The Boleskine House – Portal to Hell

In 1899 Aleister Crowley purchased the Boleskine House to perform a 6 month ritual called “The Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage.” Crowley – regarded by even himself as “The Great Beast” – had been on the hunt for a property that matched certain specifications – it needed to be secluded, have doors facing the north, and room to construct a terrace with fine river sand. The sand was used to measure the success of the ritual – Crowley would be summoning spirits, and in that sand he would see their foot prints.

Crowley wanted to open up communication and knowledge of his guardian angel, whom Crowley believed to be Aiwass. The first instructions of the ceremony warn the user that the ceremony itself is to dangerous and should not be performed. Crowley didn’t care – he felt he was up to the challenge. He would live on bread and water for months, rise before dawn, and recite the incantations with the habitual discipline of a monk. The ceremony takes 6 months to perform.

The grave spiritual danger of the ceremony is that evil spirits must be summoned and compelled to serve the light. The room where Crowley performed the ceremony was so dark he required the artificial light of candles. In his isolation the shadows in the house began to appear as opaque figures.

Macgregor Mathers – founder of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, Crowley’s occult group – interrupted Crowley during his ceremony. He required his assistance in Paris. Crowley never completed the ceremony – nor did he cast the spirits away. Jimmy Page would later claim Crowley had opened the portal to Hell.

After the second world war Major Edward Grant took ownership of the property. He was in Allaister’s former room when he took a shotgun to his head and committed suicide.

Jimmy Page, famed guitarist of Led Zeppelin, purchased the home in 1970. He was too busy to maintain it and invited his friend, Malcolm Dent, to reside there. Dent frequently experienced a malevolent presence in the home. The ominous feelings would develop into real world sensations – negligible sputtering steps at first, until one night it sounded as if an enormous hound were moving just outside his room. Dent recalled hearing a pounding on the door, only to find he was still alone the following morning.

The Boleskin House burned down in November of 2015 with nobody inside. Centuries earlier, on the same lot where the home would be built, it is said that a fire had also broken out. Only that time, the blaze occurred during a church congregation – and killed everyone inside.

Kiki the Cat

kiki

The only thing the burglar loved more than money was murder. The feeling left him with a certain euphoria he’d never managed to replicate through any other means, and since he’d finished his prison sentence he’d been yearning to take another shot at it.

He looked at the picture frame, and it left little doubt as to whom the apartment belonged to – a short girl with brown hair and freckles. An easy kill, if he had to do it. He put the picture frame back down, and continued to look for more jewelry, pulling out one drawer after another. To his surprise, the door knob began to turn. The burglar picked up his handgun and rushed to find a hiding spot.

* * *

Sylvia finished turning the handle and entered her apartment. “Kiki, I’m home!”

Kiki was the name of her cat. It was the coolest of kitties, never one to startle in the face of stranger danger. It’s primary interest was to sleep, so Sylvia did not find it the least bit surprising when her cat didn’t run up to her right away.

What did catch her off guard, however, was that much of her furniture had been displaced. It appeared as though her apartment had been ransacked. After some more inspection, Sylvia found her favorite articles of jewelry were missing, including one special necklace given to her by her grandmother.

Sylvia slipped her phone from her pocket and began to dial 911. Before pressing send, however, a burdening thought got the better of her. Sylvia dialed her grandmother instead.

“Grandma?”
“Yes dear, what is it?”

There was a noise, someone or something in the room had moved. Sylvia thought she heard it coming from her windowsill, behind the curtains. She slowly and cautiously began creeping towards it.

“Grandma, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What is it dear?”

“Your necklace. The one you wore on your wedding day, the one that you gave me for my birthday?”

“Yes, I remember. What of it?”

Sylvia began to cry. As she continued forward, she could swear the curtains were more bloated than usual. Tears filled her eyes. “Grandma, somebody stole it! I kept it hidden in my top drawer, and hardly ever wore it except on special-“

“Oh, don’t think twice about it,” said her grandmother, followed by a weary chuckle. “Let it be not the least of your concern… Tell me you contacted the authorities already though, right dear?”

Sylvia held the curtain with one hand, then stopped short of flapping it open. “No. I feel really guilty… I thought I should call you first.”

“Dear!” shouted her grandmother. “Are you crazy? If somebody broke into your apartment, for the love of God, call the police!”

“I was going to next!”

Something moved behind the curtain. Sylvia was sure of it.

“What if the burglar is still in there, darling? Call the authorities!”

“Ok,” Sylvia said, meekly. She pressed the red ‘end’ button on her smart phone. Rather than dial 911, she was too taken in by whatever waited for her on the other side of that curtain.

Sylvia slowly set the phone down on the nearby table, then held her breath as she prepared to uncover whatever waited behind that curtain. She knew deep down that grabbing a weapon or even a blunt instrument would be the smartest thing to do, but she was too impulsive a person to take precautions, even in the most dire of situations.

Sylvia gulped, then pulled away the curtain.

“Ahh!” She screamed, then fell back.

Her cat, Kiki, had just pounced out at her. She smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God… It’s just you, Kiki.”

“Die bitch!”

Sylvia turned, but it was already too late. The burglar fired the bullet, and the last image Sylvia saw before she passed was his handgun pointed down at her.

 The End!

  • Thomas M. Watt