dreams, events, humor, Stories, writing

The Parcel.

Not really sure where this story ended.
I think a couple of stories went missing as I was writing something else.
Oh well what I do know was:
There was a start here.
A prelude written after the first one here.
And a part two here.

So with that in mind here goes nothing with part 3.

The Parcel.

Okay so it’s been a little while since I updated this but that was because I was sure no one would believe me if I did tell my story. If you remember I was sitting at my desk with the strange dial that Téa, my friend from American had sent me. There was something strange about it and while I didn’t pick up on things immediately I did soon enough come to the conclusion what Téa wanted me to do.

Logging on through a VPN and a series of spoofed addresses Téa and I spoke on an internet forum she’d specifically set up to remain as anonymous as she could. If you want more information on the forum and why it was set up you’ll have to read back. On the forum we still spoke in code and the bottom line of all that code was that Téa gave me a specific instruction.

Stick a pin, I found a paper clip, into a hole at the centre of the dial opposite the number nine and turn the arm to any number. Okay it seems like a bit of an odd request from what I originally called a clock, but I’m sure as you can see the term clock was really just me being a little silly, some people may not yet know where the dial came from but they ought to know it’s not a clock.

I looked at my computer screen, Téa had not sent me another message in the few seconds it had taken me to retrieve a paper clip out of the drawer and straighten it out. I guess I was a little nervous about doing what I was about to do because I was looking for any excuses to stop me, I just wasn’t aware I was doing it.

Running out of unconscious things to do I gently pushed the point of the paper clip into the hole. There was some resistance, not much just enough that it felt like some kind of pressure plate. When I looked the dial over after pulling it out of the box I saw nothing on the back that looked like it may be a second layer but in front of my eyes as I pushed the pin in I couldn’t deny what my mind was telling me.

Keeping the pressure on whatever it was in the hole I grabbed the point of the arm, right down near the pyramid shape towards the point and tentatively moved the arm in a clockwise motion. The direction of travel was actually a concious thing, for some reason something in my mind told me I was better off turn the dial towards the lower number one than the higher number three.

The movement at the very tip of the arm, the outer edge of the circumference was probably only about three centimetres between the M and the 1 but it seemed to take a very long time for that small movement. I know I was on edge wondering what was going to happen but since that initial turn day I’ve tried to replicate the speed I moved that arm on the first day and I still can’t do it.

As the arm moved so desperately slow I was hyper-aware of what I was feeling, no not emotionally, I’m male I don’t have those feelings, I’m talking about feelings in the very tips of my fingers. Actually I guess what I’m actually trying to say is that I was hyper aware of what wasn’t there. I’m not sure if it was because in the back of my mind I still had the silly thought that what was in front of me was a clock but I was actually expecting to feel the minute interval of the arm as if I was turning a hand on a clock and feeling the cogs mesh together with every sixtieth of a turn. But there was nothing, the arm moved like it had just been oiled.

I know this sounds kind of silly but I was moving the arm so painfully slow that I nearly let the paper clip slip through the index finger and thumb of my left hand. I have since found out that turning the arm without something small and pointy stuck down the hole opposite the number nine does nothing but that first time I was hell bent on sticking to the orders that Téa had given me and I was not diverting no matter what.

Somehow I managed to keep the pressure on the paper clip, and whatever was under it, and kept moving the arm, slowly, slowly clockwise.

I guess somewhere between nearly losing the paper clip and getting the arm to the number one position I must have closed my eyes. I don’t actually remember doing it but because I have no recollection of what happened when the arm stopped I can only assume my brain over ruled my eyes and closed them without warning.

The next thing I knew was sitting on something that wasn’t my desk chair, it actually felt like the ground, not hard enough to be a rock, or concrete but harder than a cushion. I could hear slow voices, kind of like someone on the verge of being drunk but not quite there, they weren’t loud voices but there was so many of them that they made a loud noise and individual voices were hard to decipher. I could feel bodies gently knocking into me, they didn’t appear dangerous or abusive, just kind of there. But the strangest thing of all was that my eyes were still closed and for some reason I wasn’t opening them.


  1. Very good. I was on the edge of my iPad

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