The Diary of Professor Mulgrave

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Note: Ever since the 1963 incident with Mrs. [REDACTED], it is strictly forbidden to handle the original diary without proper personal protection equipment. Unless you are working on the hieroglyphs themselves, it is highly recommended for security purposes to study the transcription of the text rather than the physical text itself.

This is a transcription of the Diary of the professor formerly known as Abraham Mulgrave, recovered at their residence on January 12, 1927.

This is their last known piece of writing and is being kept in order to study the circumstances following their disappearance.

November 12th

I will soon receive a package of utmost interest from a professional peer. In this diary, I shall write down my findings for the good of the scientific community. I shall write down more once I have it in my possession. For now, I do not want to work myself up too much over this, in case it is more mundane than I was led to believe, so I will keep this first entry short.

-Professor Abraham Mulgrave

November 14th

The greatly awaited package has finally reached my door this morning. I had expected a bigger artifact, but alas the size of the container has deceived me. My study’s floor was covered in brown paper by the time I fished it out of there, which leads me to assume my correspondent feared for the object’s safety.

The obsidian pillar is somehow both hot and cold to the touch, in a way I’m afraid I cannot explain with mere words. It is approximately the size of a common crow, albeit much heavier. Its color shivers, almost as if the rock or metal that makes it is filled with wriggling vermin. Luckily for me, I do not dare damage it in any way, thus I will not have the privilege of inspecting below the object’s surface.

The inscriptions written over it are not of any language still written today, that I am certain. My colleague from whom I’ve received this delicate gift, Professor Davis, has exploited every linguistic avenue at their disposal for identifying this script, with no success. He is not as learned as I am in tongues, as his field of expertise relies mostly on the occult. My interest for the occult has always been but tangential, thus it is a great opportunity for me to obtain such matter in my professional setting.

I will need to peruse the grand library if I wish to find more information [ineligible] might

[Diary entry ends]

November 15th

I need it, I want it. It is coming. I need it inside me. I crave it. I crave Him.

-Prof ess[ineligible] grav

November 16th

I was stricken with fear upon reading the last… peculiar sentences. I do not recall writing anything in this diary yesterday. To make matters considerably worse, I do not recall anything at all from the previous day. Am I losing my mind? Is this a sick trick that a fellow has played on me? Someone else writing in my diary would explain the shocking words, but I cannot explain the loss of time that has afflicted me since… since receiving the artifact.

While sweeping up the brown packing paper littering the floor of my study this morning, I found a note that must have been inside the box. Bold letters, warning me not to touch the object with my bare hands.

My tangential intrigue for the occult has never yielded me with any real magic and has thus stayed an interesting fancy, a fascination for folklore and mythology and their effect on historical civilization, staunchly tempered in my mind by lucidity and skepticism. I am inclined to look for a rational explanation as to the events that occurred before resorting to believing folk tales.

I have handled the artifact again today and I have been unaffected so fa

[Diary entry ends]

November 17th


November 18th

Need get out of house, artfact[sic] cursed [ineligible]

[Diary entry ends]

December 5th

I have returned to my home. Everything was as I had left it, albeit there is slightly more dust everywhere. But not on it. It is pristine. It is beautiful. In the many days when I was away, I have searched as much as I could about it and about the writings on its surface. I have perused the old treaties in the University’s library and I have found answers in the Necronomicon, which I have secretly brought home. It does not speak of this beautiful marvel, but it mentions the divine beings that made it. The languages of beings beyond our understanding, descended from the stars according to some, ascended from the depth of their fiery kingdom according to others. All I know is, I have seen him, the Great One. He has not spoken to me yet, but he has shown me things, visions I had not dared believe, truths my mind vainly tried to hide from me in hope I would not seek more, pleasures that- pleasures… pleasures I had never hoped would be possible in this universe…

For a while, I considered running away, abandoning my house and its content because I was afraid of the power within the artifact. But my mind gave me back the missing moment, the first night after I got the artifact, the three days after, all I did, all it did to me.

In fear that my mind might slip again, I shall try to chronicle all the events that transpired on the week of the 14th.

I reckon I should start with the physical modifications that it has induced in me. My body is changing, taking a much more androgynous appearance. It was horrifying at first, to see myself be molded into a different person, to have my very identity taken and played with by forces beyond my understanding. But I know now, that it is helping me be who I am meant to be, who I have always been meant to be. Have I always felt this way? Or was it a desire that the artifact implanted in my psyche to serve its own purpose? I do not know and I do not care, for I have never felt as good in my own body as I do right now and with each passing day, this elation grows despite my fears of the eldritch nightmares that might lurk further down this path.

My skin is much smoother and my lips are fuller. I have also noticed an apparent redistribution of my adipose tissue, if not actually my bones. My posterior and hips have definitely grown in size since I’ve had the obsidian pillar, but I can’t tell for certain whether my shoulders have grown narrower or if my mind is playing tricks.

My hair has changed in peculiar ways, with body hair thinning in some places while the hair on my head is definitely thicker and longer. Longer than it should have been after a mere few weeks, anyway. My legs feel almost completely smooth and my facial hair hasn’t grown back at all since I shaved a week ago.

Then, there is the occurrence of my… pectoral region. It has grown in size and sensitivity. It is hard to put down in writing the truth that… I have enjoyed the sensations that they bring.

“Are these not traits you would see upon the physique of a woman?” I asked myself while gazing over this stranger’s body looking back at me in the mirror.

I have mentioned in passing the delight I felt from my growing breasts. In the previous weeks I’ve felt such shame that it has been impossible for me to put into writing some of the things I’ve done, but if I do not immortalize them on paper, I fear I might forever doubt their existence and by extension my own sanity.

I have pleasured myself with the artifact. I have inserted it inside me. Have I? Some days I believe these events were merely dreams, while others bring in the certitude that I have truly debased myself, in the flesh. Reading the words I’ve inked down cements the truth of my acts, but also reassures me in the survival of my sanity. On my first day with it, I rubbed and touched myself for hours, forgetting my needs and my obligations. Worshipping the pillar through pleasure was my new need and my new obligation. It was only on the third day that it penetrated me.

I can’t seem to recall how it got to that point, only that I covered it in the first slippery fluid on hand and then promptly inserted the object. Feeling it inside me was unlike anything else, it was everything I had felt before, but a thousandfold.

When I hold the artifact, I can faintly hear the distant echoes of its divine creator. But when it is inside me, the voices become clear like shining diamonds, enchanting my spirits and expanding my dull earthly horizons towards infinite worlds that my peers dare not imagine.

The pillar whispers to me now. It stands on my desk, close to me as I write these lines. My days apart from it have given me the opportunity to refuse its call, to discard it and hide myself from the abyss peering through the other side. But I-

I have made a decision. I have no desire to return to a life devoid of the infinite expanse of the universe that I barely glimpsed at through the artifact. For the good of scientific advancement, I will interact with it again.

The entry that I do not remember writing, it mentions a Him. I must meet him and ask him for the secrets of the universe. That is my task and I will pay any price for it.

-Professor Abraham Mulgrave

December 7th

My body keeps changing. I am now absolutely certain that my genitals have shrunk and it is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain an erection. But I am not any less a slave to pleasure, however now I am utterly obsessed with making myself climax with the pillar. It is shaped exactly like a hard shiny cock. I am fairly certain that it did not have this exact shape when I first picked it out of the box, but now it is unmistakably phallic. And it is terribly addictive.

I am able to focus and think coherently while holding it, which I am doing right now. I no longer fall into a trance of forgetfulness, which I cannot agree with myself on whether it is terrifying or great. Is it wonderful because my willpower is growing stronger over the astral influence of this eldritch contraption, or is the truth rather that I am falling deeper into the hornets’ nest and my head is slowly shifting towards a new normal, a state of constant altered mind that makes it so the influence of touching the marvel is no more an assault on my spirit than my default waking state?

Whichever is true, I will use this newfound lucidity to immortalize my thought while further studying the divine mineral cock. Cock, huh. It appears I have an easier time describing the crude reality happening to me with each subsequent word. Ass. Anal. Orgasm. Every hour or so I have the urge to sodomize myself with the beautiful obsidian cock. Blasphemy and heresy have become my norm since I discovered how incredibly intense my climaxes can be.

Anal orgasms have obliterated any ambition I ever had for the method I used before and I genuinely do not know whether it is because of the arcane properties of the artifact, or because this unholy act is vastly superior to any other act of debauchery. At this very moment, I dream of letting my pen fall and abandon my writing to instead play with my hole again. It’s been six, maybe seven times already today that I have used it and I still do not see an upper limit where I would have had enough.

I will, I

It is inside. Inside me. Describing this perverted act feels even better while doing it. I write this scientific diary while stretching my sensitive quivering bottom with a priceless occult artifact. This is heresy, it has to be. Thinking that someone might read these words make me feel sooo[ineligible]

[Diary entry ends]

December 10th

[This entry was written in some sort of hieroglyphic alphabet. We assume it could be the same language that was scribed onto the artifact. It has not been successfully translated as of yet.]

December 13th

I have seen Him. He came to me in a dream and told me of the cyclopean wonders of his world, of the place I could take at his side. Like everything else from his universe, He was magnificent, and He was horrifying. A humanoid shape shifted in and out of view, with inhuman features appearing and disappearing. I do not know what He physically looks like, but He has allowed me to glimpse at his soul and I know it is pure. Exquisite and unadulterated by the very human and destructive idea of shame, He offered himself fully to my observations. The only feature that was true and clear was his large obsidian cock.

The artifact is his dick. Or rather, a physical representation that can exist in our reality. I have doubts whether He even exists in a material realm, or if He is but figments from an occult world where humans are nothing but soul. Could his homeworld be Hades? I hesitate to call Him a demon, it feels like an insult to such a glorious being.

I took Him in my mouth. In the dream. He had his hand in my hair and I let Him desecrate my lips. The pleasure that flooded my very being was more intense than when I used the artifact, despite the human mouth not being suitable to receive pleasure from penetration, or so I had thought. What was it then that warmed my heart and made me tremble with joy? Is there a substance emanating from his dick that overwhelmed the limited psyche of humanity? Or is it sufficient for me to know that I am giving Him pleasure? His pleasure. His pleasure is the only thing that matters now. I must be good for Him, a good toy, a good pet, a good [the last word is scratched out, but we believe the word was either slave or spouse].

His taste was exhilarating, superior to the exquisite spices of foreign lands that millions of men have been killed to acquire, superior to the savor of rare meats prepared with the utmost culinary talent, superior to the most expensive wines aged in barrels built by men who died before my forefathers were born. There is nothing in this world that can hope to compare and the craving it has left in me feels painful. As I write these words, I am holding the artifact in my mouth, hoping it can satiate me long enough to survive until my next dream. If He is not magnanimous enough to visit me tonight, I fear the sorrow might end me. Reading these words, you might believe I am being a tad overly dramatic, but you haven’t had Him.

-Professor A. Mulgrave

December 14th

He has rescued me from the anguish of his absence, He has visited my dream again. I felt powerless and weak in his arms, but it all felt so right. He can protect me and guide me, but most importantly, He can ravage me. His dick is large, much larger than mine ever was even before it started to shrink. I do not even mind that anymore, I am his object of pleasure, if He wants my penis to be tiny, I will gladly let Him mold me to his desire.

However, He has also shown me that He is capable of cruelty. After he emptied his seed in my mouth, he brought his perfect phallus between my legs and rubbed the tip against my place of pleasure, against the rim of my anus. My heart and lungs stopped working as he lay there in anticipation, my hands gripping hard against his arms. And then He walked away, leaving my hole unopened and undefiled.

Am I not good enough for Him? Or does He have a further agenda that I cannot yet grasp? Maybe He wants me to anticipate Him a bit longer until I am desperate for his unyielding control over my whole being. Does He not understand that I already am? Nothing matters anymore, nothing but Him. Maybe it is because I have yet to attain the physical standard that He desires.

I’ve looked in the mirror this morning for the first time in days. I do not have any hair on my legs or arms anymore. My face is smooth and, might I say, gorgeous. My breasts would be considered small for a woman, but they are now unmistakably breasts, instead of pectorals. My ass and thighs are, dare I say, soft and mushy. They have grown larger than most chairs in my home and nowadays whenever I sit, my flesh spills down on both sides of my seat. My dick barely gets hard anymore, but I recognize now that my testicles actually seem to have grown since November, albeit not by much.

I just realized that it has been one month since I’ve received the package that has now sealed my fate. After finishing this diary entry, I shall write a thank-you letter to Professor Davis for the life-changing opportunity he has given me. I wonder if he knew?

There was a knock on my door this morning. Colleagues from the University that were distressed by my prolonged absence. I lied about being sick and contagious and needing to stay in quarantine, but that I had plenty of work that could be done. Halfway through the conversation I realized that my voice was much more higher-pitch than I remembered it to be. I had to make conscious efforts to keep it as low as it used to be a month ago. They promised to regularly drop crates of food and water at my door. I did not dare refuse them, for I would not have wanted them to know that I do not feel hunger and thirst anymore. He is sustenance enough.

I hope He visits again tonight. I wish He would visit outside of dreams. I need his physical presence in my home, in me. I love Him.

-Professor A. Mulgrave

December 15th

I woke up in tears, for my dreams were not graced by his presence. I have penetrated myself with the toy all morning until both of my wrists were much too sore to move it. I cannot fathom the emptiness, thus I have left it inside me. To keep it in place, I have tried dressing up, but I discovered a new problem. None of my pants fit my legs anymore, because of the thickness of my thighs. I now wander my home wearing nothing but a shirt and underwear, for I was lucky enough to have bought some undergarment made of a very flexible fabric last summer. However, as soon as I put them on, they are metaphorically devoured by my sizable ass, disappearing deep into my crack.

The lack of leg apparel would be a problem with the season’s cold growing harsher, but it seems that the artifact keeps me warm. It seems that my old physical needs, hunger, thirst, warmth, even my bathroom duties, have all been overridden by this wonderful object.

I am glad to have borrowed the Necronomicon from my University’s library. I shall search it for a way to connect my world to the world of my beloved.

-Professor A. Mulgrave

December 16th

I nearly had a heart failure when I believed I had lost the artifact. In truth, I have not lost it, I merely misplaced it… inside myself. In my dreamless sleep, it slipped past my sphincter and is now lodged deep inside my bowels. I can feel it inside me, pulsing, alive. It sometimes moves by itself as if trying to unnerve me, and it ends up with me climaxing from the stimulation. Had I known it could do so, I would have done this long ago.

He has been missing from my night again. My days are spent reading through occult books for a way to br[scribbles]


It did it. While I was writing, the artifact bullied me from the inside until I orgasmed. It baffles me that I did not have the presence of mind to do this sooner.

I must go back to my books and find a way to bring Him to me, or else a way for me to travel to his world.

-Professor A. Mulgrave

December 21st

Every day without Him feels like I am falling further into a pit of despair. The artifact is a wonder brighter than the entire world, but it pales against the real thing.

Luckily, I believe I have found a ritual. It requires the blood of a goat, which I do not possess in my home at the moment, so I will have to sneak out. None of my masculine accoutrements fit me, thus I plan to venture out during the night and procure myself some more appropriate outfits. It is a foolish idea and brings many risks, but my cravings will be the end of me if I do not feed them soon.

-Professor A. Mulgrave

December 22th

[This entry was written in the unknown hieroglyphic alphabet again.]

December 23th

Misery and damnation! The ritual was an utter failure! Instead of my beloved, the portal summoned a hideous creature of malice and revulsion! A writhing mass of tentacles and eyes is now observing me from the corner of the room, gnawing on a wooden chair. It is abhorrent and useless.

I realize its uncanny origin, yet all I feel for it is antipathy. Had I seen this abomination a year ago, I might have had a stroke from the horror of having my mind expanded too quickly to the insanity of the cosmos. I like to think that my new relationship has already expanded my mind and has rendered me immune, or at least greatly protected me, from the abject horrors of the underworld.

And now this abject horror is leaving trails of slime around my house. I despise it.

I despise it.

I despise it.

I despise it.

[” I despise it. ” is repeated sixty-three times on the page]

[Diary entry ends]

December 24th

…A lot of things have happened since my last entry. I have made peace with Y’thel’huk (they have informed me of their name when we… connected). My anger was not against them, but rather against the shattered expectation I had built up. My true anger should be directed at myself for failing to correctly read the rituals.

While I shivered and lamented alone in my bed, they joined me and kept me company. I was afraid it would be a transgression against Him, but the artifact told me without words that I was allowed to do what we did. Y’thel’huk inserted their tentacles inside me, penetrating my ass and my mouth, but also in places where I didn’t expect it to be possible. Small, writhing tentacles went inside my penis, nose, ears, even in the corners of my eyes. My belly button was also assaulted and they even managed to penetrate my nipples.

Their tentacles squirmed inside my brain, speaking to me in a silent but clear voice. They also communicated with the artifact using the tentacles they inserted in my rectum. I’ve asked- begged them to tell Him that I long for his presence, that my nights are empty without Him in my dreams. They have not responded to my demand.

It is not Him, but their presence is keeping me from falling into despair. At the very least, the erotic transgression of having so many phallic limbs infiltrating me is a bizarre but welcome new experience and a distraction. I have read about them, about their kind, in a copy of the Culte des goules that was accumulating dust in my bookshelf. Usually, the people who summon them are devoured and suffer atrociously, but my link to Him has apparently protected me, marking me as an ally of the astral dimensions from whence they originate.

I should also say that I have committed several thefts on the night of the 21st. In addition to the poor goat who’s sacrifice allowed me to meet my new bedfellow, I also stole some clothes. I know that at this time of the year, my neighbours, the Smiths, are vacationing in the warm south and that they keep a secret key under a rock in their garden. Hopefully, Margaret will not miss the dresses I took from her bedchamber, or the undergarments, which feel somewhat tight.

It appears her pear-shaped figure must have been embellished somewhat with the use of crinolines since my hips, in their current size, are evidently thicker than hers. Tears are plentiful on the pantyhose that I am wearing, but for reasons I can’t explain, I kinda like it.

I have also stolen other articles of femininity; now my eyelids are smoky, my cheeks are rosy and my lips are red. I hope He likes it.

The changes in my body have been drastic since the 16th. Having the artifact inside me has sped up the process of my metamorphosis. I never eat, yet my ass and thighs have grown fatter still. They appear even bigger since my waist has not fully mimicked their growth. But this is not the most important change to note, as I have now acquired several new features that aren’t derived from either the male or female human body.

My eyes are terrifying. Or at least, they would be, was I an uninitiated pleb. I have seen too much now to be frightened by such a sight. Now, when I watch my new pupils, my new irises, it excites me, it tells me that I am being made into the form which He wants me to have. My eyes are marvelous, I can see the whole universe in them. I hope He likes it.

There is a small protuberance coming from the bottom of my spine, which I can only assume will grow longer with time. Tail? Tentacle? A third arm? I do not know, but it does not unnerve me. Boney nubs are forming on my back and on my skull, two on each and placed symmetrically. My mind can only conjure images of horns and wings slowly burgeoning on my body. Dare I say, daemonic features. And with the animalistic rendering of hellish beings in religious imagery, the hardening of my feet leads me to believe that they might be turning into hooves.

If this is what He wants me to look like for Him, then I will gladly allow these changes to continue.

-Professor A. Mulgrave

December 25th

I believe I have found the spell that I was looking for. I shall try to invoke Him agai[scribbles]

Y’thel’huk is growing restless. When I sit down to write, they climb onto me and attempt to rile me up and use me like a vulgar sexual toy. I must admit, I enjoy their intrusions into my mortal form, but I have a duty towards humanity, I must immortalize my research in ink. Although, getting ransacked by a wanton eldritch abomination sounds pretty alluring right now…

I am back at my desk and Y’thel’huk is laying in bed, satisfied. Some days, I have the feeling that they might have been a covert gift from Him, to keep me occupied and merry while I find the way to conjure his presence at my sides.

Today is Christmas. A year ago I celebrated with my family. I do not miss them today, by virtue of the more vital spirit in my life. When my sister called, I repeated the lies of a contagious illness that contrived me to my home. I assume she believed me.

New ingredients are necessary for the new ritual’s recipe, so I will need to wander outside again. I’m hesitating between skulking out at night or sneaking out in one of Margaret’s dresses in the middle of the day. I cannot imagine anyone recognizing me in the street.

-Professor A. Mulgrave

December 26th

Still need more ingredients. The University should have toads somewhere. Preferably live ones.

-Professor A. Mulgrave

December 27th

Ritual ready, hope it works.

-A. [sic]

December 28th

[This entry was written in the unknown hieroglyphic alphabet.]

December 29th

[This entry was written in the unknown hieroglyphic alphabet.]

December 30th

He is. He simply, utterly, perfectly, thoroughly, is. My life was hopelessly unpurposed before, but now, I am reborn anew. I cannot say that I love Him, because love is not strong enough of an idiom. Adoration, reverence, veneration, worship, wonder, glorification, exaltation, these concepts are all profoundly trite compared to my absolute feelings. He is my eternal goal and reason to exist.

He told me his name, however I do not see the possibility of a phonetic transcription with the limited scope of the latin alphabet. He informed me of the literal meaning in the eldritch tongue of the morphemes composing his name, but suitable words are non-existent in any human language. It does not matter. Soon, I will no longer need human language.

I cannot do justice to his appearance with mere mortal words, so I shall use his own.

[Several sentences in the unknown hieroglyphic alphabet.]

He traveled to our meager world, for me. And then, He took me. When He sodomized me, I became complete. I truly became HIS. I will never feel complete again without his perfect infernal cock expanding me. I cried out in pain and pleasure when He stretched me open, defiling my body and giving it its ultimate raison d’ĂȘtre. Every thrust inside me was an orgasm, driving me crazy with a never-ending lust that was satisfied then renewed each time his burning hot balls hit mine. His hand pulling my hair was a redundant reminder of his eternal control over my body, my soul, my very being.

It is physically impossible, as far as I thought, for me to bear offsprings. Yet, when He emptied his seed in the depths of my guts, a thousand harmonic voices informed me that I had been bred and then showered me with praise and humiliation, designations that I dare not write down here for some are so personal that I wish to keep them for myself and others are simply too obscene and graphic.

Nevertheless, I truly believe the legitimacy of his statement; I carry within me his progeny. I feel… the best way to describe it would be hope and joy, albeit I resent the diminutiveness and simplicity of humanity’s jargons compared to the expansiveness of his dialect… I feel hope and joy at the prospect of giving birth to his spawns. Even if they would rip my body apart and eliminate me upon hatching, it would be an honorable and treasured destiny for my life. But I long for it to go well, so that I may bear legions of his descendants bountifully, for the rest of eternity.

He has told me of his other lovers, his harem of men, women and others, a cornucopia of worshipping paramours. He has taken them from all over the world and since the genesis of humanity. American, French, Nigerian, Japanese, Russian, Aztec, Roman, Sumerian, Babylonian (and so many more countries and civilizations that listing them all would take me days that I would rather be spending getting ravaged by Him), some my contemporaries and others from eras of humankind that have been extinct for millennia, all living together in a never ending heap of concupiscent indulgence.

He spelled out the truths and details of my transformations. The fiendish elements, the cloven hooves, bat wings, spade-tipped tail and ram horns, were designed by Him in accordance with my perception of the wicked. The rest, the femininity, came from the recess of my own psyche. I can only acquiesce to this revelation, as the new shape of my body feels much more attuned to the way I’ve always covertly seen myself. In his great philanthropy, he has endorsed my true identity.

I have stopped signing the name Abraham some time ago, I no longer believe it fits me. I have not decided yet on a new name, but I might ask my beloved for suggestions. His language transcends the primitive concepts that are allowed with our underdeveloped vocabulary and to be truthful, it warms my heart to hear him speak it.

He has many sweet names for me, in his language and mine. I had never presumed that being called a good girl might make my knees buckle and my stomach fill with butterflies, but even the simplest words out of his mouth are enough to send me spiraling with bliss.

I will be his good obedient girl and also his willing cock-crazed slut, I shall be an exemplary mother for his brood and but also a devoted worshipper of his lust and his pleasure.

This is and will be my last journal entry. He has desecrated me in my home for long enough, now, He must return to his world. He has invited me to join Him, implying that I have a choice in the matter. With a decision between a pathetic meager life of miserable mediocrity, or an eternal existence of purposeful blissful luxury, am I truly free to determine my fate? I do not care, for my love is burning and eternal.

Y’thel’huk will be accompanying us, as they are eager to evacuate the dullness of the mortal realm and I believe they are eager to experience the debauchery of his harem.

I, being sound of mind, bequeath this house and the entirety of my possessions to my sister, which I shall never see again. May she forgive me for choosing a glorious purpose that will forever bring me away from my family.

-Professor Mulgrave, eternal servant and lover of [hieroglyphic alphabet, presumed to be the name of the eldritch being that brainwashed and abducted the professor]

[End of the Diary]