Many years ago, while running through the woods, a young lad of eight happened across the Chalice of Eternal Darkness in the hollow of an archaic, gnarled oak. Beneath the chalice was The Book of Shadows, thought to be the greatest personification of evil in the known world. Being uneducated, as most children in the 20th century were, he knew not what the strange Arabic scrawlings within the dark book meant. For any literate boy would have known not to touch the Book of Shadows; and he would have also known the dire consequences of drinking from the chalice. But the boy was ignorant to the ways of the world, so he drank the dark liquid that it contained. Feeling lively and energetic all of a sudden, he dropped the chalice and book back into the cavity, never to recall the incident again.
Jim Gorgon was insane
He took his mother's life
He used the hammer first,
So she wouldn't feel the knife
He's gone insane
He's lost his mind
On an unusually cheery day, after days of early spring rain, Jim Gorgon was enjoying the sunshine while mowing the lawn behind his Grandmother's house. The warm sun felt invigorating beating down upon his back, and it seemed to be an omen signifying good times ahead. Whistling while he worked, Jim couldn't seem to place the tune that emerged from his lips. No matter, he has just inherited the house, and fixing up the decaying old place would be a welcome, and needed, change. Other than the amorphous, dull pain at the base of his skull, life seemed better than it had in years. The pain bothered him a bit, but he wouldnt let it get him down on his eighteenth birthday.
He was almost done mowing; all that was left to do was a ten-foot strip on the threshold of the woods. He always put off that part until last. Ever since his childhood he possessed a strange phobia of the woods which could not be attributed to anything. As he slunk cautiously towards the blackness of the forest, a strange sound became apparent. From deep within the woods came an annoyingly evanescent, droning sound. An estimate of the distance eluded him, but it seemed to radiate outward from some unascertained point far within the boundaries of the wooded area. Endlessly searching for knowledge, as all high-school dropouts do, he felt that he must investigate this mysterious sonance.
As he entered the woods, the insane fear of his childhood immediately reclaimed him. The blackness of the forest seemed to impair his movements; it was a dense, weighted feeling pulsating as if it were alive. The overhanging boughs of the aged oaks and birches entwined with one another to form a dense ceiling, which managed to prohibit most light from entering. The insufficient amount of light that did pass through the rare open spots did little more than augment the eeriness of the setting. Even though the area seemed tranquil and void, life could be heard if one tried. As Jim cupped his hands over his ears, the rumbling growl of a far off bullfrog could be heard far off, along with dripping water. The place truly seemed dead. Above all though, was the steadily increasing droning.
The droning sound seemed to originate from some far off spot within the wooded area; disregarding all emotion, Jim pressed on. After what seemed to be an eternity of fighting through stiff cripple bush, Jim found what appeared to be a path. It was little more than a herd trail, but the light was stronger along it, and he continued onward.
Following the trail was in itself a mighty task to undertake. The ground sloped upward and downward rather steeply; both equally hard on the ankles and knees. In some spots Jim sank halfway up to his knees in the staunch, black mud. The trail was intersected in many locations by fallen trees, some of which took five or ten minutes to maneuver about. Steams, some large and violent, some small and tame, had to be crossed. The slight breeze picked up a bit, and Jim shuddered; the place seemed to reek of evil. But as he neared his final destination, the obsession to know what lay ahead grew.
As Jim approached the next bend in the trail, the pain in his head became nearly overwhelming. In front of him, a blinding light suddenly illuminated the path. The agonizing pain caused him to drop to his knees; he screamed. He clawed at the muddy ground in a vain effort to crawl away, but the pain effectively prohibited any action he might take.
Around Jim, the forest seemed to come alive. Trees and shrubbery writhed as if they lived, looming threateningly close. But this was only one of the many delusions that Jim suffered. The ground seemed as if it were sucking him down into the very bowels of Hell. Voices within his own head attempted to advise him.
"Run Jim, run, before he comes!"
"It's too late; you're finished!"
"Pay no heed, you must remain strong!"
For many minutes Jim fought to remain conscious. He tried to claw his way onto a nearby tree stump, but the black void of his own mind kept pulling him inward, until finally his body went limp. As his arm fell the tips of his fingers grazed the glowing, vile chalice that had suddenly appeared, suspended in midair.
Jim awoke four days later, caked with dried blood and dirt, on the floor of his kitchen. The last rational memory that he could conjure was one of the forest. But he had been in no forest; he hated the forest. Any other memories he had were just too faint for him to recall. Besides the quickly fading memory of the woods, the remainder of the four days was a total blank. But from the look of the blood it seemed as though he should get cleaned up, and fast!
He couldn't have had better timing. Just as he finished wiping up the blood off the floor, there came a knock at the door. He didn't know who it could be, but considering the circumstances, he had a pretty good idea. Opening the door revealed a young police officer with a pitying semblance about his face. It seemed Jim's mother had been brutally murdered the night before, and Jim was being asked to identify the mangled corpse. As Jim heard the news he went pale and started shaking a bit. He said he would be down the next day, and slowly eased the door shut.
His mother dead? This couldn't be.
As Jim slowly sank to the floor he realized that the forest must be the key to this macabre mystery. He must return there, against his better judgment. Then the memories of his forgotten week returned to him, and without further ado he fainted dead away.
Spill your blood, let it run on to me
Take my hand and let go of your life
Close your eyes and see what is me
Raise the chalice, embrace forevermore
You've spilt the blood
I'll have your soul
Jim found himself entering the woods again the very next day. Although this time the strange sound wasn't apparent, and neither was the evil sensation the forest had reeked of on his earlier ventures. But the memories were there, and they were enough to make him cringe in fear. Because of his actions, he felt that he must redeem himself, and avenge the lives which he had been forced to take. He would drive on through any obstacle.
The woods even seemed sort of cherry on this day, and none of the obstacles that he had encountered before were present. What had been an hour-long journey previously now took only five minutes.
As he rounded the final bend he was not at all surprised to find that the dark one was not present. Surely he would not stay when he knew that Jim would return to have his revenge. But the chalice, for which Jim had drank his mother's blood from, was lying in its eternal-resting place.
The whole night before Jim had spent every moment reading occult books, looking for any mention of the Chalice of Eternal Darkness. Many volumes contained information, but none told specifically how to destroy the sacred cup. So Jim placed it ever so gently in the sack resting on his belt.
Underneath, revealed for the first time to Jim, was the Book of Shadows. As he picked it up it slipped from his hands, falling open to a very special page.
On the page that was now facing upward, were some hastily scribbled notes. These scrawlings described how to destroy Baphomet, son of Satan. The instructions were quite clear: get Baphomet to drink from the chalice, a quantity of Holy Water. It did not matter how much, even as little as one drop would disrupt the vile beast's aura of protection. Then any conventional weapon could be used to finish the job.
This of course posed a major problem: how to get the creature to drink from the cup. Surely its age-old wisdom could not be so easily duped. Most probably the act had been tried many times before; all had obviously failed.
So Jim left the woods in search of Holy Water, which cannot be found as easily as many believe. Luckily, there was a Roman Catholic Church a few miles down the road, and in no time Jim, whose greatest skill was petty theft, had broken in and stolen a vile of Holy Water.
By the time Jim was back in the woods he had the problem of getting it to drink the water solved. Making an incision on his arm with a small piece of glass, Jim drained a small portion of his blood into the chalice. To this he added the holy water. There was still one problem though, no Baphomet. At the top of his lungs he shouted, "Nema livee morf su revilled tab. Noishaytpmet ootni ton suh deel!"
With a blinding flash of the darkest light Baphomet appeared.
"Who dares summon the powers of darkness, the spirit of evil?!?"
"Master, it is I, your lowest of lowly servants, Jim Gorgon. I have come to pay you homage. An appeasement of mine own blood. Drink it my lord, do me this honor."
Eyeing the chalice suspiciously, Baphomet studied the contents carefully, and then suddenly raised it to his lips and drank.
As soon as the liquid touched Baphomet's lips, he doubled over with an agonized grimace of pain on his face.
"What have you done?!?"
After that he screamed and babbled incoherently for some five minutes. Jim realized that he was just standing there with his mouth hanging open, and realized that he must take advantage of this opportunity at once.
Picking up a nearby branch, he drove it through Baphomet's chest. It was a valiant effort, but Baphomet just smiled at him. Then, with no warning, Baphomet's chest exploded outward, showering Jim with a dense, black blood. The carcass of Baphomet was lying on the ground, and it seemed to just fade away. Whatever it was, Jim's quest had ended. He slowly gathered his wits, and walked away.
The one thing he failed to notice was the chalice, sitting on a tree stump, filled with Baphomet's dark blood.
Many years ago, while running through the woods, a young lad of eight happened across the Chalice of Eternal Darkness in the hollow of an archaic, gnarled oak. Beneath the chalice was the Book of Shadows, thought to be the greatest personification of evil in the known world. Being uneducated, as most children in the 21st century were, he knew not what the strange Arabic scrawlings within the dark book meant. For any literate boy would have known not to touch the Book of Shadows; and he would have also known the dire consequences of drinking from the chalice. But the boy was ignorant to the ways of the world, so he drank the dark liquid that it contained. Feeling lively and energetic all of a sudden, he dropped the chalice and book back into the cavity, never to recall the incident again.