I cannot take a picture of this book. I call it a book, but I do not think that is what it truly is. It is something beyond that, something that transcends that knowledge.
All I know is that I cannot take a picture of it.
I found it days ago, tucked behind one of the wheels of my car. There was not a note or any sign of acknowledgement of me. I assume that means I was given it randomly, although I can't believe that's true after all the things that have transpired. This book is something else entirely, a collection of stories, none of which seem even remotely plausible, but all of which I absolutely believe in every fiber of my being.
The accounts are insane, painting pictures too strange to be anything but lunacy. That's exactly what I thought when I read the slightly faded, but still legible text, mostly in English, although an older English than what we speak now, with some Latin sections thrown in. It is not a traditional book with cover page and a title. While the cover says "THE BOOK OF EIBON" the first page inside puts that title into Latin: Liber Ivonis.
The stories involve a wizard, the titular Eibon, going on various adventures across the stars, and speaking the truths that we have so far refused to accept. The Vale of Pnath is covered in detail, as are the horrors found within. I read about the terrible dread worms, dholes, that seek pathways through the vale, often eating each other and themselves. They would like to feast on the dead more than anything else, but few venture to that place anymore. Who knows where the Vale of Pnath even is?
There are maps.
There are also night-gaunts there. I saw a rough drawing of one.
I will never sleep again. Closing my eyes, I can see their faceless faces, their utter silence, and their unending pursuit. They know.
Shaggai. I don't even want to speak of that planet or its insect race. It is simply too terrible and alien to think about. I would rather dwell on other things than ever read that passage again.
The old ones. I cannot speak of them. And yet, in here, it says how to kill one. How to kill an old one. it is like killing a god. And in killing a god, one must also kill the universe. I can't read it again. I mustn't. Thoughts swirl around in my head, and the book dropped out of my hands, forever gone.
But I', being stalked now, stalked and searched by things that know I've read the forbidden texts. They are not forbidden because they simply should not be read. They are forbidden because there are things in this world that the human mind should never be able to comprehend, things in this world that are too dangerous, evil, or insane for the human mind to take into itself.
They ideas, these words, these very thoughts, they can change you. Not in a figurative sense but rather in a very literal way. I have started to grow large black wings. The alchemical knowledge I have gained scares me. My eyes grow dim. The light hurts my eyes. Even typing this now is more pain than I can easily handle. I move silently, and my mind is now always on something far away. A vale, perhaps, one that is empty besides those who also know. I should seek it out perhaps. I know where it is now.
The book may be gone. But I have gained so much from it... even though it has changed me in the process. My body and mind are different. I wonder, vaguely, what Eibon was.
But I cannot dwell on such things now. There are important things to do before everything is made ready. Oh, Tsathoggua, just wait. Soon there shall be an awakening like you have never known before.
Only a little bit longer.