Clive Barkers Undying - Family Album - PC

8/21/2019 Clive Barkers Undying - Family Album - PC

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F RO THE JOURNL OFEREIH COVENN T

LI ZBETH 2 RON 1 4BETHN Y 24

MBRO E 33EREIH 4 4


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LIZBETH2 February 1 91 9In her birth, there was also death.I recall Lizbeths birth, when our poor

mother, Evaline, perished in the midwife sblood-soaked arms. he four of us, huddledtogether in father s library, heard the criesof our newborn sister interspersed with

father s howling lamentations.4 February 1 91 9Had she not died four years ago, Lizbethwould have been twenty-four years old on

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this day. Wasting was what the doctorsscrawled on the death certificate.

On the day she slipped from mothersdying womb, Lizbeth was marked withmore than the curious beauty spot on hercheek. For father, she became an unutterable

symbol of the familys cursed history.Before the blood-caked bedding had evenbeen thrown into the incinerator, the

midwife was back in town recounting a newchapter in the book of Covenant rumors.

Father never openly said so, but we couldalways sense something different,something very distant about him when hetalked about Lizbeth. To all outwardappearances, he treated all of us children

the same. We always knew, though, thatwith Lizbeth it was different.One thing is certain. Gazing upon her, fathercouldnt help but think back to mother. For

Lizbeth, you must understand, hadmothers grey eyes.

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2April 1 91 9Such a radiant blossom in youth, Lizbeth

wilted rapidly after returning home fromLondon. lways known as something of apoetic soul, she spent her last days

wandering alone in the family mausoleum.Instead of polite gatherings of fashionablebig city society, her audience became theskeletal remains of our ancestors. It seemedto me as if she wanted to become as familiar

as possible with the crypts inhabitantsbefore her time came to join them.By reading certain poems, Lizbeth onceconfided to me, she could feel closer to thedeparted.

23 May 1 91 9Cancer. Insidious worming cancer. I dreamof the disease invading my body like a

migrating murder of carrion crows. And if

I m not dreaming of the disease, I mdreaming of the curse . . . of siblings at oddswith their destiny. I envision mbroseflashing his criminal smirk while

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wielding with executioner-like acumen hisbloodstained axe. nd, I dream of

Lizbeth, fangs fully bared, clawing at mewith fingernails more treacherous than anassassins blade.Is this cancer a curse? Or, is the curse a

cancer? In my dreams, they both flowthrough me as sand through an hourglass.13 July 1 91 9With a future so unkind poised to embrace

me, I can t help but ruminate on the past.Our early youth, spent tramping over theEstate, was mostly carefree, or so I recall.And yet after that day of the ritual, it all

changed. From the instant we spoke the

cursed words, I knew we couldnt go back.I remember the day father announced wewouldn t be returning to school. ore

resigned than angry, he seemed receptive to

the fact that we were different from theother children. It was only much laterthat he realized how different.

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1 7 ugust 1919Lizbeth was the beautiful one. In school,

the teachers doted on her. t home, thenannies argued over which one wouldbathe and dress her.Later, of course, it all changed. he

developed the particularly nasty habit ofbiting. t first, the nannies wouldlaugh at her playful teething. The funstopped, however, when one day she drew

blood and appeared to revel at its taste.

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7 December 1 91 9Lizbeth was always obsessive when it

came to reading. he typically was fondof finding one author and readingeverything she could locate by him. If she

truly enjoyed a particular book, shedlatch onto it and read it over and over. Fora long period, for instance, she lived in thecircles of Dantes Inferno.During her London years, she grew fondof obscure writings. couring the

Bloomsbury shops, she d hunt for rareDruidic text, riddles and darkincantations.

fter returning to the Covenant Estate,

she spent much time, while stillambulatory that is, reading in themausoleum. ushed mumbling andwhispered chants filled the cold air. No

one knows what happened to her books

when she died.

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2 January 1 921 It wasnt long after her death that the

manifestations first came to my attention.While shaping the hedgerow, the oldgardener said he was startled by a

fluttering presence across the field. emoved toward the apparition but itdisappeared. e swore to me that it wasLizbeth. Others on the staff laughed athis claims, and the head butler explainedit quite simply: Its the drink, sir." But

I m not so sure.13 January 1 921

I overheard the maids in the pantry,whispering gossip while polishing silver.

"any nights Ive seen her from afar," saidone, "and I m absolutely certain . . . it s her.I know it is. ""How can you be sure though?" asked the

other."I knew that girl from the day she wasborn. hats how. Without a mother to

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hold her, and her father locked away inthe library at all hours, I nearly raised

the girl myself. You dont know someonelike that and not feel her presence . . . nomatter how tainted it may be. "23 February 1921

aron, by far the most artistic of mysiblings, painted a series of bizarreportraits during his last months. hecolors were unlike any hed used before.Indeed, it seemed as if hed discovered a

new palette of bright but strangely mutedshades. Previously, his fantasticalcreatures had existed in dark and utterlygloom-filled atmospheres. In these

paintings, however, the placement ofcreatures in bright new worlds strikes meas doubly horrible. I m not sure what ledme to hang these paintings in the house.It s as if I cant help myself.

I m drawn in particular to one painting,which depicts a sitting man with a birdshead. omething about the birdman s pose

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reminds me of the markings on an Egyptiansarcophagus. he most striking feature,

though, are the hands, which resemblepitchforks with long, blood-red tines.here's something eerily peaceful aboutthis work, as if all is calm with the creatureat present, but at any instant he might

impale you with those pitchfork hands. Ireally dont know why, but aron calledthis piece Lizbeth s Bird of Prey.13 March 1 921

nother manifestation was reportedtoday, this time from one of my mosttrusted maids. hen asked how she could becertain it was Lizbeth, the quaking maid

answered, "he eyes, sir, its the eyes."Indeed, her eyes must be the only aspectrecalling my sisters once-glorious demeanor.Like others, the maid went on to describe anapparition of utter terror. he spoke of blood

on my sisters gown, on her face, and on herhands. he didn t say "hands" though, didshe ? "Claws" is the word she used.

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23 March 1 921It began as a low-pitched rumbling sound

far off in the distance. I might havethought it was an earth tremor if the housewere shaking. Everything, though, waseerily still. s the noise increased in

pitch it also seemed to grow closer, and ifI werent so often choked with medication,I might say that a presence also crept

closer as the noise grew louder. I sat up inbed waiting for the source of the din to

manifest itself. Instead, the presenceseemed to settle in the room beneath me.here was absolute quiet for an instant,followed by an infernal howling and rapidscratching sounds, like a pack of hounds

clawing and gouging their way upthrough the floor to devour me in my bed.In the morning I examined the room below,

fully expecting the ceiling panels to beshredded and splintered. Instead, theyshone as clean as vulture-picked bone.While I stared at the ceiling, a maidwalked in. Undoubtedly, the staff has

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become accustomed to my eccentricities. WhenI questioned her about whether or not shed

heard anything the previous night, herresponse was curious:"Nothing we havent heard before, sir."

1 7 August 1 921For longer periods now I remain in bed.When I sleep, I dream of waking with ahealthy body. hen I open my eyes,stirring feebly and feeling worse than

the day before.

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8 January 1 922Lately I ve been thinking more often of

Patrick alloway. Perhaps he can assistme. During the war he was an extremelyresourceful fellow. nd, based on whatI ve heard of his exploits in recent

years, I have a feeling he may be usefulto my plight. est of all, if Im notmistaken, he remains committed torepaying his life debt.23 October 1922

y condition worsens and I ll soon bewasted down to nothing. asteningtoward the afterlife, and to the inevitablefamily reunion, I fully realize now that

I do need assistance before my time comes.hus, the letter is sent. y only hopeis that alloway answers in time.

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A A ON27 February 1919

When he disappeared last year it was, ina sense, a relief. fter so many years ofdepression, aron had become a strain on

the family. hile I was away at war,

Bethany wrote me countless lettersexpressing her worry over his situation.In the end, his manic states proved toomuch to overcome.

1 2 March 1 91 9aron always traveled a dark course.e searched to find things that had

never before been seen, and then he went14


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about painting these unreal visions. ewas not an untalented painter, and over

time he gathered something of a following.he people who attached to him, though,didnt see what he really painted. heycouldnt. Instead, they perceived what theywanted to see, interpreting his apocalyptic

visions as commentary on the war.Of the ghostly figures populating hissettings, the commentators spoke in awe ofmy brother s "trenchant depictions of ourdecayed society, flitting through the

grand ballrooms while bombs burst on thefront. " It was quite absurd really, but notsurprising that these critics and

commentators missed something that we

knew. ar from being surrealrepresentations of the world, aronspaintings were real landscapes for him.Likewise, the ghoulish characters residingin his work were just as palpable. Some

would argue that this world existed inhis head alone. nowing now what I doof our beloved Covenant Estate, I m not sosure about that.

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9 January 1 920I really dont know what went on here

between Bethany and aron while I wasaway. I found out recently that there cameto pass a time when they believed theywere the only remaining Covenants. WithLizbeth dead, mbrose missing and

presumed dead, and my letters from thefront diverted to locations unknown, thetwins believed it was time to settle theEstate between them.hats what they were up to then, when

Aaron disappeared. Bethany describedherself as inconsolable over the loss of hertwin brother. Only my unexpected returnfrom the war restored her spirits, or so

she tells me.

22 ugust 1920ometimes when I venture into the cellar Ifeel as if I can hear aron whispering my

name. aybe it s because he used to spendso much time down there, though I dontknow what he found of interest in that

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2 eptember 1920nother letter came today. ince my return,

a week hasnt gone by without some claimarriving in the post. unny how some ofthese fellows can be quite cordial, even

gentlemanly, in their demands, while othersare more hostile. It seems as if my brother

was supporting more than a few gamblerswith his diversion. Bethany claimed thathe had sworn off gambling in his lastmonths, but that is certainly not theimpression I get from these letters. I wonder

if my dear sister is hiding something fromme. Is she trying to protect the legacy of herartistic twin, or is there some other reasonfor her to mislead me in this matter ?

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30 December 1920aron began painting very early in

life

soon, in fact, after our fateful night atthe tanding tones. t first, he honedhis art by painting traditional subjects,mostly landscapes with cows if myrecollection serves correctly. Father praisedhis talent and encouraged him to pursuehis artistic inclination. fter some time,

though, we all wondered about his well-being, especially when he painted

detailed battlefield scenes. I ve witnessedmy share of warfare, but nothing socarnage-filled as his depictions.

12 January 1 921

I sent the butler to fetch me a bottle ofpanish wine in the cellar. He didntreturn for quite some time, but when hedid he was visibly shaken.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said."What is it ? Why didnt you bring thewine?"

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"heres something, sir. omething downthere. I cant go back." here were tears in

the man s eyes."Something in the cellar?" I asked. "What onearth do you mean, man?""ir, I dont know. I grabbed the bottle you

requested, but it felt as if someone waspulling on the other end. When I tugged, ittugged back. And when I looked, there

was nothing there. But there wassomething. I could feel it."

I went to the cellar and retrieved thebottle without incident.12 arch 1921I learned recently from one of the maids

that aron and Bethany engaged invenomous arguments in the days leading upto his disappearance. One particularly badargument ended when aron hurled acandelabra at Bethany. he was able to

avoid it, but not the hot wax thatsplattered in her hair. he maidremembers hearing Bethanys words as sheleft the studio:

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"My vengeance will be swift, brother, butyour suffering will linger."

17 May 1921

hroughout our school years

before fathertook us out of the systemwe were alwaysconsidered a bit odd. he other children

constantly mocked us for being different.

I remember reading aloud in class fromacbeth. Our instructor began to speak ofthe scene with the three witches, referring

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to them as a "coven." erry OLeary, one ofthe nastiest boys in the class, asked if a

"coven" was the same as a "Covenant". I canstill remember the titters in the classroom.27 July 1 921

gain, more reports of loud noises comingfrom the cellar. There s only one maid nowwho ll venture down there, and only whenI bribe her with extra wages.When she descends into the cellar, the

others huddle around at the top of thestairs and wish her well as if shessetting out to explore the earth s core.3 October 1921

I spent the afternoon sifting throughAaron s paintings. itting in his studio, aschilled as any draught-filled Left Bankgarret, I envision the artist working for

hours creating the landscapes of hisimagination.When younger, Aaron would travel thecountryside in search of subjects to paint.

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oward the end, he stayed in his roomfor days at a time, stopping just long

enough to replenish his pipe and nibble thebarest fare.e entered a truly unique fantasy world,and his admirers have compared hisphantasmagoric realms and creatures tothose depicted in the paintings ofieronymus osch. But thats not reallya fair comparison to either artist. Yes, bothpainters delighted in creating worlds

unimaginable and populating them withinhabitants not of this earth. Beyond themost superficial comparisons, however, the

similarities cease. Aaron s visions aretypically much darker more visceral. If I

were to compare him to another painter itmight be the lesser known Salvatore Rosa.In some of the Italian painters blackestpaintings, there is an air of misery

comparable to the bleak mystery of

Aarons best canvases.

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23 November 1921Ill never know what really went on

between Bethany and Aaron in the daysleading up to his disappearance. Of course,I ve heard the rumors, but the townspeople

are bound to say anything as an excuse tosend the constable knocking on my door.till, I know now that something darkoccurred. Aaron was in no state to simplywalk away from his art or from theseclusion of the Estate. Indeed, his

creditors were many, but I dont believethey were the sort who would seek fleshas repayment.23 October 1922

y condition worsens and I ll soon bewasted down to nothing. Hasteningtoward the afterlife, and to the inevitable

family reunion, I fully realize now that I

do need assistance before my time comes.Thus, the letter is sent. y only hope isthat alloway answers in time.

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BETHANY 5 February 1 91 9

I was always fond of Bethany when wewere young. Of all my dear brothers andsisters, she was the one most similar to mein temperament. rowing up on the Estate,both of us were extremely inquisitive,

always asking questions and searching formore knowledge. Many late nights wespent burning the candle in fatherslibrary. hough we were close in manyways, Bethany was always very guarded

about what she read. If truth were told,however, I was too.Weve drifted far apart since those days.

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23 February 1919I m not sure what Bethany does all day

in her greenhouse. Its strange she spendsso much time tending her plantsshenever seemed the nurturing sort to me.25 February 1919

he comes and goes without saying muchof anything, residing exclusively in thecottage now . . . when shes not spending

time with her plants or off on one of her

excursions, that is.While she was away on a recent jaunt toLondon, I attempted to force my way intoher greenhouse. Pausing outside thedoorway, I felt as if someone or somethingwas watching my every step. I turned thedoorknob, but the door wouldnt budge.

When I pushed against the door, it felt asif someone was leaning against it to

prevent my entrance. oolish, I know, sinceno one besides Bethany goes into thatdreary hothouse.

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18 March 1 91 9Each of my siblings responded

differently after the ritual. aron, forinstance, wallowed deeper and deeper inhis loneliness, finding solace only withinhis art. Bethany, though, was just the

opposite. From the start, she wantedmore

more knowledge and more power.

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13 September 1919I asked Bethany if I could accompany her

on her ride today. hough the doctorsays I shouldnt strain myself, I wantedto see where she goes on these excursionsthrough the woods. It didnt matterthough, since she dismissed my request

with all the insolence of a spoiled whelp.Father was the only person she reallyshowed any respect for. After his death,Bethany spent more and more time withhermits and scholarly ancients. Lately,

shes been consulting the noted occultist,Count Otto eisinger.1 December 1 91 9he hourglass drains at a maddeningly

uncertain pace. Whether half empty orsieving downward to the last grain ofsand, the doctors wont prognosticate. Fivemonths, they offer, or five years. "It s hardto say," they drone, urging me to rest

while plying me with more medicines. Idont feel much confidence in these doctors,as they are the same bland fellows whotreated Lizbeth into the grave.

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1 2 December 1919I confronted Bethany this morning and

demanded to know what she was up towith Keisinger. he laughed with all thebrazenness of a mock-alley harlot before

turning her back and strutting away.Hard to believe that there was once a time

she treated me with respect. Conspire withhim as she may, itll do her little good. Inthe end, somehow, I will have the final say.24 December 1 91 9Its been years since weve celebrated theholiday season at this house. till, the cookwill prepare a grand feast and I ll sit

alone in the dining hall, toasting memories

of my dead and long forgotten ancestors.o father, I ll raise my glass and praisehim wholeheartedly for providing us withsuch a baneful existence. Through him we

gained access to the forbidden knowledge

that would forever shape the Covenantdestiny. Looking back, I now wonder if itwasnt fortuitous that mother perishedgiving birth to Lizbeth. At least she was

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spared the agony of watching heroffspring succumb one by one to this

infernal curse.nd, of course, I ll toast each of mydeparted siblings. o your health, dearbrothers and sisters, wherever you may be.

20 pril 1 920I could spend the rest of my lifethoughthat might not be the best gauge of

timelooking through fathers books andother papers and never get to the bottom ofwhats strewn about this house. heremay have been order at one point, but since

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anything. hough I do know Bethanytook a number of ancient books to her cottage.

2 June 1 920I found a notebook in the library. "Eternal

Autumn " was scribbled across its cover. Irecognize the scrawl as Bethanys. All of the pages have been ripped from the book.

1 9 ugust 1920fter paying another visit to the

greenhouse, I grow more convinced thatBethany is cultivating some nefarious plot.I put my boot to the door, demanding shelet me in. Her laughter, loaded with spite,

mocked my attempt to gain entrance. he

knows only too well that Im too weak topay off on any threats to break throughthe door.he whispered to another, but I couldnt

make out the strangers voice. Perhapseisinger is with her ? Or another ofher mentors?

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"Leave us, Jeremiah. Conserve what littlestrength remains."

At this point, I m in no condition toconfront my sister. Retribution must wait.7 January 1 921

Yesterday, Keisinger carried Bethanyscorpse into the drawing room. He seemedappropriately mournful, speaking verylittle and revealing nothing at all abouthow she died. How has it come to pass

that he should be the one to carry herlifeless body home?1 September 1921

I found an old photograph of my wartimecompanion, Patrick alloway. Hard tobelieve he s been exiledsuch a good lad in

the war. Even though I was hiscommanding officer, I felt a strong kinship

with Galloway, and our bond grewexceedingly strong after the night of thersanti raid. It came to pass that he feltas if he owed his life to me.

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Prior to his hasty departure for thecontinent, Galloway had built a sterling

reputation. Of course, that was before thatgrisly business at the ock of Cashelnearly ruined him. But the Galloway Iknew could never have been sobloodthirsty or so utterly ruthless . . .

unless he had good cause.Perhaps he could be of service to his old,dying commanding officer.23 October 1922y condition worsens and I ll soon bewasted down to nothing. Hasteningtoward the afterlife, and to the inevitablefamily reunion, I fully realize now that I

do need assistance before my time comes.hus, the letter is sent. y only hope isthat alloway answers in time.

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33

BRO E18 ept ember 1920Even when mbrose was young, he

was a hellion . . . an absolute demon.

Father used to be quite tolerant of hisrebellious streak, often encouraging himto carry on by praising what hereferred to as mbroses "independentspirit. "

Being the eldest, I had some controlover mbrose in the early years, butthere came a time when no one could


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keep him in check. He often actedimpulsively. Yet, whenever he backed his

action with even a modicum of thought, hecould devise horrors unfathomable. Hegrew into wickedness as if it were hiscalling.

20 December 1 920s he does every couple of months or so,the constable dropped in to ask if wedheard from mbrose. hough our brother

grew to be despised by us all, we aredetermined to keep this a private familymatter. Even if I knew of his whereabouts,

I wouldnt tell.

3 January 1 921mbrose picked fights with almostevery boy in our school, and after hedbeaten them all individually, hechallenged them to gang up against him.

He never lost a fight.

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Once a traveling carnival came to town.Unbeknownst to father, we slipped out of

our beds and went to the show. t theentrance, we went in different directions.Lizbeth and Bethany spent the eveningtoying with adame ai-ling, a renowned

fortuneteller. Aaron danced alone all night

in the House of irrors. I followedmbrose.We entered the largest tent. Loud cheers

erupted from the considerable audiencesurrounding a boxing ring as hor theagnificent sent challenger afterchallenger to the canvas, dispatching them

with what seemed to me superhuman ease.mbrose somehow convinced the ringmaster

to let him have a go against hor.Laughter rained down on my brother ashe slipped through the ropes. Even the

vanquished challengers, the men atringside with puffy eyes, loosened teeth

and bloody gums, perked up and laughedat this absurd pairing. ith a single

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hooking punch, mbrose knocked theunbeaten hor off his feet and triggered

a deathly silence amongst the onlookers.he physician reported to my father thatit wasnt mbroses punch that killed thecarnival boxer as much as it was anaccumulation of blows suffered over the

course of a very long pugilistic career. fterthat night there werent any more schoolfightsthe other boys ran away whenever

they crossed paths with my brother.

15 arch 1 921Every now and again I hear of mbrosesightings. he stories sound more like

fantasy than fact. drunken stevedore

once swore he saw my brother captaining apirate galleon in the Indian Ocean. ndedgewick, that lost soul of a lighthousekeeper, persists in his claim that mbrose

sails even now off our coastline.

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Once, whispering in my ear as if to tellme a dark family secret, edgewick

confided that mbrose feeds off of thetownspeoples sacrificial offeringsofferings that include goats and infants.

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here was also the recent tale, told byan old coal merchant, who spied mbrosestriding across the northern pastures,towards the lighthouse. he only part


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of the yarn that interests me is thatmbrose was in the company of a

rsanti pack. Other than the associationwith those heathens, I cant find a wispof truth in the merchants tale.I cant say for certain that my brother isdead, but I do know it would take much

to bring him back here.11 pril 1 921

maid saw a rsanti stealing foodfrom the pantry. heyve become bold.Fortunately the thief didnt spy her orthe crime of theft would have surely turnedinto that of murder.

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7 ugust 1921I rowed the skiff over to the Island of the tanding tones. In my weakeningcondition, I dont know how much longerI ll be able to row myself. I grow tired ofcounting on the servants for everything,

yet what else can I do ?I feel certain, familiar presences when Iwalk amongst the ancient monoliths. he

wind whipped and howled and onevenemous gust almost knocked me over. In

the distance I heard what seemed to be afamiliar name . . . "mbrose."

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40

13 October 1921he doctor insists on more bloodletting.

Does he think his efforts fool me intohoping for a cure? Little does he know, Icomprehend the dire situation better than

hell ever realize. I tell him to leave mebelet me wither in peaceyet he persists

in this treatment.30 November 1921Insanity has passed down through my

family from generation to generation,striking Covenant sons and daughters likea hereditary curse.Like any proud patriarch crowing over hisoffsprings accomplishments, father used tobrag that the curse had stopped at hisbrood. t the time of his death, though, he

must have known this wasnt true.4 December 1921he rsanti have been haunting mymemories and dreams of late. Otherrecollections of the war fade, yet that


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night remains vivid. I cant shake thevision of their dark faces and the

shadowy movements in the moonlessnight. I smell the dank unwashed odor oftheir clothing. nd most of all I hearthe whispers of their unfathomable tonguerising into a high-pitched, frenzy-filled

war cry. Finally, I remember thenothingness of the coma, and then wakingwith alloway at my bedside.I couldnt quite remember the final

moments of the battle, but I could tellfrom alloways words that somethingextraordinary had taken place. Hethanked me for saving his life and

pledged a life debt. With conditions

around here deteriorating, maybe the timehas finally come to collect on his promise.1 pril 1 922When mbrose found fathers body in the

games room, he claimed it must have beena fall that did him in. Indeed, it musthave been quite a fall to cause such a

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gaping contusion. he wound was moresuggestive of a powerful blow with a blunt

object, like a club, or a log, or a billiardsstick even.It wasnt long after fathers death that

mbrose mysteriously fled from the Estate.

1 2 June 1 922hought dead, or at least as good as dead,for so long, mbrose returned today todemand his inheritance. I was surprised, to

say the least, at his reappearance, but notas surprised as he was when the constablesarrived quickly on his heels. Indeed, theword spreads quickly when youre a

wanted man.

It all happened so fast, but no sooner hadmy brother returned to the Estate, than hewas gone again, and this time for good. He

must have viewed the suicide leap from the

cliffs as preferable to a lifetime in prison.Now its certainI am the last Covenant.

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23 October 1922y condition worsens and I ll soon bewasted down to nothing. Hastening

toward the afterlife, and to theinevitable family reunion, I fully realize

now that I do need assistance before mytime comes. hus, the letter is sent. yonly hope is that alloway answers in time.

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44

EREIH

3 February 1919Looking back on the tale of my life, Igrasp for answers as I gasp for air. Thestory seems to change as I recount it, the

details shifting as if alive. Its as if Ivebeen walking down a familiar corridorand I see the doors to the rooms of my

brothers and sisters. Yet, every time I openthe door, something new appears.But I cant help myself. I must write itall down. I must tell it all.


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6 December 1 91 9I write in this journal partly out of habit

and partly now to make some sense of thecurse plaguing my family. If thisscribbling helps me, or someone else, to

understand the mystery, then it s worththe effort.

1 anuary 1 920In 1691, when my ancestors purchased

this property, the only sign of habitation

was the ancient monastery, and even thenit was in ruins. y brothers and sistersused to play amongst the dilapidatedwalls, but Ive never felt comfortable there.

7 arch 1 920he physician warned I d have periodsof little or no appetite. Its not the hunger

that troubles me as much as the burning

nausea and bilious yellow-greenexpectoration. he apothecarys biliousremedies offer no respite.

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15 ay 1920he Covenant family tree. I ve studied it

for years. Decay and disease coursethrough our line from deepest root touppermost branch. In certain ways, Iconsider myself fortunateeven this cancer

is preferable to some strain of lingeringdementia.21 September 1920eopened by father in 1880, the Estate

had been dormant for nearly sixty years,inhabited only by rats, insects, and theghosts of forgotten ancestors.oon after returning the family to theEstate, father unearthed the Standing

Stones. s this archeological hobbyturned into his lifes passion, andcurious intrigue transformed into all-out

obsession, father worked at nothing all

day if it didnt lend itself towardpenetrating the stones cryptic symbolism.

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27 December 1 920I received word from London that Bethany

clings to eisinger like a succubus. hes longsought after men of his naturethe self-proclaimed magi of our day. When shestaken all he has to offer, shell spurn him,

as she has all the others. Its easy to see

what she wants with him, for his learningis vast and his powers formidable.

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1 January 1 921Perhaps it was the blend of medication

with champagne, but I had the mostcurious dream. I was in the smoking room,sitting in fathers old chair. It was darkexcept for the glow of my pipe.

I struck a match to rekindle the bowl. Inthat flash of an instant when the flameshown brightest, I realized I was notalone.urrounded by my brothers and sistersand by creatures I could never dare toimagine while awake, I couldnt move from

my chair. It was as if a spell rooted me tothe chairs fabric. It was a dream so real Icould smell it. t first, there was thesickly sweet aroma of Lizbeths lilacperfume; and then I whiffed the chemical

taint of arons oils. inally, I gagged onthe unholy smell of charred and

gangrenous flesh that was a thousandtimes worse than anything I dencountered in the war. While I choked onthe essence of death and dying, my

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siblings and the other festeringabominations drew near, closing in about

me, suffocating me with their malodor,and ripping my flesh with fingers andfangs. When I awoke I prayed for an endto this torment and for this disease to

bring a swift and merciful death.

1 6 January 1 921When I found the book in the library onthat cold morning over twenty years ago,I dont know what led me to read its

mysterious contents. Nor do I know whatbrought me to gather the others and leadthem to the tanding tones to repeat theincantation. Just a child s game, I ve

always said. But, deep down, there musthave been something else, some otherpresence that led me to the book and thatled us to the Island of the tanding

tones.

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3 February 1921Eventually I told father about the ritual.

He redoubled his efforts to unravel themystery of the stones, but he never trulysucceeded as far as I know. It was

something that baffled him to his grave.

hortly before his untimely death, fatherdiscovered a manuscript of obscure Celticlegends. In one tale, a king sacrificeshimself to prevent his clans extinction.he immolation and burial of the Celt

takes place on a misty island topped by aring of monoliths. ather was convincedthis legend related to our tanding tones, though he never explained to mewhy he believed this so strongly. With his

passing it became just another one of hisunproven theories.26 February 1921

strange whispering noise disturbedmy reading last night. Perhaps a maidwhispering at me from the other side of

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the door, I thought at first. eady toscold, I crossed the room. When I got to the

door, however, the whisper seemed to becoming from the opposite directionyes, itseemed to be coming from outside thewindow. I carried a candle to the windowand put it against the panenothing there.

In a dizzying matter of seconds, thesound grew into a voluminous wail,something akin to what you might hearinside a slaughterhouse if the cries of thebutchered beasts were amplified to an

unnatural reverberation. midst the din,I realized that it wasnt outside. No, thenoise came from within my bedroomit

was all around me. Moreover, when I

covered my ears, the howl only grewlouder. I lay on my bed fullyexpectingand indeed perhaps wishingfor this infernal sound to paralyze my

brain or worse. s quickly as it

materialized, the noise ceased, andeventually I slept

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I dreamt of a dreary autumnal setting.I cant recall many details of the vision

other than its brimming sense of bareness.s I stood on a precipice, overwhelmed bythe suffocating despair of the place, I hadthe distinct feeling that I wasnt alone.Before I could confront my nightmare

demons, I woke in a feverish sweat.hough I was quite alone in my bedroom,the feeling that someone, or something,was watching me did not disappear.

3 May 1921Not even springtime lends brightness tothis place or lifts me from this abyss ofgloom. hough signs of rejuvenation are

littered throughout the land, I feelnothing but a pervasive dampness. reesthat lay dormant all winter long nowrevive with newly infused greenery, andhibernating creatures stir from their

season-long slumber. Yet, with this diseasemarching through my core, this may wellbe my last earthly spring.

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21 June 1 921hree cups of tea and a piece of dry cake.

Thats all the sustenance I could taketoday.13 eptember 1922

I know these painless periods wont lastlong. he doctor buoys me with hope, butI ve grown weary of his bedside cheer.How much professional satisfaction can hetake in prolonging my life by a number of

ticks of the clock ? s the ink dries onthe death certificate, hell have a cigar andpat himself on the back for giving me afew superfluous pain-wracked seconds. Iwonder how hell feel when hes the one

shivering on the examination slab ? Nomatter how you look at it, doctor, theendfor all of usdraws near.

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23 October 1922y condition worsens and I ll soon be

wasted down to nothing. asteningtoward the afterlife, and to the inevitablefamily reunion, I fully realize now that I

do need assistance before my time comes.hus, the letter is sent. y only hope is

that alloway answers in time.

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Covenant Family lbum Written byreg oensch

Designed by the Big Idea rouprt by Jeff aynie, Brian ortonpecial hanks to all who contributedto the Family lbum, including CliveBarker, Brady Bell, Jon alvan, DaveNash, Lincoln Hershberger, JillianGoldberg, Ede Clarke, enee iggins,Justin cLeod, Ben Smith, Adrienne

Rogers, John Burns, Larre SterlingINSTLL & AEPL Y UIDEee the Install & ameplay uideincluded with Clive Barkers Undying

for the following information: Installation and other technicalsupport information Basic gameplay information

complete list of Clive BarkersUndying creditsundying.ea.com

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ibc1

Software and Documentation 2001Electronic rts Inc. Electronic rts,

Undying, E AES and the EAES logo are trademarks or registeredtrademarks of Electronic rts Inc. in the

U.S. and/or other countries. ll rights

reserved. E AES is an ElectronicArts brand.


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