The bedroom is all set up: candles lit, house deserted, cat on her nightly tour.
Looking forward to the great midnightly spectacle, I check the pendulum clock on the wall: Friday, 11.58 pm—the perfect time. All is set up as instructed.
I'm sitting on the bed, cross-legged, holding the mysterious, beautifully crafted cube in my hand. My index traces the ornaments on it, the intricate designs, the seemingly erratic patterns that lose themselves in the most filigree fractals—a masterpiece of handicraft.
“Twenty-four hours to fulfill dreams beyond your wildest imaginations—fantasies you never knew you had, the wishes of your deepest subconscious…” I recall the senile hag in the souvenir shop that reminded me more of a seedy voodoo-fortune-teller booth at an abandoned amusement park, “…once you've solved the puzzle.” I can still hear her witchy, chill-inducing B-movie requisite snicker.
Puzzle? I can't find no damn puzzle on that thing! “It's just a decorative cube,” I repeat my mantra, doing a poor job at convincing myself it is just a cheap pseudo-tribal mumbo-jumbo replica. Yet, every time I re-iterate the simple phrase, my heart heightens its unfamiliar fluttering.
Click
“Click?” I surprisedly echo, suddenly feeling a thin slab move under my thumb.
My eyes try to follow the kaleidoscopic fragments changing along with the disc’s movement. From this moment on, the cube seems to develop a life of its own: as if guided by an unseen force, a series of rearrangements take place, morphing it into otherworldly shapes the human eye fails to project properly onto the retina, slowly transitioning into a resting position that looks like an incomplete transformation.
I watch the whole process with the fascination of a deer in headlights. Once it has stopped moving, I look at it from all sides, turn it in my hand, intrigued by this sortilege.
Amusedly throwing it up and catching it with the same hand over and over, I laugh. “Fulfill dreams beyond my wildest imaginations, huh?” I mock the demented beldam, whispering, shaking my head, chuckling.
It's only then I realize the looming shadows cast by the candles are creeping up to me, reaching out, seeking to devour my soul in their darkness. A funny trick of my mind that plays along far more eagerly than intended, I muse, a crooked smile over my lips.
I hear the wind rising outside, gently rattling the shutters against the wall. Perfect timing. My titter is getting more nervous; the bead of sweat crawling down my neck is itching. I scratch it off only to find another noise only adding to the overall eerie feeling unsettling my belly: the crescendo of the swing of the pendulum that I had incorporated into my ear's white noise years ago.
Swing, clank, swing, clank, swing, clank…
“Damn, this occult gypsy magic is really doing a number on my mind… mind… mind… mind…” I hear my voice bouncing off the walls although I never spoke the words.
Open-mouthed, I look at the box only to realize the glow emanating from the grooves of its mosaic topology is the only light source left although the candles are still burning. Yet, their flicker seems filtered by a thick viscous curtain of pure blackness, slowing the course of light to a creep.
Swing, clank, swing, clank, swing, clank…
I hear the pendulum hammering against my eardrum in unison with my heart—even with the erratic skipped beats as well as the tachycardic ones resulting from the general unsettledness that by now dominates my intestines.
Eyes transfixed to the beacon in my hand, I don't pay attention to my peripheral vision whose warnings go unseen as the cold near-aquamarine light is fighting its way through the frame of my locked bedroom door. Hypnotized, I allow my thumb to brush over the centerpiece of the puzzle's surface.
Swing, clank, swing, clank, SWING, CLANK… goes the pendulum, its sound now hurting in my auditory canal.
With a deafening creaking, the formerly immovable parts grind against each other, millimetering their way past each other, interlocking each other.
SWING, CLANK…
My eyes foreseeing the final shape of the… object. I'm gripping it with my white-knuckled hands, try to pull it apart, prevent it from reaching its threatening final form.
SSWWIINNGG, CCLLAANNKK…
As the pendulum slows, the puzzle grinding to its end state, my mind fills with dreadful horror of what might await me once the transformation is complete.
SSSWWWIIINNNGGG, CCCLLLAAANNNKKK…
As the door flings open with a wind that blows out the candles, the glaring blue light floods my bedroom, like a flash, before a darkness ensues—a darkness that swallows even the course of time and lets the last 'K' of the pendulum's turning point reverberate perpetually.
Colors flash before my eyes—colors far off the visible spectrum. Shapes twisting and bending into dimensions far exceeding the limits of our restricted perception are painted against my… I realize it's not the orbs sitting in my face that see anymore but rather images projected directly into my brain. In fact, my eyes feel rather… detached from my skull, floating, peering in all directions at once, not able to focus on anything, yet desperate for information about what is happening to me.
Suddenly, through the thick mist of panic, horror, anguish, I perceive a deep, oily voice that pierces my mind.
“You summoned us, human,” it announces in ancient tongue I haven’t heard before.
“Who is this?” my sealed lips try, panicking at the realization I am not only unable to move them but they seem to have vanished completely.
At that moment, with unfathomable terror, I realize that my whole body is decomposing into bits one piece at a time, something tugging at my flesh, yet not hurting me. The distress I feel is rather caused by the dissociative feeling, by the mental image of being slowly torn to shreds than by physical pain.
“Worry not, for we can read your mind, young seeker of pleasure,” a thick syrupy female voice, yet almost equally deep as its male counterpart rings in my… head? The decaying feeling through what is left of my body makes it impossible to locate which organ registers the sounds struggling through the thick veil of fear for my life that threatens to empty my bowels in the most unflattering manner despite that I'm certain they're not a part of me anymore.
The dissonance of both voices speaking each in their own incomprehensible Babel dialect screeches through my thoughts. “We of the realm of pure lust have found ways to make you feel ultimate pleasure through immeasurable torture and you, in your clueless quest for nothing but selfish bliss have chosen to submit yourself to us.”
“Many have vainly ended in madness in our quest,” states the male voice dryly, “for the human flesh is fragile and the mind weak.” I can hear how the pale, thick lips belonging to this bizarre voice exaggerate each word.
Boiling honey drips over my brain as the female voice chimes in. “Only if you prove strength of mind will you not perish in the eternal joy of agony and be swallowed by the torment we will bring upon your mortal soul.”
My whole consciousness is tense with dread near rupture. My naked soul exposed to my tormentors, fear, horror, terror dominate my emotions.
The voices join in one creepily seductive chant. “Fear not for your body, young one. We will not harm you, only plant a seed in your mind that suggests harm is done to you, for it is solely your mind that interests us, not the ephemeral shell that holds it captive. Far greater torturous pleasure can be instilled in the mind than your body would ever allow you to feel.”
Only a short break is given to me to let a faint feeling of hope sprout, clinging to those words, before being nipped—no, crushed—in the bud when the voices resume, “But if your will is weak, your body will perish and you will spend eternity in this plane of existence, experiencing endless suffering forevermore, never really dying but wishing you would.”
While the little rationality I desperately try to hold on to urges me to scream my protest and my panic needs me to squirm free of… whatever is holding me captive: a nonexistent confinement deeply seated in my subconscious? My body parts seem to flash in and out of existence, fallen apart, yet still attached to my brain as if held together by a bundle of stringy nerves letting each dissected bit dance and rearrange in new strange ways. The knowledge that all of this is just mind-trickery comes with the recognition that there is no escape from this realm of torment.