The Original Sin
I was part of a crew of about two dozen people who were tasked with renovating an old, abandoned home. It was a cream-colored farmstead style home located in unforested, generic nowhere. We each split off to separate areas of the house to make assessments and begin our work.
In the mud room just inside the front door where I stood, I could see the large living room to my left and a windowed door leading to a small room, with stairs along the opposite wall leading down to the cellar. It hadn’t been long since another crewman had gone down there when I heard him shout and come bounding up the stairs. He scrambled out of the room just as a dark shadow leapt out of the stairway and slammed into the door he had barely managed to close. As the creature banged and clawed on the door, we managed to shove a heavy box in front of it. We weren’t convinced it couldn’t get through if it truly wanted to, yet somehow it just kept clawing and ignoring the glass.
I dared a brief peek through the window. The creature was a four legged beast made of windswept shadow, with a strange, gray-patterned face I’d almost describe as “tribal.” For reasons I am not well equipped to answer, we decided the best course of action would be to try and ignore it. We had a job to do, after all.
As the day yawned and leaned on its side, I revisited the room before the cellar. The shadow beast was no longer clawing and beating on the door, which boosted my bravery a slight amount at least. Pressing my face close to the window I looked right, then left, at which point I spotted a young boy in what appeared to be a white hospital gown. I’m not a good judge of age, but I’d estimate the child to be somewhere around 8 years old. When he saw that I was looking at him, he looked straight back into my eyes and said, “Come closer. I need to tell you something.”
Declining the offer, I opted to gather another crewman to come look — to verify what I was seeing. Without hesitation my crewmate pushed aside the box and opened the door, entering the room while asking the child if he needed help. The boy made no sudden movements, but instead, almost gracefully, with one hand grasped my crewmate’s hand while reaching up with the other to caress his cheek. The boy said, “I am the original sin.” He then hugged the crewman, who was quickly and dispassionately turning pale. “I have so many books in my head,” said the boy.
I seemed to move automatically, and in relatively short order the door was closed and box replaced. The boy turned to me, saying, “It’s okay. I have many more to play with.” As he spoke, a procession of gray skinned people ambled slowly up from the cellar into the small room. When the last of them emerged it seemed there were well more than a dozen, though keeping count wasn’t a high priority of mine. Additionally, some of the “people” weren’t much more than disembodied, undying heads in varying states of disfigurement — these had been carried up by some of the last few walkers. The boy solemnly swept his arm, gesturing to the newly assembled crowd. “This is my retribution.”
The situation, though eldritch, was not enough to motivate me to depart into the dark of the night that had descended. After apprising the remaining crew of what had happened, we collectively agreed to stay the night. I urged everyone to stay away from the cellar entry, but it was clear that — though visibly shaken — some were less than willing to believe my tale. Over the course of the night, the boy continued to offer temptations to the crew who dared visit, with which he ensnared a few into the same fate as the first. Each time, he would tell them about the books in his head.
I have no recollection of falling asleep, but somewhere near dawn I awoke to find myself standing in the small cellar entry, surrounded by the cold flesh of the boy’s collection. The pale-clothed boy was standing in front of me, and said, “I am the original sin.” He reached out and touched my hand. He sounded as if exhausted by agony. “I have so many books in my head.”
Everything went dark, and somehow I knew my eyes were being stapled shut. I peeled them open, coming face to face with my reflection in the window of the cellar entry door. “I am the first man,” I said. Then, in a panic, I pushed through the door. Instead of the mud room, however, I found myself in the middle of a short hallway. The walls were solid from the floor to waist, turning to large-paned glass up to the ceiling. Beyond the glass in every direction was liquid darkness. Across from where I entered, I could see my reflection, which was not unlike the shadow beast. I threw myself at the wall and pushed through, and suddenly found myself in the living room where the rest of the crew was just waking up.
My entrance startled many of the crew, but as they peered in my direction they began to scream and scramble away. A couple of them picked up brooms and tools, and began to wave them at me menacingly. I tried to calm them, to ask them why they were attacking me. I could see my pitch black, smokey hands flailing in front of me. As they drew near I instinctively attempted to re-position myself to safety, and would find myself suddenly a few yards farther of a distance than I had expected.
The last of the crew finally abandoned their attack and opted to escape. I gave no thought to following. Instead I just stood there, until I had no more thoughts at all.
