I spent the next hour pouring over the contents of the journal. The tiny script was difficult to read and, to be honest, confirmed my fears the man who wrote it was either mad or almost so. He rambled endlessly about Atum, power, the five materials and such, with very little written that would help me. I finally snapped it closed, tired of this man's clear worship of a long forgotten God, surprised to find we were pulling off the main road.

Camp seemed to happen suddenly, as ...