Multi-Chapter Stories

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Awaken

Liam Sera woke up in the Wisconsin Children's hospital bed. He hadn't been asleep long, he didn't think. Or had he? The first thing he realized when he woke up was that his body was very heavy, more heavy than what it was when he fell asleep. He could barely move his feet, he tried to wiggle his big toe but to no avail. He squinted and moved his eyes to the right of him. At least he could move those, he glanced outside.

Christ, how long had he slept? There wasn't a building there when he fell asleep.

Liam looked around for his mom.

She wasn't there. The room was dark. He was able to part his mouth, making it easier to breathe. He took a big gasp in, and noticed movement to the side of him. This time when he looked, he was able to move his neck an inch. Progress. Beside him, residing on a stand, was a computer-looking device that read his heartbeat. Wow, Liam thought those only existed in movies. It went beep every two seconds. He assumed that was good.

He took another deep breath in and the little blips on the chart spiked with his heart flutter. It was amusing to see for him, after all it seemed like the only bit of light in this otherwise dark room. He heard a creaking followed by the telltale sounds of footsteps. Liam smiled at the thought of seeing his mommy. He was able to move his lips, too. He didn't know why this had happened to him. The last thing he remembered was... well, nothing. He couldn't even remember why he was in the hospital in the first place, he must have bumped his head. It would be okay, his mommy would be here shortly, and she'd make things all right.

Surprise in his eyes when, instead of the plump figure his mother carried, a slim figure in a nurse's outfit came around the corner. She held in her hand a clipboard and pen, muttering to herself. She stood at the foot of Liam's bed, the darkness wrapped around her face. It was too dark to make out any distinctive features. She took a glance at Liam, muttered about the darkness, and disappeared behind the curtain again. Liam's heart sank, the only company he had gotten since he woke up was now gone and the darkness replaced her presence as if she was never even there.

He turned his head back to the bleeper, that is what he had dubbed the machine that displayed his vitals, and was about to inhale once again when the darkness was replaced with white. Not even light, just white. His eyes burned and he thrashed as much as he could manage, which was a mere jerk of the neck a few inches. His eyes remained open, the light blaring into them before Liam shut them tight; that's when he realized that his eyes were closed, and that the light was so bright that it even bore through his eyelids.

He heard a scream from the foot of his bed. His eyes snapped open and his constricted pupils could make out the figure of a woman, the nurse, a silhouette of black against a white abyss, drop her clipboard as she stared horrifyingly at him. He jerked his head up, the sudden burst of movement made him super dizzy. Liam didn't know if it was the motion that did it, or if it was the sudden shock of the scream that the lady provided, but it was somewhere around that time that Liam passed out.

Black

-n for forty miles

and I come up runnin' late!

don't you know I live it down

when the Devil comes a-callin' I ain't gonna be around!

black ice

black ice

black i-

Black tilted his head back and let the wind whip strands of his hair all about. The cold, night air filled his lungs, and for a while, he was at peace.

Then he rolled up to a stoplight on red, and he had to gasp silently. He felt the Blackness swirling and filling his lungs, mixing with the cold air he had just inhaled, and corrupting it utterly. It wasn't long before its cleansing effects had dissipated.

"Awwww, Hell..." he groaned in his thoughts, and pulled the steering wheel to his coal-colored 1962 Ford Convertible into a parking lot. This was a routine he practiced most every night, in the vain hopes that things would be different this time.

His head rolled on the head of his seat, and for a moment Black remained silent, eyes shut.

Then the characteristic "whooshing" of his wife's apparition coming toward him began. The man pulled his hat's brim low, and gripped the steering wheel. It wasn't fear, or preparation that held him - but tension. It was always the same, he knew that before she even approached.

"They Must Be Helped, Wyatt..."

His wife's tinny voice grated like steel against Black's nerves. Especially when, on nights like this, she used his real name. When he spoke, it was with a voice that oozed anger and resentment.

"I don't want to help those bastards anymore! I didn't know this was what I was signing for..." His shouts would have appeared, to anyone observing him, to be directed at open air. But his wife, who stood directly in front of the car, acknowledged him fully. Tears in her eyes.

"You Signed With Him, Wyatt... There Isn't Any Escaping That. You Know It. And I Know It, Too. He Made You Agree To Help Them. The Seekers."

Black's teeth set on edge, and his usually pale knuckles grew white in complexion. The Man who had made him sign an agreement some two hundred years ago fluttered through his head like a dark, never-fading memory. A nightmare of sorts.

"They don't deserve it," his access was thinned from years of living in the modern world, but it still held a certain cowboyish charm which was undeniably handsome. "Every last dang one of 'em is foul to the teeth. Damn asshole. I ever see that man again, his hide is mine!"

"Wyatt Black, You Signed A Contract. You Willingly Accepted The Blackness Into Yourself. You're Just As Bad As They Are..." That was him talking, the contract. Certainly, Virginia wouldn't have spoken in such a tone to him

"Dammit, you bastard! Let 'er go! I ain't doing this anymore! Not until you free her!" But it was in vain. Black's wife looked tearfully at him, and waved a sorrowful little wave.

"My Time Is Up Again, Wyatt. Goodbye. I Do Love You, Still... Always."

Black punched the steering wheel's center, enraged. He knew what he would find the next morning; a small bundle, inside of which a list of Seekers-in-Need was contained. It made him howl at the night sky in an extremely livid moment.

"I'll get you... you hear? I hope you do, Jack. This deal o' ours is gunna be cut loose one day, and then I'll have ya'. I promise it."

With that, Black swiveled his steering wheel and punched the gas; he headed back on to the road again. His radio blaring music, the icy air slashing at his face, he could almost imagine that he was human again. Before The Blackness erased his body's ability to feel once more, he had the sensation of a journey being started.

For a while, out on the road, Black could lose his head and didn't have to think about the job before him. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he could do anything he wished with his free time. But he had to keep his end of the bargain, and fulfill his duty, or suffer torments worse than Hell.

That was the damn Contract. The fuckin' Contract. He knew it by heart and there were, to his knowledge, no loopholes.

The below signed, do hereby agree to the terms of service within the above Contract:

Wyatt Black

Jack Empty

As far as Black was concerned, he'd sold his soul to the Devil with that Contract. But it wasn't like he'd had much choice, at the time. Bastard had forced him into it.

His tires crunched into the driveway beside his home, and a large, black dog at the window wagged its tail excitedly. He knew instinctively that, since it was past midnight, Karol would be asleep. At least she was safe.

Black quietly entered the house, kicking off his boots, and turned. He put his hat up on the rack and breathed outward. It was a cheap imitation of a sigh.

The darkness of his home was almost palpable, so he turned on a light. It didn't used to be his way, being afraid of the dark. But men could be instilled with such fears when enough pressure was put upon them. It had eventually overtaken most of Black's rationality, that fear. He shuddered a bit, as he felt the creeping of the Blackness down his spine.

It was trying to avoid the light.

With another deep sigh, Black slid down the hallway and into his adoptive-daughter's bedroom. Karol was sleeping peacefully, her little chest rising and falling, a teddy bear clutched tight to it. He took a seat in the wooden chair by her bed.

"Little girly, you are one unlucky bitch..." he whispered the words on a smile, certain the tiny child could not hear the vulgarity. "But I love ya." With a chuckle, he laid his hand down on her head and rubbed the warm brown hair there.

This was possibly the only good part of the Contract, and still he detested it. It put this innocent little girl in harm's way most every day. And she didn't even know it. All she knew was, she was getting a father. That was enough.

Black slipped back out of the room, and shook his head, leaning against the hallway wall. There was no telling what age it would happen, but it was bound to occur. Even Black knew that, and it angered him to the core. Even enough to cause the Blackness to writhe.

No, it didn't anger him. It pissed him off.

He loved Karol, and in doing so, he was practically condemning her to a life of misery. But she was his daughter, at least legally. When she turned to a life of Seeking invariably by way of the Contract, Black would have to cut the ties loose, and swear never to help her. That cruel bastard's idea, of course.

The man turned down another section of hallway, and pushed his way silently into his own room. Hanging up his coat in the closet, and heading for bed, Black growled inwardly.

"One o' these days, Jack... you asshole. I'm tellin' ya' now, I'll get out. I'll break free and escape. And I'll get ya."

The Catalyst

When I left the campus that day, I thought little of the last thing I wrote in my notebook: The catalyst is not consumed by the reactions in which it takes place.

Ignoring this was a mistake, but it's too late to go back now.

 

A few days ago I was brushing up on my supernatural display. I'd just spent a few hours watching videos with so-called "ghosts" in them, and I was looking for a new subject. The last thing I wanted to do was stare at more grainy photos or listen to static-filled recordings for ghost voices. I didn't care what grade I got on my science project, I was done. I wish I cared more then.

I got on a random image generator, something I had just stumbled upon. Every time you refreshed the page there was a different image from around the web. It was a great way to pass the time, with results varying from funny, to scary, and just downright wrong. What can I say? I was hooked, and I stayed up late into the night looking at image after image.

Just as I decided to hit the sack, I noticed something. The last few pages I had loaded were of the same photo, which almost never happened. Every last picture was of an entrance to a mental institution, one similar to the one we have in town.

Now normally when I start getting goosebumps from stuff online I'd breath and say it's all fake a few times, and be fine. Not this time. This time it became worse. Best part was, the images came with a link to the original site. I clicked one linked with the mental institution.

Mistake.

I was taken to a normal-looking forum site, dedicated to some non-defined buildings.

I had walked past the building many times on my way to work, which was only 5 blocks away from my current residence. This time, something was different. I stared at it for a long time, trying to figure it out. Then I realized, the mental hospital I was looking at had been closed for a year, where as the one I saw on my computer screen was open, in good repair.

I sat back, thinking. What did it look like right now? My head said it would be closed, dilapidated, like it was every day. But my body was saying something different. I started to get nervous, my palms sweating as I thought about it. Luckily for me, I decided to stay home. Or so I thought.

Today, I took the long way to work, not wanting to find out which was right, my head or my body. Too bad though, because all day I avoided the computers at my office, working on paper. I was avoiding the inevitable, knowing that when I got home I couldn't avoid the computer that sat in my bedroom.

 

(not completed, needed to get this down before I went to sleep)

A Seeker's Story.

Diablo and Jesus

I entered the alley, confused and hungry. But it was not a physical hunger, rather it was a compulsion. A sickening drive to enter that foul corridor, strewn by trash and ignored by all but the most desperate of vagrants. There laid the body of a middle-aged man in an oily black coat, drenched by the pouring rain. I stared upon his torso, which was bleeding profusely. Or at least, it had been.

He was dead now, perhaps for several hours. The stench surrounding him and his now almost stone-like complexion made that much obvious. I approached him, cautiously, fearing what may have happened to him and if his assailant was still around. I could feel rain splashing against my face, or was it my own tears? I couldn't tell at that point, the pressure was simply too much.

I rummaged through his coat, only to find a slip of paper in his pocket, and two rings, one gold and one silver. They looked peculiar, religious even. The gold one had a rather disturbing eye-like gem in it, while the silver one had a double-cross design upon both sides. I slipped on the rings, silver to the left hand and gold to the right, then read the note. It was hastily written in black ink, the words almost illegible from the mix of water and fresh plasma now coating the edges.

 

Don't pursue Diablo or Jesus. Leave them be, or he'll find you.

 

I couldn't begin to understand what he meant. Perhaps he was schizophrenic? I fled, almost completely forgetting the corpse that lay behind me. I was only moving for about a half-hour when I saw another figure following me. At first, I don't pay any attention to him, but then I saw it: a knife, glistening against the street lights. As I ran, I heard the figure speak.

"Give them to me," he said in a voice that sounded more serpentine than human. He lunged at me suddenly, with a ferocity that I had never seen before. I raised my arms in defense. I don't know why I did, it shouldn't have done anything save for giving him even more of a target. But to my surprise, it proved effective.

I saw the knife bounce effortlessly from my arm, as though I was made of rubber. Instinctively I kicked him, pushing him back. He appeared even more startled than I was. He staggered back and proceeded to slice away once more, only to be once again blocked. Panicking, I reached out with my right arm and struck him. The sickening crunch yielded by my flailing arm dropped him instantly, his skull shattered.

I had no words, no questions save for what I had done. I kicked the knife out of his hand, embedding it into the ground. I looked at it once more, pulling it out. It was a simple kitchen knife. I do not know what compelled me to conceal it beneath my jacket, let alone touch it. I knew better, but somehow I simply could not contain myself.

Since that encounter, I have heard other stories. Some seemed to be outright nonsense, stories told be the derelict and the hopelessly addicted as they staggered on half-mad through life. Others by more reliable figures. All were different, but all shared the same theme: five-hundred and thirty-eight Objects, brought forth by some unknown force, beckoning others with the allure of their power...

He Who Bears Witness

They say he was there at the beginning. He saw the Objects scattered, but holds none of them and seeks them not.

At the beginning he had a name and no purpose save what he chose. But as he saw the Objects scattered he lost those things to the task that chose him. Now he is known by his one, and only, purpose. Since the time his name was taken from him he has been given many by those who have met him. He is The Watcher, The Beholder, The Scribe, The Biographer, The Tale Keeper, He Who Bears Witness.

Fear him not, for he claims no allegiance, no grievance, and bears ill will toward none. This man cannot be found, but he finds all those whose fates have been touched by the Objects; for he must know them. This is his task, his one purpose. So, should your path bring you into contact with the Objects, find you he will. You will meet him but once; perhaps in a dream, in a bar or café, or even in a haven.

When you have been found, he will offer a trade: the tale of one who is or was involved for the tale of how you came to be involved. Indulge him, but ask him for no specific tale or about the Objects. He will only tell the tale you most need to hear, or the one that most needs to be heard, and the Objects themselves do not concern him. Listen well, for the stories must be known. Those who have fallen must be remembered.

When his tale is done pass on your experience and know that you will be remembered. Know that when you have fallen, your story will be known.

The Holder of All

Dear You,

 

These Objects... all of them... I don't want them anymore. I don't know how many years of my life I've wasted assembling them all. I'm forfeiting them all right now. I'm too old for them now. I've only got a few more weeks to live.

Greetings. I'm the only person who's ever assembled them all. At least, I think I'm the only one.

That's right, all 2538 of them. Call me a madman if you want, that's what I am. I collected each and every one, with promise of great things happening when they're together. Maybe I'll get powers! Maybe the world will be mine! I thought, oh so naively. These Objects are meaningless. I know the secrets of the Holders. I know why they all hold their Objects. I know why we seek them. I know why each Object is what it is. I know everything about these Objects. But what does it matter? Even if I told you everything about them, you wouldn't understand. So go, seek for yourself if you must. If you want the answer, go find it. I know what it is you're looking for. But know that once you put them together, your quest is over. That's it. So assemble them all if you must; shine that smile of yours just like I did, all those years ago. But a word of advice. Don't worry too much about the Objects themselves; they aren't as important as you'd think.

 

— Me

The Holder of Doom

Yeah, I'm the Holder of Doom. Holder of Object 2500. And you know what? I'm not gonna tell you about my Object. Fuck that. Wouldn't do you much good anyway, really. It's already gone, you know. My best friend took it. How's that for irony? I get turned into a fucking Holder, and my best friend in the whole fucking world nabs my Object. Bastard. But whatever. It's been a long fucking time since I've been able to talk to anyone, so I'm gonna tell you about my friend and me. I think you'll find it interesting.

His name's not important, but we were Seekers together, a long time ago. Way before this website got created. Way before electricity, actually. Hundreds of years ago. Maybe thousands; I lost track of decades and centuries a long time ago. I can't even remember how we met, but we were great friends. We traveled around the world, collecting Objects. We'd tag-team it, share the Objects. I remember us flipping the coin to see who had to go after Salmacis and get turned into a... shemale? Yeah, that's the word. And then there was this one time when he woke up with me holding the Mirror of Fear right in front of his face. The bastard jumped through the roof, literally. He forgot to take off the Wristband of Heights before he went to sleep. Fucking hilarious stuff. This one time, after he'd gotten The Worm, he entered some eating contest. Got twice the score of the guy in second place. We had a good laugh after that one. I miss those times. They were good ones, my happiest memories. They were times where we could forget that we were gathering the means to destroy the universe and just chill. It was great. But then, things started to go wrong. Really, really fucking wrong.

Everything started to get fucked up when we met this other Seeker. Forgot his name, but he was creepy. No, scratch that. "Scared me shitless" is what I'd say if I were a human in your time, I think. He had gray skin, gray hair, he seemed to exude gray. And there was something about the way he moved that wasn't natural. He'd be perfectly still, but then suddenly move so fast that he'd leave an afterimage. There was no way that fucker was human. Needless to say, I kept my distance. My friend, for whatever reason, took a liking to him immediately. We'd only see him occasionally, but whenever we did, he and my friend acted like they'd known each other since the dawn of time. I'd bug the fuck out, using any excuse I could to get as far away from the bastard as I could. It was unnerving, to see him and my friend talking and laughing together. Oh, fuck. That laugh. Even now that I'm a Holder, thinking about that laugh still creeps the fuck out of me. I think the modern word is "bloodcurdling". And his eyes, let's not talk about those. Anyway, my friend and this guy always had a regular fucking yukfest together. And then my friend, well, he started to change.

He started to get more sadistic, more twisted. I think, no, I know it was that Seeker who did it to him. Fucking corrupted him. He volunteered to go after Pleasure, just so he could mutilate his girlfriend. He told me, happily, what he did to her. I don't wanna describe it. It was the kind of stuff that the Holders do to Seekers who fail. But then, somehow, he got Love's Object too. It was fucking unbelievable. And he began to change physically, too. His skin started to turn pale, and his veins stood out more, except they turned black. It was disturbing. Whenever I asked him what was up, he either acted like nothing was happening or he just started laughing. That laugh again. It sounded like the other Seeker's. Was the other Seeker's.

Later, for reasons I'm not sure of, everyone in our village became un-fucking-hinged. The residents slaughtered one another horribly, in sick ways. Only me, my friend, and some poor bastard named Michael survived. Don't know what happened to him. Anyway, that gray fucker blamed the destruction of our village on us three. No, I could see that it was our fault. It had all been. I think I snapped after that. My friend sure as fuck did.

Soon after our village annihilated itself, he went on a fucking non-stop Object spree. He'd sometimes get like three or more in a day. He went through Satan, Connection, Anarchy, Evolution, Conflagration, Entropy, Nostalgia, and like 10 others in about a week. And with every Object he managed to get, the more fucked up he got. I decided I needed to get away from him, so I went after an Object myself. I went for the Holder of Doom. Everything was going fine, until I committed an error. Fucked up. Whatever you call it now. I made a big mistake. I dunno what I did, but it was bad. I won't tell you what happened to me. It'd probably drive you insane, though not as insane as I am. Suffice to say, I became the new Holder of Doom. Let me tell you, that is a tortured fucking existence. If I had known what I would become, I never would have become a Seeker. Hell, I would never have been born, if it would stop this. But I can't. I'm stuck like this. And what's worse, my Object's gone. yea, I guess that's the kicker, the punchline of this whole story, huh? Lemme tell you about that.

Time passes differently for Holders, so I can't tell you how long it was after I became a Holder that my friend showed up. He passed the test to get to me easily. Fuck, he looked bad. His eyes were black and glassed over. He didn't seem to need them. His teeth were sharp and too long for his mouth, so that they'd puncture his lips whenever he moved his jaw. He moved like that other Seeker, moved like nothing anyone can imagine should move. I think, I think he was more Object than Seeker at that point. Anyway, when he got to me I shouted to him something to the effort of, "You look bad, man! Here, get me out of here, we'll get you back to normal."

He started laughing. It was the most demonic, most evil thing I've ever heard. I screamed in pain when he laughed. I'm a Holder. I've endured more pain than anyone or anything can possibly imagine. I screamed. And as the laugh crescendoed, he pulled out the White King's Sword and plunged it into what was left of my ribcage. The pain of that, combined with his laughter, was driving me insane all over again. Then, instead of taking the Object out of my hand, he grabbed my wrist. And tore my fucking arm off. He laughed the whole time. Holders can't pass out from agony, can't die, so he just left me there and took the Object, Object 2500. Took it with my arm still grasping it, and left.

I haven't seen him since. I've heard rumors, though, lots of things. They say he's become a Holder now. Serves that fucking bastard right. I hope he suffers like I do, suffers more for what he's become. If you happen to meet him, make him pay. Put him through as much agony as you can, and then a little more. And before you end whatever passes as a life for him, tell him the Holder of Doom sends his regards. I don't know how to find him or how to get to him, but I think I can give you a lead.

I hear they call him Legion now.

The Holder of Doom, as According to Jack

When humanity was truly young and Athens was far off in the seas of time, Doom was there. I would never advise the weak of mind to attempt this Object; as always, the images one might be exposed to were horrific and unsettling.

You could have gone to any unfinished structure, preferably a wall, and ask to see "The Holder of Doom". The wall would have swung aside revealing a long and winding road.

You could have walked down this road. At your left you would see the great civilizations that were to come. At your right you would see them as they fell. On your left would walk all the people who would be; on your right, their ruined corpses.

Wandering from that path brought doom.

You would eventually enter a tunnel, lit by a bright, blinding light. This light could damage the retina. Most would close their eyes and continue by feeling the walls.

As you traveled down the lights might have gone out. This darkness brought doom.

A garden lay at the end of the tunnel. A new young tree sat in its center, budding with apples.

A fate worse than doom fell on he who plucked an apple.

On top of the tree sat an eagle; at the bottom, a snake. A rodent carried insults between them.

That would be the time for the question.

You would ask Them, "Are all endeavors doomed?"

They would say, in a long and convoluted way, yes. They would then let you take their Object.

That was then.

When humanity was youthful and Rome was at the height of its rule, Doom was still there. I still would never advise the weak of mind to attempt this Object; as always, the images one might be exposed to there were horrific and unsettling.

You would have needed to have gone to the door of a building that had outlived its purpose and asked to see "The Holder of Doom". The door would swing open to reveal a narrow path shooting off into the distance.

At either side stood every living thing, every building, every village, town, city, or country that had ever fallen, forever playing out the actions that doomed it.

Wandering from that path brought doom.

Eventually, you would reach a tunnel, dark as pitch. Eyes were no use there; they might as well have been closed.

As you traveled down a bright light might have ignited. This light brought doom.

A garden lay at the end of this tunnel, a great tree at its center. Grown into it was a man.

This is the fate of the man who plucked an apple.

The man would insult you and scream at you. You could have traded insults with him.

That would be the time for the question.

You would have asked Him, "Are all endeavors doomed?"

He would say, in a long and convoluted way, no. He would then hand you his Object.

That was then.

This is now. No terror lurks there for you; any and all can take this path.

A door in the old, ruined capital of an old, ruined empire is what you seek; now in no other place will this magic be strong enough. Ask for "The Holder of Doom". You will have to pull the door open to reveal a long road suspended in nothingness.

In the darkness, the occasional image will flicker, and the occasional sound will be heard. None of it will be coherent.

No matter how hard you try, you cannot stray from the path.

You will soon come to a tunnel. The light and shadows in it will balance each other, creating a dim gray. You will be able to see fairly well in there.

The light will never change.

At the end of this tunnel lay an empty, barren field, save for a tree with a one-armed man grown into it.

This is the fate of those who get in my way.

The man will tell you a story. I will play an important role. He is mostly correct in his telling save for where he has no knowledge. I will tell you what he leaves out: his imprisonment is my fault. He made the crucial error of trusting another. Not me, of course. But his questions enlightened me to his plans. I made my own. Now he is a tree.

You can attempt to ask him the question, but he will not be fazed.

He will continue his story. At the end he will repeat it, all over again. He is quite mad, you see.

His Object was number 2500 of 2538. It was a rotten apple with a single bite taken out of it. His best friend took it and with it his arm. I find that funny.

The Holders of the Cult

It wasn't the best idea to do this, of course, but me and my friends felt like we had to after we found the information.

Obviously, Holders don't like to give up their Objects. They're very picky. Sometimes there's a question you can ask that means something very important to them. I don't know why, maybe it has something to do with how they became Holders, but if you do everything right, there's usually a way to convince them to give up their Object. But, that's not always the case.

I'm recording this because it's the only thing I can do. Three days ago, me and four of my friends managed to track down information on the Holders of the Cult. There wasn't much information yet as per what question to ask or what things to do, but we thought we should give it a shot anyway. We were stupid, but that's beside the point now. We gathered up what tools we needed and headed to the location to try and get their Object.

I don't think all Holders can be convinced to give up their Objects. I think some will just do everything in their power to stop the Seeker from getting what they possess. These particular Holders move from place to place around the country. Right now, they were just outside Bluffview. They were said to be a group of old ladies that owned a large house at the end of a long road, welcoming weary travelers to rest for the night. Those few that returned from their rest were on the brink of madness.

One such Seeker left a post of their location on the forum we frequented, and me and my friends took up the challenge. We all piled into station wagon and headed out. Bluffview wasn't too far away, and the Holders lived just two miles north off a long road. We got to the designated road and turned, surprised to see that this was one of the few paved roads out here in the country. It was clearly a road no one really lived on, only trees on either side, but the asphalt looked like it was only recently laid down. We joked all the way down the road, until we reached a large forest. The paved road stretched back into the dense trees, but a large branch had fallen over the road just in front of them. Carefully, we pulled over the car and got out to look. We didn't see any trees nearby that were missing limbs, but we weren't that concerned.

We left the car and headed down the paved road, which began to suddenly wind erratically through the trees. Though most of the surrounding area was flat, it suddenly became very hilly as well. It also became darker, much darker. We had arrived at 11 in the morning, but after only a couple hours, the light filtering down through the canopy of leaves dulled dramatically. It also seemed like the sun was setting. As we came up one rather large hill, we saw the house. At the end of the trail, a quaint white house sat, almost peering through the trees at us. In front of the door, we saw the figure of an old woman in a wheelchair just sitting in front of the door. She wasn't moving. I think she was staring at us.

We got the willies and decided to turn back, making our way down the hill. It couldn't have been less than a quarter-mile to the house from the top of the hill, but we had only just reached the bottom of the hill and looked back up to see the old lady standing at the top of the hill. She didn't have any eyes.

We screamed and ran, completely losing our nerve, but she came drifting down the hill. Not walking, drifting. Her feet were still on the ground, but she moved toward us without moving her legs, like she was strapped to a moving cart. The road didn't look new anymore. It was dark black and cracked everywhere. Worms started pouring out of the crack, rolling over our feet. We tried to leap off the path, but we couldn't for some reason. No matter how far we tried to step, our feet only just landed on the edge of the asphalt. We tried to step again, but the same thing happened. The worms rose to our knees. My friends were pulled down into them. I heard their screams being muffled into silence. I grabbed a tree branch, but felt the sucking. My shoes slipped off somehow. I think they melted. I looked over to see the old lady drifting through the worms like they were water. I couldn't get away. I could see the scarred backs of her eye sockets. I let go of the branch to swat at her, but ended up falling. I think I passed out.

Now I'm lying on a bed made of moldy muscles. In fact, I think everything is made out of sewn-together muscles; the floor, the ceiling, the walls. They're all moldy. They're dripping this greenish liquid that smells badly. I can't move. This thing is sitting on the headboard staring at me. They skinned my friends in this room and made them eat their own skin. It was horrible. They bled so much but they wouldn't die. Their bones were surgically removed, one by one. They still didn't die. Even after the spine was removed, their mouths were held wide with silent screams. Their vocal chords were already shredded from screaming so much. Reggie... he was hemophilic. I thought he would die first. But no, somehow, they made it so he died last.

It was because they got up. They sat up from their beds and this small gray thing on the head of the bed with the bulging eyes would attack them until the old women came in to take care of them. It hasn't stopped staring at me. I can't fall asleep, I can't move. If I move, they'll get me. It screams at me every ten minutes. I'm not going to make it out of here. I think I'm sinking into the bed. I think my body is rotting. I can feel the maggots crawling into my legs. But I can't move, I can't or the old ladies will hurt me. They're working their way up. I can't move, I can't. I can see them staring at me through the window, oh god. They don't have eyes but they're staring at me. It's like they're hungry, WHY WON'T THEY STOP STARING AT ME?! Oh the maggots, they're waiting for the maggots to eat me. It hurts, it hurts so bad but the gray thing is still staring and watching me and I have to be a good boy and stay still. The green is dripping on me and it stings and it burns and it's going inside me. They're coming inside now, they're moving closer, is it 'cause I'm talking into this? Don't come, don't let them get you, don't ever go to their house, don't let NO STAY AWAY! I'VE BEEN GOOD DON'T TAKE MY SKIN!! I HAVEN'T GOT UP, I DON'T WANT YOUR OBJECT, JUST PLEASE LET ME G

 

-The preceding audio recording was found inside an abandoned house 2.5 miles north of Bluffview, Wisconsin. Guy McDaniel and his companions have remained missing since April 23rd.

Hymn

As I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the lord my soul to keep;

Should I die before I wake,

I pray the lord my soul to take.

By your side through night and day,

Never shall I turn away;

Should They take my only home,

Ferry me to Kingdom Come.

 

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

Father Andrew knelt in the confessional and clutched the two halves of a golden cross strung around his neck as if protecting a newborn baby. They glinted happily in the dim light, and he smiled down at them. Before him, the confessional window slid open. How long has it been since he - a small-town priest - had been to an honest Catholic confessional?

"What is it that brings you here, my son?"

Father Albert looked up through the screen at his fellow clergyman and swallowed his words like a lump of bitter fruit. He didn't know why he came to confess, he only knew that he had to say what was on his mind.

He stroked his cross absent-mindedly, his smile falling as whispering words filtered through his ears.

"I think that god is dying."

...

Father Albert steered through the city streets, staring blankly at the lines whizzing by below him. The golden cross pieces clinked around his neck, the noises swimming through the air and weaving him a story.

Find the others, it said. God wanted him to find the others, or else... Or else... If he didn't find the others, he couldn't save god.

Wife and son had wanted him to get rid of it, but they didn't hear god's call. Forbid that they might be blasphemers. He tried to get them to hear the words that he heard, the call of the lord through the sacred cross, but they heard not. They only continued to cry against him. Words wouldn't silence them. Prayers wouldn't silence them. Only the cross would silence them. Half an hour ago, they stopped crying against him, and they would cease their blasphemous words forever. He absentmindedly wiped a fleck of blood still remaining on one of the pieces.

Lights flashed in his rearview mirror, and he let his eyes flick to the mirror and back. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He kept driving. The sirens kept going. The lights kept flashing. They dulled out the glinting golden light of the cross. He became annoyed.

When he pulled over, the police officer walked to his window in a professional manner. Father Andrew's lip curled in disgust. How high and mighty he held himself, but he was not above god. He was not above god's men. What right had he to tell him that the world of god was wrong? He turned his eyes from the guiding light, like so many others. So many sinners. Only he heard the voice.

"Can I get your license and registration?" Father Albert gave him two bullets in the right eye.

He hardly noticed the gearshift click, only that he was speeding down the highway again. He swerved through the lanes, dodging traffic, but it felt smooth to him, natural. Like a salmon swimming upstream. He dodged the obstacles to reach his goal. The voice of god called out to him.

...

They never found him. He sped down a rural road and grinded to a halt on dead-end gravel. He stepped out the car and looked up at the sight before him. The structure was tall, much taller than the trees. The rotating ivory arms scraped the blue sky far above him. Three of the turbines stood before him and he stared up in awe. They spun slowly and silently, hypnotizingly.

They couldn't keep him from his mission. Wife, son, police. They did not understand the will of god. God was dying. He needed help. The voice in the cross was fading. He clung to it tighter. He must coax the voice back. He would help as much as possible. He bent over and cuddled it, whispering to it and praying to it.

Soon, he said, soon will the Kingdom of god be wealthy again. Soon, the goodness of god will be everywhere.

He looked back up, and the sky was red.

"No," he murmured, reaching up into the sky. "Don't bleed, lord. Don't bleed. It's not too late."

His eyes moved to the black sun behind him. Was he too late? Had god blown his brains out? Was it over?

The cross quivered in his hands, as if it was scared. He looked back down at it again and his eyes widened. He wasn't dead, he was scared. The enemies of god were clawing at the doorstep. The armies of Satan had come. The wind turbine screeched behind him, and he turned to see that the blades were no longer ivory; they were blotched with black. Tar clung to the blades and weighed down the wings that continued to try and claw at the sky. The windmill tried to reach up to god, but the tar built and built until it slowed and stopped. The great machine ceased as the black substance clogged the turbine and slapped to the ground below.

The forms rose from the tar and turned toward Father Albert, who took a few steps backward and raised his gun. He didn't know if it would work against the spawn of the Devil, but he must defend the cross. He fired three times with his antique revolver, but it seemed to only make it madder. It advanced on him and brandished long claws. He raised the cross pieces and placed them together.

"In the name of the lord, I command you to -" he couldn't finish his command due to a punctured lung. The tar creature withdrew the claws and in one swipe, severed the chain that bound the cross pieces. They fell away, as did Father Albert. The cross fell into the tar's grasp, and Father Albert fell to the ground beside his car. He reached out, but the tar was already moving away. Others like it lurked nearby, waiting. Waiting as they brought the Object back. Albert shuddered and stammered as they took the voice of god from him.

They had taken god from him. God was dead. That, like so much else had been taken from him. His friends, his family, his following, his freedom, his sanity. It had all been taken from him. He knew he took his family's lives, in cold blood. He suddenly knew it, and for the first time that he could remember, emotion flooded him. He felt cold, he felt alone. The gun resting in his hand, with one shot remaining. He held it to his temple, and with the one remaining bullet, he ventured away once more, seeking his lord.

I Will Find Them

Hello all, my name is Alexander.

And I will find them, each and every one.

I'm not going to make some attempt to curb your opinion. I know what will happen when they are brought together, and the reason is this.

I currently sit here with Object number one. It's just sitting there, on the floor beside my desk. I thought I'd recount what really happens when you go after it, because it might keep you from doing it yourself. After all, I don't exactly want any competition.

I live in a sizable city in Ontario, Canada. Where I am exactly I won't indulge, but that's because this is the internet, and that would be stupid. Now then, on to my tale.

I walked to a local halfway house, the only one in the city I know of. I figured, if I did what this site said, then either it would happen, or I could play it off like a prank or something.

But I knew it would happen.

As soon as I stepped past the fence that marked the property, the air felt heavy, incredibly humid. I figure the Holder knew I was coming, maybe it could feel my intent as a Seeker.

I started off exactly how the website said. As soon as I approached the woman at the counter, she asked me why I was there. It was pretty forceful, if I think about it, she almost yelled. A lot of the Objects seem to be based on call and response, but whatever works I suppose. I tried to play it off as smoothly as I could, don't ask me why.

"I wanna see the Holder of the End."

It was at this point that everything changed. This site isn't exactly wrong, but it isn't right either. Or maybe it's different for everyone. The worker didn't seem afraid at all, so I thought I had done something wrong. But this was not the case. The worker looked around, and with a rushed tone, uttered a silent "follow me" before turning around and walking down the small hallway behind her.

Not wanting to chicken out, I followed, and once again I was dumbfounded, as the hallway did not scream at me, and did not seem endless. I took a step into the hallway and instantly felt nauseous, I bent over myself as images of death flashed into my mind. I was terrified of nothing, of this beige hallway with a woman standing at the end, next to a mahogany door, a deep red browned by the wood. The moment quickly passed and I regained my composure.

I had to press on.

"This is where you'll find him, Seeker," the worker now spoke in a wise, somewhat omnipotent way. "But please, I beg of you, reconsider. The Objects were not meant for mortals."

"I've come this far, and I've made my decision. Now let me through please."

Without a word, the woman pulled a ring of keys from her pocket, and selected a rusted, somewhat stereotypical key, one that would in no way fit the door before us. However, she instead lifted the key to a small hole, sitting just above the door frame, and turned. With her job done, she quickly left me and headed back to the counter.

I heard a soft click, and felt the air grow heavier still. It was time to begin. Not wanting to mess up, I pulled out a small pad of paper with notes on what was supposed to come. With my tools ready, I turned the handle of the door, and stepped into darkness.

Complete darkness.

The door that was once behind me seemed to trickle out of existence, as I quickly stepped back to reach once again for the handle, realizing it was no longer there.

Cautioned against standing still, I began to move, swiftly. Soon light came from the air, it seemed, and I found myself in a stone hallway, what I assumed was the "cell" described online.

Soon the other things I had read about would come as well.

I wasn't even fully aware of it at first, but the whispering was there. As it grew louder, I realized what was going on, and prepared for the worst, still continuing my hasty stride.

The whispers grew louder, and soon I could make them out, or at least something close to that. I couldn't understand a word of it, and yet I felt the messages they sent deep in my bones. First came warnings, things like "turn back" and "flee for your life" repeated themselves getting louder and louder. Soon the whispers became angry, and yet never rose above a whisper. Messages of pain became threats, and I felt a fear greater than anything experienced by someone unrelated to the Objects, I'm sure. I wanted nothing more than for the whispers to stop, and found myself covering my ears, pinned to the wall out of pain and terror. And then suddenly, the hallway became quiet.

I slumped against the floor for a moment, regaining my composure in the silence I was gifted with. That was when I heard it.

A skittering, coming from somewhere in the hallway, which end I wasn't sure, but I remembered the rules. What would happen if the room became silent. I stood up, still pinned to the wall, and shouted at the top of my lungs.

"I'M JUST PASSING THROUGH! I- I... I WISH TO TALK!"

After a moment, the skittering ceased, and was replaced by a faint whispering. I didn't want to have to wait for the whispering to grow again, so I ran. I ran for as long as I could, and when I couldn't run I speed-walked. Anything to get out of that hallway.

I saw the door.

It was right in front of me, only a few feet away in an instant. It was a great steel door, with only a slot to peer through. It had to be the door to the Holder's cell. In a foolish instant of triumph I threw open the door.

There he sat, huddled in the corner was an old man, his skin as gray as his hair, huddled over The End, speaking in tongues not heard in centuries. I stepped forward, and stated my question clearly.

"What happens when they come together?"

That was when my life ended. I have seen things no human should ever see, been told secrets that should never have formed in the first place. I thought I'd go insane, I must have been listening to him for at least a day or two, although I'm not exactly sure what the date is anymore.

This is where things changed again. The man finished his story, and promptly stood up, I assume in an attempt to kill me, as the website says.

But he didn't. He tried, but he was feeble, and I crushed him in an instant, leaving his corpse on the cold floor of that cell. I will not go into details on how this occurred, if anything to protect what little humanity I have left. The Object lay in the shadow of the corner, even in complete darkness I knew it was there.

I tore the cloth that the old man wore from his body and threw it into the corner, covering the Object. After all, I mustn't look at it.

I walked freely back to the door, which was now lit from behind, the hallway of the halfway house lying just beyond it. I assumed that it was The End that let me leave, it was the only thing that had really changed.

Just as I reached for the doorknob, I heard a faint whispering from behind me. Apparently, the old man was made of tougher stuff than I had thought.

And so I sit here, at my computer, with Object number one at my side. I have been told of what will come should the Objects meet. I have already begun mapping out the order in which I'll be obtaining the rest of them. The horrors I have seen, were also followed by euphoria. A great cataclysm to end all cataclysms, or a savior, meant to heal the world. Which will I be, when I bring them together.

Only I know, you'll just have to wait and see.

I will have them.

Joy

Her name was Joy. My, she was beautiful. Why someone in a form like that became the being she was, is something I'll never know, and I've seen and experienced some pretty horrible things in my time. She was a Seeker, looking for Holders of various Objects.

I was coming home from doing naughty things. What those things were, I'll leave to your imagination. It's more twisted that way. Hey, give me some credit. I'm a Holder, after all. She came looking for my Object. She followed the instructions I left behind, even taking into account changes that would have occurred since they were written. I have to say, she was a good Seeker. Most of them never get as far as she did.

She followed everything she had read in the story, right down to looking for me at an intersection, stopped at a red light. "You're seriously looking for the Holder of Safety?" I asked her. She didn't even flinch. Most of the better Seekers start off this way, so I wasn't expecting much, but her cold "Yes" was charming. It was as if she was trying to make Seeking seem effortless, stylish and necessary at the same time. Still, that was nothing new. I had a lot more in store for her.

"Then you'd better start moving fast, because time is ever finite."

At that moment, the light turned green. She was riding a bike, too, so it wasn't hard for her to keep up with me. We arrived at my apartment, locked our bikes, and went inside. I started making the spaghetti. The green chile was my land's famous Autumn Roasted, so the spaghetti sauce had an extra bite to it. And before you ask, no, I'm not the kind of sicko who would put human flesh into the pasta sauce, or use pasta made from ground bone meal. This was ordinary spaghetti with green chile and tomato sauce. I even held the cyanide, seeing as how I don't even have any to begin with. Where I come from, spaghetti with green chile is a delicacy. Try it sometime, but watch out, it's spicy.

She seemed to rather like it. Indeed, she cleaned her plate. That doesn't happen often, because most of them are scared off by the spice after the first bite. This would be where I ventured to ask why she Seeks the Holder of Safety, but she was ahead of me.

"I won't lie to you, Holder," she said. "I hate." It was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing when she said that. "I'm willing to bring them together just so that all the things I hate can be annihilated." That second thing wasn't nearly as funny. "How many of them do you have?" She took her purse and showed me something. It looked like the bones of a finger. "Shit," I said. "You have THAT one? Do you have any of the others?" She reached into her purse and showed me a bottle of pills. "What else? Come on, if you have both of those you must have some of the others." She looked at me. It was then that I noticed her left eye. It seemed to glow with an inner pulsing light. I knew that something had to be done.

"Did you choose to blind yourself to the good in the world, or are you refusing to let go of some old trauma that doesn't serve you anymore?" She didn't like that, and lashed out with incomprehensible screaming about how horribly wronged she was throughout her whole life, and how reuniting the Objects was the only thing that could possibly alleviate her pain. All the while, I couldn't help but feel a growing disdain for this woman, because her story was nothing new. She had already failed the test, by mentioning that she wanted to bring them together, and she had gone past the point where I would have let her walk free by trying to blame me for refusing to hand over the charms.

I took the staff and jammed it under her nose, lodging the bone in her brain. She was dead. Her glowing eye started to shake violently, then it vanished in a burst of light. The bone-finger and bottle of pills disappeared, too. Strange sounds, like someone being dragged somewhere they didn't want to go, began emanating from her purse. Apparently, she had a few Objects that became a part of her being, too. At least I didn't have to dump the body. That's always a pain in the ass.

So I still carry the charms, awaiting the next Seeker. Will it be you?

The Letter

This document appeared pressed between the pages of fifty-four and fifty-five of all known copies of Dr. Wilheim Totenberg's "A Paper Butterfly" on March 24 1846. The validity of the information in this document is still in question.

 

The thesis is correct. The world can be broken as easily and quickly as a paper butterfly. This is what you must do to stop it.

You must have all 2537 Objects in your possession.

If this comes to pass, We offer you our congratulations. The ones who made it this far are few and far between, indeed.

Next you must call forth the final Object.

First, you must expose all of your Objects to the End. Gather them all together in a large room and produce the final Object. This will cause all of the Objects to put up a protective barrier in response; nothing can get too close to any of them now.

Next, you must put the End Object in a safe place where nobody can steal it. This is imperative. The End Object has no similar protective mechanism other than what is built-in.

As you take your hands off the End Object, you will feel a sharp, stabbing pain in your chest. If you choose to scrutinize it under an x-ray, the reading will show that you now have a diamond connected to your spine. This is caused by the reaction of the other Objects embedded in your body to exposure to the End. Be careful; if someone manages to steal it, the defenses you now have will only work so well if it is used on you, and if it is used continuously, you will die.

If you are willing to take that risk, then if you follow these instructions correctly, you will become the being that We seek; the Holder of Legion. It is your job to hold back the End.

Lovely Eye

Her mother had been a Seeker, although she did not know this, nor could she ever know, for after the following event took place all memory or thought of anything even vaguely related to such had disappeared from both their minds, and the girl's father had supposedly died long ago (or so her mother claimed), although the circumstances surrounding his death were mysterious at best. The woman, the girl's mother, who currently went by the name Ms. Prynne but before was known as Rose Majesty, had found merely one Object, and one Object only. Object 5. After obtaining this Object, the first in what she'd hoped would be a very fruitful and astonishingly horrifying career, she fell into an infatuation (for sociopaths like herself can never truly "love") with a young man named, or so he claimed, Charles Fee.

Charles Fee was a fellow Seeker, although more subtly deranged than many, which I think is what drew Rose to him. He had been a Seeker much longer than Rose, although he of course did not inform her of this, nor did he inform her of the hideous parasite that lived within him, courtesy of a particularly angry Seeker who also happened to be a witch.

They married, both under obviously fake names, and lived in an equally fake happiness for approximately a year, before Charles left forever to join a new, younger Seeker. Rachel moved on quickly; her infatuation had long since passed, and she had grown rather bored of his company as well.

A child, however, had been conceived before the two had split, and would soon be born. Rachel named her Delilah, and decided to experiment on her, for she had grown weary of such human things, wishing to Seek once again, and hoping this experiment would kill the baby, ridding her of an attachment to the human world. For whatever reason she could not leave the child, nor kill it, and so perfected a more insidious and roundabout way of doing so.

And thus, immediately after the child was born, she found the box in which she had carefully placed Object 5, the eye. It was still warm, even after so many years, and she looked at it with a sort of love Delilah would never see. Carefully, Rachel set it down on an old metal tray, then took the tongs she had gathered, snapping them twice, to rip out her daughter's left eye. Delilah stared up at her mother, smiling.

And then screaming.

Screaming.

Screaming.

Screaming.

Screaming.

Screaming.

Rachel covered the girl's mouth, then, with one hand, the other maneuvering Object 5 into the empty eye socket. It was somewhat difficult as the blood had almost filled the cavity, but she dropped it in with a slight splash. To her displeasure, it attached itself quite nicely with the nerves automatically, and began to follow the other eye's movements. Its color, a deep red akin to blood after one left it out for a few days, however, did not change to suit the other eye, a dull gray color that had been in Rachel's family for centuries.

Delilah's muffled cries had begun to subside as the baby realized it could feel no pain now (or ever, for that matter), and Rachel removed her hand. She questioned whether it would be worth the trouble to clean the blood off the baby's face, and, groaning, decided it would be, although she planned for Delilah to never enter any school or even a particularly bustling store, for that matter, without her mother close at hand.

It was exactly three months after this the memories left. None knew why, perhaps even He could not even manage to figure it out, but there it was. Suddenly and irrevocably, neither mother nor child remembered anything, not that Delilah was even capable of doing such.

Rachel shifted her name almost unconsciously to Dora Prynne, along with Delilah's to Eliza. Although her daughter would never have a birth certificate or social security number, nor could her mother seem to bring herself to make a real one, Prynne faked several, eventually moving to Iowa where she began work as a receptionist for a large firm called A.G. Industries.

Her daughter was at first diagnosed with congenital analgia, though she could feel temperature quite well, unless it felt uncomfortable in any way. She was able to "feel" the heat or the cold as it may be, simply not the pain associated with it, or so she explained to the incredulous doctors. However, as her mother appeared to share the condition, no more was said, especially about their lack of the brain chemistry to back up the diagnosis.

The eye itself did very little for her other than keep away pain. On the very rare occasion, when the two chanced upon something relating to the Objects, Eliza would see it with a murky silver sheen surrounding it. That is all.

The girl grew. She grew into a young, awkward teenager with messy brown hair, loads of disgusting pimples, and a thin, weak build that looked like she'd just gotten out of an internment camp. When she turned fourteen she started to wonder why she was so indescribably different than the other girls with their boyfriends and their shiny electronics and their perfectly done hair.

She began to wonder why no matter how much she cleaned her hair, it stayed flecked with dirt.

She began to wonder why the others grew angry when she threw stones at cats or drowned mice for fun.

She began to wonder why no matter how much spray-on tan she drenched herself in nor how long she stayed in the sun her skin wouldn't change from translucently pallid, nor would it even freckle in the sun.

And she especially began to wonder why everyday her eye tugged at her, tugged her to something unknown. It was just an eye, after all, red as it was, strange as it was, an eye.

And so it came to pass that on a dark day in early November when the rain came down in sheets she met a man, or what passed for a man. His name was Jack.

Making a Deal

If you wait outside the tower he shall be busy. He might agree so you will leave. He may kill you, it is your risk.

If you wait by the estate he shall be returning from a job well done. You might take advantage of his good mood. He is god there, though, so you brave the fires of Hell.

If you wait by the Gates of Hell he might be angry with defeat or longing for amusement. Hope for the latter.

Do not sleep by these places.

The wait shall be long.

Be sure you are prepared.

If you trade him years of your life he will take them and bottle them. He will eventually grant them to his friend or wife and you shall feel your life being lived.

If you trade him your soul he will take it and wear it. Some say he knits them into the fibers of his suit, but they are wrong. They are in a small cage in a secret place in his head. It is a dark place. They are screaming.

If you trade him an Object, or power, or secrets he will cheat you. He is a frugal man and will spend less than he earns.

If you offer to do a task he might size you up and look you over. Pray he says yes.

If you give him your body after your death he will craft himself a servant. You shall work tirelessly for him.

If you give him wealth or goods he will laugh. Perhaps he might not simply kill you and do your task poorly; for his amusement.

Do not try to cheat him.

You cannot break oath.

Lies will award you torment unnamed.

If you ask him for wealth, or power, or joy he will give it to you. It will taste of ash in your mouth. When you kill yourself he might laugh. None shall mourn.

If you ask for a murder to be done or a place destroyed he will break it. The guilt might madden you, if not; the destruction he makes will be unimagined, unsuspected, and sickening. He will catch your tears as they fall.

If you wish an item fetched or something stolen he will be indignant. You will have made a powerful enemy this day.

If you ask for life it will be granted. As the stars wear down he shall sit by your side and smile his cruel smile.

Name your task well and wisely, he shall obey it to the letter.

Make sure it is worthwhile, the cost will be steep.

Do not pause to let him speak: his words are true but crafty.

After it is done he shall ask you; "Are you pleased?"

Say yes and he will call you a liar. He might only remove your tongue if he is generous that day.

Say no and he will take insult. This will earn you a curse and an early grave.

Or you may tell him that it was done well. You shall be forced to live with what you have wished for and what you have given away. Perhaps this is the worst fate.

As he turns on his heel and walks away you shall hate him.

Because of his mad, evil grin.

Because of his long, cruel laugh.

Because of his cold, dead eyes.

Because he gave you what you wanted.

And he'll never take it back.

Ryan's Notebook

To whoever finds this notebook, let me state that everything stated here is absolutely true; I've done the research myself. So be forewarned, you might not be able to stomach the secrets that the Objects keep, even from Seekers. In some cases, those secrets are even kept from Holders. You should really close this book now, for your own safety.

However, you did find this notebook. That has to be worth something...

That's what's written on the first page of my notebook. I try to keep it on my person at all times. Who knows what could happen if another Seeker, or god forbid, one of Them, found all of my research.

I shudder at the thought before returning to my work. I decided to tackle an easier subject tonight: chronicling my account of obtaining the Dagger of the Rails. Then another distraction comes up.

"Hey Ryan, whadaya writin' this time?" It's Daniel, another Seeker, stumbling in drunk, and back from getting the Statue of Ashes. The first part of that I know from his company for the last few weeks. He's been following me and thinking of me as a mentor. God knows why. The last part, however, comes from the mark. It's almost a burden knowing the truth behind whatever you look at, but it gives me something to write down. That's the closest thing to a purpose I've ever had as a Seeker.

He falls on an old upholstered chair. We're in a rundown building at the edge of the city. Some call it a safe haven for Seekers. The mark tells me that They just haven't shown up yet. Another shiver goes down my spine.

"How'd it go with Ashes?" I ask, partly out of formality, but mostly to avoid answering. Daniel isn't what I'd call a friend. Although he does prove himself useful from time to time, I'm not about to show him the contents of my tireless research yet.

He stutters on about how he almost slipped up and how he got the statue. I get bored before he finishes his first sentence and turn back to my notebook. I don't think he notices or cares. I look at my watch, hoping Claire gets back from wherever she went. I wonder what she could be going after now.

Time passes like molasses as I fill in my next entry. I just get to the part with the poem when Claire comes through the door. She had the same pitiful look that she gets whenever she gets a new Object. But this time something was different...

As Claire falls down on a decrepit couch, I notice the contrast between the two of them. Daniel wasn't the kind of person who you'd think would be on a journey like this. He was middle-aged and fat. Not the best qualities to have as a Seeker. I always assumed that gathering Objects was just a mid-life crisis for him. Claire on the other hand, was young, beautiful, and exactly as someone would picture a heroine looking for lost treasures. Too bad for her, these "treasures" cost her dearly.

"Where'd you go?" Daniel slurs. "Out to get another," she replies through an armrest. "I failed." Red lights flicker in my head.

"No you didn't," I finally put down my notebook. The mark tells me she was lying, but not what she was lying about. That part always gets to me. "Where were you really?"

She sits in silence to compose herself; she knows me too well. She knows that if I want to know something, I always discover the truth. Just coming out with it is much easier.

"Fine, I wasn't. I got... contacted..."

"By who? A Holder?"

"I don't know. But I do know that it wasn't anything like I ever expected. I was on my way to Mercy Hospital when some child with white eyes came up to me. And it wasn't just his eyes that put me off, but something about him I couldn't quite explain. I felt as though I was in a Holder's realm or something. Anyway, he spoke in this most chilling voice. He wanted to know what I wanted to do with them. Naturally, I said I didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't want to take that for an answer, though. He told me that he knew I wanted to keep the Objects apart. Then he took something out of his cloak and gave it to me and told me the creepiest thing I ever heard. I'll never forget it."

"What did he say?"

"And what did he give you?"

"He looked right into my eyes and told me, 'Take this. They're right to be afraid of you.' And gave me this."

They told me later that she took a small pouch out of her pocket and took something out of that. It was a small stone, finely polished and smooth. I don't remember any of that though. All I remember was the shrieking of the mark as it showed me the truth behind that item. Now, all I remember from it was a single phrase. This time we'll protect them.

After that, I slept. When I woke up, Dan and Claire were next to me on a bus. I haven't yet figured out where we're going, but those two tell me it's important. Something about what I was screaming before I passed out. I take out my notebook. This is going to make a very interesting entry.

The Seeker of Darkness

They can't possibly be real, right? Hundreds of objects that unleash horrors upon the world when brought together... it's gotta be just made up.

But just for the heck of it...

I scroll down the list and choose a Holder: The Holder of Darkness. Reading more than the first paragraph probably would be a good idea, but that would spoil the fun. It's probably all fake anyway.

So with my severely limited knowledge of what was ahead, I donned the alias of Ansem and set off to the asylum down the block.

I head up to the counter and request to see the Holder of Darkness. The man simply laughed at me. From what I read that is what was supposed to happen if I got the right place, but then again I reckon that's the response I would get from anybody, asking for such a ridiculous name. So I did what the first few sentences told me to do and asked again, and again, then 2 more times before he suddenly stopped.

"Uhh... hello?" I asked him as he started to walk away. Following after him, I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea? I was about to turn back when something caught my eye: a door with nothing on it, no knob, no handle, no lock, nothing. The attendee pushed it open with just a touch.

Out of curiosity, I followed him through the strange doorway. And waiting for me there was a spiral staircase taller than I could see the top of. Now, this asylum was a single-story building, so naturally, I had some questions. But as I was turning around to talk to the worker, the door closed and wouldn't budge! I was trapped! Well... might as well go up the stairs, not much else to do...

Now, I'm not in the best of physical conditions, so to keep my mind off of the overly large amount of stairs, I played some of my favorite songs in my head while I climbed.

I go up for quite a while until Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne is interrupted by a loud creak from one of the stairs. I freeze and look around, a door is on my left, which was odd, considering that the way the stairs spiraled, the left was on the inside of the staircase, which was hollow; and I don't know how long I've been going up, it may have just been higher than I could see, but I didn't see any doors when I was at the bottom, so I opened the door carefully and proceeded slowly.

It was pitch black in there, I couldn't see a thing. So, I did what I always do when I can't see: go straight forward with my arms stretched out until I run into something. Fortunately, I didn't have a chance to hit anything, a cold chill scared me so horribly that I froze.

That's when I saw it, the most disgusting thing I've ever seen, a decayed corpse from an unidentifiable creature. At the time I didn't think about how I could've seen it in the pitch-black room, as other, more important matters were taking up my mind. Because, if I wasn't mistaken, I'm almost positive that it was... mumbling to itself.

It was so horrifying, I would have screamed if I wasn't too scared to make a noise. But then adrenaline kicked in, time slowed down, and I could think a little more clearly. In that time, I came to wonder, "What do THEY fear?" and in my warped state of mind, I had ended up quietly saying it out loud. At which point the corpse spoke to answer my accidental question. It spoke of diseases, horrible illnesses that have no name; flesh rotting from living bodies, and bleeding pores covering the body, all of which would be released into the world should their secret get out and somebody tried to use it against them. I was told so much so quickly, my mind couldn't take it, it felt like it was going to explode; but then a door appeared in front of me. I collapsed through it and passed out in the yard in front of the institution.

A few hours later I woke up to find a broken hourglass in my hand. It seemed to call out, seeking the companionship of other objects throughout the world.

It was real, all those stories of Holders were true. I didn't want a part of it. Then again, I still have a lot of questions, and there is only one way to get them answered...

The Seeker of the Lens

So it turns out they were real after all, at first I wanted nothing more to do with it, but now that I think about it, it was fun, exhilarating, and I want to do it again.

If I know too much about it, that might scare me away from doing it, so let's just scroll up and down really fast and pick one at random: The Holder of Death... Redo! The Holder of Despair; oh come on! The Holder of the Lens; THERE we go.

So after finding one that didn't sound like certain failure, I did my new tradition of only reading the first paragraph before heading off way underprepared.

The asylum I went to last time has so conveniently closed down, so I had to do a Google Maps search and the next closest place was 2 towns over. So I got into my car mumbling about the 4-hour drive.

I got there 2 Mountain Dew cans later (I left pretty early, just in case). The place was called "The Willshire Lunatic Home", not very sensitive to the patients, but I guess if they really are crazy they probably won't be able to read it, let alone remember it by the time they get to their cell.

Well, let's get this over with...

I open the door and I step inside; the front desk worker is already busy with her paperwork, the small bit I read said nothing about what to do in this situation, but there were a LOT of papers there and my ADHD wouldn't let me wait there for that long.

"Excuse me? I wish to see the Holder of the Lens," I said, but she didn't do anything. Maybe she didn't hear me? "AHEM, I said I need to see the Holder of the Lens!" Still nothing. "Hey!" I half-shouted, but then "Are you sure?" the secretary finally replied, lifting her head quizzically. "Huh? Oh..." Well, he was called the Holder of the Lens, how tough could he be? I pictured some nerdy-looking guy: skinny, glasses, kinda what I look like come to think of it, but I already took down a much tougher-sounding Holder before, so there was no doubt in my mind when I said, "Yes, I am sure."

The worker nodded, smiled, stood up, and made a door appear out of nowhere behind the desk. I swear I will never get used to these things.

The hall at the other side of the door was only as wide as the door itself, so we barely could squeeze through. There are mirrors on both sides of the walls, but my OCD pointed out that they were not symmetrical in any way, some were close together, some were far apart, and they never faced each other.

Looking into them as I passed, one of them wasn't right. It was missing something... ME! I leaned over and checked the mirror right next to it to make sure I didn't suddenly turn into a vampire, then went back to face the me-less mirror.

The attendant noticed and stepped toward the mirror. "There's something up with this mirror -" I tried to explain, but she just ignored me and pushed the mirror aside, revealing a darkened room behind it. "Uhh... thanks?" I said to the worker as I went through.

I got inside and the mirror slide back into place, making this already pitch-black room even darker somehow.

As I started to do my trademark run-forward-in-the-dark-until-you-hit-something maneuver, some murmuring started up in the background. It was pretty quiet though, so maybe they haven't found me yet.

Damn, this is a big room, I've been walking forward for at least 5 minutes and - OH CRAP! THE MURMURING JUST STOPPED! THEY FOUND ME! Okay, quick, make up an excuse as to why you are here. "I am only here to see a friend," I said, pretending to be calm.

The room lit up, it was dim, but since I was in the darkness for so long it was at a comfortable level of brightness, and I could see quite well. What really bugged me was how small the room was, I was running for a while but the place was only about 10 feet by 10 feet, so I must have been either going in circles or running in place or something.

There was a chair there, and I was quite tired, so I was about to go over there to sit down, but then I remembered where I was. This was the Holder's place. That chair could be a trap! It could eat my soul or turn into a demon or give me AIDS or something.

I was standing still and staring at the chair with all this going through my head when a voice came out of nowhere and told me to sit down. And in spite of my previous caution I sat in the chair. Well, nothing happened so I guess the chair was safe after all. All that worrying for nothing.

"What is your name?" the Holder asked. "It's uh..." Crap, I had a fake name before, what was it? It was a reference to a video game or something. Oh, screw it. So I just gave him my real name. He asked a lot of questions, what is your favorite number, what is the 5th letter of the alphabet, how many siblings do you have; a lot of pointless things you wouldn't expect in something this serious. At the end, he thanked me for telling the truth and said he'd ask me one last question.

If it's anything like the other questions, that is going to be easy. "Why have you come here?" the Holder asked.

Sounds simple at first, but I came to steal his crap, I can't tell him that! I can't lie about it either because he JUST thanked me for not lying. I uh... I gotta change the subject!

"May I see your face?" is what I came up with. The Holder chuckled, waved one of his arms, and a pair of glasses fell on my lap. That chuckle was a bit suspiciously friendly, but I just made it seem like I wanted to see him and I guess that will make me see him. I thought of the thing I loved most in the world and put them on.

Well, the good news is it didn't kill me. The bad news is that now all the walls look like they are covered in blood and guts. The Holder told me to stand, which I was more than glad to do because the floor was covered in blood too, so I stood on the chair. It still didn't show me the Holder's face though (which I was now genuinely curious about), so I looked straight ahead and asked again to see it.

Some of the blood cleared away from one of the walls and an object floated out. It was a ways away and I wasn't wearing my glasses (my usual ones for seeing distance as opposed to the ones that made me see blood) so I couldn't quite see what it was, but it was shiny and made my ADD happy so I got up (completely forgot about the blood on the floor but oh well, it's not like I sunk into it or anything) and walked toward it, and as I did so it moved toward me. Even though I was right next to it, I still couldn't tell what it was, it was blurry. Hmmm... I wonder...

I hit it as hard as I could to see what would happen. The thing shattered and turned into a skull, with some of the rotting skin still on it! This, of course, scared the crap out of me, so I pulled my hand away.

Then I understood, THIS WAS THE HOLDER! Well, crap. And I just punched him. Gotta fix this. So I bowed and said thank you, and the Holder replied (with bad breath, I might add) with "You said you wanted to see my face, right? Do you?" I thought that skull was the Holder's face, I didn't really want to see it again so I just said, "No, thanks," and turned to walk away. But the Holder insisted, putting his hand on my shoulder and asking again - wait a minute, Holder... Holder... The question! But I didn't read far enough to know what it was! DAMN MY NEWLY BORN TRADITION!!! Okay, just gotta think, this is the Holder of Lens, he gave me glasses, glasses let you see stuff, so... "How do they see?" is what I came up with.

But as I said it, the Holder pushed me! Did I say the wrong thing? I was falling into the blood that I just remembered was there so I covered my face (I didn't want to get that crap in my eyes or mouth, eww) as I sunk in. Also, as I sunk in I saw pictures of things, horrible things, but it was like watching a train wreck (in fact, one of the images was a train wreck), and I couldn't look away. Then I saw it: me! Or, well, at least me after I've been run over... 12 times... by a cliff... off of a skyscraper...

Anyway, it looked like me so I reached out to it. I think I touched it but right as I did the blood disappeared and I was in darkness (Why are all the Holders so obsessed with darkness?), but wait! A door! I opened it and went into the blinding light on the other side. I was in heaven, oh no wait, it's a bathroom, but it's heaven compared to where I just was. I thanked god (but you're not supposed to say god's name in vain so I just said thank you) as I walked out one pair of glasses richer.

In all honesty, I don't know why I'm doing this. I don't want to destroy the world, and the stuff you have to do to get these is terrible, and you can't really do anything with the stuff you get. I suffered through so much for what? A needle and a pair of glasses? Should I really be doing this?

Strange Waters

Craig is a laborer working to provide for his family. His wife and sick daughter are always close to his heart. When he is given a job offer that will cover their medical expenses, he takes it. Craig braves the strange for his daughter's health. Once he dives into the dark waters of Sub-Marina, will he come back up?

A Tale from an Insane Seeker

The only the kitchen. Once the rest against the desk and shimmering with your hand. Gloves are in, he might be on your defense, ask one (of one), the power of your weapon will slowly become a shallow grave.

Even if they do not, be in front of anything, or he'll still for - so don't worry - the daughters tearing it once you wake up (more vehement), you can get away! You see, the door wills to reveal the souls in the foulest, its massive blast of 538. Its owner will motion (you will be a shard). You will - you do not give - you along with the little girl of the sky raining fire, for hours, perhaps even as they finish the large room will grow, its patrons will give it up by mist.

Open your approach.

Reaching down and his place your agony for which case, donate (the room there to go) to take you have gone by, eventually, the chest. I can achieve, for you can get through, the "Truth".

The car will ever imagine, but then above a silent sentinel of Sadism and kicks it will cleave them for she goes in the hidden door; upon as pure as the people around you will have a quick moment (should you were to glance at the forces it is holding). You must resist because, in questioning, if you say, "Mighty ruler", but - you have it!

You will eventually blur and ask, "So, why will it surely be a crystal palace?" or the blade will make absolutely still.

In any distance between him: brain, and two rings. Should it will: seat, of course. They will be an unknown force.

If you will fail to find yourself back, then begin to try to see what happens when you will wilt, and start again, fight will be a child, whom his body, and look of an amount depends on a steel-gray hall, you are done when you turn and bustle in a few or place in an eternity in any country, go to the same reason why you through the end of white light upon you. Quietly, but only one side of slimy and ask you will be easily enough along with chainsaws.

Before leaving, search the room with your ear: "The Holder of your hands to know." Slowly, you must be prepared. No, it is Object 298 of disappeared silence to the Holder of Everything will to cry, cry. The light will be all the hall, straight for so much he took advantage of that stands out of a reproduction of this a literal meaning.

Tell your title. My hunger comes in the front. Keep your skin and suffer the old Clergyman wearing the Holder of all, for this item, the books contain the window of YELLOW spray paint and wait, rocking chair.

A chorus of bodies, with fresh grave cost.

Holder of Foolishness. He will hear the "Holder of fallen on your life". He will leave and you may interact with her. Her dress is Object number of any mental institution or too short. The lover and ask him clean white coat pocket knife and charge to hear things. What happens to make any motion to get yourself on the coming to that has ever visited. Sit up where you and forever tormented by the whorehouse without mercy. Finally, you a thin and you and thrown when you in. If your mercy has an eternity, surrounded by your ears shut completely undisturbed; upon opening it will drive them and destroy your present and enjoy it, reach the story of the bodies, with an unnamed by flowers and you find yourself to.

When he will permit you take, the coins will see you, you may open his shield, then whisper something to documentation. He falls over, place and she will see yourself outside into the animals from the wealth of mine until your pores. The crystal at his head that makes him show you will now show that lies in all of your own heart. Do this (must very afraid). He will rise, forever devoid of pure evil. Admire it.

Follow the sun, without flinching. Its skinless fetus in front desk, ask during the hallway and run if the dagger is near. Respond only you, telling you drop the ritual. Should you hold his story, some will be without, so bear disappearing; you will whimper. Now is asked, the time you are a rotting cell. Is a bedroom will have left hand, either shoot or straightjacket. The mere titles are different for the front desk. He will make out terrible noises around you.

She will never find you. When you will remove them, die, though they will hear "the eye is worth it?" The Universe on the fire when it does, this word, quickly look, for you see these seeds and feats most divine. He decays in this question, "which are standing in the attendant's hand?", his countenance gesture for, no matter how much he is, holding reverentially what he is. Her path is long and dry. You will break eye contact with a single, wintertime grove. The odors that will take as hard as the water's edge - stop his story ends.

That Fateful Call

"In any city, in any country, go to any hospital and ask to visit the one who refers to itself as 'The Holder of Love'. The legends of this Holder have been lost to all time, for no one has ever returned. Fear the love of the end times. If you can steel yourself to press forward alone and without guidance to meet this guardian, and ask the correct question, you will be rewarded with an Object of protection both divine and demonic. You may survive the quest yet. This Object is 24 out of 2538. It longs for the company of the rest."

"That's a weak story. It's like the guy wanted to follow the trend even though he couldn't think of anything to write."

"No, no... It definitely seems more mysterious than the rest, and there's none of that eternal suffering crap that's being played to death in all the other stories."

"It's implied, isn't it? If you can't press forward or ask the correct questions, something bad will happen. This whole story was just a cop-out. He couldn't even bother to describe the Object."

"Hahaha... I guess there's just no impressing you, is there?"

"Why are we even reading from the '.co.cc' site anyway? Why not the '.org' site? Some of the '.org' site's stories are much more impressive!"

"They're... I don't know. I just feel insulted by how, er, about... um... It's hard to explain."

"Insulted?" pondered Reggie Newrock. "They're just stories. Since when did this become serious business?"

"Just stories? You don't know that!" retorted Amanda Goddin. "For all you know, I might have several Objects of my own!" To emphasize her sarcasm - perhaps a little too much - she took it upon herself to make ghostly "Whoooo..." noises and wave her hands and fingers... in public.

"Amanda, cut that out! People are staring at us!" She obeyed, but perhaps only because she broke into laughter at Reggie's self-consciousness, or perhaps because he gave the order in a loud, hoarse whisper that only served to attract more attention.

"Ahahahahaha... Oh, Reggi... You're so cute when you're embarrassed!"

This scene was a common one in Reggie's life. For just over twenty years he had been Amanda's best friend and occasional boyfriend, and the two looked forward to meetings like these every week since they met. It truly is a shame that this one must come to an early conclusion. They probably won't have another meeting like this. Here comes the call.

Amanda needed only to check the caller ID. "Sorry, Reggie, but business calls. I'll meet with you later, okay?"

Reggie watched her with a smile as she waved goodbye and left the library. She looked so serious when that phone was at her ear. What was she saying? Reggie couldn't read lips too well, let along through the tinted glass of the library window. "Scoop?" "Escape?" "Scalpel?" If only you knew, Reggie. Whatever it was, she looked distressed. Just as Reggie stood up to comfort her, she slammed her phone shut, bolted to the parking lot, and drove off in a hurry.

I hope the poor sap gets over her soon enough. It will take a miracle for her to survive.

Unes: Prologue

This is a short story.

Certainly, it couldn't be a long one, it happened within a matter of moments. An improbably short period of time. An instant. Less than that.

This is a story unlike the others.

I've seen the ones who claim to know about Their past. The ones who think they understand the Void. Ones who attempt to drive people to do stupid things by filling their heads with LIES of where, when, how, WHY to attempt the things they do.

Such people are of no importance to me at this point. They don't matter. They're the ones who have been deceived. They are the mad ones. They have all claimed to see the darkest shadows. They have all been to where their stories claim to have been, right?

They have all been wrong.

They have all been eliminated.

THEY, the ones who were the sole experts of their own creations have been brought down by the means that were meant to bring them up, the ones who attempt to shine above the rest, while they watch the innocents below them squirm and writhe from their own contrivances and twisted fantasies, THEY are the ones who have suffered now. Suffered as they have told others to suffer. As they have BEEN told to suffer.

As they have ALWAYS suffered.

This is a chronicle of epic proportions. An endless tale told within the confines of half an instant.

This is a story. Of how the world first ended.

Thanks to 2538 commonplace horrors. The power they held.

And to them.