The Jar of Nephren-Ka

The Ritual

New Orleans, Louisiana: 8:22 PM, Sunday, June 24th, 1984

Doorways were to each side of the room, open and leading to murky hallways without even a semblance of light.

Ahead, I saw a bare concrete floor, littered with debris. Pipes, rebar, plaster, and trash were swept into a massive pile in the center of the room, right at the base of a statue. To each side, a sweeping staircase rose to the second floor.

Behind the statue was a wall covered in graffiti, the vibrant purples and reds in the spray-painted mural overpowering the peeling teal and blue of the paint gracing the other walls.

The statue itself was of Jesus, dressed in a white tunic and blue robe, hands out-stretched as if to welcome you. Around his neck, a line of red spray paint had been applied until it ran, the rivulets dripping down into his tunic and running in lines down his chest. His concrete head had been sheared from his shoulders, and rested at his feet, blank eyes staring at the door.

I glanced at the statue uneasily, then looked up towards the landing. There was a small, portable electric lantern on the landing providing weak light to the room. On each side of the landing was a doorway, and a third doorway was straight ahead on the rear wall.

I climbed the stairs slowly, listening intently. There was no sound of movement, but I could hear a very quiet or very distant murmuring, almost like a chant or litany. It was just rounded sounds, though, without a semblance of consonants, and I couldn't make any sense of it.

I kept climbing the steps until I reached the landing, then I flattened myself against the left-most wall and peered across the threshold of the doorway.

Like downstairs, the left and right-most passages led to impenetrable gloom. Remembering the excellent job Barnes had done earlier of fading into the shadows, I rushed across the gap, half expecting a gunshot. But there was nothing, no other sound of movement, just the soft droning chant.

Quietly, I moved over to the far wall and peered around the doorway. The hallway stretched on for sixty or eighty feet, doorways dotting each wall at regular intervals, then ended in an open doorway to a large room. A dim, shifting light was splashing off a railing in the far room, and a meager light filtered through the hallway.

I could hear the chanting more distinctly now, though I still couldn't make it out. I continued, stopping and clearing each doorway as I made my way down the hall.

At the far end, I flattened myself against the doorway and glanced into the room. I was standing behind a balcony area that spanned the width of the room, ending in a long staircase on either side, almost a mirror of the one in the entrance. Below were rows and rows of auditorium seating, the wood rotted and splitting.

At the far end of the space, about a hundred foot distant, was a raised wooden stage, which was in surprisingly good shape. Dusty, blood red curtains framed the stage, and debris from fallen roof tiles and scaffolding littered its rear.

In the center of the stage was another of those peculiar five-pointed stars contained in a circle. This one appeared to be drawn in some black substance, perhaps charcoal or black paint. Like Besonwa, this circle was surrounded by white candles, their flickering flames providing what little light graced the room.

Surrounding the circle were five individuals, one at each point of the star. They were all dressed in black robes with no ornamentation. Their hoods were pulled low, bathing their faces in shadow and they linked hands, forming a human circle.

In the center of the circle was the jar, the onyx and pearl sparkling in the candlelight. There seemed to be a haze around the jar, like steam was escaping from it. The chanting droned on monotonously, worming strange words into my brain.