Naveen's Diary

Minas Gerais, July 25th

After some reluctance, I finally allowed mother to lead me to Father Batista. I told him how my dreams had been growing progressively worse ever since I had the interview with Signor Stromboli.

I was never much of a religious man, but something about the priest’s eyes told me I was not in a good predicament at all. He advised me some essence of nightshade and a few drops to rest and relax as I slept, but still…his expression was dead wrong.

Once the two of us were alone, he insisted on bringing up the subject of spirits and souls left wnadering the Earth as a means of atonement or perhaps as a way of delaying their damnation. Skeptical as I was, I listened, somehow memorizing most of what he told me.

A particular name stood out: Cornelius Archer. An occult worker located in Exeter. Perhaps I should go and see him before moving to Blackmoor…

Still, why would a priest know a man of the occult arts?



Minas Gerais, July 30th

Tragedy struck the abbey. Father Batista was found dead in his chambers, hand clutching his chest. Doctors have attributed it to a heart attack, a look of fright on his face being documented in the autopsy, I heard.
What in the world is going on? I need to get away quickly.



Rio de Janeiro, August 11th

I finally made my decision and quickly booked a trip all the way back to London. By now, Father’s old butler Lawrence had likely received my letter and would be ready to come get me when I got to Europe.

Mother protested greatly, yet seemed understanding when I told her it was something I deeply needed to do for the sake of us all. The fact that I was more than certainly going to be safe in the ocean was rather reassuring for her as well. As Father Batista put it, ‘spirits are lost souls and cannot cross high bodies of water without getting lost in them’.

Mister Archer should have all the answers I need, so I am not stopping until I get some enlightment from him. I cannot risk everyone’s safety any longer, now.



Rio de Janeiro, August 19th

Today I finally embarked on my journey to Europe. I never thought it would be so hard to bid mother farewell, yet I felt a part of me bleed as we embraced one last time before I walked up into the ship.

Even though I smiled a the ship took off and her figure became a mere vision in the horizon, I could not shake off the sensation of unease deep inside me. It was as if whatever I had left back home did not want to leave me be at all.

Looking down to the deep waters, I could have sworn I had seen some strange movements in the waters, though I quickly brushed it off as mere paranoia.

Spirits cannot cross bodies of water…can they?



The Atlantic Ocean, August 26th

I had never gotten used to travelling by boat, not even back home. The twists and turns of the water around us did not take long to make me feel as if my insides were making their way out of my mouth.

Although I had barely eaten since entering the ship, that night I found myself vomiting from the edge of the vessel.

I could hear the captain shouting at me to go back inside due to a storm of sorts approaching, yet I paid him no mind, my current affliction overcoming all other logical thoughts.

It was then that a sudden and particularly violent wave crashed against the boat, thunder roaring as a large bump made me lose my balance and I found myself plummeting to the dark waters below.

I awoke a few hours later, the crew having rescued me mere instants after I fell down. Even though the night was incredibly dim, the flashes of lightning made it possible for them to notice my body in the water.

The nurses suspect the shock made me block out the quick series of events that occurred during my fall, seeing as how I do not recall shouting and gasping for air upon being rescued from the deep. The only thing that seems to linger on my mind is a strange one, probably out of my dreams, though I do not recall having them at all…

A sight of arms, dark and thin, reaching out to me as I sunk down in the ocean waters. Arms coming from below…



London, September 5th

We arrived in London by the early hours of the morning. As a very rare glimpse of sunlight filled the deck, I was now more certain than ever that whatever had appeared during the crossing of the Atlantic was but a bad dream.

As agreed, Lawrence was expecting us at the docks. He seemed rather tense upon hearing about the strange events that happened during the trip, though he dismissed every and any question I had about it. I suspect he is hiding something from me.

Albeit reluctant, I managed to persuade him into taking me to Mister Archer. Maybe I will finally have some answers once we arrive in Exeter.



Exeter, September 10th

It was worse than what I could have ever expected. Although he was hesitant to aid us at first, a small bag of money was enough to persuade Mister Archer into talking to us and seeing just what in the world was going on.
We rested in his home before he started our entire analysis. I could notice the entire place had been marked with strange symbols and runes, as if he had been trying to keep something away himself.

A detail that caught my eye was a cat he kept around, one of strange fur, almost blue in tint due to the lighting of the room. Felicity was its name, I think. It was sad seeing a blind cat move around, although the creature moved as graciously as she possibly could. Even so, Mister Archer insisted he needed her to be that way so to “tap into the other world’s eyes without getting lost”.

As we spoke, I could notice Lawrence growing progressively weary and agitated, as if the entire situation had begun getting to him, which I suppose I could reason with. It was rather unnerving to watch Mister Archer mutter to himself as he read strange inscriptions and read my palms.

Whatever it was we were dealing with seemed to be rather serious, judging by the petrified expression of the older man as he gazed into me. After some hesitance, he finally explained to me just what had been following me, to be precise.

I was branded, marked even by a presence dated to very ancient times. A shadow upon manking, if I am not mistaken. By tampering with the artifacts back home, it would seem I had incurred upon the entity’s wrath, which made me its next target. It was then that Mister Archer warned me and Lawrence that this could very well be our last night, for now the element of surprise that cloaked that beast was gone.

As I eerily smiled in horror at the two men alongside me, I could only watch as Felicity suddenly sprang close to the window, as if she had seen something. It did not take long for a loud roar to consume the room, making the entire house shake as chaos engulfed everything.

I remember Lawrence shouting my name as the windows cracked, the glass clearly darted at Mister Archer. I dared not take a look at him before a brick smacked the back of my head. As my vision blurred and all seemed fuzzy, I distinctly recall seeing a shadow creep up the walls. Staring at it from the corner of my eyes, it did not take long until I lost consciousness once again.

I woke up during the late hours of the night with Felicity at my side, the poor blind creature licking my face as I slowly sat up to behold the destruction that had befallen around me.

It did not take me long to find shreds of blood spread across the floor, and much to my horror, the fragments of bodies I knew belonged to my two friends. Whatever that creature was, it was more than real, and it was toying with me. How could I have not foreseen it?

Father, Stromboli, Doctor Fernandes, Father Batista, Mister Archer and Lawrence…all people I had close contact with after moving the artifacts around. The beast was targeting all those I grew close to…what in God’s name was going on? For how long would I be safe?

In horror and grief, I picked up the blind cat and brough it with me, nothing keeping me from Blackmoor now. Perhaps Stromboli was right…perhaps it will keep the demon away…

I just want it all to stop.