recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
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 Mourner

“’TIS over—all over!" the mourner said.

"My love, in the grave of my love, lies dead:

Barren of bloom as yon wintry tree,

Lifeless and chill, is the heart of me!

"I shall smile no more: a tale that is told

Is the rapture of being. Now would I were old,

Who wearying years would no longer see

Stretching away unendingly!

"What value has Time? The last to-morrow

For me will hold but the one, one sorrow

Which, lone, I still shall endure, forlorn

As the bird that, above me, its mate doth mourn."

······

Full wearily wasted the months; and still

Guarding his grief with a constant will,

It chanced that the mourner, one halcyon day,

Wandering sadly the self-same way,

Beheld, half doubting, the wintry tree

A bower of blossom—a thing to see!—

And heard with emotion the sad bird sing:—

"O beauty! O love! O delight!—It is Spring!"

*Credited to Florence Earle Coates*
The Child Is Father to the Man

"THE CHILD is father to the man."

How can he be? The words are wild.

Suck any sense from that who can:

"The child is father to the man."

No; what the poet did write ran,

"The man is father to the child."

"The child is father to the man!"

How can he be? The words are wild.

*Credited to Gerard Manley Hopkins*
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 bullets, and you must hit the center of the target with each of them. If you miss all five times, the Seeker to your left will put their gun to your head and pull the trigger. If you miss only once, you will join the Seekers that have failed in their mindless stupor.

If you manage to hit the bulls eye 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 bullets 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 bullets 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 Cruelty

In a location where dark omens gather and where death has cursed, call to the starless sky for counsel with "The Holder of Cruelty". Before the tainted earth which you stand will rise a black, ancient pedestal with a deep bowl carved into the crumbling skull mounted atop.

At this point, there is no return. The eyes of the decaying skull will glow with a color of blood, and in your head, a wicked yet hoarse voice will drone:

"Mors ultima linea rerum est"

Blackening until the night defeated, in that bowl must you gather the beating hearts of the ones you hold dearest to you. Should the hearts cease to beat, you will Blacken. Should you fail the request, you will Blacken. Should suicide become the final escape, you will Blacken.

With the fresh, organic beating hearts gathered in the dark bowl, the Blackening will cease. As the hearts liquefy, a deep, impenetrable black forms. The voices of those offered will speak to you in an unfamiliar tongue. Though incomprehensible, do not fall prey to the command of the deceiving ones.

Instead, gather the corpses of five of your most hated enemies, and bring them to the pedestal. Down their throats must the tainted fluid pour. Not a drop must reach the soil of Earth. The five corpses will re-animate, rising as wicked puppets hailing to their cursed master, shapeshifting to twisted Blackened beings.

To Them you must feed five young, living children. Remorse of the slightest will not be tolerated in Their eyes. As the fresh blood of the children is drunk from their coursing veins, you must watch through the agony, screams, tears, and fear as they are devoured nearly whole. They will endure the pain of a century of torture as they are consumed.

When the ordeal has ended, They will surround you. They demand only one more relic: your own heart. Be hasteful - They do not feel pain as mortals do. As the unholy offering passes hands, it too will be consumed. The meal finished, the figures will merge and dissipate in a brilliant black aura, eclipsing the dark sky.

The silent whispers that consume your mind form Object 55. When all has Blackened, they will guide you to Him.
The Holder of Numbness

In any city, in any country, go to any military base you can get yourself to. Tell one of the officers that you wish to see the "Holder of Numbness". The officer will respond with a salute, and lead you to a short hallway, whose sole door is covered in inscriptions.

As you approach the door, you will feel a natural urge to flee. If you succumb to it, you will spend the rest of your life tormented by the thought of what might lie behind the door. However, if you stand your ground, you will be left to decipher the runes covering the door; they are a password. If you are meant to take this Holder's object, the password will come to mind after examining the runes; say it aloud.

If the password is correct, the door will slowly open. Beyond it is a small room, with human flesh covering every surface. Carved into that flesh are more runes. A man with filthy, floor-length hair, covered in what appears to be fleshy camouflage, will be sitting in the middle of the room, carving into the floor with what appears to be a military utility knife. As soon as you step into the room, he will turn his attention to you, revealing a pair of orange eyes and a hideously scarred face. You will feel an intense sorrow, followed by dread. Ask him one question: "How did it happen?"

The Holder of Numbness will grin maniacally and hand you his knife. With an otherworldly voice, he shall then utter a single word from an unknown language. That word conveys a image, a message of horrors beyond human understanding. It shatters all mental barriers, driving most who hear it into madness and suicide. If you manage to withstand it, return the Holder's knife. He will then proceed to hand you a holster before resuming his work.

Said holster contains a handgun covered in intricate runic designs. Its stopping power is unmatched. If you choose to fire that gun, you will feel a numbness spread from your hand to your entire body. This sensation will never leave you, and will eventually cover your mind and soul.

That object is 150 of 538. Perhaps it will stop them. Perhaps it is all a fool's gambit.
The Hidden Love

O let me love my love unto myself alone,

And know my knowledge to the world unknown;

No witness to my vision call,

Beholding, unbeheld of all;

And worship Thee, with Thee withdrawn apart,

Whoe’er, Whate’er Thou art,

Within the closest veil of mine own inmost heart.

What is it then to me

If others are inquisitive to see?

Why should I quit my place to go and ask

If other men are working at their task?

Leave my own buried roots to go

And see that brother plants shall grow;

And turn away from Thee, O Thou most Holy Light,

To look if other orbs their orbits keep aright,

Around their proper sun,

Deserting Thee, and being undone.

O let me love my love unto myself alone,

And know my knowledge to the world unknown;

And worship Thee, O hid One, O much sought,

As but man can or ought,

Within the abstracted’st shrine of my least breathed-on thought.

Better it were, thou sayest, to consent;

Feast while we may, and live ere life be spent;

Close up clear eyes, and call the unstable sure,

The unlovely lovely, and the filthy pure;

In self-belyings, self-deceivings roll,

And lose in Action, Passion, Talk, the soul.

Nay, better far to mark off thus much air,

And call it Heaven: place bliss and glory there;

Fix perfect homes in the unsubstantial sky,

And say, what is not, will be by-and-bye.

*Credited to Arthur Hugh Clough*
The Blue and the Gray

As years passed on, from homes apart

Our brothers sped themselves away;

With fierce intent in every heart.

Some wore the Blue and some the Gray.

They marched to fields of deadly strife,

And met in fratricidal fray;

With purpose strong as love of life—

Some fought in Blue and some in Gray.

Each deemed his cause both true and just.

And bravely strove to win the day;

And of the hosts who bit the dust,

Some fell in Blue and some in Gray.

Where flowers bloom in southern vales.

Where waters dash in crystal spray.

Where hills are fanned by northern gales,

Some sleep in Blue and some in Gray.

On mansion and on cottage wall,

Hang the dead heroes of the fray,

Whose mute lips answer not the call

Of comrades wearing Blue and Gray.

And out from homes both South and North,

The orphaned children bend their way;

And widowed mothers issue forth.

To drop their tears on Blue and Gray.

Over the dead the same sun throws

His warm, benignant, peaceful sway;

And in their undisturbed repose.

The Blue lies buried with the Gray.

Night darkens all the deep abyss,

And stars shoot forth with silver ray;

The moonlight pales and dew-drops kiss

The moss-grown graves of Blue and Gray.

Ye living, bring your garlands fair.

And clasp your hands anew to-day!

One flag yet floats upon the air;

We're brothers still, both Blue and Gray!

*Credited to J.G. Walker*
The Holder of the Path

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 Path." The worker there will try his best to keep a look of indifference on his face while handing you a key which, as he will explain, belongs to an unused supply closet in the building. If only it were that simple. Upon locating and unlocking the correct door, you will find yourself staring out onto a narrow, winding road suspended in an endless void, the sight only occasionally obstructed by the massive outlines of things best left undescribed.

To fall off the path is to be thrown out of reality itself. A nightmarish eternity of inconceivable horror awaits anyone who either stumbles into the void by their own error, or is dragged off the path by the timeless monstrosities that reside on the outskirts of creation. If you should ever feel as if you are being watched while traveling through this piece of oblivion, the best chance you have is to immediately freeze in place and hold your breath. Continue to do so until your audience either loses interest, or moves in to claim you. If the latter should occur, feel free to scream as hard as you want, though your screams will fall on deaf ears.

At the end of the path lies a door that leads to a small, dirt-caked room. Propped up against the room's far wall is a heavily emaciated corpse; what's left of its skin has long since blackened with necrosis. Approach it and ask one question: "How did they acquire guardians?"

In response to your query, the "corpse" will begin to stir. A subtle red glow will emanate from its eye sockets as it lifts its head and begins to whisper the long and macabre history of the Holders. It will speak of unholy pacts and unspeakable atrocities. Within time, its tale will touch upon every form of evil known to man or God, and a few forms that neither can comprehend. Furthermore, if told the title of any Holder, the corpse will reveal that Holder's history and the meaning of the object that it protects.

Well, almost any Holder. The Holder of the Path will never go into detail about itself. This is because the ghoul hopes that you will not question why it seems to be lacking an Object. Truth be told, the ominous glow from within the ghoul's eye sockets is actually the shining light of the Object that was somehow sealed inside of its skull.

That is Object 7 of 538. Its Holder will do anything to keep you away from it.
The Castle of Otranto

Text copied from wikisource

The Castle of Otranto is a 1764 novel by Horace Walpole. It is generally held to be the first gothic novel, initiating a literary genre which would become extremely popular in the later 18th century and early 19th century. Thus, Castle, and Walpole by extension is arguably the forerunner to such authors as Ann Radcliffe, Bram Stoker, Daphne du Maurier, and Stephen King.

## Table of contents

* Chapter 1
* Chapter 2
* Chapter 3
* Chapter 4
* Chapter 5
The Holder of the Ego

In any city, in any country, go to any barn or farmhouse you can get yourself to. When you walk in, whether or not anyone is there, ask to see someone who calls himself "The Holder of the Ego." The room will become immediately filled with water that is both clear and opaque white at the same time. You will find that you can still breathe while submerged in it. You will feel your consciousness slip away and at once will see nothing and everything, and you will know that this is what death feels like.

An eternity will pass.

You will find yourself standing in the same farmhouse, with a lit cigarette suspended in mid-air. Take it and inhale deeply - the smoke will bring the worst pain you've ever felt into your lungs, but don't exhale or the smoke will hardly be the only thing expelled. Only after you hear a bell, you may exhale. The smoke will take the form of yourself - only ethereally at first, but gradually developing bones, then organs, then muscle. Its skinless face will shout at you: "Who wants to know?" Say nothing. Don't even blink. He will shout the same question at you in a louder voice than you've ever heard. Say nothing. The voice will shout at you with a force that could shake the foundations of the greatest buildings in all the world. Should you go without moving until this point, you may reply "I want to know." If you have moved, you'd already be experiencing an eternal darkness.

Your doppelganger will take off like a man possessed, dashing through mazes of walls and fencing that seem to sprout up around him. If you take the time to look at any of these walls, he will be long gone and you'll be left to wander the maze forever.

When you reach the end of the maze, you will see expanded before you all your memories and experiences. These will stay with you for the rest of your life, and you'll be able to recall with perfect clarity anything that's ever happened to you. You'll suddenly remember a needle that's been in your jacket pocket for who knows how long.

This needle is Object 147 of 538. Reality itself is pierced by it.
The Man Who Staked the Stars

***The Man Who Staked the Stars*** is a 1952 science fiction novel by Charles Dye and Katherine MacLean. It tells the story of a business mobster under investigation is slowly turned against himself by an internal doppelgänger.

Text copied from Wikisource.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9
The Holder of Triumph

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 Sanity". The receptionist will look at you strangely, but you must repeat the same question, and nothing else. Eventually, she will call for a "doctor" and you will be taken to the room in the furthest corner of the institution. Beware, for after this point there is no turning back, and if you wish to leave then, tell the doctor that you are sorry and must not have taken your medication today, and leave. Run as far away as you can, outside of the city limits, outside of the country limits, for cowards are not spared if caught. If you continue on, you will be put into a straitjacket and locked in a padded room.

After a few days that will seem like months, you will start to hear voices. Hundreds of them, all talking about how their lives were ruined. Their stories may drive you mad, and you would have to stay there for all eternity, for in your padded room, there is no death, only torture. If the voices stop talking, close your eyes tight, and shout at the top of your lungs, "I will not share your stories." If the voices do not resume, pray that the pain you will next feel will not be so bad, however unlikely that is. If the voices continue talking, single out the voice that speaks of the very hospital you are in, listen to his story, and open your eyes. You will not be in the cell anymore, but still in a straitjacket. Instead, you will be in what seems like an endless void, the only thing separating you from the void a glass box.

A man will appear in front of you and ask if you have any questions. He will respond to one, and only one, question. Ask, "What drove them to insanity?" He will explain in horrifying detail about the lives and deaths of them. During his response, a large black dot will appear to be moving through the void, but you must not focus your sight on it, for it will shatter the glass box, leaving you to fall into the void for all eternity.

Once the man has finished his story, he will remove your straitjacket and bid you farewell. You will find yourself standing outside the institution, holding the straitjacket.

The jacket is Object 72 of 538. You can only pray that you may never wear it again.
The Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage

Once upon a time a mouse, a bird, and a sausage formed a partnership. They kept house together, and for a long time they lived in peace and prosperity, acquiring many possessions. The bird's task was to fly into the forest every day to fetch wood. The mouse carried water, made the fire, and set the table. The sausage did the cooking.

Whoever is too well off always wants to try something different! Thus one day the bird chanced to meet another bird, who boasted to him of his own situation. This bird criticized him for working so hard while the other two enjoyed themselves at home. For after the mouse had made the fire and carried the water, she could sit in the parlor and rest until it was time for her to set the table. The sausage had only to stay by the pot watching the food cook. When mealtime approached, she would slither through the porridge or the vegetables, and thus everything was greased and salted and ready to eat. The bird would bring his load of wood home. They would eat their meal, and then sleep soundly until the next morning. It was a great life.

The next day, because of his friend's advice, the bird refused to go to the forest, saying that he had been their servant long enough. He was no longer going to be a fool for them. Everyone should try a different task for a change. The mouse and the sausage argued against this, but the bird was the master, and he insisted that they give it a try. The sausage was to fetch wood, the mouse became the cook, and the bird was to carry water.

And what was the result? The sausage trudged off toward the forest; the bird made the fire; and the mouse put on the pot and waited for the sausage to return with wood for the next day. However, the sausage stayed out so long that the other two feared that something bad had happened. The bird flew off to see if he could find her. A short distance away he came upon a dog that had seized the sausage as free booty and was making off with her. The bird complained bitterly to the dog about this brazen abduction, but he claimed that he had discovered forged letters on the sausage, and that she would thus have to forfeit her life to him.

Filled with sorrow, the bird carried the wood home himself and told the mouse what he had seen and heard. They were very sad, but were determined to stay together and make the best of it. The bird set the table while the mouse prepared the food. She jumped into the pot, as the sausage had always done, in order to slither and weave in and about the vegetables and grease them, but before she reached the middle, her hair and skin were scalded off, and she perished.

When the bird wanted to eat, no cook was there. Beside himself, he threw the wood this way and that, called out, looked everywhere, but no cook was to be found. Because of his carelessness, the scattered wood caught fire, and the entire house was soon aflame. The bird rushed to fetch water, but the bucket fell into the well, carrying him with it, and he drowned.

*Credited to the Brothers Grimm*
The Holder of Light

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, close your eyes and ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Light.â€ You will be led to a single door leading to a long, winding hallway, and then told to open your eyes. Open the door. The hallway beyond it will be pitch black, but narrow enough for you to feel the walls with outstretched arms, and guide yourself forward.

If, at any point during your trek down the hall, it is suddenly bathed in light, shut your eyes immediately and quickly make your way back to the door you came in through. If your eyes stay open for more than a second, what you see will force you to instinctively tear them out.

If, on the other hand, the lights stay off long enough for you to navigate the entire corridor, you will reach another door. Look down: if you can see any light escaping from the crack beneath the door, flee immediately, for what you seek is not there. If no light escapes the next room, then carefully turn the doorknob and enter.

The room beyond will be completely dark, aside from a single, dimly-lit candle at its center. The faint light it emits will reveal the outline of a cloaked, motionless figure huddled over it. There is only one question that he will respond to: â€œWhat can protect us from Them?â€ Say anything else, and the man will tear out your eyes, and force you to take his place under the cloak for the rest of eternity.

If you ask the proper question, a piercing scream will ring out from the candle, and a series of lights will illuminate the room, revealing images of the most horrifying thoughts, fantasies and memories experienced by sentient minds throughout history. Most people cannot handle this event, turning violently insane or perishing instantly at the sight of such horrors. If you should somehow manage to survive the ordeal, the cloaked man will rise slowly and put his hands to your head, turning your gaze to meet his youthful face.

Stare directly into his empty, gaping eye sockets, for if you look away from that terrible sight, you will be stranded in this room, forever forgotten by time itself. Do not turn to look as he opens your right hand, and places a small, round object upon your palm. As that object touches your hand, you will find yourself able to ignore even the most fearsome agonies -- unless you are in the process of obtaining another Object, for the pains you feel then are far beyond any worldly suffering. Know that even this newfound power will never help you cope with the the horrifying images you have witnessed in that room. They will be burned into your memory for all eternity.

The eye you hold in your hand is Object 5 of 538. The awakening has begun; they must not be brought together.
The Lost Temple of Xantoos

Celestial fantasies of deathless night.

Enraptured colonnades adorned with pearls,

Resplendent guardians of crimson light.

Expanse of darkness silently unfurls

Among colossal ruins on this shore,

That once was purled by Xantoos' rolling seas;

Nothing remains upon this barren core

Of Mars, but your palatial memories.

Your altars and magnificent black gods

Still flash beneath the sapphire torches' flames,

The fragrant ring of sacred flowers nods

Beneath the monstrous idols' gilded frames.

Your jeweled gates swing open on their bands

Of gold; within, a lurid shadow stands.

*Credited to Howard Calhoun*
The Holder of the Past

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the Past". At the last syllable of your sentence, his eyes should open wide and stare at you as if he was attempting to see past your skin into your soul. Don't ask any questions, because he won't speak to you, and in the case that he does, you will wish he hadn't. He will take you down a long hallway and you will walk with him for what will seem like hours. Stare straight ahead the entire time, for if you look at the floor, walls, or ceiling of the hallway, you will run into a dead end and the worker will pursue you with a hellish bloodlust until you are completely disemboweled.

After exactly 350 paces the worker will stop, turn around, and pull a watch out of his pocket. He will turn the dial backward one hour and at that point, you will have one hour to complete your task. If you don't, then there are no words to describe your fate. The lights will go out for exactly 3 seconds, and when they turn back on, you will be in a room with no doors and a red-tinted skylight shaped like a pentagram. This will cast a blood-red star in the middle of the room where a splintered cherry table with two seats will be. Sitting at the seat closest to you, look up. Look down again, and a man with long, dirty black hair will be face-down on the table. He will answer to one question: "Where did He once stand?"

The man will speak not of a place that exists on any map, but will describe the room in painfully grotesque detail. Pay very close attention, he will enumerate exactly how many of what horrible object hang from spears protruding from the walls. You have the rest of the hour to find the room and sit in His throne. If you fail, I suggest you become armed; heavily.

His Throne is object 15 of 538. If brought together, He may once again return.
The First Kiss of Love

Ἁ βάρβιτος δὲ χορδαῖς

Ἔρωτα μοῦνον ἠχεῖ.

- *Anacreon* [Ode 1].

Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,

Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;

Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,

Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,

Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;

From what blest inspiration[4] your sonnets would flow,

Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.

If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse,

Or the Nine be dispos'd from your service to rove,

Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,

And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,

Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;

I court the effusions that spring from the heart,

Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,

Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:

Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;

What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,

From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;

Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,

And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—

For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—

The dearest remembrance will still be the last,

Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.

*Credited to George Gordon Byron*
The Conqueror Worm

Lo! 'tis a gala night

Within the lonesome latter years!

An angel throng, bewinged, bedight

In veils, and drowned in tears,

Sit in a theatre, to see

A play of hopes and fears,

While the orchestra breathes fitfully

The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,

Mutter and mumble low,

And hither and thither fly—

Mere puppets they, who come and go

At bidding of vast formless things

That shift the scenery to and fro,

Flapping from out their Condor wings

Invisible Wo!

That motley drama—oh, be sure

It shall not be forgot!

With its Phantom chased for evermore,

By a crowd that seize it not,

Through a circle that ever returneth in

To the self-same spot,

And much of Madness, and more of Sin,

And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout

A crawling shape intrude!

A blood-red thing that writhes from out

The scenic solitude!

It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs

The mimes become its food,

And the angels sob at vermin fangs

In human gore imbued.

Out—out are the lights—out all!

And, over each quivering form,

The curtain, a funeral pall,

Comes down with the rush of a storm,

And the angels, all pallid, and wan,

Uprising, unveiling, affirm

That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"

And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
The Holder of Nothing

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 Nothing." Should a look of sheer, primal disgust mar the worker's expression, you will then be taken to a separate building, one that appears to be an old, wooden outhouse. Inside will be a seemingly endless corridor that far exceeds the length of that outhouse.

The corridor will be completely silent. Attempting to make any sound at the wrong time is a grievous, lamentable mistake. You will notice the lights in the corridor getting brighter and brighter as you make your way down towards the end; eventually, you will find yourself blinded by their brilliance. If, at any point the lights go out, quickly shout out, "No! Stop! What you are doing is wrong!" while backing away. If the lights do not come back on, bolt for the door you came in through. It should still be open; hopefully you aren't far enough down the hallway for it to close on you. If it does close, an eternity in Hell would be preferable to what you will suffer.

If the lights come back on, continue walking down the corridor. At the end of the hall lies a cell; the worker will open its door for you while glaring at you in disgust. Inside the cell will be a mad pastiche of colors, arranged in several harlequin-like formations. You must not be distracted by them, for at the center of the room is a naked young woman, slathered in blood and bound by strips of human sinew, and you would be better off not knowing what will happen if you take your eyes off of her face for even a moment. Focus on her, and ask: "What were they when they were one?"

She will look you in the eye and speak the answer in incredible detail. It will be unlike anything you have ever heard, leaving you on the verge of both ecstasy and agony. It is not uncommon for a Seeker to lose themselves in the euphoria. But you mustn't let your focus break, and you must take special care not to look upon her tattooed chest. Your mind will tempt you to gaze upon it, but you must resist, for if you fail, she will flay you alive and add your mutilated flesh to her bindings, and you will remain trapped with her, fully conscious, for the rest of time.

That tattoo is Object 4 of 538. They desire to be one again, but they mustn't.
The Coliseum

Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary

Of lofty contemplation left to Time

By buried centuries of pomp and power!

At length—at length—after so many days

Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,

(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)

I kneel, an altered and an humble man,

Amid thy shadows, and so drink within

My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!

Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!

I feel ye now—I feel ye in your strength—

O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king

Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane!

O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee

Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!

Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,

A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!

Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair

Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!

Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,

Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,

Lit by the wan light of the hornéd moon,

The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

But stay! these walls—these ivy-clad arcades—

These mouldering plinths—these sad and blackened shafts—

These vague entablatures—this crumbling frieze—

These shattered cornices—this wreck—this ruin—

These stones—alas! these gray stones—are they all—

All of the famed, and the colossal left

By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

"Not all"—the Echoes answer me—"not all!

"Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever

"From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,

"As melody from Memnon to the Sun.

"We rule the hearts of mightiest men—we rule

"With a despotic sway all giant minds.

"We are not impotent—we pallid stones.

"Not all our power is gone—not all our fame—

"Not all the magic of our high renown—

"Not all the wonder that encircles us—

"Not all the mysteries that in us lie—

"Not all the memories that hang upon

"And cling around about us as a garment,

"Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
The Holder of the Beginning

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 clerk for permission to visit someone who calls herself "The Holder of the Beginning." A small smile will work its way over their mouth, almost as if to say, "You fool."

You will then be taken down a long hallway -- long enough that you would expect it to lead outside of the building. Yet, in clear violation of the laws of space and physics, it instead leads deep into the heart of the institution. The hall will be forever silent, even if you try to make noise. Screams will die before leaving your mouth, and footsteps will be muffled. In lieu of speech, your guide will simply point to a door.

Beyond it lies a cozy room filled with a pleasant yet unidentifiable perfume. At the room's center, a beautiful woman holds her empty arms as if cradling something. This room will remain just as silent as the hallway that led to it, until you ask a singular question: "Why were they separated?" The woman will then explain, in excruciating detail, every horrific event in history. Every beating. Every war. Every rape. Every killing. No travesty in the history of the universe will escape your ears. When she finishes, all will fall silent, and you will be free to leave. It is up to you to do what you will with this information.

That woman is Object 2 of 538. It is up to you if they should be joined or not.
Eric's Mirror

Eric was reaching for the towel when he saw it. Something in the mirror, darting out of his line of vision. He stared at the mirror for a while, trying to work out what he'd seen, letting the water drip off of him into the empty shower. There was nothing but his own reflection. He began to dry himself, and he saw it again. Flashing out the corner of his eye, something in the mirror. He stepped out of the shower and towards the mirror.

Eric's wife, Sue, arrived home later that evening, but her husband was nowhere to be found. After searching the entire house, all she could find to suggest he'd ever been there was a towel lying on the bathroom floor. She phoned the police. She didn't look at the mirror.

Two days after Eric was reported missing, Sue disappeared off the face of the earth. The only clue to suggest she'd ever been home was the shower, still running after she was long gone.

*Original Author Unknown*
The Holder of Life

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 Life". The worker will try to suppress a groan and you will have to ask again. He will then lead you to an operating room that looks just like any other you might or might not have seen in your life. The worker will give you a scalpel and then leave you alone in the room, locking the door behind him.

You will have to wait. Wait for almost an hour. Then the door will open and several people will enter the room, including a pregnant woman. The woman will lie down on the operating table; the other people, who will look like doctors, will prepare everything for the child's birth. While they do that, you will be able to ask the woman one question. Ask "How can they be reassembled?â€ Say nothing else, or the doctors will begin to skin and disassemble you. You will be fully conscious while they do this.

If you have asked the right question, the woman will begin to scream, the child is about to be born. You will have to wait until it's over, and one of the doctors will give you the child, moving his mouth, but without sound coming from his lips. As soon as he finishes 'talking' and smiles, you will have to throw the child to the ground and ram the scalpel into its head, or else it will smash your rib-cage and rip your heart out with inhuman strength.

If you have thrown the child to the ground in time, it will, despite the scalpel in its head, answer the question you have asked earlier. It will speak with a demonic voice that might drive you mad. While it is talking, the other people in the room will vanish without leaving a trace. After the child finishes talking, it will simply die and the door of the room will unlock. You are now free to go, if you have not been driven mad by the voice.

The dead baby is object 11 of 538. Dare you not remove the scalpel?
Monday Night Raw 31/03/14

Monday Night Raw 31/03/14

Evan Bourne vs. Zack Ryder.

**Bourne cubrió a Ryder después de un "Air Bourne".**

Chris Benoit vs. Jack Swagger.

**Benoit forzó Swagger a rendirse con un "Crippler Crossface".**

Primo vs. Seth Rollins.

**Rollins cubrió a Epico después de un "Curb Stomp".**

ROW World Championship Match: Big Show vs. Cesaro (c).

**Cesaro cubrió a Show después de un "Gotch-Style Neutralizer" y retuvo el Campeonato Mundial de ROW.**
The Fox and the Cat

It happened that the cat met Mr. Fox in the woods. She thought, "He is intelligent and well experienced, and is highly regarded in the world," so she spoke to him in a friendly manner, "Good-day, my dear Mr. Fox. How is it going? How are you? How are you getting by in these hard times?"

The fox, filled with arrogance, examined the cat from head to feet, and for a long time did not know whether he should give an answer. At last he said, "Oh, you poor beard-licker, you speckled fool, you hungry mouse hunter, what are you thinking? Have you the nerve to ask how I am doing? What do you know? How many tricks do you understand?"

"I understand but one," answered the cat, modestly.

"What kind of a trick is it?" asked the fox.

"When the dogs are chasing me, I can jump into a tree and save myself."

"Is *that* all?" said the fox. "I am master of a hundred tricks, and in addition to that I have a sackful of cunning. I feel sorry for you. Come with me, and I will teach you how one escapes from the dogs."

Just then a hunter came by with four dogs. The cat jumped nimbly up a tree, and sat down at its top, where the branches and foliage completely hid her.

"Untie your sack, Mr. Fox, untie your sack," the cat shouted to him, but the dogs had already seized him, and were holding him fast.

"Oh, Mr. Fox," shouted the cat. "You and your hundred tricks are left in the lurch. If you been able to climb like I can, you would not have lost your life."

By The Brothers Grimm
The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu

***The Mystery of Dr. Fu Manchu*** (1913) is the first novel in the Dr. Fu Manchu (sometimes "Fu-Manchu") series by Sax Rohmer. It collates various short stories published the preceding year. The novel was also published in US under the title ***The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu***.

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30
The Glitch

I wanted to replay my old N64 games. I love The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, so there was no question as to what I wanted to play first. After a few minutes of plugging my Nintendo 64 console into the TV, I blew the dust off and popped in Majora's Mask.

The game started as normal, so I picked a slot and started a new game. The intro started normally, with Link and Epona in the woods. It continued normally with Skull Kid appearing and stealing Epona. Link was dragged around while trying to hold onto that horse, but when he was thrown off, he died as soon as he hit the ground.

I sat there, surprised. How could that happen? It was playing the death music and showed the Game Over screen. Curious, I pressed continue and ended up back at the forest where you chase Skull Kid.

The health bar was gone and my inventory was full of Ocarinas. Every slot, instead of being empty as it should, was an Ocarina.

I began to feel uneasy, but kept moving forward until I reached the scene where Link was transformed into a Deku Scrub. The scene ended with Link dying again, which made me want to shut off my console. I didn't, however, and continued playing. Nothing of interest happened while on the way to Clock Town; everything was normal except for my inventory.

I reached the scene where Link enters Clock Town and meets the Happy Mask Salesman. When the scene ended, Link died again. I continued on, exploring Clock Town. Oddly, everything that used a text box caused Link to die. Clock Town was relatively fine; nothing was deranged like in other stories. I just died when something happened. There was no health bar and way too many ocarinas, but I kept dying.

I eventually reached the Great Fairy. I ran towards the fountain and she sprang up. Unfortunately, all she said was "000000000000000000" and scrambled words. I proceeded past the gibberish and got the magic bar, but Link died afterward. The scene repeated enlessly and I couldn't do anything, so I shut off my N64.

As of today, I still have the cartridge and my N64. Both work great. I think what happened was some sort of cartridge glitch that happens when the cartridges get old. This happened only once and a few years ago at that, so I have no pictures or video to support my claims. Oh well...back to playing Majora's Mask.

*Credited to Sloshedtrain

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