The Necronomicon

Chapter Thirty Nine

The human mind is truly the scariest thing in the world.

It can be manipulated by diseases — illnesses such as dementia or Alzheimer's — and destroy its own host. It can bring someone to kill another — an animal, a human... It can want something — or even someone — so much that it will harm others, and itself, to get it or them. It knows no bounds.

Frederick Barnes, one of the current leaders of the new revolution, is a prime example. Frederick has killed many to obtain a simple book, The Necronomicon. However this is not the only reason he has murdered people: he has eliminated countless others in order to keep his own position in the revolution.

Alfred placed the pen down. Anastasia was a good point, too. After all...

He scribbled down his next words. Anastasia Lexington is another good example — after all, her brain was taken over by possibly the deadliest and most horrific disease humanity has ever faced — rabies. According to The Elder's statistics, 100% of people infected with rabies die.

Luckily for us, the disease has been banished — hopefully never to return.

His essay had only just begun: but he was going to finish it. Publish it. Perhaps he would even consult Audrey upon it.

As he wrote, he kept his mind off the things he knew he should be worrying about: such as, where was Meredith? But he knew that as soon as he left his hut Frederick would enter it, to upturn it, to hunt for her. Therefore, he could not leave — or he wouldn't be able to return. And then, if Meredith came back, she would stumble upon Frederick. Frederick wouldn't come in of his own accord — he would only wait for Alfred to leave. Alfred knew that. It was a stand-off.

Meredith was not here. Pippa was dead. As to where Meredith was — he had no idea. If he knew, he would've found her. Nobody else knew where in the rebel camp she was; no-one even knew she was still alive! He hoped that she wasn't dead — but he simply did not know. She wasn't dead, she wasn't: or at least that was what he told himself.

It was a bleak situation. Hopeless.

For now, Alfred just had to remain inside. After all, he had enough food to last another week, longer if he limited himself. He had entertainment: a collection of essays he was writing. Alfred even had water stores. Just as long as he didn't go outside...

Because for the last two hours, Alfred had been very aware that Frederick was standing directly outside of his hut, staring at the door.

Occasionally the man had strolled around, quite deliberately, making noise. He'd come closer to the door, but had never knocked — the almond-shaped windows Alfred had covered weeks ago prevented him from being able to see inside. He knew Frederick was there — he'd peered through the window carved into the door, and seen his side profile stalking by the reeds. Alfred was sitting far from that window now, so he was not visible if Frederick were to glimpse inside.

He wrote feverishly, his pen streaking across the page. These could be my last words, he thought, but he did not dwell on this, instead continuing to write, hoping Meredith was fine.

———

Audrey still hadn't reached the rebel base camp. Why was it still in the same place, out in the woods, rather than in the town? Half the rebels milled about the marketplace anyway, "recruiting". It would just be so much easier — she needed to suggest it. She shouldn't even need to; they should already be there. Frederick needed to get on that. He shouldered most of the responsibility; his words made people listen. Thank goodness he was one of the leaders — if he were to oppose Audrey, she would stand no chance.