I get the damndest e-mails. There are all sorts of 'crazies' out there with all sorts of ideas about what Ressie is and how it ended up in the Reservoir. Check this out. This it nuts (literally).
Dear Sir,
I am aware of the entity that you call "Ressie", and I contact you today to strongly urge you to discontinue your field research. Although one might be tempted to classify this creature as a harmless local myth along the lines of Ogopogo or the Loch Ness Monster, it is real - terrifyingly real - and should you move forward in your present actions I fear your very soul may be forfeit.
You see, the beast you so charmingly refer to as "Ressie" is in fact what the Eastern Mystics call a "Tulpa", a psychic thought-form given a flesh-and-blood existence in our fragile world. And how do I know this? With great shame, I confess that it was my own hubris that gave it entry to our realm.
It was during Walpurgisnacht of 1963 that Austrian occultist Werner Krohn and I, along with my drunken she-devil of a wife Leticia, gathered at our home in the exclusive gated community of Annandale to enact the Sacred Rite of the Jörmungandr. During the following three hours of High Magick -skyclad, fueled by cocaine and debaucheries of a most tender nature - we raised forth the Great Serpent of the Waters. I tell you that what follows was not my fault. I beg of you to believe me, sir.
Krohn was convinced that he could force the Serpent to reveal the location of Grubby's Gold, thus was the reason for our summoning - surely, as a captain of our fair reservoir you know the legend of this sailor who sank along with a rumored great deal of treasure to the bottom of waters, never to be seen again, yes?
During the Thelemic Rite the creature proved to be too powerful for Krohn and myself. It was a terrible sight: the creature's twisting, undulating coils writhing in the moonlight, its mass expanding and contracting with its might breaths. We lost our stomach for the entire affair and tried to send it back to the Elder Realms, only to find our carefully drawn pentacle smashed and the creature enveloping the mass of my back yard.
I called for Krohn and Leticia to retreat, and grabbed my trusty shotgun, but it was too late. The gleam of Grubby's Gold had distracted Krohn. Driven him mad. He and Leticia both. The creature swallowed both of them in a gruesome fashion and disappeared with a flash of eldritch purple light. I buried my fears and hastily constructed a story for the neighbors: Krohn and Leticia had run away together to Prague. The relationship shared between our houseguest and ourselves was already much the subject of rumor, and none of the other members of our community wished to pry any further.
I considered myself lucky to have survived. Then the nightmares started.
I would dream that I was on the bottom of a great body of water, strangled in seaweed. Looking to my left and my right, I would see the ghastly, fish-pale corpses of Leticia and Krohn, and then, god help me, they would smile. I would awaken then, drenched in sweat, visions of a primordial reptile plumbing the darkened depths of our own Ross Barnett Reservoir still fresh in my head.
If only I knew the worst was yet to come.
Stories started to spread among the poor fishermen of our town. Stories only too familiar! They whispered about a lake monster - a serpent - a hungry beast that ate honey-baked hams with a vengeance, and rivaled the length of several Nascars put bumper to bumper. Then the disappearances started. I could no longer sleep at night, plagued with images of the beast that our file Rite had let forth into this world.
I have spent the following decades in and out of nervous hospitals, I am shamed to say. My wealth dwindled. My sanity rendered into tatters. Now, even now, I hear wet, sloshing foot steps that haunt me wherever I go. I am afraid I can no longer take it.
I regret to say, sir, that by the time you receive this electronic missive I shall be no more. I finally have the courage to do what I should have done in the beginning: take my own life. At dawn, I will walk into the reservoir's powerful tide. There I shall meet the beast, with only the cold embrace of the dead for solace. I urge you, sir, to leave this creature be. Do not follow in my footsteps.
Most sincerely,
Ambrose E. Waite, Esq.
If there's one thing I know it's this. Rich, white people who live in gated communities, with too much free time on their hands at some point will inevitably dabble in that old black magic. But something tells me that this guy is pulling my leg. I think that Ressie is a flesh and blood creature. A living fossil from our prehistoric past. But who knows. Thanks for the e-mail Gandolf.
You see, the beast you so charmingly refer to as "Ressie" is in fact what the Eastern Mystics call a "Tulpa", a psychic thought-form given a flesh-and-blood existence in our fragile world. And how do I know this? With great shame, I confess that it was my own hubris that gave it entry to our realm.
It was during Walpurgisnacht of 1963 that Austrian occultist Werner Krohn and I, along with my drunken she-devil of a wife Leticia, gathered at our home in the exclusive gated community of Annandale to enact the Sacred Rite of the Jörmungandr. During the following three hours of High Magick -skyclad, fueled by cocaine and debaucheries of a most tender nature - we raised forth the Great Serpent of the Waters. I tell you that what follows was not my fault. I beg of you to believe me, sir.
Krohn was convinced that he could force the Serpent to reveal the location of Grubby's Gold, thus was the reason for our summoning - surely, as a captain of our fair reservoir you know the legend of this sailor who sank along with a rumored great deal of treasure to the bottom of waters, never to be seen again, yes?
During the Thelemic Rite the creature proved to be too powerful for Krohn and myself. It was a terrible sight: the creature's twisting, undulating coils writhing in the moonlight, its mass expanding and contracting with its might breaths. We lost our stomach for the entire affair and tried to send it back to the Elder Realms, only to find our carefully drawn pentacle smashed and the creature enveloping the mass of my back yard.
I called for Krohn and Leticia to retreat, and grabbed my trusty shotgun, but it was too late. The gleam of Grubby's Gold had distracted Krohn. Driven him mad. He and Leticia both. The creature swallowed both of them in a gruesome fashion and disappeared with a flash of eldritch purple light. I buried my fears and hastily constructed a story for the neighbors: Krohn and Leticia had run away together to Prague. The relationship shared between our houseguest and ourselves was already much the subject of rumor, and none of the other members of our community wished to pry any further.
I considered myself lucky to have survived. Then the nightmares started.
I would dream that I was on the bottom of a great body of water, strangled in seaweed. Looking to my left and my right, I would see the ghastly, fish-pale corpses of Leticia and Krohn, and then, god help me, they would smile. I would awaken then, drenched in sweat, visions of a primordial reptile plumbing the darkened depths of our own Ross Barnett Reservoir still fresh in my head.
If only I knew the worst was yet to come.
Stories started to spread among the poor fishermen of our town. Stories only too familiar! They whispered about a lake monster - a serpent - a hungry beast that ate honey-baked hams with a vengeance, and rivaled the length of several Nascars put bumper to bumper. Then the disappearances started. I could no longer sleep at night, plagued with images of the beast that our file Rite had let forth into this world.
I have spent the following decades in and out of nervous hospitals, I am shamed to say. My wealth dwindled. My sanity rendered into tatters. Now, even now, I hear wet, sloshing foot steps that haunt me wherever I go. I am afraid I can no longer take it.
I regret to say, sir, that by the time you receive this electronic missive I shall be no more. I finally have the courage to do what I should have done in the beginning: take my own life. At dawn, I will walk into the reservoir's powerful tide. There I shall meet the beast, with only the cold embrace of the dead for solace. I urge you, sir, to leave this creature be. Do not follow in my footsteps.
Most sincerely,
Ambrose E. Waite, Esq.
If there's one thing I know it's this. Rich, white people who live in gated communities, with too much free time on their hands at some point will inevitably dabble in that old black magic. But something tells me that this guy is pulling my leg. I think that Ressie is a flesh and blood creature. A living fossil from our prehistoric past. But who knows. Thanks for the e-mail Gandolf.
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Stay in touch. But please keep it clean for the kids.