Completing The Gift

Silly me. To think “completing the gift” would be a simple process of taking ownership. By simple, I mean like taking the car keys from the dealer. “Sign here, and here, and drop of blood here. Congratulations! Here’s your new trinket, fully equipped and ready to go!”

Bitch, please.

Horatio (as I call it publicly) pretty much lounged around in the dreamscape after that August day. Not really doing much but looking pretty on the shelf. I had overburdened myself with far too many projects, and since I didn’t know what to do with a disembodied skull, it just sat there.

Until a few weeks ago.

When lazing around my lair in a dream, the skull suddenly had eyeballs and looked at me. Fuck. As I stared back at it with the calmest of poker faces, my mind began repeating one phrase: Don’t tell me your name. Names are big in my dreamscape. A name is more than a label, it’s an anchor. Nameless beings are shadows that come and go, nebulous entities that don’t have a link to me. For me to name something in a dream, is to give it an anchor to come return to me. See what happened with “White” for instance. For a dream entity to name itself, displays intent that entity plans on being a repeat visitor.

“Hi, Kerian. My name is [redacted].” FUCK!

“Hello, [redacted], I guess you’ve decided to wake up, eh?” Inside, I was spinning in circles. Trying to remember all lore that may be relevant to a talking skull bestowed by a death deity. Trying to remember the ones with relatively happy endings, anyway.

“Yea. That was a very nice nap. I didn’t think you’d let me sleep that long.”

I ask Snake to back me up, in case this interaction blew up in my face. He coiled in the corner of the room, half chuckling to himself and watching with glittering eyes. I glared at him briefly, causing him to collapse into giggles. Well, I know I’m not in too much danger, then.

“To be honest, [redacted], I don’t know what to do with you. I have other tasks I need to finish up, and I’d rather place you on the shelf unmolested, than start something half ass and fuck it up.”

“Oh. Thanks. I appreciate that.” I came over to the shelf and picked up the skull. The eyeballs were not physically there, but were apparitions themselves. I suppose this is how the spirit displayed being active in the skull.

“So, now you’re awake, and Named. What the hell do I do now?” I sat on the low bed, leaning against one of Snake’s coils in such a way he was able to loom over me and the skull. The skull looked up at him in a mixture of terror and respect.

“What did the Keeper of Skulls tell you, Keri?” Snake’s voice sounded both young and old at the same time. It was reassuring.

“It was up to me to figure out what to do. To figure out why he gave [redacted] to me.” Snake nodded above me. The skull watched the nodding movement almost mesmerized. “Well, I guess you’re going to wind up in my writings after all. But I can’t use the name you’ve given me, I understand that to be private between you and me.” The skull broke his staring at Snake and fixated on me again. “In honor of how you were given to me, I shall write of you as ‘Horatio’!”

How the skull managed to give the impression of a raised eyebrow without flesh amused me. “Not ‘Yorick‘? Because the quote…”

“If you had woken up when I received you, you’d be ‘Yorick’ as proper. But because your ass slept 6 months, you’re Horatio to my readers.”

The skull appeared to pout. “Well, if you’re calling me ‘Horatio’, then I’ll call you ‘Ophelia’.” My blood ran cold at his declaration and Snake looked quite disapprovingly on Horatio.

“No, [redacted]. You do not get to Name me.” Horatio glared at me, as if trying to stare me down. I returned the glare with the force of my will. He looked away first. It wasn’t until much later, that I realized this was our first test of wills. I may have Horatio’s skull, but I wasn’t Horatio’s master.

“Very well, Keri. I have no say, there.”

I placed Horatio’s skull back on the shelf and woke up. I tweeted a bit about snarky skulls and mismatched names, and received good natured ribbing about being called “Ophelia”.

The next several days was a whirlwind of activity. Distressing news had been received and it was all hands on deck to help a loved one. Horatio remained on the shelf, all but forgotten.

Two weeks ago, I’m in my lair in the dreamscape. (Most of my dreams are lucid now. I rarely have “normal & nonsensical” dreams anymore.) Horatio calls out from the shelf. “Keri! Hey! Keri!”

“What, Horatio?” I didn’t move from the bed, I was quite tired even in the dream.

“I’m just sitting here, with nothing to do. Gimme something to do!”

I turn my head to see the skull’s eyes brightly glowing in the dim light. “Seriously?”

“Yea, seriously. I wasn’t handed to you just to look pretty, you know.” Horatio did have a point.

“Okay. Yea. Hmm. I do need some sort of trinket for you to use as a spirit jar in the Waking. I don’t always have the luxury of Dreaming. But I’m busy as fuck right now. So much going on.”

“I can find a trinket for you!” Horatio was happy to volunteer. Too happy, in retrospect. But I was too tired to catch it, and too tired to register Snake giving Horatio one helluva evil eye for it, at the time.

“Okay, Horatio. I’ll send you on a mission, then.” Now Snake was giving me the evil eye. That look of “What the fuck are you doing?”, that usually precedes me fucking things up in a bad way.

I pulled myself off the bed and went to the shelf. Picking up the skull, I called him by his private name. “Quit this skull and go out into the world. Find for me a trinket of such size, such cost, is physically available for purchase, and within such driving distance, that is suitable for you to occupy as my contact with you in the Waking. Find this, and return to me that you may lead me to this trinket. So I command you, go.” The eyes faded as Horatio left his skull container. The dried bone even felt lighter in my hands.

I examined the skull, noting that it did not change in physical appearance, and placed the now empty skull on the shelf. I turned around to see Snake glaring at me in a very angry way.

“What? He wanted something to do, he now has something to do, and I have an item scratched off my ToDo list!”

Snake said nothing, only coiled tighter and brooded.

Last week, on Thursday, I noted it had been a week since I sent Horatio out on his mission. In the Dreaming, I looked anxiously at the still empty skull. A sense of responsibility chilled my own bones. Could something have happened to him? As his “owner”, I am responsible for any shit he stirs up. I realized how little I knew of such things, and how wild the Dreaming can be. I felt like I just tossed a plump Pomeranian into shark infested waters.

I mentioned my concern to Snake, who only harrumphed and remarked, “This will work itself out in time. Maybe not to your satisfaction, but it will work itself out in time.” I know a non-answer when I get one.

On Friday, I woke up to sensing Horatio so intensely, I expected to see a human skull perched on my computer desk. Saying nothing to my family, I called him silently, and received an image of a nearby store. I made my way to that store, to the section he revealed, only to find his presence leaving me empty handed.

Fussing, I left the store and made for my car. His presence wafted around me again, this time, leading to another store, a few doors down. “No wild goose chases, dammit.”, I muttered at him under my breath.

In the second store, I followed his lead until my hands settled on a particular threesome of glass beads. While I knew these beads were not for him, they did resonate with another project in progress, so I held on to them. However, after that, Horatio’s presence left me again.

Purchasing the glass beads, and swearing vehemently under my breath, I left the store. Back in the car, I demanded Horatio complete his mission and to stop with the side tourist-gazing.

Saturday, I confessed to my friends about my concern for Horatio, and the strange wild goose chase I was led on the previous day. One friend spoke up, saying verbally what Snake’s glare was screaming.

“Let me get this straight. You sent a free-roaming spirit, on a mission, to find something you are going to use to IMPRISON him? And without a time limit? You’re lucky he’s leading you around in circles. I wouldn’t. I’d be long gone by now.”

Oh. Well. When you put it that way… ~headdesk~

After more discussion, a novelty store was found nearby that would have a suitable trinket, and a plan of recalling Horatio was formed.

A phrase lept to mind, unspoken by any of my friends, and accompanied by the scent of stinky, rich cigars. “Stop being nice and assert the responsibility you’ve been given.”

Saturday night, I took the skull off the shelf. Empty and gray, it was losing what little luster that had remained when Horatio left. Using the skull as focus, I could barely feel Horatio. My friend was right, he was making a run for it.

I stood still, preparing to summon Horatio back, when I felt something winding around my body. Snake had changed into his seven-headed form and had wound about me, from the feet up. His length was such that he had picked me up off the ground, as if I was a statue being held. His seven heads loomed over my head and shoulders like an elaborate headdress. I could feel him adding his force to my own.

I relaxed into the gentle grip. Focusing on the skull, I called Horatio by his name. “Your mission, is aborted. Return to me. A new command is given you, return to me and once again inhabit this skull. At once!” The skull trembled in my hand slightly, as if some wind was circling like mad in the cranial cavity. Horatio’s eyes appeared once again in the quickly coloring skull. His eyes were angry, as if I had interrupted him from some great task.

“Bastard, I’m on to you.” He started to answer that he was still searching for the right trinket. “Silence. I know I’m new to this, and naive as fuck. I gave you a loophole the length of a trans-continental freeway, and you took it. I understand that. But I’m still pissed as fuck at you, and am in no mood for excuses.” He complied with the order of silence, but glared menacingly at me, with eyes full of dangerous promises.

“So, the Keeper of Skulls gave me your skull, but it is up to me not only to find what to do with you, but to exercise mastery over you. Is that it?” Horatio remained silent. “Answer the question, [redacted].”

“Yes.”, was Horatio’s only answer. But he delivered it with such growling reluctance, he answered many more questions I had not asked yet.

“Very well then, [redacted]. You will remain in this skull, until I summon you. I will obtain the trinket I need tomorrow, and then you will be summoned into that as well.” Horatio continued glaring at me while I placed his skull back on the shelf.

Only after my hands were no longer touching Horatio’s skull, did Snake slowly unwind from around me, lowering me gently back onto the stone floor of the lair. “You could have warned me, but I had to learn this myself. Am I right?” Snake, still with seven heads, took three to kiss me on my face, 2 to nuzzle on either side of my head, while watching Horatio with 2 deepset glares. He did not verbally answer, but he did not need to. “I understand. Thank you for backing me up.”

Snake said nothing more, only nudged me towards the low bed. I complied, and fell into deeper sleep.

The deeper sleep was filled with nightmarish scenes and frightful energy. Something was trying to scare me and was going all out. I watched amused for a while, until the memory of Horatio filtered into my nearly darkened mind. “Horatio! Knock the shit off or I’ll hand your skull to a bone chewer and be done with you!” The images ceased at once.

Sunday’s trip to the novelty store was bittersweet. The very first trinket I picked up was the proper one, but I allowed myself to get distracted with shinies and purchased a different one. Once I was home, and I checked my notes, I realized my mistake. Grumbling at myself for being easily distracted, and wondering if the raven feathers weren’t rubbing off on me, I went back to the novelty store and purchased the right trinket.

Sunday evening, a surprise visit from the Keeper of Skulls put everything in perspective for me.

I spent the first part of Sunday night’s Dreaming, getting acquainted with the trinket. Examining it, to see what had to be cleared from it, what had to be done to it, to make it truly mine and ready for Horatio’s invocation. My plan fully settled to me, I released my mind to deeper sleep in preparation for the work ahead.

Nightmares. Images of struggling against an unseen entity. Chains. Gnashing of teeth and threats pronounced in inhuman languages. Sensation of being smothered. Horatio wasn’t going to sit quietly. But I expected this. I knew the act of having a physical Waking anchor meant giving Horatio greater access to myself. I thought this fight would start after summoning Horatio. Silly me, what is time to the Dreaming?

I did not answer each image in the fashion it presented itself to me. I knew not to sink to Horatio’s level, to succumb to the nightmare. As each image assaulted me, I asserted my mastery and dismissed it. No creature could scare me. No threat could bow me. All he had was bluster, and I wasn’t having any of it.

Yesterday, Monday, came with the stress relief of manual labor, and the heaviness of news of a friend passing. When I checked on Horatio in the Dreaming, I found him glaring ominously at me from his skull. Gone was the pretense of amicable friendship, the bait of peaceful partnership. I returned the glare, thinking suddenly on the first glare he gave me several weeks ago. I blushed from the sudden understanding, but did not drop the glare. This was my lair, in my Dreaming, and I will not be conquered by a movie prop. Horatio looked away first, turning his eyes to stare at the stone floor below.

To my amusement, one of Snake’s friends was over, and he was taking great delight in poking Horatio’s skull between the eyes. I asked his friend why he was tormenting Horatio. Snake said it was because Horatio was making threats about what he would do when released, and his friend was making the physical comment of “Oh yea? How about this? And this? And this?”. “Horatio, not another word out of you!”, I screamed at him. He looked down in submission, with furrowed brows.

More Internet research about what I had in store for me. More confusing leads. I finally found relevant information on a discussion board about goetic summoning and brass jars. While the details in that thread didn’t apply to me, the reasoning and mindset behind it, did. I knew that I was pretty much on my own for this, but I now had a plan, scheduled for Tuesday afternoon. What could possibly go wrong?

Last night, as soon as my head hit the pillow, the attacks began again. I never got a chance to even go near my lair. Horatio knew what was coming and he was pulling out all stops to hinder me. Bloody, gory images. Sensations of being eaten alive by insects, by wolves, by birds. Sounds of battle ringing my ears as the sight of legions of undead soldiers descending upon my already battered body.

I laughed at it all. And dismissed the images with ease. Moving from the wilderness to my lair, I stood before the shelf that held Horatio. “Bitch, please. There is no image you can conjure up that would make me shriek in fear. The things I’ve done in my dreams would have me declared a psychopath if ever I detailed them. I know the boundaries of your influence. You can only attack me.” Horatio glared from his skull, still silent.

My naive ass was about to learn another lesson. Yes, Horatio could only attack me. But with an object now giving him a physical anchor into my life, he now had another vector to attack me with.

The hot flash was insidious. I’ve had some before, as part of a migraine’s effects, or from a flu’s fever. But never like this. I struggled in my sleep, caught between the paralysis of deep sleep but with the clarity of an awake mind. I knew the room to be around 60F, but I felt like I was in a sauna. I clawed to wakefulness and started shedding blankets and pajamas, and still the heat was relentless.

I knew something was wrong. I tried to get out of bed and slipped. I threw a hand out, and by chance, gripped the trinket. For a room with no heat source, the trinket felt hotter than me. Even though I had not summoned Horatio into it, it was responding as if the deed was completed when I made my intent.

“That son of a bitch. Okay. Game on, bitch.” Ignoring the heat welling from within, the cold sweat pouring off my skin, I gripped the trinket tightly and asserted my will. The Keeper of Skulls gave the skull to me, not the other way around. I am Master in this battle, not servant. I will not be cowed, intimidated, or blustered into submission. I shed all social anxiety of being the master of a thinking being, an owner of a slave, and brought down my will in one focused thought. “[redacted], submit. Cease your attack.”

The hot flash ended at once. This time, I did not feel the whimpering of a beaten foe. Horatio was silent within the trinket, and silent within the lair.

Now cold, I redressed and returned to bed. When I got up this morning, I thought of all that had happened between August and now. What was supposed to be a quick note of snark on my tumblr turned into a complete account of my interactions with Horatio up to this morning, and so, written here.

I understand now why my “childhood” will end with mastering Horatio. I understand, and I accept. The fight to master Horatio is not over. There is still this afternoon’s working to complete. But if I’m to discover who I am, this too, will be conquered.

Make of that, what you may.