The Journal of Azhrarn

It was a rainy afternoon when Daniel stumbled upon the old journal. The storm outside had knocked out the power, leaving him with nothing to do but explore the dusty attic of the old house he had recently inherited from his late uncle. The house, a creaking Victorian relic, was filled with relics of the past—forgotten heirlooms, yellowed photographs, and boxes of books that hadn’t been touched in decades.

Daniel wasn’t particularly interested in his family’s history. He’d always considered himself a man of the present, rooted in the modern world. But boredom had a way of leading to unexpected discoveries. He had been rummaging through a box labeled "Old Books" when his fingers brushed against the leather-bound journal.

The journal was filled with neat, precise handwriting, its ink faded but still legible. The first few pages were mundane, detailing the day-to-day life of a man named Thomas Wainwright, a distant ancestor of Daniel's. Thomas had been a scholar, it seemed, obsessed with the occult and ancient rituals. Daniel chuckled to himself as he read about Thomas’s various experiments, most of which ended in failure. But as he flipped through the pages, the tone of the journal began to change.

Thomas’s entries became more erratic, filled with descriptions of strange dreams and inexplicable occurrences. He wrote of shadows that moved on their own, of whispers that filled his ears when he was alone. Then, one entry caught Daniel’s eye. It was dated October 31, 1879.

"Tonight, I shall attempt the summoning. The ritual, as described in the ancient text I acquired, requires precise timing and the correct incantation. I have prepared all that is necessary—candles, symbols, offerings. I believe I am ready. If this works, I shall be the first in our family to breach the veil between worlds, to communicate with the entities beyond."

Daniel felt a chill run down his spine. The idea of summoning a demon seemed absurd, but there was something about the way Thomas wrote that made it feel real, even now. He continued reading, his curiosity piqued. The next entry was short, a hurried scrawl that was barely legible.

"The ritual was a success. I have seen it. The demon—Azhrarn. It is bound, but its power… I must be careful. I must not speak of this to anyone. The consequences could be dire. The pact is made, but at what cost?"

Daniel’s heart raced as he turned the page, but the journal ended abruptly. There were no more entries, no explanation of what had happened after the ritual. He looked up from the journal, the attic suddenly feeling much colder than before. The rain outside had intensified, the wind howling as it battered the old house.

He hesitated, the rational part of his mind telling him to put the journal down and forget about it. But another part, the part that had always been drawn to the mysterious and the unknown, urged him to investigate further. Thomas had left behind the instructions for the ritual, detailed in the back of the journal. It was foolish, Daniel knew, but the temptation was strong.

The night was growing darker, the storm showing no signs of letting up. The house creaked ominously, as if warning him against what he was considering. But Daniel couldn’t shake the feeling that the journal had come into his hands for a reason. He stood there, the journal clutched in his hands, torn between the safety of the known world and the dangerous allure of the unknown.

And then, almost without realizing it, he began to gather the items described in the ritual.