Skjöldr's Scary Stories: "The Man in the Book": Difference between revisions
Skjöldr's Scary Stories: "The Man in the Book" (view source)
Revision as of 10:37, 17 June 2021
, 3 years agoText replacement - "“" to """
m (→top: Enabling comments) |
m (Text replacement - "“" to """) |
||
Line 1:
Ethan spoke directly into Antonio’s soul on that dark night.
Ethan’s face became a spiderweb of cracks as Antonio smashed his iPad onto the expensive tile floor. Shards of glass skittered to a halt below the brick hearth of his massive fireplace. He cursed under his breath and began cleaning it up. Not like he had anything else to do.
Line 9:
He stayed up late that night drinking Soju cocktails, writing the best possible response to Ethan that he could come up with. It was horseshit, but it would do. He had to resort to making fun of himself, so he acted like the buffoon the world saw him as. It was his surrender, changing the tone of the argument. Antonio had never learned to argue. He was too busy learning to play chess. But he knew how to charm. And he knew how to lie. And if it came down to it, he knew how to destroy. In the back of his mind, a small voice hoped that it wouldn’t come to that. He uploaded the video and prayed it would silence the criticism.
The video was a disaster. He couldn’t get the book out of his mind while kissing the paid model, and the editing was too sloppy. It was seen by the world as more than just a surrender, but a pathetic leap into some previously undiscovered black hole of shame. His subscriber forecast was now an eighty-five percent loss over the next six months. He would have to go back to working at 7-11.
From his fridge, he grabbed a milk carton filled halfway with Icelandic goat’s blood. It was congealed and smelled of decay, but it would suffice for a council. There was only one more carton left after this. He reminded himself to call his Goat guy, Nils, in the morning.
The word suddenly screamed into his head, followed by a piercing white tone.
His fingers gripped at his temples, ready to rip out every nerve, every tendril of noise, when just like that the hot lance slid from his brain and disappeared. He cried there, below his secret entrance. He knew this wasn’t the work of the man in the book, but something else. He was reminded of fluttering bats, a hooded figure staring at him from the shadows. Something that was playing a tug of war with the man in the book.
The hallway ended in a single door. Solid steel bolted into the foundation. A green terminal came to life, placing ominous shadows across Antonio’s face. He pressed his thumb to the terminal and the steel door hissed open. The room beyond was stark white, wide and empty save for a pedestal in the center upon which it sat... The Book.
It’s true name was
Antonio opened the book, peering at the pages with the slight fear as always that something new would be printed there. An alteration of the deal. A surprise move on the chessboard. He knew what this book could do to people. And as always, he was relieved to see the same old instructions scrawled sloppily across the page. He knew it was in another long-dead language, but he understood it just fine. The man in the book opened his eyes suddenly. Their understandings were one, and Antonio winced as he finally realized how dangerous that would be this time around. Nonetheless, he began the ritual.
He read a passage from the book, moaning, his tongue swirling in his mouth, his finger rolling across strange glyphs printed on the page as if reading, yet his eyes were rolled back into his head, pointed towards the divine. He brought the milk carton of goat’s blood to his lips and drank deep of the clumping red gelatin. He had done this enough times to realize the importance of putting your goals first and your self-worth second. The oozing glob of blood needed only to lick his stomach acids before being rejected. His eyes rolled back down. He spewed twice as much blood as he’d drank onto the concrete floor, hot and steaming now, bracing himself against the wall with each attack. When it was finally over, he wiped the red spittle from his mouth. The ritual was complete.
The pool of blood began to boil underneath the steam. The shimmering red gave way to darkness and from within, an arm grasped the ground as if reaching through the floor. The creature revealed its face now, forming from the pool of rejected blood; First two red dots beaming up at Antonio, then the teeth. It was always grinning like someone listening to a joke they already knew. It towered above him. Red pulsating liquid coarsed across its body in streams, bubbling over the exposed muscles and curvatures of its thorned face. Antonio could never figure out whether to call the man in the book a
He never saw its mouth move, but figured it must. Its voice, nevertheless, sounded as if someone was whispering into each of his ears at different times. He almost thought about his plan, about the rope choosing its own direction, and quickly dropped it to the back of his mind with all the other small voices.
Its grin widened to an impossible length.
The melting ceased. It snapped its eyes towards him. It was no longer grinning. In its eyes, Antonio saw something new and strange. Was it fear?
The Man in the Book probably wasn’t used to people pushing back. Antonio probed for another weakness.
In that moment, Antonio closed the distance between them, and the next he was backing away, book in hand.
And with that, The Man in the Book started towards him. Antonio ran, stumbling through the doorway, and slapping the control panel on the other side. The creature was halfway through the doorway when the hatch hissed shut, cutting the bloody assailant in twine. It screamed with a thousand deafening voices. Yeah, definitely an
Its innards crept from its torso like worms, forming new appendages. He started running back towards the living room, where he’d burn the book and be done with it. Antonio only then realized that the fireplace was fake. There was no chimney chute. It’s sole purpose was to house the rotating hidden door. How could he be so stupid? He passed through that door now, into the living room, and continued running towards the kitchen.
Antonio’s first thought as he entered the kitchen was
The Creature seemed to grow taller as it advanced. Its grin had returned.
The Man in the Book found himself distracted by the blue flames licking up from the top of this strange hollow box.
But as he turned to leave, something happened with the book. The flames died out. The black ooze continued bubbling. It formed a pool on the ground, from which a familiar arm jutted out.
Antonio knew. He didn’t want to say. The naked man before him reached behind his back. Antonio’s eyes grew wide with fear when he saw what George was holding.
George placed the book on the counter.
Antonio moved to run, but his legs were locked. All he could feel was that he was staring at his new home in the pages of that book. As he moved closer, George said something but it was already from another world. The color of the pages became his field of view. A yellowed patina wrapped over him like a cocoon and winched his arm to an outstretched position. He closed his eyes in pain, not believing what was happening. He slipped into psychosis, and was lost among the waves for a time. Bobbing endlessly in a black sea. A familiar voice laughing at him from the beach, in the shadows underneath the pier.
When he could finally open his eyes again, Antonio found himself sitting at a stone desk cut from the cave around him. A shaft of red light filtered in from high above. Antonio became aware that he was writing with an old quill pen in his hand. He was writing names in the book. These were all the deaths in the world as they happened. He was writing them and someone else had to read them. He knew that. Antonio wondered about his Facebook page. What would happen when all of his fans noticed he was missing? Then it dawned on him: The algorithm. It was going to continue reposting other people’s videos forever, or until someone shut it off. That could take months. Years. Nobody would know he was gone, that he was here acting as someone else’s algorithm. Forever reposting the losses of the mortal realm; A place that he barely knew, and would soon easily forget. Checkmate.
|