The Simcronomicon is a powerful spell book. Any hapless soul that lay their eyes on its tattered face and its arcane pages are cursed by its ritual. But a curse is a blessing in disguise. The Simcronomicon, though its origins is unknown, grants any wish to its victim.

As its pages are bound by an evil and arcane essence, failure to complete any ritual would guarantee damnation.

Be tempted. Pick a challenge and enjoy.*

*requires Sims 4 and a sadistic curiosity towards virtual people.

December 16, 2014

Chapter Ten: Suffering

Cayden rose from his seat and asked, "what am I doing here?"

She repeated the lie, telling Cayden that she had captured his soul so he can be released to a higher realm. Paradise.

"Did you capture Isabel too?"

Sisi shook her head.

"I don't believe you." Cayden disappeared before Sisi's eyes. Sisi called for him and ran outside to the living room, searching for him. She stepped out to the backyard and sprinted towards the greenhouse. Cayden was looking through the bookcase, skimming through the spines, taking them and throwing them on the floor.

Cayden reached for the Simcronomicon, and as soon as he grabbed it, Cayden was thrown backwards and vanished through the window. Sisi hurried outside, but Cayden was nowhere to be found. Sisi looked for him in the mansion and in her room. No sign of him anywhere.

The seed of guilt sprung within her soul, thanks to Isis tending its bud. Sisi didn't summon any ghosts for company. The thought of summoning them began to sicken her. Sisi holed herself inside her room. Days had passed; Sisi had buried herself underneath her blanket. She had forgotten to bathe and had been relieving herself on her bed. She thought of nothing but the futility of all her actions and of her worth.

Her phone rang which snapped her out of a week-long fugue. She didn't recognize the number, but Sisi still answered.

"Mom?" said the voice on the other line, "it's me, Isabel."

Sisi stuttered and acted surprised. Isabel had the tone of a mature woman. No more was the child's squeaky voice that had begged to see her mother, waiting at the front door, hoping she would answer and take her in. Sisi never did until now.

"Dad is dead," said Isabel without emotion, "just wanted to let you know."

Sisi asked if she was alright and if she needed company.

"His funeral is on Saturday," said Isabel and hung up.

Sisi redialed, thinking she was cut off by her faulty phone. But all calls went to voicemail.

Leave me a message, said the voicemail, followed by a long beep. Sisi tried again and again until a hollow voice whispered and said, why don't you write her name already?

Sisi threw the phone on the floor, but the voice bellowed through the speakers, stop wasting time, Sisi. You're not getting any younger. You want to stay young, don't you? It's why you're here. It's why I'm here. And I thank you for all these souls you gave me.

Sisi ran out the room, but the voice followed her. It spoke through the walls and in her head. Why are you resisting? What's the point? Don't fail me now, Sisi.

The room spun around, and the floor wobbled underneath her. Her mind throbbed and ached as if her skull was shrinking and choking her brain. Her bones rattled at every laugh and at every taunt that the voice yelled at her.

Write her name write her name, The Third said again and again. Sisi fell to the floor. Her vision blurred from the tears that cascaded from her eyes. She could hear Isis fight for her, but was drowned out until nothing was left but the deafening silence. Darkness gave her a momentary reprieve.

When Sisi opened her eyes, she felt refreshed. Her sight was clear. A choir of song birds preached at the coming sun, but their aria was silenced by Sisi's screaming. At the table was an open book and a pen. On page one, written in black ink, was the name of Isabel Little.

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