This revelation firmly resolved
me to allow my mental master complete reign over my journey and with this
willingness I was safely brought to moor on a quaint, rocky island- island
is a generous description for the jutting cluster of rocks with a plateau
large enough only to accommodate a peculiar single room hut. It was not difficult
to understand that the hut- with decaying timber plank walls of which large
sections, dislodged from volatile weather, were scattered about its base and
a corroded tin roof whose valiant last remaining patches of shelter were brown
and thoroughly pitted and longed deeply to be released from the cruel salt
air- was my intended Mecca, not only from its position as the solitary feature
on this anomalous outcrop but also from an ephemeral aura, which pulsed to
my soul as a heart to the body, I knew with full conviction that, as if destined
from my conception, that me and only me was intended to enter the shack ahead.
With this conviction I firmly strode forward and entered, without a quiver,
my foreboding future and without foresight or surprise looked, with only a
fleeting glance elsewhere, down at the dense, unweathered, wooden cellar door
with a deep black, cast iron ring fastened to it at my feet and knew in an
instant that this was where I would choose the man I would be tomorrow and
continue to be until my death. A spiritual proposition was made as I stood
there and became entirely free to decide my life; either turn around, enjoy
safe passage out and securely live as the man I had been before- though now
always wondering, or open the cellar door and descend into whatever secrets,
however terrifying or magical, that may be hidden here away from the mortal
realm. For the time it took me to make this life deciding choice, from my
entry to this room of fates, I was released and granted full control over
my next movements, only this release was lat only moments as my inquisitive
urges, in their own fashion of possession, pushed me quickly to extend down
to the ring and satiate that question which would have burned slowly and torturously
at my curiosity evermore had I retreated.
As soon as I felt the chill of the black metal omen I also felt the chill
of a greater domination surge, as though mounted upon neural impulses themselves,
through every nerve in my head, down my spine and violently out to the very
extremities of my digits and I knew that my path was irrevocably cast in demonic
stone. So I then became the eyes of a puppet; I saw myself open the heavy
portal and step onto the first granite block, I smelt the dank, stagnant cold
escape from its undisturbed prison, I heard the distant, ever muffling, breaking
of the tide upon the surrounding walls, I felt the crisp, dark, soulless emptiness
wash over and blanket my essence
and I tasted my own corrupted passion for the evils which could manifest and thrive in this crypt. Time was forgotten in my descent and I eventually, with no estimate of depth, complete my climb and was presented before the altar where my Faustian ritual would take place and initiate me into the ranks of those monsters who have forsaken their humanity. It was before this smooth obsidian tombstone of my soul where I knelt and allowed my past human to die and, with Nephilim’s impregnation, gave birth to my future fiend.
As I lugubriously lifted my light dressing robe over my bare, lethargic shoulders,
worn from a stern effort at the helm, I could hardly begin to expect what
surreal foray into the mystical unknown awaited me in the eerily tranquil
night ahead. I had just been at rest, sleeping deeply as only one who has
exhausted every final reserve of energy with persistent manual exertion- not
unpleasant labour- only that of unrelenting activity, designed to create a
satisfaction of physical presence reserved for athletes and workers. Although
summer, when to sleep comfortably is to do so with all windows circulating
the ocean chilled air throughout the chambers, I had been aroused from my
well deserved (and much needed) slumber by a subtle, yet irritatingly unavoidable
breath over my loosely draped frame. A breeze which was by no means detectable
from sense other than touch- I had been feeling it whilst awake for some moments-
and which seemed to cling to my flesh under the flimsy sheet without disturbing
the fabric. As I have mentioned it was this chilling intrusion by which I
was rudely awakened though I have not admitted that on my rising I felt drawn
away from a standard response of shutting a window or collecting a more sturdy
cover, instead compelled towards an intangible beckoning. A drive navigated
by certain, almost imperceptible, applications of the initial tingling sensation
to isolated yet precisely selected, spots of my skin, and these applied with
such constancy and accuracy to guide me unchallenging through the labyrinth
of corridors and obstacles which complicated my vessel's lower decks. I was
unhastily led above deck with sufficient ease to allow my thoughts to dwell
on the subject of what may be the cause of this wandering urge, I was no sceptic
so the flickering candles which were always disturbed ahead of, though never
behind my progress were not ignored, however, neither was I superstitious
enough to abandon all logic in favour of foolish ghost stories. This said
though, I could in no way propose any explanation for the ethereal tendrils
drawing me forward, I let my imagination play with dreams of mischievous poltergeists
and fears of haunting spectres yet in no way permitted myself to consider
these valid excuses for my behaviour. Yet when it became time for me to undertake
actions past those of following a strange pulling I was sufficiently warmed
to the notion of an unknown motivation directing my hand and complied readily
to all requests. It was in this frame which I began to redirect my sloop through
the dark on a course which chartered through waters I had previously neglected,
quite uncharacteristically, to take information of simply because I believed
I would approach no nearer than I had already been. I must confess a taint
of anxiety rippled through my otherwise unquestioning devotion to the driving
possession, an anxiety for what dangers may await unbeknownst to my untrained
infiltrator or conversely those dangers which a siren may be counting upon,
this fear was quickly overwhelmed though with a surge of sureness and I once
again volunteered my fate to the hypnosis.
And so this is where the tale of my freedom's decay began, steering into the
dark unknown abyss, ignorant if the mortal dangers and immortal rewards which
awaited me. I had by this stage relinquished completely my inhibitions to
my mental invader, partly by external manipulation but more significantly
from my own willingness and curiosity to venture as a blindfolded passenger
to wherever my escort may guide me. Thus, guided so, I piloted my ketch- progressively
hastening, with confidence fuelled courage- past the ominous silhouettes of
once grand, but now anorexic frames of the lost ships of old, those which
maritime history has mourned and investigated (and gained no clarity regarding)
the bewildering disappearances of. I was one granted the fortune of understanding
the mysterious fates of these nautical kings, this great whales' graveyard
provided a final chapter in the chronicles of many a majestic leviathan, dashed
without prejudice among the invisible shallows.
And through these hallowed waters I was expertly manoeuvred and despite the
perilous territory and its haunted warnings I was with no fear of a similar
demise and no doubt in the precise control of my hand. Then slowly, designed
to disguise interference and mimic revelation, I developed an intuition of
what caused these giants to fall and how I would differ to prevail, it was
not the skill of the seamen or even the scale of the vessels, rather it was
the hesitation and confusion resulting from multiple mental presences unable
to be sufficiently dominated, the hysterical crews that mutinied in the face
of uncertainty and force mistake in the midst of a precarious passage.