The Book of UUR

“How does it aid a man to gain the world if he pays with his life?”
MARKUS 8:36

THE BEGINNING


I


“It looks like he tried to carve out his own heart!”
“It’s the weirdest suicide I have ever seen,” said Inspector Sean Bloch and walked up to the large and well filled book case that dominated the drawing room, “Sure a strange collection of books for a yuppie to own.”
“Maybe they belonged to his parents?” Sergeant Morris suggested and lit a cigarette.
The dead man on the floor was lying on his back, naked, with several cuts and gashes across his chest where his heart had once been beating. Some of the wounds had been so fiercely made that chunks of flesh were missing, but had been found further away from the body. One small piece had even stuck to the wall. Blood had poured out, flooded, and the dark red color had stained or splattered most things in the room. In his hand the man still held the knife that had done the deed in a stiff grip. His eyes wide open and they told nothing but horror.
A photographer was taking pictures and two forensic detectives were hunching over the corpse and the weapon looking for clues. Several police officers crowded around in the apartment and a hysterical housekeeper, who had found the deceased coming to work that very morning, was weeping hysterically in the kitchen.
Inspector Bloch turned to one of the officers and begged him to take her home. Morris nodded with his head towards the door and they both left the room walking through the apartment, to the other side, where there was a large bedroom and a balcony. They stepped out.
The apartment was high up in an especially luxurious part of the city and they could see it spread out before them. The sky was rumbling and rain fell. Morris sucked on the cigarette enjoying every smoky breath he received. Bloch leaned on the railings and felt his knees weaken. He had never been very comfortable with great heights. Below the cars were sizzling back and fort, honking and spewing pollution. The city was dirty. Murder was dirty.
Was is murder?
“Do you think Randolph West was murdered?”
“It could be argued that it was a poor attempt to try and make a stabbing look self inflicted I agree. The killer could have easily placed the knife in his hand, but I must say that everything reeks of suicide. You know the feel,” Morris finished the cigarette and lit another in between his words, “and his face Sean… his face is a face of horror.”
“I know. I have seen many dead bodies, even in worse conditions, but never that utter dread his face is frozen in. It’s as if he destroyed himself because he could not bear the fear. The whole room reeks of it, but I’m certain the technicians will tell us later if the wounds correspond with a self stabbing.”
They both stood silent for a while contemplating what they had said, then Bloch spoke again:
“We’ll treat this as a homicide until we find out otherwise so we need the usual; background check of the victim, known associates, enemies, friends and lovers. Get it done will you as quick as you can.”
“No problem.”
“Also I would like an inventory of his reading material.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t you notice?”
“What?”
“His book case.”
“Yes, what?”
“Well it was very well organized and filled to the brim with books of all sorts of occult lore, but in one place there was a small gap. One book was missing.”
“It might be somewhere in the flat.” Morris suggested flicking his finished cigarette out into the air.
“Well if it is I want it found and do that inventory. I think it is important.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Ok let’s get back in there and order them about a bit. I want to finish early. It’s been a long week.”



II


The rain hadn’t stop falling when Bloch got home.
“Hey,” he said as he stepped inside.
“Wet?” a voice questioned from the kitchen.
“No I managed to avoid it as best I could,” Bloch answered and took off his jacket. “Anyone call?”
“No, come in here…”
Bloch looked in the hallway mirror. His face was tired and he felt it in his body and mind. Murder was his life and what kind of life was that? He walked into the kitchen finding his partner Geoff making tea.
“Want some?”
“Yeah,” he said and sat down at the table.
“Who got whacked?”
“A yuppie on the west side.”
“Good riddance, right?” Geoff said and smiled.
“I guess, don’t want to talk about it.”
“Want to go to bed early?”
“If you mean to sleep then yes. I am tired.”
“You are just as stiff as the bodies you find,” Geoff kissed Sean on his forehead and gave him his cup. “Here, this will relax you. I put some hasch in it.”
“Then I will definitely fall asleep.”
“That’s ok, I love you anyway.”



III


On the following day, Saturday morning, Bloch was awakened by the telephone.
“Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Bloch sat up in bed upon hearing Morris voice. Next to him Geoff was still asleep, so he continued speaking very softly:
“What you got?”
“Ok. Randolph William West, thirty-eight years old, mother is an Elizabeth West, a nun in a convent…”
“Where?”
“Eh Saint Martine, do you know it?”
“No, go on.”
“His father, Henry William West, is dead. He hanged himself in the very room his son would later die in. A lot of the books were passed to Randolph from him in addition with a large sum of money and also the apartment he lived in, including the housekeeper Sophia Rossalio. He is, was, working for an insurance company called Andersons’ and soon to be promoted to Chief Executive is seems. He had several friends and business associates, whom I won’t ramble up now, but I have them here on a list. No current girlfriend, but the last one was a Clarissa Davids that he broke up with six months ago for no known reason. They were going to be married. No enemies as far as I can tell. Also I got that inventory of the books and no I haven’t located the one you think is missing, but I know what it was.”
“What?”
“I checked the will for the books he received from his father with the books he has and there is only one that does not turn up, so I assume it’s the one we want.”
“What?”
“Uur.”
For some unexplained reason the bedroom was caught in a chilled breeze that seemed to emanate from the phone itself, like a breath of cold steam that came out of the receiver. This startled Bloch and he felt goosebumps crawl up his backside, something he rarely experienced.
“What?” he asked with a cracked voice.
“That is the name of it. UUR, all in capital letters. Don’t know yet what it can be.”
“Good work Morris, have you slept?”
“No.”
“Trying to get promoted?”
“No harm in trying, right?”
“Well go to bed then and get some rest. See you on Monday.”
“Ok.”
Bloch put the phone down and looked at the still sleeping Geoff. He seemed disturbed as if he was having a bad dream, but it passed the moment Bloch noticed. He got up and walked into the bathroom to drain his bladder. In the mirror he saw himself and he stopped. His weary face had not worn off and he tried to smile, but could not muster even a fake version.
“Cheer up you moron!”


IV


Bloch spent the better part of Monday morning in the National Library trying to locate any information on anything even resembling the word UUR, and he found nothing of interest. The only clear knowledge he received was that uur meant hour in Dutch. A fact that he knew had nothing to do with what he was looking for.
The whole time he had felt an unsettling intuition that he was a ‘naughty boy’ and this, of course, was a very strange feeling to have but he could not escape it nonetheless. For some reason he felt that the other people in the library were looking at him behind his back. Spying and whispering gossip. Pointing and shaking their heads, but he never saw anything first hand. It all seemed to be a part of some newly developed paranoia he had been struck with.
Morris called on Bloch’s cell phone and told him he had to come to the morgue. The autopsy of Randolph West had revealed some bizarre peculiarities and Bloch was glad to get out of the library, which he felt was closing in on him like an unwanted nightmare.
When Bloch walked into the morgue, just before noon, he found Morris standing next to Dr Larsen who was drying his hands on a towel. They both looked disturbed.
“What did you find?”
“Hey Sean, you know how some people like to digest a book before he proceeds to the next one. Well Randolph here,” Morris said pointing at the slab where he was situated, “he took it literally.”
Bloch turned to the doctor with a questioning look.
“Morris is right. I located a whole book in his stomach, eaten page by page. Even the cover has been consumed, but for easier swallowing Mr. West here must have cut it up. But the pages are more or less intact. He just crumbled them up and down they went.”
“Is it UUR?”
Morris nodded. Dr Larsen continued:
“The pages are quite thin, and the book has only thirty-three of them, and since it happened only moments before he died they have not yet entered the digestive system, but some parts have still been ruined. Here, you can see them for yourself.”
The doctor guided Bloch over to a table where UUR had been laid out page-by-page, unscrambled, washed clean and dried. The pages were simple and yet complex consisting of an unknown language, at least to Bloch himself, and he stared at the words that seemed to whisper sinister ideas to his unconscious self.
“Anyone know what…”
“Not a clue,” Morris interrupted his reply, “but it is ancient that’s for sure.”
“It is in the Roman alphabet. It looks almost like some bizarre form of Latin, but I know for a fact it’s not,” Dr Larsen added and seemed not willing to go too close to the table they were laid upon. Instead he walked over to the sink for a re-washing of his hands, but Bloch noticed that they seemed very clean already.
He turned to Morris who seemed tense fidgeting with his lighter.
“I want the pages copied and on my desk as soon as you can, also try and get them dated. I’m going to Saint Martine in the mean time.”
“Found where it is?”
“Yes, I’ll be gone all day. It’s far outside the city limits,” Bloch walked towards the exit, “Good job, see you later!”



V


Saint Martine was an old monastery in stone with a beautiful, but now due to autumn, leafless garden. In the sky the dark clouds hung low and thunder was in the air, but no rain had yet appeared although it probably would before night fell.
Bloch found Elizabeth West in the garden, sitting on a bench with tears in her eyes.
“Mrs. West…”
“Is he dead now?” she asked wiping her face with a handkerchief.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I have felt it for a long time because it was only a matter of time before it would happen. And you, why would you come unless to tell me of his passing.”
“You don’t even know who I am.”
“I can tell a police man a mile away. You all walk like you rule the world, but you don’t. Nothing rules this world and nothing ever will. It doesn’t matter how much men try and conquer it. It is not possible.”
“Mrs. West I…”
“She is also dead, I am Sister Maria now.”
“Well I would like to say I am sorry…”
“He is better dead, just like his father. Serves them right for trying to achieve perverted power.”
“So why are you crying?”
“I am crying because maybe now it is finally over. Maybe now, finally, the whole matter has been put to eternal rest.”
“What matter?”
“You know what I mean. I can see it in your eyes. Only a man that has come in contact with it has that look on his face.”
“What it?”
“The word must not be spoken.”
“UUR?”
“Ssh you ignorant fool,” Mrs. West sprung to her feet and lashed her right palm into Bloch’s face so hard that she must have hurt it, “I said don’t speak that ghastly word. The mere utterance can be enough to invoke its hideousness. In fact even pondering or wondering is enough. Let it leave your mind!”
“Your husband took his own life. Do you know why?” Bloch asked ignoring the sudden attack.
“Because he saw it. I have seen it too in my dreams. It visits me every night…” she fell silent and sat down on the bench again, “…and soon death...”
“It has not been verified yet but it seems that your son also committed suicide. Do you think he saw… it too?”
“I have no doubt,” and her tears began streaming again, “Please leave. I can’t help you further.”
“Mrs… Sister Maria I only want to resolve this matter. As long as it’s not it will not be put to eternal rest. The book which you speak of is in our possession…”
“Book,” her tears subsided and was replaced by a mocking laugh, “Book, no no. It is no book. It is so far beyond just a book. It is creation itself. The empty horrifying void of the infinite. It is endless hunger. Endless consumption. It is the true death. The end of all ends and the beginning of all pain. Do not do anything but cast that book into a fire,” and her tears began again and this time Bloch tried to question her further, but she would not reply.
After a while he gave up and walked back to his car more puzzled than he was when he had arrived. In the sky a dark grave growl could be heard and thick heavy drops began to descend from the heavens. His cell phone rang as he got into the car.
“Bloch.”
“It’s me,” Geoff said.
“Hey…”
“Come home. I feel alone here.”
“I’ll be home tonight.”
“I got writers block.”
“It’ll pass.”
“Actually I don’t, I am afraid.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. When are you home?”
“Tonight. Watch some TV or something.”
“Ok… see you later.”
“Love you,” Bloch said but Geoff had already hung up.
Now it was Bloch who felt alone sitting in his car with the rain streaming down the windows. He felt like calling Morris but didn’t want to disturb him. Instead he turned on the radio, but no station could be found. Only dead static poured out of his speakers.
The sky illuminated for a moment and seconds later the dark rumbling of thunder boomed down. It would be a stormy night.
“UUR,” Bloch said out loud and began his drive back into the city, and for some weird reason it felt as if the storm followed him all the way. Like a stalker.



VI


Bloch met Morris in his office.
“It’s only a century old, the actual book is I mean. Concerning the age of the contents I still know nothing, but it’s probably a copy of a much older tome.”
“Do you think is can be translated?”
“I have already sent a photocopied page out to various linguists to see if anyone recognizes the language. Here is the copy you wanted.” Morris handed Bloch thirty-three pages and he grabbed them reluctantly.
“What did Mrs. West tell you?”
“Nothing of substance. She was, well it was a weird experience. What we are dealing with here is some sort of worship. Demonic or likewise.”
“You think. What did she say?”
“That we should never utter the word UUR ever again.”
“Why not?”
“It summons it.”
“It,” Morris laughed and lit up a cigarette, “ I recon smoking these is more dangerous than saying UUR all day long. Come off it.”
“She seemed really upset when I told her we had the book. She wants us to burn it.”
“That would be destroying valuable evidence, and is somewhat unlawful.”
“It didn’t seem she worried about the law.”
Bloch sat down behind his desk and began studying the papers. The first page seemed to carry a dedication, but he felt that it was a warning of some sort, and it said:

ASHETHIROOTH OOM YAW WAH WEH ESIOTH ESIOD LUUR URR E UUR HESHTIROOTH MOO WAY LU Y UUR E ESIOD SEPHT GENAUH WEH LU O
UUR SEPHTI E TA ESIOTH Y OOR UUR KATHRA OOM

“You want to be left alone?”
“No!”
Bloch felt stupid. His outcry had been filled with too much panic. He composed himself and cleared his throat. “Yes. You go talk to that girl he dumped. Find out why.”
“Ok, I’ll go home afterwards. See you in the morning.”
“Yeah,” Bloch replied already with his attention back to the pages.
He could not understand anything and he felt unease reading the words. In fact it made him feel cold and he had to put his jacket back on. Once he had done that he had an urge to go home, so he did taking the UUR papers with him.



VII


That night Bloch had a gruesome dream. He could not recall anything when he woke up screaming other than the fact that it had put the violent fear in him, and into Geoff who had to comfort him for over an hour afterwards, before he could fall back asleep.
When Bloch reached the station the following morning, several hours later than usual, he had dark bags beneath his eyes and a pale face. Morris met him on his way in and remarked that he looked sick. They went into Bloch’s office and Morris slapped a few papers on the desk.
“Here are some of the linguists replies.”
“What did Clarissa Davids tell you?”
“Nothing important, but it’s all on here,” and he supplied yet another paper adding, “for the files.”
“Huh?”
“The case is closed. Got the forensics this morning and they verify that the wounds were self-inflicted. Besides there is a suicide note written in Randolph’s own hand deposited to his lawyer the day before by mail. He contacted us only an hour ago. He had been on a business trip and had not opened his mail until last night.”
“Can I see the letter?”
“We haven’t received it yet, but when it comes in I’ll write the report and file it. You can feel free to read it all then if you like. I don’t see any point. We have a crime scene down town in one of the Hotels by the Central Station. I was waiting for you to come in so we could go there together. All the other units are already there.”
Bloch felt cheated. He felt like the case had slipped away. On the other hand if it was suicide then the case was indeed closed. Bloch’s department dealt with homicide. He looked at Morris who seems worried.
“Sure you’re not ill?”
“No, ok let’s go.”



THE MIDDLE


I


Days passed in its usual fashion.
Murder, bodies, forensics, questionings and paperwork. And all the same UUR would not leave Bloch’s mind for one moment. In fact he felt himself becoming obsessed, or possessed, because he felt more or less haunted by the whole affair. He had always hated any loose ends and when it came to UUR it was very loose, but more than that there was something else. Something that kept him fascinated, even spellbound.
Not understanding and not knowing exactly what had happened to Randolph West and his father troubled him, but not as much as the trouble he felt of not knowing what UUR was or what the eerie book contained. Of course it was an investigation he kept to himself not breathing one word about it to anyone at the station including Morris, or even to his beloved Geoff.
At home, in his desk drawer, he kept a copy of the case file, which also included the copy of the Book of UUR. The original had been deposited in a file cabinet at the station where it had strangely disappeared. Bloch got an urge to hold the original pages in his hands and so went to retrieve them, but gone they were. Who had taken them and why?
The suicide letter that Randolph had sent to his lawyer read as follows:

Dear Mr. Parker,

I have decided to end my life. Please see to it that my will is fulfilled, and I thank you in advance. As for the reasons behind my suicide I can say nothing other than the fact that I have lost the urge to live.

Sincerely
Randolph William West


It told nothing, but seemed to be a very clear and abrupt letter written in a state of mental clarity. The lack of information actually made the letter more sinister than any possible descriptive nature of reasons for suicide.
Bloch had sifted through the replies from various linguists and none had before ever seen such a language, except one who said he would be interested to study it further since he recognized one word and that word in itself was of great interest. Instantly Bloch assumed it to be UUR, but as Professor Crawford would explain when he visited him, it had in fact been the opening word of the whole book; ASHETHIROOTH.
Professor Crawford possessed a massive library that must have taken more than one life to assemble. In it he also had his bed. The man was sick with cancer and received Bloch resting beneath a late 19th century blanket of which he instantly bragged after which he said:
“Well I must say the document I was sent intrigued me greatly Mr. Bloch. Have a seat.” Crawford waved his hands at a chair by the bed. “The only thing I can trace is ASHETHIROOTH which is an ancient anglicized form of another word I can’t even pronounce, but I can inform you that it is of antediluvian origin. From what I understand it means fear or be afraid of. It has figured in several curses and rituals of occult lore concerning the summoning of demonic entities.
The translation is a result of a manuscript found in Egypt in the 1920’s in the language of Ugaritic, a forerunner of the Phoenician tongue and this word was repeated next to the Ugartic word of the same meaning over and over again. The manuscript was in stone with a large part of it missing. It is not a known discovery and has been kept very hushed because it is considered to deal with hideous manifestations of not altogether friendly entities.
So the information went into the alluring vaults of the occult and is now mostly known by institutions that are descendents of that ancient school known as the Mysteries i.e. Freemasonry and the like although I doubt most Freemasons have any clue of anything concerning this matter. And since I am one myself I can honestly say that apart from my own interests in such matters very few other Brothers are.”
“Will it be possible to translate this book?”
“Unlikely, unless we have some other book to use as a guide of the same extraordinary substance. May I ask who it belonged to?”
“A Randolph West, son of Henry West. Know them?”
“I don’t think I do.”
“They are both dead and I suspect this Book of UUR to be the cause of it.”
“That is very interesting. Perhaps this Randolph West had other books that could aid in a translation.”
“I had that idea too so I brought an inventory of all the books he possessed for you to look at. I am not a scholar and even though I know some of the volumes I cannot possibly distinguish what could be of help.”
Bloch handed Crawford the list and he read it silently for a long time uttering the occasional sign of surprise and admiration at the books he himself would like to own. Finally he stopped.
“My God, how did he get hold of… are you aware that he has, had, a library that no money can buy. Some of these books men have been known to kill for. Other volumes I thought only belonged to legend. Who is in charge of them now?”
“His lawyer, but I don’t know who he left them for. I haven’t seen his will.”
“You should because we need these,” Crawford said and took a pencil of his bedside table and circled three books and then handed the list to Bloch, “Bring them to me and I am sure miracles can be performed.”
“I see what I can do.”



II


Winter had come, yet no snow had appeared. It was cold and windy and the rain that fell was close to hail. Geoff spent his time writing prose on his computer and Bloch investigating murders. Morris kept smoking his cigarettes and life continued for the world, but inside Bloch himself a personal winter had set.
He could not sleep and when he did he had horrible dreams. Every waking moment he pondered on the mysterious UUR and every instant he gained some free time he dedicated it to the solution of the enigma. Geoff noticed his detachment and tried to understand what was going on, but was given no explanation. Even Morris observed Bloch’s troubled mind and it affected his work to such a degree that he had to take a week off. A week he would spend diving further into his personal investigation.
The lawyer, Mr. Parker, informed Bloch that all the books had been ordered destroyed. Something he could not do. Secretly he had stored them in boxes in his cellar until he could figure out what to do with them. Parker was a noble soul, considering his profession, and he had pondered about sending them to the National Library as an anonymous donation. Bloch said that he better do just that or he would cause Parker immense harm, but before any such action was to be taken he asked to borrow three books, which he promised to return as soon as possible swearing on his life. Parker agreed and Bloch brought the books to Professor Crawford who was so exited about their arrival that he leaped out bed.
“I will contact you as soon as I have reached any success,” was his words and Bloch returned to his everyday life.



III


And days passed.
Weeks passed and a worry began to grow within Bloch, but he decided not to bother the professor in his work. He tried to contact Mrs. West again but found that she was dead and he was not surprised.
A cold shadow had begun to fester on his mind and he felt like all control was lost. Like he staggered onwards led by an invisible puppeteer, and he knew for sure who this string puller was but no longer did he dare to utter or think its name.
For a time he pondered on suicide and he did not know why. He just had a strange feeling of emptiness in his heart like he just lost the will to live dreaming of a better place beyond that endless sleep. Geoff was the only thing now that kept him alive and he did not want to part from him, although he knew he already had.
Then one late afternoon, when winter was at its coldest, the phone rang.
“Mr. Bloch?” a very tired and crumbling voice asked.
“Yes.”
“Good thing you are listed or I would not have retrieved your number. I am Mrs. Crawford and I have a letter here addressed to you, but without an address.”
“What can I do for you?” Bloch asked with a shuddering terror climbing inside him because he knew the reason for her call. She was a messenger of death.
“I am sad to announce that Mr. Crawford passed away in his sleep last night.”
“I will be right over,” Bloch said and hung up forgetting his manners.
With nothing but panic in his heart he rushed to his car telling himself it was cancer that was the killer, but knew it to be otherwise. Less than half an hour later he found himself knocking on the door to the Crawford’s house feeling weak and small. Behind him he sensed a bitter shadow lurk with a grin of malice and mock.



IV


Mrs. Crawford was an old woman. Gentle and stricken with grief. She led Bloch, on his request, into the library and the bed in which Mr. Crawford had died in his sleep, and where he was still lying.
“I will not enter with you, the pain is too great you understand.” Mrs. Crawford said and left Bloch by the door.
The room was dusky, with light only entering from the one window facing the bed. On the floor laid the three books he had retrieved for the translation and a bundle of paper, including the copy of the Book of UUR.
In the bed a figure slept his eternal sleep covered with a white sheet. Slowly Bloch walked up to the professor with the urge to draw the sheet off his face.
When he did he saw to his unspeakable fear the same eyes of horror that Randolph had possessed in his moment of death. Eyes staring straight into an empty void of nothingness with a face frozen in a tense expression of complete dread. If Crawford had died in his sleep, he had died dreaming… and in that dream what had he seen that had forced his eyes to open wide and give the impression of such terror? Had he died with the face of UUR looking back at him? Bloch’s skin crawled and he covered the professor with the sheet. He could not bear to look at it any longer.
After picking up the three books, and the thirty-three copied pages, he went back to Mrs. Crawford who was being comforted by a friend in the kitchen. On his arrival she produced a thick envelope and Bloch extended his regard and respect for Mr. Crawford and said:
“He will be deeply missed!”



THE ENDING


I


Night had fallen and Bloch found himself driving without direction, and when he realized this he had already left the city. He parked in a resting area full of trees barren by the season and lit the lamp inside the car. He opened the letter and found several papers inside of which the first read:

Sean,
if you want peace of mind read only this and nothing further, but if you wish to know what the Book of UUR contains than indulge yourself. I have given my warning that is all I can do, and I don’t know if I will ever sleep soundly again.
As regard to the translation is was a tricky business and it does not translate well, but the book is outlined as follows. The first page is a warning of the contents it holds. The following thirteen pages are thirteen steps in welcoming UUR, the next thirteen pages are thirteen steps in order to reject UUR. Then follows three pages that tell the history of UUR and three pages listing the deeds of UUR.
The language cannot be translated directly but I have done my best and bear in mind that any use of the words in the translation will not cause anything to happen since UUR doesn’t understand our ways of speaking. I suggest you only read what I have translated.
For my part, because I had to translate the book, I have spoken every word in the tongue of UUR and I fear there is nothing I can do but hope cancer strikes me dead tonight. The thing is unleashed…
I have stopped my medication just to be sure. Please tell nothing of this to my wife, she will be sad enough once I am gone.
Really I should destroy my work, but my work is the result of my own destruction, therefore I can’t do it, so I give it here to you. Please take any precaution you think is necessary. Let it all burn if it must.
UUR is not a laughing matter.
It is an entity us petty humans should have left forgotten.

C

Bloch put the letter on the passenger seat and folded out the thirty-three translated pages of the Book of UUR and began reading. After an hour he started his car and continued driving, not stopping until he made sure the distance between him and the city was large enough for his return to be impossible by foot, all the while the opening page of warning was ringing in his head.



II


BEWARE the DOOM. MIND and TONGUE and DREAM AWAKENS the EAR of the GREAT and ANCIENT GOD UUR. The DAWN of the RACE of MAN is FOOD for the UNSPEAKABLE (that you have now) SPOKEN. UUR. The GOD of EAR. The IMMORTAL. ALIVE in the DREAM it SPEAKS. The ONE UUR. The ETERNAL GOD. NOW you KNOW (so) have AWE for UUR and ACKNOWLEDGE your DOOM.



III


Bloch had abandoned his car and thrown the keys into a river to make sure he would not find them again. Aimlessly he wandered off the road into the depths of a forest and the night was tightening its grip steadily moving towards the strike of midnight.
Up above only darkness held court with fat black clouds that drowned any light from the moon. It was cold and wet. The woods looming up and around him as he stumbled directionless deeper into it. Where he was going he did not know. Why, that he knew.
Fear does not bring rationality to a man, and Bloch was afraid. The papers he had received were still in his car. He did not need them any longer. For some unexplained reason once he read them he knew them by heart.
Heart.
Yes, to cut out that beating organ would be his saving. But he could not do it, so instead he ran like a mad man. Tears fell from his eyes. All his loved ones would not be seen again, and he knew that the sun would never shine upon his face one more time. Tonight was his end, that he knew, but how he knew not. Only that it was going to be horrible and utterly unbearable.
A sinister wind flew after him, whipping his neck, and it felt like an abomination of nature. He dared not turn around. He dared not think any longer. A hissing voice of immense scope penetrated his ears and he heard it clearly, promising great rewards and great powers and yet great punishments. His body was tired. His body was all of flesh. Tender, bloody and full of life.
It would be the food for gods. It would be the food of a God, and it would dine tonight. Here, amongst the trees and bushes, the table would be set for a feast of the flesh and soul where the connoisseur was an entity of complete dominance of this world. An entity only whispered and known about as the Great One, the ancient and all-devouring UUR.
And all anyone can do, or should, is have awe!

27 October - 2 November 2004