This is a crappy imitation of H.P. Lovecraft I did a few months ago:
Indeed, I would like nothing more than to let the truth out, but I fear you will no more believe me than the ones before you. But, if you insist, I will impart on you the details, but I pray you don’t think me insane.
The stormy clouds did nothing to dissuade Henrik on his staunch trek into the temple. He was a stout, bespectacled man, more quarrelsome than the phantasms after which he so perilously sought. None of the troupe were eager to be left behind, ‘neath the murky elms and cypress trees that guarded the stairs to the sacred ground—so they stepped carefully after him, silent, but not unquestioning.
Soon, the whispers of unease and discomfort in the company’s hearts turned to voices heard in those accursed halls. Gods have mercy, I can still hear the unearthly murmurs, how they pleaded with us to run, but Henrik would not be dissuaded. So, it came that we alighted upon a plateau of sorts—not one of natural creation, to be sure, but neither would I be honest in telling you that is was made by any human hands. No, the starless sky above us was lit with neither moon nor torch, only a single luminescence paraded in that room of oblation.
It was a flame, sat along the inner of the chamber, that caught our eyes. Though unseen to us, as our gaze stood unwavering against twinkling fire, Henrik had found what he was searching so tirelessly for.
“No! Avert your eyes! The flame lies!” That is the last thing I heard Henrik yell, from across the space. Alas, he was too late. The troupe was made asunder, flesh and bones spilled across the surface as tendrils rose from the endless depths aside the platform. I do not know why I was spared, perhaps proximity, or perhaps the gods had had their fill of blood that day. If so, they will not be sated for long.