The Devourer
A Short Story
ABOUT THE WRITER
Griffin S. is a writer, visual artist and noise musician. You can probably find him manipulating samples, reading James Ellroy or Philip K. Dick. He lives in Los Angeles. He narrated the first audiobook of Georges Bataille’s The Story Of The Eye, which you can listen to now on here. His debut novella Jackal Dog is out now for you to download.
I first traveled to the ruins of a once-great civilization that had descended to profane abomination; what seemed like aeons ago. There was no journey I remember embarking on, only arriving and experiencing the revelries of that darkly beautiful kingdom I now remember so fondly. Great was the ecstasy I felt upon realizing the place I was in. A beautiful carnival of my desires becoming as real as the dull and sickening city I find myself living in today. A place that had no entrances, and seemingly no exits. It was only a place that was. A place that I hardly remember leaving, just that I did. The delights of infernal revelry slipped through my consciousness as I found myself banished from my utopia quicker than I could have hoped. I yearn to return to such a place, As I stare out to the place I find myself now, I crave to be back among the ruins of that profane capital that I felt so at peace in. A place of true delights and desires, a place unconstrained by the bonds that keep me trapped in the world I find myself in now.
In my journey to return to such a place, I have found myself in the procurement of a large selection of occult volumes and tomes. Most seem to be guides to the fulfillment of selfish needs and human desires through the lens of infernal iconography and amateurish ritualism. However, I found a man, a curator of a large collection himself. He was a man of short stature, whose resemblance was that of a vulture. Upon initial meeting, this man informed me that his personal collection was something he had been looking to relieve himself of. He spoke of seeking out the right person for such a collection. One whom, in his words; the cosmos would deem acceptable. My own experiences with collectors of such oddities dictated that a man with a collection such as the one he bequeathed to me would no doubt have some odd quirks. He sold me the collection at a reasonable price, it seemed he had been eager to pass the collection to someone such as myself.
Upon accepting the collection, I found myself thumbing through as many of the volumes as I could. Each book I examined served as a clue in this bizarre investigation. Many of the works were written in unknown languages I had little to no exposure to; others appeared to be composed in symbology. However in every one of these books, I found some semblance of guidance, something of bizarre significance: an odd significance in the lettering or even the bindings of the books. Anticipation was inspired by mysterious diagrams that depicted scenes not like any I knew. Contents so strange, so unknown from any text of the occult traditions I had encountered in my studies, that I felt assured of the sense of what I was seeking.
The books were a welcome checkpoint in this seemingly endless journey to find the answers I was seeking. However, what truly drew my attention was a curious statuette that the man had included in his sale of grimoires. It was a strange thing for sure. A pocket-sized rendition of what shared the likeness of a skull, with legs protruding from its temples and crown. The skull had three faces, each one sharing a pained, but satisfied visage. Toothless they were, hands twisted in profane contortions sprouting from their frozen mouths. Obsidian stones were set in the eye sockets. I was fascinated by the bizarre statuette, even more so than the books themselves. I had placed the thing on my desk, its three sets of eyes seemed to follow me as I paced the room. I had to know more about this oddity. I sunk deep into meditation, but nothing came of the exercise. Frustrated, I rose from my seat and set upon the collection of books the man had sold me. There had to be something in one of these grimoires that had the answers to what exactly this item was, and some history of the thing. Hours passed as I studiously went through five books, each yielding nothing.
It was upon the sixth book I had opened that I found a clue. A crude diagram had been sketched somewhere among the mid to late pages of the book. A diagram depicting a statuette similar to the one that now sat upon my desk, its obsidian eyes following me. I read the notes juxtaposed next to the diagram.
It seems we have discovered a curious statue among the ruins here during our seventh expedition. A laborer discovered it in an unassuming section of one of the temples we were exploring. It is like nothing I have seen or encountered in my life. I have decided to take it back to camp with my, perhaps upon further inspection I will have some answers
The entry ended there, but I was desperate for more information. I quickly looked at the front cover of the book, the name had been scratched away but it seemed as though this particular book had been the property of a professor. I quickly flipped through the end pages, hoping to discover more. I found another entry, written by the same hand it seemed.
It has been several days and nights since I decided to take the statuette into my own possession. Each night my thoughts have seemd to be more and mor scattered and my dreams more vivid. I hav e hd recurring terrors at night regardng what appear to be a reflection of the ruinns we have been scourng. I have decided that maybe the locals of this particular locale we find rselves in will have morr answrs
The journal ended there. Confounded, I delved into the collection, desperately hoping to find a book written by the same professor. Among the volumes I found what I was looking for, another journal, this one more decrepit than the last, but the penmanship I read on the first page was no doubt the same man.
Ihavebeen speakng to the locals regardng the fascinating statuette. Most had refused to talk to me about the artifact. Local superstition no doubt. However, one man in particulr, an elder gentlemn of stoic resolve agreed to speak to me. He said the statuette dates back aeons, before the cvilization that currently stands in ths part of the wrld came to be. He spoke of strange rites in which select locals would make annual pilgrimages to the temple that was now in ruins. Only half of the pilgrims would make their way back to village after about a week at the temple itself. Rumors regarding devil worship and witchery drove the newly christianized general populace to descend upon the site during one such infernal rite. The worshippers threw themselves upon a pyre they had built upon seeing the encroachers enter their holy site. One elder was captured and taken back to the village for questioning. The mans speech was scattrd but from what theycould recollekt, the statuette itself was a visage of an elder god. One his worshippers called Kthaakl’gni, upon contact, would allow select worshippers to join him among dark revelries in his domain. However, their minds had to be broken first, a process that happened upon contact with the dark god. I fear that I may be in the early stages of such a provess. The thought repulses me greatly
I flipped through the pages of the journal, each page becoming more and more incomprehensible. Crude diagrams and dark rituals were scattered among the nonsensical pages. I found my way to the final page, torn in half and stained with a curious red.
Ifear tht I hve entrd the fnal stages of profane ascendence. I drftbetween the knwn wrld and some infrnal destnation. I fear that nw is th time I mst end th lif I occpy. I hve tried evrything, evry rite. No escape
My spine tingled. The journal ended there. I decided to attempt to get some sleep. I realized that I had spent my entire waking day searching for answers, and while satisfied by what I had found, the statuette still fascinated me. I drifted off to sleep promptly.
As I entered sleep, I found myself in a familiar place. The place I had been seeking for what felt like my entire waking life. I was back in the ruins of that profanely dreadful and beautiful city I had traveled to years past. Everything was how I recollect. I found myself in a state of dark ecstasy, a far cry from the dull city I was in moments before. As I walked the twisted cobblestones and alleyways of my beloved realm, I found myself at a church. Upon its spires sat a large, three faced skull, with twisting arms and hands protruding from its mouths. It spoke, without speaking. I admired it as it consumed structures. Familiar structures at that. A smile crept across my face as its eyes, dark, soulless black caught sight of me. And as it did, I awoke.
Upon re-entry to the world, I found myself feeling rather drained. I scrambled up from the ground that I had fallen asleep on. The statuette stared at me. I once again yearned to return to that dreamworld. Intense sadness had befallen me.
Through the next few days, I found myself attempting to reenter the world I loved so dearly. To no avail. It seemed so close, yet just out of grasp. Like Tantalus, my attempts at feeding what I hungered for were cruelly taken from me. I cried out to the statuette, hoping my own will to live among the profane ruins would be answered as some form of charity. Nothing.
However, upon Sunday, I found myself drifting back to that world I so love. Once again, I found myself face to face with Kthaakl’gni himself. Three mouths consuming familiar sights, sounds and items that had been relegated to the deeper regions of mine own consciousness. Things that felt unimportant to keep memory of, yet shaped who I had become. On the vist the devourer had spoken to me, reminding me of the importance of my task. With that he released me to the familiar realm. I now realize what I must do. There lies a pocket knife in my drawer. Tonight... I shall draw it across my wrists, ending my existence with the world that so drains me, and allow myself to rejoin the devourer in the place I love so dearly. I shall dance among him and find joy in the profane city. I will not be bound by metal will or law, I shall revel in that hideous city for eternity.
They are sure to find my body sometime, so I have taken it upon myself to hide the statuette along with this journal, may the one who finds it eventually join myself in the profane city, dancing and singing hymns to the great devourer.
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