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Chapter I: Opening Fate
If you are reading these words, you are going to have the worst day of you life. Provided that this has not been ripped from it's pages; you are now in the presence of the vilest, most damned and accursed object known to man or creature. The blood of are countless lives embedded within these pages, and if you choose the wrong path, as others have, you will share their fate.
The game has begun.
The veil has been lifted.
"Damn!"
Michael Edwards stumbled onto the stone steps leading out to the street. His foot had caught on something, but he had no time to check what it was.
A distorted shape appeared from behind a window at the front of the mansion. It wasn't human. As he walked away, he followed the image until it was out of sight.
The package was still in his overcoat. He had risked his neck to get back to Rhode Island, narrowly avoiding an unholy death at the hands of unfathomable beings. But he had forgotten to leave the relic at the front door.
He turned and began his walk back toward the site, when he froze.
Something in the darkness moved.
Reaching for his sack, he suddenly realized what he had tripped on.
Michael ran.
He leaped over a police barrier and fled down the hill. Footsteps approached hurriedly from behind.
Mike suddenly ducked into an alley, hoping that whatever thing was following would be thrown off his trail. But he probably shouldn't have done that.
Racing past a dumpster, a sharp claw swiped viciously at his knee. Michael could only take a half step before falling to the ground.
The creature shifted its way toward the hurt figure, emitting a low hiss. It edged closer and closer to him as Mike managed to get up on one leg. He pathetically attempted to run, but his injured leg wobbled stubbornly.
The thing covered in shadow suddenly came into light.
A horror.
But it was unlike any horror he had ever seen. It's deep mauve veins shone dully on it's slimy skin, and it's expanding and contracting jaw pedals were similar to carnivorous plants.
Michael fell back onto the ground, his leg giving out, and the beast stood nearly over him. It touched a claw to his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat. Then, with an unearthly howl, it brought it's other claw down on him with a sickening CRACK.
Awake.
Michael sat up in his bed, drenched in sweat. He had just experienced the most vivid nightmare of his life.
He touched his scalp, and felt a slight fuzz. How long had be been asleep? Just how much longer did he plan on hiding in his apartment, hoping that the past few years were all a dream?
He got up, his right knee exploding with pain. It had been bandaged rather neatly with a scrap of blue cloth shortly after leaving the Roivas mansion that dark night.
Michael began to unwrap the cloth from his knee. The skin had healed well, but the damage to the ligaments was severe. He slowly limped over to the bathroom.
Clicking the light on, he rinsed off the sweat that had accumulated on his face and neck. He then reached for the shaving cream, catching his reflection in the mirror.
Was that really him?
He had large bags under his eyes, and his lips were dry and sore. The specks of hair on his scalp were graying with stress, and eyes were bloodshot. What had he become?
He shaved.
At the kitchen, Michael's notes lay undisturbed at his table. He turned to the refrigerator, and noticed the sign he had once placed on the freezer door:
Evil Within – DO NOT OPENTo think, at one time, the relic was just above his leftover macaroni.
He sat down with a carton of cereal, pushing aside a few of the papers. It seemed that fate was the bastard child of destiny and bad luck. At one time, he had passed on a very important item to Edward Roivas, but the old man's senility had caused him to panic before arriving home. The item became property of the local precinct for a while, but they naturally couldn't make heads or tails of the thing. It therefore became very difficult to retrieve the item, but Michael managed.
On his second attempt, he had delivered the package directly to Edward's survived granddaughter, at the mansion built over the temple of Enggha. But it certainly wasn't the last time he visited the place.
After news had reported a "strange light" in the vicinity of the mansion and "unusual planetary activity" shortly thereafter, Michael knew it was time to deliver his final package.
It was the night his knee was injured. After about an hour of rigorous exploring, he was unable to find her.
A creak.
Alex?
It was then he had lost hold of his wits and bolted for the exit.
Mike finished his cereal. He let the spoon drop with a hard clink and put his head in his hands. Did Alex still have the book? Was she even alive?
He kept replaying the events of that night in his mind. If only he had done things differently...
He dropped the bowl into the sink and thought deeply. Maybe he was never destined to be the keeper of the book, but he felt strangely tied to it. It was funny, though: he was never into collecting.
Just then, Michael's shoulder brushed against a cordless phone as he walked passed it. The receiver disconnected from its holder, instantly falling to the ground. Realizing his clumsiness, he replaced it onto the hook.
As soon as it left his hand, it rang. Startled, he picked it up. "Yes?"
"Mike," said a voice, "you need to get over here right away."
"Who is this?" he asked, and how did they know his name?
"Please, hurry!" the voice continued. It sounded female, but the voice echoed hollowly, as if the woman were stuck deep inside a well.
"Where are you?" he asked, trying to make some sense out of the call.
"The mansion!"
"Alex?"
The line went dead.
------
He couldn't believe what he was doing. Michael always believed he would die well before his time, perhaps because of his former profession. Every night since he discovered the terror that existed behind the veil, he would have terrifying dreams of a powerful consuming flame that would burn him from the inside out. Maybe this was his vision of hell. But it wasn't much worse than his present life.
Michael hated the waking world, fully aware of the damnation at the boundaries of reality. But he also despised his slumber.
Insanity held a middle ground.
He gripped the door handle, and noticed it had changed shape since the last time he had visited to the mansion. But the door opened easily, so he entered. He didn't recall the stairs bending like that.
The second floor had somehow been inverted horizontally -- a mirror image. Michael instinctively turned left, then caught himself and went to the right. Or was it the other way around?
Mike suddenly felt a mild irritation in the center of his palm as he prepared to push open the door into the next room. He decided to use his other hand instead, and walked into the bathroom.
The irritation worsened.
He went over to the sink and examined his hand. There was no mark or anything to indicate the cause of the prickling sensation. Running water over it didn't seem to help either.
Hiss...He turned up the sink.
Hiss...He tried using some soap.
Hiss...But at that point, he had already turned off the water.
His head turned towards the bathtub. Someone had left the faucet running. Maybe.
Slowly bracing himself for what he might see, the man named Michael Edwards peered unflinchingly into the tub.