This is it. Want to start over?
PART 13 - FINALE
14:21
I’ve spent some time reading this journal, and there definitely seem to be a few… recipes… that don’t need lavender or frankincense, or sandalwood, or the blood of the innocent. There’s a couple that are just spoken word it seems, but these notes weren’t written for someone else to read, they were written for Chester, by Chester.
Is it so hard to believe that it works? Yes. Magic is preposterous, it’s very hard to try and believe that it would work. But I watched Chester vanish, or whatever it was that happened, right in front of my eyes. It felt just as real as right now feels, sitting here in this chair. I could feel the boulder under my jeans, and the sun on my face. Can’t feel the sun anymore, obviously…
There’s one spell I’ve found so far in this book that mentions a door, so I guess it must be the one I watched the younger Ches read aloud. The script looks like gobbelty-gook, but it’s written with Roman letters, so I suppose I could try reading it. Here goes nothing.
14:34
I wasn’t even sure how to pronounce most of that, but I gave it a shot. I spun the chair around and sat here, facing the door as I muddled through these strange and indecipherable words. I remembered Chester telling me to cover my ears while I was in that other place, and I think if I hadn’t I might be able to read this shit. Problem is, I bet if I had heard the younger Chester read it, I would be dead. I’m not sure why I feel that way, it just seems like that’s the case. Who knows really?
I don’t understand any of this, and I can’t figure out how it’s supposed to be some kind of key. What the fuck did you mean, Ches?
I even tried the doorknob just in case it unlocked or something, but nothing happened.
Maybe it’s just bunk. Either way, I’m going to keep reading, see if there’s another one that might do the trick.
19:44
Turns out, the last page of this book isn’t a spell at all, it’s not even a recipe for chop suey. It’s a note.
Addressed to me.
“Dear Charles,
If you’re reading this, something went horribly wrong, and I fucked up big time. I tried to find an answer that probably never existed to begin with. Some questions don’t have answers, it turns out. I’m writing this before I perform the Opening Ritual, as a failsafe in case whatever I contact hurts me, or worse, kills me.
This is going to sound insane: If something went wrong, you need to reset time. I know, I know, what the fuck am I talking about, right? Hear me out, time isn’t linear, that’s one of the first things I learned when I started studying this stuff, and you might be able to do a… manual reset, and stop me from performing the ritual.
Chuck, if by some miracle you’re reading this, it’s because I was able to pull you back to that moment from somewhere else, somewhere I call the Other. But if I’m there, that means I’m out of time. If that’s the case, I can’t reset time on your end, you’ve got to do it.
You’re probably stuck inside a room right?”
20:06
I’ll admit, I just about lost it at the end of the page there. I wanted to… to go back in time and punch my dumbass brother in the face. But then I turned the page:
“Yes, I know about the room. I found it in tenth grade when I was first really learning about magic. I’m sure by now you’ve figured out that magic is real, so I’m not going to try to explain it. That fairy door in the woods when we were eight? I’m sure you noticed: that set me on this path, and I intend to figure out what it was. To do that, I had to open some doors. Doors which probably should have been left shut, but let’s face it, adventure is enticing, man.
“The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less cocksure, happier but less satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable Mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend.”
Aldous Huxley wrote that in The Doors of Perception, and when I found that room I knew what he meant.
In order to save my sorry ass, in order to reset time, you have to open that door. I’m sorry I put you in here, and I’m sorry if it took a while to get you this book, but here is the key:
You are a prisoner, you know this, and you need to understand the chains that hold you locked inside this room, inside this cell. All of this is in your head, no matter how real it feels, but none of that matters if you can’t get out of there. You need to understand your fear, and you need to confront it head on. Once you do that, you’re free.”
Great. Thanks Chester, now I’m even more confused.
23:58
Two minutes to midnight! The hands that threaten doom!
I’ve been sitting here, stewing about that letter. Chester was right, I am afraid, but more than that right now I’m just angry. I’m frustrated by the lies, or deception, or exclusion, or whatever. Why the hell didn’t he tell me? About this room, even about the last page in the journal? If he needs my help so bad, he could have at least given me some pointers.
I’m mad at Chester, because for the last 12 years, he hasn’t even been here. It’s not him, apparently. And whatever that thing is that took his place, it’s slimy and evil. Maybe not in a literal sense (but then again, maybe still in a literal sense), but whenever I spoke with him there was something off about the conversation. He was distant, like I said before, and he seemed confused.
Honestly I thought maybe he’d gotten into drugs or something like that, but I guess not. I guess it’s some wild story about magic mushrooms of a different kind, and god damn fairies.
Fairies. Just listen to that. It sounds batshit insane, and it probably is. He said this is all in my head? Maybe I’m going crazy, locked up in some mental institution, or maybe I’m in a coma. I don’t know, I can’t seem to figure it out.
I’m mad that I don’t even know how I got here, or even where HERE is.
I’m mad at myself for not checking behind the desk earlier. How could I waste so much time just sitting around wallowing in my pity?
I’m pissed.
00:04
But I’m also scared.
I’m afraid that I won’t be able to escape this place. I’m afraid that even if I do, I won’t be able to get my brother back, and I’ll be stuck with that demon impostor forever…
Or maybe not since last I saw he was dipping altogether. I’m scared to be alone, and with my brother gone that’s what I’ll be. Alone, thirty years old, and basically living with my father; not because I need to be coddled or taken care of, but because if he doesn’t have me there, he might not be able to dress himself.
I’m scared for my dad, because I don’t want him to be alone either, spending this last week or so in isolation has proven to me, loneliness sucks.
There is a difference, I guess, between simply being alone, and being lonely. The latter is what hurts. I’m also scared of the dark, did I mention that? Hearing footsteps upstairs at night, when there shouldn’t be anyone up there… I’m scared of the unknown, and I’m scared of all the things I can’t control.
I want this to end, but I’m scared that if it does I won’t wake up from whatever hell I’m in.
I’m scared that if that door opens, and if I walk through it, this will only be the beginning of my torment. For all I know, I’ll walk right through into an identical room, with another desk, and another typewriter. Caught between two jail cells and no mess hall, just my luck.
But I don’t know that for sure, I’m just worried that it might be the case. Who the hell knows anyway, right?
I’m just scared. And I don’t want to be scared anymore. I want to stand up and face my fears head on, to walk into the dark and know that I can’t always turn on a flashlight and make the horror go away. Sometimes things are just dark.
There was nothing that could easily explain why my mom killed herself, except that she was afraid of something. Whatever the case, I feel that too. But I’m going to keep pushing, because I don’t need to stay in the dark forever, and I know that there are sunny days ahead. Sunny days where I’ll wander down the road and just watch the world around me. The birds singing, the people gardening or having barbecues in the summer, the dogs like Sally, wagging her tail happily.
Maybe I’ll even be happy like that one day. No, I will be happy like that. I’m sick of this MAYBE business. I’m determined to get out of here, and live.
00:25
The door opened… I heard a click, and I looked around and the door was slowly swinging inward.
I don’t know what to say… If—When I leave here, I don’t know what I need to do to save Chester, to reset time, but I guess I’m going to find out, right?
Beyond the door is light. So much light. All white and shining… like I’m looking up at the sun from underwater.
It’s finally over.
I’m leaving.
Special thanks to Jeffery Peterson,
for opening up a world of intrigue to me,
for setting me on a path of learning,
and for inspiring me to question the world.