recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
Awkward Moments

I always regret awkward social interactions. I can't help but obsess for days over what I should have done. This last one could have been particularly bad, had I not chosen to avert disaster at the last moment.

I was going for my daily run through the neighborhood when I noticed three kids playing mostly unattended - a babysitter stood thirty feet ahead of me talking on her phone, her attention elsewhere. One boy seemed to be about eight. A slightly younger girl threw a ball to him, caught it, then threw it to a much younger boy.

He failed to catch the ball, and it bounced past him, somehow managing to fall into the slats of an old air conditioning unit out back of the nearest house. The unit was quiet, and the fan was offline, but it was a hot day out, and I slowed my run out of concern.

The younger boy ran up to the unit, climbed on top, and reached his arm down inside.

"Hey!" I shouted at the boy. "That's dangerous! That fan could turn on at any time!"

Yeah, that's what I should have done, in retrospect. The kids would have screamed and run, thinking I was a dangerous stranger, but the boy would have pulled his arm out from the machine.

"Um, are you supposed to be watching those kids?" I asked the babysitter as I passed her.

Yeah, that's what I should have done. She would have rolled her eyes and told me to mind my own business, but she would have made him get down from there.

I stopped in place and lowered my sunglasses, looking in the boy's direction. The babysitter would have noticed, and only momentarily thought I was some sort of creep staring at the kids, but then she would have quickly seen the danger herself and ran over to him.

Yeah, that's what I should have done.

In the end, I chose to say nothing. I don't ever talk to people I don't know. I can't risk the embarrassment; I can't risk the endless replays I run in my head, worrying about what I should have done, over and over and over...

As their myriad horrified screams grew louder than the suddenly surging fan - as little red dots from the cloud of blood mist dotted my sunglasses - I sighed with relief. That could have been so awkward…

*Credited to M59Gar*

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The Holder of Sleep

In any city, in any country, go to a hospital at night and ask the head nurse to see "The Holder of Sleep." She will ignore you and say she has work to do. Ask twice more without stammering and she will sigh as if weary. She will ask you if you are sure, if you answer no you will wake up the next day fully rested and free of any chains. If you answer yes she will guide you to an empty room and tell you to sleep.

When you awaken you will be on a stone table at the beginning of a hallway. As you walk down the hall you will begin to feel drowsy, you must resist sleep here for you will slumber eternally. If you make it to the end of this hallway you will find a door. Open this to find The Holder of Sleep.

You will see a wizened old man sleeping peacefully. Tread lightly for he does not like to be disturbed. Do not look under his bed, for there lies death and it will pull you under to be tormented forever. Walk quietly up to his bed and whisper in his ear "Why do they never rest?" until he wakes up and tells you the story of how they chained their slumber onto him, then he will invite you to sit with him. Do so, else he will chain their slumber unto you and you will never truly be awake again.

After sitting with him he will pull a small crystal with inner light from his nightgown. He will then push it deep into your chest. If you can ignore the pain he will fall back into his slumber. If you cry out you shall replace him in his tortured slumber. Return to the stone table and sleep again. You will find yourself outside of the hospital after waking up.

The crystal is object 27 of 538. You no longer need sleep, pray your nightmares do not follow you out.
That Painting

I loathed that painting. It sat on the wall across from our bed. It stared at me all night. Watched me as I slept.

For years it hung there, my wife adamant that all this was in my head. She was steadfast in her belief that it looked good.

I knew better. I could see its eyes. Always looking at me. Those eyes. They assaulted me as I slept.

I know what you’re thinking-that I’m crazy. Well I’m not! That painting was of some woman. But she stared at me. I couldn’t take it! For five years she looked at me. Plotting.

So one night, while she slept, I doused her with gasoline. My wife burned well.

I tossed the painting on the flames, just to show her. She told me I could get rid of it…over her dead body.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
The Latest Decalogue

Thou shalt have one God only; who

Would be at the expense of two?

No graven images may be

Worshipp'd, except the currency:

Swear not at all; for, for thy curse

Thine enemy is none the worse:

At church on Sunday to attend

Will serve to keep the world thy friend:

Honour thy parents; that is, all

From whom advancement may befall:

Thou shalt not kill; but need'st not strive

Officiously to keep alive:

Do not adultery commit;

Advantage rarely comes of it:

Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,

When it's so lucrative to cheat:

Bear not false witness; let the lie

Have time on its own wings to fly:

Thou shalt not covet; but tradition

Approves all forms of competition.

*Credited to Arthur Hugh Clough*
The City in the Sea

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne

In a strange city lying alone

Far down within the dim West,

Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best

Have gone to their eternal rest.

There shrines and palaces and towers

(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)

Resemble nothing that is ours.

Around, by lifting winds forgot,

Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie.

No rays from the holy heaven come down

On the long night-time of that town;

But light from out the lurid sea

Streams up the turrets silently-

Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-

Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls-

Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls-

Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers

Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-

Up many and many a marvellous shrine

Whose wreathed friezes intertwine

The viol, the violet, and the vine.

Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie.

So blend the turrets and shadows there

That all seem pendulous in air,

While from a proud tower in the town

Death looks gigantically down.

There open fanes and gaping graves

Yawn level with the luminous waves;

But not the riches there that lie

In each idol's diamond eye-

Not the gaily-jewelled dead

Tempt the waters from their bed;

For no ripples curl, alas!

Along that wilderness of glass-

No swellings tell that winds may be

Upon some far-off happier sea-

No heavings hint that winds have been

On seas less hideously serene.

But lo, a stir is in the air!

The wave- there is a movement there!

As if the towers had thrust aside,

In slightly sinking, the dull tide-

As if their tops had feebly given

A void within the filmy Heaven.

The waves have now a redder glow-

The hours are breathing faint and low-

And when, amid no earthly moans,

Down, down that town shall settle hence,

Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,

Shall do it reverence.

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
The Girl in the Photograph

One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.

His desk was next to the window, and he turned and looked to the grass outside. It looked like a picture. When school was over, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.

He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.

She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said "No." He was devastated.

When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said "No." It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.

In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.

The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, "Sorry, no." When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said "No." He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.

Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when suddenly he got hit by a car. He was dead with the picture in his hand.

The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. Suddenly he saw the picture and picked it up.

He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers.

*Original Author Unknown*
The Invisible Man

***The Invisible Man*** is a 1897 science fiction novel, originally serialized in Pearson's Magazine. The Invisible Man of the title is "Griffin", a scientist who theorizes that if a person's refractive index is changed to exactly that of air and his body does not absorb or reflect light, then he will not be visible. He successfully carries out this procedure on himself, but cannot become visible again, becoming mentally unstable as a result. (Taken from Wikipedia)

## Chapters

* Chapter 1: The Strange Man's Arrival
* Chapter 2: Mr. Teddy Henfrey's First Impressions
* Chapter 3: The Thousand and One Bottles
* Chapter 4: Mr. Cuss Interviews the Stranger
* Chapter 5: The Burglary at the Vicarage
* Chapter 6: The Furniture That Went Mad
* Chapter 7: The Unveiling of the Stranger
* Chapter 8: In Transit
* Chapter 9: Mr. Thomas Marvel
* Chapter 10: Mr. Marvel's Visit To Iping
* Chapter 11: In the "Coach and Horses"
* Chapter 12: The Invisible Man Loses His Temper
* Chapter 13: Mr. Marvel Discusses His Resignation
* Chapter 14: At Port Stowe
* Chapter 15: The Man Who Was Running
* Chapter 16: In the "Jolly Cricketers"
* Chapter 17: Dr. Kemp's Visitor
* Chapter 18: The Invisible Man Sleeps
* Chapter 19: Certain First Principles
* Chapter 20: At the House In Great Portland Street
* Chapter 21: In Oxford Street
* Chapter 22: In The Emporium
* Chapter 23: In Drury Lane
* Chapter 24: The Plan That Failed
* Chapter 25: The Hunting of the Invisible Man
* Chapter 26: The Wicksteed Murder
* Chapter 27: The Siege of Kemp's House
* Chapter 28: The Hunter Hunted
* The Epilogue
The Hare's Bride

There was once a woman and her daughter who had a beautiful garden with cabbages. A hare got into it, and during the winter he ate all the cabbages. So the mother said to the daughter, "Go to the garden, and chase the hare away."

The girl said to the hare, "Shoo, shoo, hare! You're eating all our cabbages."

The hare said, "Come, girl, sit on my tail, and come with me to my hut."

The girl would not do that.

The next day the hare came again and ate cabbages, so the woman said to her daughter, "Go to the garden, and chase the hare away."

The girl said to the hare, "Shoo, shoo, hare! You're eating all our cabbages."

The hare said, "Come, girl, sit on my tail, and come with me to my hut."

The girl would not do that.

On the third day the hare came again and ate cabbages, so the woman said to her daughter, "Go to the garden and chase the hare away."

The girl said, "Shoo, shoo, hare! You're eating all our cabbages."

The hare said, "Come, girl, sit on my tail, and come with me to my hut."

So the girl sat on the hare's tail, and the hare took her far away to his little hut, and then said, "Now cook some green cabbage and millet. "I'm going out to invite guests to our wedding."

Then all the wedding guests arrived. Who were the wedding guests? I can tell you, because someone else told me. They were all hares, and the crow was there as parson to marry the bride and bridegroom, and the fox served as sexton, and their altar was under the rainbow.

But the girl was sad, for she was all alone.

The hare came up to her and said, "Open the door! Open the door! The wedding guests are making merry."

The bride cried and said nothing. The hare went away. Then the hare came back and said, "Open the door! Open the door! The wedding guests are hungry."

The bride continued to cry, and said nothing. The hare went away. Then he came back and said, "Open the door! Open the door! The wedding guests are waiting."

The bride said nothing, and the hare went away. Then she dressed a straw doll in her clothes, gave it a stirring-spoon, and stood it next to the millet pot. Then she went back to her mother.

The hare came once more and said, "Open the door! Open the door!" Then he opened the door himself and struck the doll on the head so that its cap fell off. Then the hare saw that this was not his bride, and he sadly went away.

*Credited to the Brothers Grimm*
The Holder of Surrender

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. Before trying to attain this object, take every object you currently possess with you. If you possess no objects, then when you ask the worker to visit "The Holder of Surrender" the worker shall not even look at you, as if he does not see you there. Turn back and try again after you have at least one object. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the Surrender". A grimace will appear on the face of the worker and he shall laugh, as if to say "You stupid fool. Few have survived what you are about to face!"

After he finishes laughing, you have to go through the door behind him that has a sign saying "Employees Only". He shall not complain or even try to stop you.

After going through the door, you will find yourself in a dark hallway. As you walk down it, you must walk at a steady pace. You will define the speed with which you have to walk: if you walk very fast, you will have to keep moving fast. If you move slowly, you will have to keep moving slowly. Failure to comply will result with instant death.

At the end of the hallway, there are three paths. The centre path leads to the Holder. The path on the left leads back home, but the path back shall be painful beyond imagination. The path on the right leads to certain death, yet the death is painless and many consider this a more suitable fate than the painful journey back or the suffering in order to get the object.

If you chose the centre path, you will walk on until you see a large, rectangular room in front of you. A man is sitting in a chair at the centre of the room, surrounded by chalk circles drawn into the floor. One circle for each object you have. If you have 5 objects, there are 5 circles. If you have 45 objects, there are 45 circles.

Walk towards the Holder. Be prepared, because he will shout at you in a large booming voice. His demand is simple: place the first object in the first circle. If you obey, and surrender the object to the Holder, the object placed in the circle will be gone and you will be required to get it again. If you survive. If you refuse, the Holder will lift his hand and countless, minuscule hooks shall go into each of your pores. The pain will make you believe that you are being torn apart. If the pain stops and you have not gone mad with the agony, or have not screamed at him to take your object, he shall smile and say you are worthy of keeping the object. The process will repeat until he has asked for all of your objects. For objects that are too large to move, immaterial, or are otherwise impossible to be placed in a circle, the Holder shall ask if you want to place it in the circle. If you agree, the object will be lost, if you disagree, you shall be tortured once more. If you remain strong and he deems you worthy enough to keep them all, one of the hooks used in your many torture sessions will increase in size until it is the size of a normal fishing hook.

The hook is Object 113 of 538. Its only purpose is to get others to surrender their objects.
The Haunted Palace

In the greenest of our valleys

By good angels tenanted,

Once a fair and stately palace—

Radiant palace—reared its head.

In the monarch Thought's dominion—

It stood there!

Never seraph spread a pinion

Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

On its roof did float and flow,

(This—all this—was in the olden

Time long ago,)

And every gentle air that dallied,

In that sweet day,

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

A wingéd odour went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw

Spirits moving musically,

To a lute's well-tunéd law,

Round about a throne where, sitting

(Porphyrogene!)

In state his glory well befitting,

The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing

Was the fair palace door,

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,

And sparkling evermore,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty

Was but to sing,

In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch's high estate.

(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him desolate!)

And round about his home the glory

That blushed and bloomed,

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,

Through the red-litten windows see

Vast forms, that move fantastically

To a discordant melody,

While, like a ghastly rapid river,

Through the pale door

A hideous throng rush out forever

And laugh—but smile no more.

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
The Lost Stradivarius

***The Lost Stradivarius*** (1895), by J. Meade Falkner, is a short novel of ghosts and the evil that can be invested in an object, in this case an extremely fine Stradivarius violin. After finding the violin of the title in a hidden compartment in his college rooms, the protagonist, a wealthy young heir, becomes increasingly secretive as well as obsessed by a particular piece of music, which seems to have the power to call up the ghost of its previous owner. Roaming from England to Italy, the story involves family love, lordly depravity, and the tragedy of obsession, all conveyed in a "high" serious tone not uncommon in late Victorian literature.

Letter from MISS SOPHIA MALTRAVERS

to her Nephew, SIR EDWARD MALTRAVERS,

then a Student at Christ Church, Oxford.

13 Pauncefort Buildings, Bath,

Oct. 21, 1867.

MY DEAR EDWARD,

It was your late father's dying request that certain events which occurred in his last years should be communicated to you on your coming of age. I have reduced them to writing, partly from my own recollection, which is, alas! still too vivid, and partly with the aid of notes taken at the time of my brother's death. As you are now of full age, I submit the narrative to you. Much of it has necessarily been exceedingly painful to me to write, but at the same time I feel it is better that you should hear the truth from me than garbled stories from others who did not love your father as I did.

Your loving Aunt,

SOPHIA MALTRAVERS

To Sir Edward Maltravers, Bart.

"A tale out of season is as music in mourning."

—ECCLESIASTICUS xxii. 6.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Mr. Gaskell's Note
The Holder of Ambition

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 a man who calls himself the "Holder of Ambition." The sound that escapes the mouth of the worker will be so slight, and betray so little reaction, that at first, you may not even be sure your words were heard. All doubt will be settled when they guide you toward a stairwell lit by many windows.

At the top of these stairs, the worker will leave you to continue your journey alone. You will find yourself standing at the beginning of an eerily calm hallway. Walk to the end.

In all likelihood, you will encounter a shadow that moves along the wall. Do not follow it, for it is the one thing that will lead you to a place you do not wish to go: a place filled with your silent fears and failures, from which you cannot return. No matter what shape the shadow takes, and no matter how it eases and taunts your dreams with the greatest of your desires and hopes, do not even let it tempt your gaze, let alone your feet.

If you make it to the end of the hallway without losing sight of your goal, you will find an open doorway with no locks, bolts, or restraints. A soft light bathes the floor in front of the opening. This is your one and only chance to leave without facing the Holder of Ambition or collecting his Object: if that is the course of action you wish to take, then walk directly back the way you came, without attempting to peek around or into other doors, lest you discover what that seductive shadow hides.

Beyond the doorway lies a room, bathed in an artificial light cast by high windows that cover each wall's expanse. At the room's center stands a tall, healthy man, standing naked and looking out into the light. His body is covered in uncountable tattoos and scars; only his face is recognizable as unaltered human flesh. You might be tempted to look where he looks, in search of the object of his focus; feel free, but you will see nothing, and learn nothing. The man will not react to anything other than the question, "What joins them together?"

When asked, he will turn to look you in the eyes. Meet his gaze, but know that if you are not prepared -- if there is even the slightest doubt of your intentions -- then you will lose yourself in his soulless eyes for an eternity. If, on the other hand, your gaze is an honest one, then he will begin to speak in a low voice. His tone will be a comical one, his tale told as if they meant nothing at all, but you must not miss a word, for this story is your preparation. Listen carefully to his tale, and remember every detail.

When the man finishes speaking, he will bring his hands to his chest, and remove the sutures from one of his more noticeable scars. As the stitches come out, he will bleed profusely and fatally. When the last of his sutures have come out, he will offer them to you, uttering his final words through his own gurgling blood: "Choosing to seek... leads to an inevitable fate..."

The clump of sutures is object 10 of 538. How you use them depends on what you hear.
The Holder of the Noose

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 the Noose". Should the worker ignore you, leave. It is not yet time. If the worker should go limp, however, promptly close your eyes. The commotion of other staff members rushing around in confusion will immediately be heard. The voices will condemn you, asking what happened. Keep your eyes shut and do not reply, least you will suffer a fate so unimaginable that the human mind is unable to fathom it. When all is silent, it is safe. Open your eyes. If successful, you should find yourself in front of a staircase.

Ascend the stairs. As you do so, voices pleading for help will sound below. Do not ignore these voices. Instead reply calmly, "There is no help for you now." If the cries continue, stand still and accept the gruesome fate about to befall you. If the cries stop, proceed. Eventually you will come to a door engraved with a unique symbol. At the bottom of the door is a dagger. To gain access to the room you must engrave the symbol onto one of your hands. Once done, touch the knob with the same hand. The door should open. If it doesn't, pray someone of better ability than yourself picks up where you left off. You will not be returning home.

When the door opens, you will be greeted with the sight of a girl, a boy, and a noose. Ignore the girl, and ask the boy "What happened to the others?" Say anything else, and you'll forever regret not hanging yourself with the noose while you could. The boy will speak of how the other "visitors" were lost and forgotten through time. The tale will make your soul feel such pity, disgust, and unworthiness that you will begin to debate whether or not to kill yourself at that moment so as to be saved from any possible future mistakes. When he is finished, the girl will ask if you'd like to know anything more. Do not acknowledge her. When it is clear you will say no more, the boy will command you to turn around. Defy his orders. Instead watch as he proceeds to set up the noose and force the girl's head through it. All the while, she will shriek and cry for help with tears running down her cheeks. Approach with the dagger in hand and give it to the boy, releasing all hope from the girl.

After all is done, the boy will cut off a patch of the girl's hair and bring it over enclosed in a barrette engraved with the same bleeding symbol on your hand and the door. Exit the way you came, finding yourself in the same spot in the lobby where you began. Though this time, no one is around and the worker remains limp.

The barrette with stray hair is Object number 296 of 538. Do not remove the hairs, for they represent your life.
The Forest of Laughter

There once was a small forest nearby a small village that the locals called the Forest of Laughter. It was an attraction for many of the villager’s children, to go and spend their days playing in the forest ‘til the sunset, while the adults were working in the fields. It got that name, because sometimes, if the wind was right, and the ground was calm, you could hear the children’s laughter coming from those woods. The younglings were usually found playing in a naked small field, that was located in the middle of the forest, that the villagers referred to as the Oak Field. It was covered with a short moist grass, that always felt like it was coated in a morning dew and it stayed that way even on the hottest of days. At the center of this field, there was an old, thick branched oak tree. It had many carvings of the children's names on its trunk, some cuts were so deep, the sap from the oak never stopped bleeding, as the wounds were too deep to heal. The villagers, both young and old loved the forest, for what it provided to the little community.

On one of the sunsets, however, a villager’s daughter Gloria, an eight year old with a yellow dress didn’t return from the forest as usual. When other kids, who came back from it, were asked by the worried father, if they’ve seen her, everyone just nodded their heads. The country men gathered the torches and began the search. The whole forest was searched, throughout the night and day, inch by inch, but the girl was never found.

A few days later, when the search was over, to the surprise of the villagers and the mourning father, the little Gloria emerged from the woods right before the sunset. The strangest thing was that the girl was happy and laughing, as if nothing bad had happened. When asked where she was those past few days, she simply shrugged her shoulders and said: “I was just playing with the kids.”

A few days later, the daughter’s father decided to go into the forest alone, while the girl was sleeping at home. He took his torch and went into the woods just as the sunset light had scorched the sky with its reddish tint. As he reached the Oak Field, he noticed a small silhouette resting on the grass, its back leaned to the old Oak. Once he reached the silhouette, the light of the torch revealed something that made the man paralyzed for a moment. It was a corpse of a little girl in a yellow dress. Above her head, on the Oak’s trunk there was a fresh carve, from which the sap continued to bleed out. It read “Gloria”. Once he saw it, his horrified eyes stared back to the direction of the village as he silently asked himself: “Who is she?”

As the sun completely set, and the red sky turned black, you could hear the children's laughter from the forest as it took another prey.

*Credited to BrokenGlasses

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The Holder of Eternity

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 Eternity". A sigh might escape the worker as they look upon you with the utmost pity. They will take you down a flight of stairs that you might expect to lead to the basement; they don't.

As you press deeper and deeper into the underbelly of the institution, you will begin to hear a chorus of screams. At first it will be barely audible, as if originating from a point a great distance away, but as you approach the end of the hallway, the screams will grow clearer and more thunderous, until they drone so loudly as to consume all other noises. The din will quickly become so painful that you will feel the unrelenting urge to claw at your own ears to escape it; resist this impulse. The worker, stoically enduring the cacophony, will show you a door. As swiftly as they can, they will unlock it and run, leaving you alone in this cramped, dark hallway.

This will be your last chance to run. If you decide to continue, open the door; the piercing wail will then end abruptly, leaving your ears ringing. The room you will enter will be coated in an almost tangible darkness that consumes all but the far wall. Manacled to that wall is an emaciated figure covered in raw lashes. He will stare directly at you with a maniacal grin plastered to his face, seemingly undisturbed by his festering wounds and the scalpel rammed into his chest. The only way to save yourself from this man's dark designs is to ask, "Who created them?"

He will cackle in a manner befitting the death throes of an animal, before responding. His will be the most horrific tale you have ever heard, beyond such primitive concepts as pain and death. It will delve deep into the very essence of evil; those of weak mind would go mad hearing it.

When he finishes, it will be up to you to release this man from his terrible burden. Remove the scalpel and he will shudder once in agony before falling silent... forever.

That scalpel is Object 3 of 538. It is up to you if the rest should be protected or destroyed.
The Invisible Man/Chapter 8

## Chapter 8: In Transit

The eighth chapter is exceedingly brief, and relates that Gibbons, the amateur naturalist of the district, while lying out on the spacious open downs without a soul within a couple of miles of him, as he thought, and almost dozing, heard close to him the sound as of a man coughing, sneezing, and then swearing savagely to himself; and looking, beheld nothing. Yet the voice was indisputable. It continued to swear with that breadth and variety that distinguishes the swearing of a cultivated man. It grew to a climax, diminished again, and died away in the distance, going as it seemed to him in the direction of Adderdean. It lifted to a spasmodic sneeze and ended. Gibbons had heard nothing of the morning's occurrences, but the phenomenon was so striking and disturbing that his philosophical tranquillity vanished; he got up hastily, and hurried down the steepness of the hill towards the village, as fast as he could go.
The Kissing of Sal Snooboo

A bunch of the girls were whooping it up

In the old Lip-stick saloon,

And the kid at the player-piano

Was twanging a jazzy tune,

When out of the night with perfume on his shirt

And stacomb upon his hair,

A young man staggered inside the door

And meowed like a grizzly-bear.

He kicked the kid off the piano stool

And sat him down to play.

The piano yowled like an old tom cat

To the tune of "Hip! Hurray!"

Says he, "Gals, you don’t know me,

But, by gosh, I know you,

And one of you is a classy dame,

And that one is Sal Snooboo!"

She squawked and somebody turned the lights,

Something went "Smack!" in the dark.

There was nothing for anybody to do

But to stand still and s\*\*\*\*\*\* and hark.

Somebody turned the lights on,

And Sally was standing there,

But the stranger wasn’t; he was done,

And Sal was arranging her hair.

*Credited to Robert Ervin Howard*
The Holder of Accuracy

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the receptionist's desk, ask to visit someone who calls themselves "The Holder of Accuracy." Should a look of terror and sorrow fall over the receptionist's face, they have found you, and no amount of running will save you.

However, if their face shows an expression of excitement and disbelief, you've come to the right place. They will take you to the nearest door and open it for you. You must walk through the doorway exactly three seconds after they open it. No more, no less. After walking through, the receptionist will close and lock the door behind you. You will find that you are now standing in a firing range with spots taken on either side of you as far as you can see. The people who take these spots are Seekers that have failed. They are doomed to an eternity of thoughtless enslavement, unable to summon enough free will to end their own lives with the weapons so tantalizingly close at hand.

Take the one open spot that is directly in front of you. You will notice that there is a rifle conveniently placed on a nearby table. As soon as you pick it up, a target will appear at the end of the firing range. You will have five rounds, and you must hit the center of the target with each of them. If you miss the first shot, the Seeker to your left will put their gun to your head and pull the trigger. If you hit the first time but then miss another shot, you will join the Seekers that have failed in their mindless stupor.

If you manage to hit the bullseye all five times, however, the firing range will disappear, and you will find yourself in an empty black void standing before a man dressed in a black trench coat and a dark brown fedora, but you will not be able to see his face. This is The Holder. If he is smoking a cigar, then he does not find you worthy of continuing your journey, and will shove you into the void to fall for eternity. If he is smoking a cigarette, then he believes you are capable of progress. He will beckon for you to speak. You must ask him, "How many people tried to stop them?"

He will then tell you in great detail how many people tried to stop the objects from being lost, how many rounds were fired, how many battles were fought, how many wars were started, amongst other things. Don't worry. Few have gone insane from this information. The man will then hand you the rifle you used in the firing range. any round that you load into this rifle will never spread and will always shoot where you aim. The man will give you a respectful nod and walk into the void. You will feel a strong gust of air and then you will find yourself standing in front of the place you call home.

That rifle is Object 38 of 538. How many shots will it take to stop them?
The Holder of Treachery

Whenever you're at home, call up any courier company and ask to speak to "The Holder of Treachery." The person at the other end of the line will breathe a sigh of relief, ask for your name and address, and hang up. Before the next sunset, you will receive a large box from that company, addressed to you but with no sender listed. The box will have air holes, but you will not be able to see or hear anything inside.

Open the box, and know that no matter what you do, you will not be able to avoid cutting yourself on an edge -- nor will you be able to prevent a few drops of your blood from landing on the white cat inside. Your life will be linked to that of the cat; should it suffer, you will suffer. Should it die... you don't want to know what will happen to your soul if that cat dies. Should anything happen to you, however, the cat will merely laugh.

Your task is to keep that cat alive until midnight, one week after receiving the box. This will prove difficult, as the cat will try to end your life in every way it can, and it will happily endanger its own to do so. It is unnaturally cunning and will try everything it can think of to lure you into your own death. As the week passes, these traps and plots will become more ingenious and harder to thwart, and you will need all of your wits and strength if you are to even have a hope of survival. If you have faced the Holder of Honor, I pity you: you will not survive the week, and your death will be a mercy compared to what awaits you afterwards.

If, after a week has passed, you are still alive shortly before midnight, the cat will enter a frenzied rage, launching itself at you and attacking you for the final time. The animal's harmless appearance belies its incredible strength and tenacity, and death at its claws will plunge your soul into torment for eternity. Defend yourself -- without harming the cat -- until midnight.

The cat will scream, "Why won't you die?" You must answer, "Because I am not a traitor." If you give the answer without fear or hesitation, the cat will cease its struggles, look you in the eye, and say, "Then you will learn." It will scratch your hands and flee, vanishing as it leaves your sight. Go straight to bed and sleep. When you wake, your hands will now bear claws.

Those claws are Object 159 of 538. They bring betrayal to all who oppose you.
The Maiden of Kercheezer

She was snoozing on her sweezer,

Many a goofish year ago,

And a smile was on her beezer,

As she gently scratched her toe.

She, the Maiden of Kercheezer,

Hair as black as a harness tug,

As is fluttered in the breezer,

O'er her lovely, girlish mug.

Evening dress of green and yeller,

What a shoulder she could shake

And she had a nifty feller,

Hight the knight of Duckandrake.

He was knock-kneed, she was cross-eyed,

Oh, they were a lovely pair,

How he'd fondly knock her hoss-eyed,

As she gently pulled out his hair.

And her folks didn't like his beezer,

But what difference did that make?

And the maiden of Kercheezer, ever

Eloped with noble Duckandrake.

*Credited to Robert Ervin Howard*
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.
The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen;

A Chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,

And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door;

So I turned to the Garden of Love

That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tombstones where flowers should be;

And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars my joys and desires.

*Credited to William Blake*
The Demon in the Mirror Trick

This is an old trick, one I am sure many of you have tried. Turn down the lights and stare into a mirror. Stare at your face, and let your eyes go out of focus. Your face, the face you've known your entire life, will start to morph, twist and become demonic before your very eyes.

This used to be a fun party trick, especially if you were telling a scary story while it was happening. Something about watching your own face twist, it's just unnerving in such a deep, personal way.

Don't ever do it. If you're reading this, just don't. I did it recently, on the spur. I was walking out of my kitchen, and my bathroom door was open. There was just enough light from the little kitchen light to see the mirror. I stared, and watched my face turn ugly. Same as always. Until it smiled back. At first I thought I smiled. No, the reflection did.

I don't know much, but I know that whatever is on the other side of the mirror hates you. Maybe because we just see it as our reflection, our property, something to use to comb our hair and brush our teeth. But it's alive. And full of hate.

I hear it now, at night, tapping on the mirror. It wants out. I tried to show my wife, but it's smart. She just sees the reflection, but as soon as she turns around, it smiles at me. The taps have started to turn into pounding. Not just at home anymore either. It goes wherever I go, and it wants me.

Tonight I am alone. I can hear it tapping, and now it's pounding. Its face is that twisted face. See, I figured it out. That twisted face, that isn't from our eyes going blurry. No, that's its real face showing up.

Oh God.

I just heard glass shatter.

*Credited to Banningk1979

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The Lover And The Moon

A lover whom duty called over the wave,

With himself communed: "Will my love be true

If left to herself? Had I better not sue

Some friend to watch over her, good and grave?

But my friend might fail in my need," he said,

"And I return to find love dead.

Since friendships fade like the flow'rs of June,

I will leave her in charge of the stable moon."

Then he said to the moon: "O dear old moon,

Who for years and years from thy thrown above

Hast nurtured and guarded young lovers and love,

My heart has but come to its waiting June,

And the promise time of the budding vine;

Oh, guard thee well this love of mine."

And he harked him then while all was still,

And the pale moon answered and said, "I will."

And he sailed in his ship o'er many seas,

And he wandered wide o'er strange far strands:

In isles of the south and in Orient lands,

Where pestilence lurks in the breath of the breeze.

But his star was high, so he braved the main,

And sailed him blithely home again;

And with joy he bended his footsteps soon

To learn of his love from the matron moon.

She sat as of yore, in her olden place,

Serene as death, in her silver chair.

A white rose gleamed in her whiter hair,

And the tint of a blush was on her face.

At sight of the youth she sadly bowed

And hid her face 'neath a gracious cloud.

She faltered faint on the night's dim marge,

But "How," spoke the youth, "have you kept your charge?"

The moon was sad at a trust ill-kept;

The blush went out in her blanching cheek,

And her voice was timid and low and weak,

As she made her plea and sighed and wept.

"Oh, another prayed and another plead,

And I could n't resist," she answering said;

"But love still grows in the hearts of men:

Go forth, dear youth, and love again."

But he turned him away from her proffered grace.

"Thou art false, O moon, as the hearts of men,

I will not, will not love again."

And he turned sheer 'round with a soul-sick face

To the sea, and cried: "Sea, curse the moon,

Who makes her vows and forgets so soon."

And the awful sea with anger stirred,

And his breast heaved hard as he lay and heard.

And ever the moon wept down in rain,

And ever her sighs rose high in wind;

But the earth and sea were deaf and blind,

And she wept and sighed her griefs in vain.

And ever at night, when the storm is fierce,

The cries of a wraith through the thunder pierce;

And the waves strain their awful hands on high

To tear the false moon from the sky.

*Credited to Paul Laurence Dunbar*
The Definition of Love

My love is of a birth as rare

As 'tis for object strange and high;

It was begotten by Despair

Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone

Could show me so divine a thing

Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown,

But vainly flapp'd its tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive

Where my extended soul is fixt,

But Fate does iron wedges drive,

And always crowds itself betwixt.

For Fate with jealous eye does see

Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;

Their union would her ruin be,

And her tyrannic pow'r depose.

And therefore her decrees of steel

Us as the distant poles have plac'd,

(Though love's whole world on us doth wheel)

Not by themselves to be embrac'd;

Unless the giddy heaven fall,

And earth some new convulsion tear;

And, us to join, the world should all

Be cramp'd into a planisphere.

As lines, so loves oblique may well

Themselves in every angle greet;

But ours so truly parallel,

Though infinite, can never meet.

Therefore the love which us doth bind,

But Fate so enviously debars,

Is the conjunction of the mind,

And opposition of the stars.

*Credited to Andrew Marvell*