Its been a fascinating and terrifying two days since I last entered. Our diner victim, Acer Williams, had little to offer but he held a telegram from a "Salvatore Ricci" a local Townsend Mob Associate. The telegram referenced an "Artifact" and to "initiate student plan". We decided to locate Wilbur Young believing his life in danger. Sadly, we found him hiding in his basement, crying in a fetal position. The rest of the house indicated signs of violent struggle. Young claimed the Black Hand took his wife and identified Ricci as a member of the Hand. He claimed the address on the telegram was the location of a ritual place for the Hand. I remember distinctly thinking Young may have lost his mind.
We made the drive to Townsend to rescue his wife and he joined us, more determined than ever. What transpired at the farmhouse is almost too shocking and unfathomable to describe. If someone reads this, do not follow these leads or check on the facts, you will only find yourself too deep to escape. While there, we witnessed a large group of robed figures gathered around a bonfire in the back of the house. The leader of the ritual wore a strange costume with insectoid like appendages. As the bullets began flying, I turned and ran. I was happy to see the rest of our friends running with me. Dog-like creatures pursued and Chuck never returns from the east side of the house. By the time we all reached my car, Wilbur and Chuck were both gone. Adam, while still in shock, recounted that some rift in space opened above the fire and an enormous creature emerged and grabbed his father, throwing him in the air and taking him back through the portal. While hard to believe, much of what we have seen even since is just as hard to believe.
We spent the next day resting and receiving medical attention. On Wednesday we attended Ward's funeral and noted right away we were in the company of at least one person from the ritual. Whatever we had stumbled upon potentially could be the end of us. Another of Keyes' colleagues even took the time to warn us of not pursuing any further. What was going on here??? Young contacted us to meet that night at Old Grey Rock in Northpoint Forest.
After the funeral we returned to Ward's house to sweep again. The Barn contained a hidey-hole with hundreds of bottles of whiskey! This guy was a criminal too. In the basement - behind the space where the safe once was, shards of glass and bits of leather. Odd but not much we could determine so we headed to Goodrich tailors and met with Mr. Goodrich. What transpired here is horrifying and yet enthralling. Goodrich was evidently the man with the insectoid limbs from the ritual. The violence that followed I have nearly blocked out. Goodrich reached out with clawed blackened hands and slashed at my arm. I remember the flesh dripping away before the pain hit. I ran. I don't remember how I got back to the car, only that I was there and safe when the gunfire continued from inside. By the time the rest of the group returned to the car, Max had seemingly lost an entire arm! Perhaps I was lucky - although it didn't feel that way. Somehow they acquired a book of value "True Magic" written in a very old very broken Latin script by Theophilus Wenn. Unable to join the rest of the group in their meeting with Young, I remained at the hideout with Max, receiving whatever medical attention I could while reading this incredibly interesting tome. I feel strangely like it was meant for me to read.
