So, I’ve had this knife now for a little while. I dunno what it’s deal is or what…but it seems to be constantly callin’ out to me. Whenever I am near it, I get the itch to take a life and takin’ my own isn’t satisfyin’ its thirst. I thought I could be a decent kind of a guy, ya know. However, I don’t know how long I can hold out if I am now doomed with this.
I can’t get rid of it. It always keeps appearin’ in my hands or my pocket. It’s just there. Maybe it’s an extension of me? The darkness and hunger that has always been there? Somethin’. What I do know is that this is my burden, and I have to carry it forever.
Another thing I have to deal with is the scars. People can see me clear as day and they see a fuck ugly guy with scars on his face, neck, hands and arms—it’s so disugustin’…even I can’t stomach it. I wagered that I could maybe take a trip. I figured I may as well try somethin’ new. So I went on over to the museum. I mean, if there’s somethin’ there that could give me an idea on what this knife may be, shoot, I am all for it.
Bob wandered the busy city streets to the museum in downtown. He figured he’d probably have questions about the knife at the metal detector but apparently, it never showed up and wasn’t noticeable to the cops. He found it to be perhaps chance that maybe this was indeed the path he was to take; to investigate and find the truth he was seeking.
He approached a woman at a counter that had a prominent sign that hung and read “Information.” She was young, quite attractive and had a voice that helped put him at ease.
“How may I help you,” she asked.
Bob adjusted himself, took in a breath and unleashed his strange query. “Well, ya see I have an artifact that I’d like to have looked at. I was wonderin’ if you could point me in the direction of havin’ someone look at it by chance?”
A peculiar look was in her eye. He could note something supernatural was at work, but he couldn’t quite make it out. It was a look he was starting to see in some people. Folks that had a dark secret or made a bargain with…something.
“Ah, why yes. I can page the curator, and they will have someone meet with you in the back room down the hall on the left.” The woman was calm, ridiculously calm about a stranger inquiring about a random item.
Bob smiled and gave a slight nod to the woman. He had turned his back and started the other way when he heard her say, “Have a nice day…Bob.” He turned around and saw that he woman was gone. His heart sank. Was this some kind of game? Someone’s twisted manipulation of reality? Was he going to wake up being jacked into a machine? Was he dead and he’s just in some kind of Hell? Questions flooded the poor sap’s head, and he had no one to give him any of the answers…except for the one possible at the end of the hall on the left…in the back room.