They're definitely watching from a distance; there was a note slid under my door, and soon after I'm pretty sure I saw Narl peeking out from around the corner. I'd question how this constitutes as protecting me, but I'm not sure getting the answer would actually help me.
Then again, I also haven't been attacked recently, so maybe they have been doing something.
Anyway, the note reads (in surprisingly good handwriting):
Andrew Ji we must move. The false trap, a restaurant that is not. You will go, we will lead and follow. There is one who knows the caves there, they will tell us, speak to us. The caverns can only be found by those who know their truth. We must learn.
Be outside in several hours.
So I suppose I'll be back soon. I don't really know what's going on, but it looks like I have to talk to someone; not sure what this "trap" is, and I'm a little bit worried.
I'll be back in the near future; I have to pack now.
~Ji
Bodyguards
I don't know where they are now, but they were here just earlier.
"Rill" and "Narl".
They're... strange. I can see why Amos seemed so hesitant to call them bodyguards. Considering how they left not long after they arrived, I question how they're going to protect me. I think they must be watching from a distance, but I don't know why.
Though, I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself, I should explain how they arrived.
I was at the supermarket, trying to pick up some additional food before I go... wherever the fuck it is I'm supposed to be going. I still don't understand all of this.
Anyway, I was wandering past the meats aisle, heading towards canned goods, when I saw her. She stood out in the store: nearly bald and wearing ragged clothes. People looked at her uncomfortably, probably assuming the girl was homeless. She stood by a shelf full of preserved beefs, staring at me. The moment we made eye contact she turned and walked down a different aisle; I looked after her as I passed, but the aisle was empty.
Shaking it off, I finished picking up several packs of canned soup and ravioli, shoveling what I needed into my cart before heading to the checkouts. Turning a corner, I thought I saw someone peeking out at me from across the store, but I blinked and they was gone. I made my way over to the nearest checkout and started unloading the numerous cans for purchase. The guy behind the counter raised an eyebrow at me as he counted up the sixth and seventh cans of chicken soup, but he didn't say anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone approach.
They rushed up alongside me and I felt a bony hand slide into mine. Instinctively, I tried to pull away; but the fingers tightened. I felt my knuckles pop as I looked up at the person.
Two heavily bloodshot eyes peered out of a pale, angular face. She had hardly any hair, just enough to make the eyebrows noticeable and provide a tiny covering of fuzz across the top of her pallid head. Before I could do or say anything, she smiled; mouth stretching far too wide as it almost reached her ears, revealing a set of long, yellowish teeth.
There was something distinctly inhuman in the expression; like it was something much more primitive than a display of amusement. Much more like a baring teeth, like a show of power. She tightened her grip and my knuckles began to compact together painfully.
I turned back to the man behind the counter, who looked downright confounded now, and handed him my money. He handed me my bags and began to make the transaction, but the girl was already pulling me away; out the front entrance and into a side alley. I could feel the thrum of her pulse in my hand, the impossible strength in her muscles; disproportionately skeletal fingers wrapped vise-like around my hand.
"Who are you?" I asked, icy claws clutching at my stomach.
She flicked her eyes at me, and I could see them reflect bright green in the dim light, but she said nothing.
We turned a corner, then another, then another, then another; I quickly became lost in the labyrinth of of bricks and concrete slabs. I began to faintly wonder if we had doubled back on ourselves, when someone stepped out in front of us. The girl led me forward and we stopped several feet from him.
Even in the darkness I could see his eyes dart between me and the girl. She released my hand and stepped back; they began to circle, staying at opposite sides and equal distance from me, checking me over. I could feel my own heartbeat now, pounding in my ears; I stood stock still, as though to move would provoke them. In what little light there was, I could see the flash of teeth and the glow of eyes. Neither was large or heavily muscled, but there was something far more threatening in them; I could see it, even with their torn clothing. A smoothness in the way they moved, lithe bodies rippling with bare muscle.
They stopped, and stood at either side of me, the man spoke first, a growl from my right.
"Him?"
"Him," the girl replied from my right, "the dweller has spoken."
The man shifted his gaze from the girl and back to me. I could see him slightly better now that he was still. His skin was more tanned than hers, and there were a number of white scars across his face; but the eyes were the same: bloodshot and aggressive. He shifted his shoulders forward, leaning close to me.
"What were you named?"
"Andrew Ji."
He growled, and I could feel the thrum in my chest.
"Too many, then not enough. That is of decay; a name that is not yours."
"The carvings in bones tell not the flesh they wore," the girl interjected,"only the past that followed; and the hands that made the marks."
He nodded, and I had the impression that she had somehow convinced him of something.
"An-Dru-Gee," the man sounded out, "I am Narl of the second."
"I am Rill," the girl followed, "of the alabaster bed."
They moved again; shifting their positions to stand side by side in front of me.
"Hello Andrew," Rill continued, "we are your teeth."
She stopped, and Narl spoke.
"The prowler has called us, to bring you to the halls of your answer. We will drag you dead and rotting there, if we have to; but as you are to ask the question, we will aid your life."
"Bring us to your den," Rill picked up again, "you will rest, and tomorrow you will not. The bright ones will not touch you so long as we live. Now we go."
Narl strode past me, taking the lead out of the alleyway, while Rill brushed beside me, clasping onto my hand once more. She must have felt me go tense, because she turned and said:
"Don't worry Andrew, I was people too."
And then she smiled again, and it wasn't just baring teeth like before; but it wasn't comforting either. Rill smiled at me like a person who only half remembered how.
And somehow, that made it much worse.
~Ji
"Rill" and "Narl".
They're... strange. I can see why Amos seemed so hesitant to call them bodyguards. Considering how they left not long after they arrived, I question how they're going to protect me. I think they must be watching from a distance, but I don't know why.
Though, I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself, I should explain how they arrived.
I was at the supermarket, trying to pick up some additional food before I go... wherever the fuck it is I'm supposed to be going. I still don't understand all of this.
Anyway, I was wandering past the meats aisle, heading towards canned goods, when I saw her. She stood out in the store: nearly bald and wearing ragged clothes. People looked at her uncomfortably, probably assuming the girl was homeless. She stood by a shelf full of preserved beefs, staring at me. The moment we made eye contact she turned and walked down a different aisle; I looked after her as I passed, but the aisle was empty.
Shaking it off, I finished picking up several packs of canned soup and ravioli, shoveling what I needed into my cart before heading to the checkouts. Turning a corner, I thought I saw someone peeking out at me from across the store, but I blinked and they was gone. I made my way over to the nearest checkout and started unloading the numerous cans for purchase. The guy behind the counter raised an eyebrow at me as he counted up the sixth and seventh cans of chicken soup, but he didn't say anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone approach.
They rushed up alongside me and I felt a bony hand slide into mine. Instinctively, I tried to pull away; but the fingers tightened. I felt my knuckles pop as I looked up at the person.
Two heavily bloodshot eyes peered out of a pale, angular face. She had hardly any hair, just enough to make the eyebrows noticeable and provide a tiny covering of fuzz across the top of her pallid head. Before I could do or say anything, she smiled; mouth stretching far too wide as it almost reached her ears, revealing a set of long, yellowish teeth.
There was something distinctly inhuman in the expression; like it was something much more primitive than a display of amusement. Much more like a baring teeth, like a show of power. She tightened her grip and my knuckles began to compact together painfully.
I turned back to the man behind the counter, who looked downright confounded now, and handed him my money. He handed me my bags and began to make the transaction, but the girl was already pulling me away; out the front entrance and into a side alley. I could feel the thrum of her pulse in my hand, the impossible strength in her muscles; disproportionately skeletal fingers wrapped vise-like around my hand.
"Who are you?" I asked, icy claws clutching at my stomach.
She flicked her eyes at me, and I could see them reflect bright green in the dim light, but she said nothing.
We turned a corner, then another, then another, then another; I quickly became lost in the labyrinth of of bricks and concrete slabs. I began to faintly wonder if we had doubled back on ourselves, when someone stepped out in front of us. The girl led me forward and we stopped several feet from him.
Even in the darkness I could see his eyes dart between me and the girl. She released my hand and stepped back; they began to circle, staying at opposite sides and equal distance from me, checking me over. I could feel my own heartbeat now, pounding in my ears; I stood stock still, as though to move would provoke them. In what little light there was, I could see the flash of teeth and the glow of eyes. Neither was large or heavily muscled, but there was something far more threatening in them; I could see it, even with their torn clothing. A smoothness in the way they moved, lithe bodies rippling with bare muscle.
They stopped, and stood at either side of me, the man spoke first, a growl from my right.
"Him?"
"Him," the girl replied from my right, "the dweller has spoken."
The man shifted his gaze from the girl and back to me. I could see him slightly better now that he was still. His skin was more tanned than hers, and there were a number of white scars across his face; but the eyes were the same: bloodshot and aggressive. He shifted his shoulders forward, leaning close to me.
"What were you named?"
"Andrew Ji."
He growled, and I could feel the thrum in my chest.
"Too many, then not enough. That is of decay; a name that is not yours."
"The carvings in bones tell not the flesh they wore," the girl interjected,"only the past that followed; and the hands that made the marks."
He nodded, and I had the impression that she had somehow convinced him of something.
"An-Dru-Gee," the man sounded out, "I am Narl of the second."
"I am Rill," the girl followed, "of the alabaster bed."
They moved again; shifting their positions to stand side by side in front of me.
"Hello Andrew," Rill continued, "we are your teeth."
She stopped, and Narl spoke.
"The prowler has called us, to bring you to the halls of your answer. We will drag you dead and rotting there, if we have to; but as you are to ask the question, we will aid your life."
"Bring us to your den," Rill picked up again, "you will rest, and tomorrow you will not. The bright ones will not touch you so long as we live. Now we go."
Narl strode past me, taking the lead out of the alleyway, while Rill brushed beside me, clasping onto my hand once more. She must have felt me go tense, because she turned and said:
"Don't worry Andrew, I was people too."
And then she smiled again, and it wasn't just baring teeth like before; but it wasn't comforting either. Rill smiled at me like a person who only half remembered how.
And somehow, that made it much worse.
~Ji
Memory Man
Have you ever walked into a room and forgotten why you went there? You had a purpose, a clearly defined one, but something about entering that room erased the thought of what you were trying to do. Then after you blink a few times and think longer, you give up and try to do something else.
It's going to be important that you remember that feeling, the one of immediately forgetting, because it's the closest thing I can compare to what happened.
So I found my way to the library; big, authoritarian place that seemed too menacing to be a public building. All stone, gleaming pale under the wide moon; casting amber light out from high windows. I tried to stay in the light as much as possible, sometimes jumping like a child from illuminated pool to pool, keeping myself in the glow. It made the trip up the marble stairs much harder than it would have normally been, but it wasn't like I was going to take any chances after what happened recently. After reaching the top landing, I strode to the large, oak door and pulled the ornate handle.
Locked.
The sign on the front read: The Memories of Men, a Record of Thoughts; Open from 7:30AM to 11:30PM.
I looked down at my watch, which read 10:17PM. I looked into a nearby window, I could clearly see people milling about, plaques and posters all set up.
For a solid few minutes I did nothing but flail helplessly at the steadfast entryway; periodically looking into the window at the people walking through the exhibits and chattering to each other. Eventually I started knocking on the door, and then pounding on the windows; trying desperately to get someone to notice my predicament. Nobody even paused to listen to me struggling, instead they sipped their drinks and commented on the documents laid out across the tables.
"Motherfuckers".
I hadn't checked, and now that I thought about it, it was probably a private event; maybe intended only for people who had donated or aided in the library's well being. I took a breath, reached into my pocket and pulled out a length of ridged wire. If they weren't going to notice me smashing against the windows, maybe I could sneak in unseen.
Worst that could happen is I would be yelled at and have to wait until everyone left to get in.
I placed the wire into the keyhole, careful to not budge anything on the inside. The lock was as ancient as the door that held it, probably hadn't been updated since the door was initially put in; and who knows how long ago that was. With a couple of careful nudges and twists the lock made a final clink and the door drifted open slightly.
I squeezed through the door and closed it behind me silently. No one even turned at my entrance. I tried to hide my smile as I strode to the nearest table and looked down at the old script.
Dearest Linnie,
I have prayed for you. He spoke your name.
Frowning, I turned to the next adjacent table.
I can hear Him, just outside the door.
I can't let myself see Him again. I won't let it happen. Anything is better than having to look at Him again. Anything.
I'm sorry.
I quickly backed up from the exhibits, bumping into the drink table and knocking it to the ground, glasses shattering noisily.
"Shit! Sorry. I'm sorry," I started apologizing profusely; crouching down to pick up the largest pieces of glass from the floor.
Nobody even looked at me. The people just continued to go about their business; like they hadn't even heard me.
"Hello?"
They continued to wander the exhibits, chatting to each other, oblivious to me.
"HEY?"
Not a flinch from anyone in the library.
The shards slipped between my fingers, clinking to the floor with the others as I stood. I walked up to the nearest person, reading one of the plaques explaining where the articles had been collected from. I waved my hand in front of his face; his eyes didn't even pause as he read. I pulled my hand back, balling it into a fist, and then slammed it into the side of his head.
Memories clouded over me, and I was standing alone in a dark, empty library; no one in sight. No drinks or mumble of voices or the smell of alcohol. There were never any people, never any lights or drinks or the chatter of conversation.
There was just me.
I turned around, searching for any sign of the previous events; there was no glass on the floor, and as I returned to the first exhibits they said different things.
I am so proud of Tim, going off to fight in the great war. He and all his best friends were called in to serve their country and-
I turned my attention away from the table, scanning the room again. My eyes fell upon the door, the front entryway I had picked to get in. Striding over to it, I gripped the knob and twisted; it opened, swinging towards me.
The sign on the front read: The Memories of Men, a Record of Thoughts; Open 7:30AM to 8:00PM.
"Oh, fuck me."
I closed the door and walked back into the library. This was still my first lead to the "man with the memories". I started back to the exhibits, each with its own little nugget of unhelpful information.
I walked up to the closest one, hoping it might shine even the smallest bit of clarity on the situation.
This piece was found in the attic of Mr and Mrs Elliot back in 1898; right around the time the family-
Something moved.
I could hear something shifting between the shelves of books at the edge of the exhibition; scratching and rustling. The smell hit me first; festering meat and scalded flesh and moldy earth. I doubled over, holding my mouth so not to choke on the foul air. The odor climbed into the back of my throat and burned; I could almost feel it stripping away layers of tissue like acid. I tried to move towards the door, guiding myself with stinging eyes; trying hard not to make any noise. I could feel something boiling up in my stomach, muscles tensing.
Just get to the door. Just get to the door and run. Just get to the-
It stepped out in front of me. To call it "like a dog" would be wrong. It was shaped like a dog, moved almost like a dog, but it was made of people. Twisted, conjoined corpses; warped faces peeking out of thick, ebony fur. So much flesh melded together, a jigsaw of bones and meat and organs. It growled, and underneath the noise I could hear moaning; thousands of quiet voices in unimaginable agony, mouth full of jagged human teeth. It stared at me with clusters of glowing, misshapen eyes, reflecting crimson light.
I froze, eyes and throat on fire. It wasn't possible. There were too many people and the body too small; everywhere you looked there was more and moreconjoined meat, but there was only one.
It barked and I could hear them scream; I flinched and It lunged, jaws snapping in front of my face as I turned and ran. It was so fast, closing in on me without even moving. I could hear it behind me, I could smell the death and suffering, I could feel the venomous breath against the back of my head as It's jaws opened around me, beckoning me into itself; another body to the masses.
And there was a door.
Just a door on the wall, to maintenance or something; but it opened as I approached and I ran through it. The impossible jaws slid shut behind me as I fell up, looking down at the streets of a massive, endless metropolis. And then my feet hit the ground.
I was standing outside a room, panting and sweating as my eyes and throat began to hurt less. I could hear voices, people talking in the room. I caught my breath and listened in. The words sounded funny, I understood them, but it was as though I was hearing them in a dream; like they weren't really language.
The first voice sounded funny, choked somehow, but I could understand it.
"-re we supposed to do now? You remember better than any what it was like back then."
The second voice was quiet, less comprehensible.
"We will wait, and act accordingly."
"But it's already here, and you know the others will follow. And once they're all arrived, it's only a matter of time before everything falls apart."
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps nothing. You know what they do; what their purpose is. Years of work will be for nothing if we-"
The other voice spoke again, silencing the first.
"Perhaps. What will come will come, that is how it always has been. While you may not recall, there are those of us who have developed plans for just this contingency. But for now, we have kept our guest waiting for far too long; come in, Andrew Ji."
Without willing them to, my feet begin marching forward; through the doorway. The room was circular, and illuminated by pale candles lined around the bookshelf walls; looking up, I couldn't make out the ceiling, the shelves continued to rise up and up until there was only darkness. Two men sat in the room; one sat behind and ancient, oak desk, and the other in an ornate, high backed chair.
The man behind the desk looked older than anything else in the room; older than the woman from the organization. Drooping, paper thin skin drawn around a sagging, bearded face. He wore a set of reading glasses, which reflected blinding, amber light from around the room. There was something faintly grandfatherly about him, a sort of innate wisdom and respect that he seemed to command with age- he smiled faintly at me through chapped, sagging lips.
I could not determine the age of the man in the chair; there was something almost young and energetic about him, and yet something weak and feeble as well. He looked as though he should have been about my age; but his skin was pulled taught, revealing the edges of bones and lines of veins. The area around his eyes was dark and sunken, like a man crippled by disease, yet the eyes themselves were bright and youthful. He smiled at me too, but his teeth were rotted and brown, and there was something far less friendly in the smile.
The man behind the desk spoke, his quiet words drifting fluidly through the air.
"Greetings, Andrew Ji; I apologize for the trip here, I did not know that Shuck would be so interested in you; we are lucky the city was not opposed to being a conduit for our meeting. But that is in the past now, and you no doubt have questions. Tell us, what is it you want to know?"
For a moment I couldn't talk; exhaustion and shock and confusion bringing my mind to a temporary standstill. In my silence, the old man spoke again.
"Ah, but I suppose introductions are in order. I am, as the endless anthology tracker has told you, the Memory Man; though many have come to call me the Blind Man. Of course, neither are my true name, but it is hardly anyone's fault that my name cannot be properly conveyed to you. This here is Amos; he is much more like you than I am."
The man in the chair nodded to me; something still slightly hostile in the way he did it. Before I could try and speak again, the old man continued.
"Amos is here as a consultor to me, and he has proved to be very knowledgeable in aspects of your domain; it is incredible what can be learned about human nature in only several millennia of direct interaction."
Pushing aside the fact that I had no idea what was just told to me, I pulled myself together and asked the first question that came to me.
"What the hell just happened?"
For a second the old man looked confused, turning to "Amos".
"He wants to know how he got here and about Shuck."
"Oh, my apologies," he said, turning back to me, "Amos is much better at understanding humans than I am. The effect in the library was my doing; I simply modified your memory as it was occurring, painting the picture of an open gallery in your minds eye. I must admit, I was not expecting you to realize it was false so quickly. When you were being chased, I was able to arrange for the city to pull you here; Normally I would have connected this place directly to the library, but, alas, I did not have the time. As for Shuck, he is one of our number, though much less relatable to you then Amos, and even I am. Most call him the Black Dog, and his business is secrets. It is my hope that he will be less curious about you after this meeting of ours; now, what else do you wish to know?
I paused for a minute, letting this new explanation roll over me; so, the library was a hallucination at first, and the dog thing was some sort of monster that's connected to these two.
"Who are you?"
The old man furrowed his brow, and began to turn, but Amos spoke first.
"He wants to know about us, collectively," he said, scowling at me. I realized that there was the slight smell of rotting meat drifting off of Amos; not as bad as the dog, but it was there.
"Oh, of course. Well, Andrew Ji, there are many names for us, and we are many. I suppose to you, we are gods; or devils, as most of your kind would call us, and we are partial extensions of your species," he paused for a moment, watching me as the information sank in; and then continued, "For now, know that we are responsible for the structure upon which your civilization grew. You, either in your suffering or your reverence, give us strength; and in return we, in our position, keep out certain beings who we deemed too destructive to allow for a place in our collective.
"So you're a group of kind-of-gods."
He smiled at me again.
"I believe that may be one of the most accurate descriptions for what we are; and also one of the friendlier titles that one of your kind has given to us."
I moved to find a chair, and one appeared next to me instantly; I pulled it into place and reclined back. I thought for a minute about what had happened.
So there are these, kind-of-gods; and I've taken something from them without even knowing it. And now I'm involved in their stuff. So what is it I've taken?
"The old woman," I began, "the one who told me to find you; she said I took something, something of value, what is it?"
The old man and Amos exchanged looks, and I was surprised when it was Amos who spoke first.
"There are certain rules that are imposed on us, like laws in your society. We can't tell you that, as it would be detrimental to the events to come."
For a moment, there was almost something like regret on Amos's face; but then it was gone.
"What you do need to know," he began again, "is that we are not united in our views of you. Some of us think it safer to kill you and bury the damn thing. Others want to keep it, and use it to..."
He stopped for a long moment, staring up into the darkness.
"...To finish something," he ended; pausing for a second, "not that it matters much. We don't have long before you will be the least of our worries."
"So the bird guy and the shadows are a part of this?"
Amos shook his head, but it was the old man who spoke.
"We cannot hold you here much longer, Andrew Ji; soon we will have to part ways, and will not meet again until you return to this place. Just know that the dynamics of both our worlds are changing; if actions are not taken, then the system we have spent eons to uphold will come to an end. Just as you found me, you must now find another; a lesser of our group. We cannot do this for you, he will not speak to any others of us, or our followers, but to you he will talk. He is the holder of all answers, but who knows nothing. When you find him, you must ask him how to repel Them. For all my knowledge and wisdom, they come from a time before memory, and are thus hidden from me; but he will tell you, and you must return with the information."
When he stopped, Amos spoke.
"We were going to arrange a for professionals to escort you to him, but their price for a two way trip was too high. They will bring help you back, but in the meantime," Amos grimaced, but it didn't seem to be directed at me, "one of ours has provided... bodyguards for you. I imagine they will meet with you in the near future."
"Now, the time has come for us to part. Remember Andrew Ji, ask only what I have told you too; you must not ask your own questions to him. Be on your way.
I blinked, and memories of my hostel began flooding over me. When my eyes opened, I was looking out the window of my room.
I wish I knew what to think about all this; can't I just give them back whatever the hell it is I accidentally took and be done with it?
I seriously don't even know how I'm handling all this so well. I feel like I should be flipping out or denying all of it; but how can I? I saw it, I was there.
After being chased by "Shuck" I doubt I'll have any sleep tonight. At least I'm not so confused anymore.
~Ji
Locked.
The sign on the front read: The Memories of Men, a Record of Thoughts; Open from 7:30AM to 11:30PM.
I looked down at my watch, which read 10:17PM. I looked into a nearby window, I could clearly see people milling about, plaques and posters all set up.
For a solid few minutes I did nothing but flail helplessly at the steadfast entryway; periodically looking into the window at the people walking through the exhibits and chattering to each other. Eventually I started knocking on the door, and then pounding on the windows; trying desperately to get someone to notice my predicament. Nobody even paused to listen to me struggling, instead they sipped their drinks and commented on the documents laid out across the tables.
"Motherfuckers".
I hadn't checked, and now that I thought about it, it was probably a private event; maybe intended only for people who had donated or aided in the library's well being. I took a breath, reached into my pocket and pulled out a length of ridged wire. If they weren't going to notice me smashing against the windows, maybe I could sneak in unseen.
Worst that could happen is I would be yelled at and have to wait until everyone left to get in.
I placed the wire into the keyhole, careful to not budge anything on the inside. The lock was as ancient as the door that held it, probably hadn't been updated since the door was initially put in; and who knows how long ago that was. With a couple of careful nudges and twists the lock made a final clink and the door drifted open slightly.
I squeezed through the door and closed it behind me silently. No one even turned at my entrance. I tried to hide my smile as I strode to the nearest table and looked down at the old script.
Dearest Linnie,
I have prayed for you. He spoke your name.
Frowning, I turned to the next adjacent table.
I can hear Him, just outside the door.
I can't let myself see Him again. I won't let it happen. Anything is better than having to look at Him again. Anything.
I'm sorry.
I quickly backed up from the exhibits, bumping into the drink table and knocking it to the ground, glasses shattering noisily.
"Shit! Sorry. I'm sorry," I started apologizing profusely; crouching down to pick up the largest pieces of glass from the floor.
Nobody even looked at me. The people just continued to go about their business; like they hadn't even heard me.
"Hello?"
They continued to wander the exhibits, chatting to each other, oblivious to me.
"HEY?"
Not a flinch from anyone in the library.
The shards slipped between my fingers, clinking to the floor with the others as I stood. I walked up to the nearest person, reading one of the plaques explaining where the articles had been collected from. I waved my hand in front of his face; his eyes didn't even pause as he read. I pulled my hand back, balling it into a fist, and then slammed it into the side of his head.
Memories clouded over me, and I was standing alone in a dark, empty library; no one in sight. No drinks or mumble of voices or the smell of alcohol. There were never any people, never any lights or drinks or the chatter of conversation.
There was just me.
I turned around, searching for any sign of the previous events; there was no glass on the floor, and as I returned to the first exhibits they said different things.
I am so proud of Tim, going off to fight in the great war. He and all his best friends were called in to serve their country and-
I turned my attention away from the table, scanning the room again. My eyes fell upon the door, the front entryway I had picked to get in. Striding over to it, I gripped the knob and twisted; it opened, swinging towards me.
The sign on the front read: The Memories of Men, a Record of Thoughts; Open 7:30AM to 8:00PM.
"Oh, fuck me."
I closed the door and walked back into the library. This was still my first lead to the "man with the memories". I started back to the exhibits, each with its own little nugget of unhelpful information.
I walked up to the closest one, hoping it might shine even the smallest bit of clarity on the situation.
This piece was found in the attic of Mr and Mrs Elliot back in 1898; right around the time the family-
Something moved.
I could hear something shifting between the shelves of books at the edge of the exhibition; scratching and rustling. The smell hit me first; festering meat and scalded flesh and moldy earth. I doubled over, holding my mouth so not to choke on the foul air. The odor climbed into the back of my throat and burned; I could almost feel it stripping away layers of tissue like acid. I tried to move towards the door, guiding myself with stinging eyes; trying hard not to make any noise. I could feel something boiling up in my stomach, muscles tensing.
Just get to the door. Just get to the door and run. Just get to the-
It stepped out in front of me. To call it "like a dog" would be wrong. It was shaped like a dog, moved almost like a dog, but it was made of people. Twisted, conjoined corpses; warped faces peeking out of thick, ebony fur. So much flesh melded together, a jigsaw of bones and meat and organs. It growled, and underneath the noise I could hear moaning; thousands of quiet voices in unimaginable agony, mouth full of jagged human teeth. It stared at me with clusters of glowing, misshapen eyes, reflecting crimson light.
I froze, eyes and throat on fire. It wasn't possible. There were too many people and the body too small; everywhere you looked there was more and moreconjoined meat, but there was only one.
It barked and I could hear them scream; I flinched and It lunged, jaws snapping in front of my face as I turned and ran. It was so fast, closing in on me without even moving. I could hear it behind me, I could smell the death and suffering, I could feel the venomous breath against the back of my head as It's jaws opened around me, beckoning me into itself; another body to the masses.
And there was a door.
Just a door on the wall, to maintenance or something; but it opened as I approached and I ran through it. The impossible jaws slid shut behind me as I fell up, looking down at the streets of a massive, endless metropolis. And then my feet hit the ground.
I was standing outside a room, panting and sweating as my eyes and throat began to hurt less. I could hear voices, people talking in the room. I caught my breath and listened in. The words sounded funny, I understood them, but it was as though I was hearing them in a dream; like they weren't really language.
The first voice sounded funny, choked somehow, but I could understand it.
"-re we supposed to do now? You remember better than any what it was like back then."
The second voice was quiet, less comprehensible.
"We will wait, and act accordingly."
"But it's already here, and you know the others will follow. And once they're all arrived, it's only a matter of time before everything falls apart."
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps nothing. You know what they do; what their purpose is. Years of work will be for nothing if we-"
The other voice spoke again, silencing the first.
"Perhaps. What will come will come, that is how it always has been. While you may not recall, there are those of us who have developed plans for just this contingency. But for now, we have kept our guest waiting for far too long; come in, Andrew Ji."
Without willing them to, my feet begin marching forward; through the doorway. The room was circular, and illuminated by pale candles lined around the bookshelf walls; looking up, I couldn't make out the ceiling, the shelves continued to rise up and up until there was only darkness. Two men sat in the room; one sat behind and ancient, oak desk, and the other in an ornate, high backed chair.
The man behind the desk looked older than anything else in the room; older than the woman from the organization. Drooping, paper thin skin drawn around a sagging, bearded face. He wore a set of reading glasses, which reflected blinding, amber light from around the room. There was something faintly grandfatherly about him, a sort of innate wisdom and respect that he seemed to command with age- he smiled faintly at me through chapped, sagging lips.
I could not determine the age of the man in the chair; there was something almost young and energetic about him, and yet something weak and feeble as well. He looked as though he should have been about my age; but his skin was pulled taught, revealing the edges of bones and lines of veins. The area around his eyes was dark and sunken, like a man crippled by disease, yet the eyes themselves were bright and youthful. He smiled at me too, but his teeth were rotted and brown, and there was something far less friendly in the smile.
The man behind the desk spoke, his quiet words drifting fluidly through the air.
"Greetings, Andrew Ji; I apologize for the trip here, I did not know that Shuck would be so interested in you; we are lucky the city was not opposed to being a conduit for our meeting. But that is in the past now, and you no doubt have questions. Tell us, what is it you want to know?"
For a moment I couldn't talk; exhaustion and shock and confusion bringing my mind to a temporary standstill. In my silence, the old man spoke again.
"Ah, but I suppose introductions are in order. I am, as the endless anthology tracker has told you, the Memory Man; though many have come to call me the Blind Man. Of course, neither are my true name, but it is hardly anyone's fault that my name cannot be properly conveyed to you. This here is Amos; he is much more like you than I am."
The man in the chair nodded to me; something still slightly hostile in the way he did it. Before I could try and speak again, the old man continued.
"Amos is here as a consultor to me, and he has proved to be very knowledgeable in aspects of your domain; it is incredible what can be learned about human nature in only several millennia of direct interaction."
Pushing aside the fact that I had no idea what was just told to me, I pulled myself together and asked the first question that came to me.
"What the hell just happened?"
For a second the old man looked confused, turning to "Amos".
"He wants to know how he got here and about Shuck."
"Oh, my apologies," he said, turning back to me, "Amos is much better at understanding humans than I am. The effect in the library was my doing; I simply modified your memory as it was occurring, painting the picture of an open gallery in your minds eye. I must admit, I was not expecting you to realize it was false so quickly. When you were being chased, I was able to arrange for the city to pull you here; Normally I would have connected this place directly to the library, but, alas, I did not have the time. As for Shuck, he is one of our number, though much less relatable to you then Amos, and even I am. Most call him the Black Dog, and his business is secrets. It is my hope that he will be less curious about you after this meeting of ours; now, what else do you wish to know?
I paused for a minute, letting this new explanation roll over me; so, the library was a hallucination at first, and the dog thing was some sort of monster that's connected to these two.
"Who are you?"
The old man furrowed his brow, and began to turn, but Amos spoke first.
"He wants to know about us, collectively," he said, scowling at me. I realized that there was the slight smell of rotting meat drifting off of Amos; not as bad as the dog, but it was there.
"Oh, of course. Well, Andrew Ji, there are many names for us, and we are many. I suppose to you, we are gods; or devils, as most of your kind would call us, and we are partial extensions of your species," he paused for a moment, watching me as the information sank in; and then continued, "For now, know that we are responsible for the structure upon which your civilization grew. You, either in your suffering or your reverence, give us strength; and in return we, in our position, keep out certain beings who we deemed too destructive to allow for a place in our collective.
"So you're a group of kind-of-gods."
He smiled at me again.
"I believe that may be one of the most accurate descriptions for what we are; and also one of the friendlier titles that one of your kind has given to us."
I moved to find a chair, and one appeared next to me instantly; I pulled it into place and reclined back. I thought for a minute about what had happened.
So there are these, kind-of-gods; and I've taken something from them without even knowing it. And now I'm involved in their stuff. So what is it I've taken?
"The old woman," I began, "the one who told me to find you; she said I took something, something of value, what is it?"
The old man and Amos exchanged looks, and I was surprised when it was Amos who spoke first.
"There are certain rules that are imposed on us, like laws in your society. We can't tell you that, as it would be detrimental to the events to come."
For a moment, there was almost something like regret on Amos's face; but then it was gone.
"What you do need to know," he began again, "is that we are not united in our views of you. Some of us think it safer to kill you and bury the damn thing. Others want to keep it, and use it to..."
He stopped for a long moment, staring up into the darkness.
"...To finish something," he ended; pausing for a second, "not that it matters much. We don't have long before you will be the least of our worries."
"So the bird guy and the shadows are a part of this?"
Amos shook his head, but it was the old man who spoke.
"We cannot hold you here much longer, Andrew Ji; soon we will have to part ways, and will not meet again until you return to this place. Just know that the dynamics of both our worlds are changing; if actions are not taken, then the system we have spent eons to uphold will come to an end. Just as you found me, you must now find another; a lesser of our group. We cannot do this for you, he will not speak to any others of us, or our followers, but to you he will talk. He is the holder of all answers, but who knows nothing. When you find him, you must ask him how to repel Them. For all my knowledge and wisdom, they come from a time before memory, and are thus hidden from me; but he will tell you, and you must return with the information."
When he stopped, Amos spoke.
"We were going to arrange a for professionals to escort you to him, but their price for a two way trip was too high. They will bring help you back, but in the meantime," Amos grimaced, but it didn't seem to be directed at me, "one of ours has provided... bodyguards for you. I imagine they will meet with you in the near future."
"Now, the time has come for us to part. Remember Andrew Ji, ask only what I have told you too; you must not ask your own questions to him. Be on your way.
I blinked, and memories of my hostel began flooding over me. When my eyes opened, I was looking out the window of my room.
I wish I knew what to think about all this; can't I just give them back whatever the hell it is I accidentally took and be done with it?
I seriously don't even know how I'm handling all this so well. I feel like I should be flipping out or denying all of it; but how can I? I saw it, I was there.
After being chased by "Shuck" I doubt I'll have any sleep tonight. At least I'm not so confused anymore.
~Ji
Picking at Thoughts
So I've been researching.
Yeah, I know; pretty lame compared to the other things that have been happening to me lately, but this deserves a post.
So I typed in Memory Man on my computer; and that didn't seem to bring up anything. Just a bunch of buyable items and some study showing that people who've lost vision have longer lasting recall.
I tried typing in several different variants of that, and it didn't dredge up what I was looking for. But, something else happened…
In my searches I found that a local library holding some sort of exhibit on recorded journals from places all over the world. And guess what the exhibit is called?
The Memories of Men, a Record of Thoughts.
I think the cryptic old woman may have been referring to this, and worded it strangely to lead me off track. For some reason…
Yeah, I still don't fully understand all this. The important news is that I'll be heading there soon, and I plan on writing about what I find once I'm back.
I'm actually excited about this.
~Ji
Yeah, I know; pretty lame compared to the other things that have been happening to me lately, but this deserves a post.
So I typed in Memory Man on my computer; and that didn't seem to bring up anything. Just a bunch of buyable items and some study showing that people who've lost vision have longer lasting recall.
I tried typing in several different variants of that, and it didn't dredge up what I was looking for. But, something else happened…
In my searches I found that a local library holding some sort of exhibit on recorded journals from places all over the world. And guess what the exhibit is called?
The Memories of Men, a Record of Thoughts.
I think the cryptic old woman may have been referring to this, and worded it strangely to lead me off track. For some reason…
Yeah, I still don't fully understand all this. The important news is that I'll be heading there soon, and I plan on writing about what I find once I'm back.
I'm actually excited about this.
~Ji
Maybe
The name of the post pretty much sums up it's content.
Just about a month ago I was living the same life I had been for most all of my independent life; now I'm sitting in a shitty hostel, writing on my computer, keeping all the lights on, and checking out the windows constantly for birds.
How did I even get here?
I keep running what happened over and over in my head and none of it makes sense. Not just the guy with birds in his head, or the shadow thing; but my arms too. Bandages and some neosporin wouldn't be enough to heal me this fast, there was muscle torn out of me, and now there isn't even a sign that anything happened. It should have taken years, at least, to get that amount of healing, and I was only out for maybe a few days.
And there were so many birds, more birds than sky. I don't even think there are that many birds in this whole town, maybe not in the whole state, but there were enough to block out the whole damn sky.
Maybe it's not so crazy; I mean maybe this sort of thing just happens. Maybe.
So I find this "memory man" and he'll give me the answers, right? He'll tell me how I'm supposed to get back to normality and give back whatever it is I took from… whatever. I'm not clear on the details, so if anybody else feels confused, just know I'm in the same camp as you.
I suppose that the good news is that the items I managed to save are ok; they didn't get damaged from the fall. And the sky's clear tonight; no birds and just stars. There mustn't be as many lights around here because they're so clear.
Seeing them all reminds me of that time by the lake. Maybe none of this is so strange; how much do we really know about how everything works? Maybe we missed some bit of information about how the universe operates, and this stuff is just what happens. Maybe it's just something else that we don't know yet, like the bottom of the sea or the end of space.
God, there are so many stars.
~Ji
Just about a month ago I was living the same life I had been for most all of my independent life; now I'm sitting in a shitty hostel, writing on my computer, keeping all the lights on, and checking out the windows constantly for birds.
How did I even get here?
I keep running what happened over and over in my head and none of it makes sense. Not just the guy with birds in his head, or the shadow thing; but my arms too. Bandages and some neosporin wouldn't be enough to heal me this fast, there was muscle torn out of me, and now there isn't even a sign that anything happened. It should have taken years, at least, to get that amount of healing, and I was only out for maybe a few days.
And there were so many birds, more birds than sky. I don't even think there are that many birds in this whole town, maybe not in the whole state, but there were enough to block out the whole damn sky.
Maybe it's not so crazy; I mean maybe this sort of thing just happens. Maybe.
So I find this "memory man" and he'll give me the answers, right? He'll tell me how I'm supposed to get back to normality and give back whatever it is I took from… whatever. I'm not clear on the details, so if anybody else feels confused, just know I'm in the same camp as you.
I suppose that the good news is that the items I managed to save are ok; they didn't get damaged from the fall. And the sky's clear tonight; no birds and just stars. There mustn't be as many lights around here because they're so clear.
Seeing them all reminds me of that time by the lake. Maybe none of this is so strange; how much do we really know about how everything works? Maybe we missed some bit of information about how the universe operates, and this stuff is just what happens. Maybe it's just something else that we don't know yet, like the bottom of the sea or the end of space.
God, there are so many stars.
~Ji
Back
Sorry about the long delay, I wish I could fully tell you what happened, but I honestly don't know. I'll try to make this as comprehensible as possible.
I tried to pack up my stuff as fast as possible. The lights were out and it was too dark outside to see, so I had to use my flashlight to get around.
It felt like the basement again; like the rooms were smaller and airless. Occasionally I would point my flashlight into a dark shadow and it wouldn't disappear immediately. Outside I could hear the sounds of thousands of wings and high, shrill caws.
I got into my room. propping the flashlight on my nightstand and shoved as much into my bag as possible; clothes, money, batteries, phone, tools, computer. I slipped the bag over my shoulder and ran into the living room. I started picking out pieces of my collection that were too important to leave behind. That handful of necklaces from over the years, that porcelain doll, that chunk of calcite, that antique bowl.
I had to take them with me; I couldn't afford to leave them behind.
I turned from the shelves, about to make my way to another set of storage, and he was just there.
No open door, no footsteps, nothing.
His face was obscured in the shadows under his hood; hands hanging limply at his sides. For the first several seconds he just stood there, regarding me, blocking my only exit. Then, very slowly, he reached to his side and withdrew a long, cleaver shaped machete.
He swung at me, almost carelessly, the steel slashing towards my shoulder. I jumped back, shattering the shelf, all of my prizes clattering to the floor as I fell down. He stepped forward, making the same, causal swipe with his sword. I pushed back against the ground, I could feel splinters of glass and pottery working their way into my left hand but I didn't care. He crouched and lowered the blade over my chest; I could see his grimy, pale hand grip the handle slightly tighter.
My right, undamaged hand bumped against something cold and metallic.
I snatched up and swung the crowbar- there was a loud KRACH as the bent end of the tool buried itself in the side of his head and he went limp, sprawling to the side. I struggled to my feet and removed the crowbar with a sharp tug. My hands stung and burned, and my legs felt heavy as I limped to the back door. There was a dull ringing in my head, a vagueness to the situation, the hallway seemed much longer than it should have been. All I had to do was get to the car and drive to a hospital; from there I could keep moving forward.
"Nice swing, dead man."
I turned and He was standing again; machete returned to his hand. His free hand moved to the hood, and he tugged back on it, revealing a helmet. The side was cracked badly, a jagged hole punched through.
TK-2 fighter pilot headgear, chinese in make, now they're used as motorcycle helmets.
His hand moved again, to the tinted visor, and he flipped it up. For a half second I could see only a darkened cavity, then a set of tiny, ebony eyes.
Birds streamed out from the helmet, wings and claws and beaks flailing wildly into the room. I put my hands in front of my face, but they tore into my arms; I could feel them gouging and ripping skin and muscle out of my arms. I remember hearing screaming going on and on and on in the cramped, writhing room.
And something shifted.
The birds were thrown backwards and stripped open, skulls torn out of their feathery bodies; shadowy forms wrapping themselves around the beaks and empty eye sockets. The man began slashing at them wildly, but the silhouettes warped easily around the sword. I bolted to the back door, throwing it open and racing towards my car.
I never got there.
The ground dropped away beneath me, and I fell down into the pit. The last thing I can remember is looking up into a sky filled with millions of birds.
When I woke up I was in a closed office max, my arms and hands had been bandaged roughly, and had mostly healed. Beside me was my pack, as well as a sleeping bag I've never seen before. The doors were able to be unlocked form the inside, and I was able to walk to a nearby hostel to stay the night.
I'm not sure where to go from here. I can't go back home, and I don't even know whats going on.
I suppose I have to find "the man with the memories," or something.
I'll try to post soon.
~Ji
I tried to pack up my stuff as fast as possible. The lights were out and it was too dark outside to see, so I had to use my flashlight to get around.
It felt like the basement again; like the rooms were smaller and airless. Occasionally I would point my flashlight into a dark shadow and it wouldn't disappear immediately. Outside I could hear the sounds of thousands of wings and high, shrill caws.
I got into my room. propping the flashlight on my nightstand and shoved as much into my bag as possible; clothes, money, batteries, phone, tools, computer. I slipped the bag over my shoulder and ran into the living room. I started picking out pieces of my collection that were too important to leave behind. That handful of necklaces from over the years, that porcelain doll, that chunk of calcite, that antique bowl.
I had to take them with me; I couldn't afford to leave them behind.
I turned from the shelves, about to make my way to another set of storage, and he was just there.
No open door, no footsteps, nothing.
His face was obscured in the shadows under his hood; hands hanging limply at his sides. For the first several seconds he just stood there, regarding me, blocking my only exit. Then, very slowly, he reached to his side and withdrew a long, cleaver shaped machete.
He swung at me, almost carelessly, the steel slashing towards my shoulder. I jumped back, shattering the shelf, all of my prizes clattering to the floor as I fell down. He stepped forward, making the same, causal swipe with his sword. I pushed back against the ground, I could feel splinters of glass and pottery working their way into my left hand but I didn't care. He crouched and lowered the blade over my chest; I could see his grimy, pale hand grip the handle slightly tighter.
My right, undamaged hand bumped against something cold and metallic.
I snatched up and swung the crowbar- there was a loud KRACH as the bent end of the tool buried itself in the side of his head and he went limp, sprawling to the side. I struggled to my feet and removed the crowbar with a sharp tug. My hands stung and burned, and my legs felt heavy as I limped to the back door. There was a dull ringing in my head, a vagueness to the situation, the hallway seemed much longer than it should have been. All I had to do was get to the car and drive to a hospital; from there I could keep moving forward.
"Nice swing, dead man."
I turned and He was standing again; machete returned to his hand. His free hand moved to the hood, and he tugged back on it, revealing a helmet. The side was cracked badly, a jagged hole punched through.
TK-2 fighter pilot headgear, chinese in make, now they're used as motorcycle helmets.
His hand moved again, to the tinted visor, and he flipped it up. For a half second I could see only a darkened cavity, then a set of tiny, ebony eyes.
Birds streamed out from the helmet, wings and claws and beaks flailing wildly into the room. I put my hands in front of my face, but they tore into my arms; I could feel them gouging and ripping skin and muscle out of my arms. I remember hearing screaming going on and on and on in the cramped, writhing room.
And something shifted.
The birds were thrown backwards and stripped open, skulls torn out of their feathery bodies; shadowy forms wrapping themselves around the beaks and empty eye sockets. The man began slashing at them wildly, but the silhouettes warped easily around the sword. I bolted to the back door, throwing it open and racing towards my car.
I never got there.
The ground dropped away beneath me, and I fell down into the pit. The last thing I can remember is looking up into a sky filled with millions of birds.
When I woke up I was in a closed office max, my arms and hands had been bandaged roughly, and had mostly healed. Beside me was my pack, as well as a sleeping bag I've never seen before. The doors were able to be unlocked form the inside, and I was able to walk to a nearby hostel to stay the night.
I'm not sure where to go from here. I can't go back home, and I don't even know whats going on.
I suppose I have to find "the man with the memories," or something.
I'll try to post soon.
~Ji
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