The Holders Volume 14 (131-140)

(NOTE: All 545 Object entries in the Holders series aren't credited to any authors so I'll just link to the official website)

## The Holder of Loyalty

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 Loyalty." Should a proud look come over the worker's face, you are in the right place. Should the worker glare at you, run for dear life, as you were deemed unworthy by the Holder of the Object you seek. Do not stop for anything, as those that are after you do not know the meaning of rest, and will hunt you down relentlessly until they find you.

Should you be deemed worthy by the Holder, you will be taken down a hallway that wasn't there before. In many of your previous adventures you are sure to have experienced much deception as the Holders try and try to lose you and protect their items. As the worker leads you down to your destination, you must harbor no wariness to the worker's intentions. You will get what you came for, if and only if you are worthy and your thoughts are pure.

After following the worker for what seemed like an eternity, you will come to a plain wooden door. The worker will open the door for you and leave you to be on your way. If at any time during your walk with the worker you harbored thoughts of possible deception, two blood-red eyes will stare at you from the darkness of the opened door. There is no use crying for help now, for even the highest of powers are incapable of saving you. But if you were loyal to your intentions, there will be a battle taking place beyond the door. As you walk in the door will shut itself behind you, and you will find yourself in the middle of the chaos. You will then be captured by soldiers speaking in a language that is not of this earth. There is no use resisting, as they are capable of inflicting pain that is worse than anything you can ever imagine.

After they take you to their camp, you will then be accused of being a spy and will start torturing you. At this point they will try to make you confess and you must conjure up all your strength and try to weather this storm. Then the soldiers will turn into all the people you have ever scammed, squandered, and betrayed. They will then continue to pound on you not only physically, but also mentally as they remind you of every wrong the you have ever done to them. Many give up at this stage, and now they pay for their treachery with the lowest of the damned.

You must endure this until the soldiers' superior officer appears. You can tell by the uniform and wolf-like creature that accompanies him, and also that the officer takes the form of the person you love the most. Once the Holder reveals himself, with all your remaining energy shout out, "Would you ever suspect me?!" At this point the other soldiers will stop, and the commanding officer will then narrate every betrayal in history, the pain it caused, and the destruction it resulted in. He will then go on to explain the true benefits of loyalty, along with the thin and dangerous line it runs beside fanaticism. If you did not go mad before, those who are not destined to finish this journey will surely crack at knowledge that the world will never be ready for. After the officer's story he will then ask, "Do you pledge your allegiance to Him?" Swiftly and with resolve answer, "I stay true only to myself."

If the Holder doesn't believe you, your ordeal earlier will continue, adding to your misery his pet wolf will gnaw on you like a tasty bone for all eternity. But if the Holder believes you, he will punch you in the gut, and as your consciousness wanes, you barely hear him say, "We will meet again."

When you wake up you will be outside the mental institution without a scratch on your body. Sleeping beside you will be the wolf-like creature that was accompanying the officer earlier.

That wolf is Object 131 of 538. You dare not dream of betraying the trust it places in you.

## The Holder of Fame

In any city, any country, you try any mental institution or halfway house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask if you can see someone calling himself “The Holder of Fame.” The worker should sternly deny having any patient named as such, but afterwards he will make sure that no one is looking and discreetly give you a guitar pick and whisper, “Say hello to him for me, will ya? I’m a huge fan.” Gratefully accept the pick and thank the worker, then leave the institution. Make sure to notice that night has fallen when you exit the building, no matter what time you first entered. Directly across the street will be a bar, even if it wasn’t there before. Go to that bar, and you will hear music playing. Pay no attention to the music, as those now in the audience were those foolish enough to stop and enjoy it. These unfortunate individuals are now forever tormented by tunes that melt their bodies and souls while their ears bleed, their hearing undiminished in the face of this demonic harmony. Head backstage, where a bouncer will be waiting.

When he blocks your path, show him the guitar pick you received from the worker. If the bouncer still does not let you through, pray that he takes off your head first, so that you won’t have to feel the pain of being torn apart by his bare hands. If he lets you through, you will be guided into a room, which, unlike the fancy bar decor that surrounded you earlier, will be a simple room, with walls painted in beige and a single lamp hanging overhead. In the middle of a room will be a man who by all appearances looks like a rock star, with long, wavy hair, a thin physique, and tight jeans. He will be playing an electric guitar, and next to him will be another chair with a second guitar resting on a stand beside it.

Untold horrors and nightmares await you should this scene not be the one you encounter when the bouncer lets you through. The guitarist will be playing the most beautiful of tunes. He plays so skillfully, it’s as if his fingers were gently treading water at the beach. You will be mesmerized by his skill, but all the more with the music he is playing. Yet you feel that it is a sad song, and its tragic message will reverberate within your very soul with every pluck of the string. Many are driven to depression at that very moment and decide to end their own lives, but if you are steadfast, you must sit down beside the guitarist. Once you do this, he will stop playing and say, “Will you share this song with me?” At this point you are only allowed to ask one question: “You’re that famous guy, right?”

If the guitarist does not answer, he has deemed you unworthy of his presence and the strings of his guitar will latch on and fillet your body, then drag your soul into the deepest pits of Hell. But if he likes you, he will say, “It’s not all it was hyped up to be.” Here you must pick up the guitar beside you and play along with him. Even if you don’t know how to play the guitar, you will find you suddenly know how to. The two of you will then play a song different from what the guitarist was playing earlier. As you play your part, you will start seeing sad and powerful images in your mind, but you must keep your concentration. The guitarist doesn’t like screw-ups, and you don’t want to know what he did with his previous back-up guitarists. With the images boring into your mind like red-hot steel hissing into your skin, you will see every person in history who was blinded by the glamour of the camera lights, and failed to see the real light of the sun, ultimately falling into eternal darkness. They thought they were special, and lifted themselves above anyone who they saw dirty or unfit, only to realize they were filthier than those they hated so much, and that they were just like everyone else. They forgot the true essentials of life, and thus forfeited it.

After your performance, he will pat you on the back and commend you for your beautiful playing. Return your guitar to its stand, thank the guitarist for his time, and leave the room from the door through which you originally entered. When you open the door, you will be blinded by a flash of light. Close your eyes immediately and open them when you feel the surroundings dimming, and you will find yourself in your bedroom. After two weeks a package will be sent to you, and inside will be the guitar you played earlier. He also has signed his autograph on it, but it will be in a language that does not exist in this world. You will receive his message regardless, as you now know the true cost of eminence. That guitar is Object 132 of 538. There is nothing glamorous about the burden you carry. Many have borne it before, and many will carry it yet.

## The Holder of Compassion

In any city, in any country, go to any animal shelter and tell the first woman you see, "I am here for the Holder of Compassion." Do not tell a man, or he will try to end your life. If you have come at the right time, the woman will shiver and lead you through the building to an incredibly long concrete hall lined with dirty cages where they keep a striking array of unwanted animals, from mundane cats and dogs to tropical birds and monkeys. The woman will continue walking ahead of you, but will not speak or slow down. It will become increasingly apparent that every animal is sick or injured in some way, and their conditions grow worse as you progress down the hall. Some are missing eyes or limbs, others bleed from open wounds. The floor grows thicker with matted hair and feathers, cages appear caked with feces and flies buzz loudly in your face. The stink is overpowering, and the air is hot. You will come to a sharp turn, then another, then another. Your guide will disappear around the third or fourth bend, but continue forward, quietly.

You will notice that the animals themselves become subtly more peculiar as you wander what now feels like a veritable labyrinth for hours on end. You will see animals from far-off continents, rodents of unusual size and colorful reptiles you have never heard of, but even as the creatures become more exotic, so too their afflictions become increasingly horrendous. Pus weeps from open sores, bloated ticks scramble over scabrous flesh and blood flows in large rivers from small bodies. Some creatures are all but hidden under globular tumors and cysts. Animals reach out to you, pleading with their eyes - if they have eyes - to end their existence, but do not dare touch them, or you will carry their afflictions for life. Do not attempt to let any animal free, or it will kill you no matter how helpless and small it appears. Should you wish to leave, the last bend you took will lead back outside, but you will never be rid of the pathogens you have been breathing. Some were never meant for this world; terrible contagions you will unleash on man for all time.

Should you continue on the proper path, the strangeness around you will escalate to maddening levels. Entrails drag and eyeballs dangle. The walls swarm with parasites no doctor could name. Soon you will come upon fly-blown fish and squid floundering helpless on cage floors. Dogs pace and whine without heads. Gore-crusted skeletons scrabble at rusted bars. You will see things long extinct and things that were yet to evolve, squawking and croaking for food and water that will never come.

Eventually, you will arrive in a perfectly round chamber, small but impossibly high. The ceiling is obscured in darkness, but cages line the walls as far up as the eye can see. Keep your head down, for the suffering you would witness in this room might forever destroy your mind. Focus only on the dark shape in the center of the floor, a nondescript pile of black fur on a filthy pillow.

Ask this creature one question and one question alone: "What is compassion?" If you hear "I am awaiting my family," all is lost, for the shaggy beast will immediately rip you to shreds with unseen claws. If you were, however, worthy of this quest, it will answer your question in excruciating detail. Be forewarned that you will not like this knowledge. When it is finished speaking, ask the creature, "can I fix this?" If it yet brings up its family, now is a good time to run. You were not meant to be here. If it says "do what you must," kill the animal by any means possible. If you are successful, you will hear the echo of its dying words: "I was loved." Search the body and you will find only bones, hair and a worn, pink collar with a rusted heart-shaped tag. The air is now clear, cool and silent. Only clean white bones remain in cages. Step outside this room and you will be outside the shelter.

The collar is Object 133 of 538. The address on the ancient tag will be your own.

## The Holder of Skepticism

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself into. When you reach the front desk, ask to be taken to someone who calls himself "The Holder of Skepticism." The worker will stare at you with a puzzled look on her face. After about a minute, she will turn her head and appear to shout something. However, you will only hear complete silence. A man dressed in all white will come up from behind you and grab you by the arm.

The man will lead you down a long hallway and stop at the 8th door on his left. He will then unlock and open the metal door, revealing a dark and almost infinitely large room. Up until now, your visit has been met with complete silence. The man will then push you inside and slam the door shut. The door will produce a very loud crashing sound and you will be immersed in complete darkness. If you flinch from the sound, you will lose your current train of thought and never make it out of the room. Remain completely calm. Feel the walls around you. After a while, you will notice that you are inside a maze. In order to get out of the maze, you must listen for instructions from a voice coming from inside your head. Even though the voice sounds sinister and foreboding, you must listen to its every word, for if you make one false step in the maze, you will be led to your doom.

After what seems like hours, you will find a hole 3 feet in height in the maze wall with a faint orange light shining out of it. Crawl into the hole and you will enter a small dimly lit room. A man, bald with a long gray beard, yet with young facial features, will sit cross-legged in the middle of the room, with eyes closed. If you do not ask the question "Why do I seek Them?" within the next few seconds, He will open his blank white eyes and with a look of intense anger and hatred, He will tear you apart with his gaze. If you have asked the question successfully, He will tell you a very long and detailed story about Their importance. You will quickly forget anything that comes out of His mouth and become increasingly impatient. Afterwards, He will ask, "Is the Object you seek valuable to you?". You must respond by shaking your head as He despises the faithful and obedient.

He will point to a gray stone on the ground. Take it. Upon touching the stone, you will feel angry and discouraged. You will begin to question the meaning of life and why you have suffered so much in this life. Perhaps, life is just a dream. Wouldn't you want to wake up from this dream and end your nightmares? Take a sharp object and plunge it into your heart. However, as you drop the stone in order to draw your dagger, your senses will come back to you. You will have no recollection of your most recent thoughts.

The stone is Object 134 of 538. Remain hesitant, beware of the card.

## The Holder of the Odds

In any country, in any city, go to any hotel casino that you can get yourself into. Go to the front desk and say that you have a reservation for someone calling himself the “Holder of the Odds.” The receptionist should give you a surprised look, and start addressing you as if you were royalty. She should give you a gold coin, with each side having a beautifully engraved sign, as if a letter from an unknown language. If you receive anything else then you must start running. May they have mercy on your soul should you even steal a glance behind you. Don’t stop moving; if your legs give out, then crawl. Make sure before you pass out from exhaustion that the last thing you’re doing is moving forward and never looking back. You know you’re safe if you’re at the same place you passed out the next day. If you receive the gold coin, it’ll be your last chance to back out. If your knees fail, you may return the coin to the receptionist and respectfully take your leave. If you are determined, proceed to the elevator. Make sure that you’re alone when you get in, and before the doors close you must flip the gold coin. Fail to do so and your elevator will move on its own.

Resign yourself to your fate, as you will feel the elevator going down endlessly, down into the hellish heat of the depths of the earth. If you succeed you will notice that there are two other buttons on the elevator panel with designs similar to the sides of your coin. Push the button of whatever side that came up after the coin flip. If you’re lucky, then the side that comes up from your coin flip will be the right side. There’s no way to determine which is the right side and only those who are truly destined to finish this journey or are extremely lucky chance upon it. No one knows what happens to you when you push the wrong button. If you push the right button, you will be taken to a floor on the hotel that was never supposed to be there. When the doors open you will see the most luxurious of suites. It overlooks a beautiful city skyline around late afternoon with the sun beginning to set, no matter what time you first entered the hotel. The large room is fit for a king, with all the comforts you will ever want and everything you didn't know you needed.

In the middle of it all will be a card table. At the table there is a dealer and five other players. One player is dressed in a long trench coat and sports a top hat; the other four will be Seekers who came before you. There’s a chair beside the player in the top hat. Take a seat, as they've waited long enough for you. You will now play a Texas hold 'em poker tournament, with each player starting with exactly $135 in chips. Whoever wins at the end will be given whatever card was drawn in the river, or the last card, on the last hand. After that the dealer and the player in the top hat will leave the room; the other players will simply vanish, to experience unspeakable horrors until the next game begins.

If you won, you will then be left alone; you may leave the room at any time, but it will be difficult to find again. Even though everything you need is in this room, you’ll notice that there is no clock, and the only contact with the outside world is a cellular phone which will only allow you to contact one person: the Bride of the Seeker, even if you’re not the Chosen. You will be served the most exquisite of foods and pampered like you've never been before in your life. After seven sunsets the dealer and players will return and you must play another hold'em tournament. Again, if you win you get the card that comes at the river. Every week, you may play this game until you have collected the full 52 cards of a standard playing deck (not including the jokers), though the designs on the cards, especially the face cards, are very different from the ones you’re used to as they use a language of the most ancient of origins.

Should you lose a game to one of the other Seekers, he will be allowed to go free, and you will be subjected to something worse than your worst nightmare: being shown thoroughly and conclusively that in the end, nothing is up to chance and everything is predetermined. Even if you win when the next Seeker comes, you will never have hope again. No one knows what happens if the Holder wins. Even though he certainly plays his best, a look of utter terror comes upon even his face if he comes close to winning. No one has won more than seven in a row, though different cards have been documented. It seems only the Chosen Seeker will be lucky enough to see this through to the very end. This deck is Object 135 of 538. The odds are stacked against you, and only you can conquer them.

## The Holder of the Fact

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 herself "The Holder of the Fact." The worker will slowly turn their head up from the inevitable mounds of paperwork they were focused on, and a sly grin should slide across their features, as if in silent mockery. They will slowly stand and lead you towards the entrance to the institution. Instead of the entrance, however, is a large gothic staircase.

As you climb the stairs, you will hear insane blasphemies uttered by gibbering voices, and the cry of someone in pain calling out your name from the foot of the stairs, begging you to abandon this madness. It is vitally important that you continue up the stairs, as only horror awaits at the foot of them now.

Eventually, you will come to a large door at the top of the stairs. Grip the handle strongly, close your eyes, and enter. Just keep walking ahead. No matter what you hear, no matter what you feel, it is crucial that you do not open your eyes. Regardless of which direction you headed in, you should soon find yourself at a dead end. In front of you is a shelf, entirely empty except for a small, unassuming leather book. Pick up this book, and turn the very last page. On it is a picture of a key. Look up again. Youâ€™re now facing a large stone door, with the words "Deus ex Insania" engraved on it.

Reach out and open the door, being careful not to gag as the centuries old dust from within bursts out. Crouched in the corner, nearly invisible in the dust storm stirred up by your intrusion, crouches the Holder. She scribbles madly, the scratching of the ancient quill in her hands forms into subconscious words in your mind, even as the Holder continues to write. The quill tells you of ancient horrors, of immemorial madness, of the absolute bitterness of the uncaring cosmos, and it tells you of your tiny, meaningless existence, as mere ink blot in the sprawling infinity of our universe, and finally, the insane scratching will tell you the one piece of information that leaves many a Seeker a broken shell of a human. The quill will tell you Their true name.

That name is Object 136 of 538. Know Them to know Him.

## The Holder of Submission

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 Submission." Should the worker sneer in utter contempt at you, then you have come to the right place.

The worker will lead you through a series of hallways. Should you try to make any conversation, he will invariably cut you off with a rude remark or insult. Do not bother, and certainly do not try to argue with or one-up him. It is best to remain silent.

Eventually the worker will point at a door that looks no different from any other you might have passed earlier. He will then continue walking deeper into the institution without another word. There is no turning back; open the door and plunge in before you even see what is inside.

You will fall for about ten feet before slamming onto a marble floor in a massive throne room. If you break bones due to the fall, then there is no helping you. The throne room in which you will find yourself is not only enormous, but lavish, with heavy obsidian pillars leading up to a massive, sprawling throne draped with heavy black cloths and lined with fine gold designs. The throne is so large that it can accommodate the several dozen scantily-clad women - all chained by ankle braces to the floor - seated all about it in addition to the warrior-king on the throne.

The warrior-king is a towering, muscular man with the bearing of a proud, confident, and predatory warrior. He wears nothing but a loincloth, exposing his rippling muscles and countless battle scars. His force of will is so great as to be physically palpable. This warrior-king has clearly seen many battles and is strong enough to slay a thousand men with ease. He will fix you with a stony glare of utter contempt. Be quick, for the warrior-king has little patience. Ask him, "To what power will they submit?"

The warrior-king will roar with laughter, not of mirth but of condescension directed at you. He will boast that no entity is more powerful than he, and that he cares not for the Holders or the Objects or Him. He will demand that you cease your quest and become one of his lieutenants, that he will provide you anything you need, no matter how outrageous the request, so long as you never leave his palace nor think or speak of the quest for the Objects ever again.

The warrior-king's power is so great that even the staunchest, most determined person might be swayed to submit to him. Nevertheless, if you are truly determined to collect the Objects, you must stand strong and not bow to his immense presence. Instead, firmly repeat the question.

This time, the warrior-king will roar angrily. His concubines will be scattered and smashed against the obsidian pillars by the force of his outburst, and the very foundations of the throne room will tremble with his rage. You will certainly be sent sprawling, but do not allow yourself to be cowed by the warrior-king's rage. This time, the warrior-king will call you a fool among commoners, and that your best hope is to abandon your quest to become his servant, cleaning up whatever mess he leaves behind after the violent battles and large orgies he has every day. Once again, fight his alluring aura to shout the question one last time.

Now the warrior-king will grow silent and look you in the eye. If he deems you unworthy of his true, honest answer, then he will cripple you on the spot and seal you in his palace to be his waste-cleaner for the rest of eternity.

If you are worthy, however, the warrior-king will tell you, softly, why he fears Him, and why he fears the Gathering. What he tells you will fill you with terror to the very core of your being, for anything dreaded even by this fearless and powerful warrior-king is beyond human comprehension. Many fall into insanity upon hearing the warrior-king's true answer, and others beg him for a swift death. If you maintain your sanity and will to live, however, then a sudden gust of wind will blow through the hall, dissolving the warrior-king's throne room into nothingness. You will fall into a void for a few moments before finding yourself suddenly standing in front of the institution's front desk. The visibly annoyed worker will be holding one of the ankle braces that confined the warrior-king's concubines to his throne.

That ankle brace is Object 137 of 538. You submit to nobody, but they will find a way to break you.

# The Holder of Denial

I've worked in halfway houses and mental institutions all over the country, in countless cities and towns. The work isn't bad and it pays a bit better than most menial jobs I've held. I try to be a good girl, to be kind and polite to others, but my job has affected me. To help the sick and broken you need to harden your heart and accept unpleasant truths about people. Accept that some addicts don't want to get clean. That what seems like compassion can sometimes be indulging the delusions of the mad, and that some people really do need to be restrained for their own good.

I won't say the name or location of the place I work now, only that I've been here for a long time. When I was first hired the pay was low and the hours were short and I was not in a position to complain. I'd been working reception for a week or two when a man came in, walked with purpose to my desk and asked to see The Holder of Denial. A look of confusion must have come over my face, because he grew suddenly impatient. He screamed at me and I flinched, he banged his fist on the desk and insisted that he see The Holder of Denial. I was still trying to calm him down when my supervisor came forward. Mr. Musil took one look at the man and the man fell silent. Mr. Musil nodded to me, said "it's all right," and led the man down a hallway that I must have passed a hundred times without ever noticing. The man glanced back at me with a grim smile on his face. I glared at him, there was no excuse for rudeness like that and I was irritated that he'd calmed down so quickly for my supervisor. It had made me look incompetent.

Others came after him, all demanding to see the Holder of Denial, all screaming and making a scene only to calm down once Mr. Musil arrived to take them away. I walked after them once or twice, just out of curiosity, just to see what they were doing. Each time, Mr. Musil led them through a door, locked them in and walked away. He smiled at me when we passed each other. Once he left the key in the lock behind him and I nearly used it to open the door. But when my hand touched the key I felt a sick sense of guilt, a hard chewing feeling in my gut that I'd felt before when I knew the mess I was about to be punished for was my fault and my fault alone. I pulled the key out and returned it to Mr. Musil's desk. He'd left early that evening.

It wasn't until the next day that I heard what happened to him. How he'd driven his car with his wife and son in it off a bridge. How the windows had been rolled down and the seatbelts buckled, and how it seemed that none of them had tried to get out of the car. They'd all sat there while the filthy river water rushed in and drowned them.

The next time someone came demanding the Holder, I hid. I can't stand to be yelled at, so I ran to the back room and hoped the red-eyed, pregnant woman at the front would go away and look for her "Holder of Denial" elsewhere. She'd been shouting for eight solid minutes when I went to Mr. Musil's desk and found the key I'd left there. I led her to the door at the end of the hallway without the slightest feeling of unease. Though I did wonder if Mr. Musil had been in the habit of going back to let them out later in the day. He always locked the door behind them, so they surely weren't getting out on their own. There must have been some other exits they were using. That seemed likely.

I didn't worry about it.

After the pregnant woman, the next person to ask for the Holder was a young man who'd only started his shouting when I cut him off, saying "I'll only take you if you quiet down and ask me politely." He looked around uncertainly and repeated his request in a more civil tone. He trembled as I led him to the door, as did the next few who came to see the Holder. All were at a loss in the face of a few words that they hadn't expected.

From then on I took care of the sad-eyed, determined ones who asked to see the Holder. They were mostly men but there were a lot of women too. Almost all of them wore a dry, haunted look on their faces, and the few who didn't smiled so brightly that they frightened me. I took the ones who wore piles of rags and the ones who wore tailored suits. I took the ones with scars and tattoos, with long beards and tight smiles, with pale skin and dark skin and veins that bulged at the surface. None of them came back. I felt such tenderness towards the quiet, broken-looking ones. With them I felt like a mother putting a sick child to bed. The arrogant, cruel-eyed ones I sent through the door laughing inside, feeling an inexplicable, mean satisfaction. For the life of me I couldn't tell you why; after all they'd asked to go through that door, hadn't they?

I must make it sound as if these people come in every day, but that's only because they've blurred together over the years. Really, they arrive occasionally and randomly. Sometimes months will go by without one arriving and then two will come on the same day, just hours apart. I've only seen a lot of them because I've been here a long time. The bad habits that used to keep me from holding down a jobâ€”tardiness, absentmindedness, my tendency to slip out the back and sneak secret joints that led to the absentmindedness...none of these things bothered anybody so long as I kept leading the Seekers to the door. I took longer hours. People covered for my mistakes and started looking at me strangely, the way I used to look at Mr. Musil.

By and by I began to feel a nagging doubt. I wondered; what if there was no second door, no exit for that room? I'd never seen anything but darkness inside, never taken more than a second's accidental look. How big could it possibly be? All those people going in and never coming out, it must have begun to get crowded in there. It might be better if fewer people ever entered the door. Around the time I started entertaining these thoughts I began to notice a button under the front desk. I don't know if it had been there before, hard and jeweled and amber colored, but if I pressed it when a Seeker came the lights in the room would flicker and go bright. And while I was blinded I'd feel something soft move past me and smell something foul, and when the lights returned to normal the Seeker was always gone. Sometimes they'd leave a tear in the carpet or a dark stain which I had to clean, but at least I didn't have to send them all down the hallway.

I pressed the button on the Seekers who hadn't learned that I value politeness and on those that didn't ask politely enough. When I saw something smirking and contemptuous in the Seeker's eyes I would press the button hard enough to break the skin of my palm. I began to take comfort in cleanliness of light and the muffled cries that sounded like songs. I took any excuse I could to press the button and not send a Seeker down the hall. Those I did send still didn't return.

Until one day, when one man did return. I didn't like him from the moment he entered, with his sharp suit and sharp smile and empty, empty eyes. I went for the button before he reached the desk, but something stopped my hand. He nodded and asked me, very politely, to see the Holder of Denial. Some people I lead to the Holder tremble with visible fear, others hide it, and a very small number seem to be able to suppress it. But this man simply lacked it, the way a story might lack a proper ending. It chilled me. I was relieved to send him through the door. He gave me a too-wide smile and a wink, and disappeared into darkness. I locked him in, stumbled outside and smoked until a thin excuse for calm returned to me, then I went back to my desk and pretended to busy myself with paperwork. I heard footsteps coming down the hallway that I must have walked down a hundred times without hesitating on, and the man with empty eyes came out. He was carrying something in his hands. Something covered in hair or perhaps made of hair, long wet strands of hair that trailed down through his fingers. I tried to press the button that would bring the clean, white light, the light that was pure and that would cover this ugliness. He stopped me. He moved faster than my eye could follow and stopped me, keeping my hand held in his, grinning a devil smile and clucking his tongue. His grin was too wide. I was sure it would swallow me up.

Terrified, I only asked one question: "What are you going to do to me?"

I thought he would kill me. What he did was much worse, he explained things to me. He told me what had happened to each person I had sent down the hallway. Told me in great detail the tests they had failed and the tortures they had suffered. He told me what happened to Seekers under the blinding light that kept me from seeing the things that set on them, that tore them apart and dragged them into the white-hot filament of each light bulb. He told me about the thing I had been helping to guard, and the thing that helped me guard it. He made me see what I had done.

He left. I didn't.

Seekers still come asking for The Holder of Denial. Some I send down the hall, some I press the button on. I don't know if there's anything there for them to seek anymore. No others have ever come back. I try to be a good girl, kind and polite to others, but my job has affected me. To stay whole and healthy, you need to harden your heart to unpleasant truths about yourself. To tie your thoughts down for your own good.

The trichinobezoar the man carried out is Object 138 out of 538. And I am the least of the trials that you must face to find it.

## The Holder of Entertainment

In any city, in any country, go to any movie theater you can get yourself to. You must drive to the theater, for if you fail, you must go fast enough to escape the horrors that will chase you. Go up to the box office, and ask to see the film called "The Holder Of Entertainment." If the worker calls for security, then run to your car and drive out of the state, and don't come back for a month. Only then will it be safe to come back. If she, and only a she, nods and hands you a blue ticket, go inside and find a theater that doesn't look like it belongs there. It shouldn't be hard to find.

Go inside, and you will find a lone seat. Sit down, and wait for twenty minutes. If nothing happens, then you will be sealed inside forever, and it will be as if you never existed. However, if a film starts playing, then you've made it. The screen will display every war, every man used for the sole purpose of destruction for another man's enjoyment. This will go on for hours, days, maybe even weeks. Keep your sanity, stare right into the screen while this is going on. Then, after it's over, simply walk out of the theater. Drive to your house, and live your life. Keep the blue ticket with you.

After three days, sit on your bed at midnight. Wait there quietly, turn off your cell phone, tv, anything. When you hear a growl, get out the blue ticket. The growling will get louder, and soon you will see a strange creature in front of you. It will try to lunge at you, but when it does, rip the ticket. Rip it in front of the creature's face, and it will let out a horrible screech, die after a few minutes, then disappear, as will the torn ticket. On the spot the creature disappeared, there will be a ticket stub.

The ticket stub is Object 139 out of 538. Written on it is one simple word, remember it. It could be your only chance of survival.

## The Holder of Forsaken Reality

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 the receptionist if they are able to comprehend the reality. The receptionist should look at you with a shocked expression, and back away very quickly. They will press themselves against the wall opposite to the counter, shaking in fear. You will be unable to move as the wall cracks, splinters, and finally shatters. The receptionist will fall through, screaming. Once you feel you are ready, make your way to the opening.

At the precipice, you will see that the space beyond the wall is a massive drop. At the bottom will wait monstrosities the likes of which plague your imagination when you sleep, the kinds that you do not even remember because carrying them in your mind would reduce you to a gibbering wreck. The horrifying screams of these creatures will make you want to tear out your eardrums, to excise your very nerves, but you must fight to retain control of yourself. Your task is simple, yet nigh-insurmountable for many: You must step off the edge. However, you must completely block from your senses these terrors that wait for you. Close your eyes, cover your ears, do whatever you have to do to keep yourself from thinking about them. If you are successful, you will not fall, but your feet will strike solid ground. Now, still blocking the beasts from your mind, you must walk. If you falter in your utter belief of the monsters’ nonexistence for even a moment, you will plummet downward, and they will have their way with you. Once you have walked what could be miles, you will feel a piece of paper being pushed into your hand. It is at this point that you will be safe. At least, more so than you were, so long as you do not look at the paper.

You will find yourself in a dank room. You will be unable to make out any surroundings, as the only light source is on the ceiling. It will be a torch, but inverted. The wooden part will be stuck into the ceiling, with the flame burning at the end of it. That is, the flame will be burning down toward you, away from the torch itself. Know now that this is not any sort of magic, nor is it illusion; it is actually scientifically possible for fire to burn downward. How this is possible has been lost to all, and it is one of the two secrets that only the Holder knows. However, as you stand there, you will begin to realize how it is possible. At this point, you must fight with all your strength against this revelation. You must once again block your mind from the realization of how fire can burn downward.

This is forbidden knowledge, and if you were to learn it, you would become the next Holder, depraved and waiting for the next unfortunate soul to pass the secret down to before your painful demise. You must fight these thoughts for an indeterminate amount of time until the torch goes out. At that point, you must call out into the darkness, “Why are They denied?” As you stand, you will be assaulted by visions of people who denied reality in order to escape it. Every rejection of the truth from simple ignorance to denial to extreme schizophrenia will be laid open, laid painfully bare for you to see. It will be far, far worse than it sounds, for you will also realize what could have happened had they not ignored the truth. Eventually, when you can no longer tell whether or not you are conscious, you will awaken on the floor of the mental institution. In your hand will be the piece of paper, which you may now look at.

Written on this piece of paper is the second of the Holder’s secrets: it is a number. This number is special, however, for a number of reasons: First, because it is a regular counting number that was never included in the actual number system used today. However, it is obvious that this number is an incredibly important part, as important as any counting number, and you will realize that its existence renders practically all mathematical algorithms used today useless. Second, this number can only be written on one surface at a time. If it is written on two, the surface that it was written on less recently will be destroyed in a seemingly random chain of events. Third, thoughts of this number will never leave your mind. You will be endlessly thinking of this number, dismantling and reassembling modern mathematics in an effort to correct what you now know is a gigantic mistake. If you are not able to keep your thoughts from this number, you will eventually descend into madness, forever seeking the truth and never finding it. Whatever surface the number is written on is Object 140 of 538. Their Reunion is far more than a reality.