The Heavenly Journey of Brother Lucas

Welcome faithful readers and newcomers alike. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Theodore Stoker and I love all things supernatural, the weirder and freakier the better. Today, I’m going to tell you the story of Brother Lucas, a Venetian monk from the XIII century.

There are many medieval accounts of demon possessions, witches’ curses, meetings with angels, and being contacted by God Himself among members of the Church. One of the most fantastical is that of Brother Lucas, who claimed to have been to Heaven. There are two things that make this alleged trip stand out from similar wild tales: one, some of the events that led to it did happen; two, his story presents a surprisingly heretic view of Heaven that doesn’t match any other religious conceptions of the time.

Brother Lucas went to Constantinople with the fourth crusade. There, he met a Yemenite traveller named Abdul who gave him an ancient scroll. This scroll was part of the Pnakotic Manuscripts, which held all the wisdom and magic of the sorcerers and philosophers of Lomar. Lomar had had many wonders, but its neighbours, envious of its greatness, had joined forces to destroy it and now all the beautiful palaces and tall towers were empty, buried under snow and ice. Abdul had come across the scroll in Damascus and had recognised the faded symbols as the writing of Lomar thanks to the works of a scholar from Bagdad who had found them in a Babylonian scroll. Sadly, he was unable to read them, but he suspected it contained a ritual that made it possible for a man to visit Heaven without being summoned by God because, according to the same scholar, that had been the only one of the seven Pnakotic Manuscripts to survive the fall of the lost kingdom. He hoped that a learned Christian priest might be able to translate them. The Arab and the monk were supposed to have met the next day, but Abdul never showed up. Brother Lucas returned to his monastery hoping that somewhere in the ancient texts the monks had collected and copied would be the key to deciphering the scroll. Once there, he retired to a small cell where he spent hours studying the words.

One morning, he woke up a changed man. He spoke to his superiors and claimed his soul had visited Heaven the night before. There, he’d spoken to an angel and had learned God’s wishes. Not knowing what to do, the monks wrote to the Pope and sent him the account of Brother Lucas’s visit he himself had written. The Pope’s response was swift: the monk should recant his testimony and do penance for even daring to write down such an ungodly tale. He refused and was promptly excommunicated. Though no longer a monk, he retained the moniker “Brother Lucas” for the remainder of his life and went on to start his own sect based on what he had learned. Its form of worship revolved exclusively around the mortification of the flesh. Brother Lucas insisted that was all God cared about and he’d rather his servants offered him their pain rather than their prayers. This pain was achieved through whipping, branding, and bondage. Brother Lucas and his followers were accused of heresy and perversion. He died many years later and the sect dwindled into nothingness. All that was left of the former monk was his diary containing the account of his visit to Heaven that the Church sealed and locked away in a safe place, where it remained hidden for centuries. More than half of the entries in this diary are about the more mundane subjects of translation and decoding. However, it’s possible to see the madness slowly creeping in. The monks believed that their fallen brother had been the victim of some evil Muslim curse and several rituals were performed to purify the monastery after he left.

All of this, the meeting with Abdul, the scroll, what the Yemenite said about its alleged contents, and the monk’s descent into madness, are confirmed by the records found in the Vatican. The scroll itself disappeared, as Brother Lucas himself noted in his account, but it’s unclear what happened to it. As for the monk’s visit to Heaven, here is the relevant part of what Brother Lucas wrote:

'There is something wrong with the scroll. The more I look at the words, the more they seem to change. I can read them, I think I can read them, though I have done nothing. Seven hundred steps, it says, seven hundred steps and seven hundred more. I’ve begun to dream that I’m at the top of a great stair carved on rock. I don’t know where it leads, though I know it must be seventy steps below me. All I see at the bottom is darkness, though sometimes I think I can see a glow. The numbers keep repeating in my head. Seven hundred and seven hundred more. I believe now that the Arab was sent by the Devil to tempt me. I should burn the scroll, yet something prevents me from doing so. I pray but I feel God isn’t listening anymore. I’ve failed Him.

Last night, I took one step, and then another, and another. There was a voice, my voice, repeating the words in the scroll, even ones I hadn’t read yet: seven hundred steps to the Cavern of Flame, seven hundred steps more to the Gate of Deeper Slumber, and then on to the Enchanted Forest. Oftentimes when I dream, I leap and even fly over cliffs and rivers, but here I felt every single one of those seventy steps. Seven hundred times the sole of my foot pressed against the steps carved on the rock, seven hundred times it rose. By the time I reached the Cavern of Flame, I was wide awake, though I also knew I had to be dreaming. Despite its name, the Cavern was cold, and wasn’t much of a cavern either. The steps carved in stone gave way to a marble floor. I was in a small temple with two sculpted columns in front. The workmanship was impressive even if the subject was odd. At first, I thought it was snakes, but then, as I took a closer look, I realized it was tentacles. I hadn’t expected a marine theme here, seven hundred steps below ground. The head of the octopus at the top of the column was disturbing. There was something in the lifelike countenance that was too close to that of man, though the form was clearly that of a beast. Since the temple was deserted, I looked for the next flight of stairs. Returning never even occurred to me. So, I went down the next seven hundred steps to the Gate of Deeper Slumber. When I reached the end, I didn’t see a door. In front of me, running from ceiling to floor, was a watery wall of starry midnight sky. I reached out my hand and as soon as I touched whatever substance it was made of, I was pulled forward, through it, and found myself on the ground, at the edge of a forest. I stood up and took a step towards the trees. As soon as I did that, I found myself on the ground, again, staring at the sharp end of a spear.

My head was covered, no doubt because my eyes weren’t worthy of the wonders of Heaven, and my hands were bound. Who was I, Brother Lucas, to dare enter Heaven without waiting for God’s invitation? I had promised to serve Him, I had given Him my life, I had abandoned all earthly pleasures so I could devote myself only to Him, and yet here I was, forcing my way into Heaven like a common thief. Whatever the punishment, I have deserved it. The guards made me walk out of the forest, this much I could tell because I suddenly could feel a paved road beneath my feet and everything seemed more open, unencumbered by trees. Though I could not see, I could still hear and smell. Oh, if I had been able to pierce my ears and cut off my nose I would have. For even that was too good for the likes of me. I couldn’t understand the language of Heaven, but the sound of the voices was more melodious and enchanting than the most harmonious choir. The scents were intoxicating and would make the most exquisite man-made perfumes seem like manure. It brought to mind an Arabian bazaar, though I can’t imagine why would there be an Arabian bazaar in Heaven. The voices of the crowds around me stopped as I was escorted to our destination, whatever it was. I imagined myself being watched by all these no doubt beautiful heavenly faces distorted by shock and disgust at my hubris. I was led into a building, then down several more steps, and finally made to sit and tied to what was doubtless a wooden chair, before the bag was removed from my head.

I kept my head down, deeply ashamed of myself. Even so I knew where I was: a dungeon. The floor would be worthy of the greatest of Man’s palaces, but it was unmistakably a dungeon. Which was where I deserved to be. There was someone in front of me. All I could see were dark leather boots, dark trousers, and a long dark velvet cloak. I stayed like that for a while, until I felt the delicate tips of two gloved fingers press against my chin and turn my face up. Just like that, I was looking at the face of an angel. He was clearly a man, despite his delicate features. He was young, tall and slender, with long hair.

‘There’s no need to be shy. After all, you were bold enough to come here.’

I was shocked to hear him speak my language, but still, I was too ashamed to talk. The young man walked around the dungeon, moving with such grace and elegance that the noblest of earthly women would look like the lowliest of peasants next to him. I couldn’t look away. All I could think of was how unworthy I was of even merely being in the presence of what surely had to be an angel of the Lord.

‘Do you know where you are? Well, if you don’t, welcome to the dungeons of Dylath Leen.’

I could see a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. He was right to mock me, I deserved all the scorn and contempt in the world.

‘Don’t you have a tongue?’

Before I could say anything, he grabbed my face and forced my mouth open. He squeezed the tip of my tongue and then let me go.

‘So, you do have a tongue. Since you don’t like to use it, I guess there would be no problem if I cut it off.’

‘No!’ I felt disgusted by my cowardice. ‘I’m sorry. Do what you want.’

‘I don’t think you quite know what you’re offering. And you’re not truly sorry. Not yet. But you will be. So, dreamer, tell me, what’s your name?’

‘I am Brother Lucas, I am a Venetian monk and am presently at… well, I was at the monastery.’

‘Did you come here on purpose?’

‘I did.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘A scroll, one of the Pnakotic Manuscripts. I couldn’t read it, but then suddenly I could.’

‘Yes, they tend to do that. Do you know where you are?’

‘Heaven.’

‘Of course, where else could you be?’ again, the amusement in his eyes. ‘Our ruler doesn’t like surprise visits. What you did requires chastisement.’

‘I know, and I submit myself to whatever punishment you devise.’

The angel grabbed me by the throat and examined my face. His closeness was unbearable. I wanted nothing more than to touch this perfect creature of God. Thankfully, my hands were still bound, and I was saved from my own madness.

‘Shame you’re just a dirty man from the Waking World, this could have been… interesting.’

He untied me and led me to another room. There was a fireplace where burned a warm and welcoming fire with a row of irons in front of it. Less welcoming were the chains dangling from the ceiling. Any doubts I had about the use given to this room disappeared when I saw the object that occupied the centre: a rack. It was similar to the ones used by countless earthly torturers in service of their masters. This one was spotless, with not even a drop of dried blood to indicate it had ever been used. There were two hooded figures standing next to it. I hesitated.

‘Are you scared, Brother Lucas?’

I could feel his hand on the small of my back, preventing me from taking a step back. The closeness made me dizzy. I threw myself to the floor at his feet and pressed my face against his boots.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, forgive me!’

‘I’m not the one you offended. Do you think you’ve suffered enough?’

‘No.’ I couldn’t lie, much less to an angel of the Lord.

‘I do love a good begging, but there’s more to do.’

The hooded men pulled me up, placed me on the rack, and bound my wrists and my ankles to the cylinders on both ends.

‘He’s too dressed. I like to see what I’m doing.’

They swiftly cut through my heavy robes and pulled them down to my waist.

‘Good. You may go.’

They left, and I was alone with my tormentor once more. He strolled to the fireplace and picked up one of the irons. As I saw him stick the other end in the flames, I knew what he was planning to do. He didn’t say a word as he waited for the iron to heat. My heart was racing for I knew what would follow when he returned to me. Finally, he decided it was enough and came back.

‘Do you fear the heat, Brother Lucas?’ he asked as he teasingly placed the hot iron inches from the thin flesh that covered my ribs. ‘Do you?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I deserve to be punished.’

‘Yes, you do.’ he smirked and briefly pressed the tip of the iron to my skin.

I yelled and flinched, unprepared for the pain. He looked down at my teary eyes and I could see the cruelty in his face. Except cruelty had never looked fairer.

‘Is there anything you’d like to ask me while you’re still moderately coherent?’

‘Which one are you? Which one of his angels did the Lord send to punish me?’

‘I am Haniel, the joy of God, and nothing gives God more joy than punishing sinners and elevating the faithful’s souls with the sweet torment of martyrdom.’ He whispered in my ear as he pressed the iron against my cheek.

I had deserved punishment and punishment was what I got. Thankfully, the rack wasn’t used as heavily as I had feared. I was suspended from the ceiling and whipped, I was made to kneel, I walked on all fours as the animal I was. My clothes didn’t last long and soon I had nothing to hide my shame or to shield my soft flesh from the sharp sting of Haniel’s horsewhip. It hurt, and yet I knew that if God had truly given up on me, he wouldn’t have sent me an angel. Not only that, but more than once I had seen what was left after the torturers did their work in the dungeons of their masters, and I knew all the crippling brutality I was being spared. And there was something about Haniel’s presence that made it all more bearable. With such a heavenly companion, gentleness and cruelty didn’t feel as different as one would expect.

I don’t know how long we stayed in that dungeon. One day, Haniel blindfolded me, and I sensed there was someone else in the room. They talked and I couldn’t make out any words save one that sounded a lot like 'Bob'.

‘So, you think he really didn’t know?’

‘Yes. Will you send him back?’

‘Yes. It will serve as a warning and will make any Christian who comes in contact with the scroll destroy it rather than use it.’

My heart leapt. Was this God? Had I been forgiven? A hand was placed on my head. I knew it wasn’t Haniel’s because his were slenderer. Was God blessing me? I closed my eyes, even though they were covered.

‘Remember what you have seen and lived here and tell the faithful. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, my Lord, yes! I am your humble servant, always and forever!’

‘Good.’

When I opened my eyes, I was lying in my own small bed in my own cell at the monastery and my body was miraculously healed of all of Haniel’s godly work. I wanted to wake up everyone and tell them what had happened, but I decided it was better if I wrote it all down first. I lit a candle and sat down. As I begun writing this account, I noticed that the scroll was gone, no doubt taken back to Heaven, where it belongs.'

The fact that so much of this story is true has made it the perfect subject matter for both occult enthusiasts and conspiracy theorists. The former work to track down the mysterious scroll, while the latter choose to focus on the Vatican coverup. There isn’t much agreement on the contents of the scroll, with many believing it could be a doorway into parallel universes or even serve as a time machine. Others insist it’s all a hoax, like the Priory of Sion that fooled so many, citing as evidence the fact that names like the 'Pnakotic Manuscripts' and 'Dylath Leen' were obviously taken from the works of H P Lovecraft. The character of Abdul the Yemenite traveller is an obvious reference to the mad poet Abdul Alhazred, author of the Necronomicon. And the 'Heaven' this supposed medieval monk travels to is clearly the Dreamlands. However, Brother Lucas’s diary and the historical records about his life have been analysed and their age and provenance have been confirmed. It’s more likely Lovecraft was aware of the monk’s story and used it as a source of inspiration for his Dream Cycle.

ETA: after posting this, I was contacted by Bob, who says he was part of the team that authenticated the historical papers and that he has information that wasn’t made public. We’re going to meet tomorrow. Oho, are we finally going to crack the mystery of Brother Lucas’s visit to Heaven? I’ll keep you updated!

Sadly, occult enthusiast Theodore Stoker was never seen again and further investigation revealed that there had been no 'Bob' in the authentication team. Any and all efforts to locate both Stoker and “Bob” have yet to be successful. It’s unclear if this 'Bob' is connected to the persistent delusion of one Stoker’s mother’s patients, who claims to be from another timeline and to have come here thanks to an individual named Bob and a silver key…