Info
Written by Voshimynuel.
Theme was edited from Dark Embers by ReyDay.
Journal formatting provided by Forbidden Texts.
Start from the top, Miss Danvers. I want it all.
All of it?
All of it.
Well, I fell into the Backrooms in the summer of '06. It was months before I saw someone for the first time.
You know I didn't mean that.
And how should I? I don't know why you're here. I don't know who you people are.
And that's for the best. Nothing you want to be involved with. But the man you met, Dante… he's trouble.
You don't know what you're talking about. He's the bravest man I've ever met.
Then start there. What makes him so special?
Well, for starters, he rides alone. The first survival instinct to kick in when you get here is ‘I need to find other people.’ Every survivalist to ever go on record always beats it into your head that you never do anything by yourself. You stick with someone, so at the very least, they can tell the tale if you get killed in action. Yet, he still chooses to do things solo. Some people call it stupid, but I think having faith that you’ll keep yourself alive is the most valuable thing you can have here.
When did you meet him?
It was dark that night. The level we live in is… it has a diurnal cycle. Even though it's indoors, the lights go out at night. That's when the entities come out.
Why live there? Surely there are safer options.
That's true. But safety isn't everything… or so we thought. The second I'm done here, I'm heading right off to 828, or maybe 11. At the time, though… big groups like that can get too restrictive. Too selfish. The tithes too high. They'll take and take until you have nothing left, and then they ask for more. So I left. Figured I could do on my own. I came here. Like a…
Homesteader?
Not what I was looking for, but yeah. Like a homesteader. And things were fine. We had families. I was actually… there was a boy.
That's him?
No, no… I knew him before everything went to hell in a handbasket. He was kind, which isn't everything, but… you miss it in here sometimes. I knew he liked me too, and maybe if nothing had happened…
That night.
That night. Well, not that night. This was before. It was the night after we'd just attracted some new settlers to town. They'd fled an outpost, said one day, people just started disappearing. We should have known. But it was levels away. How could we have assumed it would follow them?
We got them holed up in the guest housing. I remember guest housing from when I was new. Did everything I could to get out of there , 'asap'. The wind howled through the holes in the walls. It was horrible. I can't imagine it was nice for the kids, either. I think that's what started it.
The next morning, one of them was gone. A boy, couldn't be older than 5. One minute, he was sleeping under his mother's arm, and the next, gone. The whole village went to shit, right away. Threats, blame, the whole nine yards. We searched for hours. The kid wasn't dumb; he was born here. He knew the risks of venturing out; he wouldn't have just… clipped. Someone took him. Or something.
We got confirmation the next night. Another one. This child was local, not one of the newcomers. If the first day was bad, you'd never believe the turmoil the next day. It came to blows, and our new guests left within the hour. I never saw them again, poor things. It was never their fault.
We knew because it didn't stop. Every day for a week, someone vanished. At first, children, but then someone my age went missing. One every night… until it was two. The next day, two more, and the third, it was three. People were panicking. We weren't very large to begin with… and ten people gone in a week is… too many. That's when he arrived.
Tell me everything.
11/10/2025
I held the sticks in my hands, eyes closed. I'd already done the chant; now, it was all instinct. I waited for the pull, the feeling on the planchette when you're at a sleepover and the kid who's had too much Red 40 fruit punch makes the Ouija board spell out 'BUTTS' and breaks out laughing before he hits the second T. Except this 'kid' was drinking a very different kind of punch. The sticks turned in my hands, and when I opened my eyes, I took the next left.
I'd been tracking the bastard for weeks. Ever since he Cracked, he'd been causing trouble for the Bound, and that sends ripples into the Oberon Sphere, and… well, that's just bad mojo. If you look at a pond, you can tell where the stone was cast… and it was the same premise. In the sense that in practice, it was completely different. It was about as distinct from its actual meaning as those movies that "explain wormholes" by folding paper and punching a pencil through them, but the analogy helps for those that haven't extensively studied thaumaturgy, so I liked the pond thing.
The first signs of human life were about what you'd expect. Garbage. Piles and piles of it, in the hallway of this very, very Cracked layer of Oberon. Course, most of the Bound did live in these Cracked layers. They call them 'levels', which is cute, if you're a nerd. If you're trying to find a group of humans, there's one surefire way to do it. They make so damn much waste. Most people don't think about it. Waste goes in the receptacle, someone else moves it, and it disappears. It's the kind of thing that ticks you off if you took an oath to protect the natural order of the planet.
Here in Oberon, it's a little different. Some people have called it a 'spirit world', some 'down the rabbit hole', and others will ask if you smoked a little too much before you asked them if you believe in an afterlife. It's got different rules from Earth. A lot of things need to be recycled. There isn't much to work with anymore, after all. Still, you get a little here and there. Anything that isn't composted, scrapped, or refurbished gets wheeled out of town. But the trash that poisons the waters in Oberon isn't really physical in nature. Nothing important here is.
I stepped through the refuse and looked for the tracks of the people who had brought it out here. This Cracked layer was pretty generic after all the ones I'd seen. No one solid consensus, office spaces moved into warehouses moved into residential areas moved into motel lobbies moved into storerooms moved into retail space. All indoors, which is normal.
The material of Oberon is plastic, in the deformation sense. It takes imprints of what you press into it, and the harder you focus, the bigger the mark you leave. That was fine when Oberon was mirroring the early world. A rabbit's thoughts are light. Fluffy, if you will. But a human's thoughts? There's a reason why we call deep thoughts 'heavy'. And one day, around the turn of the turn of the 15th century, all that weight piled up started to put 'fractures' in the surface of Oberon.
At first, they were hairline: A castle here, a city there. But the more people, the more thinking done… and soon the glass ceiling shattered. A spiderweb of cracks, in the metaphysical sense, poured out and laid waste to Oberon. And the people that fell through those cracks were the Bound, cursed to live the rest of their lives in a plane of existence that was so foreign to them, it was toxic.
Oberon wasn't empty when it cracked. Any nerd's Dungeons and Dragons monster manual reads like a phonebook down here. Demons, ghouls, spirits, you name it. Some of them kept to themselves. They wanted to retain some of their… well, 'humanity' isn't the right word, but you get the picture. They stayed in the layers of Oberon that hadn't splintered.
Others weren't so lucky. They either got caught in the crossfire… or chose to delve into the cracks for another reason. In doing so, they lost themselves. What made them unique. A soul, if you will. And that lack drove them insane. Sure, a lot of them were predatory before, but now… they were nothing but animals. And with endless new Bound people to feed on, it was the beginning of a brand new ecosystem. An ecosystem I was about to join if I wasn't careful.
I turned the corner, getting closer to my goal, and I was being stupid. I'm not Bound, I have a day job back on Earth. I don't have the survival instincts that people in this joint do. Maybe better than my peers, but not that much better. I'm flatfooted, I walk loudly, and the halls down here resonate. In other words, I make a lot of noise. Noise that tends to attract Cracked Oberonians. And one of them had just found me.
In a blur, it was on me. A taxing, garish yellow blur that left me winded. It was less of a pounce and more of a bullrush. I was winded, but not pinned. Scampering to my feet, I looked at the aggressor and gulped. I'd been found by a Maenad.
The Maenads had once been members of the Cult of Dionysus, which is a kickass song by The Orion Experience. It's also a religious sect that once worshipped the ancient Greek god of wine, music, and dance. They're kind of like ancient frat boys. In fact, a lot of frat boys who die nowadays are too committed to the party to free themselves from the plane of Earth and get stuck in Oberon on the way to the great beyond, just like their ancient Greek ancestors. That dude that your dad was friends with in college who died doing a keg stand is probably a Maenad now. They can be scary, but there's nothing wrong with a little party every now and then. That is, until they Crack.
It raised two stumps of its arms at me. The warped yellow skin where its palms might've been, if it had hands, parted to reveal a circular maw of teeth, and it ran at me as fast as those stubby little legs could carry. You're probably thinking to yourself, "Ah, this is how he eats it. It's one of those 'start at the end' stories, and he's gonna tell you how he got to the point that he died." But it isn't one of those stories, because there's just one little detail I didn't mention so far in this little infodump.
I'm a motherfucking sorcerer.
My greatest spell? Running away like a bitch.
I turned and ducked back into the hall of trash, throwing behind me neatly stacked waste wood and shredded plastic bales. Some garbage man was going to have me on their shitlist, but I'd gladly clean it up once I wasn't in mortal peril. Cracked Maenads are strong, stupidly so, and cunning, but if there's one thing they lack, it's agility. As they slipped and clambered over the obstacles I'd left in its way, I spotted a doorway with a door still attached. I quickly slipped inside, locking the wooden portal behind me and placing my back to it to hold it closed. I held my breath, listening for pursuit. Hearing none, I slid down the surface, exhaling all that pent-up fear. I'd gotten away.
Or so I'd thought, until a loud crunch bolted me out of my rest and nearly soiled my pants. The Maenad snarled and whaled on the door, a stubby arm punching right through boards over an inch thick. It was time for a new plan. I took a quick breath and recoiled. It smelled utterly foul in this new room, and when I looked around, I realized why. This room was a dead end, and the door was airtight. The locals must have known that because it was absolutely filled with fecal matter. I nearly gagged as I drew Grimace from my jacket.
Grimace is my component pouch. He keeps my magical materials safe for me, and only ever asks for one thing in return.
"Ow! You little shit! Not the time!" I yelped, drawing my finger back, resisting the urge to stick the bleeding cut in my mouth. Maybe once I was out of the shit pile.
"You skipped snack time!" The magical Crown Royal bag contorted into a twisted face, the opening of the bag smiling a toothy grin as glowing red eyes squinted at me in the dark.
"No snack! This is an emergency!" I said, reaching once more for my components. Another snap of his jaws made me reconsider.
"No snack, no spells. That's the rule."
I growled at him. "Okay, logic. I don't get this spell, and that Maenad eats me. I die here and drop you. You sit in this pile of crap for the rest of eternity. No more snacks."
"Mmmnnn… don't like 'logic'…"
"How about a Slim Jim when we get home?"
His expression changed, the threads of his eyebrows going slack.
"Two Slim Jims?"
"I-… yes, two Slim Jims. For one spell."
"Deal," I said, and reached past his teeth as the creature hammered on the door.
Cracked Maenads are a bit like Venom from Marvel Comics. Underneath that rubbery exterior, a real person is still in there. Without them, the suit crumples, and with them, they're nearly invincible, aside from major trauma. I like to think of myself as a nice guy, so I didn't opt for explosives. I needed a way to split him in two. I pulled from the component bag a shard of mirror, as a representative of his two halves. Then I looked for something to represent the split. A wedge? Sure, but I had nothing to drive it with. A knife? That would take a lot of work, and I didn't have the time. Their hides are incredibly thick, and I'm no big game hunter. Holding the knife in my hands, I came to a quick and sad conclusion. I touched the blade to the collar of my leather jacket, starting at the seam and pulling swiftly down, severing the zipper from the hem.
"Damn, I liked this jacket…"
See, a spell needs instructions. I can push as much power as I want into a cantrip, but without a guiding force, it doesn't know what I want. I'd say magic doesn't speak English, but that isn't exactly true. The legends say that long ago, before the Great Fracture, men of magic could simply speak, and creation would flourish. That all changed when the link broke. You couldn't just ask for a tidal wave to descend on your enemies anymore; it needed to be abstract. It couldn't be requested in your native tongue. So I guess if you didn't speak English, 'free this poor guy from his yellow meatsuit' would work fine. I had no such luck.
"Split, hew, hack… Russian? Nope. French? No. Latin? Dolo… Dolor… damnit. Spanish? Divido. Divido. Right." The door threatened to give way as I tore chunks of duct tape from a roll and taped the mirror to the pull of the zipper. As it fell from its hinges, I balled the zipper up in my hands and tossed it, with a mighty shout.
"DIVIDO!"
The zipper stuck to the creature like it was magnetized, unraveling to its full length as it stretched across the torso of the beast. When the mirror angled just right, the reflection of the Maenad wasn't leathery yellow: it was the pleasant, happy face of a drunken man. The creature peered down at the new feature, looking like a football mascot that put the costume on backwards. Honestly, I half expected the spell to just… undo him on the spot. No such luck, however, as it lumbered towards me, unexpectedly fast. Now, however… I had nowhere to go.
I was pinned against the wall, arm across my neck as I struggled to hold the other one away. I clenched that appendage for dear life as the sucker on his palm inched closer and closer to my face. I didn't quite know what would happen when it reached me, and I didn't want to guess. My vision was fading, my strength ebbing away. I was this close to meeting my end. And then my wildly flailing second hand finally caught the mirror, and I tugged for dear life.
The once dark room shone with light as it erupted from the new opening in the Maenad's chest. The mouths on its hands screeched with a shrill, piercing wail, and it struggled to finish the job. That same hand floundered, trying to connect with something, anything, when it brushed a chin, and then a shirt collar. I planted a foot on the leg of the creature and heaved, every ounce of strength pulling to free him from the skinsuit.
My first bit of reprieve was when his leg slipped out. The Maenad, now with one floppy leg, collapsed to the ground. Its arms clutched at the victim, like someone trying desperately to keep their intestines from spilling to the floor after a slash from a sword. I had it now, and it knew it. I had to keep the upper hand, or I risked the victim slipping back inside and collapsing my spell.
The moment an arm was free, I slung it over my shoulder, planting a boot on the floppy leg of the skinsuit. I pushed to stand, rising and pulling him out of the zippered maw of the beast as it wailed in apparent agony. With the second arm free, I was in the home stretch, and it wasn't long until he came loose, and I dropped him to the floor, finally done but exhausted. My lungs stung with exertion, and every breath I took to help quench my need was filled with the smell of the dung heap. That gave me an excellent idea.
"Good riddance." I leaned the shovel against the wall and looked at my job well done. The pile gently squirmed, but it had sufficiently buried the Maenad enough that it was never crawling out again. I took a look down at the still breathing victim, and then at the dowsing rods I'd dropped down the hall when I'd been attacked. It was a long way to where I was going, but if I was going to play the nice guy, I didn't have a choice.
By the time I'd reached the village, I was exhausted. My legs were cramping. I hadn't had the forethought to bring food or water, and though I know it couldn't have been, it felt like it had been miles. I dropped the Maenad victim at my feet and fell to my knees as a crowd of villagers assembled.
"Who… are you?" one woman asked. She stepped forward to get a better look at me. I looked back up at her, my eyes struggling to focus.
"I am Dante. I am a Wizard, sole survivor of the Last Coven. And I am here to save you."
That's when I collapsed, falling face-first to the floor, covered in shit.
That's how he arrived?
Fell at my feet like a lost puppy, yeah.
That doesn't sound like the man who killed a dozen of my men while he was surrounded and in a locked room.
Who did you say you worked for again?
I didn't. I think it's time you continue talking.
Not until I know more about what's going on.
I was afraid you might say that.
What's that supposed to mean?
Unfortunately, if you won't cooperate with the investigation, we're going to have to entice you another way.
What is that thing? Get it away from me! Stop! Help! Somebody, help!
No one is coming to help you, Miss Danvers.
Not until you tell me everything you know about this… Dante.