The Journal

The leather bound journal with attached key was Edgar's personal journal. One of several that he kept and later transferred to his monograph.

This one however, seemed to be written especially for me. The tiny, crabbed handwriting spoke of enormous effort on his part, as his hands tended to shake in his later years.

"Now that Lurk has provided proof of my sanity, and provided you haven't run screaming from the house like a goosed prom date, there are things you must do to secure Tumbledown against the Darkness.

Firstly, you have befriended Lurk but you are not his master. You must repeat the feeding with milk and honey, but this time you must add three drops of your blood to the mixture. Place the saucer in the center of the living room throw rug. When the greedy beast finishes, you must call his true name, Elezmandar, thrice. When he makes eye contact, repeat the following incantation ... This will bind the imp to you and impart some measure of his powers. Do this at once, because without his aid, you and Tumbledown are lost. Under no circumstances break eye contact with the beast until you have spoken the binding, if you do so, he will attack you and cause you no end of mischief."

Madness.

If it were not for the fat bellied imp curled in front of the fire like some black hairless cat, I would have doubted Edgar's sanity. As it was, I was beginning to fear for my own. With a heavy sigh, I rose from the comfortable chair and made towards the kitchen.

Some hours later, as I drove across the city and back to my own apartments, I could feel the mental bond stretching between myself and my new familiar. It is as close to a schizophrenic experience as I ever want to experience. Although there is no sharing of actual thoughts, there is a sense of ...understanding... empathy, if you will. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can feel his quick thoughts and the rough wood under his scrabbling claws. I can see through those black eyes of his as he scurries about the eves of Tumbledown. When we are close, in contact, it is unlike anything imaginable. His senses overlay mine, giving me preternatural abilities beyond that of mortal man.

When I finally drifted off to sleep that night, my dreams were strange and disjointed. One moment they were comfortable and familiar, and the next, I was skulking about Tumbledown hunting mice.

Utter Madness.

Lurk

Elemanzar, or Lurk as he is called, is an imp. He is a familiar; a minor being tasked with the guardianship of Tumbledown. Lurk is not photogenic, and to my knowledge this is the first time he has ever been photographed. He hates the camera now and if I pull it out of my pocket he will vanish into those dark crevices that he calls home.
I think it was the flash that startled him, possibly pained him, with those huge eyes of his.

Imps, I later discovered, are related to Fairies. Yes, Fairies. Not the tall, human-like, Tolkienesque fairies that you have seen in films. But the small, ephemeral creatures possessed of a child-like beauty. Imps and the other entities I later learned about are not evil, per se. They can learn to be evil, true enough, or even driven to evil. But for the most part they can be best described as selfish. Most of the Eld (those creatures of myth) are different from man in that they are selfish. The concept of helping another being is alien to them, much like the concept of true evil is foreign to most men.

What is evil? True evil?

A person, an entity, that derives pleasure from the deliberate inflection of pain upon another can be said to be truely evil. There are variations, shades of evil, that fall short of the actual participation required of the Soulless Ones. The Eld are just selfish to the point of cruelty, but not truely evil.

When Lurk had finished his milk and honey, he licked his lips with a horrible smacking sound and with a quiet whisper spoke. "The master commanded me to give this to you."

and with that, Lurk reached through the fieldstone and pulled out a book and key. I did not recognize either, but I would later come to hold both very precious. It was the monograph of my Great Uncle Edgar.

Clutching it in both of his twisted, clawed hands, Lurk leapt from the fireplace to my lap in a great bound and slapped the monograph against my chest. I could feel the dull claws of Lurks toes digging into my legs and smell the honeyed milk on his breath. My heart beat like a sparrow trapped in a cage at his closeness.

"Take it take it take it" Lurk hissed, thrusting the leatherbound journal against my chest. With trembling fingers, I grasped the rough leather.
Lurk turned and leapt back to the fireplace.

"You should make a fire," Lurk spoke, his black eyes glinting in the grey light "I would like that."

Hours later, Lurk was curled in front of a warm fire while I sat in Edgar's favorite high backed chair and read his monograph.

The Letter

Honoring Edgar's wishes, I opened the letter when I arrived at Tumbledown. The paper was yellowed with age, as if he had written it many years ago before sealing it and remanding it to the executor. I could smell the stale, lingering odor of his apple Cavendish pipe tobacco on the papers as I read the contents.

I suppose I could bore you with all the minutiae of the letter, or retype the contents, but the truth is that many of the things it contained are personal and some few could be dangerous.

However, the gist of the letter was clear. Make friends with Lurk, the house familiar by leaving a bowl of milk and honey by the fireplace. Wait for the full moon and renew the wards that protect the house. Visit his grave on the new moon and place a ward around it with salt.

My opinion of Edgar was always high, but my head shook with disbelief as I read the letter over and over. His... eccentricity... was often remarked upon, but I had no idea as to the depths that it went. The only thing that kept me from burning the letter and shutting the place up until I could sell it was his post script "Nephew, I know you will find the contents of this letter hard to believe, so I must offer you proof of my sanity. Feed Lurk and call his true name, Elemanzer. Oh, he will answer to Lurk readily enough, but only once you befriend him with the ritual offering and make him yours. You will have no doubts when you have befriended Lurk."

With a self conscious grin I found the milk and a jar of local honey. The milk was a few days past expiration, but smelled good to my nose. I envisioned Lurk as a cat of some sort, so in a shallow dish I mixed the milk and honey and set it upon the hearth.

"Lurk!" I called. "Here Lurk! Kitty, kitty, kitty!"

When no cat immediately appeared, I settled in the large rocking chair across from the fireplace and reread the letter.

Feed Lurk and call his true name, Elemanzer.

What the hell.

"Elemanzar!" I called. "Here Kitty..." and my words died in my throat. Elemanzar was not a cat. Elemanzar was the least cat-like thing I had ever laid my eyes upon. I watched in frozen terror as the small, black creature slunk around the firewood, leapt upon the hearth and with a wary eye upon me, lapped at the milk and honey with a bright red tongue.

Pausing in its lapping for a moment, a sibilant whisper came to my ear "I am not a cat."