The 'Devil's Bible' really exists, so called because of its large frontispiece illustration of the Devil and the medieval legend surrounding its creation.
The Thule Society included Adolf Hitler and Heinrich Himmler as members. The Nazis believed in Vril. A power and force that could heal, change, and destroy beings and things. They masterminded the "Coming Race" ideology and "Storm troopers of Satan" phrase, yet the former was derived simply from a work of fiction they believed to be rooted in truth.
Fact or fiction? You decide...
It was a night full of moonlight, and it filled the sky of a bleak Berlin Landscape. Strange sounds echoed around the dark looming fortress from the River Oder. Carved by the main gate, gargoyles stared downward along the walls, vying for attention from the ancient god Odin who looked on from beyond our earthly realm. The demons carved in the ornate gate were surrounded by rune symbols, greeting any knowing visitor. There was a stirring inside the Germanic tower of the mansion; its gothic castle style facade looked bleak and uninviting. Outside shuffling could be heard on the steps to the looming tower. A figure was lit in the moonlight, a young woman, moving erratically, her feet echoing and thudding around the old stonewalls. When she reached the gate she stopped, having been there only minutes before. She reached for the rope she had attached previously to the spikes at the top of the gate, above the staring gargoyles. The gargoyles seemed to be laughing at her, at least in her imagination, as she struggled. Their expression mocked her seeming greed. She was returning to what she believed originally from tip-offs in the criminal underworld would be a successful hunting ground.
On breaking in earlier she knew she had dropped the most valuable goblet. Now she must retain her nerve and get back in and get it! Clutching her backpack she pulled herself upward then swung herself over the top, keeping hold of the rope. The walls around her and the gate itself were steep. She carefully lowered herself, keeping a keen eye on the ground below. As she reached the ground she lost her grip, falling and misjudging her distance from the ground she fell, damaging her foot, tearing her backpack on one of the prominent spikes. The contents of her bag spilled to the floor, gold goblets, ancient plates, amulets and ornate knives clanking onto the paving, shimmering in the moonlight.
Nervously she attempted to retrieve the contents, panting and panicking in equal measure. The moonlight felt like a burning sun on her back as it revealed her silhouette. Above her the malevolent beasts looked down - menacing and evil, wise and omnipotent. As she grabbed the largest goblet in her hand suddenly all the wind and sounds stopped in an unnerving silence, as if time stood still. Nothing moved. After a few seconds she dropped the artifacts and goblets into her bag and thankfully became aware, again, of the surrounding noises, insects and the sound of the nearby river. Reasserting herself she fumbled for the remaining antiquities, most importantly the goblets, but stopping she suddenly became aware of a faint noise steadily increasing... as if to the beat of her palpitating heart. It was unlike anything she had heard before. It increased, becoming deafening. As she moved forward she grabbed her belongings and began to run toward the tower but the noise seemed to be following her, coming from the gate. Suddenly she was paralyzed, the undergrowth and long grass entangling her feet. She could not move, the eerie noise surrounding her head in a maddening cacophony. Looking up, it seemed the roaring gargoyles and devils appeared to be roaring in an unstoppable frenzy as the noise increased.
Nearly dropping her hoard she began running back toward the gate her legs pumping and thudding on the concrete. Her breathing was heavy and frantic, she gasped as a pain gripped her. She threw herself against the wooden gate, the old locks rattling like chains. Pulling herself up and over the gothic gateway once again, she dropped her backpack, and it thudded to the ground. Now as the humming menace roared, her only thought was escape. Dropping downwards she discarded any thoughts of recovering what she had stolen. She ran screaming into the night, gripped by a kind of mania.
Still the buzzing noises persisted. Tripping, the shadow surrounded her. Getting up she flung her arms out as if fighting off a swarm of bees, or as if fires were surrounding her. She moved forward blindly but realized, far too late, that she was falling. She plunged over into the canal, a deep chasm of darkness. Falling to her death, yet suddenly as her last scream echoed the shadow evaporated. It had all been in her mind. As her psychically induced hallucination faded she fell to her death.
The haunting melody of Wagner could be heard from the house. From the tower above the music emanated from an old 1930's gramophone player. It could be heard over the wind. Above, a woman, Helena Von Hister, was standing by a window alongside the record player. The 78rpm record spun round. The window was ajar and she stood staring into the darkness. Her hair black as night, she was beautiful. She had an ageless face, but her features were dispassionate. She stood motionless, gazing to where the body of the thief (or possible assassin) floated briefly, then sunk with eyes lifeless into the dark waters....