There have been many tales told of nights such as this, tales of demons, witches, ghouls, goblins and all manner of foul creatures who seek to enter the world of man when the night sky is at its darkest, the fog at its thickest and when the moon has given itself to the sick and putrid yellow glow of the underworld. Under such a dark and dreadful night, a thin priest dressed in snow white robes rushes from the safety of the church clutching a lantern lit by a fire in his left hand and a worn out leather brown book in his right hand. He sprints to a small one horse drawn carriage which sits at the base of the church's stone steps as he pants and gasps for air the priest tells the frightened stagecoach,
“Take me to Whitewater village next to Crystal Lake and hurry I must reach it within the hour.”
The exhausted priest then throws open the carriages wooden door and staggers inside. Once the stagecoach sees the priest is inside he cracks his long black whip on the backside of the horse, by which it lets out a horrifying below.
As the horse takes off toward their destination the priest opens the leather book and quickly begins flipping through its tattered pages until he reached page fifty-seven which is stained with dried blood. As he begins to read the words aloud
“To open the portal one must drink the blood of the Elder Gods and sacrifice the purity of a child by offering them to the ones beneath”, the priest instantly becomes gripped with fear as the words flow from his mouth, his hands begin to shake uncontrollably and his grip on the book tightens so much it begins to tear and rip the pages from their seams.The priest then mutters the words,
"How could the witches of the Lake be this powerful..." under his breath so as to not draw attention from the stage coach who seems to already be weary of the night. The priest sighs heavily as he leans back in his seat to try and relax his hands still clinging to the book ever so tightly. An hour or so goes by and the carriage makes a hard stop in the middle of a dirt road. The priest is shaken by the stop and is throw into a fit of fear and anxiety he slowly comes to his sense and, opens the cabin door and, climbs out the carriage he looks around and, sees that they are in the middle of the woods he then to the front and, looks at the stagecoach with an expression of bewilderment, "Why have we stopped here we have but ways still left to go?". The stagecoach looks at the priest with a face of fear and uncertainty and says “I know what waits for us ahead priest these lands they are cursed by the sisters of Crystal lake-I'll not go any further, you can walk the rest of way and pay me half the promised price.” He points to a small dirt path at the edge of the road, “Take this path it should lead to the village you seek”.
The priest sighs heavily, but makes no fuss of the matter and tosses the stagecoach a bag of coin. The stage coach catches the coin bag and quickly turns his wagon around and heads in the direction he came from. The priest watches until the stagecoach disappears into the darkness of the night, once he can no longer see him he turns and hesitantly starts on the beaten path the stage coach referred to. The priest grips the cloth above the chest with his sweaty palms in an attempt to keep his heart from leaping from his body, then in a shaky and uncertain tone he utters a line of words to reassure himself, "You can do this you need but remain calm..".
The priest's legs rattle and shake with every step he takes down the old dirt path, he jumps with every slight rustle of the trees, his skin crawls with every howling of the wolves, his slips further into the clutches of paranoia. In a fit of madness the priest begins rambling to himself "What am doing here, how did I get here it was those witches they've cursed me, The priest grows hysterical he sprints down the path still clutching the book and lantern in his hands, out of pure fear the priest shouts from the top of his lungs "Is there no one in this whole godforsaken woods???".
Not paying attention to his terrain he trips over a branch and falls to the ground. As he lays there on the cold dark ground he can hear the sound of water hitting the shoreline. He slowly staggers to his feet with the book still clutched in his hands tightly and continues to walk down the path. An hour had passed and he finally made it to the lake. The air smelled of dead fish and rotting bodies, the water was dark and murky. As he walked along the beach covering his nose from the smell, he could hear the sounds of whispering voices from beyond telling him to leave. But he did not listen instead to the warnings that were given he decided to wait as instructed. Much time had passed before the moon was at its highest and a thick fog covered the water.
The priest stared as the fog got closer to the shoreline gripping the book even harder. The fog began to cover him, too scared to move he stood and waited In the distant, he heard a noise of something moving in the water it was the sound of a row boat pushing its way to shore. As it got louder he started to see the boat get closer. It stopped when it reached the sand and in the boat was an old woman wearing a black hooded cloak. She slowly climbed out the boat holding a staff. She looked at the priest with her pale white eyes and an old wrinkled face she gave a terrifying grin. Slowly she raised her hand and pointed at the priest and said, "Get in the boat priest the sisters are waiting.".