The Omniscrolls

There was this strange clothes shop in our town that both manufactured and sold products within the town alone. What was strange about it was that no one who ever sought employment there ever resigned, no matter how many years passed. Young and old, it did not matter, for every employee seemed bound to the shop by an unseen force. The shop had a separate building for employees to stay, and they said that all their needs were met without any issues. The townspeople claimed that the shop owner was a witch, and that she was somehow enslaving those whom she saw fit to work for her. I myself felt a strange connection to the store, deep in my heart; it was something inexplicable. I just knew I needed to look into it, although I did not know why. My parents warned me against it, and when my brother once caught me trying to enter the premises at the age of sixteen, I was sent off to my grandparents’ house two towns away. There was something strange about the day they sent me away. A cryptic me...

I remember fondly how my parents used to tuck me into bed and tell me all their adventures in the deep seas. The rare creatures they’d find, the ancient ruins they’d stumble across—those were tales I treasured each day. I dreamt of setting sail across the oceans and delving into its mysterious depths, but those ambitions were crushed by the currents that crashed into my life when I was just eight years old. My parents were found washed ashore; they had lost their lives with no visible signs of a cause of death. Ten years have passed since that day, and I’ve taken up archaeology in hopes of investigating my parents’ deaths. After their passing, my grandparents took me in, and Grandma in particular had a tale of warning for me: she said she was once part of a team of mountain explorers who stumbled upon a mysterious metal jar. Words of an ancient language were engraved into the object, which seemed to be near impossible to destroy—something that would prove to be fatal to almost everyone...

For as long as we’ve lived here on top of this hill, only one other house stood nearby; and it stood still in time, abandoned and alone for the thirteen years I’ve been alive. Whenever I’d ask Mom and Dad about it, they would simply say it had been that way for as long as they could remember. Their responses were often rushed, and dismissive of further inquiry. My experience questioning neighbours about the strange house was similarly strange, although they seemed more afraid than reluctant. “Stay away from that place… Especially you. That house is bewitched.” That is the most I got from Anna, the oldest lady in our neighbourhood. Her statement made me wonder just what had happened there. “Why me especially?” I wished Mom and Dad would open up to me about it, but they dodged my questions each time. One night, I stared away into the distance, looking at that abandoned house for perhaps an hour, when, suddenly, I noticed a light illuminate a room on the upper floor. It wasn’t something I...