“Oh man, what are we gonna do, what are we gonna do?” Travis asked as he paced around our table in the library.
“Well, the first thing you’re going to do is shut up, sit down, and let me think,” I hissed at him.
“Why should I listen to anything you tell me to do? It’s because I did what you asked that I have this symbol of the Spanish black god scarred on my shoulder!” he retorted.
“Slavic,” I corrected, “It’s the Slavic black god.”
“Ooooh! My bad! The Slavic black god! Well, since you’re so smart, how about you just figure this out on your own? Clearly I’m just a moron getting in your way. You’re the genius who got us into this mess, how about you be the one to get us out? If you need me, I’ll be in one of the short buses licking windows, since apparently that’s all I’m good for.” Travis started to walk away in a huff.
I realized I had probably been a little too harsh on Travis while studying Encyclopaedia Daemonica and had missed a few social cues.
“Travis, wait,” I called to him as he started to walk away, “I’ve been kind of a jerk to you the past couple days. I’m sorry. You’re right, I was the one who got us into this, but now I’m trying to get us out. But I can’t do it without you. We’re both stuck in this together now, and I need your help to get us out. I’d rather us not be pissed at each other while we do it, because you’re my best friend.”
Travis stopped and turned around to reveal the biggest, smuggest grin I had ever seen.
“Aww, that was real sweet, Eric. Are we going to kiss now?”
“Shut up and sit down, you tool,” I said as I punched him on the arm, “Help me figure out what we’re going to do here.”
“We should probably read the rest of the chapter on Chernobyl first. That’d probably help,” Travis observed. Although he got the name “Chernobog” wrong, his suggestion was otherwise solid.
“Sure, that’s a good idea, let’s see what this chapter on Chernobog says,” I replied, trying not to be as on-the-nose with my corrections.
Turns out the “chapter” was more of a subheading, which didn’t fill me with confidence but at least I didn’t have to read as much. It said:
Chernobog, which translates to “Black God,” is an entity worshiped by various Slavic tribes in what is now eastern Germany and Poland from the Tenth to Twelfth Centuries. Although very little written records describing this entity have survived to this day, accounts from missionaries who Christianized the region give us some insight into this entity. According to these accounts, pre-Christian Slavic pagans worshiped Chernobog out of fear, offering him both animal and human sacrifices.
As the Holy Roman Empire Christianized the region, Chernobog faded into obscurity. At best, Christian missionaries equated him with the devil or a powerful demon. However, although he disappeared from the public eye, he was far from gone.
Over two centuries later, when Europe was engulfed in the Black Death, a handful of records from throughout the continent recall local authorities uncovering, arresting, and executing cult members dedicated to worshiping this entity, believing they were responsible for the spread of the plague. Some sources indicate that the authorities treated these alleged “Cult of Chernobog” members especially cruelly, as they belonged to two groups who were believed to be responsible for the plague: occultists and those with skin conditions. They fell into the latter category because the cult members all apparently had this same marking carved onto their left shoulders, although the records do not clarify whether these markings were skin rashes or tattoos.
“Gaaah!” Travis interrupted me as I read, “What was that about markings on their left shoulders? Eric, have we joined a cult? Are they going to execute us?”
“Hold on! Let me finish reading!” I shot back, trying to sound like I was still keeping my cool (and failing). I continued to read:
As Europeans began to settle in the New World, stories of Chernobog and his disciples followed them there. Although they have since been overshadowed by the Salem Witch trials, several court records from around the same time in the late Seventeenth Century tell the stories of up to ten individuals who were tried and executed for various moral crimes such as “black magick,” “satanism,” and “devil worship.” In many of these cases, the prosecution’s evidence included entries in the accused parties’ personal diaries about an ancient deity from the Old World, occasionally identifying said deity as “Zcerneboch,” “Zernebug,” “Czernebog,” or “Chernobog.” A few inscribed these symbols in their diary entries as well:
Historians have uncovered additional court records concerning similar crimes, however only the ten mentioned above are complete enough to draw any substantial conclusions. Although this is not an uncommon problem in uncovering written records from several hundred years ago, when compared to accounts of the Salem Witch Trials, which occurred in the same decade and area, records of the trials of these alleged “Chernobog worshipers” seem scant in comparison.
Some historians theorize that this could be because of their higher socioeconomic status in relation to the accused in the Salem Witch trials. Unlike the defendants in the Salem Witch trials who were predominantly teenage girls and young women, a demographic who enjoyed little social prestige at the time, most of the alleged “Chernobog worshipers” of whom we know were adult men in their thirties and forties. Most of them were also literate, a skill only the wealthy tended to possess at the time, as their diaries the prosecution used as evidence against them indicate. According to this theory, the towns who tried and executed these individuals for various blasphemies did not want this information to become widely known, for fear it might reflect poorly on their communities if others were to know that even their more esteemed citizens fell to the temptations of demons and false gods.
“You should know the guy who wrote that is a total fraud,” a voice from behind us said, startling the both of us.
We both quickly turned around to see Mrs. Kelsey, the librarian who had just helped us find these books. We must have been too engrossed in our studying (imagine that) to notice her standing there eavesdropping for who knows how long.
“What?” was the only response I could muster.
“The man who wrote the book you’re reading right there, Encyclopaedia Daemonica, is a quack. He’s not a real PhD, there’s no such thing as a PhD in demonology. It’s all just an act,” Mrs. Kelsey elaborated.
“You know him?” Travis asked.
“No, but you get a sense for these things as a librarian. It’s my job to teach you students on how to evaluate how reliable a source is. This book started flying off the shelves when we first acquired it, and after a while I had to look at it for myself to see what all the fuss was about. As it turns out, not much. For instance, he barely cites any of his sources, and the sources he does cite are information about the Christianization of Europe, the Black Death, the Salem Witch Trials, and literacy rates in the 1690s. Barely any of them actually have to do with this ‘Chernobog’ thing. You can check his references section and see for yourself. And isn’t it a little convenient that he tries to explain the lack of evidence of the ‘Chernobog trials’ by ‘theorizing’ that there was a conspiracy to destroy it? He doesn’t have any evidence of that, either.” Mrs. Kelsey explained.
“Hold on,” I objected, “he didn’t say there was a conspiracy to destroy the evidence, he said ‘some historians theorized’ it.”
“Does he name those historians?” Mrs. Kelsey asked.
I quickly checked the book again and realized he hadn’t.
“Look, I’m not trying to ruin your fun or anything. It’s a very entertaining book and I’m sure the author had a good time writing it, but that’s all it’s meant for: entertainment. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation or anything, I only came over here to ask you to lower your voices and couldn’t help but overhear. When I realized it sounded like you may have been taking the contents of that book a little too seriously, I just thought I’d take it upon myself to let you in on the author’s little secret.” Mrs. Kelsey calmly explained.
“Gotcha, thanks Mrs. Kelsey,” I said, hoping she would go back to her desk.
“Of course, just remember to keep your voices down!”
“We will, Mrs. Kelsey,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes.
We waited for Mrs. Kelsey to leave before we started to talk about the book again.
“Do you think we should believe her?” Travis asked.
“I don’t know. She made some good points, but at the same time, look at Charlie’s tattoo, look at our rashes, and look at the symbol in this book and tell me they don’t all look exactly the same,” I responded, “Let’s keep reading. We can decide for ourselves if this Giuseppe Andolini guy is legit once we finish the chapter.”
As time progressed, stories of individuals with ties to this entity became increasingly rare, and their evidence less credible. Professors at prestigious institutions like Miskatonic University were accused by religious leaders in the area of conspiring with “dark forces” to aid their research when the University rejected their requests for funding in the early Twentieth Century. However, considering the evidence of several other sinister and malevolent entities conspiring with the faculty of this institution during this period, it is difficult to prove that Chernobog itself was involved.
“Did that book just say several other sinister and malevolent entities?!” Travis asked, his voice trembling.
“Yeah, it is the Encyclopaedia Daemonica, after all. I mean look at how thick it is!” I displayed how long the book was, “There must be hundreds of other demons and old gods living among us!” I joked. Travis didn’t find it funny. “Look, if Mrs. Kelsey’s right about the author, he probably has just as many citations for the existence of all those other demon things as he does for ‘Chernobog.’ Worst case scenario, some of these things are real, but we only need to worry about the one, right?” That didn’t help improve Travis’s mood either. I kept reading:
The most recent rumors of people joining the so-called “Cult of Chernobog” delve into A-list celebrities. Although the most popular theories challenging the official narrative of Marilyn Monroe’s death point to the Kennedys and/or the mafia, she could have run afoul of even more powerful underground connections. Several experts also theorize that Chernobog was instrumental in assembling a suitable replacement for Paul McCartney after his untimely demise in 1966.
“Okay, maybe Mrs. Kelsey has a point here,” I said as I rolled my eyes, “this Andolini guy one-upped the ‘Kennedys killed Marilyn Monroe’ conspiracy theory by blaming an ancient Slavic god instead. And Paul McCartney’s not dead! I was sure that Charlie was somehow responsible for all the weird stuff that’s been happening to us when we started, but now I have my doubts. Let’s go look for another book while we still have some study hall time left.”
“Hold on, Eric,” Travis objected, “There’s not much left in this chapter and study hall’s almost over. By the time we find another book we’re just going to have to go back to class, anyway.”
Travis’s suggestions weren’t always this well thought-out, but in this case he was right. I begrudgingly obliged:
Rumors surrounding Chernobog became even less common and less credible upon the arrival of the 1970s. Despite the so-called “Satanic Panic” that emerged in the 1980s, Chernobog was nowhere to be found amongst the accusations. It could be that like the Salem Witch trials, the Satanic Panic overshadowed any possible stories about the lesser-known Chernobog, thus making the latter more difficult to find. However, considering how much attention these scandals received, those who profited from promoting this panic would have been incentivized to find as many “leads” to new stories about the occult as possible. Yet even with these incentives, no media figures reported on the presence of an occult deity named Chernobog. Since then, no new evidence of the Slavic Black God has appeared.
“Travis, now I’m starting to rethink my entire theory. Not only is this author an apparent fraud talking from where the sun don’t shine, even he doesn’t claim that ‘Chernobog’ is around anymore.”
“But if he’s a fraud, then doesn’t that mean you shouldn’t believe him when he says Chernobog’s not around anymore?” Travis asked.
Crap. As ridiculous as that sounded, his logic checked out.
“Well, what do you think, Travis?”
“What do I think? I think we’re better off confronting Charlie about this in person instead of going through books written by quack PhDs about demons.”
“What, are you crazy?! How would that go? ‘Hey Charlie! Before we start jamming we had an important question to ask you: are you an ancient Slavic pagan god who initiated us into your cult so now we have rashes on our shoulders that look just like your tattoo?’”
“I mean, we wouldn’t have to say it like that, but we could just show him the image in the book, point to his tattoo, then show him our rashes and ask if he knows anything about them.”
Travis’s solution seemed way too simple to work, but at the same time I couldn’t think of anything better. The only response I had was: “But what if he actually is an ancient Slavic god? If we confront him over it, wouldn’t he smite us or something?”
“Well, maybe. But we challenged him once before when we talked him into joining our band. We even threatened to rat on him to school administration for using the band room when he wasn’t supposed to, remember? He was seriously afraid he was going to get in trouble for a sec. If there was a time to smite us, wouldn’t it have been then?”
Again, Travis’s logic somehow checked out.
“So are we really about to confront our behemoth drummer and possible demon-thing over drafting us into his cult?”
“That’s your call, Eric. All this was your idea.”
I took a couple minutes to pause and think.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The bell rang, we had to get to class soon.
“What do you think, Eric?”
“Let’s do it,” I said, “Let’s ask Charlie if he’s up to any shenanigans.”