Vurn's shitty story

[Vurn]

"Slowly he turned the key in the door. His hand was shaking, but, carefully, he pushed the door open. The heavy curtains were drawn and it was dark and gloomy inside. It was obvious, even in the half-light, that no one had been here for a long time. He stepped in and almost fell over a mountain of books on the floor. The room was a complete mess. There were books everywhere. Old books were packed into the bookshelves that lined the walls of the room. Every surface was covered with books and papers. Dictionaries and reference books were lying all over the centre table. He took one of these books from the table and turned towards the armchair. It was also covered with books of every sort: atlases, novels, and dictionaries in languages he didn't recognize. Everywhere he looked there were books. Where had they all come from? And where was the cosy library that he used to go in as a young boy? Where had it disappeared to? John felt his heart fill with fear and panic. How was he going to find his mother's diary amongst all these books? Would he never find the truth about what happened that night? Then, suddenly, he saw it on the table beside his mother's favorite chair. Of course.. He was shaking as he walked over and picked it up, holding his breath as he turned to the first entry. At first glance, the pages seemed blank. After a second, ink started appearing on them somehow, forming words. John was surprised - how could've that happened?
'Hello, John' - read the diary - 'I'm sorry you found out this way. There is a map at the end of the diary; use it to get to the Northern Point. I'll meet you there. This is not a safe place. Look out, be strong, be wary. Good luck.'
Flabbergasted, John opened the diary at its last page. It featured a complex map, drawn by hand, yet quite precisely. In its center was the room John was standing in right now. Outside of it, the artist (supposedly John's mom, Elizabeth) drew an intricate mass of straight lines that looked like a maze. John felt frightened and aghast. 'What is going on here..?' he thought. He just entered his mum's old cabinet to look at her diary. Why does it look so.. differently? What is up with this book - that can't be her diary..? 'I should get out of here' John thought. And indeed, he would've got out of there, if only the door through which he came in was still there. He panicked. Upon noticing that the only ways out were two corridors leading in opposite directions, he ran to the nearest one. And John was surprised and terrified again: what he saw were just rows and rows of bookshelves, filled to the brim with books and scrolls of every sort, stretching on to the horizon. The ceiling was also much higher here; it could've held another floor. Far away he could see huge windows through which sunshine was streaming into the place.
Needless to say, he wasn’t in his house anymore.
An unending array of bookshelves and books of every kind and sort, intertwined with corridors leading to the sides. Stretching forth and forth until human vision can’t make anything out of it. And this bizarre light shining from the windows, what is up with that.
Terrified and confused, John stood in place, his mind racing. How did he get here by simply opening a door to a room in his house? What is this place? And most important, what is the deal with the diary- was it really mom's, what and where is the Northern Point.. 'So many questions' thought John as he buried his face in his hands. 'I.. I'll get out of here. There must be an explanation. I have to and will figure it all out.' John tried to cheer himself up a bit. Trying to gather his thoughts, he looked around the place and critically glanced at his possessions. 'This Northern Point isn't even located at the map.. it's just marked that to get there, one should go this way. Do I have any food? Just a few sweets and my pocket and this water bottle here, that's not much.' Aside from its dimensions and mystery, the Library (as John started calling it) didn't look all that foreboding. There was nothing behind the steel-barred windows, just this comforting, mellifluous light. Floors were covered with nice, symmetrically aligned red carpets. Bookshelves, twice the height of John, were constructed out of dark mahogany wood. Calmed by this assessment of the situation, John had a look at the few books on the nearest shelf:
“What Is Cleansed By Fire” by Orran T. Vasht
“What Is Strengthened By The Moon” by Meagar Vasht
“Nephelolatry: A Study On Zchoeq’yarfian Poetry” by The Crystalline Overwatch, a post-post-…-post-AI-entity of the ninth generation
“Taxonomy Of The Deathless Undead” by archl. Xaarf
“Terrifying Extraterrestial Beasts And How Not To Get Devoured By Them” by Quuaag Xqqaph
“A Study On Undimensional Tetrahedral Polysymmetry And Why 0 Actually Equals 1: Volume 7 Out Of 344” by saint 17372
More than surprised by the titles, he put them in a backpack he found in the original cabinet room, put the backpack on his arms, and started walking where the map led him.
The ubiquitous light continued to trickle through the windows. No sounds other than of John's footsteps were uttered in Library's calm, neverending corridors.

***

After reaching the end of the map, John walked somewhat randomly, in a very general direction. While cluelessly navigating the place, John spotted something unusual in the corner of his eye. He turned slowly to look at the object.
By one of the shelves, in plain sight, a human skeleton was lying down on his back.
His heart beating quickly, John walked closer to it, looking out for any threats. He noticed the dead person was wearing an anti-radioactive suit, one of those that they use in nuclear powerplants. The protective clothing had the letters H.E.V. written on it, followed by the Greek letter lambda. John was very surprised, but also pleased to find cans with food and drink in the person's very professional-looking backpack. As he grew weary by walking through the library, he stopped and sat by the deceased and enjoyed a meal. During eating, he thought about the Library and this situation he found himself in. John started to be less surprised by the anomalous properties and simply decided to accept everything he sees, as it seemed to be the only choice which would allow him to retain sanity. Having eaten the dead person's food, he glanced at the rest of stuff in the backpack. It contained some paper sheets with rows of numbers and characters unknown to him, some office supplies, a broken Geiger counter and a compass. Of all the things there, John found the compass the most interesting. The names of the four cardinal directions were different - North, West, South and East were replaced with Disnorth, Non-west, Unsouth and Not East. And the needle was constantly pointing Unsouth and slightly to the Not East.
Still feeling tired, John took out a random book from his backpack. Realizing the books weren’t exactly of this world, he was curious about their content.
The back cover of “Nephelolatry” read:
“Brilliantly written Nephelolatry is a more than an exquisite collection of Zchoeq’yarfian poetry. The book also contains a reliable and solid study on its social, neurological and linguistic origin, impact and future. Readers will surely notice the absurdly superb translation from Ancient Zchoeq’yarf, a language often assumed to be one of the most intricate and hard in the visible Quarthex, as it includes words like “zhet’tarf” which most viable corresponding word, in non-lethal Subcode would be a man in his 70’s, who tends to commit petty theft, at the time of speaking is wearing a grey hat, enjoys melancholy and is currently walking down the street. The word itself isn’t even a made-up compound, nor is it hardly ever used. Magnificent read –excerpt from the prologue, by author’s slave no. 17373
The Crystalline Overwatch is a post-post-post-…-post-AI entity of the ninth generation, currently residing in Iridescence 32b. This vastly eccentric overprogram owns 17 solar systems, most of which are filled to the core with supercomputers that run its phrene (the Crystalline Overwatch is an antiinclusionalist). It is also a fine connoisseur of art in all its forms.”
The back cover also included a picture, showing a person in a grayish tuxedo, with abnormally long fingers and a computer monitor instead of a head. The screen shone a uniform green light. The caption under the image read: “The Crystalline Overwatch’s nanoavatar on the Nihiloconstruct Conference, about 3742 AS”.
Suddenly, John felt a cold breeze roll in. As the air in the Library was always still, he felt surprised. Looking for the wind’s source, he found an open door at the end of one of the corridors – that led outside! Could it be? Was he to finally exit this hellish maze?
After passing through the wide open, massive wooden doors John looked at the surroundings. It seemed to be a regular city street, quiet like on a Sunday morning. There was no one to be seen; no cars drove by. To his anger, John noticed that whatever side he turned on this narrow street, he would face another building. There was no way out. Every building’s door just leads to the Library again. The street was apparently called “Maple Syrup St.” as read the signs.
John sighed and started searching the place for any useful objects or clues on how to get out of there. He noticed that the sun seemed a bit smaller than usual, and the sky was off too – he could see brown, metallic-like parts here and there, as if above the normal blueness of the sky. ‘I should see this place at night’ – John thought – ‘To compare the constellations and see if I’m on some other planet or whatever.’
Turning around to enter the Library again through the doors he came in, he saw what was written above the entrance:

“THE INFINITE LIBRARY
UNREDEESTABLISHED: A.D. NEGATIVE INFINITY
PERSISTENCE THROUGH PESTILENCE”
John walked through the door and was subsequently engulfed by the neverending rows of the Infinite Library’s bookshelves and corridors again.

***

As he travelled, John noticed the surroundings began to change. In the particular corridor he found himself walking through there were less and less books and scrolls on the shelves. However, he didn’t hope he would find an exit right now, just as he didn’t find one in the ridiculously named Maple Syrup street. Instead of the usual old rusty signs with letters on them he’s been seeing, the shelves were now bearing signs that read ‘Bookmarks’.
And indeed, those were bookmarks lying all over the place now. Bookmarks of all shapes and sizes; some ordered neatly in rows, but most were strewn all over the shelves and the floor in disarray. Trekking forward down the single Bookmark Corridor, John also saw objects that weren’t strictly bookmarks, but rather things some people had used or would use as bookmarks. These included pencils, pens, paper scraps, sticks and other books. The supposed bookmarks were becoming increasingly more bizarre as he walked on, featuring colorful bottles filled with unknown liquids, various mechanical and computer parts, ingots of peculiar opalescent alloy, luminescent jars with what looked like mutated fetuses inside of them, grey bones with visible signs of gnawing, huge buzzing electromagnets, golden coins, interesting alabaster sculptures of a seven-handed monster with a coyote head and axes with dried out blood on their blades.
Surprisingly, many of these were actually used as bookmarks. Books lied open on top of jars, their backs facing up; bones were put between the pages of books at random.
John repeated the mantra again and again: “do not be surprised”.
And then the corridor of bookmarks ended just as it had begun, gradually yet quickly. John was back in the maze. The Infinite Library was filled with books as it always had been. But John sensed something odd about this particular place; something was just off about it.
‘Maybe it’s the books’, he thought, subsequently smirking as he was surrounded with thousands of books for the last few hours. ‘They’re all.. not.. aligned properly as they used to be. Laying all over the floor and stuff.’
The chaotic placement of books reached its maximum in the corridor numbered 347D. It used to be a dead end hallway, but its final wall was broken, leading to formerly inaccessible territories. John decided to walk through the breached wall of the labyrinth. While trying to get through the humongous pile of books, he stepped on an ordinarily looking scroll.
The thick scroll suddenly jolted, jumped up and started screaming somehow, as if it was a living being.
‘WHO DARETH TRESPASS MYETH DOMAIN?! ‘ the scrolled rolled itself slightly and exhibited a bizarrely looking human face. It looked just like a usual face, but made out of paper, sticking out of a scroll and with pitch black spots, possibly hollow, instead of the eyes and the mouth.
‘What the-‘ John’s jaw dropped down in surprise.
‘HEXED THEY BE TRIFOLD! I REVILE YOU BY THE NAME OF THE TWIN ELECTRIC MOONS! MYSELF THOUS THEE IN ULTIMATE CONTEMPTUOUS ATTITUDE.‘ the scroll exclaimed and then started running and jumping around on its pseudolegs and cryptoarms.
‘What are you talk- Who are-‘ John sputtered, astounded.
‘O, VILE VICTIM OF RIGHTEOUS ABASEMENT! FEEL YOUR SOUL WITHER UNDER THE UNHOLY GAZE OF THE MOST MONSTROUS OF EYES!’ yelled the scroll solemnly, and then proceeded to roll itself further, exposing a pair of regularly looking eyes, plus one reptilian green eye. They all looked at John, boredom visible in their irises, however, John’s soul did not seem to wither, nor any other esoteric phenomenons took place. The scroll sounded flabbergasted by that happening. It ceased moving around the place, rolled itself back to its ‘face’ using which it had been talking before and began talking very quickly. John couldn’t make much of it, as the scroll’s language was quite peculiar.
‘Egad! You exquisite stallion! Vitiated thou be non by the Eightfold Archcurse! Myeth innumerably undignified persona hath been exalted with thy glorifiable presence! Forsooth, come forth, thy splendid reverence. Countless apologies for the attempt at harming thee with the atrocious Throehex of Woe; your faithful disciple beseeches for absolution, for it has erred and mistaken thee for a malefactor, a preposterous doppelgänger! Let us depart, my paramour!’
John didn’t really know what to say. Confused, perplexed and sort of scared, he slowly walked away from the scroll and started running in a random direction, deep into the bowels of the Library.
But alas, the Scroll followed him everywhere he went. John was stricken by its speed. Every corridor he turned to was infested almost instantly with this papyrus pest. How does it manage to move, using rolled paper as limbs, anyway? How does that even work? After a few minutes of this absurd game of it, John reluctantly stopped and sat on the ground. The papery oppressor swiftly followed and continued its (his? her?) tosh.
‘The Blind Idiot clairvoyantly foretold your coming, Sir! What an excellent match of running, if I may remark, Commodore! Whither shall our next trek lead? How will our magnificent voyage resume?’
John buried his face in his hands, again. ‘A talking scroll. This is seriously on the verge of insanity. Focus. You can’t freak out at all the weird stuff you find here. Gotta learn not to be surprised, right? This guy might supply some useful information.’
‘Listen up, scroll. SHUT UP.’ John verbalized his thoughts.
‘I’m all ears, venerable Commander-‘
‘I said SHUT UP. Now. I’ll be asking questions now, and you will answer them in a comprehensible way, is that understood?!’
‘…’
‘Who are you?’
‘My humble existence is that of a benign, simple scroll, dear Overlord. If I was graciously allowed to expand on such subject, I would state that my characteristic notions and traits I am in possession of, acquired or am fond of are those of hazardous adventuring (albeit Fate rendered my will to embark on any ventures of such insolent manner undone) and archerudite verbal and literary expression concerning of all sciences and arts. That is to say, my wisdom is point-blank gargantuan, as much as it hurts my incongruous modesty to vocalize such an outright resolute thought.’
John sighed.
‘Great. Okay, tell me, what is this place?’
‘It is the Infinite Library, Master. Billions and billions of books written on the inside and outside, thousands of holy and blasphemous scrolls, ancient parchments containing celestial knowledge, millions of decaying wooden shelves, all of the lore and stupidity contained within endlessness.
Huge, ravaging fires. Animistic tribes fighting for supremacy over what is pure nothing compared to the vastness of The Library. Whole pristine towns shattered by the savage adjoining countries. Primordial, screaming conscious scrolls read by dismal Anomaly Abstracts. Shacks formed out of books and inhabited by madmen. Insane otherwordly people killing the books with curved daggers of ivory. Malignant tomes bound by blessed silver chains in order to stop them from propagating their vicious science. Omnipowerful spell tomes, scrolls fully explaining and proving the existence and attributes of the divine, neverending stories of endless volumes. Phantoms roaming the chambers sprouting with words, cherishing their long lost mortal life. Wall-dwelling literate worms. Refulgent, divine scriptures written in languages understood by nobody. Immortal, anomalous creatures hopelessly devoting their life to read all of the Information. Educated mystical earthworms living inside paper for hundreds of years. Immensely complex mazes with hidden passages triggered by pulling books out of the shelves. Spiteful, slimy and gleaming arsenic-based lifeforms creating traps for humans out of their vast bodies. Absolutely humongous, kilometers-long books written with microscopic runes spelled with the use of ink made of black tears bled from corruption-weary eyes of hellish occultists. Overabundance of primordial artifacts. Tens upon tens of bestiaries written on its flora and fauna. Everything and anything, and a bunch more.’
John gazed at his papery interlocutor absently.
‘O..kay. Now, tell me, what is the deal with this?’ John asked, while pulling Mom’s diary out of his backpack. He had noticed before that the diary’s formerly blank pages had filled with drawings and text somehow. The alphabet was similar to the Latin one, with a few changes, like additional, Greek-looking letters and uncanny diacritics. Its language was nearly incomprehensible, aside from very few words. The drawings resembled some specific mechanical apparatus for the most part. Some intricate depictions of bizarre, eyeless animals were also present. The whole thing was given mysteriously titled: “Laokoon”.
The self-conscious literary work perused one of its own kin.
‘Drat! My humble manifestation quails it might not provide the requested solution to the inquiry, Milord. The title does strike mineself as oddly resemblant of a certain sensation, which is best described as foreboding, however, the origin of said particular notion is contained within the set of those dimdark corners of my cellulose mind – those that dare to obscure the mystery play of the Infinite that unravels in front of our eyes. Same pockets of caliginous space are what impairs my knowledge to the ignominious tier of the not omni-‘
‘Shut up! If you don’t know, just say it.. without.. coating it in ridiculous metaphors, okay?!’
‘The designate of thy objurgating locution, Captain, shall do as you wish.’
John sighed deeply again.
‘Uh, so, what is this place? I’ve lived on.. another world, I guess, my whole life. Why am I here?
‘Your faithful forespeaker dreads yonder cognizance is currently enigmatic to its present and apparently quasi-sagacious manifestation. Nevertheless, I shall add that zee Library exists on a spatially-timely plane inscrutably unlike any which my innumerably gratuitous interlocutor hath ayever witnessed with xir sensuous mimosae.’
Few seconds have passed during which John stared blankly at the scroll without moving. Then he sighed deeply. He felt like many more sighs are going to come if he keeps talking to this goddamn piece of paper. Man, does that thing like using obscure words. And there are pretty much no means of getting rid of him. Or her? Do scrolls even have distinct genders? I better think about something else.
‘Speak in an understandable way for once. Say, why do you follow me?’
‘Per request and pro publico bono, I shall decrease the splendour of myeth parlance to the manner of vernacular. I have pursued you, your Honor, to simply accompany you in your adventure. It is not safe by any means to trek alone in these corridors. Indeed, many-a great threats skulk among these grounds. I could aid you in thy quest, Esquire. It is beyond words how infinitely boring is sitting in the bookshelf, trading phrases and waiting for the Ultimate Reader. Hence, it is my humble opinion we possess verisimilitude to create a magnificent team.’
John thought that come to think of it, the Scroll has a point. Nonverbally agreeing, he put it in his backpack, in a way so it could talk, while still being cosy and not falling off. And then John began walking forward as usual.
‘At least I have somebody to talk to’ John thought rather gloomily.
‘So what are those monsters you mentioned? What should I be scared of?’ he asked, not really believing in them, but having a hint he is, as has usually been, horribly wrong.
‘And please, talk as crudely as you can.’
‘First off, General, watch out for the books themselves’ It was invigorating to hear it talking not like a Victorian poet, John thought. Even though it didn’t really talk like a Victorian poet. John knew nothing about Victorian-era poetry. ‘There are scrolls which upon reading will burn your precious eyes. Which will turn you batexcrement insane by the mere act of moving aside the covers. Some are kept underwater and with metal chains, but still manage to bring their mighty hammer of vicious hurt upon the living. And they do, sire, they do. Afflicted be not, however! For we shall conquer those foes in a beauteous way.’
‘Yeah, yeah, cool. I would like to read some of these books though, how do I make sure they aren’t as deadly as you said?’ he replied, thinking that the more he talks to him the more solemnly he will talk, picking up the Scroll’s quirk.
‘Nearly every corridor’s entrance’ Scroll notified, ‘is graced with the presence of a handwritten copy of the Tome of Wayfaring Souls. Or at least, it was so for a long time, before the infestations. It is a book whose unknown author attempted to catalogue all un-threatening books. The quest is noble, albeit impossible even for those next to omnipotent. In spite of the meaninglessness of the mysterious writer’s endeavour, the bequeathed heirloom undoubtedly is of use to the walkers of the library expanse. There exists also a second volume, titled What May Be Safely Written. I am certain it had been carved in the stars, pardon my colloquial adage, that it should presently become your primary objective to retrieve said objects.’
‘Alright. At the beginning of each corridor, right? Should be around here somewhere.’
After some searching, John found these supposed marvelous artifacts of safety. Bound in thick leather covers, the pages of the twin tomes were filled to the margins with black ink, in gothic font, making it harder to read. After squinting to decipher the meaning of a particular cluster of quirky letters in the middle of the book, he read: ‘The Craters of Quaoar, a Comprehensive Survey – The Association of Plutinos’. ‘Sounds like a regular book I guess’, John thought. In the short foreword of the book, the author advised the readers not to ever read nor touch books that have no visible names of its author(s), whoever they may be, on the covers, or are written by ‘Anonymous’. Funny thing, the ‘Tome of Wayfaring Souls’ itself didn’t provide the name of its author either. ‘What May Be Safely Written’ also written anonymously, featured the names of the deadly books, in certain places changed to the literal descriptions of certain books – supposedly because the tomes were so sinister and eldritch even writing, reading, seeing or pronouncing their names was harmful. Back during his normal life, John really enjoyed reading books, and was looking forward to reading some of the bizarre books he’s been seeing around, but now was quite disconcerted. Were certain books, simple patchworks of goddamn paper, able to kill people?! Not sure what to believe, John agreed that any books should be approached with caution, just in case, and then urged the Scroll to be silent, as he wanted to be left alone with his thoughts for a while.
Still continuing the trek, he noticed the surroundings began to change. The place wasn’t a plain maze now – he could see entrances to upper floors, staircases leading to basements, entresoles.. The Library looked rather messy, as if left unattended, judging by the books lying all over the floor. Sometimes John could even find whole bookshelves that fell over or possibly have been turned over purposefully. He had to work his way around those as if they were withered tree trunks in a jungle. Exploring other storeys of the tremendous library, the boy stumbled upon compartments and cubicles that didn’t look strictly library-like. To his anger, he found all computers in the chamber called Office 413b broken, because he had thought he could use them to contact his family (or really anybody at this point). These areas had a quite uncanny atmosphere because of their overall feel of abandonment and ongoing, slow, but inevitable decay. Most of the windows were shattered, and the broken furniture and electronic equipment scattered around the place was useless. In spite of that, John came across some helpful stuff there during his journey - namely cans with food and water bottles. ‘Lucky. I was getting hungry again.’ John thought. Making a break for a meal again, he sat by the wall and began reading the bizarrely named Tome of Wayfaring Souls. During reading, he underlined the titles of the books that sounded the most peculiar or funny to him. Some of these titles were, as follows:
‘Abhorrence that grants Equanimity’ by Yoth-Shoggoth,
‘Mutagens in interbistellar space – A survey of Andromedan binary star families’ by Lugburg'kkalwerti,
‘Pneumatic funnels in interstellar travel’ by The Association of Steampunk Svekonauts,
‘Various creeping entities in virtual space’ by Ishkaqwi ai Durugnul,
‘Formulae for calculating various spiritual quantities in the philosophical system of Xaedr 42IIIc’ by Neferneferuaton-Nefertiti,
‘As We Now Precede Eternity’ by The Avatar of the Dignitary of the Harbinger of the Ambassador of the Notable of the Nuncio of the Herald of the Presage of the Pre-Word of the Augur of the Regent Assessor of the Clairvoyant One in equilibrium with those of the Lightless Vacuity,
‘The Beknighted Brethren of the One And Unholy Outlandish Fiend’ by the Lounge In Crimson,
‘Shadows No Longer Cast’ by a discorporated by the Light,
‘Grimoire on the Ontologically Dubious’ by Assire van Anahid ,
‘Ana and kata in three dimensional space – A journey through semi-time’ by Agni aft Hau.
In ‘What May Be Safely Written’ some referenced books had short descriptions of them written next to their names, like ‘'Almanac of the Surreptitiously Incandescent - A Tenuous Tome of Romantic Tales'. 5000 pages. Hard cover made of thick wooden planks. Written with Ignivisual Runes of the Fourth power. Closed with a heavy metal lock only opened by a mixture of tears and artery blood.’
John felt his body shake of exhaustion. He must’ve walked quite a few miles this day. The sun was going down, coating the corroded offices and book-filled corridors in enjoyable orange hue. ‘At least the sun is normal’ John thought. Little by little, the solar disk hid behind the horizon and eventually ceased adorning the Library with its comforting light. By then, John had created a makeshift bed, or rather a resting place, to sleep for the night, having used some old newspapers and blankets. He felt lonely during the first night in the Infinite Library and couldn’t sleep for a long time.
But the morning turned out to be more pleasant. Awakened by the banter of the Scroll (it never slept) he felt quite lively and more optimistic than the previous day, even though it surely hadn’t been a good night of sleep. John could feel the firm ground in spite of the few lousy blankets he had gathered.
John got up, packed the few best blanket, put them in his backpack and then washed his face in a wash-basin he had noticed the day before.
‘I can’t go too long like that’, he thought. ‘This is a nice adventure and all, I guess, but I gotta think about sanitation. Can’t go walking for weeks in the same clothes without ever washing, ew.’
Having collected his possessions, he resumed the random trek through the corridors of the Library. The surroundings changed again, from offices in state of disrepair to usual, labyrinthine valleys of brown book covers. The sun was shining pleasantly as a magical scroll and John chatted.
‘So, um, Scroll? What is your name, anyway?’ the boy asked out of curiosity. As he expected, his paper friend did not answer in a casual way.
‘By Jove! Hath I been enquired over the appellative of my being I had been supposedly christened? Would the aforementioned hereby indicate that in the hitherto absence of any meaningful title whose designate is myself I shall be granted the honour to select myeth own name? Begad, just dare to imagine this cyclopean multitude of nomenclatural magnificence. For, my splendid proprietor, I do believe my author, whose very existence is dubious, unluckily did not entitle me. By Mitra, what name should I pick?! It definitely has to suit my impudent pep, my verbal adroitness.. Alack, our discourse converged into soliloquy, encore. What does thy excellence think of the naming conundrum?’ the Scroll babbled in joy.
‘I’m fine with just calling you the Scroll, but sure, pick your own name, fine by me.’ John replied, slightly amused.
‘What about Frederic? Clementine? Aodeodatus? Parameshvara? John? Bartholomew? Belial? Elohim? Ngai? The Supreme Scroll? Pardon my botherations, but thy opinion, sire, is of uttermost importance to me in this dilemma.’
‘Maybe cross out John? Because I am called John, you know. John Wright. And ‘the Supreme Scroll’ is awfully pretentious.’ he answered.
‘Remarkably true. I think I shall reconsider the christening – ‘the Scroll’ does sound elegant in its shortness; concise yet distinct its briefness; makes for..’
John usually didn’t pay too much attention to the awfully formal babbling of the Scroll, but now he was even more preoccupied with what was just happening before his eyes.
A gloomy procession of tall people cloaked in black robes was marching through a passage perpendicular to the one John was walking through. Some were holding long rusty metallic staves. Some were playing the drums slowly and monotonously. All of the bizarrely tall silent creatures wore animal skulls on their hands. John could not notice any faces under the horned skeletal masks. All of those people were also wearing long black robes with hoods.
John closed the Scroll’s mouth by force in order not to be heard, but it already noticed the entities and did not utter a word.
Their march was dreadfully quiet, only sometimes interrupted by subtle sounds of drums and harps. Many of the masked people were bearing banners and pendants, which were usually black in colour, sometimes depicting recurring images of silver stars, human skeletons, flames and chalices. The mysterious people, if they were even human, didn’t seem to be concerned by John. They just continued their procession, slowly and quietly, with their crimson flags and eerie instruments chanting hypnotically. Soon their array ended. John estimated their number to be about 50.
‘The Miasmaspawn.. Roaming wherever in search of the chalice.. Those of the seven cities.. Murmuring incantations, constructed from the void itself-‘
‘Now, what the hell are you talking about?!’ John burst out angrily, alarmed and scared by the ominous procession. He picked up a quicker pace, now rushing through the maze to get away from those people.
‘I apologize, for I have not made you privy to the threats that lurk within the Infinite Library’s walls.. these creatures are the Miasmaspawn. They have been created spontaneously from the Outer Void by the causality-defying Crimson-‘
‘Yeah, if I even understood any of that, chances are I wouldn’t believe it anyway. Sounds esoteric and stupid.’ John responded, irritated.
‘Their supposedly arcane origin notwithstanding, they are usually not formidable’ Scroll sighed in a condescending way. ‘Unless provoked by excessive staring, touching, loud sounds et cetera. When vexed.. it is said they will exact abhorrent vengeance upon the impenitent.’
‘Yeah, yeah, cool. Any other monsters I should watch out for?’ John requested, slowly calming down.
‘As you should have already learned from What May Be Safely Written, you mustn’t read anonymous books- Could you please slow down a little bit, your reverence? Ease up on the limb accelerators?’
‘Here, here.’ John stopped and sticked the Scroll further down his backpack’s side pocket to make it more comfortable. ‘It must’ve loosened when I was walking so quickly’ John thought, resuming walking.
‘Splendid. Thank you, comrade. So as I was saying; stray from the nameless works. Some might not even be real books, but long-living insects and parasites that disguise themselves as books. I have witnessed whole sub-libraries overridden by vermin, thousands of sallow inchoate scorpionic flies hatching from both book-looking life forms and my fouled brethren. Or, I mean, heard of them from, since as I had said, I had wished for adventure but never embarked upon one.’
‘Heard? From who?’ John questioned.
‘Have you not noticed many of the literary works gathered in this place are sentient?’
John suddenly looked around him, frightened a bit.
‘Yes, the enlightened books live. Letters and syllables are their cells and tissue. Scrolls of ink and wood, as you would say: of blood and bone. And praised be the Ultimate Reader for it.’ The Scroll continued.
‘Who is that, now?’
‘The infinite, benign entity that at the end of time shall come and peruse all that has been written, and judge the books impeccably by their content; if a given book is to Her liking, it will become immortalized, saved of mortal turmoil and encased forever in a world of pure, high density abstraction. Contrarily, if She finds the work boring, unimaginative, useless, the world will be cleansed of it. The impure will be expunged from existence forevermore. Those are the principles to which a great deal of books adheres – however, there are countless arguments and perpetually spanning debates over the Reader’s, hallowed be Her name, attributes, ranging from the most fundamental such as purely Her existence to the fractally recursing, complex themes like the infinitesimal aseity of volition. Other topics on which numerous disciples of the God of Word disagree on is the precise technical definition of a good book, the time of the Supreme Perusal, spiritual differences between books and scrolls and what is the state of books that died before Her Descent, or those that were infected with vermin, or became a part of Book Constructs, and so on.’
‘I see.’ John replied laconically. ‘I guess that’s kind of a similar situation to what we have on Earth. Say, did your bookish philosophers thought about where the world, I mean the Library, came from? You haven’t mentioned that.’
The Scroll looked stupefied.
‘..Frankly, I believe that exact issue hasn’t been subject to philosophical considerations of any self-aware book that myeth person has been acquainted with. Forsooth, master, you surely possess qualities of an inquisitive sage.’
John chuckled at its bewilderment.
‘Why do you say “myeth”, anyway? It’s not a word.’ he changed the subject.
‘To superciliously answer thy question with yet another enquiry – why does one have to be restricted to a an irrevocably defined and finite set of logic constructs which we call language? The possibilities to phrase even the least complicated matter are virtually endless; why not be the imaginative blacksmith to your own forge of literary magnificence? To shape the pronunciation alloy to your will? Would it not be splendid to bend the rigid rods and bars of tenses as you wish? To reforge the primaeval blades of cases and moods? Or, changing the extended metaphor’s theme, to venture into the dichotomous lands of prose and poetry – in order to merely marvel at its beauty and cherish its grandeur, or to ravage its pristine jungles with mechanics and flame, leading to the perdition of such splendour? By which I obviously purport deterioration and plummeting of the literary prowess the English language possesses, despite its intrinsic inferiority when it comes to my mother language. So why should I not create words as I please, in accordance with the neologismical rules of the language, if what I am willing to address does not yet have a single distinct word for the given designate? And to expand on ‘myeth’ explicitly, I utilize it for I have found myself using the possessive pronoun form of I on a regular basis, while it has no other synonyms but “my” and “mine”. ‘ the Scroll stated.
‘..Wow, okay. And your mother language being what?’ John replied.
‘The Ultimate Language. A set of affixes and rules so thoroughly precise and exceptionless, sublime in its complexity yet exact in its meaning. It has been observed that it gets rid of the user’s cognitive bias as well as makes their thought process nearly six times quicker. Alas, it is almost impossible to learn; only if you are exposed to it since the dawn of your life does The Language improve thy thought process significantly and multifariously.’
And so they walked, a teenager and a talking scroll in his backpack, through the outlandish and supposedly infinite expanse of the Library.
***
It was about noon when they encountered the spectre. It hovered a few inches above the ground, emitting an azure gleam as it moved. The discorporate wraith looked vaguely humanoid, however, it had no distinct lower limbs – its torso gradually became a long, djinn-like tail. Its hands hung freely; they only had three fingers each. Two pointy canine ears were placed on the opposite sides of the top of its repulsively cubic head. The blue ghost kept its two eyes closed as it flew through the hallways. John followed the floating phantom, being curious, even though the Scroll told him not to.
It moved somewhat randomly. Every few corridors the ghost proceeded to randomly stop in place. Then, subsequently, few luminescent flagella would appear coming out of its forehead. Next, the ends of the shiny tentacles touched a few particular books on the shelves, flashed blue, waited about 30 seconds and retreated back to the immaterial body of the entity. The books remained unharmed. John was afraid to face the ghost directly, even though it seemed to be aware of his presence and did not attack. Eventually, growing tired from following it, John stopped and just let it go.
‘So, what was that blue ghost?’ he asked the Scroll, sitting down to eat a snack. He had a relatively good reserve of cans with things food like rice, beans and poultry he gathered in the Offices.
‘The azure wraith’ the Scroll started, in the solemn tone he always used to tell tales like this, ‘was a creature commonly referred to as an Information Seeker, in certain works also known as a Knowledge Extractor or a Wisdom Gatherer. I shan’t bother you with its proper taxonomic classification. You are also already privy to its physical traits, my Lord, since you have witnessed it directly. These nearly indestructible creatures does not ever reproduce or bear offspring, but devote their virtually infinite life roaming the Library and perusing its books, in a, well, somewhat unusual, arcane way. The shades’ purpose for this is unknown. They do not wish to interact with anybody else; when provoked by coming into contact with its pass-through ‘body’ they unleash an attack of pure energy-‘
‘There’s no such thing as “pure energy”, stupid. I know a thing or two about physics.’ John interrupted its speech.
‘There is also no hovering blue ghosts. Neither talking scrolls nor infinite libraries exist.’ the Scroll responded sarcastically.
‘..You got a point. Guess I should believe you.’ he surrendered. ‘Also, all they do is read books? That sounds kind of like that Ultimate Reader you talked about before, doesn’t it?’
‘I will now proceed to pretend I have not heard that utterly blasphemous remark.’ the Scroll replied with a little hesitation.
‘Oh.. sorry.’
The Scroll was about to resume its harangue, but it was cut off by a dreadful, distant roar. The alarming loud animal sound echoed through the Library’s halls. The two travellers stopped for a second, terrified, and then an atavistic reaction followed: John started running away as fast as he could. On the spur of a moment, he picked up a random metallic rod from some debris, meaning to use it as a weapon later. "

(it's not over yet, and it is also shitty.)

[Babylon]

You are just being modest right? Because this is definitely, definitely, not shitty in any degree what so-ever. I would describe it more as amazing, personally.

[Rooster5man]

Outside of it, the artist (supposedly John's mom, Elizabeth) was an intricate mass of straight lines that looked like a maze

Is "was" meant to be "made"? There are a few sentences like that throughout, but it doesn't take away from how amazing the story is.

the scrolled rolled itself slightly and exhibited a bizarrely looking human face. It looked just like a usual face, but made out of paper, sticking out of a scroll and with pitch black spots, possibly hollow, instead of the eyes and the mouth

From Harry Potter?

It's like a combination of Lemony Snicket and Douglas Adams, if that makes sense. Funny, strange Science Fiction that wanders into Hitchcock proportions.

The beginning paragraphs reminded me of Fog Fall and Submachine - A maze, looking for an exit. Hazmat suit and taking supplies.

And the whole time he was talking to the scroll, I was WAITING for something like this:

Few seconds have passed during which John stared blankly at the scroll without moving. Then he sighed deeply. He felt like many more sighs are going to come if he keeps talking to this goddamn piece of paper. Man, does that thing like using obscure words. And there are pretty much no means of getting rid of him. Or her? Do scrolls even have distinct genders? I better think about something else.

And:

The Avatar of the Dignitary of the Harbinger of the Ambassador of the Notable of the Nuncio of the Herald of the Presage of the Pre-Word of the Augur of the Regent Assessor of the Clairvoyant One in equilibrium with those of the Lightless Vacuity

...that is some epic name.

Needless to say, I really loved it, Vurn. Have some confidence in your work

[Boingo]

^What he said.

That's good enough to be in a novel, if it was twiddled around a bit more.

[The Kakama]

This is awesome.

[The Abacus]

A literary masterpiece of pure genius.

I would, however, give the protagonist a better name than "John," it is too common to be used in such a piece of work.

[Vurn]

Is "was" meant to be "made"? There are a few sentences like that throughout, but it doesn't take away from how amazing the story is.

Oh, yeah, right. Derp. The story sure needs some rereading to pick out wacky expressions like this.

the scrolled rolled itself slightly and exhibited a bizarrely looking human face. It looked just like a usual face, but made out of paper, sticking out of a scroll and with pitch black spots, possibly hollow, instead of the eyes and the mouth

From Harry Potter?

Haha, yeah.

It's like a combination of Lemony Snicket and Douglas Adams, if that makes sense. Funny, strange Science Fiction that wanders into Hitchcock proportions.

About the *science fiction* part: matters like the way the protagonist got to that place and what it actually is are going to be explained, in a technical way, with, like, made up terms and stuff.

Needless to say, I really loved it, Vurn. Have some confidence in your work

Thank you!

A literary masterpiece of pure genius.

Hahahaha, wow, wow, wow, easy there.

Also, just edited some random meh stuff I noticed after reading it again, including what Rooster said.

[Rooster5man]

Oh, yeah, right. Derp. The story sure needs some rereading to pick out wacky expressions like this.

No problem. Like I said, it doesn't take away from the story. I used to edit Fan Fictions all the time on my other Forum, but, being the grammar king you are, I wasn't sure to say anything

Haha, yeah.

About the *science fiction* part: matters like the way the protagonist got to that place and what it actually is are going to be explained, in a technical way, with, like, made up terms and stuff.

Back to what I said about reminscient of Douglas Adams

And you're very welcome!