MR. BLACK’S ENCYCLOPEDIA OF IMPOSSIBLE KNOWLEDGE: Some Books Should Never Be Opened

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:08):
Welcome, Weirdos. I'm Darren Marler and this is Weird Darkness.
Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends, lore,
the strange and bizarre, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained.
Coming up in this episode, It's Thriller Thursday when I

(00:30):
bring you stories of fiction. When a mysterious, elderly salesman
arrives at his door claiming to sell encyclopedias, a lonely
introvert discovers the book contains impossible knowledge about his life,
including his date of death and the identity of the
father he never knew. But the price of learning is
true heritage will force him to make a choice between

(00:51):
the quiet life he's always known or something darker than
anything he could ever imagine. It's a very dark fictional
horror story from Markinch entitled The Encyclopedia Salesman Now vulture doors,
Lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with
me into the Weird Darkness. I can't claim that I

(01:29):
was at a low point in my life when the
salesman came knocking on my door. It'd be easy to
say I was desperate and emotionally vulnerable, and therefore fell
a foul of his dark powers. It's true that I
wasn't entirely satisfied with my life. I had a decent
job and a nice home, having inherited a decent amount

(01:49):
of money. After my mother passed. I missed my mom,
of course, but I dealt with my grief as best
as I could and moved on. And relationships were always
a chat much for me. I had girlfriends, but never married,
and had no children. Oh, I didn't really have any
close friends. Plenty of acquaintances, but no one I could

(02:10):
trust with my inner thoughts and dreams. Still, this social
isolation never truly bothered me Since childhood. I'd always been
an introvert and content to keep my own company. But
it was more than that. I always felt that I
was different from other people, an entity who lived amongst
humanity but wasn't truly with them. I sensed there was

(02:34):
something within me that wasn't quite natural. For a long time,
I believed this feeling was a form of mental illness,
or the result of some kind of repressed childhood trauma.
There was so much my mother hadn't told me about
my background. In the end, it was the salesman who
told me the truth about my heritage. For better or

(02:55):
for worse, Pandora's box had been opened, and my life
has changed forever. My story spans many generations and links
our mortal world with realms beyond human comprehension. But for me,
it all began on one quiet Saturday afternoon when the
enigmatic salesman came to my front door. I only vaguely

(03:19):
recall what I was doing on that fateful day, did
the best of my recollection. I was searching for holiday
deals on my laptop and sipping on a cold beer
while a football match blared in the background. I do
remember the annoyance I felt when I heard the loud
banging on my solid oak door, loud enough to be
heard over the television and inside of my living room.

(03:41):
Saturday afternoon was my time, and I wasn't keen on
receiving visitors, especially unexpected ones. I have a ring doorbell installed,
but the visitor chose not to use it, instead banging
on my door with an unnecessary force. I shook my
head in irritation as I opened the app on my phone,

(04:01):
only to discover that I couldn't access the camera feed.
I suppose I should have been concerned by this sequence
of events, but in that moment I was more angry
than anything else, particularly as the knocking continued and increased
in volume. I put my laptop down, paused the match,
and got up onto my feet, stomping along the corridor

(04:23):
as the knocking continued and I shouted, all right, I'm coming,
damn it. I was still furious as I twisted the
handle and opened the door, preparing to give the unwanted
visitor a piece of my mind, But all my anger
just melted away as soon as I cast my eyes
upon him. It's difficult for me to explain the impact

(04:44):
of seeing the salesman for the first time. He was
not a particularly attractive or attention grabbing individual. In fact,
he took the appearance of a small and physically meek,
elderly man. His body stooped over, his hair, white, skin wrinkled.
He wore a musky smelling tweed suit and bow tie,

(05:04):
and propped himself up with a walking stick in one hand,
whilst carrying a leather briefcase in the other. My visitor
sported a disarming but somehow unnerving smile on his crusty lips,
and his brown eyes were lit up with the passion
and energy of a much younger man. I didn't find
him threatening at first glance. Far from it. Before the

(05:25):
salesman even spoke a word, I found myself at ease
in his presence and was no longer annoyed over his
intrusion upon my afternoon. I'd never met the man before,
and yet he seemed very familiar to me, like he
was a long lost relative who suddenly and unexpectedly walked
back into my life. I struggled to find the words

(05:46):
to address the old man, eventually stuttering my greeting Hello,
Can I help you? My visitor's smile widened as he
spoke in an amicable, yet somehow chilling voice. Good afternoon, sir,
It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. He held out
his bony hand, which I took after only a second's hesitation.

(06:07):
I expected his palm to be ice cold, and so
was surprised by the warmth of his palm, feeling like
a surge of energy had passed from his body to mine.
My name is mister Black, he said, in the way
of introduction, that I am a purveyor of rare books
and encyclopedias. I believe my products will be of great
interest to an intelligent and open minded gentleman such as yourself.

(06:30):
If you have the time, I would love to come
inside and tell you more. My hand was still in
his as I looked into his deep brown eyes, seeing
a spark of malice in them. For the first time,
I experienced a wave of emotions in that moment. Curiosity
and wonder, but also apprehension and more than a hint

(06:50):
of fear. I don't know how exactly, but I realized
that the decision I made in the next moment would
define the rest my life. I could tell the mystery
man to leave and go back to my quiet life
of ignorance. On the other hand, I could invite him
inside and hear what he had to say, And of

(07:11):
course I chose the latter. Sure, come on in, I
said nervously. The salesman, mister Black or whoever he really was,
released my hand, continuing to smile as he nodded his
head and walked across the threshold. I moved to one side,
allowing him to pass, and watched as he slowly marched
down the wood floored corridor, his walking stick clicking as

(07:35):
he went. I meant to call out to him and
tell my visitor where to go, but bizarrely, it seemed
like he already knew his way around my home, as
he immediately walked into the living room, leaving me to
follow him inside. Now, before I continue my account, I
should explain a couple of things. First of all, I

(07:55):
knew very well that mister Black wasn't an encyclopedia salesman.
Apart from me anything else, the profession is obsolete in
this modern age of online shopping and access to unlimited
digital information. Secondly, I did realize my visitor was potentially dangerous,
although not in the conventional sense. Mister Black was not

(08:17):
physically imposing, and I thought it unlikely that he was armed.
He might be a con man, of course, but I
sensed his interest in me came from something deeper. I
cautiously followed him into my living room, noting how he
had already taken a seat in the far corner. He
raised his hand pointing at the couch opposite, while saying, please, sir,

(08:37):
take a seat. It was as if our roles were
now reversed, and I was a guest in my own
home and yet I obeyed his instruction without comment, taking
a seat while I watched him lift and open his briefcase.
It was only later that I realized all the electronic
devices in the room, my television, laptop, and smartphone, were

(08:59):
all now switched off, with their screens turned to black.
Even then, I didn't understand the significance of why this
had occurred. I continued watching in awe as the salesman
pulled a fine leather backed red book from his briefcase,
holding it so carefully as if it was his most
prized possession. I was instantly drawn to the mysterious book

(09:20):
which my visitor held in his bony hands. The cover
was unremarkable, a maroon color without any motif or title
that I could see. The phages were stained yellow, which
gave an indication as to its age, and it had
that rather pleasant musky smell you get in an old
bookstore or university library. I'd like to claim that the

(09:41):
cover was made from dried human skin, or covered by
some kind of magical runes, but there was nothing that dramatic.
The book itself looked very ordinary, and yet I couldn't
avert my eyes from it. Somehow, sensing that the words
contained within were of great importance. Behold, sir, great eatest
encyclopedia ever written, the salesman suddenly announced, drawing my attention

(10:05):
back to his grinning, wrinkled face and bright eyes. All
the answers you'll ever need are contained within these pages.
I frowned, looking again at the book and noting its thickness.
I reckoned it was around five to six hundred pages
in length, which hardly seemed substantial given the claims the
salesman was making. So this is what you're selling, I

(10:29):
asked cynically. The salesman laughed chovially, shaking his head before replying,
Oh no, sir, I'm afraid not. This book is priceless
and sadly not for sale. I scowled, becoming increasingly suspicious
of my enigmatic visitor. You said you were a salesman,
I snapped back, I did, he replied, seemingly picking up

(10:50):
on my increasing hostility. The truth is I've held many
positions over the years, preacher, historian, emissary, salesman. In all cases,
the common thread is storytelling. I scoffed dismissively before replying,
So what you're here to tell me? A story. Ah, yes, sir,

(11:11):
he beamed with enthusiasm as he began to open the cover.
I can tell you many stories. This wonderful book is
full of them, I see, was my cynical reply. Let
me ask you something, old timer. Have you ever heard
of Wikipedia? I was being deliberately facetious, of course, challenging

(11:33):
the salesman's assertion that his book contained long sought after
answers when I could literally access all the information in
the world with the mere touch of my finger. The
mysterious mister Black looked confused for a moment, as if
my question made no sense to him, but eventually he
cottoned on and answered, in his typical jovial manner, you
mean the world Wide Web? We ell, sir. I'm afraid

(11:56):
I am something of a technophobe. But let me assure you, sir,
that tales within these pages will not appear on your Internet.
He paused briefly to let this sink in. I might
have laughed aloud at his audacious claim, but there was
a doubt in my mind. I glanced back towards my phone, laptop, television,

(12:18):
noting how all it switched off as soon as the
salesman entered my home. This couldn't be a coincidence, and
the implications brought a chill down my spine. The salesman
didn't seem to notice my change and demeanor, however, as
he was engrossed in his precious encyclopedia, carefully and lovingly
turning the pages, his eyes lighting up whilst they scanned

(12:39):
the contents. Such was the power of the words contained within.
Now let's see what story would be of interest to you,
good sir. Uh. Perhaps the tragic Sagamo de la Roque
and her exile to the legendary Isle of Demons. He
flicked through the pages before offering another suggestion. Or well,

(13:00):
I tell you the rules of these shadowlands, where the
damned stand in line between Heaven and Hell whilst they
await the old, mightiest judgment. He turned another page, looking
up from the book as he shot me a twisted
grin and a sly wink. But let's not beat about
the bush, good sir. I know the story you wish
to hear, the story of you, your past, your present,

(13:25):
and of course your future. I snorted again, but with
less confidence than before. I still thought he was full
of crap, But doubts were creeping into my mind. I
tried to make a joke out of it, but my
voice was trembling. When I asked my next question, you've
got a chapter about me in there. Salesman's smile faded somewhat,

(13:48):
as did the spark in his eyes, as his energy
seemed to diminish. Yes, he said, in a more solemn tone, you, sir,
have a very prominent role in my book. You proceed
to read my full name and date of birth, along
with cursory details of my early life and education. I
raised an eyebrow and suspicion. Of course, these were details

(14:11):
he could have obtained through several sources, and on the surface,
the whole thing seemed like a scam. But there was more.
The salesman was somehow able to confirm my date of death,
which he claimed would be the thirteenth of July twenty
sixty six. I laughed nervously at this revelation before saying, so,

(14:33):
you're a fortune teller as well as a storyteller. Oh no,
he replied with a dry chuckle. I cannot tell the future.
I merely go by what's in the book. But it's
never been wrong yet. I took a deep breath to
compose myself. Once I realized my body was physically shaking
with anticipation. The whole situation was insane, and my logical

(14:57):
brain told me that none of this could be true,
and yet I fully trusted the mysterious salesman in that moment.
I don't know whether he had bewitched me with his
black magic or because deep down I'd always yearned for
this self validation, but at this point I was hanging
on his every word. What else does the book say

(15:18):
about me? I demanded impatiently, but the salesman didn't answer,
instead looking up from his sacred text and towards the
mantelpiece on the far side of my living room. He
slowly lifted his right hand and pointed toward the framed picture,
which took center place. Your mother, he asked, in a
sympathetic tone. I looked to the picture, saying my mom's

(15:40):
smiling face and sparkling eyes, and I experienced a twinge
of grief as I remembered how much I missed her. Yes,
I replied, with a lump in my throat. I wondered
why my visitor had changed the subject, and felt frustrated
in his lack of answers. She never told you about
your father, did you? She I paused, momentarily confused by

(16:04):
the question, but also feeling like he'd hit a raw nerve.
She did, I answered defensively. My father died shortly before
I was born. The salesman shot me a sympathetic half smile.
That's not true, though, is it. You've always known this
deep down, but you couldn't bring yourself to confront your mother,
not even when she lay on her deathbed. I swallowed deeply,

(16:28):
trying to control the flood of emotions I was experiencing.
I believe the salesman allowed me a moment to process
these feelings before he continued to talk. You wish to
know your future, but before you do, you must understand
where you come from. I thought over his cryptic words

(16:48):
for only a moment before snapping, impatiently, tell me, tell
me everything. His reaction surprised me, as the salesman frowned,
his smile disappearing as his expression darkened. Hmmm, I think not, sir.
I came here with honest intentions, but now I see
you are not ready for the truth. But John dropped

(17:09):
in astonishment. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, it,
stated as much aberly. No, you can't leave me hanging
like this. I must know. I will leave you with
two names, the salesman replied, cryptically, Charles Robinson and Fatima Abraham.
Who the hell are they? I shot back in anger
and confusion. You have the names, was his answer. Seek

(17:33):
them out and hear their stories piece by piece. The
truth shall be revealed to you. But for now, sir,
I will wish you good day and good luck. With that,
the salesman carefully stood up from his seat and slowly
walked towards the door. I was literally baffled, not believing
that our bizarre encounter could end like this. I had

(17:55):
a rush of blood to my head, deciding that I
could not let him leave without first obtaining the answers
I needed so badly. In an instant, I jumped up
from the couch, reaching for the elderly salesman and grabbing
it firmly by the arms. No more trap, old timer,
I cried out furiously, you're not leaving. I want to
read what's inside that book. I didn't expect much resistance

(18:15):
from the elderly man, and so it was astonished when
He reacted violently, exerting a near superhuman strength as he
pulled free from my grasp and physically shoved me to
the floor. I looked up fearfully, seeing the salesman transformed
into something monstrous, his eyes black and his mouth opening
to reveal a gaping, dark hole. He hissed at me

(18:36):
like a cat, and when he spoke, his words were deep.

Speaker 2 (18:39):
And almost inhuman. Diam it, sir, he cried in fury,
Do not test me. Lay your hands on me again,
and you will live to regret it.

Speaker 1 (18:50):
I froze in terror, averting my eyes from his hideous
second face. I didn't need to be told twice, remaining
on the floor. As the salesman left the room, his
briefcase and walking stick in hand. As he slowly walked
down the corridor, I heard the door slam shut, and
my heart sank because I knew that this bizarre encounter

(19:11):
had changed my life forever. You won't be surprised to
learn that I was grasped by a frantic obsession. Following

(19:31):
the salesman's visit, I tried to track him down, searching
and contacting every bookstore in sales company and a one
hundred mile radius, all to no avail. I could not
find the mysterious mister Black or his unidentified encyclopedia, no
matter how hard I tried, and so all I had
to work with was the two names he'd provided me.

(19:54):
It's no exaggeration to say that I spent months attempting
to track down Charles Robin and Fatima Abraham. Despite the
salesman's distrust of the Internet, I used this resource extensively
during my long and frustrating search. Obviously, there are thousands
of individuals on social media with these names, and I

(20:15):
had no additional information such as their ages or geographical locations.
I quickly realized it was pointless contacting random people online,
and my best bet was targeting forums which specifically dealt
with bizarre or supernatural occurrences. Even then, I've faced many
frustrations and dead ends, but eventually I was able to

(20:38):
find the correct Charles and Fatima amongst the host of
trolls and scammers. How could I be sure, you ask? Well,
both had received their own visits from the enigmatic mister
Black and were able to confirm details about the salesman
and his precious encyclopedia without being prompted by me. I

(20:59):
was therefore evident that all three of us had shared
the same, probably supernatural experience, having been picked out by
the ghoulish salesman for whatever reason. It's possible that all
three of them were in it together and I was
their mark. I did consider the possibility it was all
an elaborate hoax, but for what purpose. I also did

(21:22):
my own independent research on the two individuals, and I'm
sure they checked me out too. By all accounts, Charles
and Fatima were unremarkable people who didn't stand out from
the crowd. This was my first impression. At least, there
was no obvious connection between the three of us. I
won't reveal where I live, but can provide some details

(21:43):
about my companions. Fatima Abraham lived in London, having been
born and raised in the UK capital. Her mother was
English and her father an Egyptian. Fatima wasn't married and
had no kids. She didn't even own a pet as
far as I knew. She worked in finance and had
a few friends. Meanwhile, Charles Robinson hailed from the American Midwest,

(22:05):
where he worked as a locksmith and ran his own
small business. Again, he was unmarried and childless. I suppose
the three of us did share some characteristics. We were
all single, introverts around the same age. All of us
were suspicious of other people to the extent we could
be described as misanthropists. Likewise, we all had comfortable livelihoods

(22:27):
but felt unfulfilled. But it was more than that. Fatima,
Charles and I all believed there was something missing from
our lives, some dark secret which had been kept from us.
We all desired to learn this secret, and this was
surely why these salesmen had sawt us out, because he

(22:49):
had the answers we thought we so desperately needed. As
the three of us communicated through private messages, it soon
became apparent that Fatima and Charles had more information than
I did. The salesman had left me hanging, hinting at
the identity of my father and my ultimate destiny. On
the other hand, secrets were revealed to my companions that

(23:10):
changed their lives forever. I've made the decision to share
their stories here, if only because their fates are linked
to my own. I will share their own words, which
I received in the form of direct messages up until
the point they broke off contact. Charlie's tale. I know

(23:31):
to tell you guys about my upbringing. My family weren't rich,
but I was brought upright. I didn't know much about
my heritage. Mom and dad raw was skijee on that subject.
I knew that my grandfather had changed his surname as
a young man, but never knew why, and no one
would never talk about it. I reckoned there was likely
a dark family secret which had been kept from me.

(23:54):
This wasn't something I dwelt on. However, I was a
difficult kid, that would be fair to say. I remember
being angry much of the time, but never truly understood why.
I'd frequently get into fights in school and was in
no end of trouble. My parents were very concerned about
my behavior. It was almost like they were afraid of me.

(24:15):
I guess I always felt this rage inside of me.
I got better at controlling it as I grew older,
but my inner thoughts were often consumed by violent fantasies.
These feelings worried me and contributed to my anxiety, but
I never talked about them or sought professional help. In fact,
this is the first time I've shared any of this

(24:39):
anyway my adult life. Hasn't met anything special. I've survived
but never been happy. I just existed and played the game.
I don't know why I started working as a locksmith.
I'm not a people person, and I secretly hate most
of my customers, but the idea of being able to
access their homes excited me on some deep level. I

(25:02):
was able to intrude upon their private domains and so
held a secret power over them. You're probably seeing a
lot of red flags here, and you'd be right to
do so. But still I've repressed these dark impulses and
might well have continue to do so if it hadn't
been for the salesman's visit. You guys know the score,

(25:23):
so I won't repeat it here. When that freak came
knocking on my door and started talking about encyclopedias, I
was just about ready to tell him to go to hell,
but I held my tongue and let him inside my home.
I can't explain why, but you guys have been through
the same experience, so I know you'll understand. Somehow, I

(25:44):
felt like I could trust this stranger and I needed
to hear what he had to say. The next bit,
you know too, he took that damn book out of
his briefcase and started reading. There are a couple of
weird stories he started off on, remember some talk of
a hidden museum of the future, apocalypse and a phantom

(26:04):
bus full of ghosts and ghouls. I don't recall all
the details, but these stories scared the crap out of me.
But he soon moved on to my own sordid family history.
It all goes back to my great grandfather. You see.
His name was Ivan Robeson Man. He was notorious around
these parts. Between nineteen twenty two and nineteen thirty, Ivan

(26:29):
carried out at least eleven brutal murders in the Tri
State area. Eleven is what he confessed to anyway, although
the true number may have been much higher. Ivan was
one of the earliest known serial killers in the Midwest,
practicing his ghastly trade with a butcher's knife, cutting his
victim's throats from ear to ear and savage but meticulously

(26:50):
executed attacks. His trademark was to break into the victims'
homes while they were out and lay in wait, launching
his murderous assaults once they returned home. And guess what.
Ivan trained as a locksmith, just like I did. This
was how he gained access to the victims' homes, and

(27:10):
he used his profession as a cover for traveling from
town to town, scoping out his targets while he planned
his murders. It's difficult for me to describe my emotions
as I listened to these revelations. Shocked, of course, and
more than a little fear. But the most extraordinary part
was now the salesman told the story. He wasn't just

(27:32):
reading the words from the book. Well, he was, but
he was more than that. When the salesman described the
murders to me, he didn't just cover every vivid and
gory detail. The words he spoke seemed to hold some
kind of dark power. Somehow, I was transported to the
murder scenes, feeling the knife in my hand and the

(27:54):
adrenaline pumping through my veins. I was in my ancestor's body,
hiding in a stringer's home and waiting for them to return.
I vividly recall the terror in their eyes as I
revealed myself, charging them with my blade in hand. Some
fought back fiercely, meaning I had to stab them multiple
times before they fell. Others cowered and begged for mercy.

(28:17):
It made no difference in the end, because I slaughtered
every victim without a second thought. In truth, I enjoyed
reliving my ancestors heinous crimes, from the screams of his
victims to the smell of their blood. It was like
a part of me which had been buried deep inside,
was finally released. Now I knew who I was. But

(28:41):
the bloody string of murders came to an inevitable end
when the police caught up with my great grandfather during
the early years of the Great Depression. The detective who
caught him was called Underwood, a rising star in the
local police force who later joined the FBI. As the
sales have been described to the arrest was once again

(29:01):
taken back possessing my late relative's body. As I was
thrust into a tight, windowless interrogation room during the hot
summer in nineteen thirty, Underwood was standing over me, his
face red with fury and his shirt covered in sweat
as he screamed in my face. I remember being terrified
by his overbearing and intimidating presence. It wasn't just that

(29:23):
Underwood was physically imposing. There was also a malice in
his eyes. Which was truly chilling. I didn't need to
imagine what my great grandfather was feeling in that moment.
I knew he was scared. It's a crazy thing to
imagine a serial killer being afraid of a mere cop,
but there was a darkness within an Underwood that was frightening.

(29:45):
When my great grandfather didn't confess, Detective Underwood beat him
without mercy. The torture went on for hours, and I
felt every blow my ancestors suffered. In the end, he
was forced to sign a confession for the eleven I
experienced a great anger once I learned how my ancestor
was subjected to this treatment, even though I realized he

(30:08):
was in fact guilty. Ivan Robesen was executed on the
fifteenth of September nineteen thirty two. The salesman described the
execution to me in great detail, and once again I
was transported back in time, finding myself strapped into the
electric chair, shaking uncontrollably as they read me by last
rites and pulled the lever. The electricity flowed through me,

(30:31):
causing me excruciating pain as my body cooked from the
inside out. Then it all went dark and I was
thrust back to the present, sitting on my couch as
the salesman finished reading. Before he put the book carefully
back into his briefcase and made to leave. I tried
to stop him, of course I did. There was still
so many unanswered questions in my head. But you know

(30:54):
how that goes. The old man doesn't look like much,
but he packs a mean punch, and then he left me.
Having turned my life upside down in the course of
one afternoon, I couldn't go back to the way things were,
and not after everything I'd learned, so I started doing
my own research, much like the two of you. As

(31:15):
you can imagine, there's been a lot written about my
late ancestor. I also came onto these paranormal forums and
started asking questions about this salesman guy. That's how I
got in touch with you guys. Obviously, I appreciate having
the both of you to talk to about this crazy stuff.
I haven't spoken with my parents. Frankly, I feel betrayed

(31:37):
by them both, because well, they had the truth for
me for so long. It's difficult for me to describe
my emotions at this time, but what I feel more
than anything else, it's rage, anger, and lust for violence.
Is no longer buried deep in my psyche. Now it's

(31:57):
at the forefront of my consciousness, and the rage assumed me.
My greatest desire is to seek vengeance on behalf of
my ancestor, Ivan, and I believe it's my duty to
continue his legacy. The focus of my hatred has a name,
and it's Underwood. The cop that got my great grandfather

(32:17):
is long dead, of course, but his descendants still live
in this area. In fact, his great grandson is an
attorney right here in my hometown. I know where he lives,
and I can get inside. The fire burning within me
cannot be diminished. I will have my revenge. As you

(32:50):
can imagine, both Fatima and I were left shocked and
deeply disturbed by Charlie's final sign off. If we took
his words at face value, we'd have to assume that
Charlie would commit a murder in the near future. So
what did we do with this information? I suppose the
correct course of action would have been to contact the police,

(33:11):
and yet we didn't do so. When we discussed his posts,
we decided the murder threat was likely a hoax, or
that he wouldn't go through with it. Deep down, though
I think we both knew this was a lie. I
can't speak for Fatima, but I didn't report the murder
plot because I wanted to see what would happen. I

(33:33):
never did hear from Charlie again, but I was able
to piece together the rest of the story through court
documents and news reports. On the twenty third of March
this year, a thirty two year old locksmith named Charles
Robinson he illegally gained access to a private residence in
Kansas City. In his subsequent confession to detectives, mister Robinson

(33:53):
admitted breaking into the home with the intention of ambushing
and murdering the owner, the well known defense attorney of Underwood.
The accused believed the home would be empty at the time,
but was confronted by mister Underwood's maid, twenty five year
old Isabella Rodriguez. A struggle ensued, which ended in a
brutal murder, as Robinson stabbed his victim thirteen times in

(34:16):
a frenzied attack, killing her in the master bedroom. The
accused expressed remorse over the murder of Miss Rodriguez, but
decided to follow through on his original plan, moving the
maid's corpse to the bathroom before waiting for his target
to come home. Detectives investigating the case have praised the
bravery of mister Underwood, who was able to overpower, disarm,

(34:39):
and subdue the suspect until the police arrived. Mister Robinson's
been charged with murder and attempted murder and has been
denied bail. It is noted that he is a distant
relative of Ivan Robeson, the infamous serial killer who committed
eleven murders across three states during the nineteen twenties and
was executed by the election tric chair in nineteen thirty two.

(35:03):
This was the news report from the time, and I
don't mind telling you that the account shocked me to
my very core. Charlie had played out his violent fantasies
and carried on his great grandfather's bloody legacy, but he
had badly botched his murder plot, slaughtering an innocent woman
before getting himself caught. Charlie might well have been executed

(35:26):
like his ancestor, but he never made it to trial.
The last report I read confirmed that Charles Robinson was
found dead in his jail cell on the morning of
April fourteenth. The authorities claimed he'd taken his own life,
but I'm not so sure. In any event, one of
my contacts was dead and I still didn't have the
answers I needed. I suppose I should have felt disgusted

(35:50):
over the whole affair, but in truth, I was frustrated
to have hit another brick wall. Now my only hope
was Fatima, and she was able to bring another piece
to the puzzle. So let me tell you this young
woman's story in her own words. Fadam miss Tail, there's

(36:10):
not much to say about me. Sure I could recount
my childhood in my new detail, but what would be
the point of that. I will say that my parents
divorced when I was still young. During my adolescence, I
turned my back on my father's faith. We fell out
over this disagreement and haven't spoken in years. The truth

(36:31):
is I never had much time for religion. During my
student days, I was a committed atheist, filled with a
youthful arrogance and anger against the establishment. In later life,
I became much more conformist. Although I never considered myself
a spiritual person. I suppose I had a decent relationship
with my mum. We saw each other regularly and I

(36:53):
continued to visit my mother until her sudden passing from
a stroke. Aggrieved the loss, but in all honest we
were never that close. I had one serious boyfriend after university.
We lived together for about five years, but gradually grew apart.
I remember the day he broke up with me, saying

(37:14):
that I'd become cold and distant. I didn't argue and
let him go. A big part of me was relieved.
I used to be bothered by things like this. It
concerned me that I couldn't maintain a relationship but had
no close friends. I reckoned there must be something wrong
with me, and did seek professional help in my late twenties,

(37:36):
but multiple psychiatrists couldn't provide the answers I needed. In
the absence of meaningful human interaction, I threw myself into
my career. I was always good with numbers, and so
pursued this line of work, taking a job as a
financial analyst after college and working my way up the
corporate ladder. I worked long hours and made good money.

(37:57):
By any measure, in my career has been a great success.
I guess what, guys, I was still not satisfied. You
both know the feeling all too well to feel like
a stranger in your own life, a zombie merely going
through the motions and pretending to be a human being.
And then the salesman came to my door. My introductions

(38:20):
to this mysterious stranger were much the same as yours.
I was highly suspicious, but I led him into my home.
I guess I was still apprehensive up to the point
he took the book out of his briefcase and started
to read. From that point onwards, I was transfixed and
hanging on his every word. He told me several tales
of the unexplained and paranormal, speaking of a red phone

(38:43):
box that can communicate with the afterlife, a cursed model
village which consumed its creator, in a parallel universe which
has become the resting place for countless lost ships and planes.
I normally don't go in for such fantastical stories and
can spare heresies. Throughout my life, I've considered myself an
educated and logical woman who had no time for these

(39:05):
superstitions of the past. And yet the salesman's powerful words
struck a chord with me, and I felt like he
had reached something deep inside of me, awakening emotions I
had long since buried, and this was before he revealed
my true identity. My connection to the past wasn't as

(39:26):
direct as it was for Charlie. The dark tragedy in
my family's history did not occur within living memory. Instead,
the salesman took me back to the seventeenth century, where
a long forgotten ancestor of my mother's side suffered a
grave injustice. My ancestor's name was Mary Clayburn when she

(39:46):
was a minister's wife and young mother of two. Mary
lived in Norwich, Norfolk County during the sixteen forties and
short life was not a happy one. Her husband was
a Puritan, a real fire in brimstone type who I
didn't believe in sparing the rod when it came to
disciplining his children, or his wife for that matter. The

(40:07):
way the salesman vividly described the violence and abuse, it
was like nothing I've ever experienced before. I can relate
to Charlie's account because I felt the immense power of
the salesman's words as he read from the encyclopedia, and
somehow I was transported back in time, experiencing my ancestors
torments as if they were happening to me. I'll never

(40:29):
forget the terror of being in that isolated rural cottage,
facing the cold nights and the candlelight as I fought
to protect the young children, son and daughter from the
uncontrollable rage of the minister. It was particularly chilling to
realize there was nobody I could call, no one I
could turn to for help. I was on my own
against this monster. But my ancestor, Mary was not entirely helpless.

(40:55):
She had powers. You see, the type of powers I
would have previously dismissed as nonsense, but now I know
that magic is very real. Mary was able to do
extraordinary things, communicate with animals, read people's thoughts, and make
objects move without touching them. She used her powers in
small ways, but was careful to hide her actions from

(41:16):
her husband and the wider community, knowing all too well
the serious consequences if she was caught. But the Minister
knew something was amiss, and this only added to his fury.
One night, he came home in a blind rage, ranting
about the devil's influence and the unholy corruption of his family.
He charged up the stairs, his face red as he

(41:37):
grasped hold of his wooden cane. Mary confulted her husband
at the top of the staircase, but was violently shoved
out of the way as her husband made for the
children's bedroom. I was in my ancestor's body in that moment,
experiencing her hute pain, fear, and anger. I channeled to
those emotions, using my powers in an act of violent retribution,

(41:58):
without moving from the floor, used a surge of energy,
a righteous, invisible force, which threw the minister back down
the stairs. This was Mary's action, but we were as
one in that moment. I was in control, and I
felt such power. I enjoyed seeing shock and terror in
the minister's eyes as he tumbled down the stairs, savoring

(42:20):
every crack and cry of pain before he hit the bottom,
his neck breaking as he collided with the hard floor.
I looked down at his dead eyes and felt no remorse,
only a grim satisfaction that the monster's life was ended.
But then I turned my head and saw Mary's young
children standing in the doorway, their teary, shark filled eyes

(42:44):
looking upon the violent scene in disbelief. The salesman dispassionately
continued his reading and confirmed Mary Clayburne's fate. On the
twelfth of September sixteen forty five, my ancestor was sentenced
to death and Norich caught. After being convicted of murder
and witchcraft. She was to be burned at the stake.

(43:06):
Given what I now know about Mary's life and all
she had suffered, I was naturally outraged that the sentence
passed down against her. But there was more. Throughout the
salesman's words, I was once again transported back in time
to the day of the trial. There I was I
in Mary's body, terrified as a baying mob called out
for my blood. The magistrate restored some degree of order

(43:29):
by loudly banging his gavel, but he soon launched into
a furious tirade in which he described Mary as a
whore and which in the service of Satan, before he
gleefully sentenced her to burn. I remember the pure hatred
and malice in the magistrate's dark eyes as he looked
upon me with utter contempt. His heedful glare chilled me

(43:51):
to my bones and made me question who was really
in league with the devil. But the final memory was,
of course the worst. I was pulled back to the
night of Mary's execution. Once again, I possessed my ancestors
physical form as I was tightly tied to the post
with a pile of firewood below me. My whole body

(44:12):
shook as I fought against my binds and cried out
for mercy, but I would get none from the hateful
mob of Puritans assembled before the pire, their eyes full
of self righteous anger as they wielded pitch for it
and tortures and called me every vile name under the sun.
A minister spoke some words before the horror began. I

(44:34):
can't recall the exact text, but believe he finished on
the phrase may God have mercy on your soul, or
words to that effect. And then three men stepped forward
and set the pyre alight. I cried out louder this time,
my body sweating in eyes bulging as I watched the
flames quickly spread. I felt the heat of the fire,

(44:57):
starting with a burning of my toes and feets, soon
growing more intense as the flames shot up the stake
and engulfed me, melting my skin and flesh in a
horrifying inferno. I know that this atrocity happened to my ancestor,
and not me, but in that memory, I could feel
her agony, and it was the most intense pain I've
ever suffered. And before I blacked out, I saw the

(45:20):
magistrate in the crowd watching Mary's fiery death. A twisted
smile edged across his face as he took a perverse
pleasure from her suffering. This was when the salesman brought
me back to the present day, and as you probably guessed,
he left my home without elaborating on why he told
me this gruesome and tragic tale. But there was one

(45:43):
more detail he revealed before leaving me. I thought it
was irrelevant at the time, and its significance only became
apparent after I heard Charlie's story, because you see, the
magistrate who sentenced Mary Clayburn was called Underwood. As you
can imagine, this revelation has caused me many sleepless nights.

(46:08):
I'll confess to having a similar experience to Charlie, as
I became obsessed with the words and visions the salesman
had shared with me, to the point where every other
part of my life was neglected. I took a leave
of absence from my job that spent every weeking hour
pursuing the mystery. I can find no direct connection between
Caleb Underwood in Kansas City and the Norfolk magistrate who

(46:31):
burnt my ancestor at the stake. I have been able
to trace the lineage of Magistrate Underwood. However, his aristocratic
family is a prominent one in English society, and one
of his descendants is now a UK government minister. I
know this sounds crazy, particularly after what happened to Charlie,
but I too have become obsessed with the desire for

(46:53):
revenge against Underwood. I've tried to tell myself that it's
madness and I need to let it go. But I
can't do this. I also realized the risks are great,
but I am not powerless. I see now that my
ancestors blood runs through my veins, and I have inherited
her great power. I've been practicing over the last number

(47:16):
of weeks and have honed my natural born skills, learning
the waste of my ancestors as I plot my revenge.
I can do this. I need to do this for Mary.

(47:37):
That was the last communication I received from Fatima, and
sadly you can probably guess what happened next. I didn't
need to go searching for news, this time because the
story received international coverage. On the fifteenth of May, UK
Education Minister Thomas Underwood was attacked and seriously wounded during
a public appearance outside a secondary school in South London.

(48:01):
The assailant has been identified as thirty one year old
Fatima Abraham, a finance worker from the city with no
previous criminal convictions. Witnesses say missus Abraham approached the minister
as he was greeting press and members of the public.
She was somehow able to slip past Underwood's security team
and stab him with a knife concealed under her sleeve.

(48:22):
Mister Underwood was wounded but not incapacitated, managing to fight
office attacker and throw her down to the pavement. Miss
Abraham then picked up her weapon and watched a second attack.
Despite warnings from police officers on scene, She was subsequently
shot by a plain clothes detective. Officers attempted to perform
CPR on the assailant, but she died at the scene. Meanwhile,

(48:46):
mister Underwood was rushed to hospital where doctors performed surgery
upon a deep stab wound in his right shoulder. The
government spokesman has since confirmed that the Minister's injuries are
not life threatening and he is expected to make a
full recovery. The Metropolitan Police have stated that miss Abraham
has no history of violence and no known links to

(49:06):
any extremist or terrorist groups. Investigating officers are currently looking
for a motive. I deleted all my messages from Fatima
after reading about her botched attack. By this point, I
was in a state of disbelief. The salesman had provided
me with two names, and now they were both dead,

(49:27):
both having attempted to murder men called Underwood. The name
did resonate with me, but as hard as I racked
my brain, I couldn't remember where or when I'd first
heard it. I threw myself into frantic research and did
find many important public and private individuals called Underwood, men

(49:48):
and women in politics, the media, finance, and so forth.
These Underwoods were seemingly unconnected and spread throughout the English
speaking world, and there were many other variations of that
surname in various different languages. Still, there was no common
thread that I could identify. It's no exaggeration to say
I was driven to the edge of insanity by this

(50:10):
seemingly unsolvable mystery. I could not sleep at night, because
every time I closed my eyes, I saw the salesman's
grinning face, Charlie hanging in his jail cell, and Fatima
bleeding to death on the street. I just couldn't understand
why this was all happening, and what the hell it
had to do with me. It was during one of

(50:41):
those sleepless nights when the salesman returned. I was lying
fully clothed on my bed, staring up at the dark ceiling,
exhausted but unable to sleep. The clock had just turned
to three AM, and that's when I heard a familiar
loud knocking on my front door. I instantly shot up
from my mattress, all my senses high, and as a
surge of adrenaline shot through my veins, I practically ran

(51:03):
to the front door, sparing no thought for my personal
safety as I opened it and came face to face
with the shadowy figure standing on my doorstep. His face
was illuminated by my porch light, but even so it
took the moment for me to recognize him. He was
the salesman, of course, the apparently paranormal entity who went
by the name of mister Black, but he looked different

(51:25):
from the last time I'd seen him. Gone was the
spark in his eyes, and his wide grin had disappeared. Instead,
the poor man looked as if he had been dragged
to hell and back and was practically on the brink
of death. I stood in the doorway, my jaw dropping
and shock as I found myself lost for words. In
the end, it was the salesman who broke the silence,

(51:47):
speaking to me in a deep and raspy voice. Good evening, sir,
I apologize for the late hour of my visit. May
I come in? I paused for only a second before
replying enthusiastic yes, of course. I made my way for
the elderly visitor, watching with some degree of sympathy as
he struggled down the corridor whilst relying on his walking

(52:09):
stick to keep him steady. It seemed that his physical
condition had deteriorated in the months since his last visit.
But MY primary interest was the familiar briefcase he carried
in his left hand, because I knew what it contained,
the knowledge I desired most in the world. I followed
him into my living room, turning on the lights as

(52:30):
I impatiently watched the salesman struggle over to his seat.
I was frustrated that he didn't open his case and
pull out the encyclopedia. Instead, he simply stared at me
with his bloodshot eyes. There was another tense pause before
he spoke, and I sensed the sadness in his words
when he did so. So you tracked down Charles and Fatima,

(52:51):
was his question. I did, was my brief reply. And
you know what happened to them, he continued, I do.
So there's a question you want to ask me? There is,
I said firmly. Who the hell is Underwood? The salesman

(53:11):
appeared deep in thought for a moment, breaking eye contact
as he slowly nodded his head. M Underwood. Yes, my
employer has used this name for some time. He trailed off,
without offering a further explanation. But there are hundreds of Underwood,
I exclaimed, an angry frustration. The name comes up again

(53:33):
and again throughout history, but there's no connection, no connection
you can find. The salesman corrected. You think of these
Underwoods as individuals, but in actual fact, they are all
vessels of my employer. All are one and the same.
Be it the magistrate, the detective, the attorney, of the
government minister, and of course your father. Those last two

(53:57):
words hit me like a ton of bricks. I was shocked,
but also filled with an excitement I can hardly describe.
As the truth was finally revealed to me my father,
I repeated, in astonishment, How is this possible? Oh, It's possible,
the salesman answered solemnly. I noticed how he took little

(54:17):
to no pleasure in revealing this information to me. In fact,
he almost seemed guilty as he struggled to meet my gaze.
Your mother, no doubt, had her reasons for keeping the
truth from you, he continued. But my employer's blood runs
through your veins. Your heritage brings great power with it,
but also considerable expectations. Ooh, what do you mean, I demanded.

(54:43):
I was quickly growing tired of the salesman's cryptic answers.
I noted how his tone darkened before he continued, My
employer has worked tirelessly throughout the centuries to shape the
history of humanity. During this time, he has attempted to
recruit many ortals to his cause, but the results have
been disappointing. Take mister Robinson and Miss Abraham as two examples.

(55:09):
We had high hopes for both, but alas they both
came up wanting What the hell does that mean? I
demanded angrily. Your friends were tested and they failed, was
his stern reply. My employer expects you to do much better.
You are his flesh and blood, after all. What does

(55:31):
he want me to do? I asked impatiently. The salesman
shot me a half grin, and for a moment I
thought I could see some of the spark come back
into his sunken eyes. He didn't answer my question, not
directly anyway. Instead, he changed the subject and asked the
question of his own. You look unwell, sir, Have you

(55:52):
been sleeping? I was baffled and irritated, struggling to find
the words to reply, No, of course I haven't, I
shot back, MM, he said thoughtfully as he carefully reached
into his briefcase. I yearned to see the encyclopedia emerge,
but instead he surprised me by pulling out what looked

(56:12):
like a business card. I looked on in confusion as
the salesman sat up from his chair and struggled across
the room towards me with the card in hand. You
really should see a doctor, sir, you can't take your
health for granted, not when there's so much important work
ahead of us. With that, he carefully placed the business
card on the coffee table in front of me before

(56:34):
heading towards the door. I looked over at him and
was tempted to shout out, but instead I glanced down
at the card on my table, and then I understood
because the text read Doctor Mark Underwood, MD, Family Physician,
Open to new patients. I heard my front door slam

(56:54):
shut as the salesman walked out into the night. But
now it no longer mattered. I knew what had to
be done, and it was up to me to prepare
for the grizzly task to come. I didn't waste any
time in planning my next move. After obtaining all the
information I could on my target, I destroyed my electronic devices,
don gloves, a scarf, and a baseball cap, and armed

(57:17):
myself with a thirty eight revolver and stiletto dagger. Because
you see, it wasn't my intention to confront this doctor
Underwood in demand answers. My plan was to kill him.
People reading this confession might be confused by this sudden
and dramatic escalation in my actions. After all, I'm a

(57:37):
man with no previous criminal history or inclination towards violence.
I had no reason to hate doctor Mark Underwood or
wish him harm. The salesman had informed me that a
man called Underwood was my father, and I believed him.
But this doctor Underwood was the same age as me,
and so couldn't possibly be my parent. None of that mattered. However,

(58:00):
it seemed that all of these Underwoods were one and
the same vessels for a greater unseen power. All of
the pieces were in front of me now, and I
finally understood what was required of me. Charlie and Fatima
had both failed in their missions. They'd both come from
a place of anger, seeking vengeance against those who had

(58:22):
wronged their ancestors. But I was going into this with
a clear head, and I felt no moral qualms about
ending the vessel's existence. I would kill him and fulfill
my destiny. I arrived at the address on the card,
which was located off a busy commercial street, and I
slowly walked along the pavement with my head down and

(58:43):
the cap covering my face as I tried to avoid
attention and conceal my identity from many CCTV cameras. My
weapons were hidden in my jacket pockets. The gun was
my primary, the dagger my backup, but I wouldn't draw
my revolver until the last possible moment. I arrived at
the front entrance of the surgery, pausing as I read

(59:04):
the motif name printed on the glass door and confirmed
I had the right address. I had purposely arrived at
lunch time, when the surgery would be closed and near empty.
I therefore expected the door to be locked, and so
was surprised to find it left open. It all seemed
a little too easy, and I'll admit to feeling a
pang of apprehension in that moment, But this soon passed

(59:25):
as I carefully pushed open the door with my gloved hand.
I entered the reception area and found it abandoned. Even
the front desk was unattended, as presumably the receptionist was
out for lunch. So far, so good, I thought. Next,
I walked behind the reception and soon found Doctor Underwood's surgery.
Discovering the door wide open, I hesitated for a time

(59:49):
as I cast my eyes upon my target, watching him
as he typed on his keyboard and remained engrossed in
his work. Underwood was a handsome man, neat well turned out,
but surprisingly unremarkable. There was nothing to mark him out
as a paranormal entity, or indeed anything other than a
dedicated family physician. I had serious doubts in that late moment,

(01:00:13):
fearing I'd made a terrible mistake, and I stood frozen
with indecision in the doorway, my hand on the butt
of my gun as I desperately tried to decide what
to do next. It didn't take long for the doctor
to notice me. He must have sensed my presence or
spotted the shadow I cast, because he called out to me,
without looking up from his computer screen. I'm afraid the

(01:00:34):
surgery is closed. Please come back later. I didn't answer,
instead slowly removing the gun from my jacket pocket. He
tutted in annoyance, turning his head away from his monitor.
But once he saw me, Doctor Underwood's eyes lit up
with recognition, even though I'd never met him before. Huh,
it's you, he exclaimed amicably. I was wondering when you'd

(01:00:55):
turn up. He frowned when he saw the gun in
my now shaking hand. So that's how you've planned to
do it, he asked, more with curiosity than concern. Well, sir,
let's get on with it. Then. With that, he surprised
me by leaping up from his chair and physically jumping
on top of his desk. He crouched on all fours,
his eyes filled with a predatory zeal as he hissed

(01:01:17):
like an angry cat and showed me his concerningly sharp teeth.
I was frozen and shock, reacting too slowly as I
raised my gun and aimed. A split second later, the
doctor turned monster launched himself off the desk and leaped
toward me with his eyes wide and fangs exposed. I
screamed in terror, firing a single shot, which missed the target.

(01:01:38):
Underwood hit me like a freight train a second later,
pushing me out of the room and pinned my body
to the carpet while the gun was simultaneously knocked out
of my hand. He was on top of me now,
saliva dripping from his fang filled maw as he held
me down firmly. Come on, my boy, he snarled in
cool mockery. Is that all you can muster? With that?

(01:01:58):
He wrapped his hands around my throat and started to squeeze.
I couldn't breathe as he slowly strangled me, and I
gasped for air as my eyes bulged. I must have
been close to blacking out that I was determined not
to die like this, Digging deep into my reserves, I
reached into my pocket and withdrew the dagger, thrusting it
deep into my attacker's thigh. He cried out in pain

(01:02:19):
and loosened his grip upon my throat. This gave me
an opportunity, and I kicked out with all my strength,
forcing Underwood off me. He staggered as blood poured from
the wound in his leg, but Underwood was far from beaten.
I went for him again with the dagger, but he
easily dodged the attack, punching me hard on the nose
and throwing me back into the office. I pulled myself
up from the floor and turned just as Underwood launched

(01:02:42):
a new attack. I held out the knife, but he
grabbed my wrist and twisted hard, forcing me to drop
the blade. I barely had time to recover before he
hit me again and shoved me back down to the ground.
Stunned and terrified, I watched as Underwood calmly walked over
to where the knife had fallen, stooping over to pick
it up. Very disappointing, he said solemnly, I expected so

(01:03:05):
much more from you, my son. That certainly struck a
nerve that I knew it was now or never. I
scanned the floor, catching sight of my silver revolver, only
inches from where I lay. Underwood was now advancing upon me,
knife in hand, as they prepared to finish the job.
I darted across the floor, grabbing hold of the gun
and rolled over. Before I lifted the weapon and aimed,

(01:03:27):
Underwood was right on top of me, but this time
I had the drop on him. I squeezed the trigger,
firing one, two, and then three shots. Underwood was struck
three times in the chest. He barely reacted at first,
looking down in surprise at the blood leaking from the
bullet wounds and seeping through his previously white shirt. He
looked at me in his last moment, managing a half

(01:03:48):
smile as he said, well played, sir, And with that
he dropped heavily to the floor and didn't get back
up again. I continued to hold the smoking gun in
my shaking hand, hardly believing what I had just done.

(01:04:11):
Suddenly I became aware of a new figure standing in
the doorway. I spat around and aimed, but held my
fire once I recognized a familiar face. It was the salesman,
his trusty briefcase in hand and his sunken eyes emotionless
as he looked over the dead doctor underwood before turning
his attentions toward me. Congratulations, sir, he said, dispassionately. You

(01:04:34):
have succeeded where so many others have failed. Now I
believe it's high time that you met my employer. I
was still trying to work out what he meant when
I suddenly became light headed, my eyes slowly closing as
the darkness took me. I awoke in a strange and
frightening place, experiencing a stifling heat. As I pulled myself

(01:04:56):
up from a rocky surface and adjusted my eyes to
my new surroundings, inexplicably had been transported to a dark
and foreign realm. Finding myself inside what looked like a
great hull carved from rock and dimly illuminated by burning torches,
I slowly and cautiously walked upon my shaking legs scanning
the hall in fearful awe, whilst noting the high ceiling

(01:05:18):
above my head. The light from the wall mounted torches
allowed me to see the guards lined up on either
side of a long hallway which cut down the middle
of the hall. The soldiers looked like men, although I
suspected they weren't of the mortal realm. They all wore
bronze armor and helmets like those of a Roman centurion,
and each was armed with a long spear and round shield.

(01:05:41):
The guards stood in tight formation, not moving a muscle
as I sheepishly walked past them, although I noticed how
their dark, menacing eyes closely followed my progress. I continued
walking towards the front of the hall, which was dominated
by a great throne of cold iron, and upon it
sat a giant wearing black robes, bald headed but with

(01:06:03):
a crown of thorns placed on top of this huge skull. Again,
he took the appearance of a man, but must have
been at least eight foot tall and was well built
to boot, with his bulging muscles visible underneath his robes.
He was eating when I approached him, greedily devouring a
large slab of red meat on the bone, the blood
pouring down his chin while he washed his meal down,

(01:06:25):
taking large gulps from a substantial golden tankard filled with
god knows what. He finished eating and thoughtlessly tossed the
bone on to the ground. I watched as a ragged
man in chains scurried across the floor and scooped up
the discarded bone, while a second figure, a woman, refilled
the giants tankard without comment. Both appeared to have the

(01:06:46):
status of slaves in this hellish realm, and they soon
meekly disappeared into the shadows. A fourth figure was also present,
a small man who cowered behind the throne and would
not meet my eye. It was only what I got
closer than I recognized this meek individual. It was the salesman.
His head bowed as he maintained a tight grip on

(01:07:08):
his book of red leather, the fabled Encyclopedia, which was
the source of his power and knowledge. But the salesman
was obviously submissive to the giant sat upon the throne,
and so I focused my attention upon him. The giant
saw me approach, his cold eyes of icy blue lighting
up in anticipation as he formed his still bloody lips

(01:07:30):
into a crude smile. Ah he is, he announced in
a booming voice, which echoed throughout the huge hall. Here
is the man of the hour, my own flesh and blood,
come to claim his rightful place by my side. I
stood at the foot of the mighty throne, looking up

(01:07:51):
in awe as I struggled to find the words to respond,
Who or what are you? I spluttered nervously giant bellow laughter,
before answering, Come, now, you are an intelligent young man,
and you can surely guess by identity. In truth, I
go by many names, both in this realm and the

(01:08:15):
world above. I am Keen here, but you may call
me father. That last word hung in the air, and
the chilling implications made me feel sick to my stomach.
What in hell and I gotten myself into? Was this
the destiny I had sought for so long? What do

(01:08:35):
you want from me? I eventually asked the demons sadistic
grin widened before he replied, I want you to be
the man you were born to be. You've passed your
first test, but there is still much work to be done.
Bring me the book. He clicked his fingers, and the

(01:08:56):
salesman sheepishly walked up to the throne, reluctantly handing over
his vicious encyclopedia, which his master snatched up in his
huge hand. He aggressively flicked through the pages while his
servants slinked back into the shadows. And then the demon
who claimed to be my father, started to read, and
his spoken words transported me to another place in time

(01:09:16):
as I witnessed visions of my future. Firstly, I found
myself standing on a podium decorated with banners and flags,
giving a victory speech to a fanatical crowd of cheering supporters,
My supporters, a cult dedicated to serve me. Next came
a vast military procession down a wide city street, which

(01:09:37):
I observed from a balcony high above. Thousands of black
clad troops marched in tight formation, saluting towards me as
they goose stepped upon the asphalt. They were soon followed
by tanks and other military hardware, while a squadron of
fighter jets flew above our heads. Then came a vision
of a prison camp surrounded by barbed wire fences and

(01:09:57):
guard towers. Inside of the cornon were thousands of emaciated,
beaten down prisoners, their eyes filled with fear and hunger
as they pleaded for mercy they would surely not receive.
It's fair to say that I was extremely disturbed by
the images filling my head, but it only got worse
as the demon's chilling words brought me to some very

(01:10:20):
dark places. I saw a city engulfed by flames, a
mushroom cloud towering above the ruins as millions were surely
killed in a nuclear inferno. More horrific images of war
and suffering followed, and I realized that I was responsible
for this future apocalypse, and eventually I abandoned the devastated Earth,

(01:10:43):
looking down upon the planet's ravaged surface for morbid as
I was blasted into the stratosphere, and finally I stood
within a vast domed biosphere, looking out upon a red,
lifeless desert. Those living beside me were my most fanatical, life,
loyal supporters. These folk were dedicated to me in my vision,

(01:11:04):
and here to help me build a new world while
billions were left behind to suffer and die on our
doomed home planet. With that, I was returned to the
hellish throne room, my body shaking as I looked into
the ruthless blue eyes of my demonic so called father.
I was revolted and felt a fiery defiance deep in
my belly, finding the courage to stand up to the

(01:11:26):
monster sat before me. This is horrifying, I exclaimed emotionally.
The demon merely shrugged his shoulders before responding, that depends
on your perspective. I consider this as the necessary march
of history. It's monstrous and I will not be a
part of it, I cried. I instantly regretted my outburst

(01:11:48):
as I expected the demon to react with fury, but
instead he retained his cool composure, his horrific grin barely
faltering as he spoke his words through clenched teeth. Oh,
I think you will, my child. You forget that my
blood runs through your veins. And in truth, I know

(01:12:08):
you better than you know yourself. I know the darkness
which dwells deep inside of you, the savagery, cruelty, and
lust for absolute power just waiting to break out. He
paused briefly to let that ominous sentence sink in. And
there's another reason. The events you've witnessed, the words in

(01:12:32):
this book, and the events of the war to come,
this will happen with or without you. And you don't
want to disappoint me, my son. Failure comes with a
heavy price. He clicked his fingers and two figures emerged
from the shadows behind him. It was the two slaves
who had served his food and drink, the man and

(01:12:54):
the woman. I barely looked at them before, but now
I saw their terrified faces, and they're mad, bloodshot eyes.
There was a sudden spark of recognition in my exhausted
brain as I thought back to the photographs on the
social media accounts and news reports to change slaves or
Fatima Abraham at Charles Robinson. They had both failed the

(01:13:14):
Demon King and were now condemned to serve him for
all eternity, trapped at the whim of his cruel sadism
in this hellish realm. And I knew this would be
my fate too if I refused him. I was left speechless,
looking down at the rocky ground, as I couldn't bear
to see the suffering of my former companions. Well, said

(01:13:36):
the demon in a more conciliatory tone. Now you know
the truth, my boy. It's time for you to return
to the mortal realm. Think carefully about what I've said,
and know that I am always with you. He clicked
his finger once again, and I was consumed by darkness.

(01:13:57):
I lost consciousness in When I awoke, I was on
the couch in my front room, back where this had
all begun. I've had much time to think since my
extraordinary experience, but I can't find any logical explanation for
what I've been through. The murder of doctor Underwood went unsolved.
The police and media believe he was killed during an

(01:14:19):
attempted robbery gone wrong. There was no evidence of my
involvement in the murder, or any links discovered between Fatima,
Charlie and me. It was like everything had been covered
up by a hidden power. The only conclusion I can
come to is that it's all genuine. It's not just
what I've seen and heard. I can feel it deep

(01:14:41):
in my bones. The darkness inside me is all too real,
and I can't suppress it any longer. I don't know
whether the future I've seen is set in stone. Perhaps
the apocalyptic war can be avoided, maybe I can prevent
it if I make different decisions. Or alternatively, the world

(01:15:03):
could well be doomed, and the best I can do
is to save a select few who can start again one.
Thanks for certain however, I've been chosen for this great task,
and I've proven my worth in my father's eyes. The
future is mine to shape, and I will not fall short.

(01:15:24):
I'll never tell you my name, but you will come
to know me very well in the coming years. Now,
if you'll excuse me, I have an election to campaign for.

(01:15:46):
Thanks for listening. If you like the show, please share
it with someone you know who loves the paranormal or
strange stories, true crime, monsters, or unsolved mysteries like you do.
All stories on Thriller Thursday episodes are works of and
you can find links to the stories or the authors
in the episode description, as well as on the website
at Weird Darkness dot com. The encyclopedia Salesman was written

(01:16:09):
by Mark Lynch for creepypasta dot com and is used
with permission. Weird Darkness is a registered trademark copyright Weird Darkness.
And now that we're coming out of the dark, I'll
leave you with a little light Genesis four, verse seven.
If you do what is right, will you not be accepted?
But if you do not do what is right, sin

(01:16:31):
is crouching at your door. It desires to have you,
but you must rule over it. And a final thought,
he who fights with monsters should look to it that
he himself does not become a monster. And if you
gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
Gradrich Nietzsche. I'm Darren Marler. Thanks for joining me in

(01:16:56):
the weird darkness.

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