"I hate all
that LARPer crap," said Russell, looking at his roommate dressed
in medieval attire.
"Live Acton
Role Playing is awesome," said Roger. "It makes you feel like a kid
again. You get to pretend you are a warrior, or a villain, or a wizard… or even
a king."
"I grew up
a long time ago," said Russell. "None of that's real. There is no
fantasy world where the imaginary worlds of medieval fiction actually took
place. There are no elf warriors, goblins, or wizards."
"Some
people believe magic is real," said Roger. "It's just a lost art."
"And I
suppose you're one of those people."
"No, but
it's cool."
He left to go
back to his room. Inside the top drawer to his dresser, Roger reached inside
and carefully pulled out the book. It seemed old, but was it real? The guy on
Craigslist seemed to be legit, but for all he knew, it was just something the
guy found at an old bookstore. The cover was elaborately designed with no
words. There was no actual title to the book. When you opened it up, it
immediately began with the first spell. With a lack of a contents table, it
took Roger a while to find the one he wanted to try first, but when he happened
upon it, he knew it was perfect.
He translated
the phrase online. It said "Control the Dead" — the perfect spell for
this time of year. He couldn't wait for the actual night of Halloween. He was
too excited. That evening just after dusk, he took the book and drove to the
cemetery. There were no cars around when he arrived, making the situation
perfect. He couldn't afford any interruptions. Sitting next to the gate leading
into the graveyard rested a jack-o'-lantern with a skull face carved into it.
He smiled at this.
Roger marched to
the center of the gravestones, held open the book, and chanted. He had
practiced silently reading the words earlier in the day, and now he believed he
had their pronunciation perfect. As he called out, the wind blew through his
hair. He spoke the words with determination. Trees swayed in the sudden wind,
the air whistling as it passed his ears. He reached the last line of the spell,
now shouting, almost demanding that the spell work. The moment the last
syllable left his lips, he felt the fingers gripping around his ankle. He
jumped back, and saw skeleton fingers reaching through the dirt. All around, in
front of each grave, they pulled themselves from the ground, skinless,
fleshless skeletons of the long deceased.
"You are
mine to command," he shouted with glee. "You are my army."
They came
towards him, a great multitude of them, and grabbed his arms.
"What are
you doing?" he asked. "You're mine. I control you."
The skeletons
did not have the ears to hear or the minds to comprehend his words. They moved
with deliberation towards their own agenda. Dozens of them held him down, and
he struggled against their grasp. Some he managed to knock away, but there were
too many of them to stop. He found himself pinned to the ground. One of them reached
into his pocket and retrieved a knife. It flipped the blade open, and it used
it to cut flesh. Roger screamed as the pulled away the skin and muscle. The
pain was unbearable, but he figured out what they were doing to him, and this
knowledge made the experience exponentially worse. They were making him one of
them. They were skinning him alive.
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