According to Reddit lore, today’s creepypasta – the first of two chapters – was once posted on a now-defunct forum primarily focused on… well, let’s call them “unorthodox experiments.” Topics on that board were said to have been sourced from actual research and included a wealth of data – including documents, photos and video clips – from users whose writings and media uploads ranged from poorly-researched conspiracy theories to legitimately convincing and deeply disturbing content.
Some of the topic threads included vaguely threatening, bizarre and even terrifying “revelations” from otherwise authoritative-sounding “expert” contributors, many of whose sources and credentials seemed legit – at least to the best of the group’s knowledge (many Redditors diligently follow up these leads… trust me on that one).
One such “authority” was W.M. Emmitt, Ph.D.
The brief but intense series of contributions to the forum, apparently uploaded by Dr. Emmitt’s teaching assistant (whose real identity remains unknown), were a source of endless fascination, ridicule, puzzlement, and a fair share of trolling… but to those foolish enough to dig deeper, these brief entries often become a source of profound horror.
While he was a noted professor of Anthropology, Dr. Emmitt’s research and writings were almost entirely focused on occult, arcane and esoteric subjects, and he claimed to be one of the world’s foremost experts on artifacts with mythical connections to supernatural beings and forces.
Emmitt’s work was considered historically significant, and he published several papers about various occult-based antiquities; he even curated a prominent museum exhibit of such objects in the late 1970s. But decades later, the focus of his research began to narrow steadily – until, over the past decade, his entire field of work had been reduced to the meticulous study of a single relic: a small gemstone known among collectors as “The Eye of Zyre.”
This stone, a large and irregular black opal mounted into a gold ring (this was reportedly done in the late 17th century), became the solitary focus of Dr. Emmitt’s taped audio journals — which his personal assistant obtained, transcribed and posted to the now-extinct Reddit sub following the doctor’s death… or disappearance, depending on your interpretation of the case.
The entries, which begin below, are the only known account of Dr. Emmitt’s obsession with the Eye of Zyre, which his assistant – known only by his Reddit username JMFinder – claims to be the cause of the professor’s bizarre transformation from a noted academic to a seemingly delusional psychopath… or perhaps something even more dangerous. JMFinder’s entries, originally posted to the forum in 2012, have been recovered and reposted below.
We’ll leave it up to you to decide if the author’s testimony is true… there’s little to no evidence on either side of the debate. But many who have read JMFinder’s notes have been overcome with an indescribable sense of dread… punctuated by frequent, lucid and often horrifying nightmares.
The package arrived this afternoon. I didn’t get a clear look at the sender’s information, since Emmitt hurried off to his office without so much as a word… but I knew from the size (about half the size of a shoebox), not to mention the doc’s furtive attempt to hustle the thing out of my sight, that it must contain the Eye.
Emmitt’s been locked in his office for hours, mumbling quietly to himself. I keep hearing papers rustling. I’m not even considering talking to him until he opens the door again… but he’s got to eat sometime, or go to the bathroom. Hopefully. (This gig has its limits.)
The only image I’ve ever seen of the Eye is a photo Emmitt showed me when this whole obsession began. Taken in the early 1960s, he said it was the only known image of the opal in existence, and that the stone’s previous owners were reluctant to capture its likeness (the ring isn’t even visible in a detailed oil portrait of a previous owner, dated 1838). According to the professor, past owners were reluctant to even describe the stone in detail, or show it to family or close friends.
Looking at this photo, I can sort of understand why… it’s actually kind of ugly, and there’s something unsettling about the bluish flecks suspended in the black opal, the surface of which appears to have been chipped and worn down unevenly over the centuries. It looks as if the little particles were captured on camera while in motion… like tiny creatures swimming in a drop of pond water.
Emmitt has barely spoken a word to me for days, and seldom leaves his office. Instead he’s been muttering to himself (a lot more than usual), and seldom makes eye contact as he quickly slips out the door, his old leather valise clutched tightly in his right hand, his left hand jammed deep in his jacket pocket.
His students are starting to worry; Emmitt hasn’t appeared in the lecture hall all week, and mid-terms are looming large. It’s a break for me, so I should be grateful for the chance to study instead of grading tests… but I’m worried something strange is coming over him… and I’m starting to wonder if it’s got something to do with that ring.
Emmitt didn’t come to work yesterday. I left a voicemail on his service, but still no response. I really wish he had a mobile of some kind – even just a simple flip-phone – but he doesn’t believe in them. Thinks they cause cancer.
A few students have already complained to the Dean, and official-looking folks I barely recognize have been asking me his whereabouts. I just shrug and point to the locked office door and Emmitt’s increasing tower of unread mail.
I had a strange dream last night about Dr. Emmitt. He was wearing the ring, and speaking to me calmly and insistently in a language I’ve never heard before. I can recognize nearly any language from just a few sentences – not that I’m bragging; it’s just my party trick– but I couldn’t detect one familiar syllable, word or phrase in his chant-like monotone.
As I listened in the dream, I realized the doc’s mouth was just hanging slightly open – his lips were parted, but not actually moving. The words seemed to emanate from somewhere else… and soon I realized they were coming from the left pocket of his jacket. His hand was still jammed deep in there – just as it had been each time he furtively slipped out of his office, never looking up or speaking a word after carefully confirming the office door was locked.
Then I remembered Dr. Emmitt, his mind usually on other concerns, had never really cared about locking his office door… not until recently, anyway. So when I woke up, drenched in cold sweat, I finally decided to break into Emmitt’s office as soon as I had the opportunity.
I waited until the cleaning staff had finished for the evening before securing the door to the corridor, and spent the next half-hour fumbling with the lock on Emmitt’s office… but those Russian YouTube tutorials I watched this afternoon mostly paid off, and I finally popped the latch open.
The first thing that struck me was the smell. I can’t even begin to describe it… no words come close. Not just the nauseating smell of rotting flesh… it mixed with something older, like an air pocket released from the seal of an ancient tomb. I have no idea how this fucking stench didn’t seep beneath the door, and why I never smelled it while I spent all that time tinkering with the lock. It’s the kind of smell that confuses your senses; you can almost feel it on your skin as you walk through the room.
The rotting part was easy to trace: it came from the upright human corpse sitting at Dr. Emmitt’s desk, oozing a dark, sticky substance I’m assuming is putrefying flesh. I won’t say for certain that the remains slowly seeping into the chair are what’s left of the professor… but the corpse is wearing his clothes, including the same old-fashioned jacket he’d been wearing when he last walked out that office door on March 15.
But that can’t be possible. Hell, I’m no forensics expert… but this man must have been dead for months.
Another difference was the position of the corpse’s left hand. While Dr. Emmitt had been keeping his left fist hidden in his jacket pocket, the left hand of the corpse in front of me is resting on that jacket’s lapel. On the middle finger of that hand – what little is left of it – was the tarnished gold and infinite black from the old photo… the Eye of Zyre.
Sitting on the desk in front of the corpse was the small box that the doc hustled into his office last week. I looked for a sender’s address, but there was nothing printed on the brown paper wrappings, which Emmitt must have hastily crumpled up and tossed aside. But the actual box appeared to be a relic in itself – built from crudely-cut wood, adorned only with a tarnished bronze latch, and the faces of two demonic creatures snarling from either side.
The box wasn’t locked… and it wasn’t empty, either. With my pen I lightly propped the lid to reveal a small, crumbling piece of paper laying at the bottom. The slip was inscribed with tiny symbols which resembled Cuneiform writing, but my repertoire of party tricks doesn’t extend to translating three-thousand-year-old Mesopotamian languages.
Before notifying the police, I took photos of these inscriptions, as well as the corpse and the ring, then looked for anything else in the room that seemed different.
There were no notebooks or documents pertaining to the Eye of Zyre that I could find… and then I remembered the other object Emmitt had been clutching on his way out: his old leather valise. The same one now sitting on the floor, next to the chair where the man’s oozing, dripping skeleton was seated.
Pulling the collar of my shirt over my nose to fend off the evil stink (it didn’t work, and I almost heaved up my dinner), I edged toward the briefcase. Taking care not to get fingerprints on the handles, I loosened the straps and catches, then used my pen to nudge the flap open just enough to glance inside.
There was only one small object nestled in the folds of the bag: an unmarked cassette tape in a blank case. I fished it out and it slipped from my pen, clattering to the floor and sliding out of its plastic container.
At the time, I had no idea what compelled me to take that tape… my every instinct screamed at me to get the hell out of that office and run out of the building without looking back. But after I tell you what was on that cassette, you might at least understand why I couldn’t help myself.
I really don’t want to believe what I heard, and I don’t really care if you believe me or not. Maybe there really is a rational explanation for it all. That’s for you to sort out… but I wouldn’t recommend digging any deeper. Me, I’m just documenting the data… one final task for my former boss.