Chapter 1: The Book

The beginning of it all.

            “Kye.” That noise.

            “Kye.” That voice.

            “Can you draw something for us?” The voice, scratchy and distant, was oddly soothing to him. It was taking long pauses before every sentence.

“We need you to focus, Kye.” He had never heard anything quite like it before. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he heard the voice of another. He sat still, letting the calming voice bounce around in his mind long after it had ceased.

“Pay attention!” His eyes darted open. The voice was harsher now. But he still wasn’t paying attention.

He sat staring at the wall before him, seeing himself reflected back. The large, shiny metal square set into the wall distorted his features as he tried to make out what he was. A boy; he knew that. And from what the voice had said, he was inclined to think his name was Kye. On top of his head sat thick, light-colored hair that appeared to stand almost on end. The sides of his head were shaved almost completely to the skin. His pointed nose stuck out farther than was probably necessary, and was positioned between two startling eyes, the color of which he could not make out through the imperfect image.

“Draw something, please.” The reassertion of the voice cut off Kye’s thoughts as he whipped his head around searching for the source. He was alone. His motions slowed as he dragged his eyes wonderingly over everything there was to see, which wasn’t much.

The room was completely square; comprised of four walls made of whitewashed cinder blocks, with a cold white tile floor. It was also entirely empty, save for a few items. One was the aforementioned mirror, which looked to Kye more like a window through which you could only see yourself. To the left of this was a grey metal door, firmly closed at the moment, with no handle. Then there was the chair in which he sat: metal, and positioned in the exact center of the room. In front of him was a table, made of the same material as the chair in which he sat.

It seems of worth to note that none of these things held even the slightest interest to Kye. Yet, the table supported a single item, and it was this that caught Kye’s eye. His head stopped moving as he analyzed every detail.

It was a book: rectangular, sharp-edged, and beautiful. The cover was made of thick white paper that appeared to be incredibly strong, and was bound shut by a single white metal clasp on its right edge. The piercing white of the book was offset pleasingly by the six simple letters printed in the deepest black. The word “CREATE” was centered across the top quarter of the book. The letters were large and imposing; sharp and unbelievably crisp, yet still entirely beautiful.

The rest of the book was left pure except for the bottommost right corner, where there was printed a single symbol in the same striking black of the title. It was simple: a crescent, with an undefined loop on its bottom point. A long line crossed neatly through the crescent moon as well as its point, completing the emblem. It too was wonderful to look at.

“It’s yours.” Kye looked up from the book in the direction of the monotone voice, which he now understood was coming through a speaker directly above the mirrored window. “Now open it, take the pencil-,” (Only now did Kye notice the black pencil laying parallel to the book’s right edge.) “-and draw something.”

Kye did as he was told. He reached out, feeling slightly uneasy, as if he were ruining the purity of the book with his hands, and opened the clasp. Pulling the cover back he revealed the first page. There were already drawings in it. The first was of a baby, and it was almost expertly drawn. Kye flipped the page with extra care, rubbing the fine, yet coarse-feeling, material between his fingers. He had never felt nor seen anything so lovely as this before.

The succeeding drawings were various objects of no particular meaning: a vase, a television, a football, a cat, a fork, a lamp. They were not drawn so precisely as the first picture, but they all had a symbol scribbled below them: the one from the cover. Finally, a blank page presented itself. Kye slowly grabbed the pencil and brought his hand to rest on the open canvas. The tip of the pencil was pointed down, and the hand appeared ready to flow across the page. Yet, no movement came. The boy withdrew his hand, and sank back into his seat. His eyes remained fixed to the empty page as the familiar voice once again came over the speaker.

“Are you going to draw?”

The voice awaited a reply, as a thick sort of silence hung in the still air. Kye felt as though he should ask what the purpose of all of this was. Maybe he should ask who was behind the voice. Maybe he should ask who he was or what he was doing here. Yet, he did not.

“What--” Kye choked, startled at the sound of his own dry voice. “What should I draw?”

“You don’t have any ideas,” the voice retorted, more as a statement than a question. There might have even been a sigh of disappointment mingled with the reply.

Kye simply shook his head and looked down at his lap. He was clothed in hospital robes. He nervously tangled his fingers in the thin material. There began a long pause while Kye awaited more feedback. Finally, it came.

“Draw…a tree.”

A tree. Right. That’s good. Kye grasped the pencil in his right hand once more, feeling more confident. He reached for the book and slid it off the table, setting it on his lap to provide more leverage. Finally, Kye began to draw. The pencil slid across the page effortlessly as Kye drew what he pictured in his mind. All worries, questions, and insecurities drifted from his head as his hand flew across the page.

Within seconds of beginning, however, his hand stopped, and, looking back up, he laid the pencil back on the table. He looked patiently at the mirror.

“Finished?”

Kye nodded.

“May I see?”

Kye picked up the book and held it so that the drawing faced the mirror. It was a good drawing; not great, but good, especially for the short amount of time in which it was produced.

“Good,” the voice said, sounding satisfied. Kye smiled. “You know what to do next.”

Kye’s smile faded. Did he? Was he supposed to know?

Kye sat confused before looking back at the book. After a moment’s pause, he glanced back up and shook his head dejectedly, receiving another sigh from the speaker.

“The symbol on the front cover.” Kye turned to it. “Replicate it below the drawing you just made.”

Again, Kye did as he was told. Assuming that this was unimportant, he quickly scribbled the likeness of the emblem on the page below the tree. He struck his pencil sharply across the crescent shape, creating the final line in the drawing.

The moment his pencil left the page, a small rumble was heard: the only noise Kye could remember hearing besides that of the voice that had been keeping him company. Kye glanced around, searching for the source, but found nothing. Another rumble. It was louder this time. Kye sat the pencil back in front of him, and peered over the edge of the table. A third rumble. But this time the rumble continued, slowly and steadily getting louder.

Kye kept his eyes fixed on the tile in the center of the room, which began shaking. After a few seconds, the grout between the tiles began to grow darker; blackening intensely. The ground began bulging and a thick, black liquid with a sharp smell began pouring forth as the tile cracked from the intense pressure.

Kye stood quickly, sending the metal chair clattering on the floor behind him.

“Remain seated, Kye!” the voice ordered him. But Kye didn’t listen this time.

He slowly backed away from the center of the room, eyes fixed on the growing black mass. He tripped over his chair and fell backwards. The rumble had now become a deafening roar. Kye struggled to remain calm, but the thing on the floor continued to bubble and grow.

All of the fear Kye had been hiding broke lose in one moment. He leapt to his feet and, steering clear of the black mass, ran to the door and threw himself against it. It didn’t budge.

“Open the door!” he screamed. “Please! Open the door.”

            No one answered. Even the voice seemed to have deserted him. Kye’s head pounded and his brain threatened to burst from the incredible and unceasing roar behind him. Kye slid to the ground, tears forming in his eyes, and pounded his fists furiously against the door. There was a distinct cracking noise as his right pinky finger broke. Looking at his right hand, Kye screamed in pain while his left continued to grasp desperately at the metal door.

“HELP ME!” was the final cry before he blacked out on the cold floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.