In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Wisdom." The desk clerk will chuckle and guide you to an empty room. They will hand you a key and tell you to wait some time in the room until you hear a bell ring. When it rings, you have to lock the door through which you entered, wait until a second ring, and unlock it.
Once those instructions have been carried out, the door will open all by itself and reveal a long hallway, with every conceivable color painted onto the walls, ceiling and floor. Follow the hallway until you hear a little girl singing. Stop, close your eyes, and stay where you are until the girl finishes the song. If you fail to remain perfectly still, run. Run back to the door through which you came, as fast as you can. Jump through the window of the room where you waited earlier, and you might live. Should you be unable to reach the window in time, you will be dragged back into the hallway by something that is definitely not a little girl. You will be pulled by this horror until time itself ends, forever feeling the pain of every soul dragged to an early grave.
If, on the other hand, you manage to remain perfectly still until the song ceases, you will be free to either turn around and leave forever, or venture further into this realm. If you prefer the latter course of action, walk deeper into the hallway until you reach a human-shaped door. Open it with the same key that was given to you earlier, step inside, and close the door behind you. In the middle of the room, you will see a desk with a bright candle. Behind the desk is a man, whose face isn't visible behind the shine of the candle. Approach, but always keep the flame between you and the man's face, for if you witness what he looks like, your gaze will be fixed on his until your own hands have removed every inch of skin from your bones.
Stop when you are five steps away from the desk. The man will raise his hand and gesture you to come closer, but do not step any further than this. Close your eyes and ask him one question: "Who will bring them back together?"
You will hear the man rise from his chair and begin to pray in a language that you will not understand. After two minutes, you will hear a name. If you hear "Anubis", then you had best utter your own prayers in the short time you will have to do so... but if it is "Thor" you hear, then you may open your eyes. You will see the man's severed head lying on his desk, still speaking. After another three minutes, his prayer will cease, and he will tell you how you will die. He will describe every minute detail of your horrible death, and you will be unable to move or react while he explains your end. Lastly, he will describe the one who will steal your life away from you, and go into such detail as to why it is necessary that you yourself will question which would be worse: you being murdered, or you being allowed to continue to live.
Eventually, the head will finish its ghastly tale. It is object 9 of 538. It is up to you what you do with the knowledge of your death, for now, it is inevitable.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
The Holders 8: The Holder of Wealth
In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Wealth." The worker will raise one eyebrow, as if puzzled by your request. Ask a second time, and the worker will shrug and take you across the street, where an opulent mansion awaits. If you are observant by nature, you may notice that the mansion was not there when you started your quest... Its owner would rather you didn't think about such things.
Inside the front door will lie a grand staircase, spiraling up across the foyer. The walls will be covered with fine paintings, and a large marble statue will rest on a pedestal by the base of the stairs. The statue's eldritch features will evoke an image of a truly horrific beast, at once both alien and evil. Admire it all you want, but don't touch it, unless you wish to awaken this starved monster.
Ascend the staircase. As long as you don't touch anything, you will be safe. Don't panic. At the top of the stairs, you will find a small, wooden door; its plain and unassuming appearance is a sharp contrast to its decadent surroundings. It will open on its own for you, so long as you are not afraid.
Past it, you will see a man with a pointed goatee and short, cropped, gelled hair standing behind a large, mahogany desk. His suit is made of both human flesh and Italian silk. He may speak, and at great length. He will talk about his amazingly beautiful house and the lovely statue of his concubine resting downstairs. Do not interrupt him, and do not answer any questions he may ask. When he is finished, steel yourself and confidently ask, "May I have my salary?"
He will proceed to explain to you, in great detail, the value of life. He will talk of things worse than death, and he will tell you exactly what he expects you to do. The fabulous interior of the room will rot away, and the floor will turn from French weave to feces. The man's appearance will become cyclopic and unimaginably horrendous. He will fish out a small bank note from the pockets of his human suit, and hand it to you.
That note is Object 8 of 538. Its Holder is counting on you to spend it.
Inside the front door will lie a grand staircase, spiraling up across the foyer. The walls will be covered with fine paintings, and a large marble statue will rest on a pedestal by the base of the stairs. The statue's eldritch features will evoke an image of a truly horrific beast, at once both alien and evil. Admire it all you want, but don't touch it, unless you wish to awaken this starved monster.
Ascend the staircase. As long as you don't touch anything, you will be safe. Don't panic. At the top of the stairs, you will find a small, wooden door; its plain and unassuming appearance is a sharp contrast to its decadent surroundings. It will open on its own for you, so long as you are not afraid.
Past it, you will see a man with a pointed goatee and short, cropped, gelled hair standing behind a large, mahogany desk. His suit is made of both human flesh and Italian silk. He may speak, and at great length. He will talk about his amazingly beautiful house and the lovely statue of his concubine resting downstairs. Do not interrupt him, and do not answer any questions he may ask. When he is finished, steel yourself and confidently ask, "May I have my salary?"
He will proceed to explain to you, in great detail, the value of life. He will talk of things worse than death, and he will tell you exactly what he expects you to do. The fabulous interior of the room will rot away, and the floor will turn from French weave to feces. The man's appearance will become cyclopic and unimaginably horrendous. He will fish out a small bank note from the pockets of his human suit, and hand it to you.
That note is Object 8 of 538. Its Holder is counting on you to spend it.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
The Cementary
On an early dim morning an elderly woman rested her hand atop a gravestone.
“Henry Blackwood 1938 - 2004.”
She rested flowers on it and wept, something she didn’t usually do. She always made sure to bring something of Henry’s when she made her annual visit to his grave. Her memory wasn’t what it used to be and her brain needed help to get it jogged. She brought something he hated: his hearing aids. She remembered wistfully how he never used them, always insisting he had excellent hearing despite keeping the television’s volume up so high.
Now all she wanted was his return to her loving embrace. “Oh Henry,” she fell to her knees and looked to the sky, “How I wish you’d come back to me.”
Up in the sky and through her blurred teary vision she saw a red star. It was faint but she heard a malignant chuckle and the star flashed to match it. Then it disappeared with the raising sun.
She wiped away her tears. Strange. Was it a product of her imagination? She stood up and surveyed the area but saw nothing. It seemed like the moment was merely nothing but old, senile, womanly mood swings. As she smiled at her silly old self, a question came to her that felt like part of a dark realization. Could the battery in the hearing aid still work? She attached it to her best ear and turned it on. She could hear the rustling of crow feathers in a nearby tree. It probably still worked due to her husband’s lack of commitment to use it. Then, swallowing hard, she rested her ear on the ground above his grave. Her mouth dropped in horror as she heard scratching, shuffling, and a familiar voice bellowing a horrified scream.
“Henry Blackwood 1938 - 2004.”
She rested flowers on it and wept, something she didn’t usually do. She always made sure to bring something of Henry’s when she made her annual visit to his grave. Her memory wasn’t what it used to be and her brain needed help to get it jogged. She brought something he hated: his hearing aids. She remembered wistfully how he never used them, always insisting he had excellent hearing despite keeping the television’s volume up so high.
Now all she wanted was his return to her loving embrace. “Oh Henry,” she fell to her knees and looked to the sky, “How I wish you’d come back to me.”
Up in the sky and through her blurred teary vision she saw a red star. It was faint but she heard a malignant chuckle and the star flashed to match it. Then it disappeared with the raising sun.
She wiped away her tears. Strange. Was it a product of her imagination? She stood up and surveyed the area but saw nothing. It seemed like the moment was merely nothing but old, senile, womanly mood swings. As she smiled at her silly old self, a question came to her that felt like part of a dark realization. Could the battery in the hearing aid still work? She attached it to her best ear and turned it on. She could hear the rustling of crow feathers in a nearby tree. It probably still worked due to her husband’s lack of commitment to use it. Then, swallowing hard, she rested her ear on the ground above his grave. Her mouth dropped in horror as she heard scratching, shuffling, and a familiar voice bellowing a horrified scream.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Denial
I waved goodbye to my friends as I stepped off the bus and headed to my house. I was super excited to get home and see my parents. They hadn’t talked much at all yesterday. As a matter of fact they just stayed in their bedroom all day. They haven’t been feeling well. I ran up the stairs of the front porch and swung the front door open with a big, cheesy grin on my face; However, when I opened the door there was no one in the den. The television was off and the house seemed to be abnormally quiet. I took a step in and started calling out.
“Mom? Dad?” I called. I knew they were supposed to be here. Dad had the day off and mom didn’t have any plans with her girlfriend’s until next week, right? I placed my backpack on the ground next to the couch and walked into the kitchen to check the calendar. October fifth. I was right. Dad took this day off so him, mom, and I could go see a movie together. “They’ve got to be here somewhere”, I thought myself. Then it hit me. School let out early today because of a busted water pipe. I looked at the watch on my wrist. “It’s only twelve o’ clock. They may still be sleeping.” I headed back through the den and slowly opened their bedroom door. Surely enough, there they lie. A sigh of relief escaped my mouth and my grin returned. I tiptoed over to my mom’s side of the bed and pulled the covers back.
I was greeted with the same sight as the day before. She lay there motionless, eyes glazed over, mouth agate. Her skin was a pale white and her hair was beginning to thin. The soup I gave her yesterday sat on the bedside table. It was stale now and she hadn’t even touched it. I’m beginning to think they don’t want to feel better. I placed the cover back over her head, grabbed the old soup and left the room slowly closing the door behind me. I decided not to wake either of them considering they must need their sleep. I’m sure they will be up for it tomorrow. Until then, I have a ton of Psychology homework to be done. We’re doing this paper on people who have some type of disorder causing them to live in denial of even some of the most obvious things. I couldn’t imagine living like that.
“Mom? Dad?” I called. I knew they were supposed to be here. Dad had the day off and mom didn’t have any plans with her girlfriend’s until next week, right? I placed my backpack on the ground next to the couch and walked into the kitchen to check the calendar. October fifth. I was right. Dad took this day off so him, mom, and I could go see a movie together. “They’ve got to be here somewhere”, I thought myself. Then it hit me. School let out early today because of a busted water pipe. I looked at the watch on my wrist. “It’s only twelve o’ clock. They may still be sleeping.” I headed back through the den and slowly opened their bedroom door. Surely enough, there they lie. A sigh of relief escaped my mouth and my grin returned. I tiptoed over to my mom’s side of the bed and pulled the covers back.
I was greeted with the same sight as the day before. She lay there motionless, eyes glazed over, mouth agate. Her skin was a pale white and her hair was beginning to thin. The soup I gave her yesterday sat on the bedside table. It was stale now and she hadn’t even touched it. I’m beginning to think they don’t want to feel better. I placed the cover back over her head, grabbed the old soup and left the room slowly closing the door behind me. I decided not to wake either of them considering they must need their sleep. I’m sure they will be up for it tomorrow. Until then, I have a ton of Psychology homework to be done. We’re doing this paper on people who have some type of disorder causing them to live in denial of even some of the most obvious things. I couldn’t imagine living like that.
Groupmind
My name is not Xin, but that is what you can call me. Everything I am about to tell you is completely true.
I believe I was born in the early 90′s. “Believe” is the right word in this scenario because my otherwise superb memory (in fact, it was once flawless) only begins in 1997. Judging by the status of my body’s growth and the growth of the children around me in those fledgling memories, I am quite confident that we were all between the ages of 5 and 7.
How they managed to erase our earlier memories I do not know, although I suspect they used the same method they used to control every other aspect of our lives: drugs. They gave us pills to put us asleep and gassed us awake. Our food was coated with chemicals that would regulate our appetite to keep our weight ideal. None of these “treatments” had negative side effects; they performed their duty with surgical precision. None of the treatments, that is, with one exception.
Most of our medications were geared toward keeping us in perfect physical condition to survive the main treatment we had all been brought there to receive. The other drug was designed to maximize the mind’s potential. It achieved that goal, in that we were all geniuses with IQ levels well above any publicly released. Yet, as I mentioned before, there were side effects.
During the first 16 years of my conscious life, I was telepathically connected to 23 other children – 12 females and 11 males. We shared every thought, every impulse. Often I saw through another’s eyes, heard through another’s ears; sometimes, they through mine. This total lack of privacy would certainly upset any average person, but to us who knew nothing else, the telepathic link was not an issue. It was a side effect of the treatment that made our lives Hell.
The treatment fused all of our minds into one chaotic super-being, but we did not really control it. Instead, the Groupmind had its own desires and it used our bodies to manifest those desires in the real world. It would assign us duties, often to be done collectively, but sometimes we worked on them as individuals, although access to the Groupmind was always there.
The Groupmind’s tasks were typically innocuous in nature, such as using our collective intelligence to calculate algorithms that would predict the economic future of China, or to design a superior jet fighter. Yet, at least once a day without fail, the Groupmind would make us do things. I hesitate to describe them to you, but the truth must be known.
Before I detail my crimes, let me preface by explaining that the strength of the emotions the Groupmind felt are unlike those ever felt by solitary human minds. The desire to instantly gratify the Groupmind is overwhelming. While the qualia is impossible to describe with words, at best it can be compared to an intense heroin withdrawal. It is not possible to distract oneself with happier thoughts, and one is unable to refrain from pacing or self-harm until one knows they will soon follow the Groupmind’s desires.
There are times when what the Groupmind wanted disgusted and even horrified me, yet I could not avoid following its will. I have hunted, tortured, killed, and even eaten hundreds of animals in countless manners according to the Groupmind’s commands. I have defecated and urinated on myself and others. I have mutilated myself and others.
In 2000 the Groupmind presented us each with something we had never seen before: a small child, probably around the age of 4. Our instructions were to rip off the child’s extremities, starting with the ears. I hesitated, but the rush of queasiness that foretells the Groupmind’s displeasure led me to quickly reach down to grab his left ear.
As I did, though, a revolutionary idea struck me. Why did this child not run or fight? Why did he simply cower like a frightened animal? Unless…like an animal, he was not Groupminded! He did not have 23 others connected to him, offering him advice from their places of relative safety.
Quickly, the Groupmind told us to murder our child, although many of us were still attacking the children’s extremities, as I knew from our telepathic bond. But I could not. I could think of nothing except the possibility that humans who were not Groupminded existed.
The backlash for thinking such a thought was immediate and painful. Yet, even through the full-body spasms that had me twitching on the floor, I could not stop thinking about it. Some people have no Groupmind! NO GROUPMIND! I almost shouted it straight into the minds of my connected peers.
They understood the implications as quickly as I did. There was a way to end our torture. We could live without the Groupmind. We decided to escape. We attacked our handlers, and quickly left our rooms. As we exited the area, the only place any of us had ever known, we realized that we were being hunted by other groups of children. 23 sets of 24, to be exact. Though we had some distance on them, most of us were not fast enough to avoid them. I felt their pain as all 23 of my peers were caught and summarily executed.
As I reached the door to the exit of the structure, which I realized was underground, I saw two signs with arrows, one pointing left, the other pointing right. The former read “Structure 21”, and the latter read “Structure 23”. In the shock of being disconnected from the Groupmind for the first time in my conscious life, and the rush of fleeing for my life, I did not comprehend what those signs meant. I do now.
There are 24 structures, each with 24 sets of 24 children, with each group of 2 dozen Groupminded. I have no reason to believe that the complex I escaped from is the only such complex of structures. In fact, my analysis of the population trends leads me to the conclusion that the program is expanding, to people of all ages. The project cannot be stopped.
I did horrible things for the Groupmind, and so will you. The Groupmind plans to dominate us all and in time it will. The Groupmind always gets what it wants. Always.
I believe I was born in the early 90′s. “Believe” is the right word in this scenario because my otherwise superb memory (in fact, it was once flawless) only begins in 1997. Judging by the status of my body’s growth and the growth of the children around me in those fledgling memories, I am quite confident that we were all between the ages of 5 and 7.
How they managed to erase our earlier memories I do not know, although I suspect they used the same method they used to control every other aspect of our lives: drugs. They gave us pills to put us asleep and gassed us awake. Our food was coated with chemicals that would regulate our appetite to keep our weight ideal. None of these “treatments” had negative side effects; they performed their duty with surgical precision. None of the treatments, that is, with one exception.
Most of our medications were geared toward keeping us in perfect physical condition to survive the main treatment we had all been brought there to receive. The other drug was designed to maximize the mind’s potential. It achieved that goal, in that we were all geniuses with IQ levels well above any publicly released. Yet, as I mentioned before, there were side effects.
During the first 16 years of my conscious life, I was telepathically connected to 23 other children – 12 females and 11 males. We shared every thought, every impulse. Often I saw through another’s eyes, heard through another’s ears; sometimes, they through mine. This total lack of privacy would certainly upset any average person, but to us who knew nothing else, the telepathic link was not an issue. It was a side effect of the treatment that made our lives Hell.
The treatment fused all of our minds into one chaotic super-being, but we did not really control it. Instead, the Groupmind had its own desires and it used our bodies to manifest those desires in the real world. It would assign us duties, often to be done collectively, but sometimes we worked on them as individuals, although access to the Groupmind was always there.
The Groupmind’s tasks were typically innocuous in nature, such as using our collective intelligence to calculate algorithms that would predict the economic future of China, or to design a superior jet fighter. Yet, at least once a day without fail, the Groupmind would make us do things. I hesitate to describe them to you, but the truth must be known.
Before I detail my crimes, let me preface by explaining that the strength of the emotions the Groupmind felt are unlike those ever felt by solitary human minds. The desire to instantly gratify the Groupmind is overwhelming. While the qualia is impossible to describe with words, at best it can be compared to an intense heroin withdrawal. It is not possible to distract oneself with happier thoughts, and one is unable to refrain from pacing or self-harm until one knows they will soon follow the Groupmind’s desires.
There are times when what the Groupmind wanted disgusted and even horrified me, yet I could not avoid following its will. I have hunted, tortured, killed, and even eaten hundreds of animals in countless manners according to the Groupmind’s commands. I have defecated and urinated on myself and others. I have mutilated myself and others.
In 2000 the Groupmind presented us each with something we had never seen before: a small child, probably around the age of 4. Our instructions were to rip off the child’s extremities, starting with the ears. I hesitated, but the rush of queasiness that foretells the Groupmind’s displeasure led me to quickly reach down to grab his left ear.
As I did, though, a revolutionary idea struck me. Why did this child not run or fight? Why did he simply cower like a frightened animal? Unless…like an animal, he was not Groupminded! He did not have 23 others connected to him, offering him advice from their places of relative safety.
Quickly, the Groupmind told us to murder our child, although many of us were still attacking the children’s extremities, as I knew from our telepathic bond. But I could not. I could think of nothing except the possibility that humans who were not Groupminded existed.
The backlash for thinking such a thought was immediate and painful. Yet, even through the full-body spasms that had me twitching on the floor, I could not stop thinking about it. Some people have no Groupmind! NO GROUPMIND! I almost shouted it straight into the minds of my connected peers.
They understood the implications as quickly as I did. There was a way to end our torture. We could live without the Groupmind. We decided to escape. We attacked our handlers, and quickly left our rooms. As we exited the area, the only place any of us had ever known, we realized that we were being hunted by other groups of children. 23 sets of 24, to be exact. Though we had some distance on them, most of us were not fast enough to avoid them. I felt their pain as all 23 of my peers were caught and summarily executed.
As I reached the door to the exit of the structure, which I realized was underground, I saw two signs with arrows, one pointing left, the other pointing right. The former read “Structure 21”, and the latter read “Structure 23”. In the shock of being disconnected from the Groupmind for the first time in my conscious life, and the rush of fleeing for my life, I did not comprehend what those signs meant. I do now.
There are 24 structures, each with 24 sets of 24 children, with each group of 2 dozen Groupminded. I have no reason to believe that the complex I escaped from is the only such complex of structures. In fact, my analysis of the population trends leads me to the conclusion that the program is expanding, to people of all ages. The project cannot be stopped.
I did horrible things for the Groupmind, and so will you. The Groupmind plans to dominate us all and in time it will. The Groupmind always gets what it wants. Always.
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