Horror

YOUR FIRST TEST

Before attempting this, please read through to the

end. Make sure you understand the risks and are

willing to pay the price of admission.

Above all else, you must concentrate, must focus.

You must not allow yourself the self- indulgence of

thinking about what you're doing, Such reflection

will wake the logic we've cultivated as a species to

banish the darker realities, and after all, we're not

interested in logic; it's magiek we're after here,

aren't we?

Magic is belief, not ritual. Ritual is nothing without

belief, an empty vessel, and for that reason, any

ritual, no matter how simple, will sullice. It is the

belief that matters, the font from which the magic

shall flow into this tiny container we'll soon build.

Concentrating? Mind clear? Good. Let's begin.

For the purposes of our simple ritual, all you must

do is find a space where you can sit comfortably for

a while any time afier sunset. For safety's sake, you

should have no walls or portals of any kind nearer

than twice your arm's reach from you. Some arms

are longer than others. Clear your field of vision of

any mirrors and other highly reflective surfaces.

Lastly, turn off all the lights. If this is inconvenient

for some reason, just make sure you're somewhere

with a door that closes you off from the light. They

aren't a big fan of the light.

We're calling back an old friend of yours, one you

never understood. It used to visit you in the dark of

your room, to whisper to you from the shadows of

basements and the tops of darkened stairways.

Invest your belief in this ritual and it will summon

up your visitor.

Now recite the following poem:

My gldest fiiend, so long ignored. Come back to me

from the night's dark shore. My invitation I renew

That I might spend this night with you

Repeat this poem until you establish a consistent

rhythm. Tap out its beat as you recite it. Once

you've gotten it down, you should only have to

repeat it a few more times before you sense a

change in the room. It could be almost anything:

breathing besides your own, a drop in the

temperature, creaking floor boards, a susurrus of

movement.

Most commonly, you'll just know that you're no

longer alone.

Once this happens, remain quiet, remain still. No

matter what you hear, no matter what it might say,

do NOT turn to look at it. Visitors are bound by

Laws far older than the laws of nature and much

more profound. These same Laws protected you as

a child, but sadly, some no longer apply. Visitors

are bound to us from our birth until our death, so it

has been denied your nourishing fear for a good

many years, kept at bay by the faux light of rational

thought, a flimsy shield you've dared to cast aside.

It's weak right now, but that doesn't mean it's not

dangerous. It’ s hungry.

What follows could last minutes, it could last hours.

Console yoursself with the knowledge that the

longest it can possibly continue is until dawn. It will

offer you anything you want if you’ll only look. It

will beg, it will howl and scream and roar. It will

creep up so close that you will feel its icy-corpse’s

breath on your neck. Keep repeating “Ask and I shall

answer.”

Eventually, it will pose its riddle. Except it’s not

truly the Visitor’s riddle. It’s yours. If you’ve lived

your life with your eyes mostly open, if you've been

paying attention to the subtle play of synchronicity

in your life, the answer will come to you almost

immediately. If it doesn't, you have until dawn to

answer. It shall never be asked again. Like all good

riddles, the correct answer will be self-evident.

If you answer correctly, the Visitor will then set a

task for you. Once it does, wait until you no longer

sense its presence before moving from your seat.

The task will always be something totally outside

your character, but there's no time limit and you get

as many chances as you need to complete it. Once

you do, congratulations! You've passed your first

test.

If you look at your Visitor, there’ s nothing more to

be done for you. It's already walking around in your

skin, drinking in the sweet, sweet nectar of your

silent screams. In time, your screams will fail to

satisfy and some day we’ll read about “your”

atrocities.

If you fail to solve the riddle, you'll learn to sleep

with the lights on soon enough. In fact, you'll find

that afier a brief adjustment period you can get by

with almost no sleep at all.

You'll have to.