Diary 2 by DeYtH Banger (best time to read books .txt) 📖

you pass unnoticed. 

If the light is emitted from beneath the door, or if by some miracle you evade capture after your error and return to choose once more, enter cautiously. The room seems to stretch into eternity; make no attempt to comprehend its size or shape, as many men greater than you have been driven mad at the thought. Strewn across the entirety of this room are the bodies of the stillborn and the fetuses of the unborn. Those capable of sound will be seem to pierce the very fabric of your consciousness with cries, which appear to be both audible and a figment of your imagination. 

On the horizon will be a mother, little more than a child herself, clutching a baby wrapped in a tattered blanket to her teat. Closer examination of the suckling infant will leave you pondering its true age. Its expression seems weathered and careworn, an eternal, knowing glance assuring you that its eyes have forgotten more than most will ever see. 

Approach the mother, calmly. Should you startle her and interrupt the feeding, your only hope is to whisper, "I wish not to disturb you, nor your beautiful son." If you have appeased her, position yourself so as to gaze directly into the child's eyes. Once there, you must not break eye contact for fear of upsetting the infant and bringing about your own doom. You may ask him one question and one question only: "For what have we been created?" 

The baby will move and wrap his tattered cloth around you, binding you and rending you limb from limb, yet you must not react to the pain or risk never returning to your original form. If you can overcome the agony, he will stare into your eyes, and you will see the beginning of the cosmos. All things that have been since the creation of existence will unfold before your eyes. The truth of the origin of the Seekers will be brought to life, and if you're not driven insane by this truth, you will feel the warmth of this knowledge glowing inside you. This heat will grow until the pain of the burn outweighs that of your torn flesh a thousandfold. You will feel your body melt away, burning into nothing save ash. 

At the peak of your anguish, if you have managed to remain stoic, you will blink the eyelids which you no longer have, opening them to find you have returned outside, exactly one day before the incident. In your hands you will find a tattered manuscript, the text of which seems to predate existence. 

This Object is 25 out of 538. This book yearns to return the other objects to it, and within it is the cryptic knowledge of how to do so.  The 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 workers 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. Never. 

Holder of the First Seed

In any city of any country, travel to a road not taken in any car. Make sure that car has a mirror for you to see your face. Take a deep breath and steel yourself for you won’t be resting anytime soon. 

Now, start charming the person in the mirror. Don’t worry about your image (yet) for there will be no one to look stupid for. To have an audience is your task, the Holder of Charms. Keep in mind that she’s a demon, and to charm her you have to be a demon. Speak about about cutting newborns’ faces with rusty scissors, flaying your siblings with potato peelers, chopping fingers with pruning shears, or pulling teeth out with wrenches. Never stop even if your throat bleeds, if your tongue dries to stone or if your bladder starts to betray you. This will take hours, or days, or eternity if you submit to hatred and spend the rest of your life in your car cursing about the ones you cherish. 

If you stop or the person in the mirror shows disinterest, you haven’t shown enough hatred. You lose; every time you fall asleep, you will go through the torture you offered to the Holder of Charms. It will appear as a dream, but the pain won’t. You may never sleep if you wish. The only way to lift this curse is to actually fulfill the wishes you had made. 

When the images in the mirror change, be happy for you’re on the right track. Don’t let the images disturb you. You will see smiling heads of babies without bodies, drooping faces as if they were wax, skinless faces, crushed faces, ones covered with boiling pus and worms, and more that would send a chill even to Death’s spine. The images are you, for your hatred has charmed the Holder, and don’t be surprised if you may feel what the images feel. 

When no more images appear in the mirror, close your eyes. Keep your hate, and just a pinch of humanity and sanity. Never open your eyes until you hear an old and insane woman singing the stereotypical snake charmer melody you hear in cartoons. Sometimes she would sing the English alphabet or nursery rhymes. When you open your eyes, you will be in a meadow of dead foliage, before you an eight foot old demoness. Her skin has been boiled black, dripping rubbery flesh that plaster to the earth with acidic sounds. Her exposed bones have opulent green maggots. Misplaced eyes, fangs and unknown organs adorn her naked body. Her face, looking down on you, features a warped smiling skull with skin. Her eyes are sunken in the purple caverns which are the sockets; her lips have flaked off, cooked by the oil that was once her nose. In place of her teeth are slashed gums dangling and arcing in impossible ways. 

She will then sing the melody of a couple about to marry. Hold her sizzling maggoty hand, and she will extend her neck for the kiss. Her lips are cold, like raw meat. The slashed gums will be hard and metallic, her tongue as bitter as hell, yet as sweet as a kiss. She will taste like cooked human. 

After the kiss, you will find yourself in your car, with a raging purple tumor on your throat. No one will pay attention to it, for you’re the only one who can see it. But don’t worry, because you have the gift of utterance and charisma. You can make anyone fall for you, metaphorically, or literally. 

The tumor is Object 346 of 538. Choose your words carefully. 

The Holder of the Story

Once upon a time, there was a Seeker who got himself to an asylum, made his way to the front desk, and asked for the one who calls himself "The Holder of the Story." A look of puzzlement crossed the worker's face. 

"Who?" she asked. 

"The Holder of the Story," was the response. 

She insisted that she knew nothing of what he spoke. Many times did the Seeker repeat this name and insist on visiting him. He grew angry when he was denied. Soon enough, the receptionist threatened to call security. 

The Seeker was smart. He ceased and walked away, knowing he had failed in his quest. 

The next morning, he did not awaken. They knew his purpose and had found him. 

The End. 

--- 

Once upon a time, there was a Seeker who got herself to a library and asked the librarian for the one who calls himself "The Holder of the Story." The librarian disappeared underneath the counter and came back up with a library card. On it were written unrecognizable words in an indiscernible language and the Seeker's name written in her language. She accepted this gratefully, hiding the surprise and dread that lay thickly in her stomach. The librarian then pointed her to a section of the library that she had not seen before and walked away without a word. 

The Seeker made her way to this section. Its shelves were lined with old tomes bound with the skins of creatures unknown to her. Their titles were in languages unknown to her, but