Haunted House Challenge: "Dear Future...Or Is It Past?" -- by Eve Nightingale

Note From Hazel: Sorry this went up so late, I didn't get a chance to post it until now.

Dear Future. . . Or Is It Past?

by Eve Nightingale

 

 

July 27, 1911

 

Dear Past,

 

         They have not yet returned, Past. Three days and they have not returned. I have stayed here, as promised, and looked after our animals, as promised, but I have not been able to find it in me to eat any more. At least I did not promise that.

         I am so tired, Past. So very tired. I passed out earlier today and woke in quite a panic. Harry, that rather odd pig, woke me by poking me with his snout. I don’t know how long I was laying there till he did. I know it must be because I haven’t eaten but my mind simply won’t let me eat.

         It’s such a strange thing, having one’s mind not allow you to eat. 

         I wish Mommy and Papa would come home. I miss them dearly. The town has been so quiet since Mommy hurried to the mine. I wish they would come home. . . 

         Yours till the end.

 

         Your Future,

         Lola Doran 

 

July 28, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         Somehow I ended up in the basement. I have not a clue how but I am just pleased that I am feeling much better. I have not checked upstairs quite yet so I do not know if Mommy and Papa are home. I have heard someone upstairs so I hope they are!

         I had such peculiar dreams, Future. Such peculiar dreams. I dreamed a family lived here. Two families, actually. The first one was quiet like mine but the son remained here. Then another family came and were quite noisy. Both families added to this house and there were some wonderful additions and some additions were of terrible taste. I plan to tell Mommy and Papa about them. We’ve already added a bathroom and kitchen so why not continue improving this house? With taste, of course.

         I think I will go get some food now. I will write again today if Mommy and Papa return!

 

         Sincerely your past,

         Lola Doran 

July 28, 1911

Afternoon

Dear Future,

 

         You will not believe me! I can’t believe myself but, Future, this house is haunted! I believe that is why my rest was so troubled. That family I wrote about earlier, the noisy one, are upstairs! Thankfully, they didn’t see me. I have retreated to the basement and am trying to find a way to get them to leave.

         The house looks different too. They’ve ruined it. They’ve painted it such ghastly, un-naturelike colors—it’s horrid! They have these devices that make so much noise and they argue over them!

         I must end the entry here. I have to find a way to get them to leave! This my house! The house where the Dorans live! Not whatever ghosts or demons they are. 

 

         Frightened but forever your past,

         Lola Doran 

 

July 29, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         They are very good at ignoring despite what their behaviors suggest. I have tried all day to get them to leave but they ignore me. How incredibly rude. Not only do they invade my house, make it look ghastly, but they ignore me! Just wait till Papa comes home. He will not be happy.

         School will be starting soon but I doubt I can go. I must rid this house of these ghosts before I can even think about learning. I just have to find a weakness of theirs. I have noticed that they disappe-ar from time to time, some more than others. The children disappear the most but then the entire family disappears at night. Perhaps if I could find a way to go with them or find where they disappear to, I can find out a weakness. 

         This is all ratty. Why can’t ghosts dislike garlic like vampires? I would cover the house in garlic and be done with it. Well, then there’s the problem of the multitude of garlic. . .

 

         Your Past,

         Lola Doran 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 2, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         I have tried for the past three days to follow where the ghosts disappear to to no avail. I haven’t the slightest clue where they go. I would assume it was that they can only thrive during the day but the fact the children, and sometimes the parents, disappear during the day crosses that out.

         They are such a strange family with such strange things. They seem to hate the quiet. There is always something making noise. They use something that allows people to talk and move even though they are not there. I’m starting to think their belongings are being possessed. Ha! I’m being haunted by ghosts who are haunted by ghosts!

         These strange possessed items come in several different shapes and sizes and make all sorts of noises. One of the noises I think is supposed to be music but they haven’t a lick of taste. None whatsoever. No wonder they are haunting me. They weren’t satisfied with their terrible tastes and nonsensical possessed items that they can’t rest in peace!

         Oh, how could I forget! Ghosts haunt when they are not at peace, right Future? I must find why they are not resting and fix it. Maybe I should break those devices. For my sake rather then theirs. They give me such a headache.

 

         Your annoyed past,

         Lola Doran 

 

August 3, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         It failed. Terribly. I’m not sure what I had expected. If they are ghosts with belongings, I shouldn’t be able to touch them and yet I still thought I could break their devices. 

         Everything I tried to use to break them just ended up going through them during the rare times that I found something I could hold. Now I am cursed with head-splitting headaches until they leave. 

         They are fond of walking through walls and I haven’t an inkling why. I guess that if I could walk through walls, I would quite often, but watching them walk through walls and not return for hours is so confusing. They often walk through the west wall at the south side of the house and don’t return for hours. The eldest child does that often, like her father.

         Every night they disappear through the east wall at the northern part of the house. Why? I haven’t the slightest clue but I am trying very hard to find out. I will try to follow them tonight but I have a feeling it won’t work.

 

         Sincerely your past,

         Lola Doran 

 

August 3, 1911

Night

 

Dear Future,

 

         I can not follow them, Future. I tried walking through the wall like them but it will not work. I wish I could have heard the ending of their conversation. They mentioned something about a church in the next town over. 

         I have a sudden desire to go there. There is a very nice cemetery there. My friend is buried there and I often like to visit her when I am as confused and lost as I am now. I know it is silly to talk to the dead. They can not talk back after all. 

         Perhaps this family is buried there! I have heard their names often enough—they argue and blame each other often enough—that I am sure I could find them and see why they are so unhappy! I shall go tomorrow! No! Tomorrow night would be even better, when the ghosts are all gone!

 

         Your excited and clever past,

         Lola Doran 

 

August 4, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         Tonight I go to the cemetery! I thought about asking my friend Will to come but he’d just call me a coward. The heel. So I will venture alone.

         I used to be scared of graveyards, long ago, Future. They scared me so much and I didn’t quite know why. I just knew they did. Then my friend Lilly told me a story about them. It’s a personal story so I won’t inscribe it here but it was a very sweet and sad story. Ever since then, I haven’t been scared.     

         I have my oil lamp all prepared and ready. I still fall asleep by it every night.

         I have tried looking all over for my coat but have not found it. Rather annoying but I should be fine in the dark. August nights are not normally that cold.

         I shall write either after I return or early in the morning if excitement does not override my sleep.

 

         Your thrilling past,

         Lola Doran 

 

 

August 5, 1911

Early Hours of the Morning

Dear Past,

 

         I am shaking with fear, Past. I do not know what to do but I know I must see where these ghosts go.

         I went to the cemetery. I went to the cemetery to find their graves. But I didn’t find their graves, Past. I didn’t find them! I found Bethany’s grave but not this family's. Instead I. . . I found. . . OH! I can not say, Past! I refuse to write it! I refuse! I am going to find where the ghosts go and end this nightmare once and for all! 

         I refuse to say!

 

         Your terrified future,

         Lola Doran 

 

 

August 12, 1911

 

Dear Future or Past,

 

         Please forgive the lateness of this entry. I could not bring myself to write this but I fear I can not wait any longer.

         I found where they all go at night, Future or Past, whichever it is now. I found where they all go. They go upstairs.

         My home does not have an upstairs but theirs do or mine does now, whichever it is. My home never had an upstairs but I followed them up stairs to a new floor where they sleep. They have their own rooms, some have two, and sleep.

         It felt so wrong being there. So wrong. As if I didn’t belong. I mustered up my anger that I like to call courage and marched up to the man of the house to try to wake him when I caught something in the mirror. Looking over, I jumped back. 

         Where I was supposed to be, I wasn’t. There was nothing there. No light, no shadow, no person. It was as if I didn’t exist.

         I ran from the room and ran back to the graveyard. I forgot to take my lamp but I didn’t need it. These lights along the road appeared on top tall posts but I did not truly notice them until on my way back. 

         I needed to see if I remembered correctly of what I found and to my horror I did. I remember it, Past or Future. I remembered it clearly.

         They have no graves. But Mommy does. And Papa. They never came home. . . Their deaths were the day the mineshaft collapsed. I guess Mommy tried to save Papa only to be crushed herself. They never came home.

         But you know what I saw between them? Another grave. This time it had my name on it. My name, my birthday, and my death date. 

         I feel myself slipping away now. I know I was not being haunted but the one doing the haunting. I feel so alone. . . so cold. . . but I can hear them. I hear Mommy crying softly with both peace and joy and Papa calling me to them. They didn’t come back to me but rather went on . . . went to their true home. 

         What I don’t understand is why I didn’t go then? Why, when I fell asleep so tiredly and hungrily to a sleep of which I would never awake, didn’t I leave home?! Perhaps I couldn’t accept my fate. 

         It pains me to leave this home but, despite how noisy and troublesome this new family is, I know they will care for it. The eldest doesn’t want to let this place go. That brings me comfort. Someone else loves this home too and she will be with her family.

         Mommy and Papa have grown louder so it is my time to go. . . Goodbye, Me. Goodbye, house. Goodbye world. Goodbye.

 

         Sincerely,

         Lola Doran

 

 

            With a dull thud, the diary landed on the floor of the one and a half story house. It laid in a hallway to the eldest’s bedroom. It just so happens that that eldest daughter was running her way up the stairs. What is the wretched point?! If they want me to stay, why don’t they teach properly! In her angry daze, she did not notice the diary until she tripped over it. She normally had very good balance but when it came to being shocked back to reality, her body forgot all sense of balance.

            She stumbled to stay upright, running into the chair in the hall as she scowled as to not cuss. Once she stood straight, rubbing her hip, she turned and saw the old, leather bound book on the floor. She paused. Not mine. . . maybe parents’. She bent over and picked it up carefully, noticing how cold the leather was. She didn’t think the air got thatcold that close to the floor.

            She carefully opened it, always scared that she would hurt an old book, and looked at the very first entry back in 1904. She mouthed the words of the short entry before reading the signature. Her mother was walking up the stairs to check on her, that class had been rather dispiriting after all, so the daughter called out: “Hey Mom?”

            “Yes sweetie?”

            “Do we know a Lola Doran?”

Lost Civilization Challenge: "The Events of 1906" -- by Hazel B West

The Events of 1906

By Hazel B. West

Excerpts from the found Journal of Dr. Richard Shelby of the Far Northern Exploration of 1906 about the harrowing events that transpired.

September 18^th1906, North Pole

Our exploratory team has finally made landfall at the North Pole! The journey through the Arctic Ocean was harrowing—already the cold is unbearable and it is only mid-September. Dr. Sharpe and I were up all night going over plans for our exploration, which will begin once we have our base camp set up. 

            And getting the camp set up is indeed our first order of business. We will be here until next late spring when the ice thaws enough to allow us to leave, so we must make ourselves a place where we can find at least some creature comforts. It is hardly England, but I think we will make do. And surely, with all the research ahead of us we will have little time to think of the lack of comfort. By this time next year, Dr. Sharpe and I hope that our team will bring back fantastic new information to the civilized world about this mysterious and uncharted area.

September 26^th

It took the better part of a week to construct our permanent home base, but Mr. Harper, our foreman, is a good hand and has given us something that I am confident will last the winter, even here in the farthest northern reaches of the earth.

            During the construction, Dr. Sharpe and I took a couple afternoons to survey the landscape nearby. As we are not too far from the water here, there is still occasional wildlife to be found—we even spotted a polar bear not far from camp. Mr. Grey got photographs of it, which made him very pleased. 

            The expedition seems to already be off to a good start. 

September 29^th

Today starts our exploration officially! We packed up several sleds this morning, and a team of fifteen of us will head out toward the north. We should be away from the base for about two weeks if all goes to plan.

            Dr. Sharpe and I have decided to head toward a rather lumpy part of the landscape we had spied during our initial survey. It was hard to tell for sure, but we had hopes that it was a small mountain range. If there are caves, we may find yet undiscovered fauna or flora to bring back to the Royal Academy of Science. And then of course there would be the geological finds that Dr. Mallory is hoping for.

            

We’ve made camp after a long day’s journey. Nothing to report so far. We have a long way ahead of us, probably three more days journey on foot to the mountains. 

October 2^nd

We’ve made it to the mountains and are now building a more permanent camp where we will stay for this short expedition. Dr. Sharpe and I have been making our plans and are hoping to climb into the mountains via a valley of sorts we spotted on our way in. The visuals here are breathtaking. White and bleak, yes, but with a certain cold majesty. Icy outcroppings soaring high into the grey skies. I spent most of the afternoon sketching the vistas. It makes me wonder whether we are the first men who have set eyes on this place, and I am beginning to think that is most likely the case. It is a rare privilege indeed, and I am humbled to be a part of this.

October 3^rd

I must struggle to contain my enthusiasm at the absolutely improbable find we have stumbled across, but I will try my best to put it all into words.

This morning, we started our exploration through the cleft in the mountains toward some of the higher peeks. The area we chose was rather more closed off than we had hoped, but just as we were planning on trying another direction, Mr. Grey discovered a cave and we decided to have a look.

            The cave itself continued further and further back until we could no longer see the light of day at our backs and had to rely fully on the gas lanterns and torches we had luckily had the forethought to bring with us that morning. Until we saw daylight ahead of us now, as the tunnel seemed to be a fortunate passage through part of the mountain. Eagerly, we stepped through.

            And here is where we made our miraculous discovery.

            We could hardly believe our eyes when we saw it! We seemed to have stumbled across some ancient mountain chateau. Obviously, manmade with bold, almost Grecian architecture, pillars of the natural stone, a dark black in color. If you were to look up, you could see the sky far overhead and the mountains surrounding us on all sides. We stood in awe, shocked at this thing we had never expected to find in seemingly the center of the mountains we had just chanced to decide upon exploring.

            It was not long before our shock wore off, however, and our scientific minds began to race over each other, shouting possibilities, and theories, several of our men rushing off to explore, and take samples of the rock, looking for any artifacts that might be found. Dr. Sharpe and I accompanied Mr. Grey as he took photographs, nearly trembling at the thought of being the first person to do so. 

            “This is amazing,” Sharpe said to me, awed almost beyond words. “I never expected…”

            None of us had. This expedition had been made to be of mostly a biological and geological nature. Instead we had seemingly stumbled upon the anthropological discovery of the century. None of us had been prepared for it, but we were all beyond astounded at the prospects. And what would our peers back home think when we returned with this amazing information?!

After exploring as long as we had light for, we retire back to the camp to discuss our find. In addition to samples of the peculiar black stone, Dr. Mallory and Dr. Thorne retrieved some pieces from inside one of the empty rooms of the chateau. Pottery shards, and other small things that must have belonged to whatever civilization had been and was now gone. These they set out on a table, and poured over, trying to figure out what these strange artifacts were made of.

            Mr. Grey had set up a darkroom in one of the tents to develop his photographs, and we sat pouring over these after supper, exclaiming over the architecture and trying to place the period it might have been created.

            “You know,” Dr. Mallory mused eventually, puffing on his pipe. “There is the legend of Rupes Nigra to consider.”

            “The black rock,” I said thoughtfully, remembering the story of the explorers from several hundred years earlier who had claimed to find a huge magnetic black rock at the North Pole, which supposedly explained why compasses always pointed north. “Perhaps there is some truth to the tale after all.”

            “And yet nowhere in the tales was anything like this described,” Dr. Sharpe said, tapping one of the photographs that showed the intricate architecture of our find. “This isn’t some magnetic black rock. This is an entire lost civilization!”

            Indeed, it seemed we had been extremely fortunate in our discovery.

October 4^th

Our luck of the previous day seems to have run out. A snowstorm blew in overnight, making it impossible for us to leave our camp. We had feared we might have difficulties with storms even this early in the season, but in light of our discovery, even the thought of a day cooped up in camp was giving everyone a case of cabin fever.

            That and the wind is howling eerily through the mountains, putting everyone on edge without any of us really knowing why. It is a haunting tune, sure enough, almost lyrical, and yet it is just the wind, and as long as we stay inside our fortified tents, it cannot harm us.

October 6^th

The snowstorm has finally stopped, and with it the ceasing of the wailing winds that battered us for two full days and nights. Everyone seems to be in better spirits now that we know we can leave camp.

It appears I spoke too soon about our good fortune. As we gathered for breakfast, Dr. Mallory did not join us. Mr. Grey, who is sharing a tent with him said he was not in his cot when he woke up, thinking he was already back in the main tent looking over his findings again.

Upon inspection, it appears that Dr. Mallory is nowhere in the camp at all. It is possible, of course, that he woke early and proceeded into the mountain as soon as the storm ceased, but I find that rather unlikely considering he is usually a sensible sort. I don’t think even two days of being cooped up from the storm would make him lose his senses like that.

            It appears we will have to forgo furthering our exploration for today and look for our lost colleague instead.

October 7^th

This expedition has begun to take a rather strange turn. We spent all of the previous day trying to find out what had happened to Dr. Mallory or where he might have gone. No tracks were found leaving camp even though the snow had settled after the storm and should have plainly shown us if anyone left the camp. The only explanation for that was that Mallory had left the camp before the storm ended, or he was still here, neither of which made any sense.

            After a day looking, we retired back to camp, perplexed to say the least, but not nearly as much as we were this morning when Dr. Mallory walked into the tent while we were having breakfast.

            He stood there for a moment, as we all gaped at him, and then simply collapsed in a faint upon the ground.

            Once we overcame out shock at seeing our colleague returned, we bundled him onto a cot by the heaters and examined him for injuries, but found none.

            Dr. Sharpe was the only one who tried to come up with any explanation, saying that it was likely a case of delirium brought on by the incessant storm and the snow blindness. He could have left the tent for a call of nature and become disoriented in the night, losing his bearings and only now finding his way back.

            None of us, including Sharpe really believed that, however. Especially when we saw traces of dark pebbles in the treads of Dr. Mallory’s boots when we took them off to dry them.

October 8^th

After another long night, all of us taking turns by Mallory’s bedside in case he woke, we were on edge, still unsatisfied that we had no explanation for what had happened.

            It was around mid-morning when Mallory woke, but he seemed to be in some delirious state, only half-awake, unable to recognize any of us and extremely agitated.

            “Mallory, you are safe,” I tried to assure him. 

            He simply shook his head, tossing back and forth, his eyes wide and darting to-and-fro as if in a fever dream.

            “The singing,” he finally whispered. “It’s in my head. It’s in my head!” His voice rose and he reached up to clench at his head, his hands gripping his hair as if threatening to tear it out. Dr. Sharpe and I quickly tried to restrain him, but he only seemed to grow more agitated. Then, to our horror, began babbling in some unintelligible language.

            “He’s gone mad,” Sharpe muttered, horror in his eyes.

            Eventually, when his fit didn’t cease, we thought it best to dose him with laudanum, which thankfully calmed him down and helped him sleep again. 

Tonight, another storm has come upon us. Mallory is restless again, waking more frequently and always with the same thing. Gibberish and complaining about a ‘song’ stuck in his head. 

            Outside, the wind has begun wailing. I can’t imagine it will help Mallory. Its persistence is almost enough to make me sympathize with him.

            

October 9^th

I was woken in the middle of the night by Mr. Grey. We had all decided to sleep in the main tent as the storm had picked up and this was the soundest structure we had. It had been Grey’s turn to watch Dr. Mallory and we had all gone to bed to the hair-raising sound of the shrieking wind.

            “Shelby!” he said desperately, shaking me awake. “Mallory is gone!”

            He had apparently gone to answer a call of nature and when he came back, Mallory, who he thought he had left sleeping soundly, was no longer in the tent.

            I threw aside my blankets to cast around. Sharpe and several others woke at the commotion and helped us, getting more lights on in the tent. 

            “Shelby, over here!”

            I turned to see Grey and Thorne standing at the entrance to the tent, peeling back the flaps, which were quickly caught by the wind, letting frigid air into our small sanctuary.

            “What are you doing?” I demanded, going over to them.

            However, when I looked past their shoulders, I saw a figure standing out in the snow, in only socks, trousers and shirtsleeves. It was Mallory.

            “Sharpe!” I called and my college joined me.

            “Mallory!” he shouted but his voice was taken and swallowed by the wind. It was wailing even more, the sound so eerily lyrical, it sent goosepimples over my back and belly and sent the hair standing up on my neck. 

            Grey and Thorne were already putting on their gear, and I turned to do the same when I saw Mallory turn around and stare at something in the snow-swept darkness. I could not see anything, but he reached out.

            “What is he doing?” Sharpe asked, both of us frozen in the spot as we watched the strange spectacle before us.

            Thorne and Grey pushed past us and hurried into the snow, but a particularly bad gust of wind rattled the tent, tugging harshly at the canvas, nearly knocking Sharpe and I over. The others were trying to contain the things inside the tent and Sharpe and I hurried to grab our coats and rush out toward Grey and Thorne as they staggered toward Mallory.

            Or to where Mallory had been.

            “Where is he?” Sharpe demanded.

            “I don’t know!” Grey called back. “He was there and then he…he wasn’t.”

            I looked around, the wind biting my face and the sound of it shrieking though the nearby mountains…a pounding started behind my eyes and the shrieking began to sound like a song…

            “Shelby!” Sharpe dragged me back toward the tent and we battened the flap down again, all of us panting and disturbed by what we had witnessed.

            “There was nothing you could do,” I assured my colleagues, and perhaps myself. “Mallory was seeing things that weren’t there. We can only hope he’s gone to a better place now. That he’ll be at peace.”

            It didn’t sit well with any of us though. There was just something about what had happened to Mallory that wasn’t right. Wasn’t natural. 

October 10^th

In light of what happened to Dr. Mallory, we have all decided it best to head back to our base camp and regroup, perhaps come back to the strange black rock chateau later in the expedition. All of us silently agreed that we didn’t want to be around it anymore.

            We looked briefly for a body, but all trace of Joseph Mallory seemed to have disappeared, even after digging in the snow for a bit. 

            I think all of us felt a little relieved as we finished packing up the camp onto the sleds and started on our way back to the base camp. Despite the enormity of our miraculous find, there was undeniably something about it that disturbed us all just a bit.

October 12^th

We’ve been traveling back to base camp for two days now, and have been forced to stop as it looks like yet another one of the freak storms is cropping up. We can see the clouds gathering over the mountains behind us. We can only hope it won’t reach us, but I doubt that we will be so lucky. I’ve already had a persistent headache all day, most likely due to the low pressure. 

Sure enough, as night falls, the storm has come upon us. I hope our makeshift camp will hold. What I find strangest is that even without the mountains near, the wind is still making a horrible racket. I don’t know how as there is nothing for it to blow past. It’s all flat out here. Just snow.

It’s not the wind.

October 13^th

I will try to describe the events of the previous night as well as I can. I’m sure you can tell by the quality of my writing that even now my hand is shaking to think about it.

Just after we all retired for the night, our tent took on a particularly persistent gust of wind. Some of the pegs were ripped from the ground, and Sharpe, several other men, and myself rushed out into the snow to hammer them back in, and see what we could do to fortify them. 

            We were in the process of doing this when the shrieking of the wind became nearly deafening, forcing all of us to stop what we were doing and cover our ears.

            “What the devil is that?” Sharpe demanded, eyes wide with horror.

            I caught something out of the corner of my eye, and turned, heart in my throat, only to see that there was nothing there. 

            The shrieking was discombobulating, but we finished our work, until we heard a shout and looked up to see Mr. Grey running toward us.

            “Shelby! Dr. Thorne is gone and so are Drake and Simmons!”

            “What?” I demanded, not really understanding. The shrieking burrowing into my head and making the ache I’d had all day intensify.

            “They got this strange look in their eyes and just walked out into the snow!” Grey told us.

            “Shelby, we need to get inside,” Sharpe said, voice shaking, and not from the cold.

            We started back around to the tent entrance, and something in the shrieking wind changed. A haunting voice rose out of it, like two instruments finally finding a harmony, and the snow danced before us.

            Thorne, Drake and Simmons appeared before us, walking through the snow, past our sleds and out of camp. Back towards the mountains we had left.

            We all tried shouting for them in vain. And we could hardly hear ourselves over the strange inexplicable music that I could no longer mistake for simply the wind.

            “Shelby, inside!”

            We hurried back to the tent and I grabbed Grey by his shoulder. 

            “Get your camera, and take pictures of the surroundings,” I told him with a sudden thought.

            He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. I began to think I had.

            “Nothing will show up in this storm,” he protested.

            “Just do it!” I insisted, clutching my head. The shrieking wind was a little better now, not as loud. I glanced toward Sharpe and saw he looked just as disturbed as I felt. At least I wasn’t the only one.

            Grey took several photos outside, and then I practically bullied him into developing them in a makeshift darkroom that we set up.

            When the photos developed, I saw he had been right, even with the flash there was little to be seen in them.

            Except for one.

            This photo showed some dark, shadowy figure standing out in the snow. It had no real shape, and yet it was definitely something.It was certainly not any of our lost colleagues, that we could all agree upon.

            We are not alone out here.

Whatever happened last night, the storm has ceased now, though we have now lost four of our team, and I dread to know what else we will encounter. 

            The only thing we are sure of is that there is somethingout there in the snow. Whether it is some form of life of this world or another, I cannot say, but I am certain it has something to do with the black rock chateau that we found. 

            We packed up directly for the base camp. We cannot stand the thought of staying out here another day.

October 15^th

We’ve made it back to the base camp and are now making preparations to leave. The ice is already forming in the ocean around us, but if we leave now we may be able to get out before we are trapped here, and—heaven help me—I cannot even imagine the thought of being trapped up here with whatever is out in the snow.

            It is a shame that our scientific exploration has been cut short and yet we are all in agreement that we can no longer stay here. 

October 17^th

None of us are sleeping. We are all on edge. I can hardly stand to close my eyes as behind my eyelids I see that thing in Grey’s photograph. I cannot bear to consider what has happened to our lost colleagues. I find myself hoping that they are, in fact, dead, as the alternatives defy imagination.

Preparations to leave are going slower than any of us wish. I grow more agitated by the hour as the fear of staying here wears on me.

October 18^th

My head is aching. There is a sound it in, like a song. A song I cannot seem to hear nor get out of my head. It keeps getting louder and louder.

A storm is rolling in.

Dr. Shelby’s journal ends here. A rescue exploration was sent in 1907 when his expedition didn’t return when they were supposed to. The base camp was found completely deserted, their ship half packed. No bodies or trace of any of the men were found, only this journal, and the attached photographs, along with the few archeological finds taken from the ruins of the ‘black chateau’. To this day, what happened to Dr. Shelby’s team is a mystery.

~~~~~~~

Author’s Note

I have always loved the unknown qualities of Arctic exploration but I don’t know much about the mechanics of it and didn’t have time to research so this is probably not at all accurate. This story was inspired by Lovecraft’s “The Mountains of Madness”