《The Object》


 Part 1

    My father was a... lover of very specific ¡°things¡±.  It''s hard to pin down what exactly, though you might call them occultish - books made of skin, whispering daggers, lifelike dolls, that kind of thing.  The mansion we lived in was like that too - at first it''s easy to get lost in, but live there awhile and navigating becomes second nature.  To us it felt homey, safe.  I... Where was I again?


    ¡°Your father.¡±


    Ah yes, my father.  He had brought back a new gaggle of trinkets.  A shrunken head with fresh looking lips, a rusted and runed goblet that glowed under moonlight, among other items.  These objects, my father¡¯s collection, have a black nature to them, like sleeping with your friend''s girlfriend.  Twisted and wrong, but that''s exactly where the temptation lies, isn''t it?  My father was showing us each new item, describing their histories and quirks, skipping one item.  The Item.  I know now it was special, but at a glance you couldn''t tell.  I intended to ask my father what it was but I... couldn''t describe it.  I still can¡¯t.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    That''s the thing, I couldn''t tell you.  I could tell you things about it, sure.  It has a vivid, cutting colour.  It''s about the size of a rubik''s cube, a touch larger perhaps.  But its shape is completely indescribable.  You¡¯re doubting me, aren''t you?  See for yourself then.


    "That''s, well it''s a diamond shape.¡±


    No no, see how it curves there?


    "Well, then I suppose it''s more of a... Pyramid?"


    No, not at all.  See that?  It doesn''t bottom out, it spirals back into itself.


    "Hm."


    It''s somewhat reminiscent of an impossible object, no?  Except those are mere optical illusions.  This is real.  Indescribable...  But it''s more than just that.  It was different from my father¡¯s collection.  Pure.  Not quite their antithesis, but close.  You could call it friendly, maybe.  So instead of telling my father, I took it into my hands, turned it back and forth.  I suppose it served like a palate cleanser, maybe that''s why I was so fond of it...  It was late by this time, and everyone retired for sleep.  I dropped my hands and slid the Item into my pocket, I wasn''t yet ready to part with it.  I don''t think I''ll ever be able to part with it, not anymore.  It feels so right in my hand...  So imperfectly perfect...  Ha ha, maybe this is what they call love at first sight?

 Part 2

    I fell asleep shortly after I retired, maybe I was more fatigued than I thought.  I woke up in the middle of the night to noises.  Faint tacking, like wooden shoes on wooden floors.  I shifted deeper into my blanket.  Creaks are not unusual, it''s a loud house, but I should¡¯ve realized.  The house¡¯s creaks are friendlier.  Time passed and the tacking got quieter, I figured it really must have been nothing.  Then I heard a wet popping, meaty crunching, squishy squirming.  I tried to move, but only my fingers and toes twitched.  Then I heard it.  Tack, tack, tack, tack ¡ª a soft creak ¡ª tack, tack.  Something was next to my bed, perhaps staring at me?  I waited, and I waited.  It felt like forever.  Still I waited, and waited, until I couldn¡¯t stand it anymore, and I peeked outside my blanket.  A doll''s face, one of those pretty western dolls, blue eyes, blonde hair, porcelain skin, I was more perplexed than afraid, and then CRUNKSH.  What was this feeling?  It was odd, something I¡¯d never felt before.  I looked down, and then I knew.  My stomach had been torn open, split in half.  The confusion quickly faded, replaced by pain.  More pain than I had ever felt before, the horror of the situation was comparatively manageable.  Then I fell asleep, but not really, and I woke, but not really, to a sound, slowly growing louder.  Tack, tack, tack, tack ¡ª a soft creak ¡ª tack, tack.  Something was in the room, right outside my blanket.  Confused, I peaked again.  CRUNKSH.  I think this may have happened quite a few times, but I can¡¯t seem to remember.  Everything blended together...  Eventually I jolted up faster than I ever had before, and swung my blanket around what must have been the doll.  I sprinted outside my room, past the hallway towards the stairs - towards the exit.  My foot came down on something chunky and wet, and I slipped and crashed down the stairs, followed by a deafening CRIK.  I woke again, but not really, wrapped in my bed sheets.  Tack, tack, tack, tack ¡ª a soft creak, tack, tack.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    This next instance I remember properly.  I threw the blanket around the doll, sprinted down the hall, carefully through the meaty hall.  I sprinted down the stairs, into the living room, into the entrance, slamming my feet into the first thing that looked like shoes and bolted outside the house.  I ran, and I ran, and I ran.  Branches and nettles tore my skin, slashing and cutting me but I didn''t really feel it.  It was... easier than what had happened at my bedside.


    "And then we found you?"


    Yes, you did, I think.  You found me.  You know, I left them?  I could''ve gotten up, shouted a warning, done something, but I left them and now they''re gone¡­


    "To be perfectly clear, you''re the son of Karles, one of the Madrids?"


    Yes, that was my father''s name.


    "We paid them a visit this morning and they all seem alive and well, and claimed you were not missing.  When we mentioned you had come to the station, that you had said something happened inside the manor they clammed up and insisted we leave.  Now we¡¯re just waiting on the warrant.¡±