The Darkened Obelisk

The Solemn Stone Door

Heysel spoke softly through the slight gap in the door to a home she had never anticipated she would actually visit. She had been pleading on the threshold for nearly an hour, seeking some form of communication with the dodgy person that was rumored to dwell within. He continued to deny Heysel again and again, but at this point she was indefatigable. Resolute in her desire, if not need, for access through the door. Heysel did not come from much, but her legacy was that of misfortune.

No one would believe what she saw the night she set flame to the old manor. No survivor would speak of the things that walked among them. They pretended it was a dream, or ignored it completely. Her grandmother of sorts, after much deliberation, at long last revealed to Heysel some malign artifact and where she got it from. The very thing that spurn on this occult quest.

It is uncertain what bowed first, the elderly man's will, or the ancient wood frame, for as the man opened the door the cracked elm fell right off its hinges and collapsed against the wall. Without a barrier between the two, there was a moment of confusion and pause. She nearly spoke up until the figure began to move. He made no sound, expressed no emotion, but with a slight gesture the old man finally beckoned her in, leaving the door where it lay as he shuffled into the darkness.

The sodden abode gave no shelter from the sky's onslaught, water dripped from a celling that looked as it may give at any moment. Were it to do so, Heysel surmised it would likely bury the resident in material somehow older than himself. They passed trinkets, baubles, and a curious assortment of damp books and rotted chests with contents peering and peeking from every possible opening. These things interested her little in comparison to what she sought from the hermit. He knew exactly what she wanted from the scores of antiques and strange curios that he and the many before had gathered.

She was no stranger to these objects. She had grown accustomed to their darkened presences over the years, and it was through them that the discovery of this moistened hovel off the beaten path was achievable in the first place. Though not nearly as dismal as the structure she now found herself delving deeper into, a shop with similar occult paraphernalia was something she had endured and enjoyed during her infancy and adolescence. An elderly woman of many similar characteristics to that of the humble man guiding her into subterranean mysteries was the same that told her fantasies and legends of a portal or some gateway into the world of dreams. And horrid nightmares.

The old woman told her young heir that if anyone were to find this gateway they could choose to pass, if they had the heart to face whatever they may find in that place of oddity. It could spell truths and secrets long forgotten. For a realm created by eons of intangible thought and limitless creativity would doubtless be filled with unforeseen possibilities of adventure and danger. To the nighttime traveler the twisting pathways felt miles long, snaking in every possible direction. Some seemed to leave the main path and head upwards at such an angle that couldn't, nor shouldn't be possible for any structure crafted by the hand of humanity. It seemed that the very center of the shop was placed at the mouth of a vast labyrinth of a cave system so carefully hidden that only the mad and the lucky may ever hope to find passage to such a place.

The deeper the Heysel and her silent guide traversed the more the world around them gave way to the basic simplicities of earth and stone. As if the cave was no longer bound behind walls of wood, it slowly crept into view and slowly engulfed portions of the room. Though Heysel's curiosity was peaked multiple times over by a variety of curiosities she passed her purpose was resolute, and she dared not stir the darkened tomb of such long forsaken tokens. Such objects are known to cause harm or misfortune upon the owner or carrier, but what is worse at the shuffling pace the curator seemed to go she was quite afraid of becoming lost in the growing landscape in which she now found herself capture within.