My husband and I were on a hike in a public national park. During the adventure we came across a building that looked like a church. It was the size of a small gardening shed. We didn't see anything that would suggest we were not allowed to look inside this building. We carefully opened the tattered wooden door to look inside. It was very cramped inside. Looking around this forgotten place, that now was called home to many bugs and small wildlife, we noticed it was full of mixed match chairs and on the far wall was an altar made of wood with a snake carved into it. There was a puddle of melted wax on the top of it with a leather bound journal. The walls had what looked like painted doorways along with symbols drawn above each one. We only stayed for a minute and before we left I took the book with us. I had completely forgotten about this encounter till last night when I was emptying my hiking bag. out of curiosity i stopped what i was doing and started to read this handwritten log. I'm not too sure what to think about the contents of this book so I decided to share the journal entries here. Let me know what you think.
August 17st, 1883
Seraphina and I have been chasing whispers among our colleagues. Tales of an untouched Stone Age settlement never properly charted. Our previous attempt to locate this site left us empty-handed. This time, however, feels different. We are fortunate to be joined by our good friend, Isolde Vance. His meticulous work as a mapmaker is unparalleled, and his expertise in navigating undocumented territories gives us a renewed sense of hope, and a far better chance of retracing our steps, should the need arise.
Our expedition is planned for the first of September. The group will be Seraphina and her husband, Grimshaw, along with Isolde and myself. The prospect of uncovering a lost civilization is exhilarating, a chance to touch the very roots of history. I sincerely hope this endeavor proves more fruitful than our last. The thought of returning empty-handed again is…upsetting.
August 21st, 1883
The final preparations for our expedition are well underway. Seraphina, assured us that Grimshaw is more than capable of handling the bulk of our heavier tools and equipment. His strength will undoubtedly be a necessity on the trail. Isolde, meanwhile, is meticulously gathering his cartography tools. He mentioned that while his own surveys are crucial, he's also collecting older maps of the region, noting that significant land changes, such as new forest growth, could mislead us. He seems particularly enthusiastic at the prospect of charting previously undocumented territory. The thrill of being the first to truly map a new place is clearly a powerful motivator for him. Our departure is only a few days away now. I intend to document our findings as thoroughly as possible in this journal, from the moment we set out.
September 1st, 1883
The morning air was crisp with the promise of adventure. We set off before the full heat of the day, our spirits a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy. Isolde hummed a cheerful tune as he guided us along, his eyes already scanning the horizon for the first signs of the uncharted. Seraphina and Grimshaw conversation a low murmur. This journey feels different from our last attempt. There's a sense of finality to it, as if we are crossing a threshold into something unknown. May we find what we seek, and may we return safely.
September 1st, 1883 - Nightfall
A long day of travel has brought us to our first truly uncharted territory, just as Isolde predicted. We've made camp for the night. Grimshaw proved a capable hunter, managing to snare a rabbit which Seraphina expertly cooked over the crackling fire. The warmth of the flames and the shared meal were welcome comforts after the day's journey. A good first day, indeed. We settle in under a sky full of stars
September 2nd, 1883 - Morning
Isolde was the first to awake this morning. After a quick survey of our surroundings, he informed us that heading south seems the most promising direction for locating the lost settlement. He reasoned that this area appears to be the least documented on any of his maps, increasing the likelihood of finding something previously undiscovered. We will break camp shortly and follow his lead. His confidence is reassuring, though a small part of me wonders what secrets these unmapped territories truly hold.
September 2nd, 1883 - Night
The day's journey took us further south through increasingly dense woods. By late afternoon, an unknown had fallen over the landscape, silencing the usual sounds of the forest. It was then that we saw it – a structure that defied any earthly explanation. Rising impossibly from a clearing was a tower, perhaps eight stories tall, its color a deep, unsettling blood red. It was unlike any stone or material I have ever witnessed.
A low, rhythmic vibrated in the air, a mechanical pulse that seemed to emanate from the tower itself. And then there was the sky. A thick, black billow of smoke poured from the tower, swallowing the daylight. The surrounding area is now plunged into an unnatural, eternal night. The stars are gone, the moon absent. Only the red glow of the tower pierces this manufactured darkness.
We were seized by an urge to flee, to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and this monstrous tower. We turned back, plunging into the darkness of the surrounding woods, each step fueled by a desperate hope to escape this unnatural night. But a creeping dread soon took hold. No matter which way we veered, which landmarks we tried to follow, we found ourselves inexplicably drawn back. The red glow of the tower would reappear through the trees, closer each time, until we stood once more in its shadow. It seems there is no escape that way. We made camp on the edge of the wood. We are all hoping we are just tired from a long day of travel and that is why we can't find our way out. We will try again in the morning.
September 3rd, 1883
The rhythmic thrumming continues. and the heavy air presses down on us. We tried to leave this unnatural structure but were unsuccessful. We all discussed and decided we are left with only one apparent path: to approach the tower, to step into the heart of this impossible night.
The heavy wooden door swung inward and We found ourselves in a circular chamber, the thick air now intensified. In the center of the room sat a small table, upon which a single candle cast long shadows that danced across the bare stone walls.
Directly ahead of us, were three closed doors. above each door was etched a distinct and unsettling symbol. The first depicted a coiled serpent devouring its own tail. The second showed a single, unblinking eye within a triangle. The third was a series of interlocking circles
Before Seraphina or Isolde could even comment on the strange markings, Grimshaw reached out and swung open the first door, the one bearing the snake. The moment the door creaked inward, Grimshaw staggered back, his eyes wide with an unseen horror, and then collapsed to the stone floor in a dead faint.
A stillness descended upon Seraphina, Isolde, and myself. Whatever Grimshaw witnessed beyond that doorway did not seem to affect us directly. We rushed to his side, concerned. After a tense minute, his eyelids fluttered, and he slowly regained consciousness, his brow furrowed in confusion. When we questioned him, he could offer no explanation for his sudden collapse, only a vague sense of overwhelming dread that vanished as quickly as it had struck. Despite this bizarre and unsettling start, the open doorway now beckoned. After a moment of hesitant silence, we stepped into the room beyond.
The room marked with the coiled serpent, proved to be a disturbing dead end. Against the far wall stood what could only be described as an altar, though its construction was bizarre and unsettling. It appeared to be formed from a mass of petrified snakes, The air in this space was heavy with a musky odor. After a brief, uneasy examination of this space, it became clear there was no other exit.
We retreated back to the round room, the image of the serpentine altar burned into our minds. The remaining two doors seemed to hold the only promise of further passage. The second door, with its unblinking eye, felt inherently more menacing. After a brief discussion, we decided to try the third door, the one marked with a series of circles.
With a shared breath, I pushed the door inward. Instead of another room, a narrow stone staircase spiral upwards into shadow. A collective sigh of relief escaped our lips. We began our ascent, the air growing cooler with each step.
The staircase eventually opened into a room of impossible length. Rows upon rows of mismatched chairs filled the space, stretching further than the tower's exterior dimensions would seemingly allow. At the far end of this bizarre hall, two more doors stood side-by-side. Above each door, there appeared to be some form of sign, but the distance was too great to discern the details in the dim light that permeated this strange chamber.
The trek across the impossibly long room, navigating the maze of chairs, was done with a growing sense of unease. Seraphina took the lead. We had only gone perhaps a quarter of the way when a chair, seemingly propelled by an unseen force, hurtled through the air and struck her with alarming force. It caught her on the upper right arm with a sickening thud.
Grimshaw, rushing to Seraphina's side, his face a mask of concern. A gash bloomed on her arm, the blood staining her sleeve a stark crimson. Though painful, it thankfully appeared to be a clean wound. Grimshaw carefully lifted her into his arms, and a wave of panicked urgency washed over us. Without a word, we retreated back to the staircase, the unsettling expanse of the chair-filled room looming behind us.
We have remained at the top of the stairs since then, Seraphina is resting, the bleeding from her arm now stopped, though a nasty gash remains. Grimshaw, however, seems… different. Ever since his fainting spell after opening the door with the serpent symbol,he moves with a sluggishness, his eyes distant. Isolde, too, has remained quiet. Not a single word has passed his lips since we first stepped into this accursed tower, his gaze fixed and distant.
Now, their eyes turn to me, a silent plea for direction in this terrifying predicament. On the surface, I try to project an air of calm, a semblance of a plan forming in my mind. But the truth is, a cold dread has taken root in my own heart. We have stumbled into something ancient, a nightmare made real. I have no idea what horrors lie ahead, what twisted logic governs this place. We have walked into a hell unlike any I could have ever imagined. We will try to rest here and tomorrow make it to the next door.
left 1 chair, forward 2, right 3 chairs, forward 1, right 1 chair, forward 1, left 4 chairs, forward 2, forward 3, left 1 chair, forward 1, right 5 chairs, forward 2, left 3 chairs, forward 5, forward 1, left 1 chair, forward 2, right 2 chairs, forward 4, forward 2, right 2 chairs 1 chair, forward 1, left 2 chairs, forward 2, right 1 chair, left 4 chairs, forward 1, right 1 chair, forward 3, left 2 chairs, forward 1, right 5 chairs 1 chair, forward 3, right 2 chairs, forward 1, left 3 chairs, forward 4, right 1 chair, forward 2, left 2 chairs, forward 1, right 4 chairs, forward 3, right 4 chairs, forward 3, left 1 chair, forward 5, right 2 chairs, forward 1, left 3 chairs, left 1 chair 4 chairs, forward 3, right 2 chairs, forward 5, left 1 chair, forward 1, right 5 chairs, forward 2, left 3 chairs 1 chair, forward 3, left 2 chairs, forward 2, right 4 chairs, left 1 chair, forward 4, left 3 chairs, forward 1, right 1 chair 2 chairs, forward 2, left 1 chair, forward 3, right 2 chairs, left 3 chairs, forward 4, right 1 chair, forward 2,
September 4th, 1883
The frantic sound of Seraphina's voice tore me from slumber. "ELIAS! ELIAS, WAKE UP! GET UP NOW, ELIAS!" Her terror, jolting me into a state of panicked confusion. I scrambled to sit up, my eyes darting around the dimly lit room trying to discern the source of her alarm.
Then I saw it. Seraphina was pointing, her hand trembling, towards the impossibly long room filled with its chaotic arrangement of chairs. And there, halfway across was Isolde. He was walking, but not as himself. His movements were disturbingly fluid yet utterly vacant, like a puppet controlled by unseen strings. His arms hung limp at his sides, swaying rhythmically as he moved in unnatural, gliding steps, somehow navigating the maze of chairs. What was even more horrifying was that chairs were flying through the air around him, propelled by that same unseen force that had struck Seraphina, yet he seemed completely oblivious, his vacant gaze fixed on the distant doors. He moved with an impossible grace, dodging the airborne projectiles as if he was guided.
"What is happening?" I stammered, my voice thick with sleep and rising fear.
Seraphina's eyes were wide with a terror that mirrored my own. "I… I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I woke up and saw Grimshaw standing over you, Elias. He was… writing something in your journal. Then he just turned and looked out into the chair room. When I followed his gaze, I saw Isolde already halfway there, walking like… like that." She gestured helplessly towards Isolde's eerie progress. "I can't get Grimshaw to answer me. He just stands there, staring, his eyes… empty. They both look like they're in some kind of trance."
We watched in stunned silence, Grimshaw and Isolde moved with that unnatural, synchronized purpose. Isolde glided through the chaotic ballet of flying chairs, each near miss. It was as if an invisible hand steered him through the deadly obstacle course, the airborne furniture veering away at the last possible instant. Grimshaw, still standing at the edge of the stairs, fixed on Isolde's progress.
Just as Isolde reached the two doors at the far end of the impossibly long room, his legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor. At the exact same moment, Grimshaw, still standing rigid at the top of the stairs, also collapsed, falling heavily to the stone. The unsettling stillness that followed was broken only by Seraphina's choked sob as she rushed to her husband's side.
My mind raced, trying to comprehend the bizarre spectacle we had just witnessed. I snatched up my journal, the one Grimshaw had been writing in while I slept. My fingers fumbled frantically flipped through the pages, my eyes scanning the new scribbles. What I found sent a cold realization through me. It wasn't random scribbles; it was a … a path. The seemingly nonsensical writing was a series of directions, a guide, impossibly written by a man in a trance, through the deadly maze of chairs. This wasn't just madness; it was the answer.
When Grimshaw finally stirred, his awakening was eerily similar to his previous fainting spell. He blinked in confusion, his brow furrowed as he looked around the room. When we showed him the journal, the pages filled with the strange sequence of directions, he stared blankly, claiming no memory of writing them. The trance that had gripped him was completely forgotten.
Despite the unsettling nature of how we got the answer, we had no other choice. We followed the cryptic instructions in his handwriting. Left three chairs, forward two… The journey across the treacherous room, which had seemed impossible just hours before, now unfolded with an unnerving ease. Not a single chair flew through the air. It was as if the invisible force that animated them had vanished or was somehow appeased by following Grimshaw's guidance.
When we finally reached Isolde, lying still before the two open doorways, it was Seraphina who knelt beside him, her breath catching in her throat. A moment later, a choked sob escaped her lips. Isolde was gone. His eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, and his skin was cold to the touch. He had opened both of the doors before collapsing.
The door on the left bore the familiar coiled serpent symbol. Peering inside, we saw a room that mirrored the first dead end – the same unsettling altar crafted from petrified snakes stood against the far wall, The door on the right, however, was marked with the same circles Beyond it, another stone staircase spiraled upwards into the darkness, offering a new path deeper into the tower. The weight of Isolde's death hung heavy in the air. I gathered his bag with his jurnal and his map he was making on our way here. the remaining 3 of us walked slowly up the new stairs before us.
September 4th, 1883 - night
The staircase beyond the door seemed to defy the very laws of logic. Unlike the first short flight, these steps stretched endlessly upwards. We climbed for what felt like hours, the dim light from below fading with each upward turn. By my estimation, we must have ascended well over two thousand steps.
As we climbed, the mechanical sounds that permeated the tower grew steadily louder, morphing into crashing metal against metal. It was a harsh, hammering, and clang of tools, as if some unseen forge lay just beyond our reach. The sound became so intense that we were forced to cover our ears.
Finally, after a few hours, the staircase ended abruptly at a solid stone wall with a single wooden door. Above this door, etched into the stone, was a new symbol: a crude depiction of a hammer. The deafening clamor of the machinery was almost unbearable here.
I reached out to grasp the handle, eager to see what lay beyond, but Grimshaw suddenly grabbed my wrist. He turned to Seraphina, his gaze softening, and kiss to her lips, a silent farewell. Then, without a word, he turned back to the door and swung it open.
The instant the door swang inward, the overwhelming noise stopped. We stepped into another round room, similar to the first one we had entered when first stepping into the tower. A small table stood in the center, a candle flickering. And just like before, three closed doors.
our eyes were drawn to the symbols above each door. The first was the familiar serpent devouring its own tail. The second was a new design: an 'X' enclosed within a circle. The third a simple triangle pointing downwards. A sense of relief washed over us. This room felt… neutral, untouched by the malice of the floors below. Perhaps, finally, a moment to gather our strength and try to decipher the meaning of these symbols, and the path we should take next. We decided to rest here.
September 5th, 1873 - Morning
I awoke before the others today, a heavy stillness hanging in the air. Deciding to let Seraphina and Grimshaw find some much-needed rest, I took the opportunity to finally look through Isolde's notes and journal. The initial pages mirrored my own entries, filled with his enthusiasm for the expedition and his hope of charting unexplored territories. Reading his optimistic words, his genuine excitement about being the first to map these lands, brought a lump to my throat. A wave of grief washed over me, a stark reminder of the vibrant life now extinguished by this cursed place.
Skipping ahead to the day we encountered the tower, I found a brief entry. He wrote: "I have been carefully studying the older maps of this region, and all of them indicate a significant river should be quite close to our current location. Yet, I hear no sound of water. My only logical conclusion is that the river must have dried up. I have also observed a noticeable decline in signs of animal life the further we venture from the documented areas. I recall warnings from other mapmakers, tales suggesting that if wildlife avoids a place, we should heed that warning as well for that is where the devil lives. I will not burden my friends with these anxieties." A shiver ran down my spine reading his concerns, knowing now the true horror that awaited us.
I also found a chilling entry dated September 4th, 1873 – the day he perished. It was filled with a repeated phrase scrawled across the page, over and over again: "EHT DER REWOT SKAEPS OT EM. EHT DER REWOT SI LLA I DEEN. EUGOGAMEAH SI LLA I DEEN…" The repetition was frantic, unsettling.
I pored over his mapping notes, hoping to find some clue, some observation about the symbols above the doors that I might have overlooked. But there was nothing. He had only documented terrain and landmarks, but no mention of the signs. I sat there, looking for the choice of which door we should dare to open next. The responsibility of leading us through this nightmare now rested squarely on my shoulders, and the silence of my fallen friend offered no guidance.
September 5th, 1873 - Night
When Seraphina and Grimshaw finally awoke, the weight of Isolde's death still hung heavy in the air. We discussed at length which of the remaining doors we should dare to venture through. The door marked with the snake was immediately ruled out, its connection to the serpentine altar. The symbol of the 'X' within a circle felt ominous, we decided to try the door bearing the downward-pointing triangle.
Seraphina and I stood close behind Grimshaw as he reached for the handle. With a deep breath, he pulled the door inward. We were immediately confronted by a figure cloaked entirely in shadow, a deep hood obscuring any features. Grimshaw's fists clenched at his sides, his voice tight with suspicion and a hint of aggression. "Who are you?" he demanded, his words echoing slightly in the sudden stillness.
The hooded figure did not appear to move its lips, yet a whisper filled my mind, a voice that seemed to bypass my ears and plant itself directly into my thoughts: "I'm the one you have leaned on to make it this far."
"Did you kill Isolde?!" I blurted out, the accusation raw with grief and anger.
The whisper echoed in my mind once more, "He is not dead. He has expanded beyond his physical body. He has joined the other followers."
Then, with a sudden, violent force that none of us saw coming, the heavy wooden door slammed shut. The impact was so forceful that the fragile flame of our solitary candle was extinguished, plunging us into absolute darkness. The only sound was our ragged breathing in the suffocating blackness.
After a tense moment the candle relit. We quickly realized we were no longer in the same chamber where we had encountered the hooded figure. This new room was identical in shape and size, but now six closed doorways stood before us, spaced around the circular wall. Above each door was one of the symbols we had encountered throughout our journey.
The first door bore the coiled serpent. The second displayed interlocking circles. The third, the downward-pointing triangle. The fourth showed the 'X' within a circle. The fifth was marked with the hammer. And the sixth, the unblinking eye within a triangle.
Our eyes were then drawn on a piece of paper lying on the floor near the base of the doors. It was unmistakably ripped from my journal. We picked it up and saw that each of the six symbols was drawn on the page, with a short, cryptic note written beneath each one.
Beneath the snake symbol: "You opened me 2 times." Beneath the interlocking circles: "Around we go." Beneath the downward-pointing triangle: "I give you answers." Beneath the 'X' within the circle: "The end." Beneath the hammer symbol: "Silence is what we work to." Beneath the eye within the triangle: "I see all."
At the very bottom of the page, a stark warning: "You can only choose one."
We flipped the paper over, The entire back of the page was covered in Isolde's handwriting, repeating a single, nonsensical phrase over and over again, filling every available space: "eth rjoth hrymtoth speaks ilv mikk. eth rjoth hrymtoth speaks ilv mikk. eth rjoth hrymtoth speaks ilv mikk…"
The rest of the day was spent in a tense discussion, the cryptic clues weighing heavily on our minds. We debated the meaning of each phrase, the implications of the symbols, and the warning. We managed to narrow our choices down to three doors that seemed to hold some potential for answers or escape: the interlocking circles, the 'X' within the circle, and the eye within the triangle. The interlocking circles is the same symble on the doors that lead to stairs. The 'X' felt like a definitive end, perhaps to the tower or our lives. The eye suggested knowledge from someone who knows the in and outs of this tower. Exhausted and still deeply undecided, we chose to try and find some rest, we will make our choice when we awoke. The weight of that single decision pressed down on us as we drifted into uneasy sleep.
September 6th, 1873 - Morning
We awoke to the remnants of our food supplies. we divided it between Seraphina and myself. Grimshaw, however, refused to eat. He barely resembles the man we once knew. His eyes are losing their warmth, the vibrant color replaced by a disturbing, milky gray. When he speaks, his words are slow, labored, as if each syllable takes all his effort. Seraphina watches him with a deep worry.
Her own condition has worsened considerably. The gash on her arm has spread far beyond the cut. A spreding of bruises now covers her entire limb, the skin swollen and discolored. She can barely move it, yet she stubbornly refuses any assistance, insisting she is fine and that our only priority is escape.
A terrifying realization has begun to dawn within me: my own mind feels as though it is fraying at the edges. My memory is slipping, becoming unreliable. The only reason I know it is the sixth of September is the steadfast act of writing in this journal each day. I struggle to recall a time before this tower, the world outside its crimson walls feeling like a distant, fading dream.
Isolde's final, nonsensical words haunt my thoughts, the alien phrase echoing in the silence of my mind: "eth rjoth hrymtoth speaks ilv mikk…" What could it possibly mean? It is unlike any language I have ever encountered, a string of sounds that offer no understanding. I have kept the contents of Isolde's journal to myself. I fear that revealing his possible possession by this place, would shatter the last hope of escape for Seraphina and Grimshaw.
My gaze keeps returning to the three doors that represent our final choices: the interlocking circles, the 'X' within the circle, and the eye within the triangle. Each symbol now feels heavy with dread, a gateway to an unknown fate. The weight of our decision is crushing.
we chose:
we finally settled on a desperate plan. We will attempt to open two doors simultaneously.
Our reasoning, born more of desperation than logic, centered on the interlocking circles and the 'X' within the circle. The previous door with interlocking circles had led to a staircase, a potential path upwards. We clung to the faintest hope that the note beneath the 'X' – "the end" – might signify the end of the tower's influence, a way out of this nightmare. It was a long shot, a gamble born of fear, but we have few other options.
Given Grimshaw's delayed responses, we decided that Seraphina and I would act together. On a count of three, Seraphina will open the door marked with the 'X', and I will throw open the door with the interlocking circles.
Date Unknown
The last time I wrote in this journal was right before we opened the doors. We positioned ourselves in front of our doors.
"One…" I whispered, my voice hoarse.
"Two…" Seraphina echoed, her gaze fixed on the door.
"Three!" I yelled, and we both pulled. The heavy wooden doors groaned in protest as they swung inward
As soon as we both pulled them inward, a gust of wind snuffed out the candle – our only source of light. And then there was nothing. No light. No sound. I couldn't even feel the stone beneath my feet.
I tried to call out for Seraphina, for Grimshaw, but no sound escaped my lips. I floated in that black abyss for a time that stretched beyond comprehension. Long enough to forget the sensation of having a body. Long enough for the memories of the world outside the red tower to fade like a dream. Long enough to forget the red tower itself.
In that endless void, the thought drifted through the nothingness that must have been my mind: This is the end. I must be dead.
And then, my eyes opened.
I was in the same round room, my hand still gripping the cold metal of the door handle. I looked around. Only Grimshaw was there, his eyes dull, gray marbles fixed in his face. Seraphina was gone.
I saw the flicker of recognition in Grimshaw's empty gaze, an awareness of where he was, of who was missing. My own eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of her. The only thing I saw was the torn piece of paper, the cryptic message "You can only choose one" lying on the third step of the staircase leading upwards.
I pointed to it, my voice a dry rasp. "Look. This must mean she already started up the stairs. We should follow." Even as the words left my lips, a cold certainty settled in my heart: Seraphina would never have gone ahead. But the thought of remaining in that room was unbearable.
We have been walking up these stairs ever since. An endless spiral into the unknown. Days have bled into one another. We have not stopped to eat. We have not stopped to sleep. I feel no hunger, no tieredness. And Grimshaw has made no request to rest.
Grimshaw has not spoken a single word. I am no longer certain if the hollow shell that walks behind me can truly be called Grimshaw. He is a walking corpse, his gray eyes fixed on some distant point I cannot see. I have no mirror, but something tells me that I, too, am a walking corpse now.
I do not know what hell we stumbled upon when we first set foot within these walls of this tower, but I fear we are lost within.
I will write again when we reach the next room. If we reach the next room.
Date Unknown
I have finally reached the next room. It is only me.
At some point during the endless ascent, I glanced back to see if Grimshaw still followed. He was not there. I don't know what came over me but I did not stop. I simply turned my gaze forward and continued my climb.
Eventually, the relentless stairs delivered me to this chamber. It is much the same as the others: round, silent, with a solitary table in the center and a single, flickering candle casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls.
There is one door in this room. Above it is the symbol: the eye within the triangle.
I intend to go through it. But first, I wanted to write this final entry in my journal. I plan to leave this book here, on this table, so that if any other unfortunate soul should ever stumble upon this cursed place, they will know that their suffering was not unique. They will know that others walked this path before them, into the heart of this unending nightmare.
I still carry Isolde's journal. If there is more to be written after the door with the all-seeing eye, I will write it there.
I wish with all that remains of my being that no one ever finds this book. And I pray, with a desperation that claws at the remnants of my soul, that this hell ends beyond this door.
Signed,
Elias Thorne