The Diary: Perdition Awaits Book 1

By Terry Beer

A predator exists, one of flesh and bone, an inquisitive nature within the human mind to delve into lives of others. The Diary preys on one's needs to satisfy a curiosity, enticing those to open its cover and face their innermost fears within a twelve-month term in order to survive, pages self-induced, giving written notice that a life far more

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Jun 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647533878

Book preview

1

The Cauldron

Change is not always a bad thing. Change is inevitable. Change is the way forward. A lot of terms and phrases are used to describe the word change , but this word is usually implemented by individuals who normally have the most to gain, so in effect, the needs of the few outweigh the needs of the many. Many would argue that change is a bad thing. Being able to adapt to something new becomes an insufferable burden to bear. Self-gain and doing worse unto others… Does this become another good versus evil scenario? If somebody has suffered because of someone else’s gain, does this make the benefactor good or bad for having placed themselves in such an unwanted predicament of their own choice? Does it make the receiver good or bad for having knowingly placed the benefactor in such an insufferable position?

Good versus evil has been fought and shall continue to be fought on many vast plains in many different ways during the term of the planet on which we stand, so where does the saying that good always overcomes evil come from?

All we see are good guys beating the crap out of bad guys, whether it’s during western films or cop shows through the media. If we are led to believe this fallacy, then why does evil still exist?

You could bring attention to evil dictators of the past, defeated through the power of good, but as God gave each individual freedom of choice, you have to put their demise down to poor lack of judgement when important decisions had to be made, decisions culminating in their own downfall.

Men, women, and children had to suffer terrible standards of living, worsening due to diseases and deadly plagues. Crime was to become ever rifer with each passing fall. Murder, rape, and pillaging became very common as the laws of the lands began to crumble during these tough and darkened times, a worrying situation for the aristocratic heads of state. Things had to change, but was it to be a change for the better? Many believed so, especially when it was decided to erect a secret penal institute in 1670 to house the most brutal and vilest of criminals who liked nothing more than to smother the planet with polluted evil minds.

The area on which it was built was chosen because of its total seclusion to the public sector, an area of land perfect for the venture, land left desecrated for centuries previously classed as a forbidden zone since the abolition of witchcraft in 1542, a land which came to be known as the witches’ graveyard, with many practising warlocks and and witches’ burnt at the stake on the Hill of ascension, screaming their innocence screaming their innocence up until their last dying breaths, darkened times spawning the existence of a book, an innovative vision called The Diary, a legacy left behind hoping spirits of the dead would rise once more, reaping revenge on their executioners.

The institute was years in the planning, constructed using the finest materials the planet could muster. With all said and done, the general population had to be protected at all costs. The finest stonemasons in the world were given a luxurious lifestyle, whilst the construction took place with stringent deadlines to meet.

Thousands of pawns were willing to give their free time for the sake of good in order to make the world a safer place, yet there were those who still wouldn’t set foot onto the plain because of superstition alone.

The institute was completed in 1678 and aptly named The Cauldron. Split into individual sectors, it was the finest impregnable penal system the world had ever built. The only way in or out of the institute was through the tunnel one hundred feet beneath the surface. Many obstacles of death were put into place, including nerve gas capable of wiping out everything or everyone within its vicinity, making any plan of escape futile. Stringent security measures had been put into place within the structure, whilst special care was taken on the outside of the grounds. Three-foot spikes two feet apart tipped with cyanide had been rooted to the soil, whilst other spikes a foot in height were rooted in between each of the others.

As years progressed, the large deadly spikes had a prototype retraction mechanism fitted to enable delivery of supplies. The mechanism had a bad habit of failure during these times, leaving the prisoners left to live in wallow. Spikes also covered an area of half a square mile outside the grounds, just to ensure its impregnable status.

Inside the grounds, the open area courtyards had retractable one-foot spikes just in case things got out of hand. Over the years, the spikes were to claim tens of thousands of lives as the tough became weak and the spikes became a more humane way to die compared to the alternative. The Cauldron could hold a maximum capacity of nearly half a million prisoners at its peak, eventually creating little villages of its own, an institute for mixed sexual genders to prosper.

There were homosexuals, lesbians, and bisexual and transgender alike, men who wished to become women, and women who looked, behaved, and were as tough as the men were. Over the coming years, The Cauldron ran close to maximum capacity. Childbirth was inevitable but still didn’t help. Children born on desecrated land into a way of life became all too common for them. Once matured, children of intellectual stature would serve a greater purpose, serving The Diary, staking its rightful claim upon them with a furnace waiting to bring them home.

As crimes escalated, the institute would hold out a welcoming hand, guiding them into a place where their lives would be lost, forgotten forever. There was no segregation between the bad and worst criminals. If they were dumb enough to do the crime, they would have to do eternal time fighting amongst one another for total supremacy.

For many, many years, the institute learned how to run itself. Of course, there would be murders amongst murderers, a daily occurrence, but this was more or less the general idea and typically accepted. The world economy paid a heavy price when the complex was built, so maintaining the building was to escalate as the years passed by. Governments of state forgot the importance their ancestors lay in stone, an unwanted need of having the expense of covering the cost of their welfare, especially with wars to fight. The Cauldron became a low priority on an ever-growing list, with food rationed on a regular basis, adding a depth as to how low Homo sapiens could fall. Murders quickly became cannibalism on a minor scale as the debris of human society took the next logical step for survival. Guards yet again ignored the sickening turn of events taking place, for they were not there to keep order, a highly improbable if not unenviable task to achieve at best.

Inside these walls, things were as bad as they were going to get, but the inclusion of one man was about to change all that. Big Jimmy the Wave Tidal, considered to be the vilest human being to tread the floorboards of the earth, had a lust for anything morbid starting at a very early age, with stronger urges materializing as he entered his teen years. Viewing his father parading around the house naked on a regular basis gave him a fixation for the genitalia of man, with the testicles in particular becoming his obsession. He was intrigued as to how the testicles got to where they were, being led to believe by his father that good boys were given two balls, whilst bad boys were only given one. And cowards well, they had no balls at all.

As Jimmy got older, homosexuality became his bag, hanging around public toilets and looking to see who were the good boys, the bad boys, and the cowards, a bag which got him into many fights in which he generally came out with the upper hand, never concluding he was the aggressor. His opponent was the coward seeking redemption for his own inadequacies, or so Jimmy believed.

One fateful night sent him into a frenzied rage, a scrap that went too far, killing a man with a knife he religiously carried around with him, dragging the corpse into a nearby rush and with his knife setting about removing the man’s testicles. Cowards have no balls, he muttered as he operated unskilfully on the dead man.

Cupping the testicles in his hands Jimmy looked at them, feeling them, smelling, and licking them, trying to work out the nature of science, and as years progressed, so did his lust for the kill, beginning to travel the globe searching for different nationalities and cultures to contribute towards his curiosity for his testicular theory. None were forthcoming, so he used his deadly persuasion to make it happen, becoming confused as to why so many bad men in the world possessed two testicles instead of one. Had his father been lying to him all along? Maybe so, but over the years, he rightfully earned the tag of the world’s most wanted man as the number of his victims increased.

Finally, in the city of London, Jimmy was caught purely by chance when one of his intended victims turned out to be an off duty police officer. All hell broke loose that evening, but he was captured, giving relief all over the world. Jimmy was twenty-four, having laid claim to sixty-four victims. His London-based home became a shrine to most of them, each victim represented with a name labelled upon a jar which he kept in a deep freeze in the basement of his home. Inside each jar contained a victim’s half eaten penis as well as his testicles. Some jars contained only one testicle whilst others were split into two sections, one section labelled bad guys and the other cowards.

The trial was swift, leaving the public crying out for an execution, but the government bodies had other ideas. Jimmy Tidal became a resident of The Cauldron in 1870, and it didn’t him long to stake his claim inside the institute. Having survived several attempts on his life was a small price to pay, but these attempts helped him enormously. Word got around quickly that this man just didn’t want to die. Many convicts suddenly rallied round him, wanting to be his friend by informing him of any wrongdoing which might lead in his direction. Jimmy used this to his advantage, using his newly found friends to satisfy a growing appetite for sex. Jimmy had moved on from murder and decapitation, watching as the cannibals set about hunting for their next victim, and so began the notion that he could combine the two. Picking out easy targets, he knew how to differentiate between the strong and the weak. In a place like this, if you showed weakness, especially in Jimmy’s presence, then rest assured a visit would be forthcoming.

One of the unlucky ones was Herman Fritz, a German migrant born and bred in Munich. Herman loved to give the impression that he was something he wasn’t, which ultimately led to his downfall. During his petty life, he was liked for what he was (a grass) rather than for who he was. When all was said and done, Fritz was nothing more than a lost sheep showering over young children, eagerly awaiting the right moment to satisfy an appetite for sexual games.

Much like today, child molesting didn’t go down too well in the nineteenth century. Although castration usually became the order on the menu in those days, it was far more convenient for the courts to punish him in other ways. Child molestation was never going to go down well in any prison, considered the lowest crime known to man, although Jimmy the Wave would have argued the toss—and Big Jimmy was always right. However, Jimmy still maintained some concept of the rules, with children being a no-go area. Even this vile individual would have waited for teen years to emerge before contemplating a strike.

Fritz was visited early one morning by an ape-mimicking man tied to a leash being held by another, followed closely by a third man. Fritz was never one for confrontation, a surrender never in doubt. A hood placed over his head, Fritz was led from his cell screaming like a baby waiting for an overdue nappy to be changed.

His capturers repeatedly punched and kicked him whilst dragging him from his cell. The screws turned a blind eye to proceedings once certain information filtered down, thus making a rescue highly unlikely. Guards were never typically there to keep law and order. Their job was to make every effort in stopping firearms and explosive materials from entering the complex. Blades would be highly improbable to police because virtually any object inside the complex could easily be made into a shank or some other form of deadly weapon. They knew the victim was for Jimmy the Wave, and nothing was to get in the way of what Jimmy wanted.

Jimmy was waiting impatiently for his target, a target for which there was to be no reprieve. Jimmy would work up into a fiery rage as he waited for his conquest to arrive, pacing the cell and shouting expletives whilst thumping the wall as hard as he could with his head, loving the ignition of blood flowing from the body of a psychotic fiend.

Fritz was taken into Big Jimmy’s bloodstained suite. Fresh semen dripped from dozens of frosted jars resting on the teak cabinet ahead of him, jars filled with testicles from previous victims, victims considered cowards, with some testicles removed and delightfully consumed. The number of Jimmy’s victims was rising, but in a place where prisoners were entitled to no human rights at all, this seemed to be an acceptable course of action for all concerned.

Fritz, stripped naked, was bent over the table facing forward. Hands and feet spread apart, he was manacled to the walls and floor, respectively, before his hood was removed, giving him a nice view of the frosted jars in front of him. Herman’s eyes lit up with extreme fear, giving him cause to urinate around his feet. Certain he didn’t want a frosty end to his own insignificant life, a decision had been taken from his hands for someone else to make.

Jimmy ordered his lackeys to exit the cell before also stripping naked, eyes eager to watch, but a look from Jimmy said enough. Jimmy loved a private moment, two grown men sharing an intimate togetherness, not Herman’s idea of a good time, but for Jimmy these moments had to be savoured. Jimmy bent down on his knees in a fresh puddle of urine, leering at Herman’s genitalia, fondling them to check the testicular count. One, two… He gave them both a hard squeeze, much to Herman’s displeasure, confirming his suspicions.

The agonising tears of a frightened German began to flow with uncontrollable screams, far too much noise for Jimmy’s delicate ears to endure. Storming over to his little makeshift kitchen area, picking up a pair of scissors, Jimmy headed back to the hysterical mess that was Fritz, who was still screaming. Jimmy shoved his hand into the mouth of his victim, violently grabbing a firm hold of his tongue. He used the scissors to slice through the mucosa. Blood streamed down the face of Fritz, a man forced to watch his own tongue being violently removed from his mouth. Jimmy bent down in front of his victim, placing the removed organ into his mouth, ripping into it, eating it raw, totally unseasoned. Fritz could only watch in horror with sorrowful eyes, his facial expression saying it all.

I have been hearing stories that you like to play with children, Jimmy said, still consuming the tasty muscle. Fritz furiously shook his head, denial of a seed firmly implanted into Jimmy’s mind. You know, my father always brought me up to believe all cowards have no balls, yet you have two. Why is this?

Fritz so desperately wanted to correct the psychopath but was understandably in no position to do so.

Maybe God made a big mistake with you, a mistake I intend to put right.

Such loss of blood rendered Fritz unconscious as Jimmy set to work, having come a long way since his first kill. An extensive study of ancient Chinese dynasties gave him an insight on methods dating back between two to three thousand years, feeling that castration back then was far too civil. What Jimmy wanted was proficiency in the art of this brutal craft, a striving for perfection, no matter how many victims were claimed.

Sterilising didn’t exist within The Cauldron walls, especially to a man with a soul needing to exercise pain and suffering. Jimmy picked up what resembled a scalpel, making a deep incision into Herman’s scrotum, using his large fingernails on both hands to prise the bag open. Grabbing hold of each testicle and using the scalpel to cut them both away, the two balls fell from Fritz’s mutilated sack.

Love to play with children, do we? Interfering with kids is a cowardly crime where I come from, Hermy. My father always told me cowards have no balls, Jimmy muttered, holding one testicle in each hand, raising them into full vision before Fritz’s closed eyes.

As you can see, Hermy, now you possess the balls, or lack thereof, of a coward.

Over the years, Big Jimmy had the notion that consuming a part of each bad boy or coward after his demise would help amalgamate the evil genes, therefore creating an even worse human species, a species he wanted to be him.

After licking the curdling blood from his unquenched curious needs, placing one of the testicles into his mouth, Jimmy sucked on it like a Gobstopper before feeling strong urges to bite.

Continuing to bite down hard on the testicle, eventually it popped like a fizzy drink relieved at releasing its gases. Although freely admitting that the testicles of a child molester tasted great, Jimmy wasn’t finished there.

Blood still streaming from the scrotum as well as the mouth of Fritz, Jimmy picked up some sticky tape, placing some of it over Herman’s mouth. Grabbing a stapler, Jimmy proceeded to staple the scrotum together, with Fritz falling in and out of consciousness, no idea as to the full extent of his injuries. Although he felt a lot of pain and discomfort, there was worse still to come. Such brutality was giving Big Jimmy sexual urges, becoming as much of a drug to him then as what Viagra does today. Picking up the scalpel, Jimmy stood behind his sexual toy, placing his erect penis into Herman’s anal chamber.

Herman was bobbing, shaking his head back and forth, frantically trying to free his body, but it was no use. A thrust became more and more intense, bursting a rectum in no time. Whilst thrusting away to his heart’s content, Jimmy took the scalpel, cutting into the back of Fritz, stripping off flesh, and placing it into his mouth.

Having already enjoyed his appetizer he was anticipating his main course. Slice after slice was removed, and still Herman breathed, a man much stronger than his character suggested, but unfortunately for him, Big Jimmy still wasn’t done. After finishing his main course, he took a breather whilst still maintaining a menacing look of a butcher staring at a defenceless wreck of a man. Jimmy decided he couldn’t let such a low-life degenerate live, regardless of his injuries. There would be no regret, certainly no remorse from a man without a conscience.

Blood poured from all avenues of Fritz’s body. It was only a matter of time before he bled out, but Jimmy wanted his dessert before imminent death occurred.

Jimmy picked up a Bunsen burner from the table and got on all fours, making his way under the table whilst barking like a dog rabid in nature. Fritz kept mumbling, although faintly, through the tape placed over his mouth, his body in shock, buckling his legs with tightened manacles keeping them sturdy. Jimmy approached Herman’s dangling lifeless penis, holding the flame directly beneath it. Having tried raw penis in the past, he preferred it well done, sniffing before licking it as it slowly fried, the body of Fritz in tatters writhing and wriggling around the table above like a decapitated chicken searching for its head.

The burning sensation rendered the penis useless as the insufferable pain took its toll. Big Jimmy licked it every now and again, wanting the taste to be just right. The more he licked, the more appetising it became. Nibbling at the foreskin with its ever-changing colour, he began tearing strips of flesh from it, leaving a resemblance of an expired chipolata. Jimmy removed the flame and blew on it a couple of times before placing it into his mouth, biting down hard upon it. Fritz raised his head to give a final gasp before slumping face first onto the table, his surrender complete.

Jimmy took great pleasure in wanting his victim to live through every bite and chew as he ripped the penis apart, a muscle hard in places yet finally delightfully consumed. The everlasting flow of blood was Jimmy’s wine serving a purpose in washing it down.

Big Jimmy’s meal was complete. A decision to leave the scrotum, having been taught as a child to leave a little at the side of the plate for good manners, lackeys were overly joyous in picking at the bones whilst Jimmy allowed them to clean up the mess. Their job was to dispose of anything incriminating should any questions arise.

So there you have it: another victim put to the blade. This was how Jimmy the Wave got his kicks as one by one over the years, many, many victims perished. Some were fortunate to survive but existing with such deformity drove them to eventual suicide through various means. Jimmy was by no means the only psychotic in the joint, but he was without doubt the smartest, knowing just how to manipulate circumstances to his own advantage.

Jimmy the Wave feared no man or woman on the planet, but he was terrified of the supernatural. A very superstitious man, he couldn’t help but notice that prisoners had been disappearing throughout the years. Investigating such matters never came up with any definitive answer, even though many questions were raised, always knowing the who but never the what, why, where, or how. At night, he and his fellow inmates would hear strange noises parading the grounds, followed by strange goings on, but an explanation was never forthcoming, no matter how hard he tried to figure it out.

By 1889, Big Jimmy was forty-three years old and the boss of a vastly dwindled, ever-decreasing population inhabiting The Cauldron. Jimmy got his nickname because he was a beast, a natural force not to be reckoned with, a colossal size rippled with muscles built on muscle, sending out a message of intimidation to anyone and everyone that he was a god within a god, or so he believed. Leaders remained in place within small segments of the complex, but overall Jimmy was the self-appointed leader in this dungeon of obscurity and had no problem in taking down anyone or anything daring to defy his selfish reasoning. Much of the Cauldron had nothing to do with him, preferring to keep it that way—and just as well. Jimmy had the final say in all that went on inside the walls.

Most of the prisoners were scared of him, whilst others kept their distance, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The guards were also wary when encountering him, thus allowing him to commandeer as many cells as he needed for his sickening needs. Acquiring many bitches to enact yet satisfy his disgusting fantasies also went conveniently unnoticed, many of which would also die, bleeding to death during their terrifying ordeal, acts fuelling Jimmy’s raging fire within. During his spell inside, Jimmy had turned from a homicidal maniac into an intellectual homicidal maniac, reading many books and trying to work out viable forms of escape.

One day his dream became a fulfilment, allowing Jimmy the Wave to disappear without so much as a trace. No stone was left unturned in the search for clues, yet nothing was found. Everybody who knew him was questioned by the warden and his trusted grunts, but even if they did know something, they were never going to spill, repercussions far too severe to even contemplate such a deed. One event led to speculative rumours of his demise, a conclusion quickly formed that Jimmy had fallen foul to the evil spirits of the past, dogging the complex since the joint was first built, witches and warlocks seeking him out and informing him his time was up—nothing more than a belief, but a belief all the same.

In the beginning of November 1899, Jimmy Tidal returned. A puzzling thing for all concerned was that he hadn’t aged at all. Scarred and a face rough-edged, the man remained constant, with a cold, empty stare of death which hadn’t deserted him. The only significant change was the loss of his right eye. Wearing a patch to cover the wound, Jimmy felt resigned in dealing with it. No explanations were forthcoming because no questions were dared asked. Jimmy was back, intent on reclaiming his throne and gathering an army.

Jimmy had only been back for two months when the riots began during a bad winter morning on New Year’s Eve 1899. Strange events led up to the mass hysteria surrounding the compound, and Jimmy the Wave was at the heart and soul of it.

A lot had changed since his absence but had done nothing to deter him. As far as he was concerned Jimmy was still the king of The Cauldron, and nobody was going to have his crown as long as he had air left to breathe. Over the last couple of months continually preaching of an escape plan, Jimmy wanted to take the whole population with him, but in order to do so, they would all have to swear allegiance to him and him alone.

A new kid on the block had been transferred into the west section weeks previous, quickly cementing his position within the complex and having been accepted by his religious sector as the new leader. Having heard of Jimmy’s recent arrival, it didn’t faze him in the slightest, a man who had already taken a huge piece of the action in Jimmy’s absence, a man more than willing if not able to take it all away from Jimmy the Wave. An inevitable confrontation would brew, simmering away before a boiling point was reached.

A man by the name of Ahmed Tanuck was a well-known extremist throughout the Asian community, heavily involved in assassination plots against presidents and prime ministers of state. Murder was second nature to Tanuck, be it man, woman, or child. Whoever dared get in his way, it didn’t matter one iota.

Tanuck was an expert in explosives with also plenty of experience in gun warfare, a totally different kind of psychopath to Big Jimmy, but like his nemesis, he had no conscience either. The ethnic background of Tanuck meant a huge following would assist him in his quest, so it wasn’t long before collaborations were put into place, resulting in Tanuck becoming a self-appointed caliph.

Eventually, Jimmy began to hear of Tanuck’s huge reputation airing along the long, twisting aisles of every cell block within. The more Jimmy heard the tales of a much higher fatality record than his own, the more it ate into his gut. Allowing a snotty-nosed grunt muscle in on his patch wasn’t even considered. Jimmy wanted to sort it, snuff him out swiftly, but unfortunately he had lost his guard during his untimely absence. The hunter would have to expect to be hunted on some unexpected occasion, especially after hearing before seeing for himself how groups of individuals had turned into individual groups, segregating into religious sectors, with everybody staying within his own boundaries.

Big Jimmy had no boundaries within this complex, having had the freedom to roam anywhere at any time, making the rules, which everybody followed, but whether he liked it or not, things had changed. Although individuals feared him by the thousands, groups did not, so to attempt plan A would have been certain suicide. Jimmy had to come up with a plan B quickly, for he wasn’t to know what his enemy had planned and when he intended to strike.

An attempt on Jimmy’s life a month ago at the end of November helped to conclude it hadn’t been the work of Tanuck himself or the many thousands of inmates who weren’t indeed envious of his return to The Cauldron. He hadn’t even heard of Tanuck until a couple of days later. The attempt on his life was down to one man, making a promise the man in question would have his day.

Many hundreds of wars throughout the centuries had been fought on religious beliefs, so why should this one be an exception? Jimmy had to take this man down, and if he had to tear the whole place apart to do it, then so be it.

Jimmy and thousands of others belonged to the sectors set out for the atheists, which was a bit hypocritical due to his fear of the supernatural. If Jimmy believed in spirits, surely he would have to believe in the Holy Spirit itself. Jimmy needed ultimate proof a divine power existed but could never find any, so he remained unmoved in his belief. Other sectors belonged to Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Sikhism.

Each sector had very strong beliefs, but Jimmy knew that if he worked it right, he could use it to his advantage knowing that whatever he decided to do, many thousands would follow, with no questions asked. Jimmy spread word anonymously throughout the grapevine that there would be a religious execution taking place, which in turn placed guards and inmates alike on full alert.

A week earlier, Jimmy positioned one of his lackeys, Joe the Log, in the Islamic sector. Joe was of Asian descent and a most unhygienic man, a man never destined to end up on a platter for Jimmy’s dinner, instead deciding to use him to his gain. Joe’s mission was to get up close and personal with a cleric, thus luring him into their hands. At one time or another, even high priests of all sectors had been vile, murderous vermin, but over the forthcoming years, they regained their faith, leading a life of solitude, guiding others to follow suit.

Heavy snow on the ground left over from a Christmas gone by glistened from the bright sun above as dawn broke on New Year’s Eve. Everybody within the Cauldron awoke early due to the strange and unusual events clouding the early morning hours, hours witnessing the destruction of a complex destined from events about to occur. Retribution was needed, revenge for events which had unfortunately occurred on Christmas Day.

Calmness saturated the air at first as hundreds of thousands of prisoners staggered through their usual daily boring routines, but that was all about to change. The alarm sounded across the entire Cauldron, which didn’t happen very often, so when it did, prisoners knew something serious was going down.

In the vast open prison yard, a sight of extreme horror and disgust was witnessed amongst all sectors. Within minutes, word had spread, leaving thousands of angry protestors smothering the courtyard. Some didn’t even take the time to get dressed, pushing and hustling one another while vying for a closer look as boundaries took second place to a view at hand.

Standing silently whilst witnessing the chaos unfold, Jimmy Tidal stayed put, viewing the commotion from his window above the grounds, taking great pleasure on looking down at the sight manufactured by who else? An infinite moment of silence amongst each sector began congregating together at the horrifying scene, clearly wondering if their eyes could be deceiving them.

Burnt into pupils of their eyes witnessing a huge wooden cross, the cross wasn’t the damage—more like what, more like whom, had been impaled onto it. A crucifixion had taken place, an execution, as word predicted. The victim would be a cleric, an asylum seeker missing for days. Hanging nailed to the cross wearing just a loincloth and a turban upon his head, the cleric was undoubtedly dead, his throat slashed, leaving his blood dripping on to the virgin snow beneath him, turning it into a toned colour of red hard to describe. Above his head, stained with his own blood, embedded onto a wooden plaque, a message clearly read Barabbas, king of the Jews.

All different types of dialect screamed across the yard as all sectors began pointing fingers at one another. A pathway opened up, allowing Tanuck a passage through. Looking up at the sickening sight of his friend nailed to the cross, holding his hands aloft, speaking his native language, he shouted, Untuk yang melakukan arab?

He was asking who did this, but no group wanted to take the credit. However, Tanuck had an inclination who was behind it. Lifting the loincloth to check the testicles of the cleric, there seemed no evidence to justify his suspicions. The testicles were untouched, a sight which only made him furious.

Untuk yang melakukan arab! Tanuck shrieked once more, but the atmosphere remained corroded in total shock.

Tanuck pointed to some of his followers, commanding them to take the cross down, an order obeyed in an instant. Once removing the nails from the cleric’s hands and feet, four men picked up the dead body, but on doing so, the head remained in place, a head decapitated from the body and nailed separately to the cross via the roof of his mouth, adding more fuel to a raging fire more than ready to explode. Many of the Hindus began a Namaskar, uttering Namaste to the fallen victim. My soul honours your soul. I honour the place in you where the entire universe resides. I honour the light, love, truth, beauty, and peace within you because it is also within me. In sharing these things, we are united. We are the same; we are one.

A victim had been left to find peace within his very own sanctuary, but others were not prepared to let it rest. The Asian Muslims, Jews, and Sikhs were furious with one another, whilst the Chinese and Christians became embroiled into the conflict. No honour amongst thieves as everybody began blaming one other, no time or room for reasoning as the pushing and shoving began to take place. Scuffles broke out all over, white snow becoming redder by the minute, blood spilling, following random attacks between all sectors.

Jimmy the Wave had already left the confines of his cell, inconspicuously making his way down to the courtyard, a left- and right-hand man busy taking care of a delicate errand for him, a careless decision ultimately costing him his life. Jimmy was heading in one direction, heading for one man, the caliph, an opportunity patiently awaited, a planned effort better than he could ever have hoped for, knowing he had to make it count. Having taken the precaution of rendering the courtyard spikes inoperative, Jimmy made his move. On approach, inmates stood aside opening a pathway for him to enter, a caliph and his disciples far too busy grieving over a lost friend and planning revenge to notice Big Jimmy approaching him.

Jimmy was twenty feet from Tanuck when he pulled the large steel shank from his overcoat. Gripping the blade firmly by his side, quickening steps attempting to catch the caliph off guard, Tanuck stood up muttering words of condemnation, unaware that Jimmy was standing directly in front of him. Jimmy lifted the shank from his side, ploughing it straight into the throat of Tanuck. Eye patch to eye they stood whilst Jimmy thrust, twisting the blade deeper and deeper into his latest victim’s jugular, finally exiting from the back of Tanuck’s neck. I bet Mohammed didn’t prophesise this, did he, you fuck?

The caliph did his best to answer, with words obviously failing him. Followers looked on, shell-shocked at what was taking place before their very eyes. Jimmy calmly placed his lips to Tanuck’s ear, whispering, You’re suspicions were right after all, Caliph. This is my patch, and hell is awaiting us both. I’ve no doubt we will be seeing each other shortly so say hello to Allah for me when you arrive, won’t you now?

Calmly, Jimmy placed his hand against his victim’s sorrowful face, pushing him aside whilst slicing the knife across his throat in making sure the wound was fatal. The caliph’s body fell to the snow, bleeding heavily as many of the Muslim community gathered around to protect him from more injury, but it was far too late. Big Jimmy already knew Tanuck was dead as he turned, walking back to his dormitory and wiping his victim’s blood from the knife with the sleeve of his coat. Jimmy had killed enough people in his time to know who lived and who died, but what he failed to realize whilst walking away was that things had changed beyond all comprehension. Hundreds of thousands of criminals had found other leaders to look up to since his absence, with Tanuck being one of many, growing a new sense of self-belief, confidence in their ability to stand up for themselves, frightened of him no longer.

He could never have envisaged such a response, but Big Jimmy’s demise was as quick and gruesome as his victims’ were. Deadly weapons quickly arrived on the scene; a massacre of Big Jimmy the Wave Tidal was about to take place. Hundreds upon hundreds of what was once his nurtured pride attacked him from behind with just about anything they could lay their hands on. A brutal death awaited, especially after finding that Big Jimmy was touchable after all, bleeding just like any other human being would. Hardened souls tore his body to shreds, amputating limbs and, like the cleric, decapitating the head just to make sure.

What Jimmy started here today and what he left behind was a whole new revolution. Guards had no control of the situation, having tried just about everything they could, but it just wasn’t enough. Spikes were finally deployed inside the courtyards, taking out a small percentage of the gathering mob, but ultimately all it ended up doing was scattering the crowd farther afield. Troubles began within each sector, so it wasn’t too long before fires broke out, escalating all over the complex, forcing many thousands of convicts to make a bid for freedom.

A sheer force of manpower broke through the entrances leading into the tunnel below, a means of action automatically setting off the anti-escape mechanisms put in place for such an act, a kindling flame slowly being extinguished around them as they all began to instigate their own downfall.

Many hours later, at the stroke of midnight, it was all over. Hundreds of thousands of convicts lay dead throughout The Cauldron, a culmination of events because of one man’s vendetta, a dream of a future which would never be. Word travelling back to heads of state decided enough was enough, a cost of restoration far too high on the taxpayer giving reason for The Cauldron to be secretly closed down, dead bodies left to rot, bodies with no rights in life and even less in death.

Beneath the surface, the escape tunnel remained, and over passing decades of progress, one tunnel expanded into many others used as the sewerage system for an entire city. The building itself became an empty shell, leaving behind lasting memories of a society banished into a little corner of a planet called Earth.

2

Redemption

Everybody has his or her own perception of the word hell , with each fickle opinion surpassing the one before. Ask them to describe it and they probably could not. What they would do, however, is give a list of preconceived ideas of what it would be like to endure the pain, the agony, and the humiliation of spending eternity living within a confined space, to fight an internal battle with your own subconscious mind, hoping to one day set yourself free from a self-contained mentality with no outgoing communication whatsoever.

The mere thought of being confined to the incoming screams of the lost and forgotten individual spirits and souls desperately trying to conquer each battle within would be difficult to comprehend, but with each ongoing selfish opinionated view, it would still have to be a sight to be seen and a scene to be believed. The Cauldron knew no bounds. Far beneath the harrowing silhouette above flickered the delicate spirits of anguish, a retaliating society which had erected the true power of darkness! They had all come together over many faded centuries, hiding its identity from the ever-decreasing light.

The screams started to become quieter by the second, coinciding with the condemnation eradicating from his mind. How long had it been, days, months, or—God forbid—years? Unfortunately, Elfie Odges had no idea, with hell having no knowledge of time. Nothing more than a spiritual nothingness lying on a rot-ridden excuse for a bed, Elfie was unable to feel a thing. What he had learned upon entry into this particular home of the damned is not only had he lost all sense of time, but he had also lost his sense of purpose, period.

He had been reduced to a corpse less soul, unable to move, his soul kept alive by a living functional brain forever fuelled with the recurring knowledge of what had passed before circulating round and round in an infinite circle of endless regret. What mattered most to him was his right hand, lost in a battle from the past, a hand they refused to replace—and how could he argue? Deprived of a nervous system, they figured he wouldn’t be able to feel anything anyway so would have no need for it. Although these creatures loved to reap condemnation for fun, they had no concept for the simplicity of the five-letter word pride. Elfie felt less of a man, half-naked of sorts, regarding their actions as totally inhumane, but they weren’t human… or were they? Did they give a damn? To give a damn, you need a conscience, a conscience that breeds feelings, which would be detrimental in a place like this.

What they did possess was a hidden agenda, an agenda which would put into place events leading to the capture of one of their own, a fuel to their fire. A newborn, a birth of every child upon its grounds over many centuries, would be allowed to live, to grow, to mature among our kind until reaching a certain age of maturity with a right to be reclaimed. The feminine and masculine minds were considered to mature two years apart, allowing the females to be reclaimed at sixteen years of age and the males at eighteen. Reclaiming the children was rather straightforward. Every one of their children was born with an inquisitive nature, some more than others. At some given point during their birthdays, a bout of hysterical confusion, a capitulation of a link to reality, allowed the subconscious to take control, giving reason for the brothers and sisters of the furnace to call for them. Just after their birthday, The Diary would appear, enticing them to seek out a curious side they never thought existed.

Once inside, subconsciousness would become their weakness. Only then could The Diary reclaim the power to redeem them, manipulating events, eventually enticing them back to their rightful place in order to serve it. These unfortunate souls were known as the children of the furnace, the heartbeat of The Cauldron.

The power of the mind is what made The Diary tick, so it was essential that the children of the furnace matured enough in order to keep the fire burning, thus maintaining the existence of the book.

One particular child was never meant to be born here, but The Cauldron demanded her soul all the same. She had to be treated just like any other candidate chosen to serve the power of darkness. On her sixteenth birthday, The Diary had been unsuccessful in its efforts to reclaim her, presenting itself to her on many occasions. A year later they tried again but this girl was different, defiant, special in a way The Diary could never have imagined, comprehended, or ever have foreseen.

Rosina Russell was as curious as any other child was, but she also had the ability to sense danger at every turn, from a radius undefined, and it could only increase as she grew older. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Every child born upon this land was to serve a purpose, a purpose for evil to flourish among the world. This girl served no such purpose, conceived from the genes of purest love, brought up in a household of purest love, surrounded by people who showed her nothing less than purest love. Allowing her to remain above the plains could, no would hinder their cause. They had to get her back, and Elfie Odges was to be the key. He didn’t know on the commencement of his trial that he would be used as bait, but the plan they hatched forever and a day ago was the only way The Diary could empower its hold over her.

They had to make it look good, much as if they were doing him a favour in the process. All it took was for one man to believe in one single word, a word called redemption. The Cauldron had laid claim to Elfie Odges some way back, Rosina’s father a few years back, but what it really wanted was her. The lure in having the opportunity to save her father’s life would surely be too huge to pass on. The Diary was a book of manipulation using any means necessary, leaving no stone unturned in capturing its prey.

Elfie’s time had finally arrived after what seemed like a millennium, who knows, it most probably was. The court was about to sit in session to determine the outcome of his case because today was to be his judgement day. Elfie had waited for so long to be given an opportunity like this and was more than ready to face them all. A trial for freedom was unheard of in a place like this, so his evidence would be crucial if he was to be set free.

Having been taken out of stasis, a jar containing his life force finally arrived, flushed out and disinfected, removing the deadly poison once affecting the bloodstream cruelly inflicted during a past ordeal. A motionless spirit lay, slowly beginning to feel the twitches and tingling sensation of a resurrection, a nervous system ready to take effect. Elfie screamed out with what voice he had, still unable to speak, but this is what they wanted. If the plan was to set him free come what may, he would endure as much pain and suffering happily inflicted upon him whist he remained in their care.

Elfie’s feet and hands were firmly shackled as he was cautiously led naked to the dungeon of despair by a single guard. He was amazed just how quickly his senses kick-started into place. His balance stabilized with every step as the muscles began to rejuvenate at an alarming rate. It became easier to walk, talk, see, and be overall comfortable with his newfound existence. The dungeon was lit up with what at first looked like hundreds of illuminated red lights, but after taking a closer look, he could see the lights were in fact the watchful eyes of the many arduous defeated victims eager to await the outcome of this groundbreaking trial. With every step forward, he could feel a chilling sense of support surrounding him. Knowing of their plight and knowing their final destiny might well rest in his hands, Elfie felt they were on his side.

He was led to a dusty old chair and told to make himself comfortable. Their language was not of an English dialect, yet he could understand just about every word spoken and the pleasantries were getting better all the time.

Pushing down onto the uneven seat, he could feel it wobble, yet still it remained stable. Sitting on the other side of the room behind what looked like a fortress of steel were three shadowy figures. From the distance, having once again regained his twenty-twenty vision, vision which seemed better this time around, he could see they were also naked.

The figures sat there staring at him as if they knew he needed time to gather his thoughts. The eyes of hope within the walls began to emit a brighter light, enabling the whole area to be clearly seen. On closer inspection, he could see that the faces opposite possessed only mouths but no eyes, ears, or nose to speak of. He didn’t even know if they could talk, but he could hear some muttering coming from their direction.

One of the figures slowly arose from its seat to address him by his number of recruitment. Two-one-one-two-seven-eight, are you able to stand?

Staring back at the faceless, ugly old hag, Elfie noticed there was no movement of the mouth. They intended all communication should be done through telepathic means, but if this was their intention, then why had Elfie been given back the means of communicating through his mouth? He decided to test this hypothesis and rose from his seat.

"I am ready to gebin when you are—I mean, begin when you are, whoever you are," he stated, a little embarrassed that his speech wasn’t quite in order yet still holding on to the idea that his impediment would improve by the second.

This is the inner depths of The Cauldron, and we are the council. You could even say we are your sisters of mercy, Two-one-one-two-seven-eight.

Elfie was desperate to speak some more, having not had the opportunity to do so for so long. He believed in the old-fashioned way of opening your mouth to allow the words to gently surface from the flames of rage, exiting as a voice of reason. The council could feel his elated state of mind, but they hadn’t finished just yet. Just a little longer and he would be free to let a voice of reason have its say.

Your case holds exceptional circumstances allowing us to make a special allowance for you. Before we begin, Two-one-one-two-seven-eight, we must make you aware of an outcome which could in turn make us your jurors and possible executioners should your case prove so. Do you understand?

The arrogance was full on, and even the flickering lights of sight couldn’t fail to see it. Elfie wanted a reconfirmation that his speech had been returned for a good reason.

I take it I’m allowed to talk through my mouth during this hearing, then.

Of course you have our blessing to do just that.

The power in their tone of voice was undeniable. Elfie grew more confident the more he thought about the whole situation. Why would they go to the trouble of rekindling a life force only to dismantle it again after such a critical hearing—could they be that cruel? He was about to find out as the sisters of mercy continued their opening statement.

We are here today to sit in judgement of recruitment number Two-one-one-two-seven-eight. He has been granted this hearing based on an error of judgement he claims is on our part. He is seeking redemption, and we the council have a decision to make which will forever seal his fate. Whatever the decision, it will remain final, with no option of bargaining pleas, appeals, or bribery after judgement has been passed. Do you understand, Two-one-one-two-seven-eight?

Elfie listened carefully to the chosen words, replying with a hesitant yes.

What sounded like a synthetic sound of a Hammond organ began playing some sort of morbid melodic tune! The council members began to levitate above the ground until they were suspended in mid-air. It was the first time Elfie could see the three members above him with a clear vision. Each member of the council was very old and of a feminine stature. Standing in an upright position, their nudity became a most sickly sight. The rotting flesh and large sagging breasts hanging from the torsos didn’t make for pleasant viewing, but Elfie had seen far worse in a previous life.

Elfie took a further minute to gather his thoughts before starting because of the subdued pain and nausea he was still feeling. He had been allowed no anaesthetic during the long and painful operation he had just undertaken, but that didn’t warrant any sympathy from the sisters, only impatience.

Two-one-one-two-seven-eight, can you tell us why you feel you have a case against the laws of The Diary and why you think you deserve a second chance? It was you and you alone who decided to look inside The Diary, misusing your curiosity, wouldn’t you say?

Elfie gave a little cough to clear his throat before beginning. My case stands alone and is based on one major factor. You are right—I did get drawn into and somewhat entangled within this deadly game of chance, but it was not my choice. It was due to circumstances beyond my control. I became embodied into the web not knowing I had to survive each deadly situation for the next twelve months, all through no fault of my own. Sisters of mercy, your facts are inaccurate. You have distorted the truth for your own sense of purpose and that’s wrong.

The statement took the council by complete surprise. The audacity of the man, a victim trying to push his own failings from his shoulders onto others… Elfie dropped his head, not wanting to antagonize his jurors at this early stage of proceedings; however, he did feel an urgent need to explain the injustice of his case. Elfie’s file said it all, explaining how for twelve long sufferable months he was forced to endure his worst fears in pursuit of The Diary. How after his final battle resulting in the loss of his right hand, he held the book aloft, indeed denouncing its existence, only for the The Diary to change the rules in order to enforce its purpose of being.

"I’m sorry. I do not wish to cause any disruption, and I mean no disrespect, but if only you knew who I was forced to leave behind.

For God’s sake, I had a bloody family to care for, and all I want to do is go back home to them. All I ask is for the justice I deserve—and nothing more. Surely you owe me that at least."

Each of the sisters began laughing loudly whilst caressing their saggy breasts with both hands. The many enlightened eyes of the room felt a sudden need to join in. The room was very large, so the echoes rained hard around it. What was the joke? Elfie wondered, giving him his right to show annoyance. Once again, he was forced to raise his voice and bugger the consequences.

Why do you mock me? Let me in on the joke so even a docile, brain-dead son of a bitch such as I can understand what the hell is so funny.

The laughing stopped and was soon replaced with a defining silence corroding the room. The silence was broken the moment the sisters continued.

Take any notions you may have of being reunited with your immediate family, Two-one-one-two-seven-eight, and discard them from your thoughts. Please remember this luxurious place is no time machine for you or for others. Only The Diary can dictate such matters as it sees fit. If you were to be given a second bite, as it were, then it would have to be within a context of time suitable to the laws laid down by The Diary. Do you understand what we are saying, Two-one-one-two-seven-eight?

Elfie shook his head in amazement, believing these clowns loved nothing more than to play such cruel games for their own amusement. He had been in stasis, motionless for such a long time, so the words fired towards him from all directions were bashing a brain delicate in its newfound infancy. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what any of them were saying.

What do you mean? Of course I don’t understand. How long have I been here and what have you done with my family? Elfie was a cooking pot at boiling point, and having been given the power of speech, he felt that this was the only way he could express his true feelings.

"Clearly you don’t understand what we are saying, so we shall have to explain. Without you to hold them back, your immediate family moved on with their petty and