Folk Horror Revival Presents Winter Ghosts, Whitby December 2017

Folk Horror Revival

(Folk Horror Revival Presents Winter Ghosts 2017)

Folk Horror Revival Presents Winter Ghosts 2017

Folk Horror Revival presents Winter Ghosts Where better to spend an engaging winter’s evening in the compan…

Where better to spend an engaging winter’s evening in the company of the Folk Horror Revival group, than in the beautiful coastal town of Whitby. This event promises to be one of the highlights of the wyrd calendar, and is most definitely not to be missed.

In the intimate setting of The Metropole, Whitby, we cordially invite you to join us for our winter soiree, a gathering of the clans on the North Yorkshire coast. Folk Horror Revival present a series of exhilarating talks and musical performances for your terpsichorean pleasure.
Beginning at 4pm, the event gets under way with a series of thought provoking oratories with a distinctly local flavour, before we plunge headlong into…

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“The spiral that never Vanished”

British Rock Art Blog

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Hi Folks here’s something to dwell over‘The spiral that never vanished’

I was interested to read about the project at Castlerigg stone circle Cumbria and read with interest the abstract ‘The spiral that vanished’ JAS 2006.The spiral had originally been captured and photographed by Neil Stephenson in 1995 and was of course the focus of our attention.Barbara and I were on site when Stan Beckensall recorded the motif using his customary wax rubbing technique and I can confirm that the motif was clearly detectable through the rubbing paper since I made a similar wax rubbing of the spiral too.Prior to Stan’s recording of the spiral for inclusion in his book The Prehistoric Rock art of Cumbria’ duly published by Tempus in 2002‘ Barbara and I had conducted a photographic survey of all the rocks within the circle In our research at Castlerigg in late Autumn 1999…

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The Necronomicon

Part of the Elementamundi.com universe by author Mark David

necronomicon

Part of elementamundi.com by author Mark David: Twitter @authorMarkDavid

Necronomicon

is the English translation of an original codex of esoteric literature by the “Mad Arab” Abdul Jafari Alhazred, known as the Kitab al-Azif, an Arabic word defined as “that nocturnal sound (made by insects) supposed to be the howling of demons.”  From:`Azīf (عزيف) as “whistling (of the wind); weird sound or noise”, where the tradition of `azif al jinn (عزيف الجن) is linked to the phenomenon ofsinging sand, the sound of the shifting dunes of the desert that was believed to represent the sound made by the spirits of the underworld when manifested in underground places of the deep.

The first copy to be recovered by Archaeologist Joachim Agard, later to become the Sufi mystic Ikim Agár, was one of the older versions written in Latin, translated from the Greek, itself translated from the original…

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The Hounds of Tindalos by Frank Belknap Long

“I’m glad you came,” said Chalmers. He was sitting by the window and his face was very pale. Two tall candles guttered at his elbow and cast a sickly amber light over his long nose and slightly receding chin. Chalmers would have nothing modern about his apartment. He had the soul of a mediæval ascetic, and he preferred illuminated manuscripts to automobiles, and leering stone gargoyles to radios and adding–machines.

As I crossed the room to the settee he had cleared for me I glanced at his desk and was surprised to discover that he had been studying the mathematical formulae of a celebrated contemporary physicist, and that he had covered many sheets of thin yellow paper with curious geometric designs.

“Einstein and John Dee are strange bedfellows,” I said as my gaze wandered from his mathematical charts to the sixty or seventy quaint books that comprised his strange little library. Plotinus and Emanuel Moscopulus, St. Thomas Aquinas and Frenicle de Bessy stood elbow to elbow in the somber ebony bookcase, and chairs, table and desk were littered with pamphlets about mediæval sorcery and witchcraft and black magic, and all of the valiant glamorous things that the modern world has repudiated.

Chalmers smiled engagingly, and passed me a Russian cigarette on a curiously carved tray. “We are just discovering now,” he said, “that the old alchemists and sorcerers were two–thirds right, and that your modern biologist and materialist is nine–tenths wrong.”

“You have always scoffed at modern science.” I said, a little impatiently.

“Only at scientific dogmatism,” he replied. “I have always been a rebel, a champion of originality and lost causes; that is why I have chosen to repudiate the conclusions of contemporary biologists.”

“And Einstein?” I asked.

“A priest of transcendental mathematics” he murmured reverently. “A profound mystic and explorer of the great suspected.”

“Then you do not entirely despise science.”

“Of course not.” he affirmed. “I merely distrust the scientific positivism of the past fifty years, the positivism of Haeckel and Darwin and of Mr. Bertrand Russell. I believe that biology has failed pitifully to explain the mystery of man’s origin and destiny.”

“Give them time.” I retorted.

Chalmers’ eyes glowed. “My friend.” he murmured, “your pun is sublime. Give them time. That is precisely what I would do. But your modern biologist scoffs at time. He has the key but he refuses to use it. What do we know of time, really? Einstein believes that it is relative, that it can be interpreted in terms of space, of curved space. But must we stop there? When mathematics fails us can we not advance by—insight?”

“You are treading on dangerous ground,” I replied. “That is a pitfall that your true investigator avoids That is why modern science has advanced so slowly. It accepts nothing that it cannot demonstrate. But you—”

“I would take hashish, opium, all manner of drugs I would emulate the sages of the East. And then perhaps I would apprehend—”

“What?”

“The fourth dimension.”

“Theosophical rubbish!”

“Perhaps. But I believe that drugs expand human consciousness. William James agreed with me. And I have discovered a new one.”

“A new drug?”

“It was used centuries ago by Chinese alchemists, but it is virtually unknown in the West. Its occult properties are amazing. With its aid and the aid of my mathematical knowledge I believe that I can go back through time.”

“I do not understand.”

“Time is merely our imperfect perception of a new dimension of space. Time and motion are both illusions. Everything that has existed from the beginning of the world exists now. Events that occurred centuries ago on this planet continue to exist in another dimension of space. Events that will occur centuries from now exist already. We cannot perceive their existence because we cannot enter the dimension of space that contains them. Human beings as we know them are merely fractions, infinitesimally small fractions of one enormous whole. Every human being is linked with all the life that has preceded him on this planet. All of his ancestors are parts of him. Only time separates him from his forebears, and time is an illusion and does not exist.”

“I think I understand,” I murmured.

“It will be sufficient for my purpose if you can form a vague idea of what I wish to achieve. I wish to strip from my eyes the veils of illusion that time has thrown over them, and see the beginning and the end.”

“And you think this new drug will help you?”

“I am sure that it will. And I want you to help me. I intend to take the drug immediately. I cannot wait. I must see.” His eyes glittered strangely. “I am going back, back through time.”

He rose and strode to the mantel. When he faced me again he was holding a small square box in the palm of his hand. “I have here five pellets of the drug Liao. It was used by the Chinese philosopher Lao Tze, and while under its influence he visioned Tao. Tao is the most mysterious force in the world; it surrounds and pervades all things; it contains the visible universe and everything that we call reality. He who apprehends the mysteries of Tao sees clearly all that was and will be.”

“Rubbish!” I retorted.

“Tao resembles a great animal, recumbent, motionless, containing in its enormous body all the worlds of our universe, the past, the present and the future. We see portions of this great monster through a slit, which we call time. With the aid of this drug I shall enlarge the slit. I shall behold the great figure of life, the great recumbent beast in its entirety.”

“And what do you wish me to do?”

“Watch, my friend. Watch and take notes. And if I go back too far you must recall me to reality. You can recall me by shaking me violently. If I appear to be suffering acute physical pain you must recall me at once.”

“Chalmers.” I said. “I wish you wouldn’t make this experiment. You are taking dreadful risks. I don’t believe that there is any fourth dimension and I emphatically do not believe in Tao. And I don’t approve of your experimenting with unknown drugs.”

“I know the properties of this drug.” he replied. “I know precisely how it affects the human animal and I know its dangers. The risk does not reside in the drug itself My only fear is that I may become lost in time. You see, I shall assist the drug. Before I swallow this pellet I shall give my undivided attention to the geometric and algebraic symbols that I have traced on this paper.” He raised the mathematical chart that rested on his knee. “I shall prepare my mind for an excursion into time. I shall approach the fourth dimension with my conscious mind before I take the drug which will enable me to exercise occult powers of perception. Before I enter the dream world of the Eastern mystics I shall acquire all of the mathematical help that modern science can offer. This mathematical knowledge, this conscious approach to an actual apprehension of the fourth dimension of time, will supplement the work of the drug. The drug will open up stupendous new vistas—the mathematical preparation will enable me to grasp them intellectually. I have often grasped the fourth dimension in dreams, emotionally, intuitively, but I have never been able to recall, in waking life, the occult splendours that were momentarily revealed to me.

“But with your aid, I believe that I can recall them. You will take down everything that I say under the influence of the drug. No matter how strange or incoherent my speech may become you will omit nothing. When I awake I may be able to supply the key to whatever is mysterious or incredible. I am not sure that I shall succeed, but if I do succeed”—his eyes were strangely luminous—“time will exist for me no longer!”

He sat down abruptly. “I shall make the experiment at once. Please stand over there by the window and watch. Have you a fountain pen?”

I nodded gloomily and removed a pale green Waterman from my upper vest pocket.

“And a pad, Frank?”

I groaned and produced a memorandum book. “I emphatically disapprove of this experiment,” I muttered. “You’re taking a frightful risk.”

“Don’t be an asinine old woman!” he admonished. “Nothing that you can say will induce me to stop now. I entreat you to remain silent while I study these charts.”

He raised the charts and studied them intently. I watched the clock on the mantel as it ticked out the seconds, and a curious dread clutched at my heart so that I choked.

Suddenly the clock stopped ticking, and exactly at that moment Chalmers swallowed the drug.

I rose quickly and moved toward him, but his eyes implored me not to interfere. “The clock has stopped.” he murmured. “The forces that control it approve of my experiment. Time stopped, and I swallowed the drug. I pray God that I shall not lose my way.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back on the sofa. All of the blood had left his face and he was breathing heavily. It was clear that the drug was acting with extraordinary rapidity.

“It is beginning to get dark,” he murmured. “Write that. It is beginning to get dark and the familiar objects in the room are fading out. I can discern them vaguely through my eyelids, but they are fading swiftly.”

I shook my pen to make the ink come and wrote rapidly in shorthand as he continued to dictate.

“I am leaving the room. The walls are vanishing and I can no longer see any of the familiar objects. Your face, though, is still visible to me. I hope that you are writing. I think that I am about to make a great leap—a leap through space. Or perhaps it is through time that I shall make the leap. I cannot tell. Everything is dark, indistinct.”

He sat for a while silent, with his head sunk upon his breast. Then suddenly he stiffened and his eyelids fluttered open. “God in heaven!” he cried. “I see!”

He was straining forward in his chair, staring at the opposite wall But I knew that he was looking beyond the wall and that the objects in the room no longer existed for him. “Chalmers,” I cried, “Chalmers, shall I wake you?”

“Do not!” he shrieked. “I see everything. All of the billions of lives that preceeded me on this planet are before me at this moment. I see men of all ages, all races, all colors. They are fighting, killing, building, dancing, singing. They are sitting about rude fires on lonely gray deserts, and flying through the air in monoplanes. They are riding the seas in bark canoes and enormous steamships; they are painting bison and mammoths on the walls of dismal caves and covering huge canvases with queer futuristic designs. I watch the migrations from Atlantis. I watch the migrations from Lemuria. I see the elder races—a strange horde of black dwarfs overwhelming Asia, and the Neandertalers with lowered heads and bent knees ranging obscenely across Europe. I watch the Achæans streaming into the Greek islands, and the crude beginnings of Hellenic culture. I am in Athens and Pericles is young. I am standing on the soil of Italy. I assist in the rape of the Sabines; I march with the Imperial Legions. I tremble with awe and wonder as the enormous standards go by and the ground shakes with the tread of the victorious hastati. A thousand naked slaves grovel before me as I pass in a litter of gold and ivory drawn by night–black oxen from Thebes, and the flower–girls scream ‘Ave Caesar’ as I nod and smile. I am myself a slave on a Moorish galley. I watch the erection of a great cathedral. Stone by stone it rises, and through months and years I stand and watch each stone as it falls into place. I am burned on a cross head downward in the thyme–scented gardens of Nero, and I watch with amusement and scorn the torturers at work in the chambers of the Inquisition.

“I walk in the holiest sanctuaries; I enter the temples of Venus. I kneel in adoration before the Magna Mater, and I throw coins on the bare knees of the sacred courtesans who sit with veiled faces in the groves of Babylon. I creep into an Elizabethan theater and with the stinking rabble about me I applaud The Merchant of Venice. I walk with Dante through the narrow streets of Florence. I meet the young Beatrice, and the hem of her garment brushes my sandals as I stare enraptured. I am a priest of Isis, and my magic astounds the nations. Simon Magus kneels before me, imploring my assistance, and Pharaoh trembles when I approach. In India I talk with the Masters and run screaming from their presence, for their revelations are as salt on wounds that bleed.

“I perceive everything simultaneously. I perceive everything from all sides; I am a part of all the teeming billions about me. I exist in all men and all men exist in me. I perceive the whole of human history in a single instant, the past and the present.

“By simply straining I can see farther and farther back. Now I am going back through strange curves and angles. Angles and curves multiply about me. I perceive great segments of time through curves. There is curved time, and angular time. The beings that exist in angular time cannot enter curved time. It is very strange.

“I am going back and back. Man has disappeared from the earth. Gigantic reptiles crouch beneath enormous palms and swim through the loathly black waters of dismal lakes. Now the reptiles have disappeared. No animals remain upon the land, but beneath the waters, plainly visible to me, dark forms move slowly over the rotting vegetation.

“The forms are becoming simpler and simpler. Now they are single cells. All about me there are angles—strange angles that have no counterparts on the earth. I am desperately afraid.

“There is an abyss of being which man has never fathomed.”

I stared. Chalmers had risen to his feet and he was gesticulating helplessly with his arms. “I am passing through unearthly angles; I am approaching—oh, the burning horror of it.”

“Chalmers!” I cried. “Do you wish me to interfere?”

He brought his right hand quickly before his face, as though to shut out a vision unspeakable. “Not yet!” he cried “I will go on. I will see—what—lies—beyond—”

A cold sweat streamed from his forehead and his shoulders jerked spasmodically. “Beyond life there are”—his face grew ashen with terror—”things that I cannot distinguish. They move slowly through angles. They have no bodies, and they move slowly through outrageous angles.”

It was then that I became aware of the odor in the room. It was a pungent, indescribable odor, so nauseous that I could scarcely endure it. I stepped quickly to the window and threw it open. When I returned to Chalmers and looked into his eyes I nearly fainted.

“I think they have scented me!” he shrieked. “They are slowly turning toward me.”

He was trembling horribly. For a moment he clawed at the air with his hands. Then his legs gave way beneath him and he fell forward on his face, slobbering and moaning.

I watched him in silence as he dragged himself across the floor. He was no longer a man. His teeth were bared and saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth.

“Chalmers.” I cried “Chalmers, stop it! Stop it. do you hear?”

As if in reply to my appeal he commenced to utter hoarse convulsive sounds which resembled nothing so much as the barking of a dog. and began a sort of hideous writhing in a circle about the room. I bent and seized him by the shoulders. Violently, desperately, I shook him. He turned his head and snapped at my wrist. I was sick with horror, but I dared not release him for fear that he would destroy himself in a paroxysm of rage.

“Chalmers,” I muttered, “you must stop that. There is nothing in this room that can harm you. Do you understand?”

I continued to shake and admonish him, and gradually the madness died out of his face. Shivering convulsively, he crumpled into a grotesque heap on the Chinese rug.

I carried him to the sofa and deposited him upon it. His features were twisted in pain, and I knew that he was still struggling dumbly to escape from abominable memories.

“Whisky,” he muttered. “You’ll find a flask in the cabinet by the window—upper left–hand drawer.”

When I handed him the flask his fingers tightened about it until the knuckles showed blue. “They nearly got me,” he gasped. He drained the stimulant in immoderate gulps, and gradually the color crept back into his face.

“That drug was the very devil!” I murmured.

“It wasn’t the drug.” he moaned.

His eyes no longer glared insanely, but he still wore the look of a lost soul.

“They scented me in time.” he moaned. “I went too far.”

“What were they like?” I said, to humor him.

He leaned forward and gripped my arm. He was shivering horribly. “No words in our language can describe them!” He spoke in a hoarse whisper. “They are symbolized vaguely in the myth of the Fall, and in an obscene form which is occasionally found engraved on ancient tablets. The Greeks had a name for them, which veiled their essential foulness. The tree, the snake and the apple—these are the vague symbols of a most awful mystery.

His voice had risen to a scream. “Frank, Frank, a terrible and unspeakable deed was done in the beginning. Before time, the deed, and from the deed—”

He had risen and was hysterically pacing the room. “The seeds of the deed move through angles in dim recesses of time. They are hungry and athirst!”

“Chalmers.” I pleaded to quiet him. “We are living in the third decade of the Twentieth Century.”

“They are lean and athirst!” he shrieked. “The Hounds of Tindalos!”

“Chalmers, shall I phone for a physician”

“A physician cannot help me now They are horrors of the soul, and yet”—he hid his face in his hands and groaned—”they are real, Frank. I saw them for a ghastly moment. For a moment I stood on the other side. I stood on the pale gray shores beyond time and space. In an awful light that was not light, in a silence that shrieked, I saw them.

“All the evil in the universe was concentrated in their lean, hungry bodies. Or had they bodies? I saw them only for a moment; I cannot be certain. But I heard them breathe. Indescribably for a moment I felt their breath upon my face. They turned toward me and I fled screaming. In a single moment I fled screaming through time. I fled down quintillions of years.

“But they scented me. Men awake in them cosmic hungers. We have escaped, momentarily, from the foulness that rings them round. They thirst for that in us which is clean, which emerged from the deed without stain. There is a part of us which did not partake in the deed, and that they hate. But do not imagine that they are literally, prosaically evil. They are beyond good and evil as we know it. They are that which in the beginning fell away from cleanliness. Through the deed they became bodies of death, receptacles of all foulness. But they are not evil in our sense because in the spheres through which they move there is no thought, no morals, no right or wrong as we understand it. There is merely the pure and the foul. The foul expresses itself through angles: the pure through curves. Man. the pure part of him, is descended from a curve. Do not laugh. I mean that literally.”

I rose and searched for my hat. “I’m dreadfully sorry for you, Chalmers,” I said, as I walked toward the door. “But I don’t intend to stay and listen to such gibberish. I’ll send my physician to see you. He’s an elderly, kindly chap and he won’t be offended if you tell him to go to the devil. But I hope you’ll respect his advice. A week’s rest in a good sanitarium should benefit you immeasurably.”

I heard him laughing as I descended the stairs, but his laughter was so utterly mirthless that it moved me to tears.

II

When Chalmers phoned the following morning my first impulse was to hang up the receiver immediately. His request was so unusual and his voice was so wildly hysterical that I feared any further association with him would result in the impairment of my own sanity. But I could not doubt the genuineness of his misery, and when he broke down completely and I heard him sobbing over the wire I decided to comply with his request.

“Very well,” I said. “I will come over immediately and bring the plaster.”

En route to Chalmers’ home I stopped at a hardware store and purchased twenty pounds of plaster of Paris. When I entered my friend’s room he was crouching by the window watching the opposite wall out of eyes that were feverish with fright. When he saw me he rose and seized the parcel containing the plaster with an avidity that amazed and horrified me. He had extruded all of the furniture and the room presented a desolate appearance.

“It is just conceivable that we can thwart them!” he exclaimed, “But we must work rapidly. Frank, there is a stepladder in the hall. Bring it here immediately. And then fetch a pail of water.”

“What for?” I murmured.

He turned sharply and there was a Rush on his face. “To mix the plaster, you fool!” he cried. “To mix the plaster that will save our bodies and souls from a contamination unmentionable. To mix the plaster that will save the world from—Frank, they must be kept out!

“Who?” I murmured.

“The Hounds of Tindalos!” he muttered. “They can only reach us through angles. We must eliminate all angles from this room. I shall plaster up all of the corners, all of the crevices. We must make this room resemble the interior of a sphere.”

I knew that it would have been useless to argue with him. I fetched the stepladder, Chalmers mixed the plaster, and for three hours we labored. We filled in the four corners of the wall and the intersections of the floor and wall and the wall and ceiling, and we rounded the sharp angles of the window–seat.

“I shall remain in this room until they return in time,” he affirmed when our task was completed. “When they discover that the scent leads through curves they will return. They will return ravenous and snarling and unsatisfied to the foulness that was in the beginning, before time, beyond space.”

He nodded graciously and lit a cigarette. “It was good of you to help.” he said.

“Will you not see a physician. Chalmers?” I pleaded.

“Perhaps—tomorrow,” he murmured. “But now I must watch and wait.”

“Wait for what?” I urged.

Chalmers smiled wanly “I know that you think me insane,” he said. “You have a shrewd but prosaic mind, and you cannot conceive of an entity that does not depend for its existence on force and matter. But did it ever occur to you, my friend, that force and matter are merely the barriers to perception imposed by time and space? When one knows, as I do, that time and space are identical and that they are both deceptive because they are merely imperfect manifestations of a higher reality, one no longer seeks in the visible world for an explanation of the mystery and terror of being.”

I rose and walked toward the door.

“Forgive me.” he cried. “I did not mean to offend you. You have a superlative intellect, but I—I have a superhuman one. It is only natural that I should be aware of your limitations.”

“Phone if you need me,” I said, and descended the stairs two steps at a time. “I’ll send my physician over at once,”‘ I muttered, to myself. “He’s a hopeless maniac, and heaven knows what will happen if someone doesn’t take charge of him immediately.”

III

THE following is a condensation of two announcements which appeared in the Partridgeville Gazette for July 5, 1928:

Earthquake Shakes Financial District

At 2 o’clock this morning an earth tremor of unusual severity broke several plate–glass windows in Central Square and completely disorganized the electric and street railway systems. The tremor was felt in the outlying districts and the steeple of the First Baptist Church on Angell Hill (designed by Christopher Wren in 1717) was entirely demolished. Firemen are now attempting to put out a blaze which threatens to destroy the Partridgeville Glue Works. An investigation is promised by the mayor and an immediate attempt will be made to fix responsibility for this disastrous occurrence.

OCCULT WRITER MURDERED BY UNKNOWN GUEST


Horrible Crime in Central Square


Mystery Surrounds Death of Halpin Chalmers

At 9 a. m. today the body of Halpin Chalmers, author and journalist, was found in an empty room above the jewelry store of Smithwick and Isaacs, 24 Central Square. The coroner’s investigation revealed that the room had been rented furnished to Mr. Chalmers on May 1, and that he had himself disposed of the furniture a fortnight ago. Chalmers was the author of several recondite books on occult themes, and a member of the Bibliographic Guild. He formerly resided in Brooklyn, New York.

At 7 a. m. Mr. L. E. Hancock, who occupies the apartment opposite Chalmers’ room in the Smithwick and Isaacs establishment, smelt a peculiar odor when he opened his door to take in his cat and the morning edition of the Partridgeville Gazette. The odor he describes as extremely acrid and nauseous, and he affirms that it was so strong in the vicinity of Chalmers’ room that he was obliged to hold his nose when he approached that section of the hall.

He was about to return to his own apartment when it occurred to him that Chalmers might have accidentally forgotten to turn off the gas in his kitchenette. Becoming considerable, alarmed at the thought, he decided to investigate, and when repeated tappings on Chalmers’ door brought no response he notified the superintendent. The latter opened the door by means of a pass key, and the two men quickly made their way into Chalmers room. The room was utterly destitute of furniture, and Hancock asserts that when he first glanced at the floor his heart went cold within him, and that the superintendent. without saying a word, walked to the open window and stared at the building opposite for fully five minutes.

Chalmers lay stretched upon his back in the center of the room. He was starkly nude, and his chest and arms were covered with a peculiar bluish pus or ichor. His head lay grotesquely upon his chest. It had been completely severed from his body, and the features were twisted and torn and horribly mangled. Nowhere was there a trace of blood.

The room presented a most astonishing appearance. The intersections of the walls, ceiling and floor had been thickly smeared with plaster of Paris, but at intervals fragments had cracked and fallen off, and someone had grouped these upon the floor about the murdered man so as to form a perfect triangle.

Beside the body were several sheets of charred yellow paper. These bore fantastic geometric designs and symbols and several hastily scrawled sentences. The sentences were almost illegible and so absurd in content that they furnished no possible clue to the perpetrator of the crime. “I am waiting and watching,” Chalmers wrote. “I sit by the window and watch walls and ceiling. I do not believe they can reach me. but I must beware of the Doels. Perhaps they can help them break through. The satyrs will help, and they can advance through the scarlet circles. The Greeks knew a way of preventing that. It is a great pity that we have forgotten so much.”

On another sheet of paper, the most badly charred of the seven or eight fragments found by Detective Sergeant Douglas (of the Partridgeville Reserve), was scrawled the following:

“Good God, the plaster is falling! A terrific shock has loosened the plaster and it is falling. An earthquake perhaps! I never could have anticipated this. It is growing dark in the room. I must phone Frank. But can he get here in time? I will try. I will recite the Einstein formula. I will—God. they are breaking through! They are breaking through! Smoke is pouring from the coiners of the wall. Their tongues—ahhhhh—”

In the opinion of Detective Sergeant Douglas. Chalmers was poisoned by some obscure chemical. He has sent specimens of the strange blue slime found on Chalmers’ body to the Partridgeville Chemical Laboratories; and he expects the report will shed new light on one of the most mysterious crimes of recent years. That Chalmers entertained a guest on the evening preceding the earthquake is certain, for his neighbor distinctly heard a low murmur of conversation in the former’s room as he passed it on his way to the stairs. Suspicion points strongly to this unknown visitor and the police are diligently endeavoring to discover his identity.

IV

Report of James Morton, chemist and bacteriologist:

My dear Mr. Douglas:

The fluid sent to me for analysis is the most peculiar that I have ever examined. It resembles living protoplasm, but it lacks the peculiar substances known as enzymes. Enzymes Catalyze the chemical reactions occurring in living ceils, and when the cell dies they cause it to disintegrate by hydrolyzation. Without enzymes protoplasm should possess enduring vitality, i.e. immortality. Enzymes are the negative components, so to speak, of unicellular organism, which is the basis of all life. That living matter can exist without enzymes biologists emphatically deny. And yet the substance that you have sent me is alive and it lacks these “indispensable” bodies. Good God, sir, do you realize what astounding new vistas this opens up?

V

Excerpt from The Secret Watchers by the late Halpin Chalmers:

What if, parallel to the life we know, there is another life that does not die, which lacks the elements that destroy our life? Perhaps in another dimension there is a different force from that which generates our life. Perhaps this force emits energy, or something similar to energy, which passes from the unknown dimension where it is and creates a new form of cell life in our dimension. No one knows that such new cell life does exist in our dimension. Ah, but I have seen its manifestations. I have talked with them. In my room at night I have talked with the Doels. And in dreams I have seen their maker. I have stood on the dim shore beyond time and matter and seen it. It moves through strange curves and outrageous angles. Someday I shall travel in time and meet it face to face.hoft_keglevichvonbuzin_devhoft_keglevichvonbuzin_dev

Talking to Angels

A True and Faithful Relation

In 1659, Meuric Casaubon, Doctor of Divinity published a book that purported to confirm the reality of spirits as well as show the several good uses a sober Christian could make of all of this.  The book was sold at the Little North Door of the Cathedral of St Paul in London.

Casaubon had taken the book from the original written by Dr John Dee, an Elizabethan polymath, advisor to the Queen, mathematician and magician and added his own lengthy preface.  The book was called:

A True and Faithful relation of What Passed for Many Years Between Dr John Dee (A mathematician of great fame in Queen Elizabeth and King James, their reigns) and Some Spirits: Tending (had it succeeded) To a General Alteration of most States and Kingdoms of in the World. His private conferences with Rudolph, Emperor of Germany, Stephen, King of Poland, and diverse other princes about it. The particulars of his Cause, as it was agitated in the Emperor’s Court, by the Pope’s intervention: His Banishment, and Restoration in part.”

It’s generally just called The Relation,  or A True and Faithful Relation.  When you look at that title, you’d be convinced Casaubon was keyword stuffing, but this was before the invention of SEO.

Casaubon’s Preface

Casaubon provides a lengthy theological preface where every s is f, and other poor spelling (nearly as bad as Chaucer) with chunks of Latin, some Greek and a tiny bit of Hebrew. It’s generally pretty tedious but he does try to defend Dee from the accusation of being a conjurer. You must remember that in 1604 King James I of England (VI of Scotland) enacted a Witchcraft Act that set out penalty of death to any who invoked evil spirits, or communed with familiar spirits. Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins operated under this statute. So, when Casaubon published his book, Dee was clearly in breach of this law and liable to the death penalty, except of course he got out of this by being dead already.  In 1649, the Scots extended their previous witchcraft act to give the death penalty to those who consulted with Devils and familiar spirits. That would be you at your Tarot reading.

Casaubon says that Dee had an Angelical Stone which he claimed was brought to him by an angel. It was this he used, or rather Edward Kelley, his scrier, used to see the spirits.  Casaubon also tries to excuse Kelley saying, “I would suppose that he was one of the best sort of magicians, that dealt with spirits by a kind of command…and not by any compact or agreement.”  This may be considered a splitting of hairs.  

We have 55 pages of Casaubon’s preface before getting to the good stuff. Or at least the better stuff

Dee’s Apology

The next section is Dr John Dee’s apology sent to the Arch-Bishop of Canterbury in 1594/5. (This was the time of the introduction of the new Gregorian calendar by the Catholic Church in 1582 and so years had different numbers and days had different dates depending  whether you reckoned in the new Gregorian, or old Julian calendar. Protestant and Orthodox Christians lagged in the introduction of the Gregorian calendar, the last country to adopt it was Orthodox Greece in 1923.)

Dee is basically trying to kid the arch-bishop that he is a straightforward Christian believer. He sets out the books he has written for the benefit of his native country and he makes a fervent protestation that all the methods of acquiring knowledge he used were good, lawful, honest, Christian and divinely prescribed.   He adds an epilogue, to me a sign that he guessed his fervent protestation and list of qualifications were unlikely to cut ice. He adds a copy of his degree in Latin to further show what a good egg he is.

A Table

The next section is the extensive Table of Contents in Three Parts, which briefly summarizes each entry in the following book. Then we have the Errata. I am unsure whether these parts were added by Casaubon as he edited the manuscript but he writes about Dee in the third person, so I guess this is Casaubon’s table of contents and note of errata.

We then have diagrams of The Holy Table with the Enochian alphabet and magic squares depicted, and the Four Watchtowers diagram with notes who which princes, trumpeters, ensign bearers stand where in Heaven.  On Page 96 of the PDF facsimile we get to Dr Dee’s own work the Liber Mysteriorum & Sancti written after the pattern of Noval.

Liber Mysteriorum & Sancti

The journal, for that is what it is, opens on 28th May, 1583 in Leiden between Amsterdam and The Hague on the Dutch coast. Dee has already set off from England.

Dee had originally been his own scryer from round 1581 when  he had strange dreams and noted odd feelings and mysterious noises in his house. He got a crystal ball, or show-stone and began scrying himself and on 25 May 1582 reported his first contact with spirits through the show-stone.

This reminded me of similar experiences recounted by Carl Jung in his autobiographical Dreams, Memories & Reflections, where he notes that in June 1916 he began to feel there were unseen entities in his house. One of his daughters saw a ghost, and that night another daughter had her bed clothes yanked off, and his nine year old son had a nightmare about the Devil. The next day at 5pm, the doorbell began ringing and wouldn’t stop until Jung looked out of the window to see there was no one there. Ghosts pressed round him and he wrote, perhaps channeled his Septem Sermones ad Mortuuos. “The Seven Sermons to the Dead.”

When prompted by this irruption of spirits into his life, Jung’s reaction was to write what they told him.  Dee’s was to stare into the show-stone to see what they wanted.  

Dee later employed a seer called Barnabas Saul so that he could take notes. It’s unclear whether Dee himself continued to see the spirits. Saul had some disturbing experiences and quit. After that Dee was on the look-out for a new scier and hired 27 year old, Edward Kelley (not his real name). Kelley appears to have been something of a rogue, forger and necromancer, but Dee was apparently satisfied with his skill as a seer.  Dee’s fortunes had diminished since his heady days with Queen Elizabeth and he latched onto Polish prince Albert Laski and travelled to Poland to enjoy his patronage.  

While Dee was away in 1583 a large mob burned down his house in Mortlake, Surrey and with it his books and occult paraphernalia.

28 May 1583, Leiden, Holland: The Spirit Madimi

When the Book of  Holy Mysteries / Liber Mysteriorum & Sancti opens, Dee and Edward Kelley are sitting around the show-stone. It is Dee is concerned that the Polish prince Albert Laski  will support him against the malice and envy of Dee’s fellow Englishmen. This is a time when Dee’s esteem has fallen markedly from when he was the Queen’s advisor and astrological confidant. From the way he writes it, it looks like Dee himself sees the spirit Madimi first come out of his Oratory. He describes her as a pretty girl of 7-9 years old. Her gown is a “changeable green and red” with a train that moves up down, so her image is in flux. This is what one would expect from a figure representing the Jungian anima: the Unconscious is always changing from one thing to another and is difficult, like a sub-atomic particle (another figment of the unconscious imagination) to pin down. Madimi is a bit sassy and when Dee asks her “Whose maiden are you?” She replies, “Whose man are you?”  There appears a voice in the background apparently warning Madimi that if she reveals who she belongs to, she shall be beaten.

But this whole scene is not the scrier, Kelley relating what he sees to Dee, at least not as it’s written, but Dee appears himself to see Madimi dancing in and out of his books.  Madimi appears to be negotiating with the voice off-stage to allow her to tarry awhile. Madimi is one of her mother’s children. That  could be construed to mean she emerges from the Matrix, the Great Mother that underlies all things. She can’t say however who she belongs to or where she dwells for fear that the off-stage personage will beat her.  Some trickery then.

Madimi has six sisters. She says they all must come to live with Dee. Dee says that Madimi’s elder sister is Esemeli, but she won’t confirm it. Instead she pulls out a picture book. From here it is Edward Kelley who is explaining what he sees and hears to Dee, as if Dee can no longer see for himself. We picture Kelley staring into the show-stone.  Madimi goes on about various members of the English aristocracy, pointing to them and naming them.  She focuses on an area Shropshire and names various towns around Ludlow.  Then Dee gets called for supper.

This is like me when I’m playing Elder Scrolls Online and I have to go and eat. Bummer.

They reconvene after super and Madimi is right there, showing them pics of the aristocrats again and saying things we presume Kelley, or anyone, would know. At one point, Dee asks her to give the same pedigree commentary to the Polish Albert Laski as she does to the English nobility, but she replies that she can’t do this for people in other countries.  We would guess it would be outside Kelley’s knowledge, if he was faking Madimi, and so couldn’t come up with anything verifiable. Madimi offers up some Latin saying that the one who sent her is true.

2nd June 1583

Kelley reports that a golden curtain hangs inside the stone, so nothing is visible, but a voice is heard repeating three times:  Holy, Sealed, for a Time. Dee wonders what exactly this could mean. The voice helpfully expands to explain that it is the Holy One’s will that it remain sealed for a time. A man in red appears, like a common husbandman. They ask him questions but he kneels and prays in a strange language: Oh Gahire Rudna gephna ob Gahire, looking at the stone and adds in Latin, I will not make mine. In answer to Dee’s questions, he says that all things are made ready – the 7 doors are opened, the 7 governors have almost ended their government he then goes into a spiel about the tribulations of the earth and the elements. “Hell itself is weary of Earth. For why? The Son of Darkness now comes to challenge right.” This Son of Darkness wants to establish himself a kindgom and thinks things are ready. “We are now strong enough.”

It all sounds rather apocalyptic.

He goes on to say “We are Seven” and that he seems to say he is equal with the greatest angels and his name is Murifiri. His name is to be found on all their tables.  He begins to spell out words, but it is not clear what they mean.

The Enochian Apocalypse

I should say at this point that the Enochian scholar, Donald Tyson,  believed that the spirits that talked to Dee and later revealed the magic Enochian language, were paving the way for an Apocalypse, whereby the gatehouses that guard this universe were to be opened and occult forces pour “usurping blasphemy, misuse, and stealth of the wicked and great enemy, the Devil.”

Go figure. I’ll probably post more about the angels at a later date.

See here: