The following are excerpts from handwritten notes
discovered secreted in a hidden alcove in the west
wing of the Phillips-Ervin Museum, London England.
Sealed in a leather canister, the aged script was
accompanied by an ornate bronze key of unknown
origin. The author of the journal remains
unidentified, and the artifact was only chanced
upon following the museum's partial destruction
during the spring of 1941...

Fragmentary entry I:
I have come into possession of a certain ancient
book, a collection of arcane scrawlings reputed to
have been derived from an even earlier
transcription, allegedly lost during the great
fire of 1666. The Chthonic Chronicles! I cannot
disclose here the precise and rather unsavory
means by which I acquired this weather-worn tome,
but I immediately recognized the veracity of the
fevered inscriptions contained within. Apparently
derived from an incomplete Latin translation of
the original source material, the text
sporadically lapses into an indecipherable tongue
which the translation cryptically notes as being
Old High Atlantean. Glyphs, sigils, occult
pictograms, six score and ten oblations to some
malign entity of colossal evil... some diabolical
avatar of the Z'xulth. Khthon! I must delve
further into the foreboding depths of this great
black book...

Fragmentary Entry II:
Caught in the maleficent whorls and verticals of
this dark tome... but what lies at the heart of
it? A vespertine viper's nest of sublime
wickedness! What I discovered within this
shadow-haunted volume was a terrifying axiom so
inestimably terrible in its magnitude that it
would shatter all man's carefully orchestrated
views of the cosmos and render utterly redundant
previous theories on the origin of humankind. Lore
dating from time immemorial; lore surviving in the
records of long extinct civilizations, be it
inscribed upon parchment now crumbled to dust,
etched into the sand-whipped, glyph-scored stone
of hoary temples, or committed to verbal
traditions long since ingrained into some
collective tribal memory. This is no globally
common myth cycle, no collection of universally
allegorical folk tales; it is all cold, pitiless
truth! And yet, such enlightenment has not been a
prize easily won... I have communed with native
shamans, consulted with misanthropic diabolists. I
have confronted the martial agents, acolytes and
cultists of clandestine sects who would see their
knowledge safeguarded at all costs. Hildebrandt
and Quorum have treacherously attempted to have me
committed to the baleful confines of Grimm's Hold
Sanitarium, yet I have circumvented their
insidious plot to put an end to my vaunted
Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/rXfresearch. Damn their traitorous eyes! I must
confer with Blackthorne upon his return from the
Peruvian expedition... or mayhap Stone if ever the
poor wretch regains his sanity... Stygian
gramarye, etched with blasphemy, Whorls and
verticals, black with baleful spells, Vespertine
conjurings, doomsayer's prophecy, Pellucid
lotus-dreams, spawn of the elder fiends, Cryptic
halls, squamous mass, malevolent diabolist, Black
desire, knighted woe, shunned and forbidden tome,
Brooding dark, deepest night, ritual, abhorrent
sight, Whispering, malignity, hearken to the
summoning!

Fragmentary Entry III:
What titanic demi-gods once strode the boiling
surface of the young earth, treading the shattered
surface of mighty Pangaea beneath their ersatz
feet? What fearsome entities were already
inestimably ancient when mankind himself was
naught but a collection of mindless random atoms,
a viscous puddle of gelid protoplasm teeming with
the raw materials of life, transient cells of
primordial slime, all naught but malleable and
tractable clay to be worked at by unimaginable
sculptors, immortal star-spanning fiends! What
inhuman eyes even now watch the inconsequential
toilings of man from afar? The answers to these
questions of denied primacy and direful cosmogony
were too repulsively horrific to contemplate, and
yet... I knew the truth! And more terrifying
still... The Z'xulth and their villainous agents
of depravity even now walk among us! But what
price these revelations? What dire agents of
malignity safeguard such cryptic axioms against
the prying intellect of man? I must confess,
oftimes in the brooding darkness of the night, I
have sensed their malefic gaze upon me, lurking,
inexorably dogging my every step, their existence
perceived only as some unnamable sense of fearful
unease, and the occasional glimpse of black
shimmering against black in the depths of the
teeming shadows... I hear them whispering when the
mantle of darkness silences the world, and the
sibilant words they utter are not for the minds of
men to know. O' how I wish I had left those vile
and fathomless depths of cryptical lore wholly and
mercifully unplumbed! O', how I long for the
assuaging balm of ignorance to once again soothe
my ravaged mind! But such pleadings are, of
course, ultimately in vain. I must keep my wits
about me. Even now the stars align, the celestial
spheres moving into the prophesied positions of
the great astral conjunction. Am I to be ground to
dust between the grand gears of this pitiless
cosmic engine of destruction? The die is cast, the
endgame nears. Wait... they come, they come for
me! Is it Hildebrandt, or something far, far worse
which stalks me this night? The key... I must hide
the key!