recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
Holder of the Pact

In any city, in any country, go to any large forest you can get yourself to. When you enter, walk until darkness falls, getting as deep into the forest as you can. When the sun vanishes on the horizon, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the Pact". A chilling wind will rise up behind you, biting into your skin. Walk further into the forest. As dusk settles into night, you will come upon a rustic stone well and a hooded man standing near it. Walk to the well and stand on the opposite side of him. Sounds, faint and far away, will emit from the well. Do not look into the well, for even a glance will erupt horrors unto your mind and drive you to lunacy.

In a dark, crooning voice, he will ask you your name. Tell him the truth -- a dismal fate is all that awaits a liar. Your name will echo in the well. The sounds will grow excited and louder with your name. Hushed voices below whisper your name, barely audible above the growls. Hold out your hand over the well, and the hooded man will chant in a tongue that makes your knees weak, and your body shake with chills. He will slice your hand with a dagger, and your blood will drip down into the well. The sounds will grow louder, almost unbearably so. The whispers of your name will become moans of want, calling you to the well. The hooded man will respond to only one question: "Who else has made this Pact?"

The noises in the well will quiet down as he answers. He will answer you in times dating back before books, explaining the life of each person who has ever made this pact, hundreds of people. Many had different reasons for doing it, and some had the same reasons as you. No matter the reason however, they all shared the same fate. The hooded man will tell you their cruel death and their pitiful existence thereafter. All of them were thrown into damnation, their afterlife filled with torturous hells that make your skin ache and your stomach sick. He tells you of one person, the only person who successfully gathered them all together. Once his story is finished, dawn will be nearly broken. An onyx black velvet hand will emerge from the pitch black well. Telling where the well ends and the arm begins is impossible. The hand will be clutching a black heart. Take it with your uninjured hand.

The Dark Heart is Object 103 of 538. You have the Object, but the denizens of the well have your name and your blood. Do not break the pact.
I Love Thee

I love thee—I love thee!

'Tis all that I can say;—

It is my vision in the night,

My dreaming in the day;

The very echo of my heart,

The blessing when I pray:

I love thee—I love thee!

Is all that I can say.

I love thee—I love thee!

Is ever on my tongue;

In all my proudest poesy

That chorus still is sung;

It is the verdict of my eyes,

Amidst the gay and young:

I love thee—I love thee!

A thousand maids among.

I love thee—I love thee!

Thy bright hazel glance,

The mellow lute upon those lips,

Whose tender tones entrance;

But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs

That still these words enhance,

I love thee—I love thee!

Whatever be thy chance.

*Credited to Thomas Hood*
Holder of Belief

In any city, in any country, go to any opera house or concert hall you can get yourself to. When you find the head custodian, ask to visit the one who calls herself "The Holder of Belief". The custodian will sigh in resignation, then lead you into the main performance hall.

The custodian will take you to the main stage, then leave. Wait until he is completely gone, then pull aside the curtain. If what you see is what one would expect to find behind a stage curtain, then you were not meant to complete this task, and the remainder of your life can be measured in minutes.

Instead, you might see a wall of marble, solid white except where scrawled in black. Approach the wall, and you will see that said scrawls are indeed thousands of personal signatures. At this point, you might notice the young woman off to the right, adding to the scratched names. She will be carving in a reproduction of your own signature, perfect to the last detail.

Watch the young woman in silence. When she is aware of your presence, she will turn around and look you in the eye. A white mist will obscure the bottom half of her face, but even what little you see is enough to determine that she possesses a certain mysterious beauty.

A disembodied, and somehow familiar, male voice will ask if you have seen the woman's beloved husband. Ignore the question and ask, "How great is their desire to reunite?"

If the woman's eyes narrow in response, then hopefully you have made peace with your enemies. Otherwise, the woman will produce a violin and proceed to play. The violin itself will not produce sound, but you will hear, in your mind, the sound of crashing waves against a beach. Focus all of your will on the woman's eyes, however, for to listen to the crashing waves is to have them resolve into a demonic chorus that will drive you to madness.

As you focus on the woman's eyes, you will feel within you what they feel. You will feel their demonic urge for reunification, and the strength of this feeling may very well tear your mind.

If you recover from the haze of their feeling, you will find the marble wall almost completely blank, with only your own signature remaining. The woman will bow to you, and the disembodied voice will thank you for understanding. Look down at your dominant hand to find that the bow from the woman's violin is there. Playing with it will produce the purest music thought possible, but only to your ears.

When you look up again, you will be standing outside the concert hall.

The violin bow is Object 183 of 538. They believe only in their reunion, but what do you believe?
Holder of the Sky

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 Sky". The receptionist will ignore your existence completely, and you will collapse on the floor. You will wake up in a torrent of soundless rain, the silence will be unbearable, and there will be no environment; what you walk on is solid air in a tempest.

In the silence a huge mass of people dressed in complete darkness will appear and begin approaching you; do not fear. Take off your shirt and wrap it around your dominant hand and walk towards them. Do not speak. When you get close hold your arm forward and simply fend aside anyone who is in your way; should your skin come into contact with any of them, the silence will be broken and you will become visible to them, and that would mean the end.

Going through, you will see a man in scarlet; he will be the only one standing still, and the only one that can see you. An empty circle will oddly form with you and the man inside, the rest continuously walking. Stand and wait; once the man raises his hand you must immediately break the silence: "How many will perish when they are brought together?"

The men will all stop and rhythmically face towards you, all of them eyeing your every move. Once they are all facing you, you must then ask, "And how many will be there to fight back?"

They will laugh. All but the one in the red cloak will laugh. Their cackling will resonate throughout the space you stand on, but you mustn't give in. Resume asking, "And how many will be there to fight back?" Their laughter will grow and they will begin to fade. Once all but one are no more, ask one last question to the scarlet man: "Where will we be safe from them?"

The man will bow before you and fade; the only thing left will be his scarlet red cloak.

This cloak is Object 71 of 538. When worn it brings you back to this space, the only place safe when they are brought together.
Fairy-Land

Dim vales—and shadowy floods—

And cloudy-looking woods,

Whose forms we can't discover

For the tears that drip all over

Huge moons there wax and wane—

Again—again—again—

Every moment of the night—

Forever changing places—

And they put out the star-light

With the breath from their pale faces

About twelve by the moon-dial

One more filmy than the rest

(A kind which, upon trial,

They have found to be the best)

Comes down—still down—and down

With its centre on the crown

Of a mountain's eminence,

While its wide circumference

In easy drapery falls

Over hamlets, over halls,

Wherever they may be—

O'er the strange woods—o'er the sea—

Over spirits on the wing—

Over every drowsy thing—

And buries them up quite

In a labyrinth of light—

And then, how deep!—O, deep!

Is the passion of their sleep.

In the morning they arise,

And their moony covering

Is soaring in the skies,

With the tempests as they toss,

Like——almost any thing—

Or a yellow Albatross.

They use that moon no more

For the same end as before—

Videlicet a tent—

Which I think extravagant:

Its atomies, however,

Into a shower dissever,

Of which those butterflies,

Of Earth, who seek the skies,

And so come down again

(Never-contented things!)

Have brought a specimen

Upon their quivering wings.

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
Holder of the Mark

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 Mark." The receptionist will freeze, as though he has known this moment was coming for a long time and is afraid it has finally arrived. He will stutter and tell you there is no such man here, but be insistent. He will eventually yield and after looking around to see if anyone else is here, he will beckon for you to follow him.

He will lead you along corridors of increasingly smaller size, until you eventually have to stoop. He will point you to a door at the end of a corridor so small you have to crawl to get to the end. It will be perfectly normal except for a large exclamation mark in the centre and a smaller question mark on the doorknob. This is your last chance to turn away, and if you have the slightest hint of doubt in you I recommend you do so. If your will is strong, open the door gently and pull yourself through.

You will emerge in an ornate hall, covered with wall paintings depicting famous historical dictators and murderers, butchers, rapists and serial killers. Do not linger on them, for the souls of the people reside in those pictures and the twisted hate of their life has been amplified in their death, waiting to reach out and rend you limb from limb, delighting in your slow and painful death.

When you finally reach the end of the hall, there will be a small wooden box with an insignia on it that is old and faded. You will feel a sharp tingle go up your spine as you behold this item and then a voice behind you will say: "Beautiful, is it not?" You must reply: "As the full moon." If he is not satisfied with your response, pray he doesn't make you one of his paintings and instead gives you a painless death. But if he is satisfied, he will say: "You ask?" You must say exactly: "How do we destroy them?" He will laugh and say he doesn't know, but then will simply state, "You're bound to think of something." You will then wake up in the nearest bathroom, your eye in excruciating pain. As the pain recedes, you will see that your pupil has now taken the shape of the mark on the box back in that room.

That mark is Object 74 of 538. It will allow you to behold the ultimate truth. Whether or not the experience will be worth it is another matter.
Holder of Corruption

In any city, in any country, go to any sizable school or university you can find. After locating the front desk, walk up to it and ask to see the one who calls himself "The Holder of Corruption." The attendant behind the desk will look down, then begin to scream. Close your eyes tight, you won't want to see what they are doing. When the screaming stops, open your eyes.

You should be in a small, dark room, with wooden walls. There will be a solid looking door of copper and wood behind you. Walk up to the door, knock twice, and open it. You will be standing in the place you call home, but horribly distorted. You will recognize it, but it will be difficult to find your way. Everything will be decayed and rotting. Insects, rats, and all kinds of horrible things wander the house. The house will be buried deep underground, dirt blocks the windows, making it pitch black. You had better have brought a light. If not, the walls won't exist, and you'll wander for the rest of your existence, in the darkness, unable to die, or to feel weariness.

If you did bring a light, however, you are in luck. Quickly find your way to your parents' room or, if you don't live with them anymore, to your own room. On the bed will be a twisted visage of both of your parents, in one body. They will be naked, and smeared in horrible substances, filth, feces, blood, vomit, everything possible. They will be horribly gibbering your name. You cannot react to this at all. If you do, you will join them as one, and your mind and body will break slowly over thousands of years. You will know only torment, and the torment of all others to ever die.

Instead, resolutely stare them in the eyes, and ask them "Why did this come to pass?" At this point, they will split into two separate bodies, and tell you from beginning to end, then from end to beginning at the same time, why it came to pass. It will be a horrifying tale, because it will seem it is your fault these things happened. You will most likely go mad from guilt. If you do not, however, the two bodies will produce an hourglass, and place it on the floor. Thank them, and gently pick it up with both hands.

You will wake up in the place you call home laying on the floor in the most windowed room. It will be 3:32 in the morning. No light will come from the windows 'til the morning comes.

The hourglass is Object 83 of 538. When the sands of one end run empty, then it will begin. This must never happen.
His Holder

Finally, after endless years of searching, endless years of thinking, I know. I haven't slept in months of late. I can't. No one knows, but He. I've... seen things... I wasn't supposed to live, but I did.

IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!

He consumes. My friend fell prey to his thoughts. It corrupted him, but it hasn't corrupted me. I know It hasn't. It couldn't have! He said the shadows grew long, but I haven't noticed a thing...

And now, at this very moment, I feel my sanity edging away slowly, like the erosion which wears down even the greatest of structures. I feel it... maybe I'm not different... like the others before me...

My secret is a burden. I wish it could be a harmless one, but I am merely a messenger, caught in a storm of violence. A glimpse of His Shadow could have killed a mere man, but not me, no.

Why, oh why did I have to live?

The End, I always avoided him. Rumours were circulating...

Why me?

IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!

I was supposed to meet him, but when the door opened, I found a hallway.

Silence.

IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!

At the end of the hallway, I noticed a... disturbance. Clearly there was light but... a ripple. I knew something was wrong.

Corruption.

The lights began to die, and I slowly followed suit. It wasn't my fault! Flinging myself toward the handle, the door bust open.

Damn my curiosity.

Being the fool I am, I turned. With my two own eyes, I saw Its Shadow. And I saw things. Nightmares. Past. Future.

Does is matter?

I saw things I shouldn't have seen. And I feel It's Presence in me, lingering inside, observing, ready to pounce, just like a predator.

God, I know. He was spawned from Them. When the time was nigh, and their joining failed, He spawned. It spawned. But like all things, It has an origin. Parents. It does not wish to gather them, but to destroy them. It has a Holder.

His cold is corrupting... My eyes deceive me. I feel It closing in on me... oh why meE? His HoldDer... Only when They come together, He will die...

iImpossible...

HeE will kneel... The sStars will burn... And When they do, sSo will He. They will own the Objects... All 2538. YouU have destroyed It, but was it worth the price of pandemoniumM?

*Credited to Anonymous*
Holder of Deception

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 Deception." The worker will look at you with an expression of shock on her face. Then, with superhuman speed she will attack you with her baton. If you are not knocked unconscious by the first blow, flee the city, for they will know what you are after.

When your consciousness returns, you will be in a magnificent courtyard on a starry night. There will be a great stone staircase that appears to ascend to the heavens themselves. Climb this staircase, but never look behind you. If you do, the stairs will begin to crumble and you will plummet into the void for an eternity.

After what will seem like days of climbing, you will come to a landing overlooking a great marble amphitheater styled in the ancient Greek fashion. Descend to the bottom of the amphitheater. An old man in opalescent robes will be waiting for you on a dais in the center. This storied old man will be lecturing as if there was a great crowd - however, you must not listen to him, for not a word he speaks is true. If you are drawn in by his charismatic speaking, your mind will be completely subjugated by his deception and you will be his slave for eternity. He will only react to one question: "What is the only truth you are permitted to speak of?"

The man will look down at you with an expression of great sadness. He will then impart on you a story that will shake the very foundations of your soul with great sorrow, but will leave you knowing one important truth: the number itself is not as it seems. He will then motion you towards an exit from the amphitheater, and continue his lecture. Turn away from him quickly, for you will now be able to see the legions of horrific, twisted demons sitting on the seats of the amphitheater. Do not gaze towards any of them longer than a moment, or else they will tear you apart and add you to their collection of souls. Walk to the exit as quickly as possible. There will be a great grimoire on a stand next to the door. Take the grimoire and exit through the door. You will find yourself in the back alley behind the asylum.

The grimoire you clutch, with its pages firmly strapped shut and locked with a great steel padlock, is Object 20 of 538. If you wish to see past the deception and reunite them, you must find the key.
Holder of Chaos

In any city, in any country, go to any hospital and ask to visit the one who refers to himself as "The Holder of Chaos". The clerk will begin to shake his head and pound his fists upon the desk. Ask him thrice more and he will stand up quietly and lead you to a room with only one door, the one which you entered through. You must close your eyes, if you don't you will forever be stricken blind and the only thing you will see is a constant sight of utter chaos.

If you have closed your eyes in time, after an hour of standing in confusion, you will hear a soft voice call out, "Do you have them?" Do not answer this question. Instead, stomp your foot upon the floor and then open your eyes. If you see a long, stretching field in front of you, then you have succeeded in the first half of your endeavor. If you see a fiery plain of death and mutilation, then it is too late for you. You will be devoured by your own thoughts of your greatest fears.

Walk towards the setting sun in the grassy field for one hour until you reach a tree with no leaves on its branches. As you get closer you see that the tree is constructed out of bones and it is surrounded in a pool of blood. Submerge yourself fully in this blood, and when you surface once more, you will feel a bone hand press something into your palm It is a small vial. Drink from the vial and you find yourself standing in the lobby of the hospital.

This vial is Object 22 of 538. The hour is nigh and the demons are calling.
I Love You

WHEN April bends above me

And finds me fast asleep,

Dust need not keep the secret

A live heart died to keep.

When April tells the thrushes,

The meadow-larks will know,

And pipe the three words lightly

To all the winds that blow.

Above his roof the swallows,

In notes like far-blown rain,

Will tell the little sparrow

Beside his window-pane.

O sparrow, little sparrow,

When I am fast asleep,

Then tell my love the secret

That I have died to keep.

*Credited to Sara Teasdale*
Holder of Nightmares

In any city, in any country, go to any phone-box you can get yourself to. Make sure that you do this about fifteen or twenty minutes past midnight, and that nobody is accompanying you or watching you. Enter the phone-box, close the door, pick up the receiver, and touch nothing else. Hold the receiver to your ear and whisper, "I wish to meet the Holder of Nightmares." After a minute, if no voice has replied, leave the phone-box as fast as you can. Do not question why.

If you hear a man's voice reply in a language you do not recognize, then you have succeeded. Close your eyes and do not move. You should feel a sort of pressure close over you, and then the sudden sensation of falling. Should you open your eyes while experiencing this, you will find yourself lying outside of the phone-box, with your arms mangled and their flesh torn apart.

If you manage to keep your eyes closed, you will feel yourself land softly onto what feels like a chair. Feel free to open your eyes. When you do, you shall see that you are in a small room, filled with a thick smoke that goes up to your waist. In front of you is a four-poster bed, upon which an item will lie. The item will be different for everyone that enters this room. What ever it is, pick it up, and hold it tightly in the hand you use to write with.

Get into the bed and sleep -- an easy task, as the fog will make you feel tired when inhaled. As you lie in this bed, you will dream of unspeakable horrors, which will become more twisted and grotesque as they progress. As long as you keep the item in your writing hand, you shall be protected. But if, as you dream, you feel some sort of force prying the item from your hand, say loudly, "I mean no harm; I only wish to meet the Holder of Nightmares." The horrors of your dreams are nothing compared to what you will face should the item leave your hand.

Your final dream in that bed will be near-lifelike. You will be standing in front of the person you love most. Do not look into their eyes. Do not hesitate for too long, or your quest shall end here, and you shall be stuck watching nightmares for the rest of your existence. Take the item you picked up from the bed, and beat the person to death with it - at this point, it will have turned into a metal pipe or a wrench.

When the bloodied body at your feet stops moving, close your eyes for a few seconds, and then open them again. The person you just killed will appear as an old man, his grey hair and beard matted with blood, his skull fractured and broken. This is the Holder of Nightmares. Keep your weapon in your writing hand, and push your other hand onto his heart.

You will find yourself standing in the phone-box, with its receiver ripped off the cord and held in your hand, in place of your weapon. Walk away from the phone-box and watch, if you want, as it destroys itself. The glass will break, the coin box will crumple, and the phone-less cord will whip itself through the air.

The phone in your hand is Object 149 of 538. Do not let dreams stand in your way.
Fanny's First Play

***Fanny's First Play*** is a 1911 play by George Bernard Shaw. It was first performed as an anonymous piece, the authorship of which was to be kept secret. However, critics soon recognised it as the work of Shaw. It features a play within a play. The framing play is a satire of theatre critics, whose characters were based upon Shaw's own detractors, in some cases being caricatures of real critics of the day. The main play is a pastiche of the drawing room comedies in vogue at the time.

Text from Wikisource.

Preface

Induction

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Epilogue
Holder of Opening Doors

In any city, in any country, go to any place of worship you can get yourself to. Go inside ask any of the people you see there, "I wish to see the Holder of Opening Doors." If they ignore you, you have come to the right place. Sit in the exact center of the structure and wait, wait until all is empty and dark.

When it's time, you will hear singing. It will be the most beautiful song you have ever heard, but don't listen to it and keep looking forward. If you concentrate on the song, you will sit there until the end of time waiting for the song to stop.

If you keep your mind open and without thoughts, a child will stand behind you. You will hear its voice, but don't turn around, or the child will be gone. Instead you will see another world, where you will know the true meaning of pain. Stand up and walk slowly towards a door without any decoration.

Stand in front of the door and the singing will stop. When the singing stops, don't move, don't you ever move. The door will open on its own, and when it does, a mirror will appear. In it, you will see yourself, but not as you are now. When you see your reflection move, mimic it, but remember, it's a mirror, so right is left and left is right.

If you do not move correctly, the mirror will shatter and you will suffer the fate of every evil a human can and cannot imagine. Should you succeed in following its movement, ask the child behind you, without turning around, "Why is the door open for me?" He will reply with a cute, yet almost sick laugh, and you will see the reflection of yourself fade and turn into a younger version of yourself, without eyes or limbs.

Touch your body and it will change to emulate your reflection. If you keep calm and walk into the mirror, you will enter a hall of doors, endless doors. Don't fear, however, because the doors will open. Walk and don't enter any of them; instead, walk towards the one closed door and touch it. Yell at the top of your voice, "I wish to enter the door of my closed mind", and it will open. You will see your past. Watch your past play out, focus, and wait for an important event, such as your first kiss. When the event happens, you must say "This is me!"

You will find yourself standing in that period of time, watching as your life plays out at its regular speed. You must watch, immobile. When you finally are able to move, you will feel strange. Go to the place of worship again and you will see yourself still sitting there. Tell your reflection of the event. It will cry and vanish; all that will be left is a blackened, dead heart.

That heart is Object 176 of 538. If it sheds blood, you will be able to relive the past.
Holder of the Wheel

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 Wheel." The worker will promptly call for security, causing two large, muscular men wearing white to appear instantly and drag you away. Do not resist them.

The security men will drag you through many, many hallways and rooms, each getting darker and unkempt as you progress. Anybody else who walks by will turn away and hide his face upon seeing you. Should any of them instead look you directly in the eye, immediately shout at him, "My card has yet to be drawn!" If the patient or staffer then walks up to you to touch you, then it has been set in motion; success was not in your future. It would be best to just close your eyes, rather than witness the horror of the tearing of your limbs.

If the person walks away, you are safe. The security men will drag you along until you have reached a damp and dirty cell in a long-abandoned section of the institution. The men will shove you inside and lock the door behind you. It will be dark as pitch. The walls will be dripping with blood from the previous seekers that have tried and failed to recover this particular holder's object. You cannot see it in the dark, but you will be able to hear the incessant dripping. Walk forward. As you get closer, the center of the room will gradually brighten, though the walls will still be in shadow. In the center of the room is a gigantic wheel contraption, spanning nearly half the room, with prayer cards inscribed in a forgotten language at the end of every spoke. An ancient-looking, dark-skinned man will be seated near the wheel in the center of the room, slowly turning the wheel with his hand. Ask him, "For whom does the wheel turn?"

If the old man does not deem you worthy, he will simply stop turning the wheel and look at you. His thoughtful, understanding gaze will slowly turn into that of hatred and loathing. His gaze will slowly tear apart your very existence, ripping apart every fiber of your insolent soul, thoroughly bathing the room in another fresh coat of crimson.

If, however, the old man does in fact deem you worthy, he stop the wheel and pull a card from it. After carefully folding it, close your eyes and he will hand it to you. Keep your eyes closed until you feel something tap your right shoulder. You will still be holding the card but you will be outside of the mental institution or halfway house that you entered earlier, except now, no matter what time you entered, it will be dusk.

You may now look at the card. The card will have an intricate image of a small child, hanging by the neck by a noose in a courtyard. On the back, the card will be blank except for a small symbol in the corner in the same forgotten language that is on the front.

That card is Object 141 of 538. Its meaning will be clear only when they come together, though it spells disaster for us all.
Holder of the Soul

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 Soul". Should a conspiratorial look come over the worker's face, he or she will raise one finger to his lips in a gesture of silence, and hand to you a small glass ball.

Should you choose to look at this glass ball, you will see that half of it is pitch black, the black of deepest night, while the other half is made of the purest, soft, golden light of a happy summer day. The funny thing is that no matter how hard you stare, you will never be able to tell which half is which.

Now is your last chance to leave. Should you throw down the glass ball, it will shatter, and you may leave and continue a normal life, but never again will you have this opportunity. Should you decide to continue, enter any door that you see. You will find yourself at the beginning of a path.

The path itself is made of the cheapest of stone squares. They barely fit together, and weeds spring up between the cracks, but it is not the path that will attract your attention. To the right of the path you will see scenes of happiness, joy, and love. However, if you look closely, you will see that these scenes are not nearly so pure as they seem. To the left of the path you see scenes of misery, deprivation, and hopelessness. However, if you look closely, you will see that these things are not as bad as they seem.

You must follow the path. It will curve off to both sides from its starting position, but never will it fully enter either set of scenes. Should you be fooled by either of the scenes and step off the path, you will be stuck in the scene forevermore. Take care not to trip.

Should you reach the end of the path, you will find a large oak door. The door will have no hinges, knob, or any sort of decoration. Speak aloud the phrase, "The Sides are the Same," and the door will disappear. Say anything else and the door shall not move.

Upon entering the room you will see nothing, but feel as though you are being watched from all sides. Say to the invisible presences, "I walked down the Middle." Should you say anything else, half of the unseen creatures will rip you to pieces.

If you spoke the correct phrase, you will hear them. Half will scream, boo, or hiss. The other half will try to begin to tell you of your foolish mistake. However, if you listen carefully, you will hear a small applause. Close your eyes and walk toward this applause. When all sound stops, you will find yourself outside the door you first entered, holding the glass ball.

That glass ball is Object 102 of 538. Now you must judge for yourself which side is black and which is white. There is no wrong answer.
Friendship after Love

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze

Has burned itself to ashes, and expires

In the intensity of its own fires,

There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days,

Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze.

So after Love has led us, till he tires

Of his own throes and torments and desires,

Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze

He beckons us to follow, and across

Cool, verdant vales we wander free from care.

Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?

Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?

We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;

And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.

*Credited to Ella Wheeler Wilcox*
God from the Machine

Hello,

I want you to pause your player, when I count you down, and recommence playing at the screen's request.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Pause.

Tuesday evening, after tea and compulsary prayers. The last mouse on Earth tried to hide from mankind, inside the machine. Just before it died, as the nerve gas eased its sphincter, the last ever mouse dropping caused a slight accident. You may control the progress of this accident on my behalf, and, with my permission, to lead it up the telepath.

All the screens, a stage.

And all the men and women, merely players.

They have their exits, and their entrances.

But one person in their time, plays many parts.

Their acts, being seven ages.

At first, The Infant, mewling in the test tube's neck.

Then The Whining Schoolchild, with cassette and shining morning face. Creeping like a snail, unwillingly, to databank.

And then, The Lover, sighing like a furnace. With a woeful video made to their lover's hologram.

Then, A Soldier, full of strange oaths. Jealous in honor. Sudden and quick in quarrel. Seeking highscore even in the laser's mouth.

And then The Justice, in fair round belly, with eyes severe, and clothes of formal cut, full of wise words and machine code.

And so, they play their part.

The Sixth age shifts into the lean and slippered pantaloon. With spectacles on nose. Their youthful clothes, well saved. A world too wide for their shrunken shank, and their adult speech synthesizer, turning again towards a childish treble, Piping and whistling in its sound.

Last seen of all that ends this strange eventful history, is second childishness. And mere oblivion.

Without keyboard.

Without monitor.

Without power supply.

*Credited to MagnetDwarf

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

I've suffered from insomnia for most of my life, except for a short period very recently. It's a hard life being off the treatment, but I can live with myself again, for whatever sleepless life is worth.

It wasn't the nature of the treatment that caused me to back out, though it was unusual. I received a course of high-powered strobe lights, white noise, and small doses of DMT every 48 hours. It was highly effective, and I slept soundly. Then the dreams came.

The dreams were by any account mundane, but they compensated in their startling vividness. They felt far more real than the slow, scraping existence of the insomniac.

In one, I was a shop girl, dancing naked on the checkout. In another, I was an accountant, shredding my client's most important documents. The night before I stopped my treatment I dreamt I was piloting a private plane down the west coast. It was frightfully boring at first, but when I became lucid I decided to fly for real, hurtling myself from the cabin to the screams of my horrified passengers. In the end I forgot how to fly, but the rush of the fall was incredible.

When I woke that day, everything was fine. But as I drove up to the sleep clinic that afternoon the radio news broke in with a special report. A small charter flight had come down north of the city, killing everyone on board. Everyone – that is – except for the pilot.

They found his body a few miles further north, in a field. He had been shattered by the fall, but looked peaceful. Asleep, even.

*Credited to MrCarcosa*

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

In any city, in any country, go to any hospital and ask to visit the "Holder of Hate." The attendant will give you a firm handshake, look you straight in the eyes, and say "It took you long enough." They will hand you a key to room 532 and tell you to go down the left hall.

As you walk down the hall you will hear insane cackling. Should it stop, yell "I do not fear you!" If it does not begin again, run as fast as your legs will carry you. Should it continue, keep walking. Stop when you reach room 532. The door will be covered in scratches, gashes and all manner of burns.

There will be a small, strangely unscarred glass panel in the door. Peer inside. If there is a figure standing with his back to you, retreat as quietly as you can. If the room is empty, unlock the door and enter. A red light will be shining in through the sole window in the room. Should you gaze out of this window your eyes will soon burst from your sockets and your screams will be your only utterance for all eternity. The room is small, the walls covered in blood, and a small cloaked figure sits in the middle. It will respond to only one question: "Why do they hate?" The figure's cloak will fly into the air revealing a grotesquely disfigured being. It will answer your question in horrific detail. Upon finishing the story it will collapse, as if a tremendous burden has passed from its shoulders, and crawl into the corner. You will begin to hear strange, unearthly shrieks from beyond the door. They will be getting nearer by the second. Your only hope is to wrap yourself in the cloak and hurl yourself out the red window. If you were not followed you will wake up on the lawn of the hospital the next day, wrapped snugly in the cloak.

The cloak is Object 23 of 538. It will hide you from their hate.
Eldorado

Gaily bedight,

A gallant knight,

In sunshine and in shadow,

Had journeyed long,

Singing a song,

In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old—

This knight so bold—

And o'er his heart a shadow

Fell as he found

No spot of ground

That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength

Failed him at length,

He met a pilgrim shadow—

"Shadow," said he,

"Where can it be—

This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains

Of the Moon,

Down the Valley of the Shadow,

Ride, boldly ride,"

The shade replied,—

"If you seek for Eldorado!"

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
Holder of Health

In any city, in any country, go to any hospital emergency room you can get yourself into. Wait for an ambulance to arrive and unload its patient. As long as the patient is alive, no matter how mangled he may be, ask him to see "The Holder of Health". Should the patient you're talking to die at any time during or after you've asked to see the Holder, the object you're after is no longer there. Run for your insignificant life, and do not stop until the sun rises the next morning. The medical interns have lost their patient, and are eager to find someone else to treat.

If the Object you seek is still there, the patient will go into a massive seizure, and the medical staff accompanying him in the ambulance will try to save him. The patient will thrash violently, disemboweling the EMTs working on him using whatever is at hand. During this time, you must not move from your current position or the patient will come for you next. Once the patient has done away with his victims, you must ask one question, lest you be maimed for eternity: "What was the price for longevity?" The patient will then tell a horrific story, a story showing every malpractice, every accident, every excuse and every experiment in medical history that helped to bring about the convenience people enjoy today. He will then explain the true price of convenience, that sacrifice and convenience go together as do day and night; that the greater the convenience one wants, the greater the sacrifice one must give.

If your sanity is intact after his horrific story you must react fast as the patient will lose his patience and lunge towards you. Grab for the syringe that has appeared beside you and stab it into his head, or what's left of it. He will soon die and you must extract a liquid that comes from his head.

This syringe will never run out of the liquid inside it and will not extract anything else. Injecting yourself with some of this viscous substance will give you demonic strength for a certain time, depending on how much you use. Beware, however, for the liquid concentrates itself from the life force of the people you care about most.

The syringe is Object 122 of 538. You now know the price. It is up to you to decide whether you can afford it or not.
Friends Like These

Julie was afraid, alone, and about to die. On the fateful day, while on her morning run, a lady stopped as Julie went by.
“You!” the woman shouted at Julie as she came running along the sidewalk.

“Beg your pardon?” panted Julie as she skidded to a halt, catching her breath. She wondered what the bedraggled woman wanted.

“You!” the woman repeated, pointing a long, bony finger at her face.

Taking a step back, she decided that she needed to get as far away from the crazy lady as possible. She turned to run, but she was stopped by the woman’s shrill voice.

“Wait!” the lady said as her voice became less crazed and more worried. “You are going to die today!”

Julie almost tripped over her own feet when she head the woman tell her that. Doubting what she just heard, she asked, “What?”

“You heard me,” the woman responded. “Your friends will kill you!” After she said that, the woman ran back into her house before Julie could react.

Julie was rather shaken by everything that had just happened to her. She was superstitious, and knew that she had a party she was planning to attend that night. In fear for her life, she turned around ran straight home. Once there, she locked herself in, closed all the shades, and unplugged herself from the outside world by disconnecting her computer and phones. She even unplugged her television, as she knew someone who worked for the local news.

After some time, she slowly began to lose her mind from her constant state of panic. She began to move everything that was given to her by her friends into her garage, in a neat pile.

Once she had everything from her friends out of her house, she went around once again. This time, instead of gifts from friends, she was looking for the many pictures of her friends. She boxed them up and took them to the garage where she would put them on top of all the other scary items.

Unfortunately, for her, she was in such a panic she never bothered with proper stacking. When she placed the last box, the entire pile came crashing down. However, she managed to move out of the way of the tsunami of gifts.

She wasn’t, however, able to move out of the way of the box of photos. When it hit her, she was knocked backwards and into the window of her car.

The last thing that went through her head before the glass was to wonder if she would have been better off alone.

*Credited to ClericofMadness*
Eulalie

I dwelt alone

In a world of moan,

And my soul was a stagnant tide,

Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride—

Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.

Ah, less—less bright

The stars of the night

Than the eyes of the radiant girl!

And never a flake

That the vapour can make

With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,

Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl—

Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl.

Now Doubt—now Pain

Come never again,

For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,

And all day long

Shines, bright and strong,

Astarté within the sky,

While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye—

While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.

*Credited to Edgar Allan Poe*
Holder of Sanity

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.
Holder of the End

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 End".

Should a look of child-like fear come over the worker's face, you will then be taken to a cell in the building. It will be in a deep hidden section of the building. All you will hear is the sound of someone talking to themselves echo the halls. It is in a language that you will not understand, but your very soul will feel unspeakable fear.

Should the talking stop at any time, STOP and *quickly* say aloud "I'm just passing through, I wish to talk." If you still hear silence, flee. Leave. Do not stop for anything, do not go home, don't stay at an inn, just keep moving, and sleep where your body drops. You will know in the morning if you've escaped.

If the voice in the hall comes back after you utter those words continue on. Upon reaching the cell all you will see is a windowless room with a person in the corner, speaking an unknown language, and cradling something.

The person will only respond to one question. "What happens when they all come together?"

The person will then stare into your eyes and answer your question in horrifying detail. Many go mad in that very cell, some disappear soon after the meeting, and a few end their lives. But most do the worst thing, and look upon the object in the person's hands. You will want to as well. Be warned that if you do, your death will be one of cruelty and unrelenting horror.

Your death will be in that room, by that person's hands.

That object is 1 of 538. They must never come together. Ever.