Dear Son

I.

Dear son,

I will not expect your forgiveness for what I am about to ask you.

My hands shiver, my mind falters as I write you this letter. Even now, immersed in the unforgiving softness of my own death bed, I cannot escape this ghastly recollection of thoughts which has gathered before me. For you must know that I have sinned, my son, and greatly, and for a long time, and in ways that no man should ever be granted to imagine. And as I brawl with my corrupted spirit to keep my sanity unbroken, my only hope is that your life shall be blessed with better luck instead, and a stronger will than your old man ever possessed.

You must know, my dear Howard, of the countless missives I have attempted to scribble such as this cursed piece of paper, and that in each instance, the malevolent spirit of our family heirloom prevented me from delivering them to you. There is an eldritch evil sneaking betwixt these pages, and I proved myself to be too weak or too foolish to escape its tempting grasp. This is my final resort.

I do not know nor can I begin to fathom what you will do with this dreadful little black book and our family's cursed money. Though I know what I did. And I pray that you shall not make the same mistakes as I.

But enough – enough. I have rambled enough. The walls of my mind shall constrain me no longer.

Let me start from the beginning. This is the story of our little black book.

II.

The flame within my bedside lantern wavers as I scramble for the right words in the quiet of night. I shall keep this brief. Or at least, that is my hope.

It is clear as day to me that not even all my riches could buy me some more time on this earth. Of this, and it may surprise you enormously now, I am relieved. For I dread what I could scheme, were I given more time to indulge in this prison of flesh.

For years have the slanderers conspired to undermine the reputation of our beautiful, sacred and respectable family. Yet their wagging tongues could never begin to conceive that what they ignorantly labelled as inherited madness was, in truth, something far more inhuman. I shall now prove to you that I am no mad man, my son. I shall now prove to you the lucidity and clarity of mind driving all my actions.

In the Carter family, every householder goes at great length to ensure that the secret of our heirloom remains such until the moment of passing. Only now do I fully appreciate my father’s warnings, and his father’s warnings before him; for with each generation, the power of the black book grows stronger, as we feed it with the fresh taste of corruption throughout our lifetimes.

Though all things tend to start somewhere, it is unclear when or where the black notebook entered our family’s possessions. To the best of my knowledge, I can affirm that my great-grandfather used it, and his great-grandfather did as well. Unsuccessful have been all my attempts to track the exact origin of our heirloom – except I am certain that it must have been in the hands of our family founder, Nathaniel Carter, as he was yet to establish himself as Boston’s most esteemed archaeologist. Since the dawn of our family, the black notebook has been fuelling our power, driving our choices for generations.

Yet for generations, our family has found itself unable to decipher the true powers of our heirloom. All we know is that you need only write on it once, you need only yield to its dark influence that one time, and you shall find yourself coming back to it twice, thrice and more. And as you feed words into this cursed diary of ours, as your thoughts and your mind become one with this book, it in turn injects its dark powers into you; leading you further and further down into a dark spiral of blood, corruption and betrayal.

You, too, must think I am mad, my dear son. Quite the contrary, my dear son. Do not heed those evil tongues wishing for the ruin of us. Envy is what drives their gossips. He is not mad who is still in charge of his own actions, is he? He is not mad who is still conscious of his own self. And yes, my mind may slowly be yielding to insanity – but it is that awareness, that clarity of spirit which sets me apart from a mad man.

I know now what has driven my actions all this time. But I trust that, with your better powers of judgement, you shall do what I and our ancestors were unable to. That you shall destroy this book and everything it contains, so that our family may live on and finally find its peace.

For this little black book may someday be the ruin of us all.

III.

I understand you will not resist the temptation to peek inside the black notebook. And as my previous attempts to write to you have failed, I have chosen to leave you with my last words right here, on these pages, where my final thoughts shall be preserved alongside the ones of our ancestors, and where my soul shall find its ultimate rest at last.

The truth, my dear son, is that our ancient black book will ruin you before it makes you powerful, wealthy and successful. That is not the kind of ruin that breaks families, nor the one that wrecks the body. Rather, it is the kind that lingers in your head for a lifetime, the everlasting corruption of spirit the matter of which is never spoken at burial rites.

I must now confess to you, my dear son, all for which I have sinned, and all the unforgivable and unspeakable horrors which have stained my existence in my lifetime.

The legacy of the Carter family is one of blood and unholy riches. The inheritance which you shall receive on my last departure, this large sum of money reaching to you across generations, it is stained with the dark history that fills the halls of our family home, the haunting voices of ghosts present and past.

And I hear them, my dear son. I hear those malicious tongues still wagging in my restless sleep, the slanderers spreading rumours on the seed of madness at the roots of our family's unutterable actions. Yet you must believe me, my dear son, when I say that there is no madness concealing itself in our family's genes; for it is only groundless gossip that ignorance shall and will ever want to understand.

Money, we have stolen. There is not one deal with the organised crime of Boston which we have not accepted, supported or endorsed to grow our riches beyond imaginable, and that, I solely ascribe to the influence of our cursed black book.

Competitors, I have slain. There was not one threat to the financial stability of our family for which a hitman was not sent, not one archeology venture in all Massachusetts which I or our ancestors have not influenced in some way. And that, I solely ascribe to the influence of our beloved black book.

Friends, I have betrayed. When approaching our family for help, I, I would offer them my humblest assistance. And then, under the influence of my precious black book, my cherished heirloom, my only faith, I would promptly stab them in the back when convenient. For you must know my dear son that all I ever did was for the good health of this family. And I know now that my precious little black book understands that much.

And yet to this day the sheer memory of what I have done haunts me tirelessly. I hope you shall forgive me for not being able to leave you with a more detailed account of my numerous crimes, my dear son. The weight of remembrance gives me great pain still, one that restrains me from speaking any more. I have always been weaker than thou in that respect.

And so, if you ever wondered how we reached and maintained such wealth, and how at the same time we led such a secluded life, you now have the answers you seek.

IV.

There is not one householder in the Carter family who hasn’t valued the power of my beloved black book. Not one, my dear son.

But you must be careful, for my precious little black book and this money may lead you on a path of madness. It is what happened to Nathaniel, our beloved family founder, who died in a sanitarium outside of Boston. It is what happened to all the householders in our family. But I was chosen. The book blessed me with the ability and gift to keep my sanity intact, and I assure you my dear son, that so long as I have my cherished little black book beside me, my only faith, He shall protect me from all insanity and evil. He shall save me from my own darkness and the terrible things I have done in my lifetime, for the love of this beautiful, sacred and respectable family.

I now relinquish all the Carter money and our precious heirloom and bequeath them to you, my dear son.

I trust you shall use this book at the best of your judgement and in the interest of this beautiful, sacred and respectable family. This beautiful, sacred and respectable family.

Yes. It was all for us. It was all for you. As I scribble these last words in the warm and welcoming pages of our heirloom, I am urged to swear to you my dear son that all I ever did was for you. Every choice in my lifetime was to lead me to this moment, the moment I would surrender my little black book, the moment I would entrust you with our future. Our family prospered because of me. Isn’t that worth anything? Isn’t that worth a man’s sanity? I know now that our ancestors believed so as well.

But you are right my dear son, yes, you are right indeed. Perhaps it was all solely for me. Yes, that is much more likely, isn’t it? Yes that is quite correct. Yes all I ever did was for me, to live longer, to indulge in fame and success and wealth and power and everything that my dear little black book ever promised me, though the book does not speak. And yet, it speaks to the mind in ways that I never thought possible.

You must know, my dear Howard, that the book will always shelter you as it has sheltered me.

Do not destroy our precious little black book, lest ruin befalls our family.

Ignore what I said.

Do not hurt our adored little black book.

Ignore what I said.

Keep it secret. Keep it hidden. Keep it safe.

No, you must destroy it. The world must not know, the world is not ready.

The world is not ready. The world must not know.

Be wary my dear son of the gibberish and nonsense surrounding our family and all the malicious gossips of inherited madness, for it is only for the book that our ancestors have lost their minds and of this you can be certain, my dear son. My beloved son. My precious son.

I will protect you too, my dear, precious son.

My dear, precious little black book.