recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
In the Air Tonight

**March 19, 2011**

Wow. My first journal. Um, not sure what I’m supposed to write. My mother got me this because she says we will be staying inside a lot more. Something about Japan and their plants. I haven’t been keeping up with it. Schoolwork keeps me busy. Math, ugh. You’re pretty cool, mom marked all the pages with dates so I don’t need to do it. Cool!

Anyway, I guess I should name you. Tokyo is what I’ll call you, since I got you because of the stuff in Japan!

Mom just came, crying. Apparently the plant exploded, and lots of people were killed. That makes me sad.

**March 20, 2011**

Hello again, Tokyo. Dad brought home SO MUCH FOOD. I mean, like, whoa. He says we’re stocking up. I don’t know why. We’re in Washington. Japan is so far over the water.

Anyway, I heard from the TV in the living room that people are being asked to leave here! Dunno why! It’s so far away. Something about sickness in Japan and wind. Whatever. I’m sleepy.

**March 22, 2011**

So sorry I forgot to write in you yesterday, Tokyo! School and homework made me forget! But I have good news! School is cancelled! YAY! I’m so excited I am going to stay up all night. Sorry if I don’t write in you, mom and dad want to play board games. Apparently they don’t have work either!

**March 23, 2011**

Mom told me something weird, Tokyo. Apparently the particles from the explosion managed to travel all the way over here! Wow, I know right? We have to stay inside now and that makes me SAD! It’s so sunny!!!

I think I’m just going to go back to sleep. Today’s not worth it if I can never go outside again!

**March 24, 2011**

More boring times indoors. Bored games, haha. Aren’t I funny, Tokyo? For some reason the TV stopped working. Guess they are staying home too.

Not much to say. I thought I saw people outside today. Made me so mad! I want to go out!

**March 25, 2011**

Tokyo! I’m a bad girl! Haha.

I wasn’t supposed to go outside but I snuck out for just a second. I saw people walking around. Why can’t I go out? Huh? I should be allowed to. They look funny though. My parents must just want me to study while school is cancelled.

**March 26, 2011**

I don’t feel so good. Mom says its my allergies to dust. I told her that I usually spend my time outside, so that now that she’s making me stay in that I am getting sick. She looked sad.

Tokyo, why are they making me stay in? I love outside. I think I have a fever, I feel hot.

**March 27, 2011**

Tokyo, I feel sick. I’ve had allergies, but, my head hot. Feels bad. Hungry. Bread made me throw up. I feel bad. Gonna go to sleep.

**March 28, 2011**

Head hot. Feel bad. Hungry. Food no good. Hurt. Ow. Found can of meat. Meat good.

**March 29, 2011**

HEAD HOT FEEL BAD SKIN BYE MOM TASTY CANT FIND OTHER

**March 30, 2011**

TASTY MEAT DAD GOOD I GO OUT FIND MORE BURNING SKIN BAD

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Holder of Oblivion

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 Oblivion." If the attendant stares at you and swallows audibly, follow him to a room deep within the building, far deeper than you thought possible. The attendant will open the door and give you a fearful look. If you are brave, enter the room. If you are craven, flee now.

Inside the room, there is only a chair. Sit down in it. If at any time you begin to feel fear, get up and leave. You are still free to escape. If you choose to stay, you must sit and wait until the lights in the room flicker. Do not stand. Do not get up. If you are not sitting down when the lights flicker, then you will plummet into the void between worlds, a meal for its grotesque denizens.

When the lights flicker, you must shut your eyes immediately. Gazing upon the void will destroy your mind. Only when you hear a man clear his throat may you open your eyes. You will be in a dark dungeon, bound to the chair by a web of ebony chains. Surrounding you will be heads impaled upon blood-soaked pikes, and standing before you will be a man wearing an executioner's uniform. Stare him in the eyes; do not move your gaze and do not show even the slightest tinge of fear, for if you do, he will add your head to his collection.

The only thing you may speak without being beheaded is the question, "What will they bring?" The executioner will laugh an inhuman laugh, and then the impaled heads will begin to speak. They will speak of horrors, of executions, of their individual ends, but you must not move your gaze from the executioner, or you too will be speaking of your death. Eventually, he will speak of his own end, of what they brought to him. When he finishes, he will remove his cowl, revealing a skeleton's face. With a cackle, he will wave his hands, and the world will plunge into darkness.

When the light returns, you will be sitting peacefully in the lobby of the institution. In your lap will be the executioner's cowl.

That cowl is Object 34 out of 538. You have seen what they bring; will you stop them?
Holder of Finality

In any city, in any country, head to a chess club and tell the person at the front desk, “I wish to speak to the Holder of Finality.” Most will have no idea what you are talking about, but if you are in the right place, he will shudder for a moment, and then beckon you to follow. He will march down a series of corridors until he comes to one that looks like a janitor’s closet. He will open the door and then run away.

When you enter the door, you will find that it is a large room. The walls and ceiling are painted with scenes of entire races, culture, and species being exterminated. Many of the characters in the painting will not be human, and some will haunt your nightmares for years to come. In the middle of the room, there will be an old man sitting in a chair in front of a wooden chessboard. He will motion for you to take a seat at the other side. Do so, but when you start to play, you will find that no matter what, the game will end in a stalemate. Once the game ends, the pieces will appear back in their original position. Keep playing as long as necessary.

Once the thirteenth game has ended, the pieces will remain where they are for a moment, not teleporting back. Immediately look the old man straight in the eye and ask, “What is a final answer worth?” He will respond by upsetting the board. Once the pieces fall to the ground they will start to grow until they are human sized. He will then answer your question. The answer will be brief, but at the same time, the most horrible thing you have ever heard. He will then attack you, and the black and white pieces will start to fight each other. Use whatever means you have at your disposal to defeat him, for he means to kill, and if he kills you, there will be no afterlife, just unending nothingness. Should you manage to defeat him, the oversized chess pieces will disintegrate, and the man will slump to the ground and say, “The game is over, the final victory is yours.” He will then burst into flame and burn until there in nothing left but ashes. In the center of the ashes will be a small clock.

This clock is Object 211 out of 538. When it is set in motion, it can destroy souls; make sure it does not consume yours.
On Receiving a Picture of Swans

With pensive grace, the melancholy Swan

Mourns o'er the tomb of luckless Phaethon;

On grassy banks the weeping poplars wave,

And guard with tender card the wat'ry grave.

Would that I might, should I too proudly claim

An Heav'nly parent, or a God-like fame;

When flown too high, and dash'd to depths below,

Receive such tribute as a Cygnus' woe!

The faithful bird, that dumbly floats along,

Sighs all the deeper for his want of song.

*Credited to H.P. Lovecraft*
Heart Break-In

Sarah was wary about letting her husband Tom go on his business trip alone. She had a sneaking suspicion he was having an affair with his secretary, Rachel. Unfortunately, for her sake, she was unable to stop him from going. It was a mandatory meeting, according to the email she was shown.

One night, after Tom had been away for two days, she heard noises coming from the ground floor of her house. Scared, she hid under the covers, afraid for her life.

After what was the longest five minutes of her life, she heard someone come up the stairs, and shortly thereafter heard the bedroom door open. Almost instantly, the intruder flicked the lights in the room on. Knowing that hiding was now pointless, she threw off the covers to face the person.

It was Tom. He was home early.

“Oh God, Tom,” she said as she ran to the door and hugged him. “I wish you had called. I didn’t know you would be home so early. I thought we were being robbed!” she said, letting go of him as he reached into his pocket.

“We are,” he said calmly as he swiftly put the gun he pulled from his pocket to his wife’s head and pulled the trigger.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Holder of Absence

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 Absence.” Should the person at the front desk try to convince you that the person you wish to visit is no longer there, ask to visit their cell nonetheless. At this point, the receptionist shall show a look that can only be defined as emotionless. The receptionist will lead you down a long wall with many doors on either side until you reach an iron door with one barred window on it. They will open the door for you but lead you no further. Beyond the door is darkness, nothing more.

As you step into the darkness, the door will slam shut behind you. You are now trapped and the only way to go is forward. You will not be able to see the ground, the roof, or the walls. Be aware, you may be walking for a very long time, possibly days. As you walk, you will begin to feel cold and empty inside. You will feel as if your soul has left your body as a shell. In time you may hear footsteps that echo loudly. Stop immediately and wait. If the footsteps do not stop, you must sit down and wait until they do. If they begin to grow even louder, then you will surely perish by an unimaginable horror. If the footsteps do stop, you must press forward until you reach another iron door, illuminated by a light behind it. Open it and step inside.

Inside will be a pitch black room. Only a small circle of light upon the floor can be seen, lit by a small candle. Behind the light will be a chair with a coat on it. Approach the chair but do not sit in it, no matter how long you have been walking. Wait until the candle burns out. When it does, reach out and take the coat. The next time you blink, you will find yourself in front of the desk in the mental institution or halfway house. Reach into the right inside breast pocket of the coat and pull out a singed sheet of paper with red ink. Do not read this ink or the Holder of Absence will become present and destroy you with unthinkable pain and anguish.

This paper is Object 39 of 538. Keep him absent. Keep them from coming all together.
Her Venom

She breathes her hot breath into my ear, she kisses my neck. She is such an angel, makes me feel like heaven on Earth. My friends left me behind because they said she was cruel, they felt as if she was gonna hurt me. I refuted the idea. It's kinda funny, I found her on this dating app on my phone called, well I think it was called something like HeartFinders. But that didn't matter I just wanted to be close to her.

She filled my dreams every night, and she made them a reality every day. She was so beautiful and quite frankly... sexy. She turned me on by mere touch or kiss, it even felt like she controlled me, but I shook off the feeling. She had dark grey eyes, blonde hair, a light tan, a beautiful body and the voice of an angel. She was so seductive and sometimes she would be like a demon.

There were times when she seemed strange, when I wanted to be with my friends she would be downright evil and yell at me claiming she was always lonely. So we would end up having sex to rid ourselves of the hate and to mainly please her. She would also get violent and hurt me, I brushed it off thinking she was playing rough. But it wasn't playing to me.

She started to become a part of my nightmares. She would torture me in my dreams, her eyes a firey red, her fangs would drive deep into my neck and she would take a little bit of life from me each night and she would grow even more powerful over me.

I grew so weak over time, I coughed up blood, I couldn't eat or sleep. Every night I would hear her, "Oh come on baby, sleep for me. It will end sooner." Her voice would be in my ears and it would feel as if she was next to me. I would look, however, and she wasn't there.

My face grew hollow, I lost forty pounds and my mental state began to fall apart. But I grew used to the pain and I faced her again once more, knowing this would be the day I would die. I would only want to die, if it was because of her.

I felt her embrace once more, and she released her talons and her venom. She smiled at me and her fangs pierced my neck, and the pain filled my body, but I liked the pain. I loved her. She looked into my eyes as my vision began to go into the dark and her red eyes glowed as she said, "Your love was a weakness, my dear." She smiled and I died in her arms as she began to tear me apart and consume me.

Love is an angel and a demon, one way or another it will consume your soul...

*Credited to KSSNightcore

Content is available under {{#NewWindowLink:http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0%7CCC-BY-SA}}*
Holder of Fear

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 Fear". If the time is right, the attendant will lead you to a closet with no floor. With a malicious grin, the worker will shove you into the hole and close the door.

As you fall through the abyss, you cannot feel any fear. If you do, you will immediately hit the spike-ridden bottom of the pit and meet a gruesome death. If you remain resolute, your fall will eventually slow and stop, leaving you in a room soaked in darkness. Into the darkness, you must speak only one thing: "What is their weapon?"

Immediately the room will be illuminated. Surrounding you will be everything that you fear, and in the center will be a creature who will take the appearance of your greatest fear. Not even once can you flinch or shrink away from this creature, or it will dismember you in the most painful way possible.

You must stare at your greatest fear while it tells you its story in excruciating detail. It will tell you of all the fears in the world, from the tiniest to the greatest, in all of their horribleness. When it is finished, the creature will ask what you fear. Now you must confess all of your fears to the creature, without looking around the room. If you miss even one, you will be consumed by your own terror, leaving nothing but a shell remaining.

If you confess all of your fears, the creature will scream, and the scream will send you hurtling through the wall behind you. When you stop moving, you will be across from the closet you entered earlier, and in the closet will be a mirror.

That mirror is Object 35 of 583. It reflects your greatest fear, and that is their weapon.
Evening Star

'Twas noontide of summer,

And mid-time of night;

And stars, in their orbits,

Shone pale, thro' the light

Of the brighter, cold moon,

'Mid planets her slaves,

Herself in the Heavens,

Her beam on the waves.

I gazed awhile

On her cold smile;

Too cold—too cold for me—

There pass'd, as a shroud,

A fleecy cloud,

And I turned away to thee,

Proud Evening Star,

In thy glory afar,

And dearer thy beam shall be;

For joy to my heart

Is the proud part

Thou bearest in Heaven at night,

And more I admire

Thy distant fire,

Than that colder, lowly light.

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
Holder of Humility

In any city, in any country, go to any hospital you can get yourself to, and ask to visit "The Holder of Humility." The attendant will bow their head, grasp your hand and lead you down a pure white hallway. You must keep your hand within the attendant's hand, if you wish to live. As you walk down the hallway, you will hear a piano playing faintly in the distance. Should the song stop playing, whisper "You missed a key." If the song ceases to play, the hallway will turn pitch black, not even a miracle will save you from what you will then experience. Should the song keep playing, continue down the hallway until the attendant lets go of your hand and runs ahead. Don't bother chasing after them.

Walk forward five steps, then turn to the left, you should see a lone doorknob on the wall. If there is no knob, you will be wandering an endless hallway for all eternity. If there is a knob, turn it, and enter the room. The melody of the piano will be consumed by silence within the desolate room. As you enter the room, shut the door behind you, it should lock you inside. The room is small, the walls and floor covered with droplets of water, a clean bed with a pillow, both covered in clean white sheets, a digital clock with the time 3:00pm, an old black grand piano, and a bare mirror hanging on the wall. Look at your reflection in the mirror, you should see yourself as you are, and the room as it is. Stare straight into your eyes, ask nothing but this question: "Why have they no humility?" Your reflection shall then smile, and back away. You will witness yourself killing the child once inhabiting that room, with swift stabs, punches, tearing the child apart limb from limb, and a gunshot to the head. A silent scream pierces the disturbing silence. The mirror shall then break into seven pieces. The room you are in has become the exact image of the room within the mirror. Droplets of water now blood, and a mutilated body now lay in the once clean bed. The grand piano now old with the keys broken and scattered, and the digital clock looks like it was thrown against the wall.

A vague, yet familiar bullet shines on the now bloodstained pillow, next to a gun. The body will speak to you, telling you to stay within the room, but do not let this bother you. You must shoot yourself with the bullet, allowing it to enter your heart. Excruciating pain will consume your body, don't hesitate to scream. If you are lucky, you will wake up alive and well in a hospital bed of the hospital you visited. The time will be 3:00pm and a slight scar will be upon your chest. Check under the pillow your head is laying upon.

The diamond bullet is Object 110 of 538. Would you dare kill to keep the Objects apart?
Hallowe'en in a Suburb

The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,

And the trees have a silver glare;

Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,

And the harpies of upper air,

That flutter and laugh and stare.

For the village dead to the moon outspread

Never shone in the sunset's gleam,

But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep

Where the rivers of madness stream

Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.

A chill wind weaves through the rows of sheaves

In the meadows that shimmer pale,

And comes to twine where the headstones shine

And the ghouls of the churchyard wail

For harvests that fly and fail.

Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change

That tore from the past its own

Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power

Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,

And looses the vast unknown.

So here again stretch the vale and plain

That moons long-forgotten saw,

And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,

Sprung out of the tomb's black maw

To shake all the world with awe.

And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,

The ugliness and the pest

Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,

Shall some day be with the rest,

And brood with the shades unblest.

Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,

And the leprous spires ascend;

For new and old alike in the fold

Of horror and death are penned,

For the hounds of Time to rend.

*Credited to H.P. Lovecraft*
Holder of the Speed

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 for something called "The Holder of the Speed." The worker should become motionless. Look around yourself; if everything else became motionless, you are on the right path. If you are not, no one shall know of your demise. This will make it all the worse.

You will notice that moving around and breathing will become gradually, but increasingly, difficult; this is expected, for the air slowly becomes motionless. You should explore carefully the halls surrounding you, thinking about your first great failure, but be aware that, if you take too long, you will suffocate.

Your objective is to find a child who still moves amidst all the surrounding statuesque shapes. The child will approach you with a ball, hand it over to you. Pay attention to how the ball is held. The child will then declare, "You're it." And then run outside the room, always giggling.

What you will have to do is return the ball. Careful to not be fooled by the voice echoing within the halls, for wasted time means you're closer to death by asphyxiation. As time passes, the air will become harder to cut through, requiring greater strength; warmth will slowly leave your body; droplets of water will pierce your skin. Most likely, you'll be blinded, deafened, and similarly mutilated during this chase. Vision will be impaired as everything slowly darkens, as even light itself is eventually reaching a stop.

It is certain that you will find the child in one of the hallways, under a beam of light; it could be coming from a window, a lamp, or any similar light source. You should return the ball in the same way it was given to you and attempt to escape, giving continuity to the game.

If you succeeded, the air won't be heavy anymore. You will notice every place you ran past will be damaged to some degree. Depending on where you finished your ordeal, you may have to give many explanations to the facility's administration, and somehow avoid imprisonment.

If you failed, the child will once again hand you the ball as soon as you're reached. He will then again declare, "You're it", and dash through the corridors. You will probably die, pierced by the air's humidity and suffocated, before you can reach the infant a second time.

Your new-found agility is Object 32 of 538. Mentioning the child to others will earn you, at first, scorn and ridicule. To mention him a second time is to invite your demise at the hands of everyone in earshot. If you're lucky.
Holder of Ecstasy

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house in you can get yourself to. Approach the front counter with a look of determination on your face. Ask to see "The Holder of Ecstasy." The attendant will not acknowledge you immediately; instead she will wake as if from a stupor, her arms sliding across the counter, and she will amble down a previously unseen hallway. Follow her.

The corridor will twist and turn, seemingly in impossible ways. You will notice the air will become more humid, the hall becoming brighter although no source of light is apparent. You will be shown a door, slightly ajar, and the attendant will shuffle off without a word. Push open the door, ignoring its slimy coating.

Inside this room will be a brilliant white light, as bright and as high up as the sun. The walls will be lined with a floral print, the floor will be neatly trimmed grass, and standing prominently in the center of the room is what looks like a large flower bud, about half your height.

An elderly man will be sitting in the corner, eyes closed. He will not notice you or interact in any way, save for responding to the question "What if it dies?" The man will stand, walk to the plant in the center, feel for the tip of its bud, and tear off a piece.

Sound will now cease. No scream may leave your mouth, no clap of your hands will be heard - even the voice of your own thoughts will be pushed out. After a few moments, a deep vibration will enter you mind. Suddenly, like a boom of thunder, the world around you will shake and rumble, as every physical pleasure imaginable engulfs your senses. Your eyes will roll back, and you will fall to the floor writhing in orgasmic joy.

You must reject these feelings, lest you will lay on the floor of that room until you die from dehydration. You must imagine only the worst pain you've felt, dig your nails into your chest, scratch at yourself until you focus only on the pain. The vibrations will stop, and you will stand. Inside the tear on the flower is a seed. Take it, leave the room, and make sure to focus only on your discomfort.

The seed is Object 187 of 538. Plant it or not, the choice is yours.
Holder of the Voice

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 view something known as "The Holder of the Voice". The worker may try to hide a brief look of panic, but will eventually compose himself. He will throw you a small, black, unmarked plastic bag, and walk away irrationally. You do not have to follow him, but something will bid you to trace his footsteps.

You will pass through a dimly lit hallway with panoramic windows for walls. Regardless of the time of day, the outdoors will appear to be dark. Should you look out the windows you will see only an endless stretch of woods. If you think you see motion in the woods, do not turn away. Keep walking up towards the end of the hall.

There will be no door, only a blank wall with peeling wallpaper. The worker will tear the wallpaper off just a bit, then flee into the shadows. When you inevitably finish tearing the wallpaper, a small, dusty attic room will be revealed. In the center sit two objects: a small doll and a tape recorder. Both are ancient and coated in dust.

If you examine the doll, you will see a small metal crank on it. Wind the crank and the doll will emit a sound somewhat akin to fingernails scratching against wood.

Press play on the tape recorder. It will play even if there are no batteries. There will be the muffled sound of a female voice in distress. You will not be able to make out the words. It will go on and on until you press stop.

The final decision facing you will be whether or not you should play the two sounds together. The bag given to you will contain two rusted railroad spikes. You know what you will do.

The moment you attempt to start both sounds at the same time, the ground will begin to shake, and the room around you will begin to crackle and start coming apart. If you were to survive the collapse of the building, you will be haunted by a sound so shrill and grating that should you remain listening to it for even a small amount of time, you shall bleed from the ears until death. Even before that, you will feel strongly compelled to impale both of your eardrums with the railroad spikes.

Your only hope is to, through the evil sounds piercing the air, nail the doll and tape recorder to the floor where you stand.

Should you succeed, you will find a tape inside the broken tape recorder. It is unplayable and emanates a buzzing hum if you listen closely.

That Object is 105 of 538. When the time comes, all held within shall be revealed.
Jaundice

Johnny was a kid in third grade, as were most children his age. One particular summer afternoon, after getting off the bus and walking down the street toward his house, he stopped to talk to his neighbor who was standing in his yard. After a brief conversation, he went home, so as not to worry his mother.

“And just where have you been?” his mother asked as he walked in the front door.

“Talking to the guy next door,” he said as he set his backpack on a chair at the kitchen table and sat across from his mother. “What’s jaundice mean?” he asked.

“What?” queried his mother, confused as to how he had learned that word. “Where did you hear that?” she asked.

“I was coming down the street and saw the man next door. I asked him why his skin was so yellow!” Johnny stated, proudly.

“Oh. I see,” his mother said, “Go to your room, and do your homework.” She walked to the window and looked over to the house next door. She didn’t want to remind her son that their neighbor had died a week ago, from liver failure.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Holder of the Cost

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. Ask at the front desk to see someone who calls himself “The Holder of the Cost.” The worker will sigh, – sounding as though the weight of countless eons bore down on their shoulders – wearily exit from behind the counter, and trudge towards the interior of the building. Follow them.

They'll make many turns and take you down many hallways – more than should fit in a single building – before stopping and opening a door for you. Inside will be a rotting wooden staircase down through a moist, earthen tunnel. Begin your descent; the worker will shut the door behind you, leaving you in total darkness. Even if you have a flashlight, you probably don't want to turn it on. Keep your hands off the walls, and walk. With every step you descend, you will feel a weight on your shoulders. The weight should very quickly become a crushing burden, and it's a long way down.

If you reach the bottom without being suffocated by the burden, you'll find that the stairs lead to an underground rotunda, a circular room with a domed ceiling. Here, too, the walls and floor will be made of dirt, dripping occasionally. That's not water, by the way.

The ceiling will have a small round hole in it, through which sunlight will stream down upon an ancient man sitting in a luxurious red fur chair in front of a wrought-iron table. In his hand, he clutches a plain stainless-steel kitchen knife. Even if he's awake, he'll be too weak to offer any resistance as you take it from his scarred hands and slit his throat.

You may feel a stinging sensation across your own throat as you do so; take a look in the full-length mirror across from where the man died, and you may notice a thin cut along your throat healing over, if you're fast enough. Steady yourself against the frame as a wave of dizziness washes over you.

If the old man had been awake, you could have asked him, “What will it cost to stop Them?” And he would have told you just what you were getting into. The cost is high, though, so very high and so horrible to contemplate that you almost certainly would have lost your mind and ended your journey on the damp floor in front of him. Even if you hadn't, you certainly would not have taken the knife, having known. When the dizziness passes, remove the mirror from the wall and ascend the staircase behind it.

That knife is Object 144 of 538. It will cut anything, but with every use, you will feel its bite.
Friends Don't Let Friends

I told him, friends don’t let friends go to jail. I told him how I butchered my parents. I wanted approval from my best friend. He lied to me. Lied when he said it was our secret.

He must have been disappointed when he heard that there was no evidence to suggest I committed these crimes, besides his word. They found prints all right.

Prints on the knives used to chop my parents up, on the sliding door of the bathtub, and on the door knob, both coming in and going out of the house.

All his prints. All from the day before when I asked him to do some innocuous tasks. But, I stand by my rule. Friends don’t let friends go to jail.

Too bad he’s not my friend anymore.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Holder of Difference

Walk into a blank field, barren and desolate. Make sure of that. Do not be followed, it will end in death. Be careful of what you sing or say while passing through the field. If you hum, an ebony haired man will appear, he will sigh and scowl at you.
You must stay emotionless in this time, or he will murder you. His eyes will be black and misty. You must ask him why his eyes are that way. He will not answer you at first, but soon give up and tell you the secrets of the underworld. You will now be a god.

If you speak, a brunette man will appear before you. He will not speak or move. You must ask him if he knows any monsters. He will point to himself and then to you. You must not reject the fact he had laid before you.

He will then smile and tell you to walk away and find the necklace in the field, after that you shall be a god. Knowing nothing but ignorance.

Each path will result in the power of a god, not always how you think of though. If you walk through the field silently, the two men will be at the end. They will be holding hands and scowl at your presence. They will both lift a gun, gold and silver. They will shoot, but miss purpose fully. The ebony will tell you that you're a demon. The brunette will point to the west, saying that your demise lye that ways.

Unwillingly you will walk west, no matter what you do.

The men's knowledge is object 582 of 538. It will give you an uncertain hell.

*Credited to Anonymous*
Holder of Sacrifice

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 Sacrifice". A look of bliss should then come over the worker's face, and they will ignore you. Request twice more. You will then be taken by another staff member to the highest floor in the building, then one higher. It will be in an unused, pitch-black section of the building. It will appear as if it is under construction. If you hear the sounds of work being done, demand that you be taken to the overseer. The staff member will realize he has not fooled you and will take you to the true floor. You will hear an unending groaning reverberate off of the walls from the area furthest from you. It is of utmost importance that you listen to where the sound echoes from. Should the source of the noise change, stand still for 5 seconds and extend your right arm, displaying your palm towards the darkness. If you feel what seems to be thousands of the most wretched bugs in existence crawl across your arm, do not flinch, do not cry out. If you do either, there is nothing that will save you. If the feeling ceases, then proceed further. Upon reaching the end of the hall, something will trigger the lights. The light shall reveal thousands of corpses formed together as the floor, so as to show the sacrifices one must make to achieve ownership of the object. A door will be to your right. Open it.

Once you cross over the threshold of the door, you will arrive in an office. A man will be facing you, sitting in a chair on the opposite end of the room. He will speak on a cell phone dripping with blood, but his voice will be nonexistent. However, once you ask him the question, he will pause. "Why have I been chosen?"

He will then hold out the bloodied phone to you. Take it, and listen. A raspy voice shall describe the purpose of the objects, and why you have been chosen, and you shall shake uncontrollably.

This phone is Object 48 of 538. Those who can bear to listen will receive the truth.
Holder of All Consuming Despair

Go to any abandoned building in any city in the state of California, any one will do; it matters not. Venture into the building and find the darkest corner of the darkest room, stand in that corner and say out loud: "I want to speak with the one who has long since run out of tears to shed" Then turn and try to leave through the door you came into.

The door will not lead back the way you came, but instead into a small room. In one corner there is a stereo that plays your favorite music, a TV that plays your favorite movie, a table covered in your favorite food and drink, and a couch with a boy no older than sixteen on it.

The boy will greet you with a sorrowful smile and a polite hello before lowering his gaze to the whiskey bottle in his hand, in obvious sorrow. He will not react to you in any other way, and will remain in this depressed state despite the good food, television, and music surrounding him.

He will only respond to one question. "What is it that despairs you so?" And he will tell you just what it is that despairs him. Every last tragic moment of his sorrow filled life will be laid bare before you. You must sit through this horrible tale of depression and sadness, most are unable, most flee the room in tears, others despair of ever being happy again and sit next to him on the couch, as oblivious to the joyful things around them as he is, never leaving the room.

If you can stand this tale of unending sadness, then he will fall silent at its end. He will return his gaze to the bottle of whiskey and gesture for you to leave. Do not leave, but instead tell him of something you love, it can be anything, a funny story, a heart warming poem, anything that brought you joy.

If you have the heart to think of something joyful after hearing such a tragic tale of despair, then you will be rewarded with a small smile on the face of the Holder.

You must then say "Things aren't so bad in the end." At this, he will wordlessly stand up, and as a reward for granting him a few small moments in which he did not wish for death, he will give you the bottle of whiskey in his hand.

Be Warned: The few that emerge from this room have described doing only the above and nothing else, something to keep in mind.

The bottle is Object 230 of 538, and its contents will grant you temporary shelter from the despair to come.
Israfel

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell

"Whose heart-strings are a lute;"

None sing so wildly well

As the angel Israfel,

And the giddy stars (so legends tell)

Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell

Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above

In her highest noon,

The enamoured moon

Blushes with love,

While, to listen, the red levin

(With the rapid Pleiads, even,

Which were seven,)

Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir

And the other listening things)

That Israfeli's fire

Is owing to that lyre

By which he sits and sings—

The trembling living wire

Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,

Where deep thoughts are a duty—

Where Love's a grown up God—

Where the Houri glances are

Imbued with all the beauty

Which we worship in a star.

Therefore, thou art not wrong,

Israfeli, who despisest

An unimpassioned song;

To thee the laurels belong,

Best bard, because the wisest!

Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above

With thy burning measures suit—

Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,

With the fervour of thy lute—

Well may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this

Is a world of sweets and sours;

Our flowers are merely—flowers,

And the shadow of thy perfect bliss

Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell

Where Israfel

Hath dwelt, and he where I,

He might not sing so wildly well

A mortal melody,

While a bolder note than this might swell

From my lyre within the sky.

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
Human Echolocation

I’ve been blind since birth. This in and of itself is not what this is about, but it’s a crucial part of the story. Throughout my life, I’ve used lots of different kinds of assistive technology; braille keyboards, voice command apps, adapted smartphones… Recently, I tried human echolocation for the first time in my life. For those of you who don’t know what this is, it’s a technique emulating that of how bats find their prey in the dark. By making clicking noises with your mouth, you are able to hear the sound bounce off of objects it hits, and in that way “see” where the objects are. A friend of mine, let’s call her “J”, had seen a couple of videos about it on YouTube, and asked me if I had ever tried it. I told her I hadn’t, though I had heard of it.

Long story short, I decided to test it out. It took a lot of concentration at first, but after a few days I felt like I started getting the hang of it.

The next time I met J, she sounded excited and congratulated me when I told her I was doing really well. Practice makes perfect, and I was able to avoid any major obstacles without much trouble. We went to a park, and J asked me to demonstrate what I could “see” around us with my current abilities. I laughed, and told her that I’m not exactly Daredevil, but that I’d give it a go. After a few clicks, I told her I thought there was a small wall or building to our left, and a tall thing in front of us. It was “blurrier” for me to make out, so I guessed it was some kind of bush. J got quiet then, and had a hint of worry in her voice when she spoke again. “Well, you’re right about the wall… but there’s nothing in front of us at all. Just… grass.”

I froze. I knew that I was a beginner at this, but the sound clearly bounced off of something. It was much taller than a person, and only a few steps in front of us. Could I have messed up what I heard that bad?

I decided to laugh it off with J, and said that I apparently wasn’t ready to go out and fight crime just yet. Feeling very uneasy, I hurried us away from there, and we continued our walk. By the time she dropped me off at home, she seemed to have forgotten about it. I doubt I ever will.

*Original Author Unknown*
Frau Trude

Once upon a time there was a small girl who was strong willed and forward, and whenever her parents said anything to her, she disobeyed them. How could anything go well with her? One day she said to her parents: "I have heard so much about Frau Trude. Someday I want to go to her place. People say such amazing things are seen there, and such strange things happen there, that I have become very curious.

Her parents strictly forbade her, saying: "Frau Trude is a wicked woman who commits godless acts. If you go there, you will no longer be our child.

But the girl paid no attention to her parents and went to Frau Trude's place anyway.

When she arrived there, Frau Trude asked: "Why are you so pale?"

"Oh," she answered, trembling all over, "I saw something that frightened me."

"What did you see?"

"I saw a black man on your steps."

"That was a charcoal burner."

"Then I saw a green man."

"That was a huntsman."

"Then I saw a blood-red man."

"That was a butcher."

"Oh, Frau Trude, it frightened me when I looked through your window and could not see you, but instead saw the devil with a head of fire."

"Aha!" she said. "So you saw the witch properly outfitted. I have been waiting for you and wanting you for a long time. Light the way for me now!"

With that she turned to girl into a block of wood and threw it into the fire. When it was thoroughly aglow she sat down next to it, and warmed herself by it, saying: "It gives such a bright light!"

*Credited to the Brothers Grimm*
Holder of the Script

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 rather bluntly to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the Script." If the worker freezes for a moment, then puts on a weak facade of normalcy, then you have come to the right place.

Nervously, the worker will direct you down a hall and to a door, then hastily dash away without another word. Enter the door, and you will find yourself in another hallway, this one without doors. Make your way down this bare hallway, making sure to exude nothing but confidence.

Should you, while walking down the hallway, hear a soft applause, stop immediately and shout, "I do not deserve any credit!" If the applause continues, then be thankful that your end will come quickly, though not without extreme pain.

If the applause dies down, you may proceed. At the end of the hall, the wall will be bare. Push the bare wall to find that is a hidden door; the entire wall will spin around and allow you passage. Enter to find yourself on a half-complete, harshly-lit stage. The rows of seats before the stage are all empty, save for one at the front and center. There sits the director, a man who appears to be in his late twenties, though you may notice he has no eyes.

Before you have a chance to collect your thoughts, the director will proceed to bark out a series of directions. Without missing a beat, you must do the exact opposite of each command, so think and act quickly. The director will grow increasingly agitated as you fail to carry out his directions, but you must not allow his anger to disrupt you, for breaking the rhythm at this point would mean inviting your understudy to take your place. No words can adequately describe what that would entail.

After hours of exhausting instruction and mounting frustration, the director will throw up his hands in defeat and declare you unworthy of playing the part. Before he has a chance to rise from his seat, quickly ask one question: "What is the part I must play?"

The director will guffaw incredulously and shake his head. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the stage below you will vanish, and you will fall into a seemingly bottomless pit. As you fall, you will hear the sounds of the most brutal massacres to ever occur, and those yet to come. You will hear the bones of the innocent crushed under the boots and treads of good and evil alike. Through it all, you will come to understand what your part is.

Be prepared for when you finally hit water; from the height you will have fallen, hitting the surface will be a painful blow. Allow yourself to sink to the bottom, for when you come into contact with the floor, you will appear suddenly in a cell in the institution. Lying at your feet will be a stack of papers stapled together.

If you read any part of what is written on those papers, then you accept your part in the script. Refusing to accept the part means one day being a victim of His rise. To accept the part means one day becoming the person responsible for it.

The script is Object 130 of 538. Only you can choose whether or not you accept your part.
Holder of Intuition

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 Intuition". The receptionist will stand and lead you to a blank white door, but will not open it. Nor will you be able to. Return to the desk and wait for the receptionist to return as well. Repeat your request and wait silently while the receptionist fishes a keyring from the desk.

The keyring will have twenty keys, of various sizes, shapes, and colors. If you return to the door, you will not know which key to use to open it, and using the wrong one will freeze your body at the doorway for eternity. Return to the desk again and ask for "the final piece of this puzzle". The receptionist will ask for your forearm and slice a fine line with a razor from the inner elbow to the palm. The receptionist will then sit back down and will fall totally silent, responding only to one question, "How will I find the truth?"

He or she will respond, "Though the truth is elusive, you will now be helped in finding it," and disappear.

You will glance down at the cut and find that it is now glowing the most brilliant white. Startled, you will drop the keys and the glow will vanish. On picking up the keys again, you will find that the white glow returns only when you hold the correct key. If you can maintain your composure after this, move on and use the key to open the door. Pass through the door and you will find yourself in a circular white room with twenty more doors. Point at each of the doors in turn, and your cut will glow the same brilliant white when pointing at the correct door. Take that door (the others lead to a trapdoor to an eternal fall) and you will be at the desk again, but a woman in a red coat will be sitting at the desk in place of the receptionist. She will ask for your forearm and rub her index and middle finger along the cut. It will glow strongly to your touch and you will feel a sensation of cold so overpowering that you'd prefer to have it lit aflame. Make no move, however extreme the sensations; simply stand there, as still as you can be, until she is done, at which point she will turn and leave the room. Do not follow her, or your quest so far will be for naught as you will die an unimaginably painful death.

Looking back to the desk, you will find a slip of paper that the woman has left behind. Picking it up, you will read, "Whenever you find yourself lost, you will again be pointed in the right direction."

Your path finding cut is Object 106 of 538. May it point you the correct way when you need it the most.