Last night I entered the Miskatonic Archives, and through slight of hand and nimble footing I made it into the professor’s office and lab.
I found no sign of the Necronomicon, nor could I find any of those books that were acquired by the University through the Dunwich incident.
I did however manage to pilfer an impression of Professor Kemy’s scribblings from from a desktop notepad, though nothing as of yet makes much sense at all…
But none of what I found has much to do with my current situation, which I will relay to you now, in case these moments are to be my very last…
Though I had been quite sly and meticulously nimble in my excursion, I neglected to return with my bag… a bag containing a change of clothing, so that I could arrive at the Women’s Cello Society recital well-dressed and in good time for some celebratory drinking.
When I realized this, I was halfway between the University and my intended destination – and, my apartment on Rue d’Auseil being closer, I decided to grab a change of clothing at home instead of returning to Miskatonic University.
I do realize so far this sounds rather mundane and innocuous, but here is the point where things become utterly frightening and disturbing…
I returned to the university tonight, and found that my bag had indeed been discovered… my goggles crushed and broken, my hair pins mauled, brutalized, and perhaps violated… And my hat… MY HAT…
My hat, I found in a corner, crushed and mutilated almost beyond all recognition. I say that because I was able to recognize it, though only barely…. and I wish I had not….
It was coated in some ghastly, hideous, and likely supernatural white slime, filled with feathers and blood… the organs of what I believe to have been a chicken’s…. and a bloodied deck of playing cards.
It is obvious that some terrible ritual was performed with my precious hat. I am unsure as to whether they have hexed me to die in some short period of time, or perhaps set some hideous beast from beyond on my trail. They may also have simply used it to scrye my name and whereabouts – regardless, I fear my time in this mortal coil may be numbered… with a rather low number… um… of time.
Oh my. I just sneezed… I knew it! This is the beginning of the end for me… I think I am coming down with some sort of unimaginable, terrible, hideous, and gruesomely eldritch illness! I feel faint… FAINT I SAY!
Now I faint.
Sincerly,
Cordelia Atwood,
Rogue Investigator
