In vain, I tried to convince myself I had a fake, an elaborate prank, or an attempt at fraud, but as I ran my fingers over the taut leather cover – taut leather that bristled with goosebumps at my touch, as if still possessing a modicum of life – I knew I had in my possession no less than an authentic copy of that blasphemous tome discussed in hushed tones amongst the darker occult circles, rumoured to be penned by inhuman hands: the dread Necronomicon.

  I searched the Professor’s bequeathed belongings for documents concerning the Necronomicon. What had she read, what had she translated? What odious rituals had she dared perform? Despite my efforts, and repeated meetings with the executor and the other beneficiaries of her estate, I could not locate any papers or research concerning the book now sitting on my reading desk. Had they been misplaced, or purposely destroyed, or had the Professor simply not progressed far in her abominable work before she died? I had no answers.

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  I put the tome away and made plans to deliver the Professor’s entire library to saner minds, such as her former colleagues at my old alma mater Miskatonic University, in nearby Arkham, Massachusetts, for already my mind was reeling, as I darkly considered the sinister possibilities the Necronomicon represented.

  Despite my plans, I soon returned to my desk, and my nights were filled with occult wonder, as I found I was wholly unable to rid myself of the blasphemous tome. The book was unmistakably a major find, and evidently a formative text, describing in minute detail the burial practices and superstitions of the ancient Sumerians, and I knew that whoever could decipher its strange passages would be assured significant standing – a lecture series, or perhaps tenure at a prestigious college.

  Already I had noted several illustrations that seemed eerily similar to modern embalming practises.