The Holder of Film

In any city, in any country, go to the nearest theater you can find. Approach the ticket booth, but say nothing until the person at the counter has asked you which movie you would like to see; speak before this, and you have already failed. Once he has said this, ask to see "The Holder of Film". The person at the booth will look dumbfounded as if you had just spouted nonsense to him. He will repeat his question, and you must repeat yours in kind. The man's face will now be one of pity, and he will open a drawer beneath the booth and give you a ticket. Be sure to inspect this ticket before doing anything else. If the ticket has anything written on it, immediately go to the place you call home and burn it; the minions of the Holder have marked you as unworthy to live, and they are quick to act. If the ticket is blank, you may proceed safely, if you can even call it safe.

You may buy nothing at the concession stand, as the Holder will wait for no mortal, but instead go down the hallway to the left of the theater and walk without stopping. The hallway will seem to stretch out beyond the size of the theater, with rooms numbering in the hundreds to each side. From these rooms, you will hear uproarious laughter, exciting battles, applause, and even muffled orgies depending on your character, but do not divert your attention, for even looking at the wrong door for more than an instant will summon half-human monstrosities to drag you into the door, where tortures beyond comprehension occur. Eventually, you may see out of the corner of your eye a single door that is made of crudely fashioned wood and steel plates. Enter this room as soon as you see it, for missing it will have you wandering the halls until you are begging to be mutilated by the demons beyond the other doors, just to end the monotony.

If you managed to enter the correct door, you will find yourself in a normal theater, at least at first. The movie has not yet started, and the audience is composed of men, women, and children with horrible, stretched smiles on their faces and empty eyes. They will all stare at you intently, as if looking into your soul, but your eyes must not meet theirs, nor should you speak a single word, or you will be forced to witness all of your most putrid sins, a sight that will leave your mind a worthless husk, aware of only pain and despair. Proceed to the middle row, where you will see an elderly man in a brown coat wearing spectacles, the Holder of this Object. Politely move to the empty seat beside him, and quietly sit down, without ever acknowledging his existence.

Once you are ready, say the words: "We are ready to witness what we have wrought," and the projector will flicker to life and the film shall begin. In an instant, you will be bombarded by horrendous images of the most gut-wrenchingly vile acts humanity has ever committed. Children defiled and violated, innocent people butchered without pity or restraint, the deepest depth of the human soul all shown in unrelenting detail. And the audience will laugh. The sound of their laughter will be the only score to this parade of pure evil. You must laugh with them, for any other emotion, be it horror, disgust, or even apathy, will alert the audience of your presence, and you will discover where this film obtains its actors. While you laugh, you must keep your mind on absolutely anything else. Imagine a comedian you admire, a humorous television show, for the images you see will attempt to burn into your mind, your face contorting into the same horrible grin as the others around you as the film is etched into your retinas to see for all eternity.

The film will go on for what will seem like days, but you must hold on to your sanity until it ends. Once the film has mercifully ended, the audience members will applaud, and you must join in, or the film shall start again, and again, and again, until you rip out your own eyes and ears just to end your miserable excuse for a life. Once the applause has ended, without warning, the audience will begin routinely murdering each other in the same ways as in the film. You must pay the massacre no mind unless you wish to join them. When the last man falls, only you and the elderly man, who remained completely silent during the entire ordeal, will remain. Only when the last corpse has fallen, you will turn to him and ask, "Why do we wish to remember Them?" He will slowly turn to you and answer your question, and if you believed that you had already witnessed the worst horrors imaginable, his answer will try to rend your now wavering sanity to its core. Should you survive his statement without plunging your fingers into your skull, he will produce a gnarled ticket stub, similar to the one you should still have. At this point, you may leave the theater doors, which will lead out the side door of the theater. Do what you will with the ticket you obtained from the ticket counter; the creatures that obey the Holder know what you have been given, and even they dare not touch you now.

The ticket is Object 700 of 2538. They do not care if you are early or late. You will join Them either way.