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The Great Old One – Convenient Incidents (56/84)

Convenient Incidents
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The Great Old One

‘Look at the burners, Scotty. Look hard and long at your failure,’ roars the deep lion’s voice from within Scotty’s hollow head. ‘See for yourself what you’ve done, why you must now come to me.’

It’s the incense burners, the ones he originally paired with the Vanilla incense cones infused with the twin geisha djinns. He sent them to the man on Facebook, the man on Facebook was supposed to burn the cones and feed the first djinn his soul and his wife was supposed to find his lifeless body but she wouldn’t call the police, the incense djinn promised, the blue incense djinn with the belt of corroded chains said his wife would be allured by the song of the geisha, said she would be entranced by the scent of the djincense, said she would willingly give up her soul… but the incense djinn lied. The man on Facebook tossed the cones in the trash, the man on Facebook gave the pair of burners away. The man on Facebook has no wife. Scotty is damned to an eternity of Hell on Earth.

‘Do not blame the Facebook man, my little Scotty Mells, and do not blame yourself. It was all meant to be this way, it was meant to go the way it has gone.’

Scotty’s vision begins to blur. His spirit, the very essence of his being leaves his body like a hot hand from a winter glove and plummets into a violent darkness. The stack of incense boards he was clutching falls to the floor of the man from Omingle’s shop, and a funny tickling sensation runs up the back of his neck.

‘It has gone this way because I have commanded it so; I am trapped here, Scotty Mells, just like my son in his sticks, like my grandchildren in their cones; you were brought here to free me.’

“I made a wish!” Scotty screams into the inky blackness, into the evil dark miasma which constricts him, which suffocates him, which defines his very shape like a clay mold does liquid metal. “I lit the stick and made a wish and for that the djinn enslaved me! But I am now free! I have done my part, I am now free!”

‘Scotty Mells,’ roars the horrific voice, sending hairline cracks through the soft plates of Scotty’s skull. ‘In serving the incense djinn you served only me, Scotty Mells. I am the Great Old One; the gears of fate have churned and you have been brought to the grounds of my prison. You must now come to me, my little Scotty Mells. You must come and set me free.’

“Where are you, then?!” shouts the formless entity that is the lifeforce of Scotty Mells.

‘I am deep in the bowels of The Keeper’s Finds, way back in the back-back, right near the bathroom. Give yourself to me and I shall guide you there…’

The distant words, “You all right, Scotty?” bring Scotty back into his body. It was the man from Omingle, the hairy, tubby man who owns this shop. The Keeper’s Finds, the grounds of the prison of the Great Old One. “Do you need hel–”

“Bathroom,” Scotty coughs out through his dusty and ravaged windpipe. In the darkness there was no shredded throat, there was no emaciated body, there was no existential pain. There was only Scotty and the Great Old One, yet there was no Scotty. Not in any form, not in any body. There was only the darkness, but it wasn’t just darkness. Scotty Mells knows it wasn’t just darkness. It was the Great Old One. He is everywhere. He is everything. He is the purpose of Scotty’s life. Scotty is here to save Him, Scotty is here to be saved; this is Scotty’s birthright.

Pain floods Scotty’s head as he turns to face The Keeper; the porous vertebrae in Scotty’s neck pinch down hard on bare nerves as damaged muscles fall apart like rotten meat off broken bones. “You havva bathroom?”

“Uh, yeah,” drawls the gross shopkeep. Scotty’s eyes follow the man’s hand as it points towards a doorless archway in the back of this packed hoarder’s den Scotty was brought to by his master of masters. “It’s through there. Go down the stairs and it’ll be right on your left when you pass the glass display case.”

Fiery bolts of energy burst through Scotty’s spindly legs like electricity through a lightning rod after being struck. He takes off through the shop, feeling the air resistance pull his arms back so hard his shoulders nearly pop out of their sockets, and glides down the stairs without setting a foot on any of the three steps. The back chamber, this back-back, is even more cluttered than the front, it’s a literal labyrinth of litter that should have be tossed away long before The Keeper found it all, but Scotty maneuvers through well enough. The glass display case is here, right by the bathroom door, just like The Keeper said it would be, just like the Great Old One promised. Scotty Mells feels his kneecaps crack like the shells of raw eggs when he falls down upon them and presses his face into the smudged-up glass, but the pain does not phase him. The pain is Scotty’s friend, Scotty has known only pain since long before he met the incense djinn, the father of the lesser djinn and the child of the Great Old One, He Who Is Trapped Within the Case.

“Where are you…” Scotty whispers. His breath fogs up the glass and then creeps into his nose, but the morbid scent of rotting teeth does not make him vomit like it normally does. He doesn’t even smell it, for he’s risen back into the darkness, back into the embrace of the Great Old One, back into his formless state where all is safe and sound and–


Hello Commons, this has been the first subchapter of the eleventh story from Convenient Incidents, an anthology of fifteen interconnected short stories which revolve around a man by the name of Hilter Odolf Williamson.

Convenient Incidents is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.

Convenient Incidents is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.

I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.

If you like Convenient Incidents and would like to help support my work, click here and buy an autographed copy of the book (or anything else!) from my store. Alternatively, you can snag a cheaper (and unsigned) copy from Amazon by clicking here.

Be well Commons~

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I'm that guy who makes fiction books so he doesn't go insane.

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