The Flesh Market: Trader's Tales

        I'm glad you were able to return. Most would have walked away, chuckling to themselves at the notions I shared with you last time. It takes a special kind of obsession to ask questions and return, inquisitive and demanding. Well if you want more answers, this old man is going to need more libation. After all in this world, everything has a price. Including this conversation. I want your full birth name. Last time? That was advertising. You want my story, I want your name. What I intend to do with it is none of your business. Thank You.

Now to your first question, who am I? I apologise that introductions were overshadowed previously. My name is of little consequence. I am a former trader of the market. I have distant memories of being alive during the first civilization, where I traded to all. I was unscrupulous. I would gouge hard and tear the shirts from their backs if I could. I took more than I gave and eventually I was noticed. One evening as I was closing up, I was visited by a blind old woman. She offered to purchase some food, and extended a hand holding currency far greater than the value of what she was buying. I didn't even hesitate. I swiped the cash and gave her some rotten fruit. She thanked me, and left. I finished closing the stall, and took out the coins. Though I did not recognise the markings, gold was gold. It warmed in my hand, burning hotter, but when I went to fling it away it remained suck to my palm. The heat intensified until I started to scream, shout, beg and reason with the coin. The golden disc started to melt, and rivulets of molten gold burned up my arm, scoring channels as they beat a path to my face. It poured into my orifices, mouth, nose, ears and finally eyes. My mind burned and I knew nothing else.

Time passed, though I couldn't tell you how long. I don't know if I was in hell, but if I wasn't, the underworld has some competition. Eventually pained abated and my mind was capable of cohesive thought. I was now within the Market. Looking around I saw the other stalls, and the people manning them. A young woman approached me and helped me to my feet. She told me how the first few minutes can be disorientating. And then she told me where I was.

Now like any reasonable individual, I took her words at face value. I laughed in said face and spun round searching for the exit. There was none. Turning back I asked how to get out. She had gone silent. She was staring over my shoulder. Looking around there was...I'm sorry I have difficulty with this part.. you see I can tell you what he looked like, but I don't think that was what I was seeing. He was tall, far taller than any other in the market. He had long, stiff robes that gave him a pyramidal quality, raising to a tightly bound collar. I think he was wearing a mask. I hope he was wearing a mask. My eyes wouldn't let me focus on his face, and sought the ground in self defence. He glided towards me, and leaned in. I felt hot breath on the top of my head as he addressed me. "Strong heart, Quick mind, Sharp eyes. " I could feel his gaze move across my body. "Some stomach ulcers, early stages of arthritis, a broken leg at a young age". His voice was refined, educated and filled with disdain. "You will make a fine addition to the Market. Now get to work. You have a quota to keep.". The entity turned and swept away, disappearing in to the deep shadows.

I panicked and spun back to the young woman demanding answers. I begged and offered, but she would only repeat the motto of the Market. I heard this time and again over the centuries, and after a while found myself saying it, and truly believing it. Ministerium est Redemptio.  It was years before I understood the meaning. Service is Redemption.

I asked who the entity was. She shrugged. They didn't know, but they all referred to him as the Accountant. He was the one to appease here. She told stories of traders who had not made their quotas and were required to fill demand from their own bodies. In the Flesh Market, one way or another, you didn't stay below quota for long. At this, my mind focused with single intent. I had a solution now. I would serve the market and earn my redemption. But life is rarely that simple.

How did I leave? I'm...not ready to tell that story just yet. Let's just say there are some costs that are far greater than the skin off your back. But I understand you had questions pertaining to last time. It's understandable. You want to play the game, you want to know all the rules. Now there are trades that can be made, even with organs that we ourselves consider useless. The appendix, the organ that fell from grace. Having this little obstruction torn from you will result in a change in the way in which your body sustains itself. You will be able to survive on nothing but raw meat. You will not require water, vegetables, nutrients of any kind. This may sound barbaric to us evolved folks, but understand that society is transitional, and we can't always be assured where our next meal is coming from.

In recent years humanity has advanced in medicinal sciences to the level where they can actually place the organs of another within someone. To us in the market this was astounding, and we had no concept how this would impact on our commerce. It was not pleasant. One individual was noted repeatedly returning to the market. His torso was riddled with scars, and we realised that he was trading some of the less necessary organs and had made preparations to replace outside.

It was after the removal of his bladder for the fourth time. The trade gives you the ability to survive without need of water for three lunar months. The fool had been using it as a demonstration of his 'skills', and was fast becoming a celebrity as some form of holy man. As he offered his bladder again, the Accountant exploded out of the shadows. He swept towards the man wrenched him to ground, and leaned in close, screaming into his face. "Ungrateful, stupid, arrogant, obnoxious little man. You seek to defraud me?! Allow me to show you how to turn a prophet" His laughter echoed as the poor man was dragged into the shadows. A couple of days later one of other traders pointed out that a corner portion of the robe now seemed to a number of scars burned into it. So yeah. Don't do that.

Threats of violence? you think that you could rob the market, like some convenience store? Do you really think that you are the first to think of that? As long as we fall under his ownership, we are protected. Violence yields no wounds on us, but I assure that is not a two way street. Intimidation is pointless as he is far more so.

What else? Some people sometimes get their trades confused. For instance, there has always been some issues between offering your ears, and offering your hearing. Giving up your ears will result in the trader clamping their hands down on the sides of your head. You might want to tense up at this point, because I hear the next one stings a bit. The end result is a sense of balance that would make a mountain goat jealous. Not just physically, but mentally as well. You will be at peace with yourself, and in full control at all times.  Sacrificing your hearing, however will give you knowledge over all current languages. This does beg the question, is it better to be heard than to listen?

On this note, I feel we have to draw this to a close. Time has been called, and I have other places to be. You okay there, friend? You seem a little confused. Having trouble remembering who you are? You wanted the story, so you had to pay the price. You gave me your name. It's mine now. Now run along. You have others to be telling of the Market.

The Cabal

“Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make mad”

Prometheus, The Masque of Pandora

                In the upper echelons of society there exists an ever growing group of individuals with entirely too much time on their hands. The members hark from around the world, but share similar traits. Often from lives of exceptional wealth, they are apathetic individuals, detached from day to day life and merely looking for the next  distraction. In this club they find that something they have been seeking to fill the void. The club allows its members anonymity and encourages pseudonyms taken from ancient gods.

                Now the name of the game is Despair. The members compete against each other, and a recognised hierarchy exists for individuals that have proven proficient in the past. A random person from across the world will be elected and presented to the player, who will then proceed to tear apart the person’s life in the most entertaining fashion. The resources of the cabal extend far and wide, and with the significant money at their disposal there are few doors that cannot be unlocked. The game is scored based on the speed with which the player can get the target to dispatch themselves.

                It’s not clear exactly how long the club has been in existence, but the earliest records were shortly after World War 2.  A small group of English officers returned from the war back to lives of luxury, and started to explore new ways in which hell could be inflicted upon an person. Over the years, the numbers have grown and imaginative characters have brought about the self-inflicted slaughter of thousands.

                Over the years, rules for the game have had to be implemented. The most egregious examples would be in the late 70’s. “Ares” had just been given his target and had dropped out of sight. The cabal kept the victim under constant surveillance , awaiting what would come next. During a family dinner, "Ares" calmly walked in and executed 8 members of his family. He tossed a pistol at the poor boy, and instructed that either her shoot himself or the rest of his family would be dead by dawn. Took him 30 seconds to make the choice. “Ares” loves to brag about the fact that the “No killing” rule was brought in to bring him under control.

                Now the games comprise of identity assassination and the destruction of a person’s faith in themselves. One of the more interesting examples was from “Isis”, who announced from the start that she had no care for the time taken and that this would be her magnus opus. She hired several individuals to undergo plastic surgery to make themselves identical to the target. They started to follow this young introverted woman around, always visible to her in the distance. She began to grow paranoid. At this point, the stalking escalated to several of them following at once and approaching her aggressively. She always ran from these encounters, heading home and locking her doors tight. They would post photos of her taken from her back garden through her letter box. It took 6 days before she finally snapped and opened up her arms with shards from the mirror.

                The current record is held by “Morpheus”. It was quite inspired. He paid a number of actors to approach the target, and to say deadpan “wake up, you’re in a coma” then act confused when he confronted them about what they had said. He hurled himself from the top floor of his offices before the day was out.

Now there is no limitation to who can become a target, save for the members of the club. This extends to celebrities from all walks of life. Many public rag scandals have come from machinations of the club, with the now fading star watching their glamour dissolve in front of their eyes. Those who have lived the high life often cannot continue once they are cast out.

                An interesting case was with “Jupiter”. They threw him a bit of a curveball, and elected a target from deep within the amazon forest. A tribesman with no significant concept of much outside his own village. He kidnapped the man in the night and proceeded to subject him to a clockwork orange-style lesson in the horrors and atrocities that have been committed by man. It took 3 days , but he clawed out his own eyes and died from the shock.

                Now this brings us to You. You have been selected as the next target. My name is “Mercury” and you are my target. Knowing what you know now, why don’t you save us all some time and just swallow the goddamn capsule…

The Flesh Market

Have you ever visited Edinburgh? Beautiful city, no matter what time of year you go. The castle that sits at the centre of the city is awe-inspiring, looking down on the surrounding area from the Mount. The peaks and valleys of the land have resulted in a city that flows with the landscape. Streets that surround can be steep, with the numerous sprawling alleyways even steeper. It is here that we find Fleshmarket Close.

It could be mistaken for any other darkened causeway in the city. It sits among the shops and tourist traps, relatively non-threatening, and can be used as a short cut to get down to the station if you are in a hurry. The name has been justified, through some who point out that fleshmarkets were a local term for butchers, and through others who suggest it a hangout of women of the first vocation. These are incorrect. There is a market on the close, but flesh is not the product. It is the currency.

Market hours are dusk until dawn, and the entrance fee is one mouthful of your own blood. Prepare a glass, and progress down the alley. As you get halfway down, swig from the glass and spit it against the wall. The blood will bubble and spread across the wall, coagulating into a hardened scab. This will then start to flake and scatter. A rather anti-climatic door will be revealed beneath. Stepping through is disorientating as logic will tell you you are stepping into a building. The space you are stepping into has no walls, with darkness shrouding the edges. It is at the penumbra that a number of stalls are set up, run by individuals who look like market traders from across the globe, from Arabian merchants to Cockney grocers to New York street con-men. All of their clothes are splatted with blood and offal

These figures will entice you to come speak with them and will gesture to numerous signs around their stalls regarding the sales they are currently having. Upon approaching one of the stalls they will start to pressure you to make a deal with them. You are certainly welcome to do so, and the products that are available are certainly worth consideration.

Starting at the cheap end of the spectrum, you may wish to offer one breath. A lungful will net you knowledge of the weather for the next day. In itself a rather pointless purchase in this age of smartphones and the Met office, but centuries ago invaluable. Taking this offer will result in the seller reaching out with his hand flattened, then quickly grasping it into a fist. The air will literally be stolen from your lungs, and cause a few moments of gasping as you catch your breath.

Are you attached to your fingers? How attached? I mean, do you reckon you could do without your little finger? This sale will provide you instant forgiveness from any one person you desire for any wrongs you may have encroached against them. Agreeing to this one will cause the trader to grin and shout "One Yubitsume Special, coming right up". They will lunge forward and grab your wrist, pinning it to the table. Don't resist, because no-one likes a tough sell. A flash of steel and you will be minus one digit. Just remember you can only pay twice.

Now make no mistake, it will hurt. There will probably be a lot of blood, and if you don't take care of the wound, it may even get infected. As the price goes up you may want to consider taking precautions regarding what you trade. Tourniquets and sutures would certainly not go amiss.

Now some of the trades will seem familiar and may hark back to stories and legends that have existed for millenia. This is is the influence the market has had on our culture, leaching in over the centuries. A pound of flesh will make it impossible for the next person you make a trade with to renege on the deal. Especially useful if you don't trust the company you keep. It has no use within the Market as all of the traders here are trustworthy, and will honour a purchase to the letter and the spirit. Best to leave this transaction until last.

How about one of your eyes? Depth perception is over-rated any way. Offering up one of them will allow you to converse with our avian friends. You will be able to call down the birds from the trees, and they will be able to answer any questions you may have. It is advisable that you avoid ravens. They have their own agenda, and it is not in your best interests. The salesman will grab you around the throat and slowly prise his fingers into the socket. A snap of the wrist and your visual organ will rest in their palm. Another snap, and it will disappear.

It is at this point where you may want to consider stronger measures to ensure your survival of payment. In this strange little world or ours, the market is hardly the strangest. Artifacts and incantations exist that can allow the body to continue to function long past the point at which mortal coils would be shuffled from. One or two can be picked up here, but few are willing to live without their sexual organs. It seems eternity is that little bit colder without the ability to get your rocks off. I'm not going to go into the details as to how they are taken, suffice to say that it is unpleasant and messy.

At this point the prices become a little more .....Vital. What would you take for your stomach? In this deal it would merit you the ability to understand the desires of anyone you talk to. Whilst you converse with them, your mind will be filled with the images of that which they covet the most. This would provide a significant advantage to any budding salesman, and the deal has been taken up by several of the stallholders themselves.

Some may argue that such a gift would be more poetically suited to the heart. That vascular muscle, however, is apart of an altogether different deal. By bartering with your heart, you can guarantee the happiness of any given individual for the rest of their life, however long that may be. The removal of these types of organs can be significantly painful, but the dealers will allow you a moment to prepare yourself before they will produce a short, keen blade. One practised swipe later, and they will be digging into your tissues. They have unerring accuracy and a level of cleanliness that rivals any surgeon.

Now it is acknowledged in some places that once the deal has been sealed, a buyer may have second thoughts and may want to back out. This is not one of those places. Most of the contract is left unspoken, but you are expected to have done your research. The buyout clauses are a killer.

Whilst most of the body can be put on the table, there are limitations.The fact of the matter is that the brain is the seat of sentience, and cannot be fully placed in. I say fully, there was one individual who offered to lobotomise the part of the brain that holds memory as a part of the deal. The problem is he cannot remember what it is he received in return. I hear he suffered night terrors for the rest of his days.

Now at this point I offer a warning. Up until now I have detailed the price list for your own body parts. What ever you do, do not attempt to purchase anything in the market with organs of another. Every figure in the market will stop and stare at you, and the one you attempted to defraud will scream "THAT IS NOT YOURS TO TRADE!". What ever it is you have tried to barter will, that body part will be taken from you as punishment. A very literal eye for an eye.

Despite whatever theological perspectives you may hold, offering your own soul will elicit the same result. There have been many theories postulated for this response, but the honest answer is we just don't know.

The market has been trading in blood and bone for as long as civilization has existed, though the entrance has moved from city to city. Many have visited and shook hands with the butchers, though not quite as many got those hands back. A smart man would wonder how it is that these individuals are capable of honouring the deals they broker. A smarter man would ask himself why his body parts are of such high value in this economy. Just understand that it is supply and demand.

And as long as there are fools willing to supply, you shouldn't need to concern yourself with who is doing the demanding.

Thank You

A couple of guys over at YouTube have been reading my pasta and creating videos.

The Quantum Man

The Golden Dilemma

Inspired

This is really flattering, as this is just a hobby to me. What with one thing and another, I only started doing this because my girlfriend recommended I try my hand at writing. I initially tried writing reviews of the things I enjoy, but found more satisfaction when I stumbled across creepy pasta. 

Many thanks for the feedback I've received from numerous people on different sites and in real life, and I will continue to write as long as I am ........inspired.

Update

Hey all, just a shout to say that I'm now working towards getting a couple of the stories I've published here converted to scripts, and eventually movie shorts.

If I can somehow turn my hobby into my vocation, that would be awesome.

Hacker

These days, they say we are literally a couple of years away from a computer that can emulate the human brain. A device that can represent the entirety of thinking, and break it down to 1's and 0's. Perceiving the way humans thinks as being in this fashion will help you understand. The structure of thought can be view as the coding that comprises "us", and just like coding it can be manipulated.
Through extensive research throughout the world, it's become known that certain vocal commands can actually overide the thought processes. The syllables are gibberish in any language, yet can render the target catatonic and open to suggestion. In the numerous tests, it was found that this state included an absolute abandonment of morals. Without question, fathers would willingly sacrifice sons, and life-long friends would turn against each other.
Over time, it was realised that this command code exists in the minds of all humans. At first the scientists were confused, wondering how the entirety of the Earth had become afflicted by this. Eventually it was realised that the condition is hereditary. This made the concept all the more confusing. For it to have spread in this manner, it would have needed to be introduced whilst humanity was still climbing out of the Cradle of Life, in Africa. This was long before any form of organized society.
For obvious reasons, information like this has been quashed at every oppurtunity. Can you imagine a world where every single person can make anyone within earshot a willing puppet? Life as we know it would fall apart overnight. Our lack of understanding prevent us from being able to remove this "control system", however through hypnosis we can establish when some has been used in this manner, but not how.
This is the point when those researching this started to get scared. They found large amounts of evidence that people were being used on a regular basis. We don't even know who by, of it was the same individuals who implanted the original coding into our brains when we were still scratching images of buffalo into cave walls.
It wan't until the indivudals were returned back to their original selves by repeating the syllables that outright fear set in. They would have no knowledge of what had happened, often expressing confusion and saying some variation of the same sentence.

"Hey, have you ever had that thing where you go into a room and you forget why you came in?"

Prime

        I love creepy pastas. And chances are that if you are reading this so do you. I've been into them for about a year now and like most the community enjoy the sudden jolt a well-cooked piece of pasta can provide. The way a perception can be built up in a mere couple of sentences, then be violently smashed down. I've appreciated all the classics, from "Noend House" and "Candle Cove", to the secrets of the Holder series.

I heard about a group of guys recently that kept talking about wanting to take their pasta to the "next level". The kind of story that changes you as a person, gives you a new outlook on life. They posted on a forum, and the impression I got from lurking at the time was that they were building the story fragment by fragment. A mish-mash of text that was being amalgamated as much in the public eye as it was via personal message.

I do know that it was eventually finished, and that a grand unveiling was planned at midnight  on the forum for atmospheric effect. This caused some minor grumbling as they all lived in different time zones, but GMT was eventually agreed upon. Many waited with bated breath for this alleged "perfect" pasta that had grown from the minds of many, yet were disappointed when there was no sign of activity from any of the original creative group.

A couple of days later, one of them signed onto the message board and left a brief message

Slendermanrulez89:   uj3drjjde498blind8540j

You know exactly what we were thinking at that point? Publicity stunt. That's what we continued to say to ourselves over the coming weeks as more and more message started to pile up from all the authors.  Most of them were nonsensical, a couple downright disturbing.

Creepyboi97:    dazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazz

Azraelsblade:    ttttttttttttttoooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmuuuuuccccccccccchhh

TheGothfather:   it    toook alitle whyl but i got em oiut..................they tast lik jelli.

At this point we started to get a little worried. Weeks had passed since the supposed release date, and there was no sign other than these repeated postings of the forum, so we started to investigate further. Initial findings showed that the group had shared the story among themselves prior to the release, a couple of them bragging of the fact on various other forums. More details came to light showing that one of them, "RATMfanatic", had been the final editor stitching all the text together, then sending it out to all of them. Research of his facebook showed one status not long after.

"I can't focus anymore. my mind keeps being drawn back to it. I can see where I stand and it terrifies me."

All of the others showed had followed suit, and slowly but surely described a gradual descent into depression, mania and ramblings of "finally understanding".  At this point all sorts of theories were flying around, all fixated on this story. We scoured the news reports and found that over the course of time we were able to tie missing persons reports up to all the forum members from throughout the world. Accounts were investigated showed that the homes they had left behind had been trashed. Their computers had all be destroyed, as if there had been some shared belief that burning or smashing the source of their fear would somehow alleviate it. There was no mention of the  story, but to be honest we wouldn't have expected that. To this day we don't know where they are.

And you would believe that would be where the story would end, were it not for one final postscript. A message was found:

Voltronator: yeah, i just got it in my inbox, but I haven't read it yet.. Don't tell anyone, but I'm gonna fire a couple of copies to some friends. They've been begging me for this, and I do owe them one from way back. They are gonna be stoked.

No-one knows who he was referring to, and nothing has be heard of since. Who knows, maybe it's still out there. Floating on some dead site that gets like a hit a year. No-one knows the title, so your guess is as good as mine. The only thing I will say you is be careful out there. Next time you stumble across some pasta you've never tired before............. just.......... I don't know,I mean how would you even know until it's too late?