A Machine Called Earth

“So be it.” Said Moab. For Hector woke and was no longer dreaming. He was back in the golden room of machines, though this time it was no longer just he and Ichabod. There were many in the room. Though Hector’s tears welled up within a dream, he could see but blurry figures of those in his presence, for he woke to be crying in the real world as well.

Hector rubbed his eyes, and seeing clearly, there in the room, were all his friends. They were all staring at him, as he picked himself up from the golden floor. Wiping the tears from his eyes.

Though the room was of blinding light and unimaginable wonder, his eyes had not widened in awe, not until seeing Hope. The culmination of emotion had him wonder if he’d ever see her again. And now that he had, he felt his heart was about to explode.

But this joy was short lived. For standing next to her, was Moab, with a gun to her head. Hector didn’t notice it at first, but she had tears streaming down her face also. She said nothing, but as Hector looked around at all his friends, they were all downcast with faces filled with dread. And an overwhelming sense of failure took grasp of Hector.

Was his rejection of Ichabod’s proposition going to see his friends die before him? If he accepted Ichabod’s proposal would he be able to save his friends? Hector knew not.

Each of his friends were being held upon by beastly men, similar in appearance as Patric. Seven foot high, bulky monstrosities. Things looked grim. Hector hoped that this situation would freeze. That nothing would happen until he thought of the best course of action. And although there was a moment of stares and silence, he could not come up with a plan. And the time of silence was only broken when Moab pulled back the firing pin of the pistol resting at the side of Hope’s head. And though Hector wanted everything else to just freeze. However, at this moment it was he that froze.

But what Hector thought and dreaded would come to pass, did not. There was no gunshot, and there was no limp body fall to the floor. Something different happened. Charlie was able to get free from the beast that restrained him, and lunged at Moab. And there he and Moab were, flailing about as Charlie tried to get hold of the pistol. This fight for control took place in front of Hector’s eyes, though still, Hector did nothing.

As the struggle went on, the pistol went off. In all the commotion, Moab pulled the trigger, shooting Charlie in the leg. Hector was swept by a wave of déjà vu. It was like the train incident sevenyears ago all over again. Instantly he visioned that day before his eyes, as though he was there again. And the same guilt plagued him again, the guilt that came from knowing it was only by his own weakness that he had not intervened and prevented it from happening.

But Charlie did not let himself just fall to the floor as he did the first time, he managed to fling a wayward fist toward Moab. It struck with such ferocity that Moab was brought to the ground.

Not by the sheer force knocking him off his center of gravity, but by the second of unconsciousness that turned off all signals from his brain to his legs. It was only then, when Charlie’s mission was complete, that he himself fell to the floor. And this was not the same leg that had been shot the first time, and ruined his chances of walking normally since, this was his good leg. And this act of courage, this act of sacrifice, risking his life his safety to save Hope. It was at this, that Ichabod’s words that Hope would forever be out of Hector’s grasp, rang true. It was Charlie who risked his life, it was Charlie who took a bullet. And this was something that Hope would not swiftly forget. But such things would not come to stem and flourish until all this, their current circumstance, had been placed in history and looked back on as a distant memory. For now was not a time for concerning the future, it was a time for action and the present. Now in battle, although it is fought by the many, it is only by the smallest of victories, that it is won. It is only by the smallest of breaks in the battle line, or breach in the wall, that the battle is won or loss.

And the breach that led to the capture of Hector’s companions, was also the smallest of losses. A minor detail that had the power to change the tide of battle. Norrth’s arrow, or lack-there-of. Due to Hector’s wrathful outburst towards Meridian, Norrth was without the use of his arrow-gun, and although he was quite skillful in just about all other types of combat, it was this that led to their capture.

But all was not hopeless, for Charlie created a breach of his own. Despite the fact that Charlie was lying on the ground, reeling in pain, he had broken the line, and created an opening.

It was Hope that sought to take action, grabbing the arm of the beast that held Norrth, for she was already free, as Moab was the one holding her. Norrth got free and drew the sword from the beast’s scabbard. With an illuminating gale as it sliced through the air, he cut through the beastly man, separating his entire arm from the rest of his body.

After tossing the blade toward Hope, Norrth then rushed two more of the beasts that were standing there. They growled and howled but there was no fear in Norrth’s steps. And with lightning speed and several precise blows, they were taken out. This roused the others, and Valimir, Shamus and Flynn soon got free, and began fighting.

In all this, Hector only managed to get to his knees, and in a panoramic scope he gazed across the room. And there he witnessed Hope, spinning and swaying in a deadly dance. Cutting down one, than two, than three of them. She had skill with the sword that none could rival, except for Norrth, though none of them had ever seen him use a sword.

In all the commotion, Jessy sat there, legs crossed, arms crossed, with no distress on his face. He just sat there, as though waiting. But the young boy caught the eye of one of the beastly men, which began to approach him with murder in his stride.

Hector looked around, but all his companions were preoccupied, they were all busy striking down the many abominations, there was many clanging of swords and cries and shouts. Hector pulled himself off the floor and rose to his feet even though his fear had drew the strength from his legs. There beside him, only a few feet away was a short blade discarded in the heat of the battle, Hector picked it up and set his eyes on the beast.

It was obvious that the beast was once a man, though men, as evil as they are, do not exhibit the outward signs of their sin, they are like chameleons constantly hiding their true self, their true colors. All in an attempt to never stand out for what they truly are. But is the human race really any different to these beastly abominations? It is true that no normal human man willingly approaches a child to slay him. But who’s to say that if he wasn’t striving to hide, to suppress his evil heart, that he wouldn’t do such a thing.

All this thought took place in the space of a second. Hector also remembered, this also taking place in that same second, his talk with the Keeper, the conversation on free-will. It is necessary, it is a blessing but it is also a curse. By free-will we become ourselves, we are not mindless robots, we are human, but we also become monsters and death and destruction is in our wake. But that’s just it, that’s what we are to do, we are to choose. Do we choose to become what we were made for, or do we choose to rebel and become monsters? But what are we made to do? We are made to dance, to twirl, to sway and dip, keeping in step with the rhythm, the melody, the beat of life that was designed by the designer, the creator. Like a beautiful tango with elegant moves and careful precision we are to follow the lead of the Keeper’s way. But what is that way? It is written in our hearts, it is engraved in our minds, but some are born blind and deaf to it. They are ignorant. Others can hear it, see it, but ignore it, they suppress it, they stumble around like one dancing off-beat, throwing off everyone around them. Others only barely hear it and strive to follow along. Their ears, and eyes are only partly muted, and they trip and bumble around trying to follow the Keeper’s will. Others they hear and see with clarity and when they dance, when they follow the will of the keeper, it is beautiful, it is rousing and it encourages all who are around, they watch and they imitate, and soon they begin to hear the sound the rhythm and begin to follow and dance on their own accord.

But as this thought passed, another took its place. One far less eloquent, one of violence and murder. But also of protection and courage. At this Hector began to run, and picking up pace he gripped the sword and leapt into the air. He plunged the sword deep into the monsters back. The beast whose name was Rufus, not that it matters, though it is important to remember that these monsters were once human, and in a way, still are. Well anyway, he fell to his knees, letting out a frightening scream. Although they were still, in a way human, they were also demons, foul beasts that fear death over all things. Not in the way that most men fear death, but in a deeper more terrifying way. But why would they fear death more than most? Well that is something that Hector would find out later.

Hector pulled out the blade and with all his strength, he thrust it back in. Again and again, he stabbed the beast. He took out all the pent-up pain and anger and fear that he had been holding onto. Each blow he thrust his hatred of the curse into the already dead body. He thrust his fear of the control room and what power is had. He thrust his hatred of Moab and of Ichabod and the fear and torment he had undergone by their hands. He thrust his anger, his pain that he had held for himself. The pain of loss, the sister that he had killed. But not only that, but the fact that he had forgotten about her when he first left on this perilous journey, and for whatever tribulations she had to endure on her own.

By this point Hector was covered in the foul blood of the beast. But as he looked up at young Jessy, he saw the boy was also sprayed with the blood that Hector so viciously spilt. Hector dropped the sword, looked over at Ichabod sitting in his throne, watching all this unfold, and cried out, “It’s all your fault!” His voice echoing through the room. By this time the fight was over.

Hector walked to Jessy, and knelt down, placing a hand on his shoulder, and said, “I’m sorry Jessy.” He then unrolled his sleeve and wiped away the sprayed blood from Jessy’s face.

All Hector’s companions had survived, the battle was won. Flynn was injured and Valimir was performing first aid, for being a battle hardened soldier, apart from killing, you become very good at healing wounds. Hope came to the aid of Charlie who was still lying on the floor, though as he sat up, he looked around and staring at Hector he said, “Where is the man with the bandages? He’s gone.”

They all looked around and it was true, Moab was gone. In the commotion of the battle, he scurried away, like a cockroach searching for some dark hole to climb into. But like cockroaches, the darkness is not a place where they lay to die, no, the darkness is where they thrive and grow, and it’s only a matter of time until they return.

“It matters not.” Said Shamus as he picked up the pistol that was on the floor, the one that, shot Charlie, the one that was aimed at Hope, the one that was given to Hector by Charlie at the beginning of this journey. He picked it up and walked to the throne that Ichabod sat. “I should have done this a long time ago.” He said as he pointed the gun at Ichabod.

Everyone was silent for although it is a terrible thing to kill a helpless wheelchair-bound man with not the strength to lift up an arm in defense, or make a plea for mercy, they all thought it was necessary, that killing him was the thing to do, to end all this, to make things right.

But beyond all expectation, it was Hector who shouted in defiance. “No!” He said. “Enough blood has been spilt.”

Everyone was shocked, “What do you mean?” Shamus said. “Isn’t this what we must do?”

“No, killing Ichabod now will achieve nothing.”

Shamus stared at Hector, “You’re a strange lad, I’ll give you that.” He then lowered the gun that was aimed at Ichabod, and after walking back down to where the others were, Shamus handed the pistol to Hector. “Now what?” He said.

It was almost amazing, the authority Hector had over his companions. At the instant Hector shouted, “No!” Shamus put down the gun, following his instruction.

And apart from Jessy, Hector was the youngest of those who stood there in the room. Hector did not lead with an iron tongue, nor with great power, but it was he that sought to break the curse, to set things right. Although at the start, he cared not, now, things were different, and because it was Hector, and he alone, that fought to change things, to break the curse, to find a solution, it was he, whose decision it was. This was his journey, and all knew it.

And that was it, Hector’s finial decision, after a long journey, after many encounters, and brushes with death, after torture, after hopelessness, after revelation and understanding, this was his decision, to have mercy on Ichabod, or more directly, Malachi. For Ichabod dwelt within Malachi and in all truth, killing the man that sat in that wheel-chair would do nothing. For Ichabod, he is formless, faceless, a void. He is evil, and he breeds evil, and destruction follows him wherever he goes, but like the tree whose seeds only blossom through the flames of an inferno, or the fields with unrivaled fertility that is only caused when a volcano pours out it’s lava on the land, there is a certain necessity for such destruction. Without Ichabod, Hector would not have blossomed with such courage, boldness and strength, he would not have found the Control Room, and he would not have found the Keeper, and evil would have flourished for many more years to come.

After everything, it was mercy that was dealt Ichabod. Mercy that was like burning coals thrown upon his head. Although Ichabod wanted many things through his time as controller, one thing had grown into an all-consuming desire, and that was to see Hector, the one investigator, and the only one who fought to make things right, Ichabod’s desire, was to see him, become the beast and be taken by the curse that he fought to stop. And although Hector did stare into the black abyss that was his soul, he did not let the curse take him as many had. He fought the curse with all the strength he had. But he was not alone, all throughout his journey, someone was watching over him, protecting him, leading him away from the snare that is the grave. That watcher, that protector, was none other than The Keeper.

But all was not over. They all still stood in the room, and the question posed by Shamus was still left unanswered, “Now what?” That question, Hector had no answer. What was going to happen now? What was he going to do with Ichabod? What of the room?

But these things were not left for Hector to answer, his mission was finished. His journey, over. And it was then, that footsteps were heard, gentle but sure footed. But before Hector and the others could turn around, a voice was heard, saying. “Well done.” It was loud and booming, and came with great weight and authority. It was the voice of The Keeper.

All were astonished. They all knew not of this man, yet in his presence, they all dropped to their knees. “Well done Hector.” He said. “You have done what you saw fit, and mercy, your choice. Well done.” Hector too felt weak in the knees. The Keeper was as he was before, covered in a brown robe, and his face hidden by a hood, but Hector could sense a smile on the face of The Keeper. This made Hector tremble.

But Ichabod, he was not dead, and so, did something that he had not done in years. And that was move. With all the strength that Ichabod held, he began to take control of the mutated body of Malachi. And with great strain, he began to lift himself out of his chair, and a flickering darkness grew around him, as he summoned all the strength he had left. But before he could stand on his two feet, The Keeper also did something amazing.

He revealed his glory. Something Ichabod had naught. And what is glory? It is impossible to describe, it is like a substance, an element, but one that is not found in any chart or dug out of the ground. It is a characteristic, a quality that is reserved only for one. And that one, the only one who wields this glory, is God. And not just any god, but the one true, living God. The one who describes himself as “I AM.” Unable to finish the sentence, for once you finish that sentence, you are limited to whatever the end is. When Hector says, ‘I am Hector.’ He is limited to the man Hector, he cannot be anything more. But the God who says “I AM.” Is limitless.

But like I said, it is impossible to describe glory, not even all the words in the world can do justice to the word. But what I can do, is describe the effects of this reveal of glory. When The Keeper revealed his glory, many things happened. First, was a great beam of light, like staring into the center of the sun at noon, but this light, radiating from The Keeper, filled the entire control room, and even with his eyes closed, Hector and all the others were blinded completely. All they saw was the purest of white. This light was accompanied with a thunderous booming sound as though a thousand trumpets were blowing, this deafened all in the room as well. But that was not it, this along with a great gust of wind flew Hector to the ground. It was as though being pounded by a million cyclones all at once, but made with the purest air that Hector had ever breathed, and ever would, not until he would eventually pass through the vail of the unknown.

Hector, blind, deaf and as though dead lied there both as amazed and in awe as ever, as well as as terrified as ever. He lay there, and thought but one thing, ‘I will surely die.’

But when the torrent of power and majesty - glory, was over he did not die. Still weak in the legs, and incredibly shaken, Hector climbed to his knees. As the incredible light faded, so did Hector’s blindness, and as his vision returned, there he saw The Keeper. Soon he was flooded with the gravity of who this man was, and what had just transpired, and at this, Hector felt tears begin to stream down his face, and he began to cry uncontrollably. These were not tears of pain or sorrow, nor happiness or joy. These were tears of pure amazement, awe and absolute wonderment.

As Hector regained his composure, he stood up and approached The Keeper, who was standing at the throne that Ichabod had been sitting. As he looked at the throne, Hector saw that the man who sat there was slumped over and motionless.

“Is he dead?” Hector said in almost a whisper.

“Yes.” The Keeper said. “And no. For the man who sits here, yes he is dead. But of the demon that dwelt within him, he is not. He has been banished far away though. But no, he is not dead.”

“So the one who is to blame for all of this, he is free to roam the land, while the man who he dwelt in, who is far more innocent than Ichabod, dies?” Hector said, becoming emotional. “This is justice?”

“You speak of things you know not.” The Keeper said sternly. “It is better for this man to die peacefully, than to be bound with Ichabod for eternity. For there are things far more terrible than death. All I did was separate the two. This man, Malachi, was already on his last breath.”

There was silence for almost half-an-hour, for Hector had much to think about, and the others, they were all speechless and stood on the outskirts of the room away from The Keeper. And none dared approach him. Hector then said, “It is finished then. Ichabod is no more in control of this place, and you are free to return, and reverse the curse.” The Keeper was silent.

“You can reverse the curse, can’t you?” Hector asked.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Hector was stunned, “What do you mean, no? Is this not what all this was for? To reverse the curse, to bring justice?”

“Do not worry, I do mean to bring justice, but this curse, Ichabod is not the only one at fault. Each person who gave themselves over to the curse, letting it consume them, they are also guilty. Just as much as Ichabod pushed his curse on them, so did they, by their own accord, accept the curse, invite it in, and let it grow. You know this Hector. Simply reversing the curse, as though none of this ever happened, this is not justice.” Said The Keeper. “You see, there are two kinds of people, those of whom who have resisted the curse, and those of whom who have accepted the curse. Is it justice that they share the same fate?”

Hector was afraid. “What are you going to do then?” He asked.

“Do not fret, follow me and you will see.” Said The Keeper.

At that, The Keeper motioned for Hector and the others to follow him. There he led them through a corridor, and to a platform. Once they all stood on the platform, which was only large enough for the nine of them to stand, it began to descend. Although they were already in the deepest of depths within the Control Room, they began to plunge even deeper.

Soon, darkness was all around them. Some say that a room can have a certain feel about it. Some have even gone completely mad just entering a particular room. Usually these are rooms where a tragic incident has occurred. Like a child's room, where the body of a dead baby was found, or a jail cell where the occupant had taken their life. Just entering these kind of rooms, bring forth fear and panic.

Much in the same way, Hector and all his companions began to tremble. Even Norrth. Well almost everyone was afraid just being in this place, one who was his usual calm self, was Jessy. But why was Jessy not afraid? This will be explained later.

It was impossible to tell the size of this place, for it was concealed in shadows, and there were no walls that could be seen. But a little off from where the platform had landed them, was lit up. Just a small light illuminating some machine, all around it was covered in shadows. Hector was the first one who had taken step from the platform, for all the others were too afraid to leave the light that shone from above where they came down.

Hector knew not of the machine’s purpose, but he did know that this was what was waiting for him at the end of his journey. Everything leading up to this moment was paving the way for him to reach this place. This place, so very deep, beyond deep, under the earth, and this machine, like a lure, leading him onward on his journey.

But little is any of this if you don’t know what the machine even does. And oh how profoundly amazing this machine is. This machine with its many intricacies and power, its wires and tubes, its gears, its leavers and switches, this machine in essence, boils down to just three simple yet bewildering things. Mercy, Grace, and Destruction.

Hector, The Keeper, Norrth, Jessy and Hope began to walk towards the mysterious machine. Amongst the many wires and panels was a bed of sorts, lined with red leather. Though this was like no other bed. It had coverings for each limb and a lid that would close over whoever was inside, covering their head and body. Above was a canopy of wires that stretched out in every direction.

Hope clutched Hector’s hand, and whispering in his ear, she said, “I’m scared.” Hector squeezed back.

“What does it do?” Hector asked.

The Keeper chuckled. “It’s not as simple as that, I’m afraid. And much time would be wasted if I told you. It is better if I show you what it does.”

Hector took an anxious gulp, but stayed silent. The Keeper approached the machine, and after pushing a series of buttons, it began to hum into life. After the machine was on and booting up, The Keeper along with the assistance of Norrth, began to strap himself onto the bed of the machine.

After The Keeper was strapped in, the covers came down. First the covers for his lower body and legs, then the covers for his arms. Before the cover for his head came down, The Keeper looked towards Hector and said something. At the time it was a cryptic phrase that made little sense, it was only later that he would understand it. This was the phrase. “I may be going, but I’m not gone.” At this, the cover went down over his head.

Soon a low rumble was heard. It was one that was steadily rising in intensity, and Hector grew quite uneasy. Then a white light began to emanate from The Keeper’s body much like before, though this time the covers over his body were blocking the full intensity of the light. This light then began to fill the tubes of the machine, and streams of this light stretched out throughout the room like a glowing spider web made from liquid starlight.

“I have never seen anything like this.” Norrth said in complete awe. “Truly this is a sight greater than the constellations.”

And oh how it was. The tubes that stretched out from the machine, now carried The Keeper’s light and led it in every direction and into the earth. Hector’s eyes were wider than ever, and amazement had full grasp of him. “This is victory.” He said. And no words Hector had ever spoken were truer than those. This was victory.

But in victory, there are often losses, and this display did not last forever, in fact it only lasted less than a minute. Soon the light dimmed and the tubes were no longer being filled with the glorious light. But were they now empty? It took a moment for Hector and the other’s eyes to adjust to the darkness again. Though it was not pitch black, for the light that lit up the machine was still on. When Hector’s eyes adjusted, he saw that the tubes were still being filled with something. Though this time, it was The Keeper’s blood.

“We have to get him out of there!” He cried.

But Norrth grabbed him, saying, “No. I have just realized this myself, but this is what he means to do. Sacrifice himself.”

“No!” Hector cried, as he flailed about to get free from Norrth’s grasp. “It can’t be! There must be another way! Why would he do such a thing!? This can’t be part of his plan!”

But Hector’s words were useless, along with his attempt to free himself from North’s grasp. For The Keeper’s plan was already set in motion, and nothing could stop it from fulfilling its goal.

Soon, the tubes extracting The Keeper’s blood had emptied, for there was no more blood left to extract, and a great rumble began to shake the room. The rumble grew and grew, until the quaking was too much for Hector and his companions to keep their balance. Some tried to stumble their way back to the platform, but Hector, Hope, Jessy and Norrth remained.

When the quaking ceased, the covers of the machine lifted. Hector dashed to the bed, only to see it empty. “Where is The Keeper?” Hector said. “He’s no longer there. Is he dead?”

Hector dropped to his knees. “Is this what my journey was all for? To kill The Keeper? Where is he?!”

Hector was quite distressed, for at this very moment, he had put the death of The Keeper on himself. But as he cried out and asked many questions to the shadows that surrounded them, he failed to ask the one question that would have made all things clear. And that question: What did the machine do? For this is where we return to those three words again, Mercy, Grace and Destruction. These three simple yet mighty words were all byproducts of the one thing that the machine did.

Although the machine only did one thing, there are two ends of the one thing. The one end, above the surface of the earth, and the other, the one which Hector and his companions witnessed, deep below the earth.

The end below the earth, was as Hector and his companions had witnessed. The Keeper sacrificed his Glory and his Blood, and the machine extracted it thus activating the other end, above the surface of the earth.

Above the surface of the earth, something both magnificent yet terrible occurred. The summits of the mountains that separated the north and south regions of Arccon, the ones which Hector travelled between early on his journey, they began to bring forth a black smoke. This was the cause of the earthquake. Though as said before, this was no normal earthquake, and from afar, it looked as though those peaks were volcano’s about to erupt. And erupt they did, though they did not spew out larva onto the land, and this black smoke that was seeping from the summits of the two tallest mountains, it was not normal smoke, in fact it was not smoke at all.

This blackness that came forth from the mountains soon filled and blackened the entire sky. And although there was a westward wind blowing, the blackness flew both north and south. North toward Tammerville, Syre and the surrounding villages, and south, toward Violet Town.

And although the blackness that spewed from the mountains was high in the sky, it descended rapidly as it approached the towns. And this blackness, smoke it was not. It was, in fact, a murder. When the earth quaked, the mountains released, in an explosion of creation, a great multitude of crows.

These crows flew to each city and village which was home to the mutated monstrosities, brought about by the curse. And when they descended upon the land, they feasted on the beasts. Whether high or low, inside or out, these crow devoured the beasts, and only the beasts.

Destruction. This is what the murder of crows brought. They completely destroyed all remnants of the mutated ones, there were none who escaped their reach. But their target, was that only of the mutated ones, the beastly abominations, the murder did not attack those who did not give themselves over to the curse.

This is where Mercy comes into play. For there were many, such as Hector and those of the Church of Tammerville, who Hope and Jessy met, who were affected by the curse, but fought to be separate from the curse. They were spared. Only those who gave themselves fully over to the curse, only they were targeted.

And last of all, Grace. Unlike the five, who charged extreme amounts for a temporary solution to the physical aspect of the curse, The Keeper charged nothing. The many who he saved, even those who were touched slightly by the curse, he did as a free gift. There were none who deserved this gift, this Grace, none who deserved the sacrifice of The Keeper, the sustainer and creator of all things. Still, out of love, a great love, The Keeper sacrificed himself for them, and not for a fleeting, temporary solution, but one which completely removed the chains that burdened the land. Did the Keeper reverse the curse? No. But he did remove the curse.

But all this was unknown to those under the earth, for they were deep under the happenings of above, and it would not be for quite some time until Hector would fully understand what had occurred.

Hector, Hope, Norrth, Jessy and the others, stood in the room. They did not leave, for although they did not say it, they all expected The Keeper to miraculously return.

Hector broke the silence. “Who will be in control of the room then?”

“What do you mean?” Shamus then asked.

“I mean, I do not wish to leave this place and return to my home, knowing that there is no one ‘at the wheel’ of this world.”

“Your right old chap.” Said Valimir. “That is a terrifying thought.”

Hope turned to Norrth. “Will you do it then?” She asked. “You know The Keeper more than anyone.”

Norrth shook his head. “I would not dare lay a hand on the control room.” Hope then turned toward Shamus and Flynn, but before she could say anything, they both defiantly denied. Hector then rubbed his chin. “Then who?” He whispered to himself.

But no answer was given. So they all sat and waited some more. They were still hoping on The Keeper returning somehow, though that hope was fading. But they were also tired, it was a long and wearisome journey, and rest was something they all desired, so there they sat.

Jessy was sitting with his legs crossed and had his toy crown in his hands, spinning it around. “I may be going, but I’m not gone.” He said.

“Yes.” Said Hector. “That is what The Keeper said. But what does it mean I wonder?”

Jessy then stood, placing the crown back on his head. “I’m not gone. I’m not gone.” He said.

Hector was confused, for Jessy was a child, and children say many strange things, and most of which, are but echoes of what they have heard. But once again, this time, with crossed arms, Jessy said, “But I’m not gone.”

At this, Hector realized this perplexing and amazing truth. Jessy was The Keeper. Though at first, he did not believe it. But as he thought, it became clear. For in the book, ‘A History Of All Things Regarding The World And Within’, there was the phrase, ‘You must follow the son.’ This was in regards to finding The Keeper. Although at the time Hector thought that he had found The Keeper, though in fact, he merely followed Jessy. In fact he did not find The Keeper at all. For it was Jessy, at the beginning of this journey that found Hector and Hope on the boat.

Jessy said once more. “I may be going, but I’m not gone.” But this time he finished the phrase, thus sealing the deal, and throwing away all doubt, that he truly was The Keeper. And the full phrase; “I may be Going, But I’m not gone. And where I go, you’ll always belong.”

“What does that mean?” Hector said. “Where did The Keeper go?”

Jessy smiled. Then saying with the same power and authority in his voice as The Keeper, “I cannot tell you, but you will find out, though not now. You will not find out, not until you pass through the vail of the unknown.”

I write this last note down at the end of the greatest of journeys. As a child, my desire always was, to go on a great journey, an adventure. This one however, was like nothing I had imagined. And here at the end, I have this strange feeling inside of me. I am filled with such joy, for hallelujah it is finished, the curse is no more. However, there is also much pain, for Jane, my sister, she is still dead. In fact I wish not to return home, for that place will be far too silent.

The Keeper, he sacrificed himself, he died to free the world from the curse, and the grasp of Ichabod. But the Keeper was not fully dead, for in his knowledge that, I can only assume extends beyond time and space, he brought forth Jessy. Years before the curse had taken hold of the land, Jessy was born, one of the same substance as the Keeper, one in the same, yet two. Jessy’s role to take the Keeper’s place in the control room.

I am all too aware that many will read of my findings and scoff. They will not believe my journey nor my words. But I pray that some will read, and know never to play God. Perhaps others will try to find the control room, but I pray that never happens. I feel it is better to submit to the way the Keeper has made.

And although I say that it is finished, in the back of my mind, I fear it is not. For Moab had escaped! I know not if he is alive, nor if he will return and surface once again, but I cannot shake off that dreadful feeling.

End