Max_Writer

“I didn’t have a chance to get lunch on my way here,” Jones said. “I had to stop what I was doing at the station. Do you want to grab a bite? There’s a Walgreen’s around the corner.”

“I was thinking maybe we should pick a place that’s a little more private, hmm?” O’Shea said.

“They’ve got good hotdogs,” Jones said.

“I do like hotdogs,” O’Shea said.

“I’ve got a car around the corner,” Vanderholdt said.

“My truck’s right there,” Jones pointed to the tow truck.

They decided to get lunch at Walgreen’s and crossed South West Street at West College Street, and then walked across Miskatonic University campus. There were only a few students around, probably due to the overcast and chilly weather. Walgreen’s stood on the southeast corner of West Church Street and South Garrison Street, just across Garrison from the college campus.

They sat at a booth and the soda jerk came out from behind the counter to take their orders. Jones ordered a root beer float, egg salad sandwich and potato chips. Vanderholdt got pastrami on rye with root beer to drink. O’Shea ordered a ham sandwich with cheese and lettuce, potato chips, and coffee. The young man told them he’d be right back and returned with their beverages before disappearing behind the counter again.

It was well after lunchtime and the small dining room of Walgreen’s was empty except for them.

O’Shea took out the metal box and sat it in the middle of the table.

“Do we open it and then talk about it?” Jones asked. “Or do we talk about it first?”

“I propose we open it and then talk about it,” Vanderholdt said.

“Well, before we open it, do either of you actually believe Mr. Merriweather?” O’Shea asked.

The other two men looked at each other.

“He’s been fairly straightforward and honest with me,” Jones said.

“I think he believes what he’s saying,” Vanderholdt said.

O’Shea looked at the man.

“Do you believe?” he asked.

“No,” Vanderholdt said quietly.

O’Shea reached forward and opened up the lid. Inside were a yellow envelope; a small, sarcophagus-shaped gold box of ancient design; and a slim, leather-bound book. O’Shea pulled out the envelope and slid it across the table to Vanderholdt. The then took out the box and slid it to Jones. He drew out the book and opened it up.

The book appeared to be a journal. Listed at the top of the first page was “The Dark Brotherhood” and under it “Omnes una manet nox.” Listed under that were “Members of the Dark Brotherhood” with the names Marion Allen, Rupert Merriweather, Harold Copley, Cecil Jones, Robert Menkin, and Crawford Harris under that. There was a short quote: “As others flee from the shadows, we stand before the darkness. As others turn away from the truth, we shall make our home.” Beneath that was written “It is from the darkness that the light is best seen.” After that, the first entry in the journal was dated “21st of May, 1881.” He started to skim through the journal. He slowed when he came to several strange drawings of sigils.

Vanderholdt opened the rust-stained clasp on the envelope. Within were a single, large key and a folded piece of paper. The paper proved to be the deed to a house in Ross’s Corners. It listed Boone Road as the address.

“Obviously he gave this to us in error,” he said. “But we can still use the key to get into the house.”

Jones examined the small gold box. It had a simple latch on the front and a well-made hinge. Some kind of hieroglyphs decorated the outside of it. He tried to open it with his spoon without luck, and only succeeded in tipping the box over. He picked it up and opened it. It was empty though there was some kind of strange writing, distinctively different from the exterior, on the inside of the lid. He looked it over more carefully, trying to see if there was any hollow area or secret panel in it.

“There’s nothing in here, but it looks like something written on the outside and the inside,” he said. “Can any of you read it?”

“I can read Latin and French,” Vanderholdt said.

O’Shea just shook his head.

“It doesn’t look like French,” Jones said. “Doesn’t look like any letters that I’ve ever seen.”

O’Shea was taking notes on some of the things written in the front of the journal, specifically the names, in a notebook in a leather-bound case. Vanderholdt looked at the golden box but noted it was not French or Latin.

“So, we’re going to take a day, go to the house, come back, tell him we’ve investigated the house and all is well, the evil is contained?” Vanderholdt asked.

“We might want to look up some of these names first,” O’Shea said. “As he was the last surviving member of this brotherhood.”

Jones picked up the journal and looked through it. He found a newspaper article in the back. It was attached near a list of names and dates that read:


Robert Menkin, March 1882
Harold Copley, August 1882
Marion Allen, August 1883
Crawford Harris, January 1915
Cecil Jones, March 1924
Rupert Merriweather ―


The article glued there was dated August 1883 and read:


A MURDER AT THE DOCKS
NEW ORLEANS ― The body of Mr. Marion Allen, late of Arkham, Massachusetts, was
discovered early this morning near the Gulf & Panama docks. A victim of foul play, the
man was identified by local witnesses who said that Mr. Allen had been seen in the locale
the evening before. Although robbery was the apparent motive, police report that the
victim’s tongue had been cut out. Marion Allen had reportedly gone to police earlier this
week claiming that he was being followed and that he feared for his life. He said his shadowy
pursuers were after an Egyptian artifact which he no longer possessed.


He pulled it loose and held it up.

“Did you see this?” he asked O’Shea.

The man looked at it.

“Marion Allen,” O’Shea said. “One of the names in the book.”

He pointed to the gold box.

“Say there, buddy, let me see that little gold coffin,” he said.

“It’s Grover,” Jones said.

“Grover,” O’Shea repeated.

The mechanic pushed it back across the table to the man. O’Shea guessed that the letters on the outside of the sarcophagus were Egyptian though those on the interior were not. Jones handed the journal back to the man as well, noticing that the strange sigils in the journal bore no resemblance to any of the symbols on the golden box.

They discussed Marion Allen owning some Egyptian artifact and both Jones and O’Shea said they thought the box looked Egyptian. O’Shea handed it to Vanderholdt, who looked over it briefly and nodded.