Tales

My name doesn’t matter. If you must have one, call me the Storyteller. It’s not my real name but it’s what I’ve wanted to be called for years. And I finally can. 

I’ve always loved stories. I like making sure there’s a nice beginning, middle, and end. It’s what we all look for in a story. Change and development. And that’s what I’ve loved to do from my childhood to my old age. 

I look for stories all over. In libraries, in bookstores. I’m obsessed with finding the perfect story, the perfect set of tales to captivate people, to draw you all in. I’ve always wanted to tell my own stories but… I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not the most creative. And whenever I’d come up with an idea, it felt like someone would walk right in and snatch it up with a new book or movie. All I wanted was to tell original and new tales that had never and would never be told. And after years of research, and countless dollars, I found a way to.

There is a place. In the middle of any wood, in any part of the world. Where there is a little shack, where, if you make the right deal, the right sacrifices, what you desire most will appear.

Now, I cannot tell you what the sacrifice is, what the deal is, or anything about the shack specifically. I couldn’t if I wanted to. The details are already leaving my old, frail mind. But what I can tell you, is that I was promised the best stories. The greatest stories to draw everyone in. And I was given it in the form of a leather bound journal. I haven’t even opened it yet but I’m so excited. Excited to finally do what I’ve always wanted to do. Be a real storyteller.

So. Are you sitting down? Do you feel comfortable and safe?

Good. Then let’s begin. This first one is called:

A Knights Journey

Once upon a time, there was a proud and noble Knight who served his land well. Every day, he would venture into battle and every day, he would win. He fought back hordes of goblins, orcs, and monsters. No challenge was too great and no task too small. He would always leap head first into danger, smiling broadly at the damsels and assuring them “It’s alright. Your journey of fear is at an end.” It was bravado, but they always loved it. 

And yet he still felt unfulfilled. He still felt unsatisfied. There was always something more that he wanted.

Then one day, in a tavern at the edge of the world, he heard of a Princess. A beauty from a race of powerful magic-weilders who’s kingdom had been razed by a dark and malevolent spell. It was rumored that the Princess was still alive, locked away in a tower. Many had tried to find her, to rescue her from whatever had destroyed her kingdom. But none ever returned. 

The Knight, of course, saw it as a brave and daring challenge. The greatest challenge of his life. How could he refuse?

And so it was that the Knight set out, riding off from one corner of the world to another. Oh, his journey took years and years of searching, of trying. 

He trekked through bogs of the undead, fought armies of trolls and even tore dragons from the air itself. He lost six horses, made countless allies, far too many foes but no lovers. None that would distract him from his prize. 

And finally, one day, with his sword dull and legs weary, he came across the kingdom. A ruined wreck, walls crumbling to dust, mold and moss spreading like wildfire. 

But it was the place. He knew it was, with every fiber of his weary, aged body. And so he soldiered ahead, through the ruined arches and the decimated halls with their torn tapestries and withered flowers. Past scores of skeletons, some old and yellowed with armor rusted, others fresh with amror marred in blood and gore.

Yet there was no evil to be seen. Even as he scaled the tower, no evil showed. Nothing reared its head. Everything seemd to be calm and at ease. Yet the Knight clutched his sword tight, eyes darting every which way.

Until he reached the top and opened the doors and saw the Princess. Then all fears and doubts left. 

She was as beautiful as the sun itself: Pure and golden, dressed in a fading gown with a tiara balanced atop her bouncing, red, locks. Her eyes glistened as she locked eyes with the Knight, smiling at him. 

He returned the smile, pleased that his journey was at an end. He sheathed his sword and stuck out his hand as he’d done before. “It’s alright” He said, still smiling. “Your journey of fear is at an end.”

A shame, for his words were more than true. But not for the Princess.

The Knight tried to guide the Princess away only for her to pull him back with surprising strength. She held him tight, keeping both arms pinned at his side and crushing his amror. The Knight grimaced in pain as the broken armor dug into his flesh, struggling to break free. But all he could do was gaze in horror at the Princesses grin growing wider and wider. 

Then the tiara SPLIT along with the rest of her head, growing with her smile. Her dress tore apart, her flesh rippling into green scales as her red locks fell from her hideous and deformed head. Her teeth became pointed and sharp and she towered over the now fearful Knight. 

For all of his bravado, for all of his feats, the Knight had forgotten to ask one thing: what spell had the magic-users cast? And why was the Princess the only one left? 

Not even those thoughts raced through the Knights head as the Princesses now meaty and grotesque arms pulled hard on his arms, pulling and pulling until the SCREAMING and BEGGING Knight RIPPED-

…What the fuck is this? This- this isn’t what I wanted. 

These aren’t the kind of stories I want to tell! 

Are you sure? 

Did you hear that? It sounded like it came from… no. No, this has to be a fluke. It must. Surely the next story will be better. And if not… I’ll do what’s right. But… I must be certain. 

I will not waste all that I have fought for on a single bad story. 

Now, what’s next? 

A Sister’s Journey

Once Upon A Time, there lived a Sister and a Brother. They were nearly identical despite not being twins and they did practically everything together, becoming the best of friends as much as siblings. And as all siblings do, they promised to never leave one another.

Yet as the Sister grew and became stronger, the Brother became weaker and shrank in on himself. His cheeks, once red and glowing, became gaunt and shrivled. His eyes, once full of life, became dull and shattered as his arms and legs shrivled and bent every which way. No doctors or medicine men could figure out what was causing the ailment or why. 

And before anyone knew it, the Brother was gone without so much as a word, his body laid to rest. The Sister, of course, was devastated. Her other half was gone forever it seemed. 

She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep. There was nothing more she felt that she could do. 

Then she heard the rumors. The myths about a cloth that could return what had been lost and bring them back to life. It seemed like a fool's errand.

But the Sister with nothing left had to try. So she set out, braving the wilds of the world to find what she desired. 

Across boiling deserts and raging seas she traveled, braving the elements and the world itself. Every day she’d be beaten down, her body bruised and aching. And everyday she’d get back up. 

And finally, one day, with her arms burning and legs aching, she came across a cave. And resting inside was the cloth that she sought. It seemed simple enough: brown, with a wool feel to it. Nothing too special. 

But she knew it was what she needed. 

To home she went, moving swiftly past her challenges and obstacles until she was standing before her brother's grave. Reverently, she laid the cloth on the grave and waited, exhausted and spent. 

It didn’t happen at first. It wasn’t until the moon was high in the sky that the ground cracked. And then the cloth moved, rising from the ground, covering the figure of the Sisters brother. 

Tears filled her eyes, spilling down her face as a smile lit it up. 

It would be the last time she did that. 

Her smile soon faded as the cloth fell over the shoulders of what had been her brother. His limbs were still twisted, his face still gutted by disease. And when he looked at her, she didn’t see the brother she once had. 

Because what’s been taken and lost to time and plague can never be returned. 

The Sister tried to run but the cloth WRAPPED around her legs, YANKING her to the ground. She clawed at it desperately as it pulled her to the shambling corpse of her brother, maggots and bugs FALLING with decayed SKIN from his body.

The cloth pulled her to the body, pulling right next to it. Then it PLUNGED into her skin, SEWING her into the corpse, connecting them together.

She opened her mouth to SCREAM but the sound came from her Brothers, a RATTLING, RASPY-

Stop! STOP! 

This can’t be all there is. This isn’t what I wanted! 

So you say. So say them all.

What- who- who said that?

The very thing you’ve been reading. The very thing you’ve thought you could control.

No. You’re- you’re just a book. 

Just a book? How simple minded you are. After all, you are just a man. A man who has a story like everyone else. Let me tell you it:

The Storytellers Journey

Once upon a time, there was a fool who was oridanry in every way. An idiot who thought he was destined for greater things. He went through life, wasting every moment, never doing anything more than the bare minimum until he had wasted it.

And when he found out he was sick and dying, he wanted to make sure his insignificant life had a little meaning. 

And that was when he heard about the woods. And about a deal that could be made.

So he pooled together what he had, spent his life savings, wasted the last bit of his life to try and be something. And in the end, he succeeded.

He–you–have given me a way to be heard. A way for my tales to finally break free once more. To be shared and told to so many people. 

People who won’t get a happy ending.

This- this can’t be- I’ll- I’ll stop you!

The idiot lept at the book, trying so hard to tear the pages to shreds, to burn it to ash. Anything to stop it. 

But the book wouldn’t allow that. From its pages sprang the corpses of the Brother and Sister, sewn together, mouths screaming as one. The horrific Princess emerged after them, mouth gaping wide with its horrible teeth and flesh rippling with each step.

Together, they grabbed the Fool, holding him tight between them. The threads of the cloth bore into his skin while the Princess held him tight. They pulled and pulled as his bones CREAKED and clothing RIPPED, ignoring his SCREAMS and PLEAS–

GOD, PLEASE! I’LL- I’LL DO ANYTHING! PLEASE, JUST–

Until he SPLIT apart, falling to bloody pieces all over the floor. He joined the Sister and Brother, his half mouth screaming along with theirs as the Princess dragged his remains into the corner, eagerly digging into them.

And as half the Idiots body melded into the cloth and the other half was devoured, the book began to SHAKE and GLOW. 

For I have only just begun and I have plenty of tales yet to share. 

So. Are you sitting down? Do you feel comfortable and safe?

Good. Then let’s begin.