The Black Alchemist: A Terrifying True Story

by Andrew Collins

  ‘The cave and the bower are the same. His (Comarius’s) writing interprets as red and white to black, which is written as menstruation, fertility mixing to give new life form, which is interpreted as only a dark form and is not increased by fire to become white and gold, but reduced further and combined further with water to produce black life which grows if hidden.

  ‘This practice has always met with disaster, but many have tried and will do the formation of chemie (i.e. alchemy) … ’

  My pen slipped a few words as I frantically tried to scrawl down the message.

  ‘… other names given are Bolos28 and Septemos … both very early practicers of chemie.

  ‘They say is early chemie but these (i.e. BA and his cronies) still wish to bring forth the white and gold, and many are given in papers (of) which some (still) exist and some are lost.

  ‘Also, Comarius used stones with wording, which he says were obtained from sealed tombs and so give the right to invoke darkness. Seth (the ancient Egyptian god of chaos and disorder) also used, but he is wrong. These precious stones and tablets were only usually placed with kings and royalty to assist a thought progress (through) darkness, and (supply) main knowledge to afterlife.’

  My hand ached like mad. Yet I seized the opportunity to get in a question more relevant to the situation at hand. I asked what the Black Alchemist was really up to at the moment?

  The monotone voice recommenced its dialogue: ‘He seems to use several ancient types of chemie writing, and combines to attempt to find what he considers the final form of growth.’

  There was another short pause, long enough for me to get in a second question. What moves could we expect from the Black Alchemist in the future?

  ‘Future not certain,’ came the answer from the sixteenthcentury alchemist. ‘But (he) will withdraw to practise again and possibly discover new formulation (of) calcination at which point he seems to stop and place (his inscribed stones and artefacts).’

  Who are the ‘noble companie’ mentioned on the ebony ape dagger?

  ‘This would be a new form of brotherhood. Again, very subservient to darkness, hoping for a new king form to worship. Hate is involved against all so-called pure religious practices. This also includes many practices of different nations.’

  Then came a prolonged silence. Our Elizabethan alchemist was suddenly no longer with us. Soon afterwards, Bernard began to open and close his hands and move his arms, before finally opening his eyes. ‘He wears a floppy hat. Like a floppy beret,’ he announced, none the worse for his trance state. ‘And he has white hair.’

  I wrote this down.

  ‘Anyway, I’m off now,’ he exclaimed, knowing full well that his psychic commitment for the evening had well and truly been fulfilled, and he could justifiably go home.

  I said I would give him a call.

  36 Unholy Birth

  Friday, 6th November, 1987. The dreadful events of the previous evening put me into a rather subdued mood all day. I felt as though I had no right to tell anyone about what had happened, and what we’d discovered in the hollow by the upturned tree stump in Danbury churchyard. No one was going to believe what had taken place, never mind understand its implications.

  Still despondent by the time I got home from work that evening, I decided I had to tell someone, so invited my friend Ken Smith across to the flat.

  I had been keeping him and his wife Carole Young up to date on the various developments in the Black Alchemist saga as I valued their comments and constructive criticisms.

  Ken arrived in the early evening and, as we sat in my flat drinking tea, I told him about the events of the past few days— everything from Bernard’s ‘Maria the Jewess’ dream to the sickening automatic script from Comarius, the discovery of the artefacts, and the diabolic possession out in the field behind the churchyard.

  At the end of the dramatic account, Ken was clearly disturbed by what he'd heard.

  ‘Bernard and you are in real danger,’ he warned. ‘If what you’ve told me is true, you’re obviously dealing with complete nutters. These maniacs will stop at nothing to protect their secrecy.’

  Okay, so they were dangerous people, but we could handle them without too much problem.

  ‘And you just can’t leave that heart,’ Ken stated, incredulous at the fact it had been buried without first being examined. ‘What if it’s human?’

  I hadn’t really thought of that.

  ‘It’s got to be retrieved at the earliest convenience. Tonight if possible, before it has a chance to decay.’

  Accepting his word, I suggested we go there later.

  ‘Fine,’ Ken said, satisfied I had come to my senses at last.

  He picked up the ebony ape dagger and began to study the inscription and magical symbols along its blade. ‘Carole will know what these mean. Remember, she’s an astrologer. Let’s go first to the house and we can ask her on the way out to Danbury.’

  Carole Young, her long ginger hair hanging down, sat on the sofa of her home gazing at the ape dagger in her hands. Ken and I sat opposite in chairs, eager to hear what she might have to say.

  ‘This symbol here,’ she began, breaking the silence. ‘Just before the inscription. It’s the full moon, isn’t it?’

  That’s what I felt. Why? Was it of significance?

  ‘Well, on the other side is another “loose” symbol—the sign for the influence of Saturn.’

  Okay, I knew that too.

  ‘It shows some kind of link between the influence of the full moon and Saturn,’ she offered, still deep in thought. ‘In astrology when two planets conjunct their individual effects upon the human mind they combine to form a new, third influence with different characteristics.

  She looked towards us. ‘Influences resonating when the moon conjuncts Saturn are usually associated with matters relating to ageing, darkness, sorrow, harshness, sterility and a lack of love,’ Carole explained. ‘It’s generally a very bleak influence or aspect. Often symbolised by a spinster, ugly in appearance.

  Like Paphotia, or Hekate in her crone aspect.

  ‘Exactly,’ she confirmed, before continuing.

  ‘As any midwive will tell you, more babies are born at the time of the full moon than at any other point in the 28-day lunar cycle. So, if someone was going to set up a ritual where they wanted to conceive, or gestate, a powerful force or being then the full moon would be a perfect time.’

  Placing down the ape dagger, Carole picked up an ephemeris and checked the time of the full moon the previous day and its relationship to the zodiacal signs. ‘It took place at 16.47 GMT, twelve degrees into the sign of Taurus,’ she confirmed.

  This was curious, for the astrological sign for Taurus was the only other extraneous symbol on the ape dagger. This had to mean that whoever carved its symbols must have been aware of the astrological influences around at this time.

  Unholy Birth ‘As a planetary influence, Saturn can relate to the bringing forth of something into manifestation,’ Carole offered, ‘while the full moon is very much associated with conception and new life.

  ‘So combining the full moon influence with that of Saturn creates a force or influence that might be seen as a sterile hag, yet one bearing a child at the same time. It’s something completely against the laws of nature—a corruption of the Virgin Birth.’

  It explained why, in Bernard’s dream, ‘Maria the Jewess’ had emphasised her pregnancy with the words ‘soon he comes’.

  The ancient priest named Comarius had said virtually the same thing the evening after the dream.

  ‘It looks to me as if the Black Alchemist has been attempting to germinate something rather unpleasant out there by the tree, some form of antichrist I would say.’ Ken now added, shaking his head at the thought.

  Whatever was going on, it seemed clear there was an awful lot more to the Black Alchemist’s dagger-in-the-heart ritual than either Bernard or I could have imagined.

  And what of this abhorrent pregnancy?


  Was it something that no longer concerned us, or should we be preparing for some kind of unholy ‘birth’?

  They were questions I could not answer, and for the time being I felt it best we leave Bernard in peace.

  ‘For now, we need to concentrate on finding that heart,’ Ken insisted.

  As the midnight hour passed, two shadowy figures carefully surveyed a small area of field to the south of Danbury churchyard.

  Sudden movement in the driveway of a nearby house sent them diving for cover and meant they would have to continue the search in complete darkness.

  For an hour, Ken and I looked desperately for the buried heart.

  On my hands and knees, I must have scoured every square yard of that field. Then I found the clue I was looking for—a piece of loose turf no more than six inches square.

  Pulling it away, my fingers crept into the tiny hollow and made contact with our goal. It felt cold and spongy.

  Lifting out the large heart, I slipped it into an old rag and replaced the piece of turf. Without further word, we left the churchyard and made our way back to the car.

  At home that night, after taking care of the bloodied heart, I continued trying to write up the events of the past few days. Seated at a table in my tiny office room, I reached for the box containing Bernard’s psychic notes and scribblings concerning the Black Alchemist’s activities.

  One set caught my eye.

  It was the notes made at St Anne’s Castle, the public house at Great Leighs, shortly after the events at Shenfield Common the previous year.

  I read them and remembered:

  Stinking real heart. Blooded. About. St Mary. Wombs. Birth. Blood. Not working. Mercury. Circle closing. Message. Squeeze circle. Strong enough. Heart stops. Something coming up. Change.

  My God. So many of these statements appeared to have been portents of events that had since come to pass. The ‘stinking real heart’ was almost certainly a reference to the heart found the previous night. The mention of St Mary was perhaps a reference to Runwell church’s dedication, or the Black Alchemist’s perversion of the symbolism attached to the Virgin Mary. This he had achieved through his perceived conception of an unholy child inside the womb of the foul virgin Paphotia, Winder of Snakes, aka Maria the Jewess.

  The use of a Mercurial force had featured prominently in the Running Well confrontation of the previous year, and the ‘Circle closing. Message. Squeeze circle. Strong enough. Heart stops’ statement, well ... I immediately felt bad when thinking about its implications. All this related to what had happened out in Danbury churchyard—the sealing off of the church’s energies, and the nasty ritual out by the upturned tree stump, which was meant to have ensnared Bernard’s soul once his heart had stopped beating.

  And what if his heart really had stopped beating? What would I have done then? The thought petrified me, as I read Bernard’s final words written nearly one and a half years beforehand: ‘Something coming. Change’. Did this refer to Paphotia rising out of the crack caused by the upturned tree, or did it allude to something else … something to come? Something that would bring great change?

  It was a prophecy most assuredly, and my gut feeling told me it related to the coming of the unholy child, and future events that neither Bernard or I could even conceive of at this time.

  37 The Ape Dagger

  Monday, 7th December, 1987. Having established that the heart found in Danbury churchyard came from either a large pig or small calf—according to the local butcher I had asked to examine it—the pressure was off. Had it turned out to be human, I don’t know what we would have done. Still, I would keep it in the freezer just in case.

  ‘In the freezer?’ Bernard exclaimed, repeating my words. ‘You’re going to keep it in the freezer?’ He was incredulous, as always, by my bizarre actions.

  I would keep it there just in case anyone wanted to see it in the future.

  ‘Who’s going to want to see that?’

  Other investigators, possibly.

  He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Well, at least it’s not human. That might have been a problem.’

  It was our first get-together at The Griffin since the daggerin-the-heart episode a month earlier. So, I just had to ask him: had he received any new psychic material since then?

  Still contemplating the heart in my freezer, he looked up and thought for a moment before answering. ‘No, all quiet, thankfully. Maybe we’ve seen the last of him this time,’ he said, a note of optimism in his voice.

  I’d heard those words so many times before I just ignored them with a glare.

  ‘What else have you discovered over the past month,’ he asked.

  Okay, he wanted to change the subject.

  I had, at last, found reference to Comarius, the ancient high priest, sage and prophet who had overshadowed Bernard to give him the sickening automatic script on 4th November, following the equally chilling ‘Maria the Jewess’ cave dream. It was the same character seemingly who had taken possession of Bernard’s body out in the field behind Danbury churchyard the following evening.

  Comarius was a Graeco-Egyptian alchemist who lived in the first or second century AD. He was the author of an alchemical work entitled the Book of Comarius, dedicated to one Cleopatra the Divine, to whom he was ‘Philosopher and High Priest’.

  Referred to as ‘the wise woman’, this Cleopatra was not to be confused with the various queens of the same name who ruled Ptolemaic Egypt in the centuries before the time of Christ.

  The Book of Comarius begins with an account of how Comarius conveyed knowledge of the alchemical sciences to Cleopatra, who was quite obviously some sort of patron to him. The treatise then turns to more practical matters, such as the properties and uses of certain metals, colours and apparatus. A group of philosophers is then introduced and Cleopatra delivers to them the knowledge she has received from Comarius. It is this last section that has often led scholars to conclude, quite wrongly, that Cleopatra was the true author of the text.

  Georg Luck’s book Arcana Mundi cites a surviving extract from the Book of Comarius in which Cleopatra explains how alchemy is the key to the mystery of resurrection. Reading through this, I came across a number of lines quite clearly echoing Comarius’s words to Bernard within the automatic script.

  For example, I asked Bernard to read the following extract from the Book of Comarius:

  ... for they [the plants, the elements and the stones] get nourished in the fire, just as an embryo, nourished in its mother’s womb, grows slowly. When the appointed month is near, it is not prevented from coming out … but when the tomb [in which they lie] is opened, they will ascend from Hades like the babe from the womb … Here you have the sealed mystery.

  This I now compared with Bernard’s automatic script, scribbled down at high speed on 4th November: They [the stones and relics] are nourished in the fire and the embryo grows nourished in its mother’s womb. At the appointed time the new child will come. The spirit of the blackness appears and rises up and encircles the child. Clothe yourself. A cry of awaken from Hades will be heard. Arise from your tomb and pit. The voice of resurrection has sounded.

  There were further comparisons between the two texts, showing very clearly that the same author was behind all this material. Yet Bernard’s automatic text possessed a darker, more sinister character, almost as if somebody was distorting the meaning of Comarius’ original text.

  So having confirmed Comarius’ life on Earth, and his apparent authorship of the automatic script, a rather nagging question now needed answering.

  Why should a first or second century alchemist and high priest want to possess Bernard’s body and steal his soul nearly 2,000 years after his life on earth? Hadn’t he got better things to do in the afterlife?

  Bernard shrugged his shoulders and looked blank. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps BA studied the Book of Comarius and decided to call upon the priest’s soul to aid him in his own alchemical transmutation.’

  In doing so he had creat
ed a Comarius spirit double, a ka as it was known in ancient Egypt, which had then gained its own individual existence. It was this that had possessed Bernard, and not the real spirit of Comarius. I had to admit it made sense.

  All this stuff about a new child coming at the appointed time, and things breaking out of tombs and pits, worried me.

  Was the Black Alchemist really attempting to raise something, or bring something into existence? Some form of antichrist?

  ‘Maybe. I really don’t know, or care,’ Bernard admitted, as he stood up and disappeared off to the bar to buy more drinks.

  Opening my briefcase, I brought out the ape dagger. He had not seen it since that fateful night in Danbury churchyard. I wanted to point out the symbols representing the moon, Saturn and Taurus scratched into its blade. I also hoped he would consent to psychometrising it—see whether he could pick up any information about its owner.

  After he sat back down at the fireside table, I handed him the ape dagger and showed him its astrological symbols. Was there any chance of him psychometrising it?

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he responded, immediately putting down the ritual weapon as if to emphasise the point. ‘I wouldn’t get anything anyway.’

  Obviously, I disagreed and, after a little friendly coaxing, he eventually gave in and picked up the dagger.

  Rotating it slowly in one hand, and holding a pen close to a clean sheet of notepaper with the other, he began to stare intently into thin air.

  At first the psychic saw nothing, but then images of a location began to form in his mind. ‘It’s night and I see what looks like castle battlements—a wall high up, which curves around,’ he revealed, as he started to sketch what he could see. ‘It’s definitely a castle, situated on a hill. Overlooking a town.’

  Assuming that the location was in Sussex, I asked him if he could see the sea.

  He shook his head. ‘I get no impression of the sea nearby. Only of a large river running through the town.’

  A long pause followed before he spoke again. ‘Behind this wall is a church with a grassy churchyard and a circular path encircling its exterior walls. I see tombstones, but only on one side … its west side, I think.’