I can’t say for certain what led me to that desolate graveyard, but I believe it all started when I stumbled upon that mysterious box and the accursed relic hidden within.
I had been summoned to settle the estate of my late Uncle Thaddeus. He had toiled in the art history department at Miskatonic University for years until his bizarre and highly publicized death last year, as you may recall.
While navigating the labyrinth of his antiquarian abode, I was drawn to a peculiar wooden box. The squamous, bronze figure housed within gave me a chill and left me gibbering like a madman.
Something compelled me to abscond with it immediately. If I walked for hours or days, I could not tell. But in the end, that strange energy led me into an old graveyard, to a very specific headstone, beneath an imposing, cyclopean obelisk.
There I found myriad offerings left by the hands of other pilgrims. Who, I imagined, burning with the same fever, traveling for days or weeks, suffering from the same delirium as I, whispered the words, “Cthulhu fhtagn.”
M. R. KESSELL 