The following is an excerpt from the last known writing of J. Morton Fishwick III ‘18. Morton disappeared around midterms under mysterious circumstances.
I write these furtive lines in my last moments of sanity, so that I might record my experience of yesterday, September the ninth, A.D. 2018. May you who shall come after me defeat an ancient evil.
It was the witching hour when Chartwell found me. I had, in my nocturnal perambulations, ventured too close to the eldritch haven-seat of the ancient evil, the Dining Hall of Chartwell. Too deep we delved there, and awoke the nameless fear. That was what pursued me, a daemonical beast from beyond the stygian Pit itself! And some people from the Army of Darkness. (They, however, do not count. CADs have never counted.) The beast, however, did count, counting as it stalked me through the night, repeating this number for hours. “9...2...0...0...8...8...5...8...2”. Over and over and over and over. My student ID number. It knew.
I seemed to slumber for ageless years, beneath the endless, piney trunks of the Interpretive Trail. The beast must have left, I have thought in my saner moments. But I know that the beast is in me now, and that sooner or later, I shall walk to the Dining Hall, oh evil of evils, I shall walk there in a dreamless sleep and behold the shining, unceasing light of cyclopean Chartwell beneath the Arizonan lands. In the drylands of Arizona dead Chartwell lies dreaming! Ia! Ia! Where Hungry Minds Gather! Je Suis Chartwell!
Ziv is The Cad's Professor Emeritus of Nothing.