An old book with no title on the cover.

The dusty, rectangular object in front of you doesn't remind you of anything in particular, when its an inch in front of your face, but when you get it at arms length you can tell its just some book. Bound in cloth, which probably isn't that weird for an old and/or fancy book, you think, but the cloth itself is weird: multiple patterns and types of fabric, stitched together haphazardly in patches. Frilly black lace joined to blue-and-white striped cotton to red-heart-pattern rayon and more, uneven but solidly sewn together.

"It's a book," you say simply to Zoe, but she's left it in your hands and turned her attention elsewhere already, digging through some pile of monster masks and what you hope are plastic prop weapons. You reason you probably shouldn't leave her down here, at least not until you can say you've done your due diligence, and so you pull up one of the sturdier looking jumbo containers and take a seat at the table, cracking open the musty old tome. The contents are borderline incomprehensible, most pages taken up by what is clearly some kind of writing, but with letters and symbols you can't possibly translate. Each chapter has a few illustrations; those are easier to understand, for better or worse, considering each and every one of them is pornographic. One page has a drawing of a group of women in various states of undress, desperately trying to cover themselves. The next page has the same group of women, though half of them are running in a panic while the others now bear smiles, willingly removing the rest of their clothing and embracing each other. You turn ahead a couple chapters as your face burns red, and find an illustration of a man, his hands bound above his head as disembodied hands poke and prod his naked body, and tug on his lovingly rendered erection. Flipping ahead again, you find a two-page mural of naked people; on one page, naked men and women, their eyes reddish-pink and their skin strangely gray, are pursuing normally-drawn humans and tearing their clothes off or feeling them up, while the second page is nothing but the strange sort-of humans, all in various, extremely detailed depictions of sex. You want to say it's off-putting, but something about it is... strangely engrossing. You just about forget where you were until you notice a shadow on the page from a figure behind you.

"Wow..." Zoe whispers, and as you turn to look you jump backwards in your makeshift seat and fall onto the floor-- the plastic demon mask Zoe had slipped onto her head was, for a moment, realistic enough to send your heart shooting up into your mouth. She's nice enough to help you up, and you're embarrassed enough not to put up a fight, despite her giggling, but as you reach for the dropped book you notice a small slip of paper having fallen out of it. You turn it over to find more of the strange script, only this time accompanied by actual English writing, not that the words make any sense to you. Without really thinking, you read them out loud to try and make sense of them.

"Klothluse Barbutta Naktu..." you mutter, sounding out each syllable, and get goosebumps as you feel an inexplicable chill pass through the otherwise musty and stagnant room.

"Brr..." Zoe says, but seems otherwise undisturbed as she takes an armful of the plastic junk upstairs with her, though thankfully having taken her mask off. You try and shake it off, tucking the book under your arm-- is the fabric slightly warm, or is it just your imagination?-- and returning to the land of the living yourself, leaving the creepy tchotchkes in the dark behind you as you shut the cellar door.