Character introduction:
MC = Jack
Mom = Carine
Dad = Robert
Sister = Anne
Male friend = Matt
Colombian Friend = Cecilia
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All characters are 18 or older.
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Chapter 1, The golden hand with a bleeding heart inside.
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The day began just like any other for our young loner protagonist, Jack was a tall lanky fella, slim as a stick, glasses wearing, no friends, dimple faced, blond, teenager. Well, not for long really.
Today, although very normal, was his 18th birthday, but he was very uninterested in the day or his age.
You see, Jack had a boring life.
He grew up with a fat boring mother that never cared for him, one fat older sister that never cared for him and a fat sad father that never cared for him, they just provided him with enough resources to go to school and not appear poor.
Jack got up, combed his hair with his hands and put on some clothes, and just like that he was ready for the day.
His mother was smoking a cigarette by the porch and barely acknowledged him as he walked out to school, his sister was already working in a cafe, and his dad left earlier that day.
'
Well, at least she said goodbye
' he thought about his mother nodding at him as she finished her cigarette and threw the bud at the front yard.
Although his family was not poor, they didn't take care of their house, his yard was a pool of cigarette buds where a few patches of green grass still grew only if to spite his family. The house was not properly painted and truly falling apart. It was a huge contrast with the rest of the cul-de-sac, propagated with happy families with green yards, and pretty houses.
Inside was not much better, a mess of ashtrays overflowing with piles of cigarettes, beer bottles and cans everywhere, and piles of dirty dishes.
His mother, Carine, had at some point given up on taking care of the house and it was a constant subject of strife between her and Robert, Jack's father.
He walked to school like any other day, without breakfast and a good dose of annoyance at the happy faces of the other children attending school with their group of friends. Today Jack did not reach school, his life of inhaling second hand smoke and avoidance of breakfast finally caught up to him, and so he felt light headed and lost his balance.
His hand held him up as he breathed deeply and tried to regain his composure. He looked to the side and saw his hand on the fence of the only abandoned house in the whole neighborhood.
The black, rotting monolith of a previous time spoke with the wind that whistled through the broken windows and falling wood, calling to Jack in a weird, eerie attraction.
As he leaned closer to the house, he felt better than when he got away, therefore Jack felt the house calling to him.
As it was the most interesting thing that happened to him in his whole life, the young man did not hesitate to jump the fence and walk towards it.
Three steps in, his foot got tangled with a root like object and fell to the ground, looking down he saw a book by his foot, but no root or branch, or anything that could have made him trip and fall...
'Odd...
' he thought to himself.
Picking the book up by the cover, he took a close glance. A moss green leather exterior, with faded golden letters and first few pages with black ink in a baroque Germanic type fond, clearly stamped in a very old press.
A wavy skeletal figure with a scythe decorated the inner side of the cover, it held a feather in one bony hand, and the teeth of the skull appeared to smile joyfully.
Jack turned to look back at the house, the book in his hand still, but the original attraction was gone. He still decided to get in and investigate. It's amazing what a life of boredom and abandonment from a family can make a nerdy kid do.
The main door wouldn't budge, he decided to try and get in through the window, the book was hard enough to break the remaining glass.
Of course, our nerd of a main protagonist had little to none hand-eye coordination, so the moment he smashed the back of the book against the broken glass he sliced his hand open.
Jack flinched back but the window was now wide open. He climbed with the bloody hand and his backpack over the threshold, the book under the armpit of his bleeding hand, to reduce the bleeding.
Once inside, he saw old furniture scattered sparsely around a hall, covered in white translucent blankets, maybe 3 or four pieces, one sitting by a chimney, that clearly housed bats.
"Hello..." he called to the echo, but none replied. He laughed, '
of course there is no echo, this ain't a cave, not all scary places have echo, man!
'
He spied around, and tried the stairs, but they creaked and the middle steps simply fell in a cloud of dust and debris.
'
So... not that way.
'
Jack was feeling alive, if at least by his heightened heartbeat at doing something wrong. Yet the place quickly lost its magic when he found no demon, or specter, or ghost. It was simply an abandoned building, falling apart due to its age.
He walked to a part of the house that appeared to be a kitchen with a long heavy table.
Jack threw the book over one end and walked to the side, where a window allowed sunlight inside to check on his hand.
The cut wasn't bad, he thought he wouldn't need stitches and that made him happy, he was already dreading his mother's annoyance at his stupid game. Clenching his fist, he stepped back over the book and the light from the kitchen window loomed his shadow over the hardcover.
A glint of rusty, almost forgotten, golden inscribing shone the shape of a hand with a bleeding heart inside. Jack looked at his fist and opened his own hand. The cut was already healing, but it was in the shape of a half circle. Using his finger, he traced a line of blood on his palm into the shape of a heart and with excitement and a good dose of fear, he placed his open palm over the golden hand.
Nothing happened.
'
What am I doing? I'm going to get an infection.
'
A moment later, the wind whistled through the house again, like the scream of a banshee, or the dismemberment of a living pig. The scare thrusted Jack back.
The wind lasted a second, but it was enough, Jack smiled as he reached for the book, '
it is magical! It must be, please!
'
He noticed the ache in his hand was gone and a quick glance showed him a healed palm. This excited him further and he opened the book.
WELCOME!
YOU ARE NOW THE 22TH OWNER OF THE BOOK OF HISTORY
The compact is alive as long as your heart beats
Let it be known, and the compact is dead
Read the rules
Live your life
"Holly fucking shit!" Jack screamed, smiling and laughing like a maniac. The skeleton from before was sitting in a wooden chair with a pipe in its jaw, the scythe resting against a tree behind the figure and it held the feather like a pen over a very familiar book with a hand in one of its sides.
He flipped the page...
The Rules are simple...
The history of anyone is here, right after you write their name on the title. Close the book and open it again, you will be able to read their life, every page is a year.
Cross what you think is wrong, write what you think is right, close the book and open it again. It will be changed.
If you cross something and don't write anything over it, that year will disappear, when you open the book again.
If you cross something, you must write something new, or it will erase that year. That person may disappear.
The book will fill the information after the change, watch out, it will shock your mind with the knowledge that you share or took part in, in this new history.
Last but not least, don't cross anything that may affect your birth, or you will die, the compact will be severed and you will go to hell.
'
Whoa!
' he thought gleefully and turned to the other page, it read a simple word:
Title
, in huge black bold letters and underneath was a line.
Jack was a good person, but kind of an idiot, taking a pen from his backpack, the first name he wrote was his own.
He closed the book, opened it again, and turned the page after his name.
Born in 2002, experienced his senses for the first time. Didn't understand what cigarette smoke was, but found it funny to look at and play with his hands.
That's it, that's all it read.
'Is my life that boring?
' he questioned and flipped the page, more one liners, more almost blank pages, all that time wasted.