Part two
Death Chamber Three
This written diary of sorts was the key to Professor Primus’, discover, or dilemma, anyway you want it. I was excited and disturbed upon discovering all this, and my colleagues questioned my sanity and his as well. I had read and reread his papers almost in a frantic intensity, as I was only there for the last minutes of his life. At which time I had found his hand moving in his last paragraphs, all seemingly sculptured with scientific madness so those same colleagues would called it. My uncle blamed his old age for not figuring a way out of this dilemma in time, had he searched for other artifacts, or pottery with hieroglyphics, he claimed he would have found the tunnel out of Death Chamber Three, as he refereed to it, with his last scribbling on a paper knowing I was standing beside his dying last breaths. Chilled he seemed and even fully cloth in a wool coat and warm hat, in his Minnesota house, in that awful winter of ‘66.
As I said, my uncle blamed his old age, I now can claim him as a relative, I was skeptical at first if I should. Many of his observations and messages in his writings seemed extremely out-of-place to me, especially those which tried to connect this new found species, or breed of earthly beings who had walked the earth at one time, with those cults he mention from other planets, cults, the word, I use for the phrase “People out of the ordinary” from perhaps Mars, or Mercury, or Venus, he even mentions a planet called Moiromma, in a boarding solar system; a people from a cold planet, under a repeated premise—long silent in humankinds history, a Pre Adamic civilization. They seem to have created some kind of pagan mystical religion, since God will have no more to do with them. Again my colleagues call this some cryptic lore, perhaps belonging to the Sumerians, that should I take this farther, it will bare no fruit. Writing these letters he lived five-days—sum total in that sofa chair, pencil in had. Always relating to some terrible and dark intelligence, un-inscribable, save for what I have mentioned previously.
The notes and letters go on to say: he was struck ill on the forth day, and unconsciousness, perhaps a tinge in delirium, and while in this state, he felt he was dreaming. His writings at this time were scribbles, and what I got from them were frantic words, this was to my assumption, invariable a prelude to do some experimentation while he was still alive had to be done by these subhuman creatures, otherwise how could he have gotten ill within a near state of coma, within another world, perhaps because once fully in the other world he could not be drained of his knowledge, astounded he said he found this, this strange dreaming—if not pointless and irreverent to him, because he would have gladly given them any information he had stored in his mind or memories, freely. On the other had what he said was this, “The eternal dead, can lie, whereas, the earthly living cannot,” and they don’t have eons to wait for the truth, whatever truth they are looking for, he calls this cult, the Uhluhtc Cult.
He said there is one hope for him, and only one, and at this point I do not know the end, that I must myself, enter this black abyss within the crust of the earth, and bring his soul back—least he wait until the end of days, and pray God saves him among this castaway group. But I put caution before boldness, if only he could piece this all together for me, I might try.
That was all he said. I don’t even know if he tried to navigate his way out of this dream illness, because this process had taken something out of his will, these last scribbles were just that scribbles, writhing sensors—
No: 610 (3-17-2010); Part two: No: 611, 3-18-2010
Death Chamber Three
This written diary of sorts was the key to Professor Primus’, discover, or dilemma, anyway you want it. I was excited and disturbed upon discovering all this, and my colleagues questioned my sanity and his as well. I had read and reread his papers almost in a frantic intensity, as I was only there for the last minutes of his life. At which time I had found his hand moving in his last paragraphs, all seemingly sculptured with scientific madness so those same colleagues would called it. My uncle blamed his old age for not figuring a way out of this dilemma in time, had he searched for other artifacts, or pottery with hieroglyphics, he claimed he would have found the tunnel out of Death Chamber Three, as he refereed to it, with his last scribbling on a paper knowing I was standing beside his dying last breaths. Chilled he seemed and even fully cloth in a wool coat and warm hat, in his Minnesota house, in that awful winter of ‘66.
As I said, my uncle blamed his old age, I now can claim him as a relative, I was skeptical at first if I should. Many of his observations and messages in his writings seemed extremely out-of-place to me, especially those which tried to connect this new found species, or breed of earthly beings who had walked the earth at one time, with those cults he mention from other planets, cults, the word, I use for the phrase “People out of the ordinary” from perhaps Mars, or Mercury, or Venus, he even mentions a planet called Moiromma, in a boarding solar system; a people from a cold planet, under a repeated premise—long silent in humankinds history, a Pre Adamic civilization. They seem to have created some kind of pagan mystical religion, since God will have no more to do with them. Again my colleagues call this some cryptic lore, perhaps belonging to the Sumerians, that should I take this farther, it will bare no fruit. Writing these letters he lived five-days—sum total in that sofa chair, pencil in had. Always relating to some terrible and dark intelligence, un-inscribable, save for what I have mentioned previously.
The notes and letters go on to say: he was struck ill on the forth day, and unconsciousness, perhaps a tinge in delirium, and while in this state, he felt he was dreaming. His writings at this time were scribbles, and what I got from them were frantic words, this was to my assumption, invariable a prelude to do some experimentation while he was still alive had to be done by these subhuman creatures, otherwise how could he have gotten ill within a near state of coma, within another world, perhaps because once fully in the other world he could not be drained of his knowledge, astounded he said he found this, this strange dreaming—if not pointless and irreverent to him, because he would have gladly given them any information he had stored in his mind or memories, freely. On the other had what he said was this, “The eternal dead, can lie, whereas, the earthly living cannot,” and they don’t have eons to wait for the truth, whatever truth they are looking for, he calls this cult, the Uhluhtc Cult.
He said there is one hope for him, and only one, and at this point I do not know the end, that I must myself, enter this black abyss within the crust of the earth, and bring his soul back—least he wait until the end of days, and pray God saves him among this castaway group. But I put caution before boldness, if only he could piece this all together for me, I might try.
That was all he said. I don’t even know if he tried to navigate his way out of this dream illness, because this process had taken something out of his will, these last scribbles were just that scribbles, writhing sensors—
No: 610 (3-17-2010); Part two: No: 611, 3-18-2010
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