Derby Police Department, Connecticut
Evidence 0906-B
Audio transcript recovered from a mobile device
I see that my device still has power.
I only hope it's enough to record my voice one last time.
My name is Jason Walder, and if you are listening to this recording, it means that I no longer exist. But before I disappear completely, I want to leave a warning: whoever undertakes that search—for whatever reason—will pay a heavy price, as I did. There are supernatural things in this world that cannot be explained, and it is best to stay away from them. Sometimes ignorance keeps us free from certain horrors.
I was warned.
And still, I dove in.
In the end, I became bound to the fate of the damned.
I graduated from UCLA with a degree in Ancient History. My fascination with runes and Viking settlements led me to Norway, where I was accepted at the Haakon VII Institute of History for postgraduate research. While exploring the institute's basements one afternoon, looking for old documents, I came across a curious object kept there without classification.
It was a worn valise, reportedly found in the early nineties, lost in a remote forest of the fjords by a group of explorers. Inside were documents stamped with the Ahnenerbe insignia, a strange non-human skull, a ring engraved with delicate filigree and symbols that matched no known alphabet or runic system I was familiar with, and several personal items—including an SS officer's uniform.
But the most intriguing object was an incomplete journal, describing the progress of an expedition in search of a cave marked on a faded map. I spent hours trying to locate it on Google Maps.
At the bottom of one page, a single word caught my attention: Ragnarök.
Intrigued, I began researching the origin of the suitcase's contents and soon found myself immersed in a strange world of Norse epics and Nazi pseudoscience.
Part of the Ahnenerbe's secret mission had been to locate mystical artifacts such as the Holy Grail, the Ark of the Covenant, and the Spear of Longinus. According to the notes in the diary, the Ahnenerbe had launched a specific expedition in Norway to find one of these so-called objects of power, supposedly mentioned in an ancient Roman chronicle.
Driven by curiosity, I tried in vain to persuade the institute to approve a research expedition. My request was dismissed as unrealistic—useless, they said—but I suspected there were deeper wounds behind their refusal: national trauma, historical shame. When all seemed lost, my patron appeared—a powerful Swedish industrialist who offered to fund the research himself.
And so, on a clear summer day, I departed for those forests with an expedition sponsored by his company, which provided every resource we needed as we ventured into the fjords, heading into the unknown.
After days of traveling through the woods, we reached the point indicated by the journal and the map—the cave that had been the focus of the German investigation. It was blocked by a landslide that had sealed it decades ago. We dug for days, delayed by torrential rains that forced us to halt the work repeatedly. When at last we broke through, we entered—and found a horrifying sight.
There were German corpses, long dead, trapped inside the cave. Their skeletons lay in strangely stoic postures, as if resigned to their fate—men who had simply chosen to fall asleep while waiting for death.
We explored deeper until we discovered an enormous chamber that stunned us with its scale and eerie beauty. It resembled a temple—a mithraeum carved directly into the rock. The walls were covered in intricate reliefs depicting beasts and human figures with wolf heads. At the center stood a monolith, beneath a black sun carved high into the ceiling. Its four faces were engraved with Norse runes, Greek letters, and the same mysterious symbols that appeared on the ring.
For days I examined and documented this extraordinary find.
Then, one night, while we slept, our camp was attacked—by wolves, or so I thought.
Amid the chaos, I fled and hid, while the creatures slaughtered and devoured the members of the expedition. From my hiding place I saw enough to know they were not wolves. They were something far worse.
At moments they rose on two legs, howling into the night before striking their victims. Their eyes glowed with a demonic light. One of them spotted me, and when our eyes met—those eyes, burning violet—I felt as if I were staring straight into Hell. It would have leapt upon me had not a fellow explorer fired his shotgun, drawing it away long enough for me to escape.
That night I was the only one left alive. Perhaps it would have been better to die.
For days I wandered, lost, until she found me.
She was a girl of the forests, her violet eyes reflecting the moonlight. A wild, untamed beauty that ensnared me. She helped me, protected me… cared for me. She became everything.
And in the time she allowed me to remain by her side, I learned of her world.
Then I understood who those beasts truly were—their story was carved on the monolith in that underground temple. They were of an ancient cursed lineage, condemned to live in Europe's shadowed forests, hunted until they fled north to hide in the wilderness of Norway. According to their lore, they had once been guardians of a relic—the same object of power that had obsessed the Germans.
Through her, I also learned of their enemies: other creatures who had lived among us for millennia, shaping history from within, guiding humanity's destiny as observers—or as rulers.
When winter came, she allowed me to return to my people. I refused. I wanted to stay—to know more about her and her kin. She warned me not to, but love—or something like it—blinded me.
I gave my soul and blood to her clan. For a while, I was happy.
But as she foretold, it would come with consequences.
Within the clan, some believed I could lead them to the lost relic, the one buried by time—
a dreadful secret sleeping somewhere in Europe, waiting to awaken and bring about the resurgence of their kind, the rebirth of terror, and their conquest over mankind.
I understood then—too late—the danger. She had warned me.
War broke out within the clan. Those who sought to protect me fought those who wished to use me.
She protected me to the very end, giving her life so that I could escape.
I fled, carrying what was left of us both—our treasure, the fruit of our love. Love… such an abstract, absurd thing.
Now I am a wandering creature, cursed and alone. I have no clan, no family. As long as I remain near them, they are in danger. I hide, far from all, haunted by my own demon—my curse. Yet they hunt me still, the ones who dwell in Norway's dark woods, seeking the power they once lost and claim as their inheritance.
The horror waits for its master. It wants to be awakened. It calls from its tomb.
They have heard it—through me. The horror used me. And now they seek it, guided by the light of the Black Sun. They wish to unleash a third Ragnarök.
And now, here I am—inside an abandoned house in the forests of Connecticut.
I sit waiting as the last rays of sunset fade, and the trees become one lifeless mass. Everything around me blurs like an overexposed film. I hear the rain drumming on the warped wood above me—a rhythmic tapping like a heartbeat.
I can hear them coming.
The townsfolk. The authorities. Their dogs, following my trail through the wet leaves.
I, Jason Walder, confess that I regret what I've learned… but not that I met her.
I ask forgiveness from those I harmed.
And I only wish—perhaps in the next world—to see her again, and spend eternity with her in the House of the Wise Balakan.
Though I never believed in such things.
I told her so once. She only smiled, her violet eyes shining with the depth of mystery itself.
But one thing is certain:
it is calling.
It wants to awaken.
The terror is rising.
Lights glimmer in the shadows—eyes of demons watching me.
No… lanterns.
The search parties.
They're here.
They've come for me.