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The Holder of the End of the Story

January 5, 2016 at 12:00 AM
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This pasta is yet another entry in The Holders series, a loose grouping of stories by countless different authors based on a specific premise.

If this series is new to you, you may wish to visit this website dedicated specifically to archiving Holders stories; although we have a tag for the series and have posted several new entries over the year, the Holders wiki is much more complete.

To reach the Holder of the End of the Story, go to the place that you feel the strongest connection to. What that place is will depend on you. It might be the house you live in. It might be your childhood home. For some, it means going to that magical little creek-side place where you and your friends used to play, or to the coffee shop that you stopped in every morning before work.

When you reach the place, find the part of it that means the most to you. It might be your old room, or that spot on the side of the creek where you would always build your fort, or the table where you wrote your first novel. Step to within a few feet of that spot, facing it, and then stop. At this point, you should consider very carefully whether you really want to continue. You don’t need to stand there considering it for a particular amount of time. A millisecond will suffice. Or if you really want to, you can skip this step entirely. There won’t be any consequences. You won’t be dragged off by some unspeakable horror, or tormented by eternal madness, or torn apart by ravenous bees, or some such silliness. That’s not how this one works. Depending on how your previous trials have affected you, you’ll probably end up wishing that it was.

It’s up to you, but I would strongly, strongly recommend that you take your time to consider whether or not to go on. At this point, you can still walk away without any consequences.

Think about it – if you’ve recovered other Objects already, and you probably have, then your experiences may have… well, it’s only a certain sort of person who can maintain any real sense of connection to the world after all the horrors that you’ve undoubtedly gone through. By now you might feel completely numb to everything, or be so haunted by visions of unspeakable things that your heart just doesn’t have room for anything but pain and terror. Your mind might be so frayed that you can barely remember the past, much less which places were the ones you loved. Or your connection to reality might be so tenuous that you can’t for the life of you tell which of your memories are real, and which ones are just the mad whispers of your own (probably-demented) unconscious mind. Maybe all of the above.

Do not, I repeat, do not continue to Seek this Object if you no longer have the capacity to love the place in front of you. Walk away. There are plenty of other Objects out there. Who knows, maybe one of Them will restore the parts of you that you’ve lost. That’s not generally the way They work, but hey, you never know.

If you honestly think that you’re still capable of loving this ‘precious place,’ then say aloud “I Seek to secure the story’s end” and then step forward. This might mean crossing the threshold into your old room. It might mean stepping into that one special spot on the side of the creek. Maybe your ‘precious place’ is something that you can’t step into, like a wall that used to have a whiteboard that you and your sister would draw on, or something like that. Even so, step forward anyway.

In the very likely event that your experiences have already damaged your soul beyond repair, destroying or dementing every emotional connection to the world that you ever had, then this is where your journey ends. I warned you, didn’t I? I won’t say what happens to you at this point. Don’t worry though, you won’t be torn apart, or go mad, or suffer terrible agonies for eternity, or anything like that. You won’t even die – not for a long, long time. That’s not how this one works. You’ll wish it was.

Still curious? If you absolutely can’t stand not knowing what happens to the ones that fail, then by all means go to your ‘precious place’ and try it for yourself. You’ll probably find your answer. Just don’t blame me when you wish you hadn’t.

If by some unlikely miracle you’re actually still intact enough to feel a real connection to this place, then in an instant the environment around you will change. You’ll find yourself in a nice, moderately sized room. There may be furniture scattered around, there may be paintings on the walls. It’s different for everyone. The room will always be laid out in a way that reminds you of some of your happiest memories. There might be a couch that reminds you of the one at your best friend’s house where you always used to have movie nights. Or a painting of someone you love, at the age when they meant the most to you. The only constant is that at the center of the room, you’ll always find two comfortable chairs that are facing each other. The chair closest to you will remind you of the place that feels most like home. I will be sitting in the other chair.

Don’t worry; there aren’t any special rules here. You won’t be attacked if you look away from me, or go mad if you look into my eyes. That’s not how this one works. Go ahead and sit in the empty chair. Once you’re comfortable, I’ll welcome you to my sanctum, and tell you what you’ve probably already guessed – that I am the Holder of the End of the Story. Congratulations – very, very few Seekers have ever reached me.

I’ll then offer you a choice. There’s no trick to it. You won’t be punished for choosing one way or the other. Well, you won’t be punished beyond the natural consequences of your choice, anyway. That’s not how this one works. The choice I’ll offer you is this: if you want, I’ll give you the Object you’ve come for. No strings attached, no tricks. It won’t suddenly burrow into your eye and gobble up your brain, or make you hear the endless screams of the damned in your head, or kill a puppy, or some such nonsense. That’s not how this one works.

Or you can make the other choice: You can go home. That’s right, home. I don’t mean leave this place and go off Seeking the next Object. I mean really, truly, go home. Back to before all of this started. I can make that happen. That, and not the Object I Hold, is the real reward you’ve proven yourself worthy of by reaching me. That’s how this one works. Or of course, you can choose to go on.

Take as much time as you need. I recommend thinking long and hard on this one. It’s not a choice to make lightly. When you’re ready, go ahead and tell me your decision.

If you take me up on my offer, then all of the Objects you’ve acquired will return to where you found them. Any damage that’s happened to your body, mind, soul, and all that – will be healed. Everyone and everything that you’ve sacrificed to reach this point will be restored as if your quest never happened at all. Anyone you’ve hurt or killed or damaged in other ways will be completely restored. All the knowledge that you’ve gained and the secrets that you’ve learned will be erased from your memory, as well as any notes or recordings you’ve made in any form. It will still be possible for you act as a Seeker again, but you’ll have to discover everything all over again, and you’ll believe that it’s your first time doing it. The Holders will also lose all memory of you. Well, except for me – I’ll remember. Who knows, maybe this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.

If you choose to go on, then for the briefest instant you’ll think that you see a look of deep, deep sadness pass over my face. You’ll wonder if I haven’t stood exactly where you’re standing now, and made the exact same choice. It’ll be so brief, in fact, that you won’t be sure if it was really there at all. Without warning, you’ll find yourself back in the ‘precious place’ where you started. It will now be a charred ruin. Anyone who was in it when you crossed into my sanctum will be dead – their bodies as burned as the walls. If your memories of this place include sharing it with anyone, then you should pray, for their sake, that they died before this moment.

Reach down and scoop up a handful of ashes. Don’t worry, you won’t have trouble finding some – they’ll be all around you. As you hold them in your hand, you’ll be filled with the knowledge that no matter what happens in the future, no matter what you do, you will never again have an opportunity to give up your quest – not for long. Touching this Object has changed you. You now have an irresistible compulsion to seek the Objects. The longer you go without fulfilling that compulsion, the more you’ll feel compelled to – until you can’t resist it anymore.

The pile of ashes in your hand is Object # 1467. There’s only one way left for the story to end.

Credit: Josias Gibbs

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The Holder of Many

December 14, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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It all started as a story. A single piece of text that people enjoyed to read. It was a way of passing the time with jolts of fear and suspense. Wondering if it were real or not. People would read them, contemplate them, then laugh with friends about them.

I was one of those. One of the lucky ones, blessed with ignorance.

Then I made a suggestion. That I should start hunting The Objects. My friends laughed at me, saying that they were just stories. I was just as doubtful as them, but something was nagging at me to continue. This much is all that I remember from my former life. My blissfully unaware life. They say that ignorance is bliss, and until I took on this task, I thought that those were the words of those who were content to be ignorant. Now, however, I see that those are the words of those who are driven insane by knowledge.

I started my search with The Holder of Data. When I awoke the next morning, I found that my laptop, the one that I had used to try and find The Holder of Data, was gone. No trace of it could be found. I didn’t know what happened to it, and I wasn’t brave enough to search for it. In it’s place, there was another laptop. One that was pure black. The lettering on the keyboard was illegible to me, but somehow, I recognised the symbols. I can’t explain it much better than that. Everyone else who saw it thought that it was some strange language. A few said it was reminiscent to Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs. Others said that it was close to Arabic. No one could seem to pin them down to a region, so I gave up trying to figure it out. I could understand this language, or rather, I could translate it to English. That was good enough for me.

My second hunt was The Holder of Absence. That red ink is tempting. I want so badly to read the words that are scrawled across the paper, but I cannot bring myself to open the sheet and read it. I only looked through the thin lining of the material to confirm that it was, in fact, the Object that I was searching for. I then, regrettably, had another read it, but the moment their eyes looked at the lettering, a blood curdling scream rang through my ears, and they were gone, the paper that they held laying on the floor where they stood. I tried to leave it behind, to avoid the temptation to open it, but no matter what I done, it found its way back to my pocket.

Not even burning it worked. So eventually, I gave up throwing it away, and now live with the temptation of opening the accursed paper.

I next followed The Holder of Fortune. It wasn’t a hard task, per se. It was unnerving. I killed a man. A fellow Seeker, like me, who had become The Holder of Fortune. He failed his task, and left hints on how to find him, and how to claim his item. He begged for death, being unable to die or take his own life. So I gave him his wish. The Holder of Fortune is now dead, and I run the risk of becoming that Holder myself. I earned a coin with no worth for my troubles. Although something in my bones tells me it will one day be the most valuable object on the planet, or at least, to me, anyway.I will never let this out of my sight.

I searched long and hard, finding more and more Objects each month. Every time I found one, I felt a small tingle of joy welling up inside of me. But at the same time, a burning desire to collect them all. To gather them all together. The Shield from The Holder of Solitude has saved my hide more times than I could remember. The sword of the White King from The Holder of Peace has slain many of my foes. Many whom have tried to stop my progress. Holders, Seekers, and even Civilians who have gotten in my way.

I acquired many Objects. Guns, Swords, Clothing… Each one had it’s own unique Trial, and each one ripped another piece of my soul from my body. By the time I had collected one hundred and fifty two of the five hundred and thirty eight Objects, I was about ready to give up. To leave it all behind. Then, a new idea occurred to me. I shall write a piece, detailing a few of the objects that I have gathered, then leave them for other people to find. For other Seekers to find. I shall become a Holder.

I am The Holder of Many. I hold 152 of the 538 Objects and I am tired. I beg of you to find me and end my existence by forcing my to read the Red Ink on the Paper. I will resist, no doubt, but you must subdue me by any means necessary. Do not hesitate. Do not waver in your trial, for the reward will be great.

I only hope that you do not succumb to madness.

Admin Note: If you are not familiar with The Holders, one of the original Creepypasta series, I suggest familiarizing yourself here. I’m in a helpful mood today, so I’ve also compiled the Holders entries that were name-dropped in this story:

The Holder of Data
The Holder of Absence
The Holder of Fortune
The Holder of Solitude
The Holder of Peace


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Keeper Of Eternity

July 20, 2009 at 11:46 AM
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Over the past millennium, science and medicine has advanced so far as to put miracles in the hands of men. Many of the diseases that were fatal merely five hundred years ago now have cures or at least treatments thanks to the brilliant minds of man. That being so, there’s still one fatal infirmity humanity has yet to overcome, and that’s mortality.

For those devoted enough, however, there is yet a way. Located just off the East Coast of North America somewhere is a shrine dating as far back as the earliest recorded civilizations. Lost to the ages now, there is but one path to this shrine, and it still sends its call, as if daring the hardiest of man to make that perilous voyage.

If you find yourself in Savannah, GA someday and think you’d like to play your hand at immortality, simply hop in your car and continue east out of town along E President Street and continue along it until it turns into Islands Expressway. If the forces deem you worthy, or if they’re simply in the mood to watch in amusement as you throw your life away, the sky will darken with rainclouds–even if it was clear and blue only moments before–and the forest about you will seem to glow. Keep your eyes peeled and you should see a turn-off into the woods a few minutes after this happens.

Now if you’re carrying a map you’ll probably notice this path is not indicated anywhere on it, but pay that no heed. Continue along the tight and densely overgrown path at a slow pace, for if you go off the road here, you’ll have no hope of ever finding your way out of this forest, and no tow-truck will ever find the turn-off to come retrieve you. Simply follow the path before you–for while there are many bends, there are no turn-offs from this one. The trees will only grow denser as you progress, until the limbs scrape like fingers along the top of your vehicle (you should probably note that it would be a very bad idea to undergo this journey in a convertible).

Eventually, after approximately forty-five minutes to an hour of driving, you should come to a dead end, where the trees tighten about you like a noose around a doomed man’s neck. If you have a GPS system in your car it will proclaim that you’re about fifteen miles into the Atlantic Ocean. Do not attempt to reverse at this point, for you’ll find that the path is no longer there. Check your watch, or your phone, or your car’s read-out for the time, for regardless of the time of day not a single ray of light will spill through these densely packed trees. If it is dark out, or if it will be dark out within the next few hours do not open your door, and do not turn off your headlights. You may turn off your car every so often to save gas, but you’ll want to crank it up again periodically to keep your battery from dying. If you let down your guard in this forest at night, you’re as good as dead.

If you were wise enough to start this trip early enough, and it’s still light out, you may exit the car at this point. You’ll notice the trees around you leaning in your direction, as if peering down at you curiously. In a loud assertive voice proclaim, “I am here to claim my fate, and none here shall stand in my way.”

You’ll hear a sound behind you. When you turn to look you’ll notice a small path that hadn’t been there before. Do not hesitate, do not question it, simply walk purposefully forward and start down the path before you’re trapped in that clearing indefinitely. The path may wind drastically, depending on which way you were facing when it was created, simply continue walking and do not look back, no matter how loud the rustling gets behind you.

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Holder of Song

December 28, 2008 at 6:48 AM
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In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit “The Holder of Song”. You will be guided to a single door leading to a long winding staircase. It will seem to take you up higher than the building should stand. There will be a door at the top of the stairway that opens into a dim hall.

Heat will wash over you. Proceed down the hall, and at one point, it will suddenly get much colder. When this happens, you must stand perfectly still and make no sound. If you hear a baby crying, turn around and run away. The baby’s cry will follow you. If you hear it for the rest of your life, you’re lucky, for when it stops, your first-born child has died.

If there is no cry and the heat returns, proceed to the door at the end of the hall. Open it.

The room will be awash in green light. In the center will be an old woman turning a music box that produces no sound. Her legs have both been severed at the knees. When you speak to her, you must look her in the eyes. She hides a spear fashioned from the bones of her legs, and if you break eye contact, she will impale you and leave you in agony to bleed to death. She will respond to only one question. Ask her, “What was the song they used to play?”

The old woman will begin singing. The song is in a different language, but the melody is beautiful; serenity will wash over you. You will be presented with the image of children playing and singing. Things will turn grimmer. The children will begin fighting, then killing, then disemboweling each other with sharp rocks. The image will continue of children spreading death and destruction more horrific than you could ever have dreamt. But still, you will remain calm and peaceful. You will see a naked boy drenched in blood, singing with delight as he runs through a hellish wasteland, pursued by unspeakable monsters. They find him, and mutilate him utterly. Still, the song will continue from his dead lips.

An intense pain will stab at your chest. Your heart will feel like it is about to explode. But still, you must not break eye-contact with the old woman; if you do, an exploding heart would become your happiest dream. If you don’t shift your gaze, the pain will cease. The woman will stand up (you will know not how) and place the music box in your hands.

The music box is object 6 of 538. When its song plays again, they will all come together.

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Holder of Light

November 28, 2008 at 6:48 AM
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In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, close your eyes and ask to visit someone who calls himself “The Holder of Light”. You will be guided to a single door leading to a long winding hallway. You will be told to open your eyes. The hallway will be complete darkness, narrow enough only for you to feel the walls and navigate yourself forward.

If at any moment along the way the lights should come on, shut your eyes immediately and quickly make your way back to the door you came in. If your eyes stay open for more than a second, what you see will force you to instinctively tear them out.

If the lights stay off however, you will make your way to the end of the hall and another door. If there is a light from under the door leave immediately, what you came for is not there. If there is no light from under the door, carefully turn the handle and enter.

The room will be completely dark, aside from the lone candle in the center. What little light it brings reveals an outline of a cloak hovered over it. The man underneath the cloak is completely still. If you say anything, the man will tear out your eyes and devour your soul, and you will be forced to take his place under the cloak for the rest of eternity. There is only one question that the man will respond to, “What can protect us from them?”

If you proceed to ask this question, a piercing scream will ring out from the candle and a series of lights will illuminate the room, revealing the images of the most horrifying thoughts, fantasies and memories from all consciousness throughout history. Most people cannot handle this event, and will go insane or die instantly. However, if you should somehow manage to survive this, the man in the center of the room will rise slowly and put his hands to your head. You will be forced to look at his face. His face appears young, with the exception of two large cavities where his eyes once where. At this point you must not look away or you will be forever forgotten in time. He will then open your hand and place a small, round object into your right hand. You will be left feeling no pain, but the horrifying images will be burned into your memory for all eternity.

The eye you hold in your hand is object 5 of 538. The awakening has begun; they must not be brought together.

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Holder of Nothing

October 28, 2008 at 6:47 AM
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In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself “The Holder of Nothing”. Should a look of sheer, primal disgust mar the workers expression, you will then be taken to a separate building, which appears to be an old, wooden outhouse. Inside will be a seemingly endless corridor far, far longer than the length of the outhouse.

There will be no sound in the corridor. Attempting to make any at the wrong time is a grievous, grievous mistake. You will notice the lights in the corridor get brighter and brighter as you make your way down towards the end, becoming nearly blinding. If at any point the lights go out, QUICKLY shout out “No! Stop! What you are doing is wrong!” while backing away. If the lights do not come back on, bolt for the door you came in through. It should still be open and hopefully you aren’t far enough down the hallway for them to close it on you. If they manage to close it, hell itself would be preferable to what you will suffer.

If the lights come back on, return to walking forward down the corridor. Upon reaching the cell, the worker will open the door for you while glaring at you in disgust. Inside the cell will be a mad pastiche of colors, arranged in several harlequin-like formations. You must not be distracted by them; for at the center of a room is a naked young woman, slathered in blood and bound by strips of human sinew. If you take your eyes off her even for a moment, she will destroy you utterly. She will only respond to one question. “What were they when they were one?”

She will then stare into your eyes, and speak the answer in incredible detail. It will be unlike anything you have ever heard and you will be on the verge of both ecstasy and agony at her mere words. It is not uncommon for most to lose themselves in the euphoria. The worst thing you can do, however, is look upon the tattoo on her chest. It will pull at your mind to gaze upon it, but you mustn’t. If you do, you will be hers.

She will flay you alive and add your mutilated flesh to her bindings, and you will remain trapped with her, fully conscious, for the rest of time.

That tattoo is object 4 of 538. They desire to be one again. But they mustn’t.

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