The Kismet Tome Story 3

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A Kismet Production Project…2

Brought to you by the makers of Zephyr and Contrition…3

Sponsored by Mystik Eternity, Destined Magic, Chaos’ Love…4

The Kismet Tome Story5

This story is dedicated to Hana Song.6

Your kindness and compassion never fails to touch all those around you.7

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Manuscript 1: Tidings of Great Joy9

By: Rannison Darrek10

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Chapter 312

January 02, 2006- Saturday 2:15 PM13

"Are you absolutely sure about this?"14

Allen looked up into the nurse's concerned face.  At the moment, all he was really sure about was that he wanted to take her to the back room and heat up the sheets.  Unfortunately, he was tied up at the moment.  Quite literally.15

“Just check the straps for me, hon.  Make sure they’re nice and tight.”  His tone was as suggestive as they go, and his wink sent her into a blush that reached the roots of her hair.16

They were in a white, featureless room.  Though one couldn’t tell by looking, Allen knew that they were several hundred meters underground.  He sat in the center of the room on a reclining, leather seat.  There were two straps for his hands and two for his feet.  They were safety precautions, he knew, but they still made him goddamn nervous.  Next to him was a giant machine, nearly as tall as a man and wide as the length of a car.  Various cables and lines entered and exited it, and some of them were hooked up to himself.  He was no scientist, but he knew they were for monitoring different aspects of his physical well being.17

The nurse finished tugging on the restraints and gave a curt nod to him, though her face was still tinted a very cute shade of pink.  She turned to the only wall that Allen sat facing and, lifting her collar and the wire attached to it, spoke toward a giant mirror.  “Everything is ready, professor.”18

Allen knew there were men beyond his own reflection.  He had met Dr. Herrek and his associates before in an interview.  He didn’t care much for their cause or their means.  All he cared about was the two grand he was getting paid for participating in their little experiment.  If getting stuck with a couple of needles meant making bucks, how could he refuse?19

And they had added a little bonus to keep him quiet, too.  If there was anything Allen Ridgemen loved more than women in life, it was money.  And easy money was the best kind of money.20

An echo crackled from the speakers mounted against two corners of the room.  The resonance reminded Allen that sounds from the outside could not reach inside, nor the inside out.  His sense of being trapped heightened as the speaker, no doubt relaying the voice of one of the men on the other side of the pane, cleared his throat.  “Allen, I hope you’re getting comfortable in there.  You all set?”21

Allen found his throat dried and parched as he swallowed.  “Anytime you’re ready.”22

“Good.  We’ll begin immediately.”23

He cursed himself, wishing he’d asked for a drink, but already the lights were dimming.  The nurse came to his side again, carrying a syringe.  “I’m going to inject you with something that’ll relax you, Mr. Ridgemen.”  Already it was pierced into him, a tingling sensation drifting up his arm, leaving it oddly chilled, yet not unpleasantly cold.  “It should take effect very soon.”24

When she finished, the petite red-head headed to the only door that led in and out of the room.  She swiped a card and punched in a four digit number combination, resulting in a resounding click.  The same click that signaled the closing of it behind her left Allen feeling completely trapped.25

“Alright Mr. Ridgemen, from here on it will be just as we explained the procedure to be.  In a moment, a voice recording will be played for you.  Remember, you are to listen intently to it, with your utmost attention, and you are to allow yourself to relax as much as possible.  Do you understand?”26

Allen began to say yes, but remembered he could not be heard.  He nodded instead.27

“Good.  Let’s begin, then.”28

A voice did indeed come on now, but he hadn’t expected it to be one from a woman.  He allowed his lips to curve upward a fraction of an inch, and thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to die listening to such a pretty sounding voice.  He didn’t how close to the mark his thought had hit.29

Allen found himself relaxing utterly.  The voice was entrancing, yet monotonous.  It was dull enough to bore him, but not so lifeless as to allow him to drift off.  He didn’t know how much training it took to achieve such a power of speech.30

It gave him instructions, told him to relax in between each instruction.  It lulled him, allured him, and engrossed him with no difficulty.  Soon he was drifting, semi-conscious, semi-aware.31

The voice now gave more precise directions.  “You are floating in water now.  The water is placid, and you are drifting without disturbance.  You can feel nothing else, but know that you are relaxed, your body is relaxed, and your mind is completely relaxed.”32

Allen experienced the strangest sensation of leaving his body, though words could not sufficiently describe the experience.  Slowly, all the feeling in his left his body, starting from his toes and the tips of his fingers and traveling inward.  And then, he lost all sense of feeling completely.33

"You are on a cliff at the sea side.  The waves clash against the sheer wall beneath your feet, spraying your face with their salty dampness."34

The assault on his senses was sudden and brutal.  The tangy scent of the ocean and the crisp feel of the wind, even the spray of the stray droplets of sea water, filled him with an intensity that nearly overwhelmed him, overpowering all his awareness.35

"There is a path that leads down to the beach.  You approach it."36

And indeed, he found himself floating along.  Faster than running, slower than flying, Allen perceived the surrealism, yet it did nothing to daunt the sense of being there.37

"You follow the path, and now you are on the beach.  The sand is white.  The waves lap gently, receding with a peaceful lull.  You look up to the horizon, but you see a door.  It is ten meters in front of you.  It stands in the water.  It is made of wood, painted black, and has no knob.  It does not waver.  It does not stir, nor bend, to the waves, and seems to be rooted into space itself.  You know something about it is wrong.  It does not belong.  It is the door to your Fate."38

If Allen were in the condition to do so, he would have laughed and pointed out the obvious.  How can a black, floating door in the middle of the waist-high water on the beach belong anywhere?39

But at the moment, he was occupied with trying to deal with a primal, unconditional, and devastating terror.40

The horror reached out, screamed out, from every corner of his mind and body.  It grasped his heart, clenched it in its clasp, closed off his lungs, rang through his ears, rattled his every tooth and raised every hair.  And at the moment, he understood exactly what the voice had truly meant.41

He stood, or floated, and watched the door.  A wave raced up and hit the door from behind.  The water did not go through it, yet nor did it crash against it.  Instead, defying all the laws of physics, it seemed to stream around it, yet it at the same time did not appear to be disturbed at all.42

It did not belong.43

Allen came to a sudden realization.  It wasn’t just that it was a door standing in water, apparently unaffected by all things in its surroundings.  It wasn't that the door was painted black, blacker than the darkest of dark nights.  It wasn't that it had no knob, no frame, no hinges, and no apparent method of utilization.  It was the door itself.44

It exuded wrongness.  And it was what it held behind its dark wood that made him tremble so.  Allen didn't know why, didn't know how, he knew, but he was certain that if that door were to swing open, he would not see the ocean behind it, stretching to the distant horizon.45

He would see something that would drive him to utter, stark madness.46

He began to shake uncontrollably.  And he prayed.  "Oh Jesus, oh god, oh god, please don't make me, don't make me open it, don't make me open, don't make me don't make me don't—"47

* - - - *48

"What the hell?"49

Hayes was on his fifth cup of coffee and cursing Lennar when he noticed the subject's behavior.50

"Mike, turn up the DB."51

Allen's chanting and hard breathing filled the room.52

Mike cursed vehemently.  "Goddamn it, get Herrek over here!  And get Doc here, too.  I don't want any accidents."53

* - - - *54

The recording continued, undisturbed.  "You turn away now.  You forget the door.  You forget the waves.  Soon, you hear no waves."55

Allen didn't turn away.  He stood right where he was, and a part of his mind, a part that was still aware, realized it.  It fought and shoved, will his body to turn away, to walk back up that path and back to consciousness, to the real world.56

His body took a step towards the door in the water.57

In the examination room, he began to thrash and convulse against his bonds.  The equipment monitoring his body began to whine and beep and whistle with shrill, warning tones.58

Uselessly, the voice recording told him to wake up on the count of three, and counted to three.  He took three more steps towards the blackness.59

The water now lapped against the bottom of his hips.60

In the white room, Allen Ridgemen was now screaming.61

* - - - *62

"What the hell is going on in there?"63

Lennar had just burst into the surveillance room, and before him, through the glass, was the subject.  At first his eyes didn't register the sight before him, and it was the sounds that first slapped him back to awareness.64

Allen was screaming.65

"Don't make me touch it!  Don't make me open the door!  Oh my God, oh god ohgodohgodoh—"66

For a bizarre moment, Allen froze.  His back was clean off the seat, his neck bent back and legs crooked.  His pupils were dilated so wide that his eyes seemed to have turned completely black.  And he was locked in the position.  No words, no breathing, no noise of any kind.  Not as much as a single twitch.  The equipment emitted a monotonous, unchanging note.67

No one could move.  Everyone held their breath.  No one understood or comprehended.  Silence dominated both rooms, pressed against everyone's ears.68

With a force that made everyone jump, Allen slammed back into his seat.  It was the second of January, Saturday, 2:48 PM.  And Allen Ridgemen was dead.69