Holder of Charms


In any city of any country, travel to a road not taken in any car. Make sure that car has a mirror for you to see your face. Take a deep breath and steel yourself for you won’t be resting anytime soon.

Now, start charming the person in the mirror. Don’t worry about your image (yet) for there will be no one to look stupid for. To have an audience is your task, the Holder of Charms. Keep in mind that she’s a demon, and to charm her you have to be a demon. Speak about about cutting newborns’ faces with rusty scissors, flaying your siblings with potato peelers, chopping fingers with pruning shears, or pulling teeth out with wrenches. Never stop even if your throat bleeds, if your tongue dries to stone or if your bladder starts to betray you. This will take hours, or days, or eternity if you submit to hatred and spend the rest of your life in your car cursing about the ones you cherish.

If you stop or the person in the mirror shows disinterest, you haven’t shown enough hatred. You lose; every time you fall asleep, you will go through the torture you offered to the Holder of Charms. It will appear as a dream, but the pain won’t. You may never sleep if you wish. The only way to lift this curse is to actually fulfill the wishes you had made.

When the images in the mirror change, be happy for you’re on the right track. Don’t let the images disturb you. You will see smiling heads of babies without bodies, drooping faces as if they were wax, skinless faces, crushed faces, ones covered with boiling pus and worms, and more that would send a chill even to Death’s spine. The images are you, for your hatred has charmed the Holder, and don’t be surprised if you may feel what the images feel.

When no more images appear in the mirror, close your eyes. Keep your hate, and just a pinch of humanity and sanity. Never open your eyes until you hear an old and insane woman singing the stereotypical snake charmer melody you hear in cartoons. Sometimes she would sing the English alphabet or nursery rhymes. When you open your eyes, you will be in a meadow of dead foliage, before you an eight foot old demoness. Her skin has been boiled black, dripping rubbery flesh that plaster to the earth with acidic sounds. Her exposed bones have opulent green maggots. Misplaced eyes, fangs and unknown organs adorn her naked body. Her face, looking down on you, features a warped smiling skull with skin. Her eyes are sunken in the purple caverns which are the sockets; her lips have flaked off, cooked by the oil that was once her nose. In place of her teeth are slashed gums dangling and arcing in impossible ways.

She will then sing the melody of a couple about to marry. Hold her sizzling maggoty hand, and she will extend her neck for the kiss. Her lips are cold, like raw meat. The slashed gums will be hard and metallic, her tongue as bitter as hell, yet as sweet as a kiss. She will taste like cooked human.

After the kiss, you will find yourself in your car, with a raging purple tumor on your throat. No one will pay attention to it, for you’re the only one who can see it. But don’t worry, because you have the gift of utterance and charisma. You can make anyone fall for you, metaphorically, or literally.

The tumor is Object 346 of 538. Choose your words carefully.


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Last modified on 2008-08-13 07:46:31Average Rating: 3.67 / 5 (3 votes)Viewed 8770 times

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