Whispering Pages

Now it is indeed true that I have destroyed the Necronomicon that I found in the library at UC Berkely. Many who hear of my doing this; and mark you, they will, for though my cell in Arkham has succedded in making my mortal self a prisoner, it cannot hide the truth. That truth, the same truth that spoke to me through words of utter blasphemy on that night, oh that dark night, has altered my view of reality entirely. It was once said, by some foolish person who's name I cannot recall, that when one knows the truth, the truth will set him free. Which truth did he speak of? Certainly not any of what I heard, because all that I learned made me so free that they have taken away my freedom and condemned me to rot in this ranking, rat infested cell. Am I truly mad? I know not. I don't think that I can ever really "know" anything anymore. There are those day which are becoming more and more numerous when I awaken in the darkness of the prison, and forgetting for a moment why there are bars lining my doorway. The present is Hell. I no longer have a future. I would relish it if I could call my past a lie, but I know that I cannot. I remember it all to well. Those whispering pages spoke with such clarity that it has scarred my mind forever. Whenever I close my eyes, that hideous voice returns. And I am powerless to do nothing but listen.

Seven years ago I entered the University of California, Berkely as an aspiring undergraduate made of dreams. Subversive and strange literature had always held immense appeal to me, so it made sense that I should attend such a liberal environment to expand my knowledge of the supernatural and that which has remained unexplained. My parents had encouraged me to go because they believed that such a place of open-minded ideals and individuals would be beneficial to someone of, as they so succulentlyt put it, "reclusive nature." The fools. Eighteen years had I been their beloved son albeit reclusivness, and yet they still knew so little about who I truly was on the inside. All the more better for me, since such a level of tolerance would mean that I could count on everyone leaving me well enough alone. I went, my head drifting among the clouds and my mind at focus on uncovering the secrets of the Great Dark Beyond, while my body remained on Earth for the necessary, bland tutorial.

It's not that I hated the school. It was simply too boring for me during the first year. Even down to the GE mathematics courses where I got most of my sleep. The academic counselors had a field day with my case towards the end of my first year, for they could not understand why someone who exceeld so greatly and so quickly in the fields of literature and languages could fail so miserably in almost everythings else. In the end, it was decided that I should be treated as a special student who, which such great propensity and talent for letters, should stay on as a student. I became a "special major" student and was excempt from all other areas of study except for those attaining to languages, literature and philosophy. The best professors were at my disposal, and I was free finally to study in the area I always knew I was meant to. One certain Professor, Dr. Herbert Eamon, took a keen interest in me, offereing to tutor me in what he called "surpressed literature." It was then that I learned of the existence of the Necronomicon.