After the mysterious death of Elisa M. Evens, his lover Charles begins to uncover eerie notes in Elisa's handwriting, detailing a strange obsession with an ancient, cryptic book and a voice calling from the river. As Charles reads further, the line...
It has been a month now since the burial of Elisa M. Evens, and I think my mental state regarding his recent death has shifted from grief and anger back to rational thought, although I'm not entirely sure the emptiness will ever go away. While cleaning out his room, I came across a lot of strange books, poorly wrapped in old patchy leather, bound hastily with what might be gut string, and written in an alphabet from a language that looked like bloody scratch marks made by something mad. After the other things I discovered in Elisa's room, I can only assume that it was these books that began his demise and consequently led to his death.
The next thing I found sent a cold shiver down my spine. I pulled it out from underneath his bed: a black chest covered in an irregular pattern made of a shining pearlescent metal that reminded me of Elisa's eyes somehow. The chest was filled with paper covered in hastily scribbled notes in his handwriting.
His entries read as follows:
28.9.1817 - Elisa M. Evens
Today was a good day. I baked Charles' favorite carrot cake, and we ate it under the old willow in the garden, right next to the river. Charles looked at the little ripples and said it probably flows straight from the pearly gates. Also, Josua brought us the crate with the old and rare books that I ordered from a contact in Germany.
11.12.1817 - Elisa M. Evens
The sun has just risen high enough to write these lines. I have already stuffed Charles's boots with mandarins and other little sweets. Charles did not only stuff my boots in the afternoon. I'm now done reading the contents of the box. A few books were of special intrigue to me. One was a handwritten manuscript of a story about a misunderstood monster, written by a woman. That's how I sometimes feel when Charles takes me out to eat at the diner in town. Mrs. Burts, the owner of the pub, always looks at us as if we are pests.
P.S.: Another book that caught my attention was in a language I didn't understand, written with crude symbols that almost resembled scratch marks in a blood-red color.
14.12.1817 - Elisa M. Evens
I'm sitting by the window, watching Charles shoveling snow out of the front yard. I know it's not right to tempt myself like this, but his arms and musculature look breathtaking in the late winter sun. I will dress in something more delightful for Charles when he's done with the hard work.
18.1.1818 - Elisa M. Evens
I think I'm starting to understand what some of the cryptic marks in the book are trying to tell me. I will keep trying to decipher them.
3.2.1818 - Elisa M. Evens
Every time I look at the book now, the crude, clawed symbols start to shift into a more recognizable pattern, but it snaps back every time I lose concentration.
I believe it was around this time, at the beginning of the year, that Elisa started to become more distant. I thought he just needed some time for himself, but while reading his notes, I realize it must have been this book that consumed him. Once I'm done writing this, I will personally fill that godforsaken river with dirt!
7.3.1818 - Elisa M. Evens
The book has become clearer now, and it contains the most wonderful poetry and songs I've ever read. The weather is warming up, and I have to prepare the chairs and tables for outside.
18.3.1818 - Elisa M. Evens
Today I baked a nice tart for me and Charles. He watched me while I took a swim in the river. The water felt good. It told me it would feel good.
26.4.1818 - Elisa M. Evens
I can hear it. It calls for me. With a sweet voice like little ripples, cold and refreshing—it calls for me.
2.5.1818 - Elisa M. Evens
It calls for me! A voice in the water. I will follow it, but before I go, I will confess. I, Elisa M. Evens, am in love and in a relationship with Charles F. Hammond. I love you, Charles.
And just three days later, my beloved Elisa walked into our river, under the willow tree, and didn't come out again. My heart will never recover.
I had planned to bring this report about the mysterious death of Elisa Evens to the police station today, but in the last couple of days, the book kept following me around, lying open on the kitchen counter, my bed, and in the garden. I can hear the voice—his voice—it's coming from the water. I'll see Elisa again. I'll meet him in the river.
An entry into 'The Land of Horror' series by @Rond0lphKarther
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