I received the book through the mail about a week before Thanksgiving. There was no return address, but the postmark was Dunwich, Mass. I didn’t know anyone from that area, but it seems someone knew me.

Saving the plain brown wrapper, I opened the box. Strange, there was no note, just an ancient, hand bound book in mint condition. The parchment was yellowed but not brittle; someone had cherished this book.

One thing I did know, this book was definitely going to pose a challenge. On closer examination, found the language was oh-too-familiar. It seemed those years conjugation and translation of Latin were about to pay off. The cover read Revenire Olim Deus.

I gathered my old high school texts and Latin dictionary. This was definitely going to be harder than translating Cicero or Vergil. I was out of practice and the book was handwritten! As I flipped through the pages, the writing became harder and harder to read, more cramped, hurried.

Assuming the proper position (cross-legged on the bed with the book and texts spread out around me, an ample supply of paper, a couple of bags of chips and a case of pop), I began to translate.

A true Latin scholar would not have agreed with my technique, but it worked for me. The first step was to find all the words I knew and write them down. I decided to skip my original process I had used in high school of rewriting the Latin on another sheet of paper. I was too eager to get it done.

A word here and there, some- times a phrase or two; it was slowly coming together. The book appeared to be a statement against a new religion, at least that is what the title implied. It translated to "Call Back the Gods of Old." I hadn’t found any reference to the standard Roman gods, but I was sure this was the case.

In several places, I found the phrase, se projicere ad pedes, which means "to fall prostrate before" or "to throw oneself at the feet of." Elsewhere (legiones ex novo dilectu con ficere), it spoke of bringing new recruits into the army to make it full strength.

Hours later, I had reached the limit of my rusty high school Latin, and someone was knocking at my door. I was half tempted to ignore it, but it didn’t sound as if it was going away and I was out of pop anyway.

Once I opened the door, I was glad I’d made that decision. Standing at the door was an old friend of mine (and fellow Latin scholar). As we ran to the store for more pop and chips, I explained what I was attempting to do. Interested, my friend offered to help.

We returned to the house, ordered a pizza, and discussed what I had come up with so far. By the time the pizza had arrived, we had corrected most of my errors and were ready to begin digging into the dictionary.

Time passed quickly as we worked through the night and into the next morning. We took a break and slept for a while, then began work again. Days passed, and empty food wrappers and pizza boxes accumulated around us. When we though of it, one of us went our for food. Sometimes we slept, but always we thought of the book. We were intent on finishing the translation so that we would know its secrets. The further we went, the harder it was to force ourselves to o slowly and accurately.

Finally, we began to piece the words together; names, places and plans began to be apparent. Both of us worked to form the sentences, consulting each other on the difficult passages, gasping in amazement as the final copy appeared.

My first thought had been wrong. The gods that the book spoke of were not the ancient Roman gods, but something much older. The book was a collection of information and spells to call these gods, including descriptions of what they looked like. More importantly, our translation was not the first, but one of many. The original text had been written in Sumarian.

By Christmas Eve, we had finished. My friend began to read the translation aloud. The room began to shift and spin. The words exploded into the dismal syrupy blackness that used to be a room. Even the darkness seemed to reverberate with each syllable. A foul smell permeated the thick air. There was a scream...

***

When I woke up, the doctors said I was found wandering the streets, mumbling to myself. No one has seen my friend. I’m told that after the nightmares stop, I’ll be able to go home.
 
 

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