A loud knocking came from the other side of two large, oak doors. After a few minutes of continual knocking, a mangled sword that was broken in half slid between them, undoing the lock. Finn opened the doors to the closed library, desperate to find anything at all. The grand atrium past the door was pitch black. He was the only one there, as the resident librarian, Turtle Princess, was at the castle.

Finn reached into his backpack and pulled out a tin flashlight. He made his way towards the ancient history section, bumping into every table and chair on the way. He finally reached the "Human History" section and began fruitlessly pulling whatever he could from the shelves. Despite the library's impressive size, now shrouded in darkness, the human history section was rather meager. The human fiction and romantic paperback novels, on the other hand, took up two entire sections of shelf-space.

Finn crept towards the nearest table, arms filled with books, before spilling them on the table. With his flashlight on his shoulder, he poured through the books, flipping through page after page. The Greeks, Plymouth Rock, the Mongolians, and the Great War; he read it all already. There was nothing he had not already combed through before. There were so many gaps in knowledge, so much time left unrecorded and unanswered. The books in front of him were so cut and dry, so dull and colorless.

There was nothing about culture… their art… their music… their beliefs…

Finn wanted something; anything he had not known before to leap out from the pages and snap him out of this strange emptiness in him. All of the books stopped right after the second world war; nothing beyond it. There was so much he did not know. There was such a longingness; a phantom pain jostling up his spine.

In a mad frenzy of frustration and pain, he hurled the books of the table and let them crash into the darkness beyond him.

Tape 4

The picture was completely static. Only faint outlines etched out a weary Simon sitting alone. "There is no cure."

The screen flickered. "LEAVE ME ALONE! HAVEN'T YOU TAKEN AWAY ENOUGH FROM ME!?"

The TV began to hum. Laughter. Then silence.

The television flashed to Simon sitting in a chair alone. He was laughing hysterically. However, the footage was fast-forwarded, edited it seemed. The hours in the corner ticked by as he continued his laughing.

"There is no cure."

Black. He was giggling, "Hehehehe, get off of me, hehe, that tickles!"

"WHO AM I ANYMORE?!"

Static again.

"There is no cure."

The camera was being held by Simon as he walked. Faint whispering sounded. No, it was outside of the television. It was behind Mordecai; it was all around the room. From what little could be seen of Simon's apartment, everything was trashed. Random objects were on the ground, broken. The furniture was wrecked. The worst part was the snow. Ice and snow blanketed the ground while a light frost clung to the walls.

There were strange writings on the wall in a language Mordecai could not discern.

The screen flickered. It cut to the camera raised up higher than usual.

"Simon! Simon open the door!" A voice could be heard in the distance of Simon's apartment.

It was faint. But Mordecai recognized it: " Could that be? Is that… Skips? "

The whispering was getting louder. A soft steady hum was joining it. It was getting louder and louder. Mordecai tried to turn the TV volume down, but it only resonated throughout the room. The camera leaned upwards. A rope could be seen. It connected down around Simon's neck. Mordecai shook as he watched.

Then all at once, he stopped. The humming cut completely. Simon looked directly at the lens. "Don't trust him," he instructed. He stood motionless, waiting.

Mordecai whispered to himself, "Who?"

"Rigby."

Then the camera fell to the ground. The chair Simon was standing on was brought out from underneath. Simon's feet fell then stopped just before the ground.

The VHS player shattered itself. The television screen bursted outward, shards of glass shot all over the floor. Mordecai screamed as he backed up to the wall in shock. Tears were forming on his face. Mordecai grabbed his head, "What the fuck? What the fuck?!"

The Crown seemed to be a recurring element for those that killed themselves. Mordecai figured he was next.

If there was anyone who could help at this point, however, it was Skips. It had to be Skips. Mordecai picked up the bag and headed to the yeti's shed.

Halfway to his destination, Mordecai ran into Skips. It turns out that Skips was actually on his way to find Mordecai himself.

"Mordecai! Why did you take the bag?! You know it's dangerous!" Skips scolded to Mordecai.

"I watched the tapes… all of them…" Mordecai said. Skips was silent at this.

"You shouldn't be messing with things you don't understand!" Skips grabbed the bag, Mordecai willingly let go.

"Who was Simon?"

Skips was stopped by this question. "… I don't know what you're talking about," He said as he began to leave.

"You knew who Simon was. What happened?"

Skips sighed before answering. "Simon used to be a park employee. He was a good friend of mine the years that he was here. But he always was investigating into the unknown. Every myth, every legend, every story he sought out. Some of the stuff he was getting into was too dangerous for his own good. After he left, he still kept in touch with me: asking about things he had found or legends he heard of. He had found myths of a book that can link universes… I tried to warn him. He didn't listen… He didn't call me about the Crown he found until he was already too far gone. At the time he lived in Canada and it took me too long to get there, mostly because it was in the worst winter of its history. But it was too late…"

Skips let out a sorrowful sigh, "The Crown can corrupt anyone. I couldn't keep them, but I still had to keep my eye on them. So I threw them in the lake where I intended them to stay." Then he looked at Mordecai, "That's why I need to know if you still have the Crown. If you have it, tell me."

Mordecai lied, "I told you I got rid of it the morning after."

Something shifted in Mordecai. Despite everything he saw that night, something held him back. The Crown was not going to leave. He was not sure whether he actually liked it or it was just holding him hostage at this point, but no matter what, he could not bear the risk of getting rid of the crown.

Skips grabbed Mordecai's arm. It was cold. Mordecai began to grow warm with guilt.

"Mordecai listen! This thing will destroy you! That is a guarantee!"

"Everything is fine!" Mordecai yelled as he yanked his arm out of Skips' grip. "There's nothing to worry about, jeez! Why is everyone getting on my case? I'm not Rigby! I can take of myself."

Skips only slowly shook his head as he backed away. He knew Mordecai was lying. But if he did find the Crown and took it off of him, then what? Would it corrupt him too? What would happen to Mordecai without the Crown? Too many risks. Too many variables. Skips needed time to think this over. He needed time.

"I hope you're right Mordecai. I honestly do."

Before he could leave, Mordecai stopped him, "Wait! Skips. You-You've seen the tapes, right?"

Skips nodded.

"What did he mean… a-at the end, before he-… killed himself."

"That," Skips huffed, "That is something that still puzzles me. I still don't know who fully know who Smerdyakov is."

"Wha-who?" Mordecai questioned.

"At the end. 'Don't trust Smerdyakov.'"

Mordecai played along, "R-right. Yeah. Smerdy-auhhh… W-what does that mean?"

"Well, I don't quite know. He didn't have any friends of that name, nor any relatives in Russia. My only guess is a character."

"A character?"

"From a book… some old Russian novel. Simon recommended it once while he was here and I read it a few years back out of curiosity. In it, there's this awful father and the story's about his broken family and awful sons. The one son, the one who kills him near the end, was named Smerdyakov."

"So… why's that important?"

"In the book, he represented," Skips shook his head, "He represented the Devil."

Mordecai felt his blood chill.

"But I have no idea, I'm just guessing."

"Right… thanks… TV's broken by the way."

"I'll fix it in the morning," Skips sighed in annoyance. He skipped away, leaving Mordecai alone.

Mordecai slowly headed back to the house. "Just take it easy. Everything's alright Simon, everything is fine…"

"Don't trust Rigby…" the Crown instructed in his mind.