Death Whistle

The Logs

"Daily Entry 46, Tenochtitlan expedition:

It has been unusual and exhausting these recent few weeks of our expedition, but today things have breeched a realm in which I can no longer place logic upon. With the artifact now in our possession, we could finally begin the journey back to Mexico City and eventually home. This morning the crew and I began our regular meal preparations and charting out the day's movements. Not long after first light had I heard panic in the camp, arguing, shouting. The rapid-fire Spanish of our quartermaster clashed with a few of my crew from headquarters.

As head of this expedition I emerged from my tent in an attempt to solve the petty squabbles, we did not have time for this. Our quartermaster held one of the woven baskets we kept rations in, out to the others, arguing still. As I approached the smell hit me, a horrid scent I had never witnessed before wafted from our food supply. A semi sweet yet nauseating sulfuric smell. We had enough supplies to last twice as long as the intended expedition length, but it appeared, over night our stock had transformed. For, within the baskets I saw the source of the smell. Our food, our water, our supplies was now rotten, but not in a way I'd experienced in my many years.

The food had all liquified into a gelatinous grey sludge that gleamed shiny in the early sunlight. Pockets of an unknown yellow liquid shown throughout the mass, each one rising and falling as if breathing. The water was also tainted, it was chunky, like month old congealed milk and somehow smelled worse than the food. I had no idea it was possible for water to behave that way. We had no supplies and had at best, 10 days journey left. Our quartermaster claimed the supply was in perfect condition only the night before.

Daily Entry 47, Tenochtitlan expedition:

The supply crisis from yesterday took a major toll on the crew. However healthy the environment seemed looking ahead, by the time we arrived at fresh streams the unholy scent returned as if following us wherever we went, corrupting the fresh water. Animals we killed for food would breakdown before our eyes, the terrifying cracking of bone and sinew could be heard as the animal morphed into the familiar fate of our rations. Not even 30 minutes after caught, any potential meal we found was uneatable. Rightly so, the crew were beginning to break down themselves, panicking about the current situation. I tried to stay calm for them, but this was a situation I'd never delt with. We did not eat or drink this day; I still held the whistle in which we came for, but I worry for the remainder of our time here.

Daily Entry 51, Tenochtitlan expedition:

Many of our crew have been lost in the past week. The Incident yesterday had taken the largest toll on us. The never-ending wails drove them away from us, the wails with seemingly no source to be found. Today we would lose a valuable member of our company, Jacoby, our cartographer. The humid jungle had been so silent these past days it was maddening. Not one gust of wind, not one bird or insect, not a trickle of water. Simply unnerving silence. I thought such silence impossible for any natural environment. The only sound was the consistent humanoid screeches that had been bombarding our ears for days now. This morning we found Jacoby as we had many others in our crew. Those taken by morning were growing more disturbing by the day and todays was the worst yet. Half his body sunken into the jungle floor, his waistline bleeding into the soil as if nature had welded him into the ground. His skin, rubbery and charcoal black, reeking of that horrid, sweet scent we have endured for nearly a week now. Worst of all was looking into his eyes, the eyes of a man I'd known for many years as a trusted colleague and a good friend. Each of his eyes had shifted to a different place on his jumbled face. His once hopeful eyes glossy black, an expression of what I imagine was excruciating pain permanently painted his face. Still we had the whistle I hope it was worth it.

Daily Entry 67, Tenochtitlan expedition:

The last of the crew have been claimed either naturally or by the will of the jungle. Only this morning my nephew I found. By the time I awoke only his head lay before me. His neck rooted and boiled into the undergrowth. His skin was as it should be, twisted, mangled, black as Mictlan. One day I will be lucky enough, honored enough... The soothing sounds of the jungle wails kept me going this long, longer, longer than the rest. For only I have had the privilege to understand. The death whistle is still in my possession he will be proud of me."

These entries are all that remain of the world-renowned explorer Dr. Chester Moth. Scattered entries with many days in between, before and after unaccounted for. The crew of the Tenochtitlán expedition were scheduled to arrive in Mexico City nearly a month ago. Search parties were sent to investigate the disappearances of all 14 members of the expedition. Not one body was recovered although these few pages from Dr. Moth's journal were found alongside the very artifact, they had set out to find. The Aztec death whistle is now in the hands of the curators in which Dr. Moth worked for. The recovery of Moth and his crew will continue but it is looking as if that might never happen, but we hold out hope.

As for the content of the recovered entries from Dr. Moth they are being looked into although seemingly senseless. Clearly there are things that happened in the jungle that cannot be explained.