Michael was exhausted that night, for it was a tough day out on the farm.  He felt like the world was going to fall apart and him along with it.

He drearily staggered to the barn for a final look around before he went to the house.

When he reached the door, he found a symbol on it bearing a circle with a triangle in it.  Inside the triangle was a small circle.  On the perimeter of the circle was some sort of writings.  Michael didn’t know or cared what they meant.  Every second was in itself, a struggle to keep his eyelids open or on, either one.

Anyway, the symbol refused to come off because closer examination revealed that the symbol was branded into the door.

“Black.” is all that Michael said, or could say for that sake.

With great strength, or so he thought, he pulled open the huge door.

Everything was normal.  All except for the piles of hay, they looked even more comfortable than usual.

Naturally, Michael collapsed on the hay and figured that he’ll rest here for just a…

The last thing he heard was one of the horses complaining about a hoard of flies having a poker game on his left ear.

The esscence of sweet slumber enveloped him.  It was like he was falling down further into the hay.  But then, the hay seemed to disappear into non-existence, and he was just falling.  You know how it is.  You must have had a dream when you were falling down somewhere and before you reached the inevitable destination you found yourself in your bed.  If you haven’t, then just imagine it happening.

So, before Michael found the conclusion, he woke up and found himself in the hay pile with a white horse eating what he considered his hay.

His mind seemed to wander from his conscious state, and was concentrating on the horse.  All of the other things just seemed to darken into the background until he was alone with the horse.

The horse turned his head toward Michael and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Eyelashes.” is all that Michael could utter.

Instantly, the horse jumped forward.  But, no longer was it a normal horse.  The color turned as black as night and horns slipped out of its head that had collapsed into a black skull.  Flames spread from it as if even they were terrified from it.

Michael lurched back and held his arm in front of his eyes that are snapped shut as tight as his hands.

Trembling, he awaited the end.

Well, after a while he figured that the horse is taking way too much time and that he should see what’s going on.  Ever so slowly, he opened his eyes.

Instead of the horse, all was dark.  He couldn’t see, hear, smell, taste, or feel anything.  He tried to feel for some sort of thing called ground.  No luck.  He tried to taste for something.  No luck.  He tried to smell something called scent.  No luck.  He tried to hear something called noise.  No luck.  He tried to see something called light.  Luck.

He could vaguely see some sort of white altar with a magical aura of light extending from it.  Sitting on his altar is a black satchel on it’s side with the handle facing him.  As he approached the altar, the satchel opened (yes, by itself) and in it, a golden light was spread.  Rising out of the satchel was a round amulet with a triangular shaped hole with a red stone in the center of the triangle.

The golden light became brighter as the amulet arose from it’s housing.  When finally the amulet reached the apex of its ascent, the light was as bright as noonday in the Sahara.

Like a nuclear explosion, a red flash emitted from the red crystal in the center of the amulet.  Eventually the red light prevailed over the golden.  And soon it prevailed over Michael’s eyes, all he saw now was the light.

“Red.” he whispered.

The redness cleared.  Michael could now identify objects around him.

He found himself in a field of bountiful grain or grainlike harvest.  A slight breeze was flowing by him, making the field of grain wave majestically.

In the middle of the field is a giant clock, the workmanship of which was interesting to say the least.  At the base was scaly claws for legs.  A glass door in the center of a stone frame occupied the middle of the clock.  Behind the glass door was a rickety brass pendalum [sic], swinging back and forth every second that passed by.

The face was what you’d expect from a normal grandfather clock, except of the fact that the numbers were not the usual roman numerals.  And on the top, three ghoulish figures were poised in frightening positions.  As if the creatures were warning you of some apparent evil that was about to…

Breaking the train of thought, he noticed something he hadn’t noticed before.  His hands were intensely grasping something up to his chest.  The satchel was the object of which he was grasping.

Now Michael was incredibly inquisitive.  Knowing that, Michael sat down the satchel in front of the clock and proceeded to open it.

His hands shakily reached for the handle when the clock rang out in loud melody.  After the ear shattering melody, came the equally ear shattering chimes heralding twelve ‘o’ clock.  Michael didn’t know what to do.  He knew he had to do something.  Some psychic sixth sense told him that if he didn’t do that something by the time the clock finished its job, then it’ll be too late, and so will he.

”Loud.” is all that his brain could think of to say in it’s frenzy.

The clock struck nine and Michael was beginning to doubt his ability to cope with the situation, so basically he gave up when his brain mutated to pure jelly under the pressure.

Immediately following this surge of doubtfulness, a (catch this, and try to understand) black light came out of the satchel and a warm and refreshing female voice said “Hurry, enter the clock!”

Obediently, and obviously quick, Michael grabbed the satchel, swung open the glass door, and dashed into the clock.

Just as the ending hum of the final chime, the clock faded away from the empty plain.

Just as Michael slipped through the clock, the doorway faded away, leaving him alone with the satchel.

Apparently the only way to go anywhere at that time was a staircase leading down into a dark hallway.

Being overwhelmed by .01% curiosity and 99.9% immortal fear of this room, Michael stepped down the stairs.

The stairs ended at a hallway that lead into a faint light at the end.

With the thought of “Well, there’s nothing else to do here except starve” in his mind, he pressed onward.

The hallway was endless.  It was an eternity.  Each step was a year in itself.  Each breath he took was a week in itself.  After every year, though the light grew larger.  However the satchel grew heavier and heavier with each year.

Finally, he reached the end of the hallway.  At the final step, Michael felt a surge of power flow through him from the satchel.

“Power.” he said as he took the last step.

He then saw why the room was at the end of the longest hallway he’d ever saw.  For he beheld standing at the other end of what seemed to be an elegant dining hall (complete with crystal chandelier, thirty foot long table, and candles lining the walls) was the most horrifying sight he has seen in his whole existence he was sure.

What he saw was a tall, gruesome spectre.  The phantom had arms that reached out from its torso that didn’t have any sign of skin, just bones.  Its fingertips had a glossy substance on them, and hanging from the bony hand were strands of skin.  Its chest and legs were covered by a black, tattered old robe which trailed the floor behind him.  His head was dark void with three red tears in its serenity, portraying the spectre’s eyes and grinning mouth.  And finally, sitting on the top of his head, a jeweled crown.

The spectre reached out his hand with no altered expression on his face.

“The satchel.” it said in a grainy voice that seemed to echo forever.

Michael just stood there.

“The satchel.” repeated the spectre as his patience grew short.

The spectre’s hand closed into a bony fist.

“Booganoranth teorn gam boora.” chanted the spectre as a yellow flame emitted from it’s fist.

The spectre cocked it’s fist behind it’s head.

“I shall have the maltzack.” he said as he threw the flame at the satchel.

The flame landed on the satchel.  Michael held fast to it, but it was no good.  The satchel was loosened from his grasp as if he were trying to hold back a tank.

The satchel didn’t get two feet away until Michael slammed it against the top of the table.  And there it flung itself open, and pushed back Michael against the wall.

The spectre peered into the satchel, it’s eyes now filled with fear and horror.

“The maltzack has been let loose!” it cried.

Again the amulet arose out of its case with Sahara light.

“All things must come to pass, for the kings reign is nigh.” said the female voice.  “Let the prophesy [sic] be completed.  Take me.”

“Bright.” is what Michael said as he stood up on his own feet.

Michael stepped toward the amulet.

Then a familiar chime rang across the room and a small light was shone through a triangle surrounded by a circle with lettering on the ceiling, just above the amulet.

The amulet’s power was tremendous.  It was like pushing a train the other way, but Michael stepped slowly on, his hands stretched out as far as they could go, ready to receive its prey.

The spectre, in the meantime was doing all that it could to keep Michael away from the amulet.

The clock struck six.  Time grew shorter.  The light grew brighter.  The amulet grew stronger.  Michael stepped onward with intense pain.  The amulet was just inches away.  This was the longest twelve seconds that ever was.

Michael’s fingertips could touch the edges of the amulet.  How warm it felt.  Its touch was just enough to push Michael that extra inch.  He was holding the untouched amulet, Maltzack.

The light filled the triangle in the ceiling just as the clock struck twelve.  A red beam radiated from the red crystal in the center of the amulet and fell upon the spectre with its almighty fury.

Behind the spectre was a red glow that spread further as long as the beam was upon the spectre.  Eventually the glow enshrouded the spectre and the last thing he said was “Forgive…”.

Then the glow got even larger and soon Michael was caught up in it.

He then had this sensation of falling.  And before he could reach whatever he was falling at, he found himself in the hay pile where he fell asleep.

“Nightmare.” he said wearily as he got up.

He went over to the horse, patted him on the head, and went out.

What he didn’t see there was the amulet on a chain around the horses neck.  The amulet glowed with a faint light.  Then darkened to it’s natural golden state.

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