I have returned.
One year, a whole year has passed from when I have found the entry for Agharta, up there, among the inaccessible peaks of the Himalaya. One infernal year. A nightmare that seemed eternal, from which I would ever have believed to be able to go out. But I have returned, now.
The expedition that has found me almost lifeless on a beach of Santorini, has brought me back to the civilization, or at least to the civilization that I remembered, so different from the one in which have lived during my imprisonment in the appalling earths of the underground world.
I'm among normal people again. But still now, in the night, I hear the shouts of those people that, less lucky than me, is still confined in the jails of the castle of Dimpemekug or in the Torture Garden.
Still today, in the shades of the night, I believe to glimpse the horrendous forms of the Nin-Asu, the creatures that populate those damned moors. Still today, when I look at the sea, a shiver of fear crosses my back, to the memory of the monstrous god Enki that resides there.
Still today, listening to the choirs and the dirges in the churches I find myself thinking about the great deception that the Anunnaki have interwoven to induce the humanity to an eternal slavery and to passively accept the horrendous destiny that awaits all of us.
Since my return I have slept really few and the few times that the sleep wins against me, I return to wander in the lands of Agharta with the heart that beats madly. And I always awaken sweaty and trembling with the same, terrible image in front of the eyes: the figure of the supreme horror, of the incarnate evil, of the most terrible and horrendous of the creatures, that made insane all of my companions (only me has been safe because I saw it only for an instant, crushed by the ocean wave that dragged me distant from it, enacting my salvation). The figure of the god Kur.
Now that I know there is nobody to recommend our souls to, I even haven't anymore the strength to hope that someone could save the humanity.
I attend.
I have seen the night go down in Agharta, the underground world of the shades, always faintly illuminated by the purplish light of a minuscule inner sun. The legends say when the night will go down in Agharta, the ancient gods would have returned to the surface.
I fear the day when those horrors will return to walk the ground of our world. But I feel that the last sunset of the world is approaching.
I have brought with me the recordings of the events to which I have assisted in Agharta. I propose them to all of you, to be a warning for each of us.


With these words Olaf Jansen began to spread its warning to all those people who have the mind open enough to welcome the message content in it. A message that speaks about inexpressible horrors, about a cosmic deception perpetrated against the whole humanity that has falsely believed until now to the existence of benevolent divinity made at image and similarity of the man.
Reality is well different instead: created as slaves by ancient divinities belonging to a primitive civilization that lived the world eons before the birth of the mankind, we are kept subjugated and subdued by creatures that, to the eyes of the mankind, result monstrous and inconceivable. Hidden inside the depths of the earth to protect from an ancient cataclysm that risked to destroy them, they have created the human beings to use them as slaves in the outside, attending the moment of their own return to the surface.

They are now about to return.

Night in Agharta is the way Olaf Jansen has decided to use to spread his own message, revealing to everybody the appalling sounds coming from the underground world and from the sea abysses where the ancient gods live.