Van der Heyl's

The great house lies in the midst of a park all overgrown with curious-looking briers.
Here, in old mansion of van der Heyl’s Im ready to face ultimate horror. Yet I see
only shadows lurking at walls, no steps in old dust at all.

With my powerful torch I ploughed through the dust to the great south parlour, where I knew the portraits would be.
I recognised that they were indeed of the hateful line of the van der Heyls.

I cant say, if I was hallucinating, or if it was just a mold, but the paintings was glowing-like and they look like scaly.
But overhelming horror was what I felt. At the cellar I found old iron door with marks of long-forget religion,
(and when I gently listen, I hear sounds of moaning, something is moving there. And my mind is painting pictures for me, what it is.)

"That is not dead which can eternal lie.
And with strange aeons even death may die."

What is to be my ultimate end, I dare not imagine. I came as a seeker, but now I know that something is seeking me.
Walpurgis sabbat is near, I hear even the villagers are chanting, house is growing bigger, or not the house, just thing in it.

The time has come. I waked last night to see the sky glowing with a lurid greenish radiance. Horror is unleashed, but I must not weaken.
The storm has broken with pandaemoniac fury. I have begun to hear sounds from the cellar. (It is the padding and muttering and slithering
and muffled reverberations within the vault.)

My courage and curiosity wane. I know the horror that lies beyond that iron door.
What if Claes van der Heyl was my ancestor—need I expiate his nameless sin? I will not—I swear I will not!

[2014. Syntikoita soittelee vierailevana tähtenä Fitz]