The Book Without Eyes [Chapter Five]

After gaining enough courage to venture forward into this new and unknown world, I climbed through one of the shattered windows of my apartment.
The ground was moist and deflated under the weight of my feet. I looked around in all directions in hopes of finding some kind of landmark to follow. I found none, but ultimately decided to follow the two moons I had first beheld upon my arrival. I glanced back at my upturned apartment that looked incongruous against the alien backdrop.
As I trudged atop the bog-like ground I listened to the faint whistle of the winds. They were soothing and almost therapeutic.
I looked at the thickets of tall slender grass that extended outward in all directions over the rolling hills of this alien world. They swayed like euphoric sea anemones in a gentle ocean current. I had nearly forgotten that I was on another world until I heard a bone chilling sound from my right.
Hidden deep in the thickets it ran. I heard it sprint in a semicircle behind me. I paused and focused on the sounds; the sardonic whispers of buzzing clicks and alien guttural moans. The sounds resembled that of what can only be described as a dying goat with a swarm of locusts in its throat. Then I jumped with a start when I beheld a creature just to my left.
The creature stood almost entirely concealed by the swaying thickets, but I could see it was vaguely humanoid with predominantly aquatic-reptilian features.  It stood nearly seven feet tall and was grotesquely slender. Its arms were outstretched in either side as if it were preparing for battle. At the end of both its thin arms I saw three massive fingers each ending with menacing claws that were a pale ivory. The skin on its arms hung loosely over the thin bone that protruded from it. The skin fell the way old women's arms sometimes dangle.
The creature took a powerful step toward me and left the cover of the grass. Its body was a malformed impersonation of The Creature of the Black Lagoon. It cocked its head to the side and let out a croaking groan that was reminiscent of a bull frog's dying belch. The beast took another step toward me and my bladder failed, for I saw the whole of its head. It was a bald scaly head with two holes in either side that were, what I assumed to be ears. At the bottom stretched a giant mouth that hung open with a plethora of jagged needle-thin teeth. Above that were two slits that were most likely nostrils and above that was just skin that extended to the back of its head.
The eyeless creature took another step toward me and that was when I became weak and blacked out. When I awoke I was being drug along the moist ground toward the sound of lapping water. I felt an abrasive hand clenching one of my ankles. I looked around and beheld four of the eyeless creatures walking beside me, they all had their gazes fixed onto something off in the distance in the direction we were traversing.
Then I saw it, a mammoth body of water extending in all directions. In the center of the still water stood three cyclopian spires that protruded from the lake like some perverted Dr. Suess imitation. Then the creatures took me into the water and I held my breath.

-Jestro

Bottomless [Chapter Six]

Skrog's attention became erratic; it bounced around from person to person in the mob of angry humans and elves that encroached on him.
"This is not necessary, friends-" Skrog began but was quickly cut off.
"Friends!?" Some faceless voice called out from a place in the mob Skrog couldn't see. "What kinda friend let's ya' beat 'em over th' 'ead with a staff!?"
Several grunts of agreement came from the mob. Skrog glanced behind him, the mob was shrinking. He felt like his air was being slowly sucked out of him as his pulse quickened. He knew time was running out, if he didn't act now he'd be a huddled pile of broken green meat by day break.
He dug his hand into his pouch, nothing was in it. He was out of options, he'd have to make a run for it. He took a step toward a nearby alleyway and the mob lunged at him all at once like some kind of grotesque amoeba shrinking in on its prey.
A loud communal roar broke out from the mob as they came for him. He made eye contact with a disheveled looking human with shaggy hair and a young beard.
"Sorry, kid." Skrog thought to himself. "But you're in my way."
In a flash Skrog brought his staff up like a lance and charged at the young bearded man, one hand holding the staff near his armpit and the other fully extended in front of him. As he braced for impact his extended hand grasped the staff firmly. The young bearded man's eye grew wide once he realized what was coming, but it was too late by then. The staff collided with his chest and pushed him backward. As Skrog's pace quickened the young bearded man fell on his back. The rest of the mob closed in like water, but Skrog had all the room he needed. It wasn't a pretty escape, but it was an escape. In this moment, that was all Skrog wanted.
Skrog skipped over the fallen young bearded man and sprinted toward the alleyway. Trash and sludge colored the corners of the walls in jagged looking triangles. The cobblestone floor was slimy and glistened in the low light. The buildings on either side were boarded up and seemed forgotten.
Skrog kept his eyes forward as he sprinted. In his mind the mob was just a millimeter behind him waiting for him to slow down so they could tear him apart. This fear made his feet move faster.
He rounded a sloppy bend in the alleyway as it connected to another, a stray dog fled in terror from him. With each hard step Skrog's breath was growing more rough, like his lungs were slowly turning to sandpaper. Each gasp for new air felt like fire and Skrog's skin tingled with electric sweat.
He rounded another bend.
Then he saw that he was running toward a canal.
Several smaller canals ran throughout the districts like spiderwebs. These canals were used to by traders to move product easily. A boat cost less than a cart or wagon and the traders never needed pack animals. The problem with the canals was of course, their limited course and narrowness. Once Skrog jumped into the canal the mob would know exactly where he was headed and could cut him off by running ahead. But this was Skrog's only choice.
Something blurred in front of him. In an instant he saw a massive wolf, known as a warg, land in the alleyway just before the canal. Instinct kicked in and Skrog slid on one knee beneath the beast. As he slid underneath the warg he turned and saw the mob trying to stop itself. It did.
Skrog stopped just before falling into the canal. He dug his free hand into the grimy cobblestone and used it as an anchor.
The warg growled and several people in the mob screamed. They slowly moved backward as the warg took a step toward them. Then it howled and the mob tore off in the direction they had come faster than Skrog could understand.
Then the warg turned to Skrog.
"You idiot." A voice inside Skrog's head said. It was feminine but in no way delicate. It was a low, beastly voice. "Now how are we going to fix this?"
"I'm sorry, I just-" Skrog tried to say.
"Stop!" The voice screamed as the warg barked. "This is unforgivable."
"Vola, I'm sorry!" Skrog pleaded. "I couldn't help myself."
"Well, you're going to need to start." The voice inside his head said. "We'll be thrown out of this town too now."
"I won't let that happen." Skrog said as he got to his feet. "I'll take care of us."
The warg turned around and began to slowly walk back down the alleyway.
"And I'll end up taking care of you, as always." There was still a harshness in the voice that Skrog took as a scolding, but there was also an air of forgiveness that made Skrog smile. "Let's go to the old man before this gets out of control."
"Okay." Skrog said and rushed to walk by Vola's side.
-Jestro

The Book Without Eyes [Chapter Four]

I awoke several days later. But in all honesty, I can not be certain if the elapsed time was in fact, a matter of days. For after the book had opened my perception of time and space began to shift and distort tempestuously like some terrible maelstrom of malignant disdain. I would soon count my days in terms of book pages, for now the book would lay open, impenetrably fixed on a single page.

The only way to turn the page was to read, and as I did I would find myself slipping deeper and deeper into the cacophony of absolute vastness.

But fear not, traveler, I can now discern the true ethical relativism of the multiverse. This is why I am retelling my story to you.

There are several of us, more significant than the masses of God-food that make up the majority of space, who can call to power great change. The beast I spoke of earlier is that great change and those relics of great power can call the beast into being. Or rather, we will be called to it. My retelling shall be your map to it and so I will continue.

I awoke several days later to behold the book lying open on my desk. I tried to ignore it, shut the premonition from my mind. I told myself it was nothing more than a psychotic hallucination brought on by the tap water (at the time I was paranoid of a fabricated "Big Brother" who was polluting the waterways and thus turning the masses into drones) and that I just needed to be more cautious. These were, of course, absurd notions by my primordial psyche trying to make sense of the incalculable knowledge that was slowly being driven into my mind like water eroding stone. 

I walked to my refrigerator for sustenance, a trivial want of the flesh that I would soon forget, when I heard something truly awful. 

From behind the walls I heard the bass, it kicked and rattled them. My Evas vibrated sardonically to the pulse like mocking trolls. I recognized the song for my neighbor, Sedel, played it continuously everyday whenever he was at home. It was titled "Bando" and it was by Migos. As the sounds penetrated my apartment I could feel the knowledge of the book weakening and my mind dulling to the ludicrous ramblings of these pop icons. 

The book became indignant. 

Then my apartment flipped and gyrated tumultuously and I was flung around like a rag doll. When gravity had centered itself once more I noticed the terrible noises coming from Sedel's apartment had been silenced. Upon further inspection I could hear a low rumbling of thunder and the swooning croon of wind blowing against the cracks in my windows. 

I stood up. My apartment had been literally turned upside down, all of my material possessions lest the book were scattered along what was now the floor. I painstakingly made my way to a window and peeked through it. On the other side of the transparent glass were rolling hills topped with long, seaweed like grass that swayed like hair in the whining wind. Above them was only a dark sky, completely empty except for two radiant moons that pulsated like hearts.

-Jestro

Bottomless [Chapter Five]

The sun was setting as Skrog left the eatery. He could smell the salt of the sea and the faint burning of wood as the townsfolk began to light their fires for the night. The sky was clear and the stars twinkled delicately above him. Skrog closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He breathed in the anxiety of the day and held it in his chest. All the anger and hostility were in there, all bottled up ready to burst out.
Then Skrog let it all fall away. His lungs deflated, air rushed out and swept all the pent up anxiety and threw them back out into the world. It was almost overwhelming, the sudden sense of calm that filled him. He was at peace.
Then something struck his shoulder.
He spun violently to the ground and fell into a puddle of slug, his staff skidded nosily across the cobblestone street.
"Make way for the Deacon Viceroy, Lord Granum!" A booming voice called out. Skrog looked up and saw that it was a horse that had hit his shoulder. He was so lost in his calming meditation that he hadn't heard the loud clomping of its hoofed feet. Atop it sat a stout mustached human with cerise skin around his eyes. His double chin cascaded into the neck of his armor that glistened arrogantly in the violet light.
The human held his head upward and pompously ignored Skrog and other pedestrians in the street even though he nearly trampled several of them.
Behind him was the rest of the royal entourage. A dozen or so more horses, each with an equally pompous rider, followed the mustached human. Each of them was adorned with gaudy armor that Skrog could tell was only for show.
In the middle of them all, on the only white horse, was Lord Granum, the Deacon Viceroy of Hamwall. The Viceroy was slender and covered in a regal silk robe. It was a vibrant violet that was trimmed with gold hem. He raised a delicate hand and waved it as if he were in some kind of parade. Few onlookers applauded, the rest were more concerned with not being trampled to noticed the vanity.
Skrog got to his feet and patted his robe off as best he could despite the slug that now clung to it. He waited until the last horse trotted by before reclaiming his staff.
"What a vain old bloke, he is!" A dirty human woman with a shrill voice and orange teeth jeered as loudly as she could. "Ain't gots no respects for us common folks, he don't!"
"Oi, keep yer voice down ya old hag!" An equally dirty human man shouted in reply. "I doesn't wants anuva' tax on accounta you!"
"Who you callin' 'ag!?" She screamed.
"Why you'd be th' one, miss!"
"Alright, you two!" Skrog shouted. "That's enough!"
The two of them shut up immediately and gazed wide eyed at him.
"All that screaming is just going to bring a guard over here, and I can tell you," He paused and looked over his shoulder. "I'll be the first one on their list for a lynching."
"Yeah, and what's wrong wif that, half blood?" The man asked. "Yer people deserve a good lynchin ever now and again."
"My people?" Skrog asked.
"You 'eard me!"
"My mother was human and she-"
"Was a filthy tart whore!" The man cut Skrog off.
Before Skrog had realized it the man was rolling around on the ground with a broken nose, crying pathetically. Skrog looked down at his hands and saw that he was clenching his staff so tightly that his knuckles had lost their color. There was a thick glob of blood dripping from the end of his staff. He jumped as if a loud noise had startled him.
"Ya, see!?" The woman screamed with one finger pointed at Skrog. "This goblin trash bring nufin but pain and misery t' our streets! We best kill 'em all 'fore we all end up like Rod 'ere!" She was referring to the man with the broken nose writhing on the slug covered cobblestone.
Skrog raised his hands, although he kept the staff in one, in the most submissive way he could. But it was pointless, there was already a mob surrounding him.
Skrog thought to himself,
"This is going to be a long night."

-Jestro

The Book Without Eyes [Chapter Three]

Aggravation was my initial response. Twice they had failed me and the hope of ever completing my Eva collection was fleeting. The delivery company stopped taking my calls and emails after two weeks. They claimed with certainty, that they had delivered the package I ordered. Frustrated, I threw myself into the walls of my apartment and onto the hard wooden floors. My tantrum was meaningless for soon the mystery of the book and key would have solely filled my mind.

I decided to open it. 

Why not? I thought. If this is supposedly what I had ordered then its mine and nothing is worse than an unread book collecting dust on a shelf.

So it was to be read.

I drew the keys and inserted them into the identical locks. The penetration was rough and difficult, for the lock had a layer of rust preventing a smooth entrance. The keys turned with a scrapping CLICK! and I expected the book to swing open and reveal some old Greek myth. 

But it did not.

In fact, the book seemed to act as if I hadn't unlocked it at all. I tried pitifully to pry it open but my quivering arms were no match for the cold iron that wrapped the book shut. 

"Come on, dammit!" I pleaded in a flustered whimper. It was that moment, looking back, that I sealed my fate. I had done the worst possible thing: consenting to the book's opening. But this is not the tale of what I shouldn't have done, only the tale of what I did.

After my pathetic whimper of consent the book flew open so quickly that I nearly dropped it. However, I was keen enough to catch the tome before it landed heavily on the floor. It had opened to a page near the end and as I beheld the strange and indescribable writings of a language I had never seen my eyes were filled with an incandescent luminosity.

Very gradually my balance began to shift as if I were standing on the bottom of the ocean and was being pushed gently by a current perpendicular to me. My body swayed to and fro and my head began to feel very light. Then I started to fall toward the book. A shimmering of phosphorescence illuminated my eyes and all I could see was the radiating beauty of what might be described as a sun made of blue.

Then I beheld a grand vacancy. I was floating in empty space the like of which no man has ever felt. But there was however, something floating. I hadn't noticed it at first, the sheer vastness overwhelmed me initially. But now I had gathered some bearing and could see a platform.

Atop it stood nine figures. They each stood in a lopsided circle around a massive mound of writhing tentacles. Each of the figures had before them an item that I soon realized was a relic of immense power. I had concluded that they had used these artifacts to summon the beast and now awaited its divine judgement.

The figures were all standing placidly around the shambling behemoth. Each contact with their totem at their feet. Then I noticed one who offered a revolver held something spherical dangling in his left hand. The thing was my decapitated head.

Coagulated blood clung to the stump that was once my neck. My skin, a deflated blueish white, shimmered with what I imagined was a dying sweat. The remainder of my neck stump was riddled with dark purple bruises that crisscrossed in aggressive X's all the way around.

My chin was encrusted with dried spit and blood. They drew flakey lines from my lips to the center of my torn neck. My mouth was a sunken hole in which no tooth resided and only the flabby pink of my ruined gums could be seen. 

My cheeks were sunken and thin. My eyes had deep bags beneath them and the rims of my eyelids were a discolored, urine color, yellow. But the look in my dead, unblinking eyes was most terrible. For it held within it a wild and shattered look. I must have seen something truly mind shattering.

I then descended into the pupils of my horrified eyes and was lost in the nothingness of the void.

In the darkness of my room I saw phantom figures of my furniture, they comforted me. I regained my composure and stood. I was at that time a religious man and had decided that these were nothing more than wild visions brought on by some sort of demon. I believed then that I came back haunted. But those archaic notions are broken somewhere, floating with that platform.

-Jestro

Bottomless [Chapter Four]

By the time Skrog's feet slowed their pace he was already in the center district. His throat felt like fire and his legs burned. He could feel his head pound with the rapid pulse of his heart. He leaned against a shop wall for stability and let his staff fall to the ground. It hit with a loud CLACK and rolled slightly into the street.

Skrog's eyes began to focus and he noticed that the common races were staring at him. He adjusted himself as best he could despite his fleeting strength. It was then that he noticed he had been leaning against the center district's armory.

It was a moderate sized building with nothing more than a small wooden sign to discern its name. There were two heavy oak doors that lie against the exterior walls, open to the public. Skrog craned his head so that he might gaze inside.

There were an assortment of swords, knives, axes and all other hand held weapons. They glittered from the refracted light of day back and forth between each other, as if they were having some sort of luminescent conversation. It filled Skrog with wonder. 

He had traveled past this shop on many occasions and there was one item in particular that had continually peaked his interest. Inside the shop along the far wall, directly across the front entrance, was a glorious ebony bow. It had intricate Elvish markings all along its polished limbs and the riser was grooved smoothly so that any hand could grasp the bow with ease. The bow string glittered like star dust and it was then that Skrog decided he would get that bow even if the old man was against it.

"I'll just keep it here and use it on the top of the hill above Hamwall." He would tell the old man.

"Skrog, to wield that weapon will bring unwanted attention." The old man would probably reply. 

At that point Skrog wouldn't have any idea how to reply because deep down, he knew the old man was right. Despite all that Skrog knew that he could defend himself better with a bow than a staff and that comforted him more than the robes and the words of the old man ever could. He felt a wave of melancholy pass over him as the thought hit him. The old man tried very hard to help Skrog and Vola, help them try and erase their pasts. But the prejudice of the world would always have more power than any one old man. More than that, the prejudices that Skorg and Vola held in themselves were most powerful of all.

Skrog felt something tug at his robe. He turned with a start and saw a small gnomish child pulling at his robe.

"Hey, mister!" The girl called to him. "Is that yours?" She pointed to his staff still lying on the grimy city street.

"Why, yes it is, young lady." Skrog replied calmly. He knelt over and picked it up. It was always heavier than it looked and Skrog never got used to that. "Many thanks."

"You're welcome, healer." She replied and ran off.

Skrog watched her as she faded into the masses that were emerging from the buildings of the district. A small bubble formed in his chest, it traveled up his throat and spread across his face into a smile. He walked to an eatery and bought himself a loaf of bread and a thigh of turkey, he washed it down with water and felt that maybe there was hope for this world after all.

-Jestro

The Book Without Eyes [Chapter Two]

The days that followed were filled with arduous amounts of research. I surveyed every website, forum and thread I could think of, but alas, the internet held no answers for the whereabouts of my missing Eva figurine or an explanation for the presence of the mysterious book. 

I finally, after nine straight days and nights, succumbed to the humiliation of a help hotline. I cannot entirely remember when the last time I spoke to a human was, but it must have been some time for my ability to convey my dilemma was challenging. 

"Thank you for calling The Delivery Help Line, my name is Le'Quanda I'll be assisting you." The voice was from, what I assumed to be, a woman of African decent. The way in which she recited the words seemed jaded and mechanical. "This call may be monitored for training purposes. How can I help you?"

This would be it, the first words uttered from my lips to another human soul in a long time. What should I say? How should I begin?

"…Hello?" She asked, her voice heavy with irritation. "Are ya' there?"

I tried to say 'hello' but what came out was more of a squeak. Then I coughed slightly.

"Ye-yes, I am here." The words felt strange coming out.

"How can I help you, sir?" Her tone hadn't changed.

"My figurine, where is it?" I asked. 

"Excuse me?" She asked. "I don't know what you're talking' about. Can ya' please give me the account information or tracking number of the package?"

I obliged the woman with the appropriate information.

"Please hold while I pull up the information." Then she rudely added a passive aggressive, "Thank you." and I was hurriedly bombarded with overtly poppy music. If this music were to have been food I imagine it resembling something made of nougat, covered in marshmallow and caked with butterscotch, all topped with sour chucks of crystalized sugar assorted candies. I held the phone away from my ear for fear of vomiting. 

An eternity may have passed before Le'Quanda returned to the line, but I will never know for sure.

"Theodore, are you there?" She asked in the same mechanically jaded voice.

"Yes." I replied.

"Kay." She added quickly. "It looks like your package ended up in Wisconsin. We've contacted the local distribution office. They'll contact you when they find the package. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"The book?" I asked.

"What book?"

"I was sent an old tome with strange Greek writing on it."

"The hell's a tome?" She asked. 

"A book."

"Someone sentcha a Greek book?" 

"Correct."

"Who?" 

"That's what I'd like you to tell me." I asked rudely.

"Excuse me, sir." She replied. "There's no need to raise your voice at me, mkay!"

"Thank you, for your time." I replied sarcastically. "I'll take this matter into my own hands." Then I promptly disconnected the line. It was at that moment I was reminded of why I ceased verbal communication originally. 

My statement may have been made in a blinded rage of anger, for I knew not where to find any more information on the tome; it could not stay in here, not while my Eva figurine was out there somewhere, lost and alone in the world. So at great length I concluded to take a photograph of the tome and post it on several book related forums.

And then I waited.

Eventually, the distribution company had contacted me. They had received my package and would promptly deliver it on the next business day. To hear that I was thrilled, in what I had approximated as a week's time, I would be finally united with my figurine.

The sun and moon traded places and before long a week had passed. It was on the eighth day I harkened a rapping sound at my door.

"Ted, its me again. I'm leaving the package outside your door, just sign for it. I'll be back in ten." It was the same delivery man from before. I waited until I heard his footsteps no longer before venturing into the hallway. 

Atop the faded red carpeting that covered the floors of the building sat a much smaller package, roughly the size of a fist. A more fitting size. 

I scribbled my name on the digital pad and selfishly snatched up the package slamming my door and locking it behind me. Eagerly and in a maddening frenzy I opened the package, removing the contents wildly with my hands. 

But my heart sank when the excitement wore off. On the ground was again, not my Eva figurine, but two identical ivory keys with monstrous engravings on them that make my hair stand on end just remembering.

-Jestro