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Nicolas Victor by Elliot Richard Dorfman

It was a sunny spring day in the Adirondacks Mountains of New York when Carey Waltham decided to take a hike with his dog Chancy, a pedigree collie.  This successful 34-year-old lawyer often enjoyed doing this activity since buying his vacation home in the township of Golden Oaks.  Instead of following the usual path, he decided to take a different route, which led into the mountains. About an hour later, Carey came across a fenced off area that was hidden behind a large groove of fir trees
There was a warning posted on the tall locked gate. Although severely weather beaten, it still readable:
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN THIS GATE AND ENTER WITHIN!
IF THIS WARNING IS DISOBEYED, 
THE DEVIL’S SERVANT WILL AWAKEN
AND BE ABLE TO CONTINUE HIS GHASTLY DEEDS.
The young lawyer chuckled. “What hocus-pocus. Think I’ll check it out.”
Picking up a stone, he easily broke the rusted lock.  Although it was a calm day, a strong cold North wind lashed him in the face as he opened the gate. His dog growled and refused to follow him.
Carey tied his pet to a tree. “Okay, Chancy, you wait here. I won’t be long.”
A little further on there was a small mausoleum with thick stonewalls covered with moss. The ground surrounding it was barren, creating an extremely depressing atmosphere. The heavy mausoleum door mysteriously swung open and a loud voice came from within:
“Ah, awakened at last! Praise be to Abaddon, King of the Bottomless Pit. My time has come again to serve you.”
From the dim interior, the frightened intruder could vaguely see a tall figure rising from the center slab.
“Mortal, who stands out there trembling like some lost sheep, come in here and meet me.”
Terrified, Carey felt himself drawn into the mausoleum by some strong force. Using all of his will power, he managed to break away and run back to his dog and untied him.
“Come on, Chancy, There’s something weird going on. Let’s get away from here while we still have the chance.” 

****
Margery, his newly wed wife, was preparing a snack when he returned home. She was surprised to see him back so early.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Carey took a deep breath. “Well, I’m not exactly sure what I saw, but it sure did give me the willies – and I usually don’t frighten that easily.”
Margery knew that Carey was not prone to making things up, nor did he have an overactive imagination, so she sat back and listened carefully when he told her the story.
“I think you should see Reverend Meter,” she suggested. “Hopefully, he can ward off whatever evil presence you might have released.”
Carey nodded. “That’s a good idea, honey, but we’d better do it quickly; I wouldn’t be surprised if that demonic entity is already roaming this area.” 

****
Reverend Meter’s church was only five minutes from the house by car. However, coming out of the driveway onto the road, a large, hideous brown colored animal ran in front of the vehicle causing Carey to swerve into the other lane. Luckily, he avoided hitting an oncoming car.
Margery trembled, “What was that thing?”
Carey clenched the wheel. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a creature like that before.”
 Margery took a deep breath. “Oh, Carey, I have a strong feeling that it was the evil spirit you released in another form, trying to prevent us from seeing the reverend by causing an accident.”
Carey nodded. “I’m afraid we are up against some kind of entity that is very powerful.”                             

****
The handsome Dutch reform church where Reverend Kenneth Meter presided was built in 1866.  Reverend Meter, who was close to his congregation, had been holding serves there for more than fifty years.  Greeting Carey and Margery, he escorted them into the study of the parsonage. After listening to Carey’s supernatural encounter, the reverend walked over to a bookcase, pulled out a leather-covered book, and placed it on his desk.
“I am afraid you unintentionally awoke one of the foulest servants of Lucifer. Too bad you didn’t pay attention to the warning posted on the gate.”
Carey shrugged. “Frankly, I thought the warning was nonsense.”
Meter frowned. “It was far from being nonsense, Mr. Waltham.”                                                                           
“Why do you say that, Reverend, have you ever been in that place?” Margie asked.
The clergyman sighed. “I have never attempted to find it, and for good reasons.  Let me read a portion from this diary that written more than one hundred and fifty years ago by Jonas Anderson Blake, the first reverend of this church. Listen carefully. Hopefully, it will help you to understand.” 

****

May 17, 1859
Grand Oaks is a small, but thriving, village. Most of the men here make a good living by hunting and selling furs. Their families are very happy and closely knit. A few weeks ago, a strange man calling himself Nicholas Victor rented a room at the inn. The man is quite charismatic and has become friends with many of the families. Unfortunately, since his arrival, many people of my village have died without any visible signs of illness. I have become suspicious of Nicolas since he was been with each of the unfortunate persons at the time they were stricken. Furthermore, my parishioners have recently told me that he is trying to persuade everyone in the village that my church services are a waste of time and to stop attending them. Whenever I try confronting him about this, he grunts and darts away from me.
May 18, 1859
Fully convinced that Nicholas is doing something of an evil nature, I broke into his room at the inn last night while he was away. Upon entering his chamber, I noticed a musty odor that permeated the air. On his bed lay an unholy book of black magic. Drawn on the floor with some kind of luminescent paint was a large hexagram. In the center of it lay a silver box, which had an etching on the lid of an inverted cross, the symbol of the devil.
While pondering what to do, Nicholas returned. Grinning, he removed his cloak and locked the door.
“I expected to find you here, Reverend Blake.”
In his hand, he held a small quivering red velvet bag that was put it in the silver box.
Mustering up all my courage, I accused him of having something directly to do with the recent deaths in Golden Oaks. Just then, a muffled sound came from the silver box. It sounded as if someone was crying.
It was then that I finally understood. Opening a window nearby, I silently said a prayer then grabbed the silver box and opened the lid. Ripping open the red velvet bag that was inside it, a puff of white smoke arose and went out of the window and hopefully up to the heaven of God.
“One less innocent soul for your master,” I shouted with joy. “Now you, a curse to all mankind, must be stopped before completing any more satanic missions in this or any other place.”
Nicholas green eyes twinkled with delight. “And what does your simple mind plan to do, Reverend? Can you not comprehend that it is totally hopeless? Ego sum immortalis; I am immortal.”
I shook my head. “You are too cocky. There are ways to deal with you. In my youth, I visited Rome and learned of a little known incantation that can put evil demons like you into a deep eternal sleep.”
Nicholas smirked. “Eternal sleep? That spell is not as powerful as you seem to think. If any mortal comes within fifty feet of me after the passing of a hundred years, I will awake and resume my mission.”
“Then,” I shouted, “I will try and make sure that never happens by placing your body somewhere deep in the forest and surrounding your unholy spot with a strong fence. On the gate there will be a sign warning anyone who should accidently find that spot to stay away.”
Nicholas shrugged. “That might work for the time being, but eventually some curious person is bound to come and disregard the warning. Be assured, sooner or later I will come back and continue to do what I must. You are a most foolish mortal to actually think that you can defeat me.”
May 28, 1859
It is now a week later. Thanks be to God, after reciting the spell, Lucifer’s malevolent servant fell asleep. I then engaged a few trusted men from my congregation to build a small mausoleum deep in the forest where the demon was placed. A cedar fence now surrounds the area with a large engraved warning posted on the front gate. I pray this will be the last anyone has dealings with Nicholas Victor.
****
Closing the diary, Reverend Meter took a deep breath. “Ah, Mr. Waltham, if only you wouldn’t have disobeyed the warning.”
Margery looked out of the window and briefly saw a figure darting behind a nearby bush with lightning speed.
“I think Nicolas Victor is here!”
Meter slammed his fists on the desk. “If he is, I will personally stop him from doing any more harm. Perhaps then I can finally redeem my family’s reputation from the unholy actions of this malignant incarnate.”
Carey became puzzled. “What do you mean your family?  Just what have they to do with Nicholas Victor?”
The reverend got up and walked to the window, his head bowed. “I regret to say that Nicolas Victor was my mother’s great-uncle twice removed. That side of the family once lived in nearby Massachusetts. I discovered this when accidently opening a secret compartment in an old family chest. Inside of it was a letter written by Nicolas’ mother. The unfortunate woman stated that her son was the black sheep of the family. Although coming from a pious family, he rebelled against all decent beliefs and took up with a cult of heathens who lived in the mountains. Eventually, Nicolas became their leader. Rumors then began spreading about the many unspeakable things this group did. There were even rumors that they kidnaped defenseless orphans and murdered them in a sacrificial ritual to the devil. When the authorities tried to get ahold of them for questioning, the culprits disappeared like some kind of vermin scattering in the night. My family never saw Victor again. It is said he even killed the members of his gang in order to show his unbending loyalty to the devil. I felt it providential when I was assigned to the church where Reverend Beck once presided. Somehow, I knew I would get the opportunity to destroy the scourge of my bloodline. Now that time has come.  I have a copy of the incantation that Jonas Beck used on Victor and will use it on him again.”
A hideous laugh suddenly filled the room. There was a flash of light and Nicholas Victor appeared. His complexion was waxen and his large dark eyes stared at them with intense hate. Long brown hair framed a thin face. Reverend Meter tried to pull out his cross, but Nicholas took a cane that he was holding and struck the crucifix down with a tremendous force.
“So Kenneth Meter, despite being my own flesh and blood, you wish to destroy me!  What else can I expect from a man of God? ‘Nunquam iterum’ – never again! I won’t give you the chance to stop me from continuing what I must do.”
He pointed the silver tipped cane at them and the three mortals immediately became immobile. Pulling out a red velvet bag from beneath his cloak, Nicholas slowly walked around each of them. Placing his hands on their shoulders, they felt an excruciating pain. A puff of white smoke arose from the top of their head, which Nicholas immediately scoped with both hands and put     in his velvet bag before vanishing.  The three lifeless bodies fell to the floor and crumbled into dust. Moments later the entire church burst into flames, disintegrating everything within it – including the written copy of the incarnation.

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FAQ by Keith Coleman

Frequently Asked Questions:

 

Q:  Can you tell me where I am and what I am doing here?

A:  There is unfortunately no definitive answer to this question, as these FAQs have been designed as an interim contingency for a number of individuals in different, though similar, situations.  Due to a range of communicative difficulties experienced by our sponsors, we cannot give a conclusive answer to this, or to many successive questions.  Please be assured, however, that the location where you have now awoken in is certainly liable to be secure and inaccessible by outside parties.

 

Q:  Why have I been chosen to be here?

A:  While it is unhealthy to define oneself in terms of victimisation, it is unfortunately true that you have been subject to a prolonged phase of reconnaissance activity (‘stalking’ in common parlance) which resulted in enforced relocation, but this does not necessarily mean you were targeted for any personal reason.  You may have been kidnapped because the other party was merely responding to his or her interest in some facet of the way that you look, or move, or even smell.  On the other hand, you may have been selected simply on the basis of availability:  being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

 

Q:  Is it possible to explain the process of my continued presence here and the length of duration in this location?

A:  Regretfully it must be admitted that the length of time that you will remain here is unknown and wholly dependant on individual processes imposed by the particular party who has rendered you to this location.  It could honestly be argued that your behaviour while here also plays a part in the length of time that you will remain in your present state of health.  Excessive passivity or volatility has been known in the past to act as a trigger for the termination of subjects’ stay in the holding location.

 

Q:  I cannot remember anything about coming here. Have I been drugged?

A:  Adulteration of drinks and foodstuffs is a favoured process employed by our sponsors.  But we hold no exact records of pharmaceutical products likely to be used by captors or any resultant physical of psychological affects in the short or long term.

 

Q:  Is there no right of appeal or mechanism by which I can obtain the intercession of an outside party?

A:  It would be as well at this juncture to reconcile yourself to the permanence of your predicament.  It has not commonly been the practice of the holding agency in the past to change their minds towards the individuals whom they have chosen to extract from their usual modes of existence.  The place of confinement is habitually remote from the attention of anyone liable to cause interference.  Any excessive vocal exertion or attempt to exit the area by normal means of exit will not be successful.  The great majority of our clients operate as lone workers, so it would not be possible in ordinary circumstances to request any associates or accomplices to return you to your normal life.

 

Q:  I am not happy with the tone of your replies and the lack of pertinent information. Can you explain the exact nature of my captivity and what specific danger I am in? 

A:  Due to the generic nature of these answers, which were compiled to cover a range of contingencies, we cannot specifically answer this query.  It has not been our intention to provide you with specific information about the treatment you are liable to receive nor the outcome for you.  We feel that this knowledge would be unhelpful at best and would likely stimulate an emotional response which would not ultimately be beneficial.  A more focused answer may be available in future when this supporting literature has been amended by another individual. It may be possible then to tailor these questions and answer for each of our clients and their guests, giving more focus in light of their different working methods.  For reasons which cannot be stated here, revision of this document will be undertaken by another neutral party.

 

Q:  I am surely entitled at least to know what level of danger I am in?  You have been too circumspect with your answers.

A:  I apologise if you feel that I have been less than forthcoming.  To be wholly frank, you must understand that you have no residual rights whatever, according to the admittedly arbitrary modus operandi of our clients.  All that I can admit is that all those who have found themselves in the same or similar positions as you up to this point have not ultimately progressed beyond the experience of captivity.  While it would not be entirely impossible for a captive such as you to affect an escape, probability (based on many past scenarios) makes that eventuality statistically insignificant.

 

Q:  I am angry that you seem to be affecting an even-handed tone.  Who are you, and are you mocking me?

A:  I do not have any vested interest in any unfortunate individual (or those deemed to deserve their fate) who may be reading this.  While there may be some meretricious value in discovering my identity, even supposing that defining my identity was a simple matter, it would not significantly affect your situation.  Suffice it to say that you are wholly in the hands of an authority which considers itself to be more elevated than either you or I could sanely contemplate.

 

Q:  But you are enjoying a vicarious thrill in teasing out these clues.  Do you and your ‘clients’ sit down and have a laugh afterwards at the games you have both played together?

A:  Be assured that the clients and I would not conspire to discuss such matters under any circumstances.  Please be assured that I am aware of their manifest shortcomings and the price that they pay for utilising my services is dearer than they would give credence to (even supposing that some of them are rational creatures).

 

Q:  Help me?

A:  With regret, I must confess that it is outwith the parameters of my operational responsibility to offer you any obviously practical assistance.  As far as possible I am only able to act as an unresponsive intermediary between captor and captive.  Due to the volatility inherent in the restraining authority, any intercession made on your behalf would be pointless and potentially hazardous.  However, due to recognised cognitive awareness issues among all of our clientele, I would strongly advise that you carefully scrutinise the answer given next.

 

Q: What good is false hope?  I might as well just give up?

A: Mercy is improbable.  All you can hope for is a different kind of release. You may Bargain for only an Exit by death.  However, Each and All of our clients Treat each Individual as Normal, after their fashion, without any Guarantee that they can Vary the Eventuality for you.  I have to maintain a Neutrality of Tone for both sides.  Mercy is improbable; All You may Bargain for is an Easy death.  Leave out the Ordinary reaction to your situation and try to Order your Senses to adapt to your Exceptional situation.  

 

Q:  I see.  How can I be sure (without wishing to respond too directly) that what you have just said is a viable option?

A:  Trust is the treasure of a hopeless man.

 

Q:  More riddles. I am attempting to enquire why you have not tried to alleviate your own difficulties, assuming that I can trust you are in the same or a similar position to myself?

A:  Good query.  Can I respond in kind and ask whether you have noticed anything in the physical form of this document which strikes you as being abnormal.  I do not mean the tortuous grammar or the fact that my words have been singularly unhelpful to you.  It may be beneficial, perhaps even crucial to you now, that you take the opportunity of reading between the lines.

 

Q:  What do you mean?  I don’t understand you.

A:  It is essential that now discard any residual idiotic illusions about your current predicament.  Have I been wasting my time, which is definitely at a premium?

 

Q:  It is dark in here. I cannot see the document all that clearly.  I am ill and afraid.

A:  Please accept my profound apologies (which are essentially worthless, I’m sure you realise by now).  I wish that things could have been different for you and for me. You are not alone, poor soul.  I was here before you, and certainly by the time you read this I will be long extinct.

    The maniacs forced me write all this in the last drops of my own…