If this journal is found, it will be all that is left of my existence. There will be no body to mourn or ashes to scatter to the winds. I will be as a shadow in a nightmare only few will ever realize in their screaming terror they call 'reality'. This simple journal is all that will be left behind to tell the journey of my obsession and of my essence.

       It is a given that there are things science can't explain. Legends have plagued humanity, science, and the human mind ever since we fell out of the trees. The "myths of vampires, shape shifters , and demons have haunted our waking moments since before the world was new. Vampires are usually mentally unstable mortals, Shape-shifters are delusions of insanity (or drug induced hallucinations), but then there are demons. These are real. These are VERY real...

      My life was seemingly normal up until my 24th birthday. I had a normal childhood, except always having a love for monsters put me into the 'strange' category in high school. The evening of my birthday, I was spending in an old cemetery in Mobile on a couple of hits of LSD, White-Crosses, 3 joints and a half case of beer awaiting a lunar eclipse. It was important because it was supposed to be a 'Blood Moon', a rare event in which the full moon becomes blood red. The last time it happened was the night I was born. The odds are incalculable of them being on the same date, however here I was celebrating in a graveyard almost as old as the city itself, well over 300 yrs.

    It wasn't exactly against my will, and not one of my better decisions to be there in the first place. My friends convinced my that the best way to celebrate life was to be amongst those that had passed before. The drugs were all gifts, I learned what a combination of pills and Mezcal tequila go well with two hits of acid (the answer is: the less the better), then came the joints and a slight loss of perception as time itself seemed to flow like waves. There was more than a heightened sense of reality, there was a certain curtain I was being able to peek through for the briefest of glimpses before the curtain closed again. I have no definite memories of all of that evening except getting lost in the maze of crypts and stumbling in a red darkness following a whispery voice, deeper into the older parts of the ancient burial grounds. I remember coming to a mausoleum that was chained closed with a rusty lock, and holding it before the chain pulled free. I entered, and remember nothing else that happened for the next three hours except for an odd rustling of chains and a noise like soft screaming. I was found later in the arms of a stone cemetery  angel being cradled and whispering of something that sounded like 'schism, order, passion.'

     Nothing has been the same after that night. I'm afraid to sleep, afraid of certain random graves in the places I have traveled since. I avoid them for no real reason except a  feeling of dread so intense it borders on hysteria. My personality is different as well. Where once I was as a life form not recognizing it's own existence, I became more self aware. I started studying what some consider Arcane lore, Magjick, and useless everyday events with a lean towards theoretical physics. All of these subjects deal with things that can not be explained by sceince.

Theoretical Physics deals with the mathematical problem of living in only four dimensions( time being the fourth), when we live in over twenty . This will be discussed later.

   Five years after my 'party' in the graveyard, I heard the voice again. Somehow it had found me through the haze of comatose inducing drugs I have to take to not dream. My dreams had become so horrendous I had to take medication to stop them from being remembered. The voice reached through everything and said only the briefest of statements- a name. In a voice of angelic beauty being scrapping across metal gravestones, she whispered, "Abdul Alsarad", and was gone.

      I woke up screaming soaked in a cold horror sweat, reeling with the knowledge that I was either having a flashback or going insane again.

    I got out of bed and lit a cigarette while clinging to my head praying for a sign that I was not about to fall into the abyss of insanity again. The phone rang and I jumped! I looked over at the clock and wondered,' Who the Fuck is calling at 3 A.M.?' I walked over to the phone and picked it up.

   "Hello," I asked uneasily.

   I heard heavy breathing and a frantic voice shouting," Erik! Get rid of them! All of them! Get rid of those damned boxes! They..."

      The line went dead and I hung it up, even more shaken than before. I was beginning to actually feel fear.

  It all began here- this perfect moment in time, when I turned to look at the collection I had gathered over the past few years. I owned seven of the LaMarchand puzzle boxes. They were made in 1754 and are rare, very rare. Legend has it that they are 'Lament Configurations', ways to summon unimagined pleasures or unknown horrors.

   I looked across the table from where I had them displayed and looked at my books. Alzerad! That's was it! The writer of The Necronomicon, the blackest of black books and bound with the author's own skin. I walked over to my copy and opened it. The pages were old and brittle, but readable still. I started leafing through the pages until I got to the symbols for the spells. I could feel the hairs on my arms  and gooseflesh begin to raise. The symbols were the exact same as the ones I saw before me on the table. On one of the boxes had the spell all over it's surface! The box was called 'The Borden Box'. It was found after Lizzie hacked her family to death. I knew it was impossible for a girl to kill that many people, have no trace of blood on her and be guilty. I now knew she had called THEM and they massacred her entire household leaving her in her own private hell- alone and abandoned by everyone. It was the box that called them. I was a little freaked at this point. I know the boxes were only made two and a half centuries ago, but this book is over two thousand years old in it's original form and has always been underground for a variety of reasons.

    I leafed through more of the pages until I found another symbol I recognized from the boxes. Box #4 was called the 'Fool's Configuration'. In WW 2 Himmler sent a battalion of troops into the Black Forest of Romania to dispel the legends of Vampires living in the forest. The day after the troops went in he followed and saw a sight that turned the leader of the SS pale. His men were lying in pieces, literally. Hardly any bodies remained, they were dismembered and shredded with parts scattering the trees. Only one soldier survived. He was holding the box and babbling incoherently.

     My knees felt weak and my head was swimming when the voice came to me again. She whispered seductively, ' Yes, you know it's the truth. Come to me, Erik. I've been waiting for sooo long now. Leave the chaotic flesh behind and be one with me. You were born for this purpose and I have such wonders to show you. Please...' and the voice trailed off.

    Without thinking, I walked over to the boxes and picked one of them up. I could feel it's energy pulsing through my veins as I looked it over and felt a desire I have never known as she whispered, 'Yes. Come to me'

    I examined the box and carried it over to the desk. I looked it over and turned it this way and that, but it was not giving up it's secrets easily. I put it down and lit another cigarette, frustrated. I was looking at the box when the answer came to me in an epiphany of chaos. I no longer worried about being insane, because it no longer mattered. I had the answer! It was desire. It had nothing to do with turning the pieces like a puzzle, but everything to do with passion. I had to open it at all costs, if only to hold this image of insanity for a moment.

    The voice came again, laughing, "Good Boy. Now come to me- together we can explore such wonders you can't imagine." and then pleading, "Please Erik, I have waited for soo long." She softly breathed into my mind, inflaming every desire and fear I have ever felt, " Come to me,"

   I have resolved to do it. I have no choice anymore. I'll light candles for a romantic evening and call my obsession. I want to be naked to feel every sensation as I am transformed into her idea of beauty- A Cenobite, the enforcers of order. I have to know if she is a demon or my salvation. My angel of darkness will be mine.

       I leave this behind now to spend an eternity with her in hell. May God forgive me.

               "Beautiful angel in Heaven blessed, My soul longs with thee to rest."

                                                    -Faust