. I felt trapped in
a prison. A prison created by the crimson Wolf and the cold in my mind. The
Wolf’s eyes kept peering at me from the corner. I do not know if it was real or
if I have lost it, my mind. Either way it froze the blood in my veins. The only
thing that gave me warmth was my watch.
Today I’d delve into its secrets. Failure
is no option; I must avenge my family and gain them passage to the life beyond.
Even if I do not believe in it myself, I must for their sake. I must change it,
change it all. This wretched state, the curse, the questions, it must all be
dealt with. It’s unholy. I keep feeling
the need for a priest and sadly wishing I was one. I’d be nice to have faith in
something and be able to wield God’s words against Evil. It would have already
come in handy at any rate. Maybe it would make that crimson Wolf leave me be. I
don’t know what it wants, but I know it hungers for me. I can see it in those
cold eyes; it’s as if they whisper their desires to me.
The sun finally rose, I felt instant
relief. I dusted off my waist coat and ran my hands through my hair. I stared
at the crimson sky, soaking up its warmth and beauty. In that instant I was no
longer a cursed Grimma. I was simply a man happy to be alive. Sadly my mind did
not allow me the luxury to forget for long. I checked the earth outside the
cave for wolf tracks, I found none. This did not comfort me; I needed to get
back to Wolf manor. I cannot study in such conditions. I should need my study
chair and a glass of scotch. Ah… I think that’d do just nicely.
Chapter IV
Henry Archibald Grimma’s Journal
11 January, 1920. I made my way back to Wolf Manor. I was kept company by the
rhythm of snapping branches and mud squishing beneath my feet. A raven landed
on a tree before me. He looked right into my eyes and crowed at me as if I was
not welcome. As if I was some evil that did not belong. If the wildlife turns
on me, I’ll know I am too far gone. I had the feeling I was being
followed the past hour. This was different than the feelings I had before. I
caught a glimpse in my peripherals. I threw my head to my right and I saw it. It
was a wolf and not some creature of devilry either, but a wolf, a real one,
with thick lush brown fur. One of her eyes was slashed closed, but the other
was a big beautiful blue. Clearly a female due to the lack of, well, you know. Her
eye was a shimmering blue like glass. She knew I spotted her, but she did not
care. She stared back at me opening her mouth and panting at me. If I didn’t
know any better she was smiling at me. Then I heard the wailing of hounds. The
police had begun the manhunt. The wolf ran off and I was sad to see her go. She
felt special.
My walk turned into a run. I needed
to get as far from those hounds as possible. I was hoping to sneak into Wolf
Manor and hide in the secret archive. I have lived in Wolf Manor my whole life
and did not know of that room till recently. Any chance of the police finding
it would be slim to none. I needed peace and quiet to study this book. It’d be
no simple task to discover the secrets of my watch and establish some means to
communicate with the Valkyrie. Which I realize sounds crazy as all hell,
but bear with me. I hope to prove my case in this journal. I ask this of you my
unknown reader. Whatever should befall me, my family, and Wolf Manor, do not think
less of your dear Grimma.
I made it to the hidden room in Wolf
Manor. My back ran down the side of the door and I locked myself in. My heart
felt near to burst. The hounds may lead them here. I must be prepared to
escape, I wonder, you’d think a secret room would have a secret exit. I sat in
the entrance amidst the horde of dead bodies. I was slumped against the wall
just like them. It was full of contrast, me and them, life and death.
The sun shone brightly through the
skylight almost burning a bright white hole through the floor. But the corners
were as dark as the blackest black. Then I felt it, that warning, that cold
shiver that liked to slither up my spine when it was near. The Wolf peered at
me from around the corner of the corridor. Its eyes gleamed at me, black and
mirror bright. A reflection could be seen in them, a reflection of my soul,
something that I can hardly describe or suffer to look upon. I heard a whisper,
as if someone was talking directly in my ear. I could feel the cold moisture. I
could smell the tainted breath. “You will come to me Henry Archibald Grimma.” I
could feel its tongue flick as it pronounced each syllable of my name. “You’ll
be mine, my very own, my special Grimma.” I shuddered. The red Wolf grinned at
me and vanished. I hung my head. I felt defiled. Here I sat amongst a stash of
bodies and yet this was the least of my concern. How far have I fallen, what
have I become? I felt like I needed a priest at any rate, a damn good one too.
I entered back into the secret
library. The desk was beautifully illuminated by moonlight. Without a second
thought I swept all the books off the desk. I nearly threw my pocket watch. Instead
I kicked down a book shelf. Which I sort of regret now as it created a domino
style effect with the other book shelves.
It’s wrong, all of it, why me, what
did I do to deserve this? Did I not pray enough? Is this some punishment for my
sins? If Aurore could see me now, would she be disappointed? I wish I could
just sleep and dream instead of living through this nightmare. I must be
strong.
Now that I have regained my
composure, my pocket watch and the Valkyrie are infinitely complex. What’s
written in this book from the library is hard to comprehend. Much of it is
written in primitive forms of English, obviously translated from some older
form of speech. The Valkyrie date back to the dawn of man apparently. They were
born in war. This is what troubles me. There is no war here, at least no war
that I know of. I read most of my Father’s journal. I didn’t see any mention of
war. Maybe I missed something. There are too many possibilities and that is
precisely why my frustration has gotten the better of me. Then it hit me, I had
a feeling, a sense. My father put all his faith in his sword. Why would he put
everything on a book, books can easily be destroyed. But a sword has the
ability to endure for generations. I picked up my Father’s sword. I scanned it,
looking for secret inscriptions or something of the like. I noticed a small gap
in between the handle and the sword’s pommel. To my satisfaction the pommel
unscrewed revealing a hallow chamber within the handle. A decaying piece of
parchment slid out.
My son Grandhoff Grimma,
This sword is my most sacred possession.
It’s been entrusted to you because of what it signifies.
You are overcome with grief my son.
You want your father and mentor back.
But I, being just a man, could not overcome my own mortality.
There is war between our family and another.
This sword is our greatest legacy.
What the Grimma before me have done with it.
Namely your Great Grandfather, his exploits are of legendary proportions.
Know our enemy.
Solve this riddle and prove your
metal.
“What
lurks in the dark and loves the light.”
“What
seeks out blood and cries in delight.”
“What
will hunt you in the night?”
“Forget not your sword mirror
bright.”
May the Valkyrie guide you,
Sir Kelm Grimma
I'd solve the riddle on the morrow. I
could hear the police scurrying around the house looking for me, but I didn’t
care. I needed sleep. Restful sleep, even though I had seen that dreaded Wolf
in this room. I know I am safe at this desk under the light of the moon. I
slowly began to slump until my face smacked into the desk and I slept.
13 January, 1920.
For some time I sat at my desk. I felt glued to the seat as I pondered the
riddle. I did not want to rush my mind into solving it. I must have the correct
answer. I must be sure. My father always told me regarding riddles. You must
let the answer reveal itself to you. Do not poke or prod, just open your eyes. The
answer always lies within the eye, but whose eyes? There is something I am not
seeing. I can feel it. It’s right in front of me and yet I feel as if a shroud has
been drawn forth, blinding me from the truth. I decided to dive back into my
father’s journal. I will find my answers there. I know my father will guide me.
Archibald these entries are from
many years ago, read them carefully.
You are destined to redeem our
family.
1 January, 1901.
My father died, he left me his sword.
I don’t know what to write.
I feel lost in this world.
20 January, 1901.
I saw them, my family isn’t crazy,
the Worr exist.
They’re real.
I nearly had my throat ripped out
today.
This war stretching back generations
is nothing to be taken lightly.
It’s a hungering conflict.
22 January, 1901.
I found a note in my father’s sword
addressed to me.
It contained a riddle.
“What lurks in the dark and loves the light.”
“What seeks out blood and cries in delight.”
“What will hunt you in the night?”
“Draw your sword mirror bright.”
The answer to me is obvious.
It’s a description
of the Worr, their behavior, and our interactions with them.
It does not comfort me though, the
Worr are unholy.
I would have preferred something
else.
25 January, 1901
I was stunned. We captured one of
them, a Worr.
I was starting to think they could
vanish in thin air.
I know now they are not creatures
made of shadow and mist.
We couldn’t stop it, the cold.
Even caged up it was gnawing at our
minds.
We had to kill it, had to stop the
cold.
We studied it as best we could, we
discovered vulnerabilities.
But, we did not want to risk madness
for the sake of discovery.
The beast’s mind was stronger than
ours no doubt.
He sought to bend us to his will.
We have seen those of less
constitution corrupted by such tricks.
Influence on a weak mind is a
powerful tool and it would appear these beasts have many thralls.
We are losing this war, I have no
doubt I will die by the hand of the enemy.
This war, this blood feud, will be
the death of our family.
A grand old legacy that only a few
will know.
I am starting to wonder if we have
been forsaken.
3 August, 1901.
It has only been months, but the war
is getting to me.
The cold has hollowed my bones.
The constant gnawing, I feel
brittle.
My son Henry is a fighter I can tell.
I expect the war will consume me,
but I have faith my Son will save us.
One word kept circling my mind and
it weighed heavy on my heart. It was
my problem, my enemy. The Worr are
the reason my family was cursed. They
are the cause of my forefathers’ purgatory.
I have heard the word before; my father mentioned them a few times. I wish I had paid better attention, I
know he must have written books on them.
I looked behind at the mound of broken shelves and book rubble. Somewhere within that heap were my
answers. Once the Worr are understood, I should be able to figure out the
Valkyrie. These are the pieces to the puzzle I need. I can feel the salvation
for my family within my grasp. I will not falter. I must not, for their sake.
I began the slow process of
stacking and looking at each book in the pile. Coughing all the while,
considering the amount of dust and paper particulate floating about. I came
upon a black book bound by ivory, no title. It smelled of scotch, definitely
written by my father.
I began to read it,
The Second Hell
By
Grandhoff Grimma
Within these pages is all you need
to know about the Worr and more than you’d want to know.
I am still haunted by what I have
learned and what I had to do to learn it.
I believe the Worr to be inherently
evil.
They exist to bring treachery and
punishment.
Why they plague our family I am not
exactly sure.
I stopped reading. I heard a crash
which sounded like a stampede was charging through Wolf Manor. I take it the
investigators have a hunch and have turned to searching every nook and cranny. They’re
persistent and I am sure they will discover this passage. I must find a new
safe haven. I ate some stale bread and proceeded to running my hands along the
walls. Knowing my father and my family, there would have been a secret exit to
this library. With each passing moment I felt closer to being discovered and
the police sounded closer to this chamber.
But it would appear I am not
entirely unlucky. I found the exit in due time. There was a chip in one of the
stones and all I had to do was place my thumb in it. The chip pushed in and a
door opened slightly. I pried the thick stone door the rest of the way. It was
a small opening with only a descending ladder. Judging by the size of this
opening, I’d say it runs down next to the chimney. It was the only way to hide
such a thing.
Into the black I descended. Into the
black I was accepted. Into the black I found my new home.
17 January, 1920.
I do not know what happened. I cannot remember the past few days, or weeks. I
have no way of knowing how long it’s been. My clothing was splattered with all
manner of substances. My face was covered with a thick-black combination of
blood, sweat, and dirt. Many pages of my journal were torn out. I noticed one
page had the same scribbling in it.
Written over and over,
TheWolfTheWolfTheWolfTheWolf.
I have lost my nerve, how can I save
my family if this can happen to me. I still have many questions even though I
know the Worr to exist. I still do not know what they want with us, or why they
curse my family. The Valkyrie and the pocket watch. My mind always returns to
those two things. My answers lie within them. I am sure of it.
I found myself at the end of a
tunnel. It opened into a valley not far from Wolf Manor. I had been here before.
When I was a child my father would often take me down here to catch frogs. A
cold stream ran out from the tunnel and collided with a nearby river. The roar
of the river bounced around my skull. The reflection of the sun off the ground
seared my eyes as if I hadn’t seen daylight for some time. The sun comforted me
though. It took some of the chill from my bones, but not all of it. This chill
was deeper than what a cold night could bring.
Once I had my senses about me, I sat
against a tree and pulled out my books. It was time to find answers to the
Valkyrie, the Worr, and this pocket watch. I delved into the ancient book from
the library. I began to notice something. There appeared to be pictures on the
pages. They weren’t boldly drawn. They were made out of words. Specific lines
of specific words and letters connecting to form a grand picture it seemed. The
pages were worn making it difficult to fully see, but I saw a battle.
There were great winged beings upon
a hill overlooking a valley. In that valley was a small group of men. Some with
long braided hair and beards and others with shaved heads and war paint. They
were all clad in an array of weapons and armor. With as many weapons strapped
to their bodies as could fit. On the opposite end of the valley their looked to
be a pack of large beasts. It was clear these men aimed to fight the Worr. They
were vastly outnumbered. I turned the page and saw another picture of the same
battle. But the placements were different. The two forces had grown closer. From
the hill the Valkyrie watched. On the face of these men only determination
could be seen. I turned the page again. The two groups were soon to collide. The
Worr leapt, the men raised their blades and shields. I kept turning the pages
watching the battle unfold before me. I could smell the foul breath, metal, and
blood in the air. They fought with equal ferocity. The Worr lost many and
retreated. No victory cry was heard from the brave men. Their youngest had
fallen; his father fell to his knees.
I watched the Valkyrie descend upon
the valley taking the cursed souls of the Worr away. They also came for the
man’s son. The father could see them. He grabbed an approaching Valkyrie by the
wrist and thrust his blade into her gut whilst a second warrior approached from
behind and spun into a powerful beheading swing. Its body fell to the ground,
the head face down beside it. The other Valkyrie let out a cry and all the men
fell dead except one. The father still stood. They picked up a Worr, threw it against
his chest, and thrust a sword through the two bodies. They kicked him to the
ground and cursed his name. I examined a few lines on the following page.
Promised immortality and
mountains of gold.
These warriors fought proud and bold.
Forsaken when the young one went cold.
To question the Valkyrie and the
wisdom they hold.
A curse fell upon these warriors of
old.
The fate of the Nameless Grimma is
told.
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