The following is a file currently reopened for investigation as a cold case homicide, due to recent events in Elk Grove, Michigan, and previous incidents believed to be connected to them from Dearborn, Michigan.

Beyond speculative interviews and unreliable "eye witness" reports, whether these incidents and the diary are truly connected is open to debate. The diary is presented as fiction for this purpose, and is not to be construed are real.

These pages are from a diary discovered in the home of Annie Knowby, deceased. Her remains were discovered in a battered cabin in the woods outside Elk Grove, believed murdered. Evidence discovered in the cabin suggest a total of four people were murdered in it, over a one night period.

Currently, Ashley J. Williams, a stock boy at a local value store, is being looked at for possible connection to the crimes, but police have been unable to locate his current whereabouts.

Among the deceased: Cheryl Williams, aged 19 (Believed), sister to Williams; Local gas station attendant Bobby Jo (sic); Miss Knowby, and her fiance, Edward Getley.

What any of them were doing at said cabin in unknown at this time.

The Diary of Annie Knowby (Summer 1987)

Late Summer

If there was anything I could count on in my life, it was my father: he was braver than I ever was, and proudly strode into any ruin or crumbling castle without fear. Me, I held back, meekly watching the gear while Daddy wandered ancient halls and rooms, searching for anything the museums could use.

The only time I braved the ruins was during a run into a castle, ruined centuries ago from a battle of unknown origin, which destroyed nearly all of it but the left tower and battlement. In a cellar hallway, hidden behind an iron door, the greatest discovery of my life was made: the long spoken of Book of The Dead, which many didn't even believe was real, and a dagger of human bone.

Daddy didn't have much to offer on it: it appeared to be religious, in some horrible way, and the blade was rusted with ancient blood.

"They must have practiced human sacrifice," he'd muttered, turning the blade to catch the light. The carved face made me shudder: a screaming skull, the toothless mouth torn wide into a rictus of pain and horror. I couldn't even image looking up to see this blade coming towards me, the face staring into my eyes as it swung down on its fatal arc, again and again...

I shivered, shoving these thoughts away. "Surely it has some worth?" I asked, as Daddy slid the knife into a protective plastic covering, tucking it away in a satchel.

"Oh, surely... anything from this era is highly prized by museums. With any luck, it's Kandarian in origins."

"Kandarian?" I hadn't heard that term before.

"A sort of religious sect... we honestly don't have all that much on them. Something about a knight clan, and a demon fairy tale they loved telling in legends." He shrugged. "We could use the money, Annie... you know that-"

"Yes, I know, Daddy," I interrupted.

We could use that kind of money... greatly.

For Mama... No, can't think of that right now.

Mama was better right now, lucid and happy. She'd waited outside as we'd explored, the guide saying it wasn't safe for her.

I'd taken him aside before we left the camp to explain to him about Mama, about her memory issues, and how easily confused she became. He'd lied to her softly, claiming the ruins structurally unsound, and suggesting she stay in the car. We'd be fine, of course, but better safe than sorry.

Mama had believed it, of course... she believed anything she was told.

June

The dagger was nearly worthless: as a human sacrifice dagger, many refused to look at it, period, with only one museum considering it before discovering it was Kandarian in origin. I'd asked why, but they wouldn't explain, exactly, merely telling me they didn't take artifacts from that era.

The book, on the other hand, many gladly considered taking: The Book of The Dead, Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, was a treasured artifact. It was bound is human skin, written in blood. It tells of funeral rites and arcane rituals, making it the rarest book in history, as only one was ever created. An fantastic artifact.

Daddy keeps looking at it. I wish he wouldn't. It unnerves me so much...

Late June

Daddy has sprung a surprise on us: a trip to our summer cabin in the forest. It's a bit of a drive, and we haven't been there in years, but getting away from it all would be nice.

Mama is well: the doctor has said the fresh air would help, and she recalled my name last night, after forgetting it. She kept talking about the night I was born, and insisted it had snowed. I was born in the summer.

June 17th

The vacation has been postponed until next month, but I wish we could go now. Mama has been so tense lately, forgetting everything, calling me "Ruby" constantly. I'm so worried.

This isn't fair. Damn whatever would allow this disease to claim her memory.

June 30th

So much has happened: I've left home on a hunch, with nothing but a call from a man to go on... a man in Dearborn, a few towns over. He claims to have found the pages Daddy was complaining about before, missing from the main text of the Necronomicon.

They concluded the rite for resurrection, as well as a warning. Translating such a dead language was difficult, but Daddy had made enough connections to do so, working on a tape of the written words for the archaeology department.

Phonetic only, so far, in Latin, the only language close enough to it.

I didn't like it. I didn't like Daddy spending so much time on the book, on the translation. Those missing pages had sent him into a rage like nothing I'd ever seen before, yelling and screaming, his fists shattering a family portrait.

Mama only watched, rocking happily by the fire, almost blissfully unaware of it all.

The second expedition came up with nothing... the castle is empty. Plundered of all it's worth. So I'm going to Dearborn, to find the man. He said for me to meet him in a bar, of all places. Not exactly professional, but what can you do about this kind of thing?

July 4th

The drive to Dearborn took three days, the town small, rustic. The bar was small and dark, with thick glass in the windows, preventing much light. The glasses were cloudy plastic, and leaked somewhat.

It was a place I wouldn't normally be caught dead in, unless it was business.

The man wouldn't give me his name, coming in a cloak like something in a spy caper. It was all so stupid, but I got the pages from it. Thick parchment, ink faded to a dull brown, the pages were locked in a glass case, safe from fingerprints or air damage.

The man gave me a nod, and left as I was pulling my purse out from under the booth. I stood, calling, but he left without another word, unpaid.

The check is still in my purse, should I need money for travel. I feel awful about it, but he really did refuse it, didn't even look back at my call!

Someone should use it.

July 8th

Not back on solid ground, like I'd hoped, but air born.

Edward...Ed...called me from New York, wanting to come visit.

I admit I sounded like a school girl on the phone: Ed does that to me.

Just remembering we were going to be married... oh.

But, to business: I couldn't have told him about the pages, and the man in the bar, so I made up a fib about finally finding the pages on a new search of the castle. I was feeling cheeky enough to tease with a telegram, hinting Daddy had found something.

"That sounds really strange... you sure you should be messing around with this crap, Annie?" His voice was worried. "Castles and ancient ruins..."

"I'm a big girl, Ed... I can handle myself," I'd chuckled.

Oh, the plane is getting ready to land, the seat belt light came on. I'm so excited to see Ed again, and to have him meet Mama and Daddy. They went on to the cabin without me, and would meet me there.

It's going to be a lovely weekend, I just know it.

Maybe I'll finally beat Daddy in chess.