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 The Calling

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Ren Blackwell


Posts : 11
Join date : 2012-01-31

PostSubject: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:43 am

Sunday, November 27, 2011
Ravenhurst, Washington
Weather: Rain, wind

Entry 331

The ferry ride into Ravenhurst from port wasn't as long as I remembered it. Though I'd only been to the small island once before, close to a month ago for my first interview. The other three meetings had been carried out at Washington State, given the small island's City Planner had wanted a break themselves, as well as a nice night out over in Seattle.

I was met at the dock and welcomed on board as the City Council's new Historian, though I couldn't help but still feel as if the whole idea wasn't something a bit temporary. It wasn't a nagging feeling I'd gotten from the place itself, but sort of a impression I got from the City Planner's eyes. A look of futility. And given this island's history in disappearances, murders, and strange events—I couldn't blame them.

I was walked to the library and shown upstairs to the office—which looked as if no one had been inside for a year or so. The monstrous desk was over run with folders, books, papers, and a pot with a dead plant in it. The chairs, even the rug, all looked as if they'd been raided from a medieval castle—or the Jolly Green Giant's personal collection.

I set my backpack and duffle bag on a chair and waved away the dust. "So...what ever happened to the last historian?"

It was a simple question. Apparently the answer wasn't so simple, as the Planner avoided it and handed me the key to the office, the library, and a ring of keys they believed went to the line of filing cabinets along the wall.

That's when I realized what was missing. "Is there no computer?"

"No. I'm afraid all the records we have are in those cabinets. Good luck!" and they were nearly running down the stairs.

Huh. Right. So... I looked at the keys and looked at the cabinets. It was still early—my stomach growled—and I wasn't sure I'd had enough sleep to tackle what looked like a job I probably didn't ask enough money for.

"Put everything in order—and make it possible for this island's history to be known as accurately as possible."

Seems the council left a lot out of the job offer.

I found a key that fit the larger bottom drawer of the Jethro desk and stored my duffle bag inside. My other things were packed and ready to ship once I found a place to live. I knew where the hotel was, and I'd seen a diner in that direction. Breakfast and coffee sounded great.

Grabbing up my backpack, I locked the office and headed downstairs. The whole place smelled musty—and I wondered if anyone had even been in the library in the past year.

Were there any employees at all? Or was I it?

It was when I turned from locking the library's front door that I saw something flash red in the corner of the building. I blinked and looked again, narrowing my eyes. Whatever it was, it was still there. Not like a glint of the morning sun—what there was of it—against the stone.

I lifted my glasses to look again, you know, just in case. But the red remained and as I drew nearer I saw it was a circle. And the image stayed on the stone even as I knelt down.

But when I reached out to touch it—poof. Gone. Nothing grandiose, just wasn't there anymore. I pushed my glasses up on my head and rubbed my eyes. Okay... I needed food, and I definitely needed caffeine. I could feel the pain of a withdrawal headache on the way. And after food and coffee, I needed to get a room.

Standing, I nodded to a woman by the bank, then walked across the square and headed toward the gate to the river's side of the bank and caught the smell of fried bacon and fresh coffee.
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Ren Blackwell


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PostSubject: Re: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:44 am

Monday, November 28, 2011
Ravenhurst, Washington
Weather: Rain, cold, wind

Entry 332

Getting the office in order was going to take me till Christmas, that much I was pretty sure of. And things had to be straightened out before I could even start to organize and document what had already been recorded to what needed to be recorded.

Let's not even go there when it came to getting out and walking the ruins, photos, note-taking, and research.

Most of Sunday evening was spent sleeping, though I did take my first walk through town. Coffee shop, tattoo parlor, diner, garage, and then I saw the sign with the moons. It was just past the coffee shop, but before the Sheriff's office. Ellwyn's Esoterics.

The sign in the window said closed. There was also a missing poster in the same window, a woman named Susan Zelin. The date of the poster didn't hold out much hope of finding this woman. It also didn't give me a lot of comfort. I pressed my hands against the glass and then pulled back when something vibrated against my skin. I looked at my hands—what the hell was that? Was the place wired like an electric fence?

I wanted to touch the window again, but people were walking by and since I was new—I didn't want to look like a complete idiot playing with the window. So I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and continued on. But I still looked back at the place and remembered the odd vibration I'd felt.
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Ren Blackwell


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PostSubject: Re: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:44 am

Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Ravenhurst, Washington
Weather: Rain, cold, wind I'm thinking this is gonna be a copy/paste event

Entry 333

I spent a lot of time in the office sorting piles. The recent pile—things recorded within the past year. The Less recent pile—things recorded before 2011. And the I have no fucking idea what this is pile—for things that I had no fucking idea what they were. Some were copies of old police reports—but no dates. And a few of them were scribbled with a name that looked like Macalroy—but then there was something that looked like chocolate smudged on them.

Or I hoped it was chocolate. Gross.

I worked through lunch, and around six-ish my body reminded me that it'd had nothing but six cups of coffee that day. I felt sick. So I closed up, locked the door and the library. I looked at that corner of the library again but didn't see the red circle.

I made my way around the Tribune toward the Sheriff's Office and stopped at the corner when I realized the Esoteric shop was open. There were people gathered around outside as well. I'd stopped by several times to touch that glass—and nothing had happened. Kind of like the red circle. I was beginning to think I needed a vacation, and I'd just started.

Curiosity is one of my worst flaws, so I stepped in and was knocked back by a wall of smells. I couldn't identify any of them and moved out of the way of the door. After my eyes adjusted I saw shelves of bottles, books, and some very strange things in clear containers. Voices came from upstairs but I couldn't make anything out.

Another guy was at the counter talking to a cute little girl about a snake in a cage. She welcomed me and we exchanged pleasantries. I found a book on witchcraft—another one of those wacky Wiccan books—and a book on spells.

The people upstairs came down. First, there was a nice looking redhead, then a dark haired kid who looked like he'd been in a fight. And after that—


Blonde hair, fur trimmed jacket, and sword-cane. At first I thought it was a woman—but when he spoke? Definitely a guy. The accent reminded me of New Orleans, but I'm not a linguist. What I did know was that I couldn't understand anything he said. Luckily the redhead did. He looked more like he belonged in a band than here on this island. Well...I guess this place attracted all kinds.

As I stood there, I felt something happen again. Only this time it was a vibration that moved from my toes up to the tips of my fingers. Something then brushed my cheek and I reached up to touch my face as my gaze found the redhead's. She smiled at me and resumed speaking with the blonde. What...the hell was that? Damn...I needed food in the worst way.

Another kid in a Carebear™ visor came in, so did a brunette. There was a bit of a book throwing moment, and then they were gone. I was introduced to Lexie, the red headed store manager, who apologized profusely. The cute clerk was Kei. Lexie then invited me over to her place for some dinner and drink.

I don't know why I said yes...I didn't know either of them. I just knew...it was where I wanted to be.
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Ren Blackwell


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PostSubject: Re: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:45 am

Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Ravenhurst, Washington
Weather: Rain, cold, wind

Entry 334

I have no idea what happened...so this'll be a short entry. Now that I'm back at the hotel and nursing one hell of a headache. I don't do wine well—and apparently I did a lot of it last night. On an empty stomach.

I woke up this morning on the floor of Lexie's livingroom, no shoes, no jacket and an open shirt, with Kei tangled in one arm, and Lexie—

What the hell happened? What woke me was Kei disentangling herself. She gave me a sleepy look and grabbed for her phone and started texting.

Me? I lay there, waiting for the evil Leprechauns to stop jackhammering inside of my head.

"Breakfast?" Kei had said and jumped up to the kitchen. "It'll make you feel much better."

I think I made a noise.

But breakfast was good, Lexie was gracious, Kei was incredible and I was...

Missing the last nine hours of my life.

What. The. Hell?
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Ren Blackwell


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PostSubject: Re: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:45 am

Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Ravenhurst, Washington
Weather: Cold, wind

Entry 335

After leaving Lexie's...I went back to the hotel. That's when I realized I'd left my cell at Lexie's house. Unable to call her—with no cell and no idea what her number was—I decided to just walk back there. I'd found my way back to the hotel—certainly I could find my way to her house.

But I didn't—and spent the remainder of that day on an adventure I can't repeat in this journal. I know I'd always said I'd chronicle my life, that I'd keep records of who I met and what I'd done, because so many times I'd followed a diary found excavated somewhere and regret that the author hadn't finished—that there was no clue as to what happened to them.

But as I lay here on the bed in my room, I find that I can't. When I put the tip of my mont blanc to the paper...it simply rests there and no words come to me. It's almost as if something else wishes the events of the day to remain with me. They're not to be shared.

And so I make a new paragraph and glance out the window at the moon glinting over the bay.

Something's changed inside of me. Something I can't put a finger on. But as my adventure had ended in a place of peace and tranquility, that is also where it began. As I walked back through the ruins, I saw the wisps of memory still held within that place, of faces and images of what had been. From Indians to wolves and battle that pulled at the sea itself once.

As I walked through town things seemed brighter. My feet felt the earth even through the soles of my boots. My step was light and I'm pretty sure from the stiffness in my jaw, I wore the grin of an idiot back. Though several tourists and residents alike asked me if I was okay—I'm afraid my shirt, jacket and jeans were torn as if I'd been dashed against the rocks—I felt fine.

And when I finally showered I stood under the cascading water and was mesmerized by the way the water bounced and danced over my skin. And when I touched a cut on my hand, given to me my a particularly sharp piece of granite...it faded away. I stood still and watched my hand until the water turned cold.

In the light of the closet sized bathroom, with my glasses on my face, I couldn't find any trace of the cut that'd burned and ached for most of the day.

I'm tired now, in a way I've never been tired. I still don't have my phone, and I have no idea what Lexie's number is. Or Kei's...but I know I can find them at the store.

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Ren Blackwell


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PostSubject: Re: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:46 am

Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Ravenhurst, Washington
Weather: Damn Cold, wind, fog

Entry 341

I looked up at the entry number and felt a little guilty. That's not really true—that's the entry number it should be. For 331 days I've written in this book. Even if the only entry was simply to say "boring day." And now...

Now I've done everything I could to avoid putting pen to paper. Avoided thinking about what happened that day. About the time in the woods. Why? Because...I hadn't found the words to describe it. And a part of me wasn't sure it wanted anyone to find this book and read what happened and think me crazy.

After a day I went back to that spot in the woods...the one with the lights and the voices. The one where it was warm and I felt at peace. At home. Kei showed up as well, and we talked. I was surprised she was there. I was even more surprised at the things she told me about herself...and about me.

About what we were.

This is just stupid. It's not really possible, is it? I mean... I've dug up ghosts and journals as far back as I could remember. I've carefully read diaries and felt the joy of proving their accounts truthful, and known the disappointment to discover their lies. I'd been happy to settle in at Washington, State—and then felt as if fate had touched me when Ravenhurst called. The job held so much promise—and in a week it seemed as if everything had changed.

I kept thinking of Kei and her words. I thought about them on the walk to work, as I straightened and investigated the mess in the office, and as I ate and then walked back to the hotel at night. I never stopped thinking about it.

Truth was I was avoiding going back to that shop. I wanted to go back there. I felt a pull....a strange need to find Lexie and ask her what Kei called herself.

And me.


That word drove me back to the library tonight. The need to look up a word I'd used in my own vocabulary over the years, mostly in a less than complimentary way. But once I get into the library—after a very damp walk from the motel—I met a beautiful young woman reading inside.

DJ Dockal. And I wasn't kidding about beautiful. Where Kei exuded an innocent charm with her Eurasian features and bubbly personality, this woman seemed to vibrate the room. As we talked—and I learned she was a Historian as well—there was this constant...buzzing. Something that made me restless.

But this was overshadowed by what she told me, and her credentials. From the looks of the mess upstairs, and the lack of any kind of oversight when it came to the town records, an assistant would come in handy.

I shot her information over to the City Planner after I got back to the hotel—and had reception. I know eventually I need to find Lexie...

I didn't know why.

But it would be important.

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Ren Blackwell


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PostSubject: Re: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:46 am

Monday, December 12, 2011
Ravenhurst, Washington
Weather: Snow. Cold.

Entry 347


She gave me a book of herbs and said, "Learn these."

Screw that. I don't have time to learn herbs. I have a shit load of work to do in the archive room. And I hadn't seen DJ at all. Nor had I heard back from the City Planner about hiring her. I did get a message back from them that it was my responsibility to hire help.

I'd gone back to the store to see Lexie—and had been able to catch her there. And I met another of "us" as I was figuring out. This one kept talking about practicing spells and pushing energy and all I wanted to do was shrink into a back corner and vanish. I was torn—I was seeing things I didn't normally see, and I was feeling things I didn't usually feel—but at the same time when people start talking about hexes, magic, spells, energy—

I wanted to run the other way.

Lexie invited us up to her house again and there I met this old Professor guy named Zelin. He gave off the air of someone "well traveled," either that or he just reminded me of a professor I had back in college. Professor Almondroe. Very stogy kinda guy. But smart too. He took the spell master with him as I followed Lexie.

I wanted to talk to her about what had happened. About what I'd seen. And ask her about that place in the woods—

But she handed me a book on herbs.

So here I sit in the vast mess that is the archives, her book tossed...somewhere in here. And all the while I keep getting the feeling that something is building. That there's something...coming. When I look out the window up at the snowy sky, I don't just see clouds, but a darkness that sits on my shoulder like a shroud.

I don't like it.

Maybe I will go home for Christmas. I think I should.

Well, after I at least get a timeline ready on this... disaster. Maybe even go photograph the ruins later.
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Ren Blackwell


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PostSubject: Re: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:46 am

Monday, January 2, 2012
Ravenhurst, Washington
Weather: Freak'n COLD

Entry 368

When I stepped off the ferry back in Ravenhurst, I hadn't expected so much snow. I'm from Oregon, where it snows as infrequently there as it does in the south. I immediately wished I'd worn my gloves. The peacoat and scarf weren't gonna protect for long.

I hefted my bag over my shoulder and started in the direction of the library. I'd given up my room at the motel after heading home for the holidays. The days before I left were...still a little hazy. I replayed the events as I walked, hoping I could somehow infuse my socks and jacket with heat.

There had been the gathering of 'us' at Lexie's house. The crash course in gathering energy and directing it. As well as the spell at the circle—which I discovered later—caused snow to fall over the town. But that same spell had done something else—it'd put me flat on my ass for a while. I'd thrown back most of what Lexie brought, a pint of water, and then slept at her place for nearly a day.

She explained it to me later that when we direct energy, we also use a lot of our own. "And someone as young as the lot of you are," she'd looked radiant that morning, where I felt more like an old sock. "It'll take practice. That and your health will become your greatest asset."

That I could believe. So while I'd been with my family for the holidays, I'd also did a lot of research. I'd collected several databases in my iPhone apps for herbs, their medicinal uses and their magical ones. Why?

Because as it turned out, Lexie was right. I'm apparently, a healer.

I'd healed her hand as a demonstration—and I'd sort of accepted that. But it wasn't until I was home and my mom had seriously cut herself in the kitchen that proof of what I was, or had become, really dawned on me.

She'd been quickly chopping up vegetables for dressing. The Blackwell clan had descended on our small house in Tiggard and I'd volunteered in the kitchen with her to do what I could. I wasn't a bad cook—but Bobby Flay I am not.

Mom as at the kitchen's island, a veritable machine of culinary precision. It made me nervous when she chopped that fast. But each stalk of celery, each carrot, each onion was diced into uniform sizes with the magic of her knife.

Until my Aunt Rowan stepped into the kitchen and asked where the crystal sugar bowl was. I saw my mom look away from her hand to the cabinet and nod as well as tell Rowan it was there. I immediately looked at her finger just as the knife came down on her knuckle and sliced into it as deep as a quarter inch.

Mom had yelled out and blood covered everything on the board. Rowan was yelling and calling for someone to call an ambulance, that "Ella done gone and cut her fool finger off!"

As she bellowed into the livingroom, I grabbed a clean towel, ran it under warm water, grabbed the salt, a bit of shaved ginger, a sprig of rosemary, and the tine box of cayenne out of the cabinet. Mom had a mortar and pestle on the shelf and I grabbed it. Once everything was on the table I grabbed her hand with the towel wrapped around it and sprinkled a good bit of the cayenne on it to stop the bleeding. "Hold it up," I said as I started loading stuff into the stone bowl.

I ground it down, vaguely aware of my mom staring at me with wide eyes. I heard myself chanting something as well. What? I can't even remember now. I just knew that as the herbs were fused together I saw a slight glow to them. I added water to meld everything into a paste and then with a handful, spread it on the knuckle.

Mom hissed but I had my hands—also covered in the nasty looking stuff—over her wounded one. I felt the energy of the herbs as they sought out the wound and did their work. The energy from the Source—so far away from my present location—was a little slower to reach me—but finally it came and I directed it into my mom's hand just as Lexie had told me to. I knew when it was finished.

Mostly because I got light headed and had to step back. That's when I realized I had an audience.

Forty percent of the Blackwell clan stood at the kitchen door. Rowan was in front, a smile on her face. She stepped forward and eased the towel away from my mom's hand. It was hard to tell what was blood and what was cayenne. She took a bowl and filled it with warm water and brought it to the kitchen island and dipped my mom's hand into it. The stuff I'd smashed together dissolved away, and revealed a perfectly smooth finger. The knuckle was in tact and the skin unblemished.

There were a few gasps from the ones that'd looked in to see the cut. The blood was still on the cutting board.

"Ren?" My uncle said as he moved near me. "You got something you need to tell us?"

I shook my head. "No....no. No...I just have headache."

"I bet you do. Come with me," Rowan said as she put a hand on my shoulder and pulled. She was different now. All soothsayer and seerer. No longer the busy body I was used too. She grabbed another bowl, filled it with water and grabbed a towel. She also grabbed a sprig of rosemary and pulled me with her.

We went to my room and she had me lay down. That wasn't going to be hard. I was suddenly dizzy and a little nauseous. When my head hit the pillow I must have dozed. I woke to the smell of something green and pungent under my nose. She'd placed a cold cloth over my forehead and was holding the sprig of rosemary close. "You need to temper the amount of energy you channel."

"Wha—" I looked over at her. "You know about this?"

"Where do you think you get it?" And she winked as she took the towel and wrung it in more water before she replaced it. "Your grandmother and her grandfather before her. And not just in this strain of the family, Ren. The Blackwell bloodline is ripe with magic."

"It is?"

She's laughed at me. And after I'd slept through most of the festivities, I was welcomed back in later. It might have just been my imagination, but I sort of thought everyone had treated me different. Not .... better. Just...different. And that might have been. Because since that night my aunt Rowan has been careful to give me information, but adamant about my learning with my "teacher."

"She was the one to bring you forth, the one to give you that first touch. She will instruct you on how to be a good Healer. I'm afraid most of our family have been mediums. There had been a warder once, long ago. But you're the first Healer."

As the cold reminded me where I was, I stopped at the door of the library and opened it. It was warm inside and I trudged upstairs to the still insanely messy office. There I cleared off the couch and laid back on it.

Something else she'd said still buzzed in my head. "Ravenhurst...is a dangerous place, Ren. I'd prefer you weren't there...that you were home with us. There are things that live there...creatures of myth and darkness. It's no place for a Witch."

I figured she already knew about the vampires and the werewolves. I didn't bring them up. Honestly—I'm not really sure I believe in them myself.
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PostSubject: Re: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:47 am

Saturday, January 14, 2012
Ravenhurst, Washington
Weather: Breezy

Entry 380 (14)

It was close to midnight before the movers hauled the last of the cabinets from the old archive location and up into the new loft in the library. I'd spent most of my nights in the loft, using the couch I'd purchased as a bed and then the bathroom to clean up. I knew I was gonna have to rent a house or some place pretty soon—I couldn't keep living there.

Not just because it wasn't proper, but because I was having nightmares. I had my first one the first night I spent on the couch. I was...in the woods and I knew it was here in Ravenhurst because I recognized the ruins on the outskirts of town. It was dark and I was shivering. And I was running—but I wasn't sure what I was running from. It was like, being chased by an untouchable sense of doom. Knowing that if I stopped—

I would die.

But it seemed the faster I tried to run in the snow, the faster it chased me. I could hear children laughing. And I could feel something touching my shoulder. I woke up that first night in a cold sweat and aching all over as if I'd actually been running. The bottoms of my feet were bruised and I had to turn on every light in the library before I was sure whatever it was, wasn't really there.

For the first three nights I'd had that nightmare, and on the fourth day since we initiated the move into the other wing of the grand old building, Lexie came up the stairs with one of the smaller boxes from the archives.

"Hey Ren—this is the last of it. This was found under a table—" she stopped when I looked at her. "Are you okay? You look awful."

"Yeah," I'd managed to say as I stepped forward and took the old box from her. I set it on the already book ladened desk. "I'm fine. Just having trouble sleeping."

She made a kind, caring face and clasped her hands together in front of her. "Ren, I can make you a tea...something that'll help you sleep."

"No, no," I did smile at her. "I'm fine. I really need to just find myself a place and have my things shipped here. I think it's all the dust and stirring up of old ghosts that's got me a bit rattled."

Her beautiful lilac eyes widened. "Ghosts? Have you seen ghosts?"

"No, it's just a turn of phrase, Lexie." I tried to run my fingers through my hair, but they caught on snarls and I had to wonder what I did look like to her. I needed a shower and a good night's sleep. Maybe I should just rent a room at the motel for the evening and not worry about the job. "Thanks for bringing this up. It's been a long week. And it'll take even longer to get things organized enough for me to even start on cataloguing and building the timeline. i can't show my gratitude enough for yours and the Professor's help." I frowned. "Exactly where is the Professor? I haven't seen him all week."

"Oh, he's around," Lexie moved back to the stairs. "He took a side trip to London but he's back."

"London?" I laughed. "Must be nice. Well," I could see she was preoccupied and I was tired. It was late. "I'll see you tomorrow and thanks again."

She waved and left and I picked my way around to the chair at the desk and plopped down into it...

I woke abruptly, not realizing I'd fallen asleep with my head on the keyboard of my laptop. The screen woke as well and illuminated my face with its glow. I checked the machine's clock. 3:02 am. I'd slept for nearly three hours, and no nightmare.

Maybe if I did head out and rent a room I could catch up on another eight?

But as I stood and grabbed for my coat, I glanced into the box Lexie had brought in and saw new pile of books. No, not really books. More like...ledgers. I ignored my coat as it fell to the floor as I grabbed a pair of gloves from the desk drawer and reached into the box, carefully taking out each piece.

There were two hand written ledgers, containing names and credit balances, addresses and the year... I realized with a smile this had to be either the county clerk records for fine payments or tax assessments, or it was the General Stores old credit log. I'd have to do more research on it to really know.

There were three more books, two small glass vials with something powdered inside. They were sealed with wax and I immediately placed them in a ziploc bag and tucked them into the drawer. No need getting those broken until I could send them off to the University to have them examined.

At the bottom of the box was a half glued stack of stained papers. Or so I thought. When I lifted them out of the box, I realized it was actually the center or so of a book that'd fallen apart, and the pages weren't glued, they were sewn.

I sat back down with the book piece and started carefully looking at it, grabbing up my magnifying glass to look at the lettering. It wasn't a mass printed book. No, it looked to have been hand printed. The blocking was exquisite, and the penmanship—this was incredible. It wasn't script—it was neatly written in block letters. Not unheard of but not often found in this area of the states.

With only the desk light on, I carefully turned each page and started reading as I did...
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PostSubject: Re: The Calling   Tue Jan 31, 2012 1:47 am

:: Audio Recording ::

Ren Blackwell,
The date is... Tuesday, January 17th, 2012. I'm in Ravenhurst, Washington and it's...wow... it's snowing. Not heavy, but it's there. I have to run downstairs to check seeing as this new loft doesn't have any windows. Or I can creep the shit out of myself and head up into the tower above me. There aren't any windows up there—it's like a half finished part of the building.

This is entry 383 if I consider this the same log I started this time last year—but for this year it's entry number 17.

I decided to record this one since I'm still examining this piece of a book I found on Saturday. And I hate to say it—after spending most of my time reading it and photographing it—I keep coming to the same conclusion.

This is a spell book of some kind.

At first I thought it was a handwritten book of poetry. I say that because about every other page has on it recorded stanzas of varying lengths. But after I consulted a few books on poetry—I realized this wasn't even close to it. Yes, the pieces are very nice and flow and they rhyme...sometimes. But the instructional paragraphs and the hand-drawn sketches of local flora lead me in a different direction.

I haven't dated the book yet, but who ever wrote it dated the pages like Jan 23rd and Feb 15th, but with no year given. And the dates are only notations at the bottom of the page—mostly like an after thought.

Most of the pages have headers—some sort of title that pertains to the subject of the instructions, and the pages that don't carry the header are continuations.

:: pause ::

I know it sounds kind of odd that I'd call lit a spell book. But after everything I've seen and experienced on this island recently, plus the flora mentioned—I've pretty much learned their medicinal as well as magical uses. And the combinations—if I were to take their definitions at face value—

I'd say this book's on the Do Not Read without a Psych Eval list. Most of them talk about power, or control. What bothers me about the book is that it's only a part of a whole.

:: sound of moving pages ::

Toward the back of the book, there is another one of the poem like pieces, only it's not in a language I can identify. :: pause :: It's not French, English, Spanish, or even native American. Or at least none of the languages I know that are indigenous to this area. In fact....I'm going to take a quick shot here...

:: more sounds of shuffling, then the click of a camera shutter ::

[photo to come]

:: throat clearing::

I think I've done as much damage as I can on this. The only person I know that might be able to figure it out is Lexie, and that Professor. I—

:: sound of a phone alarm ::

Huh...speak of the devil.... meeting tonight....six... Well... apparently I'll have the opportunity to show her. I'm just not sure what else to do with it.
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Ravenhurst: The Credence Chronicle :: For Players :: Character Journals-
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