First Statement: Eyes, Hands, and Fire
A long hallway with a mottled gray carpet and pastel yellow walls stretches out before Jerad, doors, paintings, and irregular mirrors lining each wall at regular intervals. The door he was about to go through stands open, the doorknob still held tightly. He grips it, scowls at the hall, and closes the door gently. Once shut he counts to seven and opens it again and the strange hallway is gone. He breathes a sigh and heads out of the apartment, making a note to ask Gertrude about corridors and doors when he gets to the archive, but getting there today is not made easy for him. Every door between him and the Magnus Archives does the same thing, showing a different section of distorted hallway that only disappears when the door is closed and opened again. Jerad counts to seven each time, a habit from when he was younger and hiding from his mother's strange lessons.
Gertrude bursts from the final door before Jerad can even reach for the handle, and nearly ran into him. In her hand was a small case she carried spare statements in, and on her back was the backpack she used when traveling. Her long jacket over usual work attire meant she was going somewhere colder than London.
"Oh, goodness Jerad!" she exclaimed, inflecting his name strangely with a tone of surprise.
"I didn't think you'd be by today."
"Yeah, I wasn't, but–" She cut him off as she moves to go past him.
"Just as well, I left you a note and a folder with some more leads in it on my desk, kindly do not go through my other files while I'm out."
"Where are you going?" He asks, stopping her temporarily.
"Mongolia; another Leighner showed up."
"Can I come with you?" Jerad's almost childish tone annoys him, but he can't help it. Gertrude feels more like a mother or close aunt to him, and her proclivity to just up and traveling excites the child-like sensibility in him his real mother tried so hard to quash. Gertrude's eyes soften as she considers bringing him, but then looks down as if in disappointment.
"No, there's no need. This will just be a quick trip, and I need you here." She does enjoy traveling with Jerad, even if she'll not say it out loud. He knows and nods.
"Right. Safe travels." He waves her off.
"I would rather hope so." She gives him that secretive grin and leaves, the sound of her short heals stomping away. Jerad listens to her go and then turns to the archive door, still open.
Inside on the desk is the folder Gertrude mentioned with a sticky note on the cover. The note reads:
"Please follow up. Gone out, be back in five days. -GR"
Inside the folder is a fresh statement, an old statement, and some black and white photos of an old hospital, a group of six people, and a blurry color photo of a strange symbol carved into stone. Jerad sits down at Gertrude's desk, throws his boots up on a nearby crate of loose statements, and begins reading. It is not until an hour later he remembers what he wanted to ask Gertrude about, but no that will have to wait five days.
Gertrude did not return for a week. In the first two days Jerad nearly walked into the strange hallway more than ten times, and by the third day had taken to propping open every door, or exclusively following others through thresholds. Having taken the statements and relevant materials home, Jerad had no intention of challenging the Archive's many doors, but after two days he had run low on leads and needed to scour Gertrude's files for more information.
Standing outside Jerad grimaced and prepared himself for a lot of opening and closing doors, but was surprised to find nothing wrong or strange about any of them. While this was a nice surprise it put him on edge, as each door seemed to portend to a worse situation. By the time he got to Gertrude's office Jerad was beginning to feel the prickling of fear and apprehension crawl up his spine. Quickly shuffling through the papers on her desk and in the bin labeled 'burnt' he intended to quickly grab what he needed and go, at least until the door creaked open behind him. Jerad froze, back to the door. Gertrude's office door was well maintained and did not creak, but more than that, Jerad was absolutely sure he'd propped it open when he came in. The slight sound of feet shuffling from threadbare carpet to wood made his nerves snap, and Jerad spun around drawing the curved and serrated hunting knife Gertrude had gifted him after a trip to America. On reflex he buried the blade into the chest of the man behind him and looked at the face eye level with his own. He could not have been much older than Jerad and had long, golden hair that curled into gentle waves down his chest, to where the knife sat between two ribs. His expression was placid and the knife unbloodied as Jerad withdrew it and stepped back, bumping against the desk. He stared in horror, and eyed the door, which now showed only a long corridor with light blue carpet and off-white walls.
"Who are you?" Jerad demanded, voice made more forceful through fear.
"You can call me Micheal." The man extended one hand, gesturing for a handshake. His voice was normal sounding, but still put Jerad on edge as he considered trying to slice the thing off. After a tense second he decided to play along, seeing how he was trapped. Jerad reached out with his right hand and gently took this strange man's hand. It felt like holding a dead fish with too many bones, clammy, cold, and sharp. He winced as Micheal shook it slowly, eyes ever locked on his.
"A pleasure. Are you Gertrude's new assistant?" His smile seemed impossibly wide and his voice had a dangerous edge to it.
"More or less…" Jerad focused on his face and tried not to show how scared he was growing by the second.
"Pity." Micheal's face split into fractals and his form grew impossibly large for the room, yet he remained at eye level with Jerad. The overlapping contradiction reminded him of overlapping translucent papers his mother used when deciphering Leighner's books, the words and images all falling into each other when looked at directly. He swallowed a shout as the hand on his multiplied and began drawing in his arm with a powerful grip.
"A pity that Gertrude should lose another assistant." The thing crooned.
This struck Jerad as a strange sentence, least of all because it was not. Gertrude had told him about all of her assistants early on, as if trying to scare him away with the threat of an unnatural death. But so soon after being freed from his mother's ghost, Jerad hadn't cared.
"You're Micheal Shelly?" He asked, not sure what result he wanted from asking. The thing froze and its face reflected a stern expression and a mask of pain, making Jerad's head hurt.
"No," It said, finally. "I am not Micheal."
"But what's left of him, yeah?" Jerad pushed forward, trying to distract this creature that used to be Micheal while figuring out how to pry his hand free of its grasp.
"Gertrude said the Distortion took you while stopping its ritual."
At this they laughed, a cruel sound that echoed maliciously in Jerad's head and down the hallway. It looked down but also locked eyes with Jerad, bringing their faces closer together as its fingers cut into his wrist.
"She fed Micheal to me. Now he is dead and I am Micheal." Jerad stared into its face, fear melting away into a sense of sorrow and the throbbing of pain.
"Oh." That's all he can muster to say as he watches what is not Micheal's expressions melt between rage and death mask of fear and sorrow. He notes their eyes are not any one color, but all of them all at once, and then they let go. Their face snaps into focus, hiding the complex expressions behind a mask of Micheal. They tilt their head in a very human way and consider Jerad for a time. Jerad is forced to put the knife away in order to apply pressure to the cut on his wrist, not that the blade would have done anything.
"Are you going to kill me then?" He asked them cautiously. They consider this with a vacant expression.
"No, not right now. While that would hurt Gertrude Robinson, it's not quite the revenge I'm after."
"So what, you're just going to keep haunting every door I go through until you're ready to kill me or I slip up?" Jerad demanded, annoyance creeping into his voice. Micheal's face twists into a crooked grin, cute on the form of Micheal Shelly.
"I think I might." He giggles a spiraling laugh that echoes uncomfortably and ends in a sigh.
"He cared for her, you know." Micheal looks Jerad in the eyes as he moved over to the cabinet where Gertrude keeped her first aid kit.
"What, Micheal did?"
"She kept him in the dark right up until they stood before my door and Micheal walked in. Even traveling my corridors he trusted her." The face of Micheal Shelly is a passive smirk, somehow sad and enraged all at once.
"Do you trust her?"
"Hell no." Jerad surprises himself with such a quick response and thinks about it.
"Well, maybe. She's gotten pretty good at keeping other people alive, and I'm not her assistant so I kinda have an immunity to the things out to get her. Most of them anyway." He adds as Micheal smiles.
"Good." With that they turn and walk into the hallway, their form stretching and distorting as they pass the threshold. With that the door creaks closed and Jerad can see the rest of the archive through the small window in the door. He pulls the first aid pack out and slumps into the desk chair, exhaustion washing over him.
On the fourth day of Gertrude's trip the Distortion only bothered him at home and the archive, not allowing him to enter the institute at all, and manifesting in his fridge that morning. While reaching for the milk he nearly fell into the hallways that had apparently opened perpendicular, the gravity pulling him. Thankfully the fridge door caught his shoulder before he passed through, but he gave Micheal a good shouting at for doing that so early in the day. After a bit more running around, Jerad had narrowed down what Gertrude had left for him, and now all that was left was to find the mark in question and destroy it. He slowly opened the hospital doors, checking for familiar hallways, and began sneaking around while looking for the basement. Once located, the hospital basement smelled of rust and smoke, making it easy for Jerad to find the old section of the hospital, a ward built in part by Smirk. The walls and floor here were covered in scorch marks, and in some places it looked as though the stone itself had melted like wax. The lightless flame was one of Jerad's least favorite powers, mostly because of the people who served it.
After almost an hour of sneaking through the hallways Jerad came to an underground courtyard of sorts, circular with a circle of stone in the center of the floor, doors lining the walls. This room was hot and dry, uncomfortable in Jerad's heavy leather jacket. He quickly shed it and pulled out the pick and hammer he'd brought from home. Observing the stone circle revealed what he had deduced to be true. It was composed of 14 stones, arranged and engraved with ancient symbols. The only one not cracked, defaced, or missing was one bearing the celtic symbol for fire.
Despite the uncharacteristic heat of the stone, Jerad knelt on his jacket and went to work chipping the symbol off. It took several minutes, but the stone suddenly cracked, ruining the symbol entirely, and a faint whistle began to grow in volume, like that of a kettle set to boil. Recognizing the danger Jerad dropped the tools, snatched up his jacket, and fled down the hall he had first entered from as the water main under the floor exploded into a tidal wave of boiling water. The wave chased Jerad down the hall, dogging his steps and gaining fast. His keen memory allowed Jerad to recall which way was out, but as he rounded the final corner to the hospital proper he saw Micheal stood at the end of the hallway next to an open door.
"No…" Jerad had no choice. It was either go through the door and face a slow death in a maze, or drown in boiling water. He had been burned by the Desolation not a year ago, and was not keen to relive that experience. Either way he fed the fears, but at least Micheal had shown they could be somewhat reasoned with. The water splashing behind him did not care.
"Damn it!" With a shout of frustration Jerad ran through the door, tripped over the dark blue rug running the length of the hall, and heard the door slam shut behind him. Crouched on all fours he gasped and struggled for breath, from both his frenzied flight and a sudden wash of fear that chilled him instantly. Now that he had crossed the Distorion's threshold he was trapped, and would likely wander this hell maze until he died of exhaustion or worse.
"That was rather close." Micheal's spoke up behind him, voice tinged with a laugh. Jerad glanced back at him, his form impossibly tall for the space, but still no bigger than Jerad himself. They looked down the hall, to where the door no longer was, and Jerad on the floor, observing both with expressions of bemusement. Jerad climbed to his feet, legs still shaking from running on adrenaline and fear now saturating his body, and put his leather jacket back on. He turned to face Micheal with a stern expression.
"So what now? You decided to kill me anyway?"
Micheal's laughter does not echo so much as seems to come from the hall itself, ringing Jerad's ears until he has to cover them.
"No, no." They assure him. "I'm not here to kill you. You needed a door, so I provided one." Their smile is simultaneously far too wide and sheepishly crooked.
"Lier." he snapped, harsher than intended. Micheal just kept smiling, a version of him nodding slightly and laughing.
"Perhaps, but what can you do but believe me?" He spread large knife-like hands either side and shrugged. Jerad grimaced and stared them down, wholly unsure of what to do. After a tense several minutes he couldn't stay silent.
"So, are you going to let me go then? Since you're not going to kill me."
"In good time." Micheal strode towards Jerad, the hall telescoping as he did. Jerad held his ground, refusing to back away from this creature, but they passed him and continued down the hall. After a few paces their form focused into that of Micheal Shelly, who looked back and gestured for him to follow. Jerad hesitated, very uncomfortable and scared of the situation, but like they said, without choices. With a sigh he followed along obediently, Micheal making space for them both to walk next to each other. Despite its small and narrow appearance the hall was wide enough that Jerad felt comfortable in his ability to dodge any sudden moves from them.
"Why do you stay with Gertrude if you don't trust her?" Micheal asked, sounding almost human.
"I don't know. Kinda feels like I owe her." Jerad did not want to talk to them, but knew they would know if he lied, so stuck to honesty.
"How so?"
"She helped me get rid of my mother, so I decided to help her."
"How noble of you." Micheal's tone takes on an edge.
Silence pervades the space between them as they walk, neither quite knowing how to communicate with the other, or if they want to. After what felt like an hour Jerad speaks up, the quiet getting to be too much.
"Can I ask you a question?"
Micheal gives him a sideways look, but nods.
"Ask your question."
"What does the world of the Distortion look like?"
"Madness, to you at least." He laughs.
"No, I know that. But what is it?"
"The Twisted World is a maze of endless corridors that is also a fixed point in space. The rules as they were work, but are a lie. The 'It Is Not What It Is' is exactly that–not what it is. Before I became Micheal the Great Twisting was set to invert the laws of your world, so that what is seen is unknowable but the base laws of reality are consistent."
"I don't follow."
Micheal laughs harder.
"Of course you don't. If you were to comprehend us you would most certainly go mad." A final chuckle and sigh echoes down the hall.
"What's the basis for that?"
They give him another look, a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
"None of your concern." a wickedly sharp finger raises to Jerad's face and he steps back into the wall.
"You have a lot of questions for someone who claims not to serve the Beholding." Micheal's eyes swirl dangerously.
"Just curious. What, is that a crime?" Jerad feigns bravado, the fear creeping back.
"Not necessarily." The finger is withdrawn.
"But it is a good way to get killed."
After that they did not speak any more, aside from Jerade asking every so often about how long they hand to walk, if they could stop, or if they were going in the right carried on for hours, until Jerad lost all sense of time and was just following the footsteps beside him. At some point they rounded another right turn and Jerad bounced off the corner and into Micheal. His shoulder struck the corner and the momentum of his movement caused him to spin, trip, and fall sideways. Micheal let out an exclamation of surprise as they caught Jerad. Their body felt stiff and sharp, despite there being no edges to their form, and the sensation of duplicity through his leather jacket made Jerad's skin crawl, but he was far too exhausted. Taking the momentary break from walking he reached up and grabbed Micheal by the shirt.
"Either kill me or let me sleep." He looked at Micheal, whose expression spoke to a similar discomfort, as if touching Jerad elicited the same sensation. Jerad for his part was ready to collapse from exhaustion and frustration, and couldn't care less, but slowly righted himself and let go. Micheal stepped away and opened a door in a mirror next to him. They wordlessly gestured with a forced smile.
"Right through here." Jerad did not even have the energy to be suspicious and took them at their word. Stepping through the mirror and the door beyond, Jerad found himself in his bedroom. The relief at being out of the Distortion's corridors and seeing his bed washed over Jerad as he fell fully clothed onto the bed. Behind him the door creaked close as he drifted off, unwilling to move another inch for anything.
Statement End