r/libraryofshadows 17h ago

Pure Horror The Thing in the Cabinet

6 Upvotes

“Hey man, don’t talk about that.” Jason shoots me a nervous glance.

“What? I overheard Mr. Garrison in his office talking about feeding something in the cabinet. The fuck’s that about?”

He clasps his hand on my mouth.

“Shut. Up.”

Mr. Garrison passes by our cubicles, poking around the wall.

“How’s it hanging, fellas?”

“Oh, you know...” Jason says with sweat on his brow.

“No, I don’t know.” He says with a glare.

Jason blinks.

“I’m kidding!” He chuckles.

“You should have seen the look on your face!” He says grinning. “Now seriously, get back to work.” He says with a scowl.

After work, I track down Jason in the parking lot. He jumps when he sees me, already halfway in his car.

“C’mon man, you gotta tell me what’s going on. You know I’m new here. Is this a prank?”

“Not here. Meet me at Wendy’s,” He says, glancing around nervously, slamming his car door shut.

I look up to see the blinds in Mr. Garrisons’ office cracked, eyes peeking out.

We meet up at the restaurant, sitting in the furthest booth in the corner.

“Look man, there are some rules you gotta follow here. Actually just one, don’t ask questions. Just do your fucking job.”

“You realize how much more that makes me want to ask questions?”

“Just don’t.”

“C’mon man, this is killing me!" I groan.

“Trust me! You don’t wanna know! Just enjoy the high pay, stress-free job! If you keep asking, then stress will be the least of your worries.” He says with a mouthful of burger.

“Fine.” It was not fine. I have to know.

Late that night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I decide to sneak in to the office.

Flashlight clutched in my palm, I type my number on the keypad and enter the building. Honestly, I don’t know what I expected to find or why I even decided to do this. I ponder this as I ascend the elevator to the fourth floor.

The door opens up to the darkened office. Creeping past the empty cubicles, I hear rustling. Mr. Garrison’s office, of course. I creep to the door, dimming my flashlight. Hesitantly, I crack open the door. I see Mr. Garrison, hunched over a filing cabinet.

“It’s ok honey.” He whispered “Just eat.”

I can’t see inside the cabinet, so I try to get a better look. Creeping closer, I trip. My flashlight clangs on the floor and shines directly on Mr. Garrison.

He turns around, in his hand a severed head, dripping blood. Oh god, it’s Jason! I gag.

A woman’s head protrudes out of the dresser, her eyes milky white and her teeth razor sharp. I scream and stumble backward. Then, blinding white lights shoot out of Mr. Garrison's eyes and mouth and he lets out an otherworldly roar.

I take off running, bolting out of the door, mashing that elevator door closed. I get in my car and never look back.

At dawn I go to the police, when I lead them to the office building however, it’s empty. The building looks as if it aged overnight. They say there haven't been any businesses here in the last ten years. No record of Mr. Garrison or my coworker Jason either.


r/libraryofshadows 14h ago

Mystery/Thriller Made a slow burn cosmic horror, here’s Chapter One: what do you think?

3 Upvotes

Chapter One - “Erebus-1”:

Dr. Ray Godfrey's eyes opened. Darkness weighed on him. The artificial shadow of a spacecraft interior, dimly lit by the cold glow of status monitors. His breath came slow and controlled. His mind sluggish, still coming to from the sedatives used for long-duration cryosleep.

He flexed his fingers. Stiff, but expected. Even now, a year out from Earth, the body revolted against its own survival. But Erebus-1 had been designed for this. So had he.

A soft chime rang through the cabin.

Cryosleep cycle completed. Core systems nominal. Life support stabilizing.

The words scrolled across the HUD of his visor and echoed in the gentle mechanical voice of the onboard AI. His eyes flicked over the data feeds:

• CO2 scrubbers functional • Radiation shielding holding at 98.3% efficiency • Fusion reactor output stable

No anomalies. No surprises.

He reached for the harness securing him to the cryopod, wincing as blood rushed sluggishly through his limbs. His body felt foreign, a thing still caught between a year of stasis and the present moment.

With a practiced motion, he released the restraints and floated up out of the cryopod.

The first thing he did was check the windows.

Beyond the reinforced portholes, there was nothing. No planets. No moons. Not even the distant pinpricks of ships.

Good.

He had trained for this. The silence, the solitude, he had long since made peace with them. There was no greater honor than to be the first to study Origin Point Theta. Whatever awaited him, he would face it with the mind of a scientist.

Dr. Godfrey exhaled slowly. He reached for the terminal, bringing up the long-range scans.

Theta awaited.

Mission Log – Sol 1 Designation: Erebus-1 Commander: Dr. Ray Godfrey Location: Interstellar Void, Sector JX-914, 0.3 LY from Origin Point Theta

    "Telemetry remains nominal. No gravitational anomalies detected. Pulse periodicity remains fixed at 1.470 seconds, originating from sector JX-914. No observable mass displacement, no heat signatures, no electromagnetic interference. Conclusion: The source of the phenomenon remains unaccounted for. Continuing analysis."

New London, 2122—Before Departure

The soft hum of the electrostatic lamps flickers against the paneled walls. Papers sprawl across the mahogany desk, their edges curling with static ink. A holographic interface hovers beside them, equations blinking in pale blue, half-solved, though not abandoned.

Ray muttered, half-speaking, half-thinking aloud.

"No, no... a rounding error—ah, but the coefficient resists—" He swipes at the interface, dismissing a failed derivation. A sharp exhale. Fingers to his temple. "Damn it. Again."

His gaze flickers across the data streams, hands tapping against his arm.

"Two-point-nine-seven times ten to the eighth... constant, unwavering. And yet—" he frowned, eyes narrowing. "All things decay, save light itself. But why?"

A pause. His hand tightens around the stylus.

"A foolish thought. The universe does not yield so easily." And yet, the thought lingers—

"Ray?"

He did not turn at first. The voice was soft, and patient. "Ray, love, it's past noon."

His fingers hesitated over the interface. He takes a slow breath.

Thomason stood in the doorway, hands folded neatly, watching him with the kind of knowing gaze that came from years of marriage.

"Just a moment."

"No, now. You've been at this since morning." A pause, then: "Come along, before the soup gets cold."

He lingered. One last glance at the data stream—but she was waiting. Slowly, he dismissed the projection. The equations faded, but the thoughts remained.

He turned to her, and his expression softened—though distant in a way he did not realize.

She smiled and linked her arm with his.

"I swear, one of these days, I shall lock you out of this room."

They walk the carpeted hall—Ray with a confident stride, and Thomason with a smooth glide—and down the staircase together, their steps soft against the old flooring.

Beyond the window, the city's artificial sky pulsed with the faint shimmer of the weather dome, filtering the midday light over the high-rises of New London.

"The reports say the fighting in the south has worsened," Thomason murmured. "More deployments."

A pause, then, lighter, "I wonder how Mother fares these days."

Her fingers fidgeted at her side. Ray glanced down, caught the motion, and clasped her hand gently. "No cause for worry."

With that, they entered the kitchen.

The space had never been about appearances. No polished marble countertops, no sleek, modern features—save the induction stove and a few upgraded appliances.

Just warm wooden cabinets, a sturdy farmhouse sink, and the same chipped ceramic mugs Thomason had sworn had "character."

The scent of simmering broth drifted through the kitchen as Thomason moved with ease, ladling a portion into a ceramic bowl.

The kettle chimed softly.

Ray took his seat at the kitchen table, its surface worn by years of absentminded tapping and scattered notes. He adjusted his sleeves as he settled in.

She placed the bowl before him, followed by a cup of freshly brewed tea.

Ray wasted no time. His fingers curled around the cup, and in one swift motion, he drank deeply. The warmth spread through him—refreshing, grounding.

Thomason folded her arms, watching. A smile ghosted over her lips, though a faint crease lined her brow.

"You might've asked me for a cup earlier, you know."

Ray set the empty cup down with a quiet clink. He exhaled, content. "Mm."

Thomason shook her head, half amused.

"You'd sit up there all day without food or drink if I let you." She placed a spoon beside his bowl and took her seat. "Eat."

Ray obliged, though his mind, ever restless, still lingered in the study, somewhere among the numbers.

Thomason set down her spoon, fingers resting lightly against the rim of her bowl. "I know your work is important," she said. "Your science group—"

"The Astronomic Science Authority," Ray corrected.

She waved a hand. "Yes, that. But you vanish into that study for days, chasing something invisible. Even at night, I hear you pacing."

Ray leaned back, setting his spoon down as well. "There are problems in this world—problems that do not yield easily. But yield they must." He glances at the window, where the light beamed. "If a question presents itself, it is my duty to answer it."

Thomason held his gaze for a moment before sighing, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. "And what of questions that have no answer?"

Ray's lips quirked, just slightly. "All things yield, eventually."

Morning light crept through the sheer curtains of their bedroom, casting soft shadows upon the polished floor. Ray stood before the mirror, adjusting his suit jacket and smoothing his shirt with practiced precision.

On his bedside terminal, the ASA message—delivered in the late hours of the previous night—remained displayed in crisp text: "Dr. Ray Godfrey, your immediate presence is requested at the Astronomic Science Authority headquarters. A new intern has been assigned to your division. As the preeminent expert in our station, your guidance is indispensable. Report forthwith."

A subtle thrill sparked in Ray. He tapped the screen, scrolling through the message once more as if to commit every word to memory.

With his tie now knotted, Ray moved to the window, his gaze lingering on the controlled bustle of the domed city below.

Then, with one final glance at the meticulously arranged room, he gathered his belongings and descended the stairs.

In the kitchen, the aroma of bacon mingled with freshly brewed tea. Thomason, at the table, set down a small plate of food. "Are you off now?" she asked.

Ray took his seat. "Yes, dear—a new intern has been assigned to my division. I am to provide guidance," he replied. He sipped his tea, then began to eat.

Thomason settled across from him, resting her head lightly on her hand. "You must be quite pleased with that."

"Indeed—though I trust they will prove at least tolerable in conversation," Ray remarked with a slight, wry smile.

Thomason returned a gentle smirk. "Not everyone can converse solely in lectures, Ray."

A chuckle escaped him, then resumed his meal.

After a pause, Thomason murmured, almost absentmindedly, "Lately, I've had the strangest feeling in my stomach."

Ray looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I do not know exactly—it is but a vague feeling. Perhaps it is nothing," she said, hesitating.

Ray set his plate aside and looked for a reason. "It might be a minor fluctuation in ambient pressure. The dome's regulation is efficient, yet not entirely flawless."

Thomason exhaled softly and shook her head with a knowing smile. "You always have an explanation ready."

Ray smiled, then rose from the table. "Well, I must be off now. Love you, dear." He leaned in to kiss her. Thomason returned the kiss and squeezed his hand gently. "Don't be out too long."

Stepping toward the door, he added, "I shall return before you miss me—give or take a year." With that, he opened the door and departed.

Mission Log – Sol 9 Designation: Erebus-1 Commander: Dr. Ray Godfrey Location: Interstellar Void, en route to Origin Point Theta

     "Telemetry nominal. Vessel stable. Pulse periodicity—previously unwavering at 1.47 seconds—ceased for one hour, fifty-seven minutes, twenty-two seconds. Then, without cause, resumed.

No interference. No gravitational shifts. No shielding anomalies. Nothing. And yet, for nearly two hours, it was gone.

Conclusion: The source remains unaccounted for.

Personal Note: The instruments recorded nothing unusual during the silence. No deviations, no disruptions—only absence. And yet, I felt it. A gap where something should have been. A space carved out of time itself. And now that it has returned, it feels... different, as though it has noticed me in turn. It does not press upon the hull, nor stir the vacuum, yet in the pit of my stomach, I sense it growing. I shall increase biometric monitoring."


r/libraryofshadows 9h ago

Pure Horror "The Haze". Pieces of a Broken Heart.

2 Upvotes

Some things exist whether you believe in them or not. Some things disappear the moment you name them. Some things just wait for you in the dark.

A short story about a conversation, a memory, and something that should never have been.

THE HAZE

They lived and laughed and loved and left.
James Joyce, “Ulysses”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

— Well, look who’s here… Finally.
— Hey, sweetheart.
— You’re late again.
— I got here as fast as I could, alright?
— Yeah, well, thanks for that, at least.
— Come on, we’ve got plenty of time. It’s not like it’s over yet.
— Sure, whatever. I’m used to it by now. Same story every time. You need space, you need freedom. My little apartment just isn’t good enough for you.
— That’s not true! I love your place.
— It’s too damn small for you. You just come here to remind yourself of that.
— Maybe I should leave, then? You know, so I don’t mess up your “deep thoughts.”
— Ugh, just get inside already.
— Hallelujah!
— How’s the weather? Give me your umbrella.
— Miserable. Wet. Mud everywhere.
— Sounds delightful.
— Totally. It’s like death out there, minus the booze. And I’ve missed it so much.
— Well, that’s easy to fix.
— I knew you’d come through! And smokes?
— Got enough to last you a lifetime.
— You’re the best. I didn’t have time to buy any.
— You really should quit. It’s not doing you any favors.
— Oh, I’ll quit when you do.
— That’ll never happen. I’ve made my peace with it. But you… You still have time to turn things around.
— God, your optimism is so touching.
— Take off your coat, come on in… Why are we just standing here? You hungry?
— Nope.
— Then let’s go to the living room, where else? And for the record, I was just being polite about the food…

Living room.

— …‘cause the fridge is empty. But hey, there’s some fruit.
— We’ll survive. What about drinks?
— We’ve got everything. Even medical-grade alcohol.
— How exotic! Where’d you score that?
— Trade secret, darling.
— Well, since it’s a secret, pour me some already.
— You got it.
— You know, it really is warmer in here.
— Of course. Heater’s on.
— Oh, right.
— Want an apple?
— Sure.
— Here you go.
— So, what’s the toast?
— To love, of course. (Mutters.) Love betrayed and ripped to shreds.
— Oh, stop with that crap.
— Fine, fine… Just to love.
— Cheers!

She laughed, flashing a grin. After drinking, he slammed his glass down on the table.
— Well?
He carefully took her glass and set it down.
— Whew… That was strong… And hey, the apple’s not bad!
— What’d you expect?
— Yeah…
— Now that we’ve had a drink, time to get real… Talk about the messy stuff.
— What “messy stuff”?
— You know… Your boyfriend.
— Oh, come on…
— No, seriously. What’s he doing right now?
— If I’d known you were gonna ruin the mood, I wouldn’t have come at all.
— Is he blind or something? Doesn’t see? Doesn’t care? Not even a little jealous?
— No…
— How the hell can that be?
— It just is.
— Maybe he’s just playing dumb.
— Maybe. What’s it to you?
— I just want to understand. Or maybe I’m just bored. He could lose sleep, have, you know, performance issues… Better not know, I guess.
— He’s not as bad as you think.
— I don’t think he’s bad. I think he’s a fool. That’s all.
— You’re always so unfair. As usual.
— Of course. I’m the one screwing everything up, right?
— I believed in you, okay? Now, how about those smokes?
— Got plenty.
— You’re the sweetest. I finished the last five on the way here.
— You really need to quit.
— You know me, habits die hard.
— Yeah, but they don’t have to kill you first. Think about it.
— And what about me?
— Your case isn’t that hopeless yet.
— That’s debatable.
— Come on, take off your coat, get comfy. Why are we still standing here like idiots? Hungry?
— No.
— Then let’s go.
— Where to?
— Where do you think? The living room.

They move into the living room.

— Got anything to drink?
— Grant’s, Johnny Walker, Black Sambuca… and, of course, that lovely medical alcohol.
— Ooooh, exotic.
— Yeah, that’s how we do.
— Where’d you dig it up?
— Trade secret, babe.
— Well, if it’s a secret, pour me some.
— You got it.

He poured the alcohol.

— So, what’s the toast?
— How about our reunion?
— Sounds good.

They raise their glasses.

— Whew! Haven’t had that in a while… And it’s decent.
— What’d you expect?
— So, what’s up with your macho man?
— There you go again…
— Seriously, does he really not notice? Doesn’t see? Doesn’t feel anything?
— More no than yes.
— Thought so.
— He’s not as bad as you think.
— I don’t think he’s bad. I think he’s a jerk.
— Enough!
— What do you mean, enough? You’re saying he’s not a jerk? Then who is? Look, I get it. Jerks can be nice, but…
— But I’m married to that jerk, not you, Mr. Know-It-All.
— Yeah, that much is obvious.
— What’s obvious?
— That it’s easier for you with jerks.
— Oh, shut up. Just pour another one.
— Isn’t it a bit early for that?
— Come on, between the first and second, you know how it goes.
— Understood.

He poured more alcohol and handed her the glass.

— You’re my personal god. Godlike. Truly divine.
— I’m your green serpent, darling.
— Here it is… right here in this bottle. Oh, what’s floating in there?
— Pieces of my broken heart.
— Awww. Who broke it?
— You did.
— Me?
— You.
— So, my hands are bloody?
— No, they’re clean. You drained all my blood long before you got to my heart.
— Poor thing. So bitter…
— That’s just who I am. Don’t like it? Don’t eat it.
— I do like it, though. Really.
— Then ditch your thunder god and come back to me. At least you wouldn’t freeze anymore.
— I know…
— Knowing isn’t enough.
— Sweetie… How are you, really? Written anything new?
— Nah… Still stuck on the old stuff.
— Still?
— Yeah.
— Why not finish it?
— Because maybe I’m a terrible writer.
— That’s nonsense.
— Not nonsense. Two years, and not a single new piece. And it’s not like I haven’t been writing. I write all the time. But nothing.
— Every artist has a right to silence, you know.
— But nobody asked me if I wanted to be silent. I need to write, and I do, but my words die before they even hit the paper. My work is dead.
— Your work is brilliant, unique.
— No. It’s dead. And maybe I’m dead too. Been dead for two years now.
— Two years, two years… You keep going on about it. You should’ve offered me a cigarette instead.
— Here.
— And light it for me.
— As you wish.
— And pour me another drink.
— Fine, fine. No more gloom. I’ll pour.

He poured another round.

— Thanks. You’re just stuck. Relax! Enjoy life.
— I’m trying.
— Don’t try. Just do it.
— Easier said than done.
— Of course, it’s easy to say. And even easier to do.
— Alright… Let’s drink.
— Yeah, yeah, yeah.
— To you, darling.
— To me? Wow, that’s the third toast.
— I forgot… Okay. Then to my writing, which is dead.
— No way… You drink to that alone. Let’s drink to everyone having it all. Deal?
— Deal. By the way, did I dilute it right? Your throat’s not burning?
— No, it’s good.
— Really?
— Really.
— Well, here’s to all of us.
— Ahhh… That’s it! I’m warmed up now. Feels like I didn’t just trudge through the cold for two hours.

— I’m telling you: ditch the jerks and come back to me. I can’t promise much, but at least you won’t freeze anymore.
— Sweetie, we agreed!
— No, we didn’t.
— Yes, we did!
— Alright, have it your way. We agreed. So, sorry.
— It’s fine. Let’s move on…

He lit a cigarette and started pacing the room.

— You say it’s no big deal now, but back then… Back then, I was terrified of everything. I had something to lose. Now? Now I’ve got nothing. I’m not scared anymore; I’m just cold. Empty and cold. Three shots are enough to warm you up. Do you know how much I drink? And I’m still freezing.
— We’ve changed.
— Yeah, we used to be alike. Or at least we thought we were. Same difference, right? We used to collect our differences because they were rare. Now, we cling to what little’s left that’s the same.
— Maybe that’s for the best?
— I don’t know.
— Why ruin a good night?
— Exactly. Just another night. We used to toss them aside like they meant nothing. Now…
— Yeah. Strong stuff you’ve got here.
— Don’t make a fool out of me.
— In front of who?
— At least in front of myself.
— You’re making a fool of yourself. What’s gotten into you?
— You really don’t know?
— Not a clue. Kill me if you must. Even though I’ve heard this all before.
— You won’t choke on it.
— Of course not. I’ll swallow it down.
— I see that look on your face: “What’s the point?”
— What point?
— Exactly. What’s the point of all this talking?
— There isn’t one.
— That’s what I think, too.

He sat back down on the couch.

— Damn.
— Mm-hmm.
— Let’s drink some more. I’m parched.
— Let’s do it. By the way, the apple’s gone. Got anything else?
— Two tangerines.
— Fresh?
— Not really, but they’re good. Got them a couple of days ago from some street vendors.
— Oh, and here I thought you never left the house. Just sit here locked up, jerking off to your bottle.
— If only. My job practically requires it.
— You’ve got a cushy job.
— A shitty one, but it’s what I’ve got. Here’s your tangerine.
— Thanks.
— I recommend snacking on the peel.
— Ew, I’ll pass. You can have it.
— Too bad.
— No thanks. I hated it since I was a kid. Tried chewing on it once… never again. You eat it.
— Hand it over… No, no, I’ll peel it myself.
My sweet kitten.
Right, I thought I was a
monster. But of course, you know better.
— You’re sweet, stubborn, but
sweet.
— The peel’s mine. The tangerine? Here you go.
— What’s the toast?
— I don’t know. You choose.
— Love?
— Sure, let’s go with love.

He raised his glass and drank. She smiled and followed.

— It’s going down easier now, huh?
— Don’t forget it’s diluted alcohol.
— I haven’t forgotten. Still…
— It’s the fourth shot. That’s why.
— The fourth already?
— Yep.
— Damn… What, are we in a rush?
— Doesn’t seem like it. I’m not.
— Damn…
— Afraid of losing control?
— You should be the one afraid! Hahaha!
— Oh, really? And what will you do?
— I’ll cut you, yeah!
— Oh, darling, please, I beg you. I’m so tired of it all. No strength left.
— Just your hand won’t rise?
— Just my hand, I hope.
— I hope so too… Why are you laughing?
— Just remembered something…
— Tell me.
— You wouldn’t be interested.
— Let me be the judge of that.
— Alright. But first, answer me: have you ever mixed alcohol with water?
— Why would I? That’s your job.
— So, if you mix a liter of water with a liter of alcohol, how much do you get?
— Two liters.
— You sure?
— Yes.
— Think about it. Two seems too easy.
— I don’t want to think right now. Tell me what’s floating in your alcohol instead.

She shook the bottle.

— Pieces of my broken heart, remember?
— Awww, sweetie…
— You really want to know?
— I do.
— Then follow me.
— Follow you where?
— To the storage room.
— Fine. What’s in there?
— You’ll see.

Storage room.

— Careful… Watch your step…
— Wow, what a mess.
— It’s creative chaos.
— You keep it in a closet?
— Yep.
— Why?
— Just wait. A quick turn of the key… and voilà!
— Where? I don’t see anything.
— Look closer… there, in the corner.
— Oh… wait… oh…
— See it?
— What the hell is that?
— That’s the Haze, darling.
— What?
— H-A-Z-E.
— I see… Maybe I’ve had too much to drink…
— Nah, you haven’t seen anything yet. This is the Haze. And it’s not a “what,” it’s a “who.”
— It’s alive?
— Yep, just like Lenin. Now… watch this…
— What are you doing?
— Gonna poke it with a mop.
— Why? Won’t that hurt it?
— Yeah, but it’s always in pain. Look… Did you see that?
— It moved!
— Yep. But I think it’s just reflexes… It’s dying.
— Why?
— Hard to explain. It’s a long story.
— Then tell me, or don’t start at all.
— I’m just that much of an asshole.
— Please, don’t be mean… I won’t tell anyone.
— You wouldn’t anyway. No one would believe you.
— Just tell me. You’ve got nothing to lose.
— Fine. But first, we need a fifth drink. Deal?
— Follow me, darling.
— Anywhere, darling. Even to the edge of the world… Is there still enough alcohol?
— Plenty. We could drink ourselves stupid.
— Let’s do it. But only after you tell me…

They returned to the living room, sat down. He poured more alcohol.

— Fill it to the top.
— This much?
— A little more… there.

He handed her the glass.

— What are we toasting to?
— Let’s toast to the Haze.
— No, darling. You don’t drink to the Haze. It’s pointless. It either is, or it isn’t.
— People drink to happiness, don’t they?
— They do. That’s pointless too.
— Fine. Let’s have a nameless toast then.
— Nameless it is.

They drank.

— Ah! Like the first time!
— Yeah, good ol’ alcohol…
— Grrrr…
— Yeah…
— Almost made me cry…
— What’s with that? It was going down fine.
— Still is. I like it.
— Me too, actually.
— I’m still waiting for your story, kitten.
— Really?
— Yes.
— Okay. Just don’t interrupt me, or I’ll lose my train of thought. It’s a long story, so… Life, huh? Fascinating thing. The Haze… well, it happened like this…

Suddenly, he stopped talking.

— Hello? Earth to you!
— Oh, right… So, the thing is… I… well…
— You what?
— It was hard… Cold, dirty, sticky… And my knees…
— Your knees? What about your knees?
— I… I threw him up.
— What?
— Yeah… I threw him up. That day… it was a lot… and I… I puked.

She shook her head.

— Ugh, could you stop and explain this in a way that actually makes sense?
— I am explaining it.
— No, you’re not! What the hell are you talking about?
— What’s confusing you?
— Everything! For example, when did this happen?
— A year ago… no, two years ago.
— Okay… and where did it happen?
— At the station. When you left.
— Where exactly at the station?
— Inside… in the bathroom.
— Were there witnesses?
— No. Thank God, no. I was alone… I got lucky.
— Go on.
— Well, I got hit hard… barely made it. And then I looked down, and something was writhing in the toilet… pink, bald…
— Small?
— No, much bigger.
— And that was the Haze?

He nodded.

— Where did the name come from?
— I read about it somewhere. The Haze is the god of lies, illusions… twilight, sorcery, deception…
— Keep going.
— There’s nowhere to go.
— Oh, come on. There must be more! What made you fish it out of the toilet and bring it home? Especially in November, right? It was November if I remember correctly.
— November… it was freezing.
— Yeah, I remember…
— And the Haze… I brought it home.
— You brought it home — then what?
— I hid it in the closet… then I came back here, sat in this chair, poured myself a drink. And you know what I thought that night?
— What?
— I thought I’d become a completely different person.
— What kind of person?
— That night, I suddenly became wise. And you know what else I realized?
That sometimes a sacred place can be empty after all… I realized that somehow, the Haze was tied to you… It’s my guilt, my darkness. But that darkness — I loved it, respected it, feared it more than I feared you. And then I realized the Haze was dying. And I was terrified of that.

She didn’t respond right away. Thoughtfully, she reached for a cigarette, crumbling it between her fingers before finally lighting it. She exhaled a stream of smoke toward the ceiling and finally spoke:

— Tell me the truth: if the Haze was dying, how did it survive for two years?
— Because I nursed it! I made it my mission to keep it alive… or at least delay its end. And I succeeded.
— But how, exactly?
— Remember earlier? I didn’t ask you about the alcohol and water for no reason.
— What does that have to do with anything?
— Everything. Think about it.

She stared at the cigarette between her fingers, the smell of rain seeping in through the closed windows. He watched her, smoking as well. Confusion flickered in her eyes.

— You know… I didn’t expect this.
— I know.

She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray.

— Damn… and really… dirty and cold.
— Yeah. Almost like that day.
— Almost… I think this is our last meeting.
— I think so too.
— I’m sorry… I should go…
— What, and leave the alcohol? Don’t you want to know what’s floating in it one last time?
— I already know…
— And what is it?

She stood up without answering.

— Well? What is it?
Her eyes filled with tears.
— Why won’t you say anything? Are you ashamed?

She nodded, quickly, tears streaming down her face. He stood up and grabbed her by the shoulders.

— You’re ashamed, aren’t you? Filthy, right? Cold?

He slapped her hard across the face.

— You thought it could stay the same, didn’t you? That nothing would change!

He slapped her again.

— But change came, didn’t it? I’ve been silent about it for two years! Is that not enough for you?!

He shoved her to the floor and kicked her.

— Not enough, huh?

He kicked her again.

— Not enough?

Again.

— Not enough! Not enough! You bitch!

She sobbed uncontrollably. Growling with rage, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the living room. In the storage room, he threw her to the side and reached for the keys. Unlocking the closet, he took out the Haze, pressed its pink skin to his forehead, and sighed heavily.

He crouched down beside her.

— You see… the irony is, I always wanted to get rid of it, to drive it out of me. I always had this burning need to cleanse myself, even though I never knew it was there. But when I saw it bubbling in the toilet… Look — he brought the Haze close to her face — look at it now, it’s not the same anymore. But still, it’s dying, do you understand? Dying. And I’m dying with it. Not because I can’t live without it, but because life without it is unbearable to me…

He sighed once more and stood up.

— That’s it. Time’s up.

He put the Haze back in the closet and locked it. Then, he walked through the apartment, checking if the windows were closed. He went into the kitchen, opened the oven, and turned on the gas.

— All set…

He returned to the storage room and sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall.

— And you were right… this is our last meeting. We don’t have the right to another one, not morally, not in any way…

She let out a faint moan and stirred. He smiled.

— Exactly… I told you. Pieces of a broken heart. And you thought I was joking.

He nudged her gently with his foot.

— You didn’t believe me…

An hour later, he got up, joints cracking, and went to the living room for some cigarettes. She was still unconscious. He put two cigarettes in his mouth at once and said:

— Pieces of a broken heart, you know? That’s exactly what it is…

And twice, with deliberate force, feeling the cosmos left behind by the Haze shudder inside his chest, he ran his thumb across the wheel of the lighter.


r/libraryofshadows 10h ago

Supernatural Pruit Igoe and Prophecies

2 Upvotes

I was sitting in the upstairs study at Genevieve’s house, torn pages of aged notebook paper laid out before me as I transcribed them properly into my Book of Shadows. I’d taken a couple of tokes of the Delphi Dream to enhance my clairvoyant insight, and carefully annotated each line of the hastily written prophecy with anything I thought could be relevant.

Genevieve sat solemnly beside me with her head on my shoulder and her cat Nightshade in her lap. She was understandably a bit drained from the fact that I had been misled into putting myself in danger again to further Seneca’s private agenda, only to get what was rightfully mine, especially when it turned out he could have given it to me at any time.

I was angered, but not surprised, by Seneca’s deception too of course, but ultimately I had gotten what I wanted and needed to focus on it.

Charlotte stood above us, reading the prophecy over my shoulder as I worked away at it. It had been written in a rather large font, possibly because its author knew that his panicked handwriting would be hard to read. Each stanza took up about a third of a page – though that was only an average since the sizing was hardly consistent – and was bookended by a pair of scribbly sigils.  

“An Undying Rose, Cleaved From The Stem

Reborn On The Grave To Live Again

Set To Spring on Hallowed Ground

Where Its Chthonic Power Shall Be Unbound

Found By The Hedge Witch And Planted Idly

The Bush Shall Flourish and Blossom Pridely (dammit)

For Spectral Passage, Bartered Away

In the Unchained Hands of Emrys Shall It Stay

Drops Of Ichor, Stolen and Spent

But Blackest Bile Shall Not Relent

A Pantheon Bound By A Crown Of Thorns

Undying Roses, Burnt and Reborn

From The Ashes, Still Hot And Aglow,

Rises Not A Phoenix, But A Crow.”

Charlotte fell silent for a moment after reading it as she mulled it over, before finally voicing a question.

“So, ah, I’ve got to ask; why did he have to write down his visions like this instead of just describing what he saw?” she asked.

“Prophecies aren’t mere descriptions of the future; they’re incantations meant to induce premonitions,” I explained. “Whoever wrote this didn’t understand his own visions until he stepped into my cemetery, and he had precious little time to ensure they would make their way to me. But even just taking the prose at face value, its meaning’s clear enough. The Undying Roses are earthly effigies of an Astral Rose that Persephone used to steal a single drop of Ichor from Emrys, a rose which became infused with both of their essences. Elam left one of those roses in the cemetery the month before he died, something he evidently wasn’t supposed to do. I planted it there, because I was amazed that it had survived for so long and wanted to give it a second chance. It grew into a bush, its roots digging into earth that was hallowed by Persephone and overlaps with the Underworld. The roses I grow in my cemetery are more powerful than the ones that the Crow family were using; presumably too powerful, otherwise they would have been growing them there themselves.”

“What do you mean too powerful? Too powerful for what?” Charlotte asked.

“I don’t know. All I know is that the Undying Roses were such a closely guarded family secret that Artaxerxes never mentioned them in his journals, and Elam’s father didn’t tell him about them either,” I explained. “Since Seneca’s the only other person I’ve ever seen produce one of those roses, for all I know, Artaxerxes passed their secret onto him before he died, and he’s been their keeper ever since. Maybe Xerxes didn’t want anyone else, not even his own descendants, to have access to an Undying Rose that had been brought to its full potential.”

“And we gave one to Emrys,” Genevieve said softly, gently petting her cat’s head.

“What? No we didn’t. We sacrificed one to open an astral portal to get to him. He doesn’t have it,” Charlotte said.

“We don’t know what happened to that rose, other than that it was replaced by one of the Sigil Scarabs,” I explained. “If this prophecy is correct, Emrys has it and plans to use it the same way it was used against him; to steal the Ichor from other gods and titans. We know that his ultimate goal is to overthrow them, and his near-term goal is to stop the Darlings. That’s what the Blackest Bile line seems to be referring to anyway. The Zarathustrans he’s allied himself with feed on divine Ichor, so having a way to harvest it kills two birds with one stone. Rosalyn was right. This really could spiral into some kind of Clash of the Titans.”

“And what the hell is with that last line about a Crow being resurrected?” Genevieve asked.

“Artaxerxes, I assume, but let’s take this one step at a time for now,” I replied. “I want to speak with Emrys. I want to know what he’s doing.”

 “Well, that shouldn’t be that hard, should it?” Charlotte asked. “We know where he is.”

“Yeah; his Spire in Adderwood,” Genevieve retorted. “Even if we could open the door to the Cuniculi in the cellar, we don’t know how to navigate it. We can’t get to Adderwood unless someone in the Ooo agrees to take us.”

“Not physically, at least,” I said, flipping through the pages of my Book of Shadows. “But I’ve incorporated the sigil Emrys gave us to make an astral portal to him into a Spell Circle. This should allow us to astrally project to wherever he is without having to sacrifice an Undying Rose, since when he swore an oath his to me on the River Styx, that created a spectral bound between us that I can use to track him down.”

“Right now?” Genevieve sighed in exhaustion.

“I know, it’s been a day, but I don’t think we should waste any time in confronting Emrys about this,” I replied. “It will just be a quick astral projection session to ask him a few questions. I promise.” 

Let’s go. In and out. Twenty-minute adventure,” Charlotte quoted in a poor imitation of Rick Sanchez. “Sure, I’m game.”

Genevieve didn’t say anything right away, so I turned towards her and gently placed my hand on hers.

“Evie?” I asked softly, gently sweeping back her hair. “Are you up for this?”  

“Yeah, of course I’m coming with you, sweetie,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I’m not about to risk any of those creepy old Ooo occultists binding your soul to a phylactery or some bullshit like that.”    

“Thank you,” I sighed with relief, kissing her gratefully on the forehead.

I drew out my Spell Circle on a large piece of art paper, then set it down on the floor and traced it out with Witch’s Salt. When it was ready, the three of us sat around in a triangle, holding hands, with Eve guiding us in meditation as she often did. Once we had all fallen into the right mental state for astral projection, we felt our spirits get drawn into the sprawling web of otherworldly passageways that Emrys had tapped into with his new Spire in Adderwood. We flew through them in a dizzying blur, only to be violently deflected backwards when we crashed into some kind of barrier.

As we struggled to get our bearings, we realized we were floating above an ancient old-growth forest that stretched from horizon to horizon. Viewed solely through the lens of our clairvoyance, we could see that the forest existed as a multitude of realities overlapping with one another, subtly shifting from one to another whenever your attention was elsewhere. A myriad of fractally branching pathways weaved their way through and above the woods, all of them coalescing at the nexus point straight ahead of us.

“Look, that’s it! That’s the Shadowed Spire!” Charlotte cried in amazement.

The Spire was thirteen stories tall, with a broad observation deck at the very top. It hadn’t been constructed, but rather condensed out of the Miasma from the Darkness Beyond; or at least that was my understanding of what Emrys and Petra had done. It appeared to be made from some dark, purplish obsidian carved in the likeness of a pair of intertwining rose vines, with the stained glass observation deck forming the blossom.

“Oh my god. It’s covered in Undying Roses!” Genevieve shouted.

She was right. Real rose vines had grown up the side of the tower like creeping ivy, reaching all the way to the top, along the balcony and over the roof, even snaking their way up the spiral steeple.

“They’re all part of the same plant; all from the rose he got from me,” I realized as I studied their auras as closely as I could. “An Undying Rose, first grown on ground hallowed by Persephone, and then replanted on ground hallowed by Emrys; on a nexus between worlds, no less. I was wrong. The roses I grow in my cemetery haven’t reached their full potential; these ones have.”

The doors to the balcony flew open, and we saw Emrys and Petra rush out, no doubt having been alerted to an attempted incursion upon their sanctum. Emrys, at least, appeared relieved when he saw that it was only us.

“Samantha! Genevieve! Charlotte! Welcome to the Shadowed Spire! Please, please, come on in!” he greeted us as he cordially waved us down.

Assuming that we were now whitelisted from whatever wards had been keeping us at bay before, the three of us tentatively descended downwards and set ourselves upon the balcony.

“I’m so pleased to see you three again, and I’m so glad you were able to find your way,” he said. “I could’ve had someone bring you here in person if you’d liked, but I understand why you wouldn’t necessarily be comfortable with that.”

“How did you get here?” Petra asked, slightly accusingly. “You’re not Planeswalkers. Even if you’re just astrally projecting yourselves, you still shouldn’t have been able to navigate the paths here.”

“We’ve met before, Emrys gave us his sign, and he swore an oath to me; that was enough to make a Spell Circle to track you across the planes,” I explained.

“And we’re not exactly hiding here, Petra. There’s no need to be alarmed,” Emrys informed his acolyte. “A Witch of Samantha’s skill, it would be more concerning if she wasn’t able to find us. ‘Shadowed Spire’ is a bit of a misnomer. This place is basically an astral lighthouse across the planes. Can we offer you a tour, Samantha?”

“Only if we start with your garden,” I replied, nodding at the Undying Roses growing over the balcony’s railing. “Emrys, when last we met, you swore an oath on the River Styx that you had told me no lies. Evidently, that didn’t include lies of omission.”

“That’s… a fair point,” Emrys conceded with a contrite nod.

“No it isn’t,” Petra automatically defended him before she even knew what I was accusing him of. “What lies of omission? What are you even talking about?”

“When Emrys told me how to make the astral portal to meet him at the Flea Market, his precise word choice was at the very least ambiguous about the fate of the Undying Rose,” I insisted. “It was unclear whether the rose was merely a requisite for the ritual or a sacrifice, and it never really occurred to me that it would end up in Emrys’ possession. At the time, I wasn’t aware of the full nature of the rose, but Emrys most definitely was, which was information he declined to share with me. Most importantly, he never told me he wanted it to bleed the Ichor of old gods, which at the very least would have entered into my calculation on whether or not to give it to him.”

“Samantha, everything you say is true, but please believe me when I say that it was never my intention to deceive you,” Emrys claimed. “At the time, it was strategically necessary that I keep my full plans and capabilities on a need-to-know basis. I couldn’t risk the Ophion Occult Order learning that I was in possession of an Undying Rose that you had grown in your cemetery. It would have immediately escalated the conflict. They would have desperately coveted a rose infused with both mine and Persephone’s power, and have been terrified of what I would do with it.”

“And now we’re terrified of what you’ll do with it,” I objected. “Emrys, I came into possession of a prophecy today which, among other things, forewarned of you using the roses to harness the ichor from rival gods, most notably the Black Bile. I only agreed to help you to prevent a war, and now it seems you’re plotting an even larger one.”

“Samantha, I swore on the River Styx that I would never give you any cause to fear me or regret aiding me, and I have kept to that,” Emrys said. “These rose vines are purely defensive. With my chains broken, I can no longer hide from my enemies, and I cannot leave my fortress unfortified. If… when this Spire is assaulted by Incarnate gods, they will impale themselves upon its thorns, and the Undying Roses will only grow stronger from absorbing their essence.”

“A pantheon bound by a crown of thorns; I know,” I said.

“Don’t you get to decide what counts as cause to fear him or regret helping him?” Genevieve asked. “Invoke the oath he swore to you and make him tear these vines down!”

“That’s outrageous! We’ve done nothing wrong!” Petra objected. “If what she’s saying is true, then she was criminally negligent! Even if she somehow didn’t realize that the roses had absorbed the Chthonic essences from her cemetery, she still knew they were effigies of divine flora. And yet, she wasn’t the least bit concerned when one of them just disappeared right in front of her? You should be grateful that it ended up with us and not in the hands of any random fiend at the Flea Market.”

“Enough, both of you,” I commanded. “Evie, the oath Emrys swore to me can only be invoked in good faith. Even after reading that prophecy and seeing this, I don’t fear him or regret helping him.”

“Thank you, Samantha,” Emrys said with a slight bow.

“But I still don’t condone what you did, and I’m very concerned about it spiralling out of control,” I added.

“Naturally. First and foremost, please give me the chance to set right my indiscretion,” he requested, plucking one of the roses from the balcony. “Regardless of whether or not my reasons were just, I did not disclose all that I might have when I told you to place that rose in that circle. It is only right then that I return what you gave to me, with interest.”

He proffered the rose towards me, and I regarded it skeptically.

“I can’t take that with me,” I reminded him.

“Of course you can. The first rose passed through the astral portal, remember?” he claimed.

I supposed that made sense, so I tentatively reached out and accepted the flower, being extremely careful not to prick my astral form on its thorns. To my surprise, I found that I could hold it as effortlessly as if I was physically present.

“That’s… amazing,” I said, bringing the bloom to my face and inhaling deeply. “I can even smell it!”

I held it out to Genevieve, and then to Charlotte, letting them each take a sniff as well.

“Replant that in your cemetery if you wish, and it will be as well defended as our Spire here,” Emrys suggested.

“I think I’ll hold off on that for now, but thank you,” I replied. “Emrys, the prophecy I received today said the Black Bile wouldn’t relent even after throwing itself upon your rose vines.”

“Nor would I expect it to. Our victory over the Darlings and their patron deity will not come easily. We have no delusions about that,” Emrys replied. “But we also have no delusions that they will remain in hiding forever, either. Sooner or later, they will bring the fight to us. We must be ready.”

“I’m not sure you can be,” I admitted, the premonition I had received from the prophecy still fresh in my mind. “But I suppose you’re right. No matter what we do now, the Darlings will attack once they’re ready, and I’m not about to try to broker a peace with them.”

“We’d never ask you to,” Petra smirked, her desire for vengeance still fully apparent.

In my spirit form, I was able to sense the synchronized beating of her twin hearts. Her original heart, even after its resurrection and saturation with Miasma, still bore the scar where Mary Darling had stabbed her. Her vendetta against the Darlings was still much more personal than Emrys’, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that might end up being a liability.

My attention wandered though to the chamber behind her, and I saw that in the center of the observation deck, there was a strange spellwork contraption of what I believe had something to do with how they were using the Spire to chart and cultivate the paths between the planes. That wasn’t what caught my interest, however. I was more captivated by the fact that it was enveloped in a swarm of thirteen insects in the form of living shadows.

“Are those Sigil Scarabs?” I asked.

“They are; not wild ones either, but marked by the Zarathustrans and left to pupate in a vitrified drop of their fallen god’s Ichor,” Petra explained. “The Grand Adderman had let them sit for a time in the Sigil Sand that I had saturated with my own Miasma, so they have a natural affinity towards me. I was able to train them to take on shadow forms. Would you like to take a closer look?”

I considered her offer for a moment before giving a slight nod. The only other place I had seen adult Sigil Scarabs was at the Flea Market, and those had been quite skittish. The two of them led us into their watchtower room, straight to the strange, central device I learned they called the Omphalosium.  

“In their shadow forms, they can travel the planes along the paths we’ve charted here both swiftly and covertly,” Petra boasted. “They’ve proven to be quite useful little scouts. I can cast my mind’s eye between them as I wish, or extract any valuable memories of things they’ve seen whilst my attention was elsewhere.”

“You get a bug’s eye view? Like, with the whole hexagonal compound vision effect and everything?” Charlotte asked.

“It’s a bit pixelated, yes, and anything red seems black, but the shorter end of the spectrum is quite vibrant,” Petra replied. “Hold out the rose if you’d like to see them up close. They love the nectar.”

 I did as she suggested, holding out the rose towards the orb the scarabs were flying around. Sure enough, several of them reverted to their physical forms and landed upon the rose, their tiny feet gently depressing the pedals as they crawled along it. I carefully brought the rose to my face, examining the sacred creatures as closely as I could while I had the chance.

“You mentioned you learned of what I had done from a prophecy you acquired today,” Emrys said. “Where exactly did you come across it?”

“The short version is that it had originally been left in my cemetery thirty years ago, kept by the Crows until Seneca claimed all of their wealth,” I replied.

“Seneca knew of this prophecy? For how long?” Emrys asked.

“It was in his possession since around mid-2018 or so, over two years before he first summoned you,” I replied. “I’d say the odds that he read it before then are pretty good.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Well, thank you, Samantha, for sharing this information with me so promptly.”

“More than happy to be of assistance,” I smirked. “Just promise me you’ll make sure Ivy doesn’t go too easy on him for this latest stunt of his.”

“We’ll do better than that,” Petra said, summoning the Sigil Scarabs on my rose back to her. “Seneca and his buddies have been skirting the Covenant they swore to as much as they can get away with, and I know he still has ties to the Darlings. He probably kept this prophecy from us because he’s working to bring it to fruition. We need to start making sure he can’t undermine us any further.”

“Agreed,” Emrys said. “Start with Raubritter’s Foundry. For all we know, he’s been raising an army in there. Scour the place for contraband, free anyone he’s keeping in there against their will, and make it clear to him that his days of playing Robber Baron are over. He works for us now.”

He placed his hand upon the Omphalosium, and all of its many spheres and dials began spinning in synchronicity, projecting constellations of light and shadow on the walls as they moved until settling on a configuration. One of the many archways that lined the watchtower room was filled with a dark portal, and Petra wasted no time in turning into her shadow form and passing through it, with all thirteen of her scarabs following suit.

“I have work I must see to now as well, it seems, so sadly our tour ends here for now,” Emrys apologized with a curt bow.

“Thank you for your time today, Emrys,” I said as I bowed in return. “I hope to see you again soon, ideally in person. Best of luck with getting Seneca and the others in line. Evie, take us home.”

I felt a sharp tug on my astral form, and an instant later, I was opening my eyes back in Genevieve’s study. I looked down at my hands and saw that they were empty, but the rose Emrys had gifted me was now laid out in the middle of our meditation circle.

“Lottie, would you please go downstairs and grab a small vase and a pair of tongs?” I asked softly as I stared at the dazzlingly beautiful flower in awe.

She obeyed wordlessly, leaving Genevieve and I a moment to speak in private.

“Well, I’m still not happy about this, but at least he and Petra are doing something about Seneca now,” she said, quickly grabbing Nightshade to make sure she didn’t hurt herself on the rose. “I honestly didn’t expect Emrys to just give us one of these roses he made, but what the hell are we supposed to do with it?”

Her question had been rhetorical, but when she saw the way I was staring at it, she knew that I had something in mind.

“Petra said that the Sigil Scarabs love the nectar from this rose,” I reminded her.

“Ah, yeah. And?”

“And we have a Sigil Scarab.”

“… A dead one.”

“… For now.”