The Testimony of Jacob Cohen – Prologue + Log 1
Ancient ruins and funky fungi
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The Testimony of Jacob Cohen is a cosmic horror story about an archeologist on an Antarctic expedition who discovers a mysterious ziggurat that hides terrifying secrets from a forgotten past.
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Property of Jacob Cohen
This journal is property of the esteemed archeologist Jacob Cohen. Should it somehow come into your possession, please see that it is returned to its owner. In the event of that owner’s incapacitation or disappearance — archeology is, after all, not without its dangers — please see that it is delivered to the Private Archives at Graystone University in Mistwood, Massachusetts.
Log 1
Near the Entrance of the Ziggurat
It is a mysterious line that divides the truth from madness, and I hope for my soul that I have crossed it, for what I have witnessed here must be either raving delusion or unfathomable evil. I am fortunate that I salvaged this journal from the shipwreck of the Perseverance; in this dark circumstance, these pages will be my console.
I cannot say how many days have passed since that fierce blizzard drove us into the ziggurat and sealed us inside. All I know is that I have slept approximately eleven times in this diabolic structure, plus or minus a few instances before I started keeping track. My previous writings, unfortunately, have been scattered and buried by dense Antarctic snow. I will, therefore, write down as accurately as I can both the events that brought us to our current situation, along with all that we discover in these ancient, shadowed halls.
So far, our initial hesitation to enter the building has proven well-justified, for while the frozen ruins outside were shocking in their scale and ingenuity, this gargantuan construction borders on unreality. The massive stones of the structure are made of a nebulous material flecked with many colors that, at certain angles, seems to swallow all light. It is a mystery to me how the builders could have moved the blocks, and even more so how they stacked them with such precision. The ceiling looms so far above us that it is obscured in shadows, and the passageways form a confounding labyrinth, making it easy to get disoriented. After Yun-Soo disappeared into the darkness, the rest of us resolved to stay together as much as possible. When someone does venture independently, he ties a rope to his waist so he may find his way back to us; or so we may drag him back, should it ever come to that.
The structure is situated on a significant source of geothermal activity, and so, while the hall near the entrance is as barren as the landscape outside, the desolate foyer eventually gives way to warmth, growth, and soil. Several rooms contain bubbling, steaming hot springs, where many odd species of plants and fungi flourish, and strange pipes distribute this heated water throughout the halls, supplying several decorative basins and fountains with steady streams of steaming water.
One fungus, in particular, grows abundantly; it has a wide, flat crown and pale flesh that glows with bright red luminescence, and it reeks with a confounding fusion of sweetness and decay. The fruiting bodies generate heat and appear to be connected by a complex network of fibers that pulse with crimson light and run rampantly over walls, ceilings, and floors. This mushroom has proven flammable, and with our limited supply of charcoal, we have been able to dry enough of it for the preparation of simple torches. Despite our reservations, the glowing fungus has become our primary food source in these dark halls. Eating it is a disgusting ordeal, as it tastes of rot and oozes a foul slime, but boiling it seems to minimize some of its worst qualities. It is ironic that such a vile thing has become our salvation; our light, warmth, and sustenance in this dreadful abode.
For the first several days we were trapped here, I doubted Maya’s assertions that we were being watched. Now, however, I have begun to sense it: the pestilent intelligence that inhabits this place. I feel somehow deeply known to it, while to me it is a total mystery. It twists my dreams into horrid nightmares, rumbling in a language without words at a pitch so deep it shakes my soul. In these frightful visions, I encounter impossible colors and strange shapes that seem to defy geometry. The air itself coalesces and dances like a kaleidoscope, twisting and shifting like a door to Hell, only, when I pass through the door, I do not enter; instead, I feel the space beyond it enter me, exploring my thoughts and memories like pages in a book. I worry that soon, it may even begin to obscure and rearrange them.
The wickedness of this place is not, however, restricted to my dreams, for our exploration has revealed evidence of a twisted history in these ancient halls. Today, we discovered what appear to be thirteen altars at the center of a large theater, arranged around a deep bowl set into the floor. Carved of the same material as the walls, the altars possess the dark mystique of a guillotine, but on a grander scale. Each is approximately the length of a man, and they all stand on a circular stage made of the same nebulous substance as the rest of the ziggurat. Crevasses cut into the floor connect to a central bowl, and carvings on the walls and pillars depict hellish images of torture, sacrifice, and even cannibalism. Rings of seats and support columns climb outward from the gruesome centerpiece, suggesting that at one time, the rituals performed here attracted a significant audience. Try as I might, I cannot scrub from my mind an imagining of the types of horrors that once unfolded upon those altars.
Most curious of all is the room’s depiction of the glowing fungus. The motif decorates the ziggurat in many places, but it is especially prevalent in the ceremonial chamber, where its distinctive crown appears in carvings alongside the shapes of men and strange, misshapen beasts. In the chamber, large carvings show humans consuming the fungus, then building the ziggurat, and then worshiping the fungus with heinous rituals. The sinister iconography leads me to think that some ancient civilization built this colossal structure, and perhaps even the surrounding city, specifically to house and honor the mushroom. How they did so, and why, however, are still complete mysteries, though the possibilities make me shudder.
It is unpleasant to stand in the theater for long, for an overwhelming malevolence emanates from the altars and threatens to push me out of my own mind, as if the souls of countless sacrifices have been trapped inside the auditorium for aeons. I fear that the sensation will only get worse the longer we are stranded here, and yet, there seems to be no exit available to us where we entered, so we have no choice but to proceed. However, I am afraid to imagine what secrets await even deeper in the darkness.
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