The Cartographer's Secret

The Journals of Elias Thorne

Entry 1: March 12th, 1888

The salt air stings my face, a welcome discomfort after weeks buried in London’s suffocating fog. The Sea Serpent creaks beneath my boots, eager to swallow the horizon. This is it. The Royal Geographical Society has entrusted me, Elias Thorne, with charting the uncharted – the southern coast of Terra Australis Incognita. A fanciful name for a land shrouded in mystery and speculation.

Professor Armitage clapped me on the back before I boarded, his eyes gleaming with academic fervour. “Thorne, you’ll be making history! Imagine revealing the contours of a continent! “Discovering new species, mapping unknown mountain ranges…”

I confess, his enthusiasm is infectious. I’ve spent years poring over faded maps and fragmented accounts of previous expeditions. This journey is more than just a job; it’s a chance to etch my name into the annals of exploration. It's an opportunity to gain a profound understanding of the world. My father, may he rest in peace, often remarked that I possess a keen eye for mapping. Let us hope he was right.

I have secured my supplies, polished my sextant, and my heart is filled with anticipation. The Sea Serpent sets sail at dawn. Adventure awaits.

Entry 7: April 2nd, 1888

The journey at sea lasts for weeks. Brief squalls and the endless, hypnotic rhythm of the waves punctuate the monotony. Most of the crew are simple men, content with their daily routine. The ship's navigator, Silas Blackwood, stands out. He possesses a quiet intensity that I find both unsettling and intriguing. He spends hours studying the stars, muttering calculations under his breath. When I asked him about his methods, he simply smiled thinly and said, “Some things are best left unsaid, Mr Thorne.”

His cryptic nature bothers me. I prefer clarity and precision. My maps demand it.

We’ve sighted albatrosses, majestic birds gliding effortlessly on the wind. They seem to be guiding us, whispering secrets of the ocean.

Entry 18: May 15th, 1888

Land! After what feels like an eternity, a jagged coastline has appeared on the horizon. It’s a formidable sight: sheer cliffs rising from the turbulent sea, shrouded in mist. This must be the westernmost point of the unknown territory.

A wave of exhilaration washes over me. The charts are blank here. I am the first to see this.

We will attempt to find a suitable harbour tomorrow to begin explorations. I am eagerly anticipating the planting of the British flag.

Entry 22: May 22nd, 1888

The land is as unforgiving as it is beautiful. We've found a narrow inlet deep enough for the Sea Serpent to drop anchor, but the surrounding terrain is treacherous. Towering peaks loom inland, their slopes covered in dense, primaeval forest. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and unknown flora.

I’ve assembled a small team to begin the initial survey. Blackwood insisted on joining us, a request I reluctantly granted. His knowledge of navigation is invaluable, but I can’t shake the feeling that he harbours a secret.

We ventured inland today, hacking our way through the dense undergrowth. The silence was unnerving, broken only by the calls of unseen birds and the occasional rustle in the trees. We experienced a sense of surveillance.

I managed to sketch a rough outline of the coastline and identify a prominent mountain range, which I’ve tentatively named the Blackwood Peaks, much to Silas's chagrin. He mumbled something about names being "dangerous things" and walked away.

Entry 35: June 10th, 1888

Weeks have passed, and the mapping progresses slowly. The terrain is proving to be far more challenging than anticipated. We’ve encountered sheer cliffs, impassable ravines, and rivers that disappear into subterranean tunnels.

The crew is growing restless. The crew is feeling the effects of the constant rain and the oppressive silence. There’s a palpable sense of unease in the air.

Blackwood remains an enigma. He often disappears for hours, claiming to be “studying the currents”. When he returns, his eyes are distant, his face etched with an expression I can’t quite decipher. One night, I saw him on deck under the moonlight, tracing symbols in the air with his fingers. When I approached him, he startled and quickly hid his hands. He dismissed it as a "foolish habit".

I tried to press him further, but he simply turned away, his silence more impenetrable than ever. What is he hiding?

Entry 48: July 1st, 1888

Today, we made a disturbing discovery. While exploring a cave system near the coast, we stumbled upon a series of strange carvings on the walls. They depict creatures unlike anything I’ve ever seen: grotesque figures with elongated limbs and bulbous heads. The carvings are ancient, eroded by time and the elements, but the images are still chillingly clear.

Blackwood examined the carvings with an unnerving fascination. He seemed to recognise them, even though he claimed to have never seen anything like them before. He muttered something about "the Old Ones" and "forgotten gods".

I dismissed his ramblings as superstition, but the carvings have unnerved me. They hint at a history, a presence, that predates our arrival. This land holds secrets, and I fear we are not meant to uncover them.

Entry 59: July 20th, 1888

The weather has turned malevolent. Violent storms rage almost constantly, lashing the coast with rain and wind. The Sea Serpent tugs at its moorings, poised to break free and crash against the rocks.

The crew is on the verge of mutiny. They whisper of curses and ancient spirits. I try to maintain order, to reassure them that there is a rational explanation for everything, but even I am beginning to doubt my own words.

Blackwood’s behaviour has become increasingly erratic. He spends his days pacing the deck, staring out at the storm-tossed sea. He speaks in riddles, his words laced with a strange mix of fear and excitement.

Last night, I overheard him talking to himself, muttering about "the awakening" and "the return". I confronted him, demanding an explanation, but he simply laughed, a hollow, unsettling sound.

“You wouldn’t understand, Thorne,” he said, his eyes burning with an unnatural light. “Some things are meant to remain hidden.”

He then turned and walked away, disappearing into the storm.

Entry 63: August 5th, 1888

Madness. Utter madness.

Last night, Blackwood led a small group of sailors ashore. They claimed they were going to "appease the ancient gods" to calm the storm. I tried to stop them, but they were too strong, their eyes glazed over with a fanatical zeal.

I followed them, armed with my pistol, determined to bring them back to their senses. I found them in the cave, chanting in a language I didn’t recognise, their voices echoing through the cavern. Blackwood stood at the centre of the group, his arms raised in supplication.

Before a grotesque stone altar, they had dragged one of the sailors from the ship and restrained him. He begged and pleaded. Blackwood looked without a tinge of feeling.

Then, in unison, they chanted, 'Blood for the old ones, return them from what is lost," and Blackwood produced a crude obsidian knife. Then, he plunged it into the sailor's chest.

I couldn’t bear to watch. I fired my pistol, hitting Blackwood in the shoulder. The chanting stopped, and the sailors turned to face me, their eyes filled with hatred.

A fight ensued. I managed to fend them off, but there were too many. I was overwhelmed and knocked unconscious.

Entry 64: August 6th, 1888

I awoke this morning, lying on the beach, the storm still raging overhead. The Sea Serpent is gone. The crew is gone. Blackwood has vanished.

I am alone.

I don't know what transpired after they knocked me unconscious. I can only surmise that the sailors overpowered me, left me adrift, and sailed away, abandoning me for dead.

Or perhaps something far more sinister occurred. Perhaps Blackwood’s "ancient gods" claimed the ship and its crew.

I don’t know. And I don’t think I want to know.

Entry 65: August 10th, 1888

Survival is my only goal now. I’ve managed to find a small cave to shelter in, and I’ve scavenged some food and water from the wreckage of the Sea Serpent.

But the loneliness is unbearable. The silence is deafening. I am surrounded by the ghosts of the past, by the echoes of Blackwood’s madness, and by the memory of that horrifying sacrifice.

I try to map the surrounding area to create order out of chaos, but my hand trembles. The charts are smudged with tears. My mind is fractured.

I fear I am losing my sanity.

Entry 72: September 1st, 1888

I’ve seen them.

I thought I was hallucinating, a product of starvation and despair. But they are real.

The carvings reveal the existence of these creatures. The elongated limbs and bulbous heads adorn the grotesque figures.

They stalk the forest, their movements silent and fluid. They watch me from the shadows, their eyes burning with an unholy intelligence.

They are waiting.

Entry 75: September 10th, 1888

I understand now.

Blackwood wasn’t mad. He was… chosen. He knew the truth about this land, about the ancient beings that dwell beneath its surface.

He sought to awaken them, to bring them back to the world. And he succeeded.

The storms, the carvings, the sacrifices… it was all part of a ritual, a summoning.

And now, they are here.

They are everywhere.

Final Entry: September 12th, 1888

They are coming for me.

I can hear them, their footsteps soft on the forest floor.

I can smell them, a cloying odour of decay and something else… something ancient and alien.

I have one bullet left in my pistol.

I will not let them take me alive.

I will not become a sacrifice.

This is my last entry.

May God forgive me.

(No further entries exist. The journal ends abruptly.)