The Cure

Part 1, The Genisis

Diary of Samuel J. Harting

(On the back cover, in reddish-“ink”)

“Time has no meaning in the Hell I’m in…”

Life means insanity in the nightmare I live…”

I meant to bring life to the love I knew..”.

It only brought blasphemy to what I thought true..”

July 14, 1923

The doctors say she has cancer. What that means to me is the she will die and I can’t do a thing about it. That is absurd. No man should feel so helpless. I blame you God… This is your doing. I call upon you, challenge you. She is a good woman, and my soul mate. It is not her time, damn you. How could you? You call yourself a merciful God? I think we are just playthings on your table, for you little angels to torment. You are a farce, a con-artist of the grandest kind. I defy you. She will live, by my soul, if I have anything to say about it, and I know I do…

July 25, 1923

She is not well. She looks so pale in that hospital bed. I am searching far for answers to my questions. Is there a cure? Is there a way a man with the love and faith I have in the human spirit, to draw out the evil within her? I have found something… a old book, in Latin from my father’s library… but it will take time, and perhaps some sacrifice…

August 9, 1923

The heat is overwhelming. She was brought home today. She lies in her bed, waiting for her last moments. I tell her she’s not going to die but she doesn’t believe me and spends all her time with the children. She cries a lot. She will be so happy when I show her what I’ve started. Had to go to town last night to get some of the ingredients. One particular ingredient gave up quite a fight, but one quick swat to the head with a hammer put her out cold. She’s still alive, and I’m certain now she’s a virgin…

September 21, 1923

I’ve been waiting for so long. Betelgeuse is in alignment. It is time. The Equex of Yos’Uroth is near. It is time tonight to summon the Cure… She will be so happy, and life will be back to normal, just like before. When we ran through the yard, with the spring winds running through our hair… when I ask her to marry me in Arkham four years ago…. when Gregory was born… then Mary Ellen… so joyous. No unmerciful failed god created in the dreams of ancient man will take my life away. I win, you foolish old man. Your universe is no longer yours alone…

September 22, 1923

What have I done…?

October 19, 1923

It calls me now, in the basement where I led it. My wife is no more. What she became is now in the basement, sealed behind rock. It was as if her cancer took her over… she became a seething mass of cancerous flesh. I heard her screams for two weeks as her cancer enveloped her. I thought that was a normal part of the process, and left it alone. The process said to leave the Cured enclosed for several days… bathed in the blood of a virgin. This was not how it was supposed to be…

The incantantion cured her of her humanity, not her cancer.  The mystical author saw humanity as the disease…  Oh God, no.

She devoured the children when they went to look against my wishes. I still hear their scream in my dreams. It’s a horror that no man alive or dead should witness. I gave up a hand for this thing… My God, please forgive me.

Every once in while, though, I here her voice… she says she forgives me and still loves me… and I still love her…

Now I must stay, forever, to make sure it stays within the house. I must ensure that it does not escape to devour more. But it calls for me with her voice,… pleading to release it…. but I know that it is the deceiver. Only I can guard it… so I seek more knowledge to attempt to cheat death again… I must live forever, as guardian of the Cancerous Blasphemy…

Part 2, The Feed
Diary of Patient 341.87.0998, Harting, Samuel J.
Arkham Asylum

(On the back cover)

They know not the truth which lies beyond…

They only know of facts and figures, insanity and sanity

They keep me in this padded room…

But it calls me, and the Feeding will be soon…

August 17, 1945

It has become apparent that I was successful in my attempts to cheat death. I am immortal, now, or at least the book tells me I am. However, it has its price…

They came for me two years ago, when they’d heard a mad hermit lived in the Harting house. They were surprised to find a young man living there. Now, they stick me in a padded room and let me write to tell my story. They call me the One-Handed Man, despite the fact I tell them I am the Guardian. They know not what it means to carry the burden I carry. My scarred left stump reminds me of the day I mixed my blood with that of the innocent runaway’s… when I took that rusty blade and hacked off the limb into the tub of virgin’s blood….

The second ritual was not quite as tortuous. The Rites of Ithalidad were simple and only required a bit of scalding, and the ingesting of a horrible concoction. It now keeps me alive. I feel something inside me; gripping my heart, my spine, my brain, and my soul with tendrils of dark origin. It holds my life frozen in time, allowing my heart to beat once a day or so. It refurbishes dead tissue, heal wounds, and never dies. But it must feed, and through me it gets it sustenance… human flesh…

September 14, 1945

The Feeding nears close, and it will facilitate my escape. I must feed. The call me insane, but I am a man with a purpose… I am the Guardian, and She is my Wife. I love, and hate It. It must not escape from the house. It lies now in the house, dormant from starvation, and so it should. Through the years I spent with it, it had cleared the entire yard of rodents, and insects, and now it lies asleep. One rat or worm, and it will awaken again. One human, and it might have the strength to escape…

October 31, 1945

All Hallows Eve… fitting night for my escape. My first feeding will be the Dr. Whirling. He keeps asking me these absurd questions. He also has read this journal… he knows too much. The Thing that Grips my Soul will give me the strength to escape… I will have the power of one hundred men, It tells me…

THE CURE

Part 3, The Wife
Diary of Samuel J. Harting
January 7, 1962

It seems the world is enthralled in a war for peace, and I stand alone, looking for It…

They demolished the House in ’44 when the sold it to a young gullible couple. It was released then, into this world, and I seek it out. Occasionally I find signs, but only to stumble across another empty house or barn… It’s playing games with me…

It is easy to find things to write on now. I wait for the school year to end, and they throw away so many things… They toss away days of endless academic banter of the so-called Real World, while I wait outside. The school is a good place to be for a thing like us… the Thing inside me likes young flesh…

February 5, 1962

I hear their voices again. They must be near. It is my Wife, my Children, and I love them… I hate the blasphemy that has taken them from me… but their voices. She misses me…

God must have forgiven me by now. I’ve worked so hard to stop its devouring. All good things come to those who work hard and endeavor for better. I am the Guardian, and She is my Wife…

Last Updated 08/19/03
Copyright © Ronald W McClung

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