The Offering

The sun must be setting right about now guessed William, who was sitting on the
cinder floor in the shadows of a bare prison cell. He had gotten placed in solitary
confinement because he had liked the absolute darkness and the stillness. In fact, William
was the one who had decided that he would go to prison when he was accused and later
convicted of murdering someone. He wanted to die alone and in peace. He considered his
options; this one was the most promising.
The small sliding plate on the steel door in front of him slid open, revealing two
eyes and some light that glittered on the floor of his cell like an isolated star fixed in a
twilight sky.
Hey, you said a voice from behind the door, most likely coming from the eyes
that glared in at him. You hungry? he asked.
No, thank you. If I wanted to food, Id have food. I don't need any from you, so
don't ask me again, answered William quite resolutely.
Whatever you say, pal, replied the man, whose eyes vanished as the plate slid
back to its original position, resulting in the room becoming empty of light once again.
William decided he wanted to read. He stood up, arching his back so that several cracks
were heard amidst his low moan. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the room
had disappeared. He was now in a library that seemed endless. It had hundreds of
thousands of books and only one other person besides William, hidden away. Sometimes
he could him, barely. In this enormous place, there were hundreds of portraits of a pretty
brunette woman along the walls. There was even a tapestry that spread across the all of
the ceilings.
William smiled at the new environment. He walked over to a small half-circle
desk and sat in the chair behind it. There was a small laptop computer that was
completely black with the exception of a small white line at the top left of the screen with
the words Texts Title in front of it. William thought a moment before typing in Fairy
Tales, after which the screen began quickly regurgitating title after title.
205 million texts with either fairy or tale in the title or the text. Hmm. Oh, I
know, murmured William to himself. His voice echoed throughout the various corridors
and floors of the library. He hit the backspace key and the screen was once again black.
He typed the words Grimms Fairy Tales. A list of the various fairy tales associated with
the famous brothers now filled the screen.
Satisfied with the results, William scrolled down to the first story and hit enter.
The computer revealed a pattern across a blank screen: 322 A / 14 F / Lot H. William
stood up from the computer and walked towards two elevators in the back of the library.
He pushed the button, entered it, and looked around for the number 322. There were
thousands of numbers on the elevator. On the ceiling and the walls, and some even on the
floor. He found it on the right wall, somewhere about the middle and pushed it. He went
up and, in what seemed but a moment, the doors opened and a sign stood stating: 322nd
Floor. He exited the elevator and was now in a small hallway with three doors labeled A,
B, C. He entered the A door.
He was now at the edge of a large oval hall that had at least fifty stairs: half on the
right went up and half on the left went down. William paused for a moment. How do I
know which one is fourteen, he said aloud. It had been years since he had constructed

this library; in fact, he was in his mid-twenties; now in his four-hundred-somethings, he

sometimes forgot what way lead to where. Suddenly, the stairs on his right folded down
into a straight way one by one, until it stopped after the thirteenth passageway. Ah, must
be fourteen, said William, warmly. He walked towards the stairs and then up them.
He was now in a room that was empty, with the exception of a podium in its
center. The walls were white and it half-felt like a dead-end. William shook his head and
walked over to the podium, upon which a single book rested entitled: Every which way
begins with A straight through to Z, and if I were you, Id even trust me. He opened the
book, which had twenty-six pages each with one letter on the top of left corner of the
page. He decided hed choose the letter F. He didnt know quite what to do and so he
simply said, I choose F. The following sentence next appeared on the page, below the
F: Enter the Swinging Door Ahead. William looked up and realized there was no
swinging door in front of him. He glanced back down and a new sentence appeared: Look
Now. William looked up again, but this time a sliding door was in front of him. He closed
the book and passed through the sliding doors. There was nothing on the other side. He
took two steps forward and found himself sliding down a dark tube.
Moments later, he fell out and found himself in the F lot, which resembled a
parking complex that just had one floor. In each parking space, there was a table that had
an worn and yellowed book on it. He walked over to the one handicapped parking space
and picked up it up. Ah, Grimms fairy tales, he said. He closed his eyes, and he was
once again in his cell. He had forgotten to close up, but he didn't feel like having to go
back through all of that to lock up the library. Nothing could happen anyway. He tapped
on the wall behind him, and a window appeared in its center. The moon added very little
light to the room; in fact, William thought it wasnt nearly enough light, so he snapped
his fingers and the moon was replaced by the sun. Content, William began reading
through the book he had worked so very hard to get.
How did you get the book, asked Reginald, William's therapist.
From my library. I told you, replied William.
You were in solitary confinement; you had no access to the library.
Not the prison's library. My library, he repeated. Reginald tapped his pen
against his yellow pad. Neither spoke for a moment.
I've been told you haven't been eating.
Would you eat this prison food? I have a sophisticated palette; I can't eat that
shit. I tried explaining this to the guards, but they keep bringing me trays with their
indigestible scraps.
You have to eat, insisted Reginald.
I never said I didn't. I just said I don't eat their food.
We both know you're lying, Will. Why do you feel the need to fabricate? Does it
provide you with an escape?
If I wanted to leave, I could, at any time.
Well, if you really believe that, then why are you here? Reginald wrote
something down on his yellow pad.
It is a punishment and a means to an end. I am finally going to let myself die,
herein these walls, back in that cell.

Why do you feel you need to be punished? Is it because of what happened to

Samantha? William shot up from his chair and rushed over to Reginald. A guard heard
the commotion and tried to enter the room, but William jerked his hand, which resulted in
the door being reinforced by hundreds of locking mechanisms. He leaned forward,
grabbed Reginald by his shirt, and lifted him out of his chair.
If you ever, ever mention her again, I will make sure you die a very long, very
slow death. I could make it last decades. With that, he dropped Reginald back into his
seat.
How, how did you do that? said an exasperated Reginald.
That? asked William, pointing at the door, laughing. It's my legacyworse
than the werewolf curse, eh.
What the hell are you talking about? uttered Reginald, who was now
repositioning himself in his chair. He sat rigid.
Perhaps now is the time, whispered William, looking up. I am going to tell you
a story, and then, I am going to finally be at peace. So, where to begin. William walked
back across the table and sat down. He could hear the police trying to break down the
door. First, let's go somewhere more private. He snapped his fingers, and suddenly, the
room was gone. They were in a brightly-lit and surprisingly warm cave. They were both
still in their chairs at opposite ends of the table. Reginald began to have palpitations.
Relax, Reggie. You're fine. I'm not going to hurt you; my intentions are good.
Reggie felt at ease and clam. I've raised your dopamine and serotonin levels. You should
be feeling better, yes? Reginald nodded.
What's that? He had noticed a deep, static like sound.
That's the waterfall outside the backdoor, answered William.
What are you? Where are we? What's the point of all of this?
Easy, Reggie. One question at a time. We're somewhere in South America,
underneath a waterfall. I just wanted to go somewhere I knew we wouldn't be bothered.
I've got a thousand hidden places. If I remember correctly, this is number two-hundred
and three, no four. Eh, around there-abouts. Before I get into who I am and the point of
all this, let's get more comfortable. Would you like some tea? Reginald shook his head.
Oh, come now. I promise you it'll be the best tea you've ever had. A kettle appeared as
did cups of milk, cream, and sugar. Two ornate tea-cups appeared on two saucers in front
of both men. 17th century, revealed William, lifting up his cup. William moved his right
hand in a swift horizontal motion; the kettle lifted in the air and poured itself into
Reginald's cup before floating across the table and doing the same for William. Milk,
cream, sugar? asked William.
Milk and a little sugar, muttered Reginald, whose previous years of working
with inmates and years of schooling hadn't prepared him for this insanity. The milk was
poured into his tea and a spoon scooped some sugar, dropped it into his cup, and began
stirring itself. The same thing occurred at the other end of the table.
Let's get some carpet, some music, some better chairs, and, hmm, and two
windows. William clapped his hands, and everything changed. Both of the chairs were
now comfortable recliners; the rock cavern became even and covered in lavish carpet.
Speakers were now located around the room; they were connected to a record player,
which began to play jazz. A window appeared on the the left and right walls. One seemed

to reveal the Eiffel Tower in France on a spring day while the other revealed a field of
cherry blossoms.
You recognize the musician? asked William. Reginald shook his head. You
have no appreciation of art, my friend. It's Miles Davis.
What album?
William stared at him, blankly.
No album. Noticing his confusion, William added, This is live. He is playing
at Minton's Playhouse right now.
We've traveled through time too. This is insane.
We haven't gone through time. We're still in 2018. That player is connected to the
late forties, '47 I think.
And the windows?
I thought that was obvious. That's Paris in springabout two months ago. That's
Japan, two years ago, before the fires.
Are both of those places really on the other side of those windows?
Indeed. If you crawled through either one, you'd end up in Paris or Japan, in their
respective times. I wouldn't recommend it though. It is really easy to fuck up and undo
important shit when time traveling. It really is a headache, so I pretty much avoid it
altogether, except for the occasional peek.
Why are we here?
You are here to hear a story, and I am here to tell that story, replied William,
drinking his tea.
Then, tell it, and let's be done with this.
So quick to go back to your mundane life? There is magic all about you, and all
you want is to go back to fucking prison. You disappoint me, Reggie.
I'm stuck here, in South America connected to three different time periods...
Not periods. A time period is like Victorian England or the 19th century. We just
connected to different times, interrupted William.
Whatever. It doesn't matter. I am drinking tea as a hostage to a convicted
murderer. William raised his hand, pointer finger up, and grimaced.
I've warned you about that; shut up, ordered William. Let me tell my story. It
began when I was sixteen. I lived with my parents; they were British aristocrats. I was to
follow in their footsteps, whether or not I wanted that kind of life. I often rushed off to go
hunting or to cheap taverns instead of fulfilling my social responsibilities. While I was
walking home drunk one evening, I heard someone calling my name. I kept following the
voice, trying to find the person to whom it belonged; it sounded so damned familiar. I
found myself at a bridge with the man on the other side. I could only see shadows; he was
hidden in shade. We stood, staring at each other for a moment before he called to me once
more. I crossed the bridge, but when I reached the other side, I was no longer in England;
in fact, I was no longer on Earth.
I don't even know if I was in this universe or somewhere else. The skies were
cloudless and pink and silver; there were two suns, small, warming the day. I was on a
beach that had dark blue sand and water that was the color of the sky. I handled my
forced relocation about as well as you did, perhaps worse. I fell to my knees and vomited.
I thought the drink got the best of me. Then, I heard the mysterious man call me again.

He was sitting at a table, like you and me. He gestured for me to sit and told me a story,
like I am telling you now. Then, he got to the point. He wanted to die; he had lived too
long and had suffered too much. The only way for him to die was to pass on his gift; he
told me that he had been watching me and that I was the right person; I could handle this
power. Then, he told me to stand up. He walked over to me and hugged me. It was such a
weird sensation. After a short moment, he dissipated into nothing.
I was stuck there, alone. I began to starve. I searched desperately for food and
water; while there was vegetation, none of it was edible. There were no animals either. I
gave up and accepted that I would die there, alone. Then, one night, when I was sick from
hunger and delirious, I began to walk into the ocean; I wanted my death to be quick.
Starvation is truly a terrible way to die. I was about knee-deep when I felt something
swim through my legs. I looked down, and there were hundreds of fish. It was easy to
catch them with just my hands; I was so famished I ate them, raw and alive. It was a good
day.
The next morning, it dawned on me that I willed those fish into existence. I
realized I was suddenly able to do impossible things. It took me a long time to understand
my abilities, even longer before I was able to get back home. When I returned though,
nothing was the same.
I no longer could live that life, so I began travelingat first, just across the land
and the seas and the oceans. I had a ship unlike any otherI didn't need men to power it;
it powered itself. I had heat and light and all the food and drink I would ever need. After a
time, I was able to do anything or get anything I wanted by merely wishing for it or
thinking about it; I could snap my fingers or maneuver my hands, and -poof- there it was.
I had women, so many women. I may have lusted after flesh, but I never thirsted for
power. Perhaps that is why Mirlenko, the man who gave me these gifts, chose me. I lived
that kind of life, traveling from place to place, for nearly two centuries. Then, I grew
bored and with that boredom, angry. I began to hurt people. At first, I'd hurt women
emotionally. Eventually, it became physical. I would cut into them, burn them, torture
them. Afterward, I would erase their memory and scars. Fortunately, humanity has
wonderful outlets for these dark desires. I have fought in many wars throughout the
centuries. I would make people melt, explode, suffocate, drowndie any way I wanted.
Then, one day when I wasn't careful, a sniper shot mehit me right in the head. I was in
a coma for three weeks. When I awoke, there she was, tending to me. She was reading a
novel to me; she was about halfway through the book.
'Well, good morning. I take it you slept well,' she said, smiling. She told me her
name was Samantha. For me, it was a quick love. I had never truly loved anyone before; I
had hated, that was easy; I had lusted, even easier, but never had I loved. For about ten
years, I loved normally until she noticed I hadn't really aged while she had. She was
nearing forty while I still looked as if I was twenty-five. I told her the story I am telling
you now. She didn't believe me at first until I took her to the beach where Mirlenko had
taken me. For years, we did so many good things, helped so many people. One of the first
things we did was transition one of my mazes into a library. She never knew what it was;
I refused to tell her what I would do with people; I'd bring them to the maze and leave.

There was an exit, but it was nearly impossible to find. People would resort to murder
and cannibalism and rape. I watched it as if it were my television program. So you can
imagine why I never told her. She never knew my past; I would never let her know who I
was.
She wanted to fill the empty corridors with booksall of the books that had been
written or would be written. I tried to tell her I could just allow her to memorize all of
that, there was no need. She explained that books were to be experienced; it was about
the feel of the pages, the smell of the paper, and the way the words were printed. It is
probably why she refused to adapt to future technologies that could contain the entire
written history of humanity in a piece of glass or even in a tiny device that could be
absorbed into the skin, and thus your memory. We traveled through time to find original
manuscripts and even first drafts. Her favorite stories were also in the realm of fantasy,
even if she was living it. She would read everything from Tolkien to Hans Christian
Anderson. Her favorite fairy tales were the ones those wily Grimm brothers wrote. We
often had dinner with them where she would beg each one to recite those stories.
Both men had finished their tea, so William made more and refilled each cup.
What happened?
I grew careless. I have done many terrible things in my long life, but I never
thought it would ever catch up to me. I felt immortal and invincible. In many ways, I am.
A man named Timothy Strauss abducted her one evening when we were strolling through
Italy. She went into a shop while I waited outside. After a few minutes, I walked inside,
and she was gone.
Couldn't you just snap you fingers and bring her to you or the opposite.
Exactly what I thought. I decided to go to her. She was in a nearby alley. Her
throat was slit; she was bleeding out. Timothy then stabbed me in the back. I quickly
incinerated him. She died in my arms, gasping.
Couldn't you just go back in time and undo that mess?
I told you. Time is never that easy. I unwound time and decided not to take her to
Italy all together. He showed up in New York, then in Ireland. I tried everything I could to
stop him from killing her, but no matter what I did, the consequences were disastrous. I
killed him, his pregnant mother, his entire fucking family tree. You see Timothy Strauss
was the grandson of Claude Strauss, a man who had survived my mazethe only one.
He kept a journal; he was obsessed with me. He tracked me down but died before he
could get his revenge, so his obsession was passed to his son, and then his grandson. I
went back and prevented all the wrongs I had done to people. It didn't matter. She would
either die regardless of my actions or not even exist. All of my actions directly led me to
her and this is where her life would end, regardless of my powers, my wishes.
So it was all for nothing?
No, it was for everything. The single, great purpose in my life was to have met
and be loved by her. When I realized I could do nothing, I killed her myself. I explained
everything to her and let her pass away peacefully.
Whatever happened to Strauss?
Oh, he is still alive. It's been... twelve years, rightsince I was incarcerated? He
is in a dark room in the basement of the library. Every day, his skin is peeled off, he is

gutted, and every night he is returned to normal. I make sure he does not die. He is locked
in that room, and I am locked in this dank prison cell. The only comforts I allow myself
are light and the occasional visitation to the library. I deserved to be punished. I was not
lying about that.
Where is this library?
Beneath my old home in Virginia. Her tomb is at its center. It is only about
fifteen miles from the prison.
There's one thing I don't understand. Why did you need to tell me all of this?
William smiled and snapped his fingers. They were back in the prison.
The guards don't remember anything; we're fine. I told you all of this because I
choose you. I'll give you a day to think it over. There was a brief silence before William
yelled for the guard. He came into the room and waited by the door. Reginald rose to his
feet and walked over to William, in front of the guard.
I have no idea what just happened, and I don't know what to say.
Whatever you decide to say, say it tomorrow, smiled William.
As Reginald went to walk out the door, the guard pulled out his stick and struck
him in the back of the head, causing him to fall to the ground. Then, he also struck
William; he did it almost in one fluid motion. He pulled out his gun and shot Reginald in
the back of the head, ruining his face. William snapped his fingers, and the three of them
were back at the waterfall. The guard was naked; William grabbed him by the throat.
Timothy, William whispered. How! he demanded.
You can't control everything; I'm proof of that, you sadistic filth. What'd you
forget? What did you forget.
One time. One time I don't lock up, and you escape?
Bingo, give the man his prize. Oh, wait. I already gave it to youa hole in the
head of your protege.
Goodbye, Timothy. William snapped his fingers; Timothy was floating in space,
extremely close to the sun. It was as if he were a newborn star that was extinguished in a
brief moment.
William walked over to Reginald and turned him over.
Oh, well, he muttered. He snapped his fingers and was back in his room in
prison. It was now morning. A guard knocked on his door and slid open the small slot.
I got your breakfast, pal. Noticing the window and the book, he added, what
the hell? Are you in the same cell?
You know this is the same cell, Pete. Dont ask silly questions.
But there's a window, and you've got a book. Your library privileges have been
revoked for months.
I told you two days ago, Pete. Anything I want, I get.
Whatever, I don't get paid enough to deal with this level of bullshit. Here's your
food. I'll see you later. He slid the plate through the slit; William grabbed it.
Hey, Pete. Before you go, have you ever wanted to go to South America?
Pete nodded. Sure, why not.
William smiled and snapped his fingers.