It was horrible, fucking horrible. The “sorcerer,” shit. My cousin Christopher, we grew up like brothers, had to be trepanated for a nick of his brain. Doctor Wilson split him open like he was performing an autopsy, to take a tiny piece of his heart, and he did a spinal tap for some fluid. They mixed all this up with Christopher’s blood.
When he woke up, he said a bunch of crazy shit in some language and dropped some of this on that creepy ass map. It fell into the margin and made a weird symbol. Somehow, this gave them an idea where Tiffany had been taken.
Now we’re down in this room beneath a basement at some big wood door with metal bands. They put some kind of drops in my eyes that made everything look clearer, more real. Apparently there’s some other world on the other side of that door. All I know for sure is I’ve got my 12 gauge pump, a shitload of ammo, and we’re going to bring her home.–From a sheaf of handwritten notes found in the Special Archives Room at the Miskatonic University Orne Library.
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