November 3, 1937.

I’ve arrived at the house. I admit it’s in much better condition than I expected it to be – it’s old and dusty and the electricity is erratic, but other than that it’s quite impressive. I had no idea Uncle Jedediah had such means. The furniture alone must be worth a small fortune, and I haven’t even delved into the library. The solicitor’s letter said I should not throw anything away before getting it appraised, but I didn’t need the warning. Some of these tomes are ancient.

Looking at all of it I feel sorry for having not visited the old man since before he moved here. He held no particular love for me or for Mother, but he did right by us, and clearly, there was some affection behind his grumpy face. Why else leave me such a fortune? Bless his soul. I should now be able to provide Annabel the life she deserves, including a marriage. I fear this extended betrothal has made her reluctant to open up to me, afraid it won’t last. No more.

The neighbours, such as they are in this forsaken place, clearly didn’t care much for Jedediah, nor he for them, from the few interactions I had coming here. The guy at the general store seemed relieved when I told him I intended to move what I could to my house in the city and sell the rest.

I should get some rest. Lots of cataloguing to do tomorrow.

November 4. Morning.

I didn’t sleep very well. Strange dreams, though I cannot remember them. An overall feeling of tiredness.

-        Noon.

I knew that Uncle had peculiar tastes but…despite my liberal education, I am slightly shocked. I can’t imagine what the locals would say if they could see the old man’s library or appreciate its contents. Some of the books are classics – the Songs of Bilitis or de Sade are indeed no strangers to the bookcases of my own friends. But almost the entire collection of Jedediah seems devoted to either the apocryphal or erotica – or both. Fortunately, he had created an index himself, saving me a lot of trouble of having to go through all of them myself. I have never heard of most of these works, except perhaps Godwin’s, but am noting those that seem of particular value to collectors. I should write to the solicitor and ask him to find me someone to appraise them:

Anon. - Succubi (1701); William Godwin – Lives of the Necromancers (1st edition); Antoine Augustin Calmet - Daemonologia Erotica (1755); Helena Blavatsky - Witchcraft and Lovecraft (1898 – only known copy); Anon. - The Binding of the Daemoness (1808); Guy Samael (pseudonym?) - The Lure of the Dark (unknown date); Rasheed Al-Hazred - The Temptress from the Stars (transl. by John Dee from the Latin version by Ole Worm) (18th c. copy (?)).

-        Evening

Apparently, Uncle Jedediah had some talent in sketching as well. I found a bunch of his canvases and drawing notebooks stacked in a storage room. Suffice to say his taste in art reflects that of his taste in literature. I spent much of the afternoon going through some of his…explicit output. Naked women (or in some cases, she-demons and devils) engaged in scandalous poses with each other or with various men.

Though fairly competently made, I doubt any of that is of great artistic value, and I can’t imagine what Annabel would say if she saw any of it – the books she might accept as academic interest, but those women…no, I’d better keep those hidden. I can’t bring myself to destroy any work of art, even degenerate pieces like those, but they can’t be out in the open. Even if some of them are actually fairly…interesting.

I admit I was a little flustered by this discovery. When there was a knock on the door I jumped as if discovered doing something inappropriate.

The visitor was a woman who introduced herself as Pauline, a neighbour – though the nearest house is over a kilometre away. She pretended to have come to see if I needed anything and apologise if the locals had been hostile. In reality, I got the impression she was clearly here to find something to gossip about and transfer her impression of the newcomer to the others.

I would have sent her away politely quicker, but having spent the previous hours looking at all this pornographic artwork, my eyes kept being drawn to her figure. She was in her 30s. Pretty, if not striking, she does not compare to the ethereal beauty of my Annabel, but she had an impressive cleavage and the way her lips quivered made me a poor host, as I barely listened to what she was saying. I kept thinking what it would be like to take her, right then and there, and for some reason, I even thought she wanted the same.

Fortunately, I think my indecent thoughts were not obvious and she left, with a few more anxious looks as if she was looking for something in the house.

November 5. Noon.

I got up late. More dreams. More vivid. I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling as if – not as if, I swear I actually felt it – there were lips wrapped around my cock. Of course, there was no one there. But then I thought I heard a soft laugh and a woman moaning – it sounded both very distant and somehow very close, I cannot describe it. I searched the house but could not find any source and soon the sounds faded, if they ever existed at all.

I must have been affected by the old man’s collections. It is quite bothersome – but I do slowly come to realise I have unfulfilled desires that tamper with my thoughts. This long betrothal has been frustrating to me as well, and I must admit to myself that a big part of it is simply that I have not fucked Annabel. I yearn for her cunt to be mine, to turn her from this sweet innocent young woman to my devoted whore.

This language does not befit a man of my stature. I should delete it, but I can’t. It’s true.

November 6. Afternoon.

Yesterday was quiet, I cleaned around and organised the books, setting aside those that I need to check in more detail. I also found a journal kept by Jedediah, I might have a look at it later.

No dreams bothered me – I was too tired.

November 7. Noon.

Skimming through the sketchbooks I discovered something interesting. In one of the drawings, a woman is seen reclining on a sofa – this sofa – with her legs spread open, inserting a dildo inside her.

Despite the fairly simple lines of the sketch, it is quite clear that the woman in the drawing is Pauline. I suppose that is why she came the other day – probably wanted to see if she could sneak around and take the incriminatory item. She is, after all, married.

The dreams are back.

November 8. Evening.

I spent all day reading Jedediah’s journal. He spent many years traveling in the remotest areas of the world, studying sex rituals or something like that, and seemed to think he could summon some kind of sex daemon – no, he thought he had actually done so. It’s quite fascinating, though he must have been deranged towards the end as the entries grow more and more wild:

***

Dec. 10, 1933.

Calmet is of course full of nonsense – but I suppose he was useful as he pointed me to Al-Hazred. Of all the books I have gathered, he alone seems to know what he is talking about. The enchantresses from the stars - I have seen their worship with my own eyes in distant parts of Arabia and even in the Pacific: some Carolinians - those who have not fallen to the others - still use them. Of course the rituals I witnessed were corrupted – entirely useless, ceremonial garbage. The locals had lost the knowledge and could not open the gate.

Same goes for me – something got lost in translation. Worm's version is unreliable and Dee just made things up to fill the gaps. I’ve written to Marsh in Arkham – the university library has a copy of the original Arabic and he owes me.

Soon. Soon now.

----------

Dec. 18

In the Hyades! They live in the Hyades. Dee skipped that part, it didn't fit his views. Damn him.

I cannot fathom it. But the gate is open. The gate is open. I have but to cross it.

***

This was the last he wrote before his disappearance. The poor fool must have jumped off a cliff or something. I shouldn’t say it but it’s a pity he didn’t choose a more conventional exit – all this would have passed to me years ago without waiting for him to be declared legally dead.

November 10.

No idea where yesterday went. This place is getting to me. The dreams are getting more and more vivid. Did I spend all of Tuesday sleeping? No, I remember being up and about, vaguely.

November 11. Noon.

Annabel is here. She just showed up this morning, in response to my telegram – one that I don’t recall sending. Apparently, I told her I was lonely and asked her to visit, even sending her a train ticket.

It’s rather alarming – is my mind slipping? I need to focus. Fortunately, I have kept the drawings hidden. I should hide this journal as well. 

-        Afternoon.

We spent the day walking the countryside, then I found myself talking to her about Uncle Jedediah’s book collection. I didn’t talk at length about the more daring volumes, but I did recite from the Songs of Bilitis and even some of the less scandalous passages of de Sade. She rather enjoyed it. Perhaps I haven’t taken the time to get to know her as well as I ought to.

-        Midnight.

I have defiled my dearest Annabel. No, that’s not true. We are as good as married and we cannot be faulted for indulging our passions.

After supper, she asked that we read a little more poetry before withdrawing. She then started to recite Cristina Rossetti’s Goblin Market, occasionally looking up from the book with those large seductive eyes of hers.

I was overcome with lust. I almost ripped off her clothes and buried my face between her legs, devouring her wet little cunt, voracious, licking every drop of her as she moaned with pleasure. Once I had drank her up I threw her on the floor and took her savagely, with slow, deep thrusts. She received me insatiably, her body arching as I ravaged her. When I couldn’t hold any longer she held her breasts inviting me to empty my load on them, which I did. I watched the cum drip between them and onto her stomach in bizarre fascination.

It seems both my betrothed and I had repressed desires. She is hungry to be fucked. Still, I feel guilt, anxiety – fear, even.

Maybe I should learn from Uncle Jedediah. He didn’t care what the world thought.

November 12.

Annabel left after lunch – she could not stay longer, she has duties back home.

Before that though, I took her again in the morning. I woke up horny, aroused whether by dreams or last night. She was lying face down next to me, and I came up behind her, lifted her night gown and started rubbing her pussy. She was soon wide awake and wet and I penetrated her, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her head backwards as I fucked her. She groaned like a bitch in heat.

That’s no way to talk about my fiancée, but these are not really my words. From the moment I woke up I could hear that voice again, faint yet clear in my mind: fuck her; she wants it; listen to that whore groaning like a bitch in heat; I bet she’s fucked all your friends while you’ve been stuck here in the middle of nowhere.

The voice made me mad but also more aroused, till I was pounding her so hard she let out a cry of pain. That brought me back to reality and I slowed down, eventually exploding over her perfect round little ass. I thought I heard the voice moaning in ecstasy as I came. Or was it laughter?

It is best that Annabel left. As much as I enjoyed her company, at times I feel I am hanging by a thread. If she stayed I would have to walk on tiptoes.

November 13. Afternoon.

Pauline came back this morning. She had some lame excuse for visiting, but I just went and brought the sketch.

“I suppose you will be wanting this back,” I said. She seemed mortified for a second but then this changed to a look of determination.

“Yes. What of it?”

“I am just a bit surprised – were you fucking my uncle? Wasn’t he a bit old for you?” As far as I knew he was over seventy when he disappeared.

“He didn’t look his age. People said it was because he sold his soul to the devil.” She hesitated. “He was a decent man. Knew how to treat a woman.”

She looked at the drawing. I asked her how come she hadn't come to claim it all the time the house was empty.

"They...people think the place is haunted. Cursed." She shook her head as if to shrug off the notion.

“I am willing to pay for it,” she said finally.

I told her I didn’t want her money, but she probably misunderstood.

"You think I have money? That's now what I meant." Her hand went suggestively to her breast.

I actually intended to just give it to her, but I didn’t speak. On one hand, I should have been content after my taking of Annabel. But still, why pass such an opportunity?

She took my silence for acceptance and knelt before me, unzipping my pants. She took me in her mouth, her tongue exploring every part of my cock. I should have felt guilt at cheating Annabel, and now of all times, when she had given herself to me, but all I could think was what a pity it was I hadn’t fucked her mouth like this.

Pauline knew what she was doing – I suspected she did this a lot, and probably never for her husband. I came in her mouth, my hands holding it tight, and she savoured it before letting it drop on her breasts. She moved to take the damning sketch and leave but I felt obliged to at least satisfy her with my hands before letting her go.

Afterwards, I thought I should have told her to come back tomorrow for more. But no – this is getting out of hand.

November 14. Morning.

The dreams still torment me, but their content has changed. I dreamed I was in a cyclopean city of stone, crystal-domed towers. The skies above were not the skies of Earth, and the creatures walking its streets were, for lack of a better word, demons. They had tails, their legs ended in hoofs and their horned heads came equipped with sharp teeth. Yet they were mesmerising in their beauty, and had stars in their eyes. I woke up exhausted.

- Evening.

As I was working outside in the garden I saw the window of the attic and realised I never went up there. It was foolish - when I did, I saw that Jedediah had set up his telescope there, and there were lots more of his personal notes. Mostly gibberish, though one piece of paper was left out carefully next to the attic's other window, opposite the telescope - which was, as I had guess it would, pointed towards the Hyades.

"for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the western stars until I die. Wish me luck."

I looked out the window. I got the weird impression that I was not looking at the same sky as when looking at the same direction from the ground, but it must have been an illusion - the glass seemed different, maybe crystal, and likely distorted the view.

November 15. Afternoon.

I barely slept. The dreams are getting worse. I saw the strange city again, except now I travelled to it through the strange window in the attic. The city inhabitants were expecting me. They said they had known my uncle.

I need to rest. I am so tired.

Nov... Morning (?)

I am awake. This is not Earth.

I opened my eyes in a strange chamber, beneath a crystal ceiling. I jumped up to find her waiting. She was naked, as was I, and looked as she did in my dreams - if dreams they were. She stood more than a head taller than I, despite the bent of her hoofed legs. She was glorious - her purple skin covered at places with intricate, shimmering tattoos, her hairless body as perfect as an ancient sculpture; her eyes specked with stars, cruel and playful.

She motioned me to follow and I did not question her. She did not speak, but transmitted thoughts directly to my head as she showed me around the city. Simple thoughts that left little room for doubt: this is your home now. Your uncle promised more than he could deliver. You serve us. Until we say otherwise.

The city was bathed in a pale blue light, coming from the giant sun. A deep purple, sometimes red ivy clings onto the stonework of many buildings. The one I live in comes with a balcony with a view to a strange dark ocean. I can hear strange songs from the sea.

I do not know the nature of my servitude or what debt I inherited from Jedediah. But from the moment she looked at me, I knew I would pay it gladly.

- The following night.

The stars are strange here. Brighter, they seem.

She came after sunset yesterday and bid me to come to her. She told me to lie down on the floor, then stood over me, placing each hoof to the sides of my face and squatted to sit on my face.

"You were quite enthusiastic with your human girl, but you'll have to try harder to please me," she thought into my head.

I do not know how much time passed. I ate her out till I could not feel my jaw, her tail wrapped tightly around my neck. When she came, it seemed to last for several minutes, her juices dripping down my face and my neck despite my efforts to lick it all off.

In the throes of her ecstasy, her tail let go of my neck and she fucked me with it. I felt it enter my ass and I came. When she discovered some of my cum had landed on her back she lifted me with one hand by the neck.

"You have not earned this. You'll have to work harder."

I promised to do whatever she wanted, and it was not out of fear.

The next morning she came back and told me I would serve her friend this time.

Apart from the somewhat greener tone of his skin, he was not unlike her - tall, hairless, beautiful. His eyes contained entire galaxies. He stood before me, a god who could not bother to instruct a mortal to the obvious task.

I knelt before him and took his erect cock in my mouth.

I had never thought of doing something like this before. But I did it then as if I had never wanted anything more in my life, which perhaps I didn't. As my hands explored his body and my tongue runs up and down his shaft before enveloping him in my mouth, I wondered if this desire was my own or impressed upon me by my seemingly divine masters.

I decided it didn't matter.

- several days later

This will be my last entry.

My days are spent in service of the Elder Wardens, as they call themselves. Wardens of what I have not learned, but it seems they are responsible for guarding against some antediluvian, unspeakable horror. It is mostly the Temptress I first encountered that I serve, but I am occasionally sent to other houses, or granted to guests. They use my body as they please, but I must have achieved some measure of acceptance with them, for today I was allowed to fuck one of the younger ones. She has to be much older than me, but only a teenager for their species. She was even taller than the rest and leaner, her tattoos or markings, whatever they are, glimmering like starlight against her pitch-black skin.

I was not told her transgression, but her submission to me was seen as punishment, while still a reward for me. She still projected commands to my mind, asking me to go harder on her, which was punished further by having her take me in her mouth - although this is imprecise. Her tongue was so long that it wrapped around my cock and finished me off without ever going near those razor-sharp teeth of hers. We locked eyes as I came, and thought the secrets of the universe were hidden in plain sight within her gaze. Alas, I am too ignorant to decipher them. Though I now suspect my uncle was interested in more than satisfying the Wardens' sexual appetite. Perhaps I am better off not knowing.

There are a few other humans here - among other strange and wondrous beings. I see them walking the streets some days.

I do feel sorry for Annabel. But even if I could return, I wouldn't want to. She wouldn't be enough. No one would. If I ever repay Jedediah's debt, I will beg my masters to permit me to stay here. I will never get used to the stars in the sky, but could never forget the stars in their eyes.

***

Dear Tom,

Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I am sure you had my best interests in mind, but I think we can agree that this so-called journal is nothing but an effort to smear the memory of my dear Owen. His disappearance hurt me deeply but I am happily married now and there is no point in stirring up ancient history.

If - and I by no means believe it, but if the person in the asylum really is Owen, somehow returned to us, then these ravings are only proof of his mental meltdown. I do not think - no, I am certain he was never unfaithful to me, and of course, the idea that I engaged in such acts as described here is simply madness. If, again, this is Owen, I am sure we can move him to a better facility - after the sale of that accursed house is completed.

Yours,

Annabel Marsh.