The New Protagonist.
Solving a mystery can be quite life-changing, when you don't know what's happening.
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The New Protagonist is my entry into this week’s Story Time Prompt — which follows a detective trying to solve a missing persons’ case. As it ramps up, the case leads him to a website called The BookStack Catalog, where an unfinished book listing transports the detective to a strange new world. Ready to uncover the mystery?
Being sent through a screen and into an unknown world was not at the top of Morrison’s to-do list. Nor did it feel productive to solving the case of four missing persons. But here he was, butt slamming into thick, hardened dirt. He wallowed in shock, not quite processing what just happened. So much for messing around, he may have just sent himself to the same place everyone else was. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep, and was dreaming. He was pretty tired.
Standing up, Morrison brushed the coarse soil off his jeans. His eyes burned with exhaustion, while confused adrenaline kept them wide open. He scanned the space around him, noting the lack of a black office chair and hardwood desk. Glancing up however, his pupils dilated in disbelief at the sight of a big black rectangle. His desk – dirty with papers – albeit still his, placed firmly in the background.
“So, you’re here too, huh?” The high-pitched, nasally voice of Jim Murphy called out behind you. Jim had been the first to go missing, Morrison had been told during his briefing. And strangely, it felt oddly fitting that Jim would be the first one found. What the aging detective didn’t expect however, was how calm Jim seemed about the whole thing.
“Well,” Morrison breathed out, “You being here makes my job easier.”
Jim flashed a warm smile, “You’re here to get us out?” For some reason, the smile irritated Morrison, but he couldn’t place a finger on why. Maybe because if it were any normal person, they’d probably be panicking right now. Which reminded Morrison of the rapid badum, badum, badum, coming from his heart. His doctor was not going to be happy about that.
“That’s… the idea,” Morrison affirmed wearily, before glancing around. “But uh, what exactly is this place?” During his briefing on the case, Morrison’s boss had quickly pointed out an odd trend. Each missing person had last been seen browsing through a website called The BookStack Catalog. Supposedly, it was a blog and directory committed to bringing awareness to indie reads. He’d seen nothing out of the ordinary, until the computer lit up and he went poof, right into this place.
Jim begun answering the detective’s question by relaying his own story. Morrison grimaced as he listened, as it lined up exactly with what happened to him. Eventually, Jim mumbled something nervously, almost too fast for the detective to catch.
“Hold on,” Morrison stopped him, raising his hand. “What was that last part? You think we’re in some sort of book?”
“Unfinished,” Jim Murphy clarified.
Morrison raised a brow, “Unfinished?”
“Yes,” Jim agreed. “Unfinished. Look at where we are, and tell me if you notice anything… weird about this place.”
The detective looked around once more, taking his time as he scanned through his surroundings. Aside from the rectangle in the sky, everything looked normal at first. Dry dirt, some patches of grass, a couple trees, and… not a single hill or incline. The world was flat, stretching as far as Morrison could see. It almost felt like he’d spawn in the alpha build of a videogame.
“Very early,” Jim noted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the author was just getting started. Maybe brainstorming the world building?”
Morrison looked at him, maybe more gravely than the detective realized, as Murphy responded quickly: “Not a bad thing, I don’t think.”
“Do you know where the others are?” Morrison asked. Finding a way out was quickly becoming a huge issue. Though, at the very least, the wearied detective could locate the others and formulate a plan. Which relied heavily on whether Jim Murphy had seen them or not, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that he was here when Morrison had arrived.
Jim flashed that warm smile again, and under his breath, Morrison cursed. He still couldn’t figure out why Jim felt off, but the growing heat in the detective’s cheeks were beginning to offer an explanation. One that Morrison would uncover later, if Murphy was up to it. For now however, he stared at the man, waiting impatiently for a response.
“The others settled not too far from here,” Jim explained, pointing past the few trees Morrison could see. The detective noticed a few strange shapes in the distance, possibly tents or some other form of shelter. “We’ve been taking turns keeping watch, just in case anyone else appeared. Morale is a little low, though. Not everyone is happy with sitting still, waiting for someone to come save us.”
“Can you take me to them?” Morrison asked.
Jim shrugged casually, “It’s what I’m here for. And…” He motioned vaguely, “I’m sure everyone else will be eager to meet you. I mean, you are a detective, after all.”
Morrison barely caught the hint of disdain in Murphy’s voice, but ignored it as Jim started walking towards the camp. The detective fell into pace alongside the man, who he realized was kind of… not enthused, but cheerful. Like this event felt similar to a light jog, rather than an obligation to their survival.
“You said morale was… low?” Morrison questioned, his chest tightening as the two drew closer to what he thought was the camp.
Jim slowed his pace. “Well,” He begun, “When you get magically transported into a place you know nothing about, and don’t know how to survive there, I’d imagine morale would be a little low.” He sounded strangely sardonic, as if he’d just uncovered his mask, revealing feelings more genuine than expected. Murphy very quickly cleared his throat, “But yeah, morale is a little low.”
Morrison kept his head down after that, walking in silence till they reached the camp. Or, at least what the detective had thought was a camp. There were tents for sure, but no sign of another person. One could reasonably deduce that maybe the others were sleeping, but Morrison didn’t feel so sure. However, if they were, he didn’t want to be rude and wake them up. Sleep was beginning to eat the corners of his eyes, anyway.
“Asleep?” He asked Jim.
He nodded, “Asleep.”
Morrison walked around the campground, recalling what Jim had said earlier about them being eager to meet him. Why did Murphy say that if the others were already asleep? Maybe they hadn’t been expecting a detective to show up yet? A strange, dark puddle by one of the tents made a case for something else. The detective wandered over to it, kneeling to inspect the pool of strange liquid. He gasped.
It was blood.
“Jim,” He trembled, hands shaking as he stood up from the ooze, “What is this?” Murphy didn’t say anything however, letting the penetration of a sharp knife do the talking instead. Pain shot through Morrison’s back. The detective heaved and fell in surprise. He hit the ground with a painful thud, the knife still in his back, his nerves on fire.
Tears welled up in Morrison’s eyes, “Murphy, what the hell?”
Jim stood over him, looking down with a sneering grin. “You’re so gullible, y’know that?” It was a rhetorical question, as Murphy continued before Morrison could respond. “This place, my creation… it needed characters, people to help build it up. But not in the traditional sense, no.” He laughed, his high-pitched nasally voice flooded Morrison’s ears.
“It relies on the blood of the others,” He went on maniacally as Morrison bled out. “Each sacrifice bringing new life into its world, its plot… its heart. And you– YOU,” Jim Murpy exclaimed, “You are the final piece needed to bringing my story, and everything in it, into existence. Book #2?” He cackled. “It was never supposed to be just a book, but a living, breathing, caricature of stories.”
Morrison felt his eyes rolling backwards. His life was already over, before he could truly process it. He didn’t even care anymore about the book, or anything Jim was telling him. There was only one thing he could think of saying, before unconsciousness took him over. Focusing tensely on Jim, he struggled to keep his words from slurring, saying:
“And to think I thought you were hot.”
Morrison was dead, or at least he thought so. He couldn’t see, hear, or feel anything. The space emanated resolutely, but his consciousness remained. Did time even matter now? Was there a point to anything? Morrison started thinking about what Jim had said earlier about morale. He wondered if Jim was delusional, or if he… Morrison Brown was out of his mind.
Had the sleep exhaustion finally caught up to the detective, and this some sort of unreal, lucid experience? Question after question came to mind, because here in this space, time no longer felt important. Eventually, Morrison’s thoughts quieted, having grown weary of pondering. He felt himself drift, free of the burden’s he’d held. Ready for whatever came next. What he didn’t expect however, was to hear Jim’s– or what he thought was Jim’s voice.
“Morrison… no, that wouldn’t be right,” Murphy spoke in a weird, god-like tone. “We’ll call you Merrin,” he decided. “You are a middle-aged man living in the small village of Lander. For years, you’ve only known peace, but on one rather– stormy?” Jim hesitated for a second, before moving on. “And you’ve just received a letter from the King. It’s a calling, and one that will risk you everything, but the fate of the world depends on it. Do you accept?”
Morrison– no… was that his name. The more he lingered on it, the less familiar it felt. No, of course not. His name was Merrin, and he was about to start his grand journey. He twitched with reluctance, like a man who longed to refuse the call. But something in his gut told him, if he did so, the story would find a way to put him back on track. Morrison… no Merrin did not like the sound of that.
“Yes,” Merrin confirmed, but no one responded. Instead, the man who once was a detective, opened his eyes. He’d been sleeping, cozied up a pile of rough, but warm wool blankets. An outrage of rain was pounding the roof of his small cottage, and from afar, a knocking was coming from the front door. Merrin stifled a yawn, and groaned as he rose from his bed.
His story was only just beginning.
