In Winter of 1998, I was staying in Talkneetna, a remote town in Alaska, hiking across vast areas of wilderness. I was several days into a particularly remote hike when I came across a cabin. I had no reason to believe that anyone had been in this area for years, and the snow surrounding the cabin had no tracks, so I decided to investigate further.
This was as ramshackle a cabin as one is likely to find. Constructed with logs and rope, it was clear that it had been assembled by a person with only a rudimentary understanding of how to build in the wilderness. Mounted above the door was a human skull with the antlers of a beast sewn into the bone. I must admit, even I, who am familiar with evil places, felt a chill crawl up my spine. Nevertheless, I gathered my courage and entered the cabin.
Inside I found a small fireplace which had not been lit in years. Desks and shelves lined the walls, littered with tools, papers, and other innocuous junk. There was a single bed in the back corner of the cabin, with a mattress which had decayed long ago. Resting atop it was a human skeleton.
Yet the dead person’s remains were not what captured my attention. Instead, I was drawn to the stone alter in the center of the room. It stood at waist-height, and there were hooks embedded into the stone, attached to chains, which laid unfurled, rusted, and frozen to the dirt floor.
In the center of the blood-stained alter was a notebook. Scribbled on the cover was, “The Diary of a Worthless Soul, his Maggot, the Unworthy Fiend”. The first pages bore scientific diagrams of skeletons, ligature systems, and capillary paths. As I continued flipping, I found maps of towns and trails in Alaska, sketches of demons and beasts, and notes detailing the movements of specific individuals throughout the week.
What truly made my skin crawl, though, were the pages upon pages of spells and incantations; detailed rights and rituals to summon demons, curse individuals, and pay homage to the devil. Most of these scribblings demanded the usage of human body parts, including specific descriptions, such as “eyeballs recently plucked from a middle-aged male”, and “the blood of a woman, freshly spilled.”
It was clear that evil had resided in this cabin. I quickly gathered whatever items I could; pens, pots, knives, daggers, various tradesmen’s tools, the notebook itself, and a rusted old Clamp. I left the skeleton untouched. I imagine these were the remains of the cabin-owner, and whatever evils he had brought upon himself I did not want transferred onto me.
Upon returning to Talkneetna, I packed up my things and headed to Anchorage, where I reported to the police what I had found. They informed me that they would investigate. I did not hear from them again, so I decided to instead do my own research.
I began by looking into missing persons reports from the 1970’s. I was not surprised to come across each of the names I found in the diary. Oliver English, a 37-year-old married man with a family, disappeared in 1972. Sophia Write, 17, was kidnapped from her backyard in 1974, and never seen again. Charlotte Montoya, 31, disappeared the following year. Jacob Kinsley, aged 24, disappeared 1976. Jennifer Woundston. Alexander Frontenac. Benny Wraxton. In the end, I found that all seven individuals tracked in the notebook had disappeared between 1972 and 1978.
I do not know exactly what the fate of these missing individuals was, but I do believe that terrible things were done to them. Between the various tools in the cabin and the detailed notes for spells, concoctions, and incantations, I can only imagine the nightmare that these poor souls endured before their eventual passing.
I do still hold many of the items I took from the cabin in my possession, including the diary itself. This, I do not believe I will ever part with, as I would not want the writings and recipes to fall into the hands of the wrong person.
However, I do feel that it is time I release some of these items from my collection. While I do not know if there is any residual power on them from the black magics which they were used for, it is possible. Regardless, the items carry with them a heaviness, a burden, which I can no longer endure.
To the person who purchases the Serial Killer’s Clamp, the item will be meticulously packaged, and delivered with a copy of its history. Thank you for reading this tall tale, and I wish you all the best.
Signed,
J. W. Smithworth
Smithworth's Tall Tales & Associated Trinkets 