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200 Phenomena in the City of Calgary

The Cyber Cafe (#1)


In China Town theres this cybercafe in the same building as The Kingfisher. Its small and cheap and old. The walls are still decorated with Diablo 2 and Quake boxes. The computers are a bit behind too, but thats not really what the patrons go there for. Go in, buy some time, and load up Heart of Wit. Its an Asian MMO, the kind with graphics that look like Gaia online. Make a free account and wander into the City of Wit. The City of Wit will be inhabited by a half dozen players. All of whom will be talking in what looks like Asian script of some kind but is actually hyper stylized English. After your eyes adjust, youll realize that the player character names are the names of people you know in your everyday life. Most will ignore you, but occasionally theyll give you quests or challenge you to a duel. The quests are simple. Kill five dragon hatchlings and well give you a gold ingot. That kind of thing. Whatever you do, never accept a challenge to duel and always do the quests. Names arent the only thing that crosses over between the game and reality.

Closing Mirrors (#2)


Hey Sandy. We miss you down at the coven. Matt said you wanted me to write up the mirror thing. Ingredients: 1/2 Cup Flour About an ounce of milkweed The wings of a monarch butterfly Grind the ingredients together in a stone bowl until they form a fine powder. pour the powder on the mirror you want to close and light it with a wooden match. The mixture closes about half a square foot of mirror. You'll have to use more for larger surfaces. Matt said you wanted to know if it only works in Calgary. I don't know if it's the city itself, or just the elevation. Sorry. - Jess P.

The Funeral Parlour (#4)


Most of the citys funeral parlours belong to one company, but a handful of allegedly independent firms survive. In reality, all of the citys funeral parlours are owned by big business in some way or other, including a small, somber brick building in the deep southeast. This particular funeral parlour has allegedly been closed for years,

but lights can be seen in the windows at night, giving credence to the story that its haunted. It isnt. Whats going on inside is far stranger. In order to gain admittance, you will have to wear traditional funeral attire: black and subdued rather than anything flashy or informal. Bringing flowers is said to help. When youre admitted, whatever you do, do not sign the book or you will find that the exit is barred for you. Instead, offer your condolences to the mourners, who seem to be a collection of people of all ages and races, most of whom are wearing old, worn suits or patched dresses. The funeral repeats itself every night at eight. If you come at any other time, you will be required to wait in the main hall while the staff prepare. During the ceremony itself, never volunteer to speak and never view the body. Both would draw too much of the deceaseds attention. Instead listen with rapt attention to the eulogy, as it is a valued component of the secret history. Leave before the funeral is done, and just like in those old Greek stories: never eat anything anyone offers you.

The Beach (#7)


There is a beach within the city. To find it, step into any elevator and go to the top floor. Press every button in ascending order, including the close and open door buttons. Instead of opening onto the next highest floor, the elevator will open into a small cottage. The door of the vacant cottage will open onto the beach. The beach is warm and apparently temperate, shockingly beautiful at every hour, but blood and some sticky black substance will colour the white sand in long streaks. The beach is bordered on one side by an impossibly thick forest. Entering this will make your life forfeit. At sunset and sunrise, a group of men dressed in the traditional clothing of different religions (most prominently Ashkenazi Rabbis and Protestant Ministers) will emerge from this forest and search the beach in silence, sifting through the sand as penance for their lives of deception. These figures will be so taken with their work that they will refuse to talk to you, only muttering searching... searching... must keep searching... in their native tongue. Total darkness and proper sunlight burn these poor souls, so they must return to the forest. Otherwise, you will be alone on the beach. The water stretches impossibly far, as far as the eye can see and further still. Wider and higher than the ocean, and far stiller, this water will soothe you as you gaze upon it. But never let it lull you to sleep outside of the cottage. The men in the forest may find what they're searching for within you.

The Antique Shop (#8)


Somewhere in the Northeast, although there are conflicting reports of its location, there is a small antique shop called Edsons Antiques and Importing. By the look of it, the stores been closed for decades, and for good reasons. Not the least of which

is that it opens onto an alley instead of onto the street. The merchandise inside cant be seen through the murky glass, but you can usually make out the window display. The display, despite the fact that no one really knows how to get into the building since the doors apparently rusted shut, changes from day to day. A stuffed bears head might show up on Monday and be gone on Friday, replaced with a large antique samovar. The floor beneath this merchandise is covered with newspapers written in a language that no human being has ever spoken or read, and the pictures... well, lets just say youd be amazed what you can fit in a samovar.

The Yellow Room (#9)


There is a wall in the basement of the restaurant called Teatro that is, despite all attempts to paint it another shade, a sickly shade of yellow. The owner conceals the wall by putting a mirror and a couch up against it. However, if you remove both the couch and the mirror, you'll discover the wall's pale yellow tone. This is of no consequence, however, if you have come unequipped. In order to make use of phenomena #9, you will need a small jar of hazelnut oil. Paint the outline of a door on the wall using the oil, and then push. The door you've drawn will open inward into a room with walls made from stucco that's been painted the same sickly yellow as the wall you passed through. The room appears to be a spartanly furnished study with furniture that puts you in mind of the South Sea Islands. On the desk you will find numerous papers written on the letterhead of the Dominion Bank, dated 1912. The papers predict every financial crash worldwide from 1912 until twenty years from now, when the predictions abruptly stop mid sentence.

The Salon (#10)


There is a salon in Inglewood that seems perpetually frozen in the late seventies. The decor, the clothing of the hairdressers, even the equipment and magazines seem to come to a stop around 1978. If you go there during the day, the able stylists will be able to provide you with a deftly executed (if extremely dated) haircut for a price that is equally as deflated and out of place. However, if you return during the night, the salons true area of expertise will become apparent. Entering the shop after sunset, even if you just exited it, will reveal a shocking transformation. As before, the store will be furnished and appointed as though it were the late seventies, but the decades between then and now will now be visible. Everything is aged and cracked, as if it had been left to the elements. Most shocking of all, the bottles of hair product and comb sanitizer have been replaced with row on row of murky jars containing vague, fleshy shapes. One of the stylists will remain, and she will offer you a shave and a haircut. Refuse the shave, lest you be left faceless.

Instead, ask the stylist to pick something that suits you and sit in one of the chairs. She will cut off your face with a straight razor, but the process will be strangely bloodless and you will feel nothing. Your vision will fade to black for a time, and when it returns one of the faces from the jars will have been seamlessly transplanted. Your features will, in every respect, be identical to whoever the face belonged to before the stylist stole it, and over time your body will change to resemble theirs as well. If you must vanish, this is how you do it. But be warned that you can never get your face back, and the friends and enemies of the faces owner will mistake you for them forever.

The Green Room (#12)


There is an apartment building on sixteenth street that is slightly wider on the outside than it is within. Go to this building in fall and ascend the staircase. You should find the door to the roof totally unlocked. If it is locked, leave at once. Someone is using the Green Room, and they likely dont want company. If the door opens, however, walk along the roof and count skylights. Eventually you should find one that doesnt look into an apartment or hallway. Instead it looks down into a dingy room with green metal walls. Break the skylight with a piece of debris and jump down. The room should be small and empty other than a metal desk and chair that have a distinctly institutional flavour. On the desk, you will find a folder full of papers. Take the folder rather than reading the papers on the spot. Breaking the skylight will have set off the alarm. Open the rooms only door and step out. You will find yourself in your old highschool, having just stepped out of the locker room. Leave. The folder contains documents and photos that describe, in great detail, your physical and mental health. They depict you as a patient in an institution, and they arent far off.

The Water of Life (#13)


Throughout the city there are little fenced off buildings with the logo of the city's Wastewater department on metal signs in front of them or on the door. The buildings are identified by the signs as being anything from water testing buildings to pumping substations, and by and large, this is what they are. However, about half a dozen of these buildings actually contain something else. Four of these buildings are part of the city's actual water treatment system. They contain pumps that push the city's water through thin grilles made from human bone. The calcium from these bone filters is why Calgary's water is so often hard. The filters clean the water not only of contaminants, but of the city's collective sin for its involvement in the oil industry. The other two are shacks that contain taps. One of these buildings is where the filters are installed when they're full. The water from the tap passes through all of the filters and emerges brackish and foul. Drinking it, however, is the only way to permanently purify the city's soul. The other

building contains a tap that dispenses water so pure that any scars, mutations, cancers or birth defects will vanish.

The Vacant Apartment (#19)


Downtown, in the mess of construction and demolition, rooms are sometimes left behind or else formed piecemeal out of extra walls or ignorantly enclosed spaces. Its said that a great many of them are connected, forming a secret in-between city, but the largest group that verifiably exists is a cluster of six rooms. Unfortunately, the location of these rooms appears to be transitory, with the same six chambers stumbled across by urbex enthusiasts and acolytes throughout the city. Entering this vacant apartment proves difficult because of its movement, but it can easily be spotted with patience. A bleached wooden door with a broken lock will appear in appear from time to time in almost any basement or closet in any downtown building. When you pass through the door you will find yourself in a Spartan, unfurnished space. Every room, in fact, every wall seems to come from a different building or decade. The room is safe and warm, a haven that appears when you need it most. The walls, floor and ceiling are splattered with perpetually warm, wet blood, and occasionally other signs of violence can be found. Never try to break into the unfurnished apartment, never try to move in permanently and never ever fall asleep.

The Clinic (#20)


Ride the 305 for exactly six stops. Where you get off doesnt matter. Then walk to the nearest medical clinic and ask the receptionist if you can see the on-call doctor. Youll be told that you cant. Ask for the other on call doctor. Her face will go white as a sheet and shell tell you to go to exam room three. Wait there until the physician shows up, which could be anywhere from less than a minute to six hours. When he does show up, hell be old: Leathery skin, coal-black eyes, and the medical paraphernalia of a bygone day. Hell begin the examination without exchanging pleasantries or asking you whats wrong. After the exam, hell consult your file and tell you his prognosis. If youre healthy, you wont be when you leave the clinic. Ebola, Rubella, SARS, hell pick something nasty for wasting his time. You wont die of whatever he gives you. Instead, youll be damned to wander the earth spreading it. If youre ill, however, hell tell you it will clear up on its own by the end of the week. It will, as will any chronic pain or other long-term conditions. From that day on, no other doctor in the city will be willing to see you or even make eye contact.

The Thrift Store (#21)


There is a thrift store in the northwest with a shuttered door. The exterior walls are covered in mouldy wooden shingles and the window display is aged to the point of

decomposition. It is not, despite all appearances, closed. Patrons occasionally enter through the side door and leave, although they rarely find anything of interest. They also rarely find the proprietor, who never responds to the bell located on the counter. The bell does arouse his attention, however, so it would be in your best interest NOT to ring it. Instead, simply browse for a time. If you are as well versed in the secret history as you should be by now, objects of interest and historical significance (although no real power) will catch your eye. Many of them are belongings of other phenomena, including empty jars that used to house the tobacconists preparations and a headset identical to the one in Viscount Bennett. Do not take any of these, or their original owners will return to collect them. The Thrift Store is a safe location to dispose of any refuse you collect over the course of your journey, but be warned that you can only dispose of small objects, and never anything truly dangerous to anything other than kayfabe.

The Photographs (#22)


It is possible, although only by sheer luck, to come into possession of a set of photographs that depict your future. Travel to any one hour photo developer in the city and give the clerk a blank roll of Kodak film to develop. In the next hour, use an empty camera to take as many photographs of yourself or your home as possible. When you return to the store, the clerk will either chastise you for handing over the empty film and wasting his time or, ashen-faced, hand you a set of photographs. The cause of the clerks discomfort will soon become clear: At least half of the photographs will depict you as you will look after your death, decomposing in whatever pose you were in when you snapped the corresponding shot. The others will show how you age, including clothing, scars, piercing and other artificial markings. The background will be wherever you shot the pictures with your empty camera, but in each shot the background will appear to be rendered with a slightly more antiquated photo process, working back from crystal clarity to sepia.

The Television Channel (#23)


If you steal cable in Cranston, a planned community in the southeast, you will find that rather than being blank and vacant, channel one is given over to a foreign and unfamiliar test card and mumbled voices in a language that sounds Slavic but is utterly unrecognizable. In order to discover more, you must posses an old PAL television. Adjust the balances of colour and contrast on your set, both at the same time, and wait for the test card to fade. Once you strike the right balance, the test card will be replaced by the image of a man sitting behind a desk. Though he and his companion will seem to be aware that you are watching them, They will never address you directly. Never watch this channel anywhere secure or safe, as it offers another avenue of

entry. Watch the channel until the scene cuts away from the two men and into a series of grotesque clips no longer than three seconds in length. These are not all original. Records kept by Eddie Decae indicate that at least sixty of the hundred and forty three clips are sampled from various films and snuff tapes. The surreal and visceral imagery will burn itself into your brain indelibly, but you will find in the morning that with it has come a masters knowledge of the fine art of mutilation and torture. This must be used sparingly, for the knowledge has brought with it a great pleasure at its exercise. You will, however, always be able to recognize Their handiwork, even if you will find yourself admiring it.

The Street (#25)


There's a street in the increasingly gentrified community Bowness that is completely unlike the rest of the district. A stone's throw from postwar subsidized housing you find a street from which little to none of the rest of the city is visible. The street is much rougher and bumpier than any other road in the city. While the city acknowledges the road exists, they classify it as a country lane despite the fact that the rest of the district is zoned as inner city. The street's potholes make driving treacherous, so park your car at the mouth of the street and walk. While the rest of Bowness is mostly made of old working class homes, this street is home to some of the largest, nicest houses in the city. All of them are at least thirty years old, and none of them are cookie-cutter McMansions. The street itself is rural, with old fashioned wooden power lines and lots of trees. It's like something Norman Rockwell would have painted. But don't let your guard down for a second. At the end of the street you'll discover a cul de sac made up of slightly newer, cheaper houses. Until early last year, at any one time one of the houses would be uninhabited other than the dead body of a student from nearby Bowness High in the garage and a trio of silent, shell-shocked looking men. The bodies were sacrifices to the men, who are the ghosts of the soldiers who were given lots on the street by the government after the First World War. Until the sacrifices were disrupted by the CVS they ensured the city's prosperity and the street's seclusion.

The Red Room (#34)


Theres a lingerie store in Kensington. You know the type: overpriced and understocked. The staff is no help at all, almost like they dont want any customers at all. They dont. At least, not in the front of the store. If you can convince them youre a discerning patron though, they might let you into the red room. Getting into the red room is easy. At least it seems so on the surface. Theres a door at the back of the shop with a bead curtain in front of it. The door is always locked though and the red room wont be there if you break in. The key is to walk into the store every day for a week and ask for an array out outlandish products. Vinyl nighties, cardboard stocking and high heeled shoes full of salt have all been

amongst the list of code words. Eventually youll hit upon the correct code word and the clerk will admit you to the red room. There is no space in the building for the red room. The place where it is should be taken up by the kitchen of the Italian restaurant next door. The red room is a small strip club, with only a half dozen seats inside and the brightest, shiniest red paint. For the most part, the shows are very said and conventional, but be sure not to attend on any night which belongs to a martyred saint. If you do, youll find out the red room: The walls arent red. Its what theyre covered in.

The Breadbox (#36)


Down around fourteenth and ninth, there's an alley between a parkade and a small office building. Unlike many downtown alleys, this one is clear of parking and transients. In fact, there never seems to be anyone in it at all. There's never a car cutting through to avoid traffic, never any teenagers looking for somewhere quiet. Despite the presence of loading docks and parking spaces, it's as desolate as downtown can be. If you walk down this alley in the winter, you'll smell rotting meat coming from a dumpster and hear sounds emanating from it that sound like rats. But if you look inside the dumpster, you'll find that it's empty other than a plain tin bread box. The bread box will, despite being of a kind not manufactured for decades, be in mint condition. If you open the box, which you should never do under any circumstances, you will discover that it contains your own severed head. Your head will tell you two secrets and a lie, and then expire.

The Record (#38)


In any secondhand record store in the city, the morning after it rains, a small yellowed envelope containing an aged record single can be found amongst other vintage materials. The owner will never have seen it before and will allow you to walk off with it for a pittance. The records title will be faded with age. Nothing but the vaguest suggestion of letters and the tattered scraps of album art will remain. Take the album home and place it on a turntable. The normal speed will be too fast, so instead turn it slowly by hand. The first two rotations will yield nothing other than a cacophony of screams. However, subsequent rotations will reveal nonsensical sentence fragments comprised of disconnected words. To decipher the statements, cut out a circle of paper the same size as the record and cut it into a spiral. Write the words you heard down on the circle, moving inward from the outermost edge. Then place the spiral atop the record. Read from the inside out. Each column of words names a location and date.

Each date is the day after a rainfall in the year to come. At each of these locations and times, you will find an envelope with a sentence of your obituary in it.

The Diskette (#39)


Theres a computer in a downtown resume center that is well over a decade old. Hooked into a geriatric printer, it suffices for the purposes of the center: word processing and printing. The machine is infamously faulty amongst the staff, and with good reason: The floppy disk drive is jammed and has been for years. Enter the resume center and pretend to be a client. Bring with you a paper clip. After youre seated at the computer, pretend to type up a resume. When no one is looking, slide the paper clip into the small round hole beneath the drive and press. It will eject a diskette. Take the diskette and leave. Take it home, and on the way make eye contact with no one. When you arrive home, put the diskette into your computer. The disk contains an impossible number of jpeg files. All the famous socks and screams, memetic traps like the parrot or smile.jpg, and all in a vast and perfect resolution. The images can kill or impart madness with a look alone, so never open them on your own. Instead, use them as tools. Weapons. Traps. With practice, they will form the greatest part of your arsenal.

The Library (#40)


The Bowness Public Library is smaller than the Macs thats at the end of the same strip mall, and is one of the least utilized in the city. Regardless, the Public Library remains open and is used, unofficially, as a dumping ground for problematic books. For the most part, these are books with complaints against them for explicit content or politically incorrect material. However, if you ask the librarian to see the basement and she complies, youll discover books that are problematic for different reasons. To get into the basement, you need a Public Library Card, no overdue notices against you, and to come on Saturday evening when the librarian in charge of the basement is on duty. If you meet all these conditions, youll be led through a trapdoor hidden beneath a small rug and down a staircase. At the bottom, you will realize that the entire room is packed so full of books that there is little room to stand. There are bookshelves on every wall, built into the staircase, and even into the floor. The librarian will not let you take any of the books in the floor out. However, the walls are fair game. The eastern wall is the most important, as it contains the history, travel and biography sections. Everything you learned in school is a lie, and the basement is where they keep the truth.

The Record Store (#45)


At 16th and 14th, theres a record store specializing in old vinyl. Upstairs, the store has a variety of vintage HIFI equipment on display and a handful of more popular records. Walk around the upper area of the store until five minutes before closing, and then descend the rickety steps at the back. The stairs lead into the basement, where the owner keeps the more valuable albums and paraphernalia under lock and key. Across the hallway from this room is another, with a selection of... lesser works. Failed novelty albums, family bands that never caught on. And in the corner of this room, on the floor, is the box. The box is full to the brim with old LPs. The album art for all of the albums is minimalist: just a human face on a black background. After leafing through this box for a time, its likely youll find a few faces you recognize. You might even find your own. The owner wont allow you to purchase any of these records, claiming that hes merely holding onto them for a friend. But if you remain in the store after hours, hell allow you to put one of the records on one of his players and listen with a headset. You will hear, with crystal clarity, the thoughts of whoevers face is on the record at the moment while youre listening.

The Soup Kitchen (#46)


The Soup Kitchen downtown has been open for years, although its received support from different charities and agencies (most recently its been attached to CUPS and The Mustard Seed). But its always invariably dropped within six months. Despite this, the door never closes and it never has any trouble holding onto volunteers or its location. Go to the soup kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon and get a cup of soup. The broth will be cheap with hard water and lumps of powdered stock, but drink it anyways. Youll need the protein. After drinking the broth, leave the soup kitchen and walk down the alley next to it. After a moments searching, you should locate a milk crate that should give you enough of a boost to reach the fire escape on the building that houses the soup kitchen. Climb the ladder and then walk to the top of the fire escape. Regardless of the weather, the top floor window will be open. Climb inside, but leave behind anything that might be construed as a weapon. The volunteers are jumpy. The top floor will be a recreation, almost down to the last detail, of the soup kitchen itself. The most important differences will be that the volunteers behind the counter have their mouths stitched shut and that the patrons are noticeably better dressed than the homeless and impoverished on the ground floor. The soup they ladle out here is a broth made from the tears of a captive angel lashed to the wall in the buildings basement seventy years ago over the protestations of William Aberhart. Drinking it will grant you youth until the end of your days, but the gates of heaven will forever be closed to you.

MacKimmie Library (#47)


MacKimmie Library at the University of Calgary is supposedly obsolete, and definitely of little interest to the scholar of the obscure. Nevertheless, as a building on the borderline, near its replacement, it teeters on the precipice between our Calgary and its shadows. As the Library prepares to give way to the new Taylor Family Library, its last sighs echo throughout the structure. Reality is soft here, soft and pliable and easy to push through. Like other borderlands, it is dangerous for precisely this reason. Dangerous, but useful. Walk up and down the buildings staircases until the lights begin to dim and colour begins to drain from your field of view. After the colour has completely drained, exit the staircase. Youll find yourself in one of the other libraries, in one of the other cities. The books will be altered, some subtly and others more overtly, and all will contain secrets that have slipped in around the edges. Beware the librarians, however. They prize silence, and they punish overdue books with a staggering ferocity.

The Hope Chest (#48)


[This one is written in a different hand than most of the rest] A hope chest is a small box or trunk given to young girls. The idea is that over the course of their lives, they collect linens, baby things, crockery and pieces of household decor to take with them when they get married. Its sort of a poor mans dowry. I remember when my sister got hers... but Im wandering. You want to know about the Hope Chest in the old house on the hill, up by the river, but youre too shy to ask me. Dont want to be on the hook for another favour? Thats okay, boy, I like you. The hope chest measures about sixteen inches by twenty four inches by twelve inches and is made from cedar, as was the custom at the time. The order was for an art deco chest, this was the twenties you understand, before the house was even built. The order was furnished promptly, and I added to the chest all the objects that the customer ordered. Bottles of unguents, potent herbs and... allspice. He requested that it be sewn into the cloth lining, which I of course indulged. I had no idea of knowing who They were at the time. We thought they were just postwar immigrants. Insofar as I know he never opened the hope chest. Its a sort of a safety, you see. The second it opens, everything inside is let out and, well, after this many decades of fermentation... well, you know what they say about mutually assured destruction? Im pretty sure that They could show them a thing or two about assured destruction. [Its signed Edward Ramsay De Cae With a bold, antiquated flourish]

Kitsch (#49)
On Edmonton Trail there is a diner of the type that was trendy about ten years ago. You know, the kind that puts muesli in everything and has a DVD of old cartoons running on a wood paneled television. The walls, like all diners of this type, are practically dripping with kitsch. Mostly fifties and sixties stuff, although there are some old Lohengrin post cards and the like. What makes this diner unique is that every single piece of kitsch inside was used, in some way, to kill someone. There is not a single object in that room which has not been, in some way, used for an act of violence. The post cards were love letters left out to inflame the rage of a jealous spouse. The broken clock above the counter was used to brain a sewage worker in the late seventies. Even the decorative infomercial knife set was once used in the torture, murder and mutilation of a local gang member. What's more, if these objects are placed atop the DVD player hooked up to the TV near the entrance, the picture on the television changes to the murder through the eyes of the victim. This has made the diner popular amongst local Satanists and snuff fetishists who view the murders after hours. However, the diner ran through its stock of deadly kitsch last summer, and has since taken to commissioning new killings to decorate the walls.

The Drive-In (#56)


The drive in hasnt had many customers in years, if it ever did. It doesnt have the iconic appeal of Peters, it doesnt have the cult appeal of that red bus, and it definitely doesnt have good food. Its never even managed to cash in on any retro appeal since it was built ten years too late. What it does have is a large denim-clad regular who always seems to be seated, regardless of the weather, at one of the concrete tables out front. If you look past the person who takes your order, into the kitchen, you can see photos tacked up on a bulletin board that go back to when the drive-in was founded in the late seventies. The man, utterly unchanged by time, is in them. At night, he actually goes inside the drive-in to sleep, although hes definitely not the owner and if asked the staff claim not to notice him in the photographs or outside the building. If you ask him how hes stayed the same so long hell tell you that its force of habit and refuse to talk about it any further. If you ask him why they let him sleep inside, hell claim that he works there in some function and likely tell you to mind your own business. If you want a straight answer, youll have to ask him: Why does the drive in run through so many staff? But be careful. Its never wise for the fly to harass the spider.

The Locked Ward (#62)


Most elder-care facilities have some kind of locked ward if they deal with dementia cases. The Colonel Belcher doesnt deal with hoarders or undressers or any of the other worst-off cases, but about a quarter of the top floor has been locked ever since it moved to its new location a handful of blocks away from the coroners office. Residents claim that nobody ever goes in and nobody ever goes out. They complain about the smell. They complain about the sounds. But few people tend to care about the elderly and their complaints. While the main door into the locked ward is secure and hasnt opened since the facility did, it is possible to get in through a janitorial closet nearby. A set of coveralls hangs on the wall opposite the door. If you unzip the coveralls, you will discover a hole behind them that leads into the locked ward. Be warned though: the coveralls cannot be unzipped from the other side. To this day, no one has returned with a satisfactory answer. In fact, all anyone ever agrees about is that the locked ward is very dark, and very hot.

The Pen (#63)


There is a pen in circulation in the city. No one seems to be able to hold onto it for long. Its always left on a desk at school or loaned and not returned. The pen itself is nondescript: a plain white bic that writes in either black or blue ink depending on whose account of its history you believe. The pen is remarkable in that it is only capable of writing the truth. If something untrue is written with it, the pen will appear to be out of ink. Locating the pen is difficult, as it moves almost of its own accord, but you can easily locate it by sympathy. Break open a pen of the same colour and rub the ink on your palms. When the pen draws near, youll feel your skin begin to tingle, and whoever owns the pen at the moment will leave it in your hand at the slightest pretext. The unfortunate side effect of this sympathy is that the pens honesty rubs off on you. The only rule to observe when using the pen is to never engage in automatic writing, sketching, or any other idle activity. Your hand will be compelled to reveal things your mind ought to hide.

The Flowers (#64)


There is a species of flower that only grows on public land in Calgary. Any flowers transplanted anywhere else will die in seconds. The plants are plain, white flowers streaked with blue. They have short, thin stems and no fragrance. The flowers are always warm to the touch and can only be found in late spring. If you find a patch of them growing beneath a tree or in the shadow of a municipal building, pick them immediately. Never carry them next to your skin. Instead, wrap them in paper towel or cloth and carry them home. Reduce the flowers to a fine powder by first drying them and then grinding them

down to nothing with a mortar and pestle or blender. Store the resulting violet coloured powder in a small leather bag (no other material is safe) and carry it on you. The wheels of bureaucracy will turn smoothly for you. Forms will never be lost, more ID will never be required, and nothing will have to be filled out in triplicate. However, the powders odorlessness will eventually permeate your body, robbing you of your own scent and your sense of smell.

The Public Washroom (#68)


[The following three entries were cut out and pasted on the page, two from plain white printer paper and one from a newspaper:] Sanford: I went to use that new washroom downtown. The one that they did a story about on the CBC. If this washroom is good enough to be on the news and they are spending my tax dollars on it, I want to at least get some use out of it. Besides, I thought it would make a good entry for my blog. I sat down on the shitter and started to get light headed. When I woke up, it was six hours later and I was in a Public Restroom in Riley Park. There was a new scar on my stomach that I do not recognize. ---------You owe me for this, SJ. I went to the Washroom like you said and I definitely saw signs that They were involved. Illusory concealment of blood, the smell of allspice, the signs are unmistakable. I know you said you thought we should let it be, But Im going to go back tonight and try to burn it down. Jess P. ---------Relatives of Jessica Pearson are reeling today after the nineteen year old art student vanished. Although police are making inquiries, they hold little hope that shell be found alive. [The word OGDEN is scrawled beneath the last entry in red sharpie]

The Baggage Claim (#70)


There is a secret baggage claim beneath YYC where They keep objects of interest that passengers leave in their checked baggage. Entering the claim is problematic. It is only accessible on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, as these are the days that They are absent, and entering on a day when they are present would mean certain death. On these days when it is safe, book a seat on a domestic flight and travel to the dingy section of the airport terminals food court. Look for a small, dirty counter where Italian food and pizza is sold. Tell the clerk that you left your bag in the kitchen when you worked your last shift. The clerk will accept this pretext and let you into the kitchen, as though you were in fact a recently laid off employee. The kitchen, which is shared by all the franchises in this corner of the terminal, is dominated by a staircase that leads up into the blank roof. Climb it, and keep climbing when you reach the ceiling. You will emerge

in a vast and empty copy of the baggage claims downstairs, inhabited only by still figures made of plaster. Pilfer what you find valuable or notable from the baggage that is kept here, but only take with you what fits in your carry-on bag and what will pass safely through airport security. Larger or more conspicuous objects, such as the still-whispering heads of saints or the monitors that show the state of your soul will have to be left behind. Then leave, get on your flight and lay low for a time in another city. They will soon find out what youve done, and theyll want their stolen property back.

The Pub (#72)


There is a faux-English pub that has operated for decades under various names and ownerships, although it never remains profitable for long. Something about the place fills normal people with unease. The echoes are of no concern to those that know they exist and are prepared. To ensure your safety in the pub, bring with you a solution of dandelion and lemon grass, about a half-litres worth (Thanks Jess!) the solution will repel any existential or psychic hazards. The Pub remains solidly uninteresting for most of the day, but around closing practitioners and acolytes begin to filter in. The owner remains in the back room, unwilling or unable to mingle amongst his unusual patrons. In a show of deference, the most recent owner replaced all of the steak-knives with black-handled alternatives. The Pub is a meeting place and focal point of the local Community. The Pubs echoes remain a mystery despite its closeness to The Community. Despite decades of patronage, no one is able to determine the cause of the echoes, or why drowned bodies appear in the restrooms and kitchen after closing only to vanish in the morning.

The Vase (#73)


There is a vase perpetually for sale in the city. It moves from Urban Barn to Thrift Store to home decor shop to thrift store and then back again. The vase itself is tall and thin, fluted in shape and often empty. Water doesnt seem to stay within the cool confines of the vase, boiling off of it if it is ever added. No one seems to hold onto the vase for long, always returning it with fraudulent receipts or hocking it. This is because if the vase is placed in a home, all the water within will begin to boil.

If not removed promptly, the vase will make more water burn. Ice will melt, sweat on the skin will begin to heat, and other more discrete forms of water will become agitated. After around thirteen hours, water in the human body will begin to boil too, killing whoever is in the home in short order as the water in their bodies boils off and their skin is seared. After the vase has claimed a life, al the water immediately condenses as if it had never evaporated.

To date, the vase has been used to assassinate sixteen prominent individuals, including three members of parliament and five practitioners.

The Cupboard (#75)


On the north end of the city, there are innumerable identical houses arranged into vast, homogenous neighbourhoods. These suburban homes are mostly home to commuters, but one of them is home to something vastly different. Unlike all the other homes around it, this one is unfinished. Although the outside is complete, the inside is totally empty other than an IKEA cupboard in what would presumably be the kitchen. The cupboard is as old as the subdivision and was placed there by the developers. Inside, you will find literally dozens of pieces of Depression glass. The glass, which mostly takes the form of small decorative balls, should not be removed from the cupboard. Each ball contains a small, fortune-cookie type strip of paper with the address of one of the houses in the subdivision written on it in green ink. Whenever a ball has been removed from the cupboard, the corresponding household has suffered a death or some other tragedy within a year.

The Tobacconist (#76)


Despite campaigns against it and a law against displaying tobacco products, the tobacconists on Centre Street has remained open and apparently prosperous. Although they do good business with their usual stock, what makes the shop notable is the contents of three numbered jars located at the back of the building, in the back room. In order to sample this unusual product, you must come equipped with a mixture of the following: many-flowered yarrow, prairie smoke, tall larkspur and purple-stemmed aster, ground in equal proportions into a thin powder. The owner of the shop will accept this gift as a sign of good faith, and proof that you are a fellow traveler. Ask the store owner for a sample of his private reserve and tell him which of the three jars interests you. Jar One contains a potent hallucinogen that will permanently transport you to the dream city below. All the usual routes will be closed to you, and your body will remain catatonic in the back of the shop. Jar Two contains a thick, smooth cherry tobacco that will burn out your lungs, your heart and leave you totally hollow. Jar three contains a light, sweet substance that will leave you unconscious, and your dreams will be of a pivotal event in the secret history. Never return to the shop. The tobacconist will make enquiries and discover that you are not, in fact, entitled to his smoke.

The School ID (#88)


Periodically, at bus stops throughout the city, a small brown wallet turns up. The wallet is empty other than a school ID card dated for the 2003-2004 school year at

Queen Elizabeth Jr./Sr. High School. The Card is yellow, and a magnetic strip has been crudely pasted overtop of a barcode on the bottom of the card. Identical copies of the card and wallet are known to exist. The photograph and name have all been scratched out. Only the school logo and the words Grade 08 are visible. When carried in your pocket, the school ID card makes you appear to others as you did when you were thirteen. Your clothing will resemble whatever you typically wore at the time without being too specific to any year. Despite this, the card will be accepted as acceptable proof of age as though it were a drivers license with a date of birth eighteen years to the day before the current date. Unfortunately, prolonged exposure to the card makes its effects permanent.

The Other Calgarys (#89)


There are seven Calgarys, including the one that you know. The ways between them are many. The ambulances and cabs of yesterday, the secret roads, a wrong turn in the +15 walkways... there are innumerable ways for a poorly educated and sloppy acolyte to find themselves lost in the alleys of one of the other cities. Our own is hazardous enough to those awakened and aware enough to walk in dark places, but not enough to see the hazards. The six other Calgarys, the shadows and reflections of our city, are as follows: Old Calgary is the city of the past and is made of the buildings that have been demolished and is navigated by all the roads that have been closed. The dead live here, and theyre hungry for your warmth. New Calgary is the city of the future, all the buildings we have yet to build and all the people who have yet to be born in the city dwell here. The sky is dark, full of ominous clouds. Treat it as a canary for predicting our own end. Right Calgary is our city as it would be if it were perfect. The buses run on time, its always sunny, and everyone smiles. Some say that our Calgary is just a shadow it casts, but theyre wrong. The people there have too many teeth. Left Calgary is our city as it would be if everything were wrong. The sprawl, the traffic the crime and the violence are as they would be in our nightmares. Its my theory that the poor souls trapped here are doing penance for us. Dream Calgary is where the citys denizens go when they sleep. Anything is possible here, but nothing is true or persistent. Those that dwell here forever are a sorry lot. This is the safest reflection, but it still isnt safe. Mirror Calgary is where your reflection lives. If you find yourself here, run as hard and fast as you can back to the proper city.

The Bus (#90)


Although theyre being phased out, the city still has a number of the old GMC busses, the kind that you step up into. No matter how fully the city replaces them

with the newer shuttle-busses, at least one of the thirty year old busses will remain in service. It comes intermittently and at odd hours, but it is possible to bring it to yourself using a simple albeit highly modern rite. Go to a bus stop and dial the Calgary transit automated number. Hit one and then punch in the number of the stop youre waiting at. Then punch the number seven repeatedly. The systems pre-recorded voice will grow more degraded and heavy with static with each keystroke, eventually going silent entirely. The voice will eventually croak Next Bus in three minutes and disconnect you. Within that window of time, no matter where you are, the bus will arrive. The driver never asks for fare, although it is wise to pay regardless. The Bus will be empty other than a dozen or so plaster statues posed on the seats, unless They are using it. If They are, disembark immediately. If not, sit near the front and watch as the landscape outside grows blurry and abstract. Before long, you will feel tired. Allow yourself to fall asleep. When you awaken, you will be sitting on a bench at Brentwood Station. From now on, you will always have perfect luck when it comes to catching a bus and no driver will expect you to pay your fare.

The Orange Room (#93)


[This one is probably an email, cut out and pasted in the book] Hey Sand-Man, I bring greetz from the spheres. Eddie and Matt said you were working on a little guidebook. Smart move. Theyve been catching a lot of kiddies in their webs lately, and we need all the help weve got. Id like, if I could, to contribute. You ever hear of the orange room? Me neither. At least not until last weekend. I met a guy at Back Lot. Kinda chubby, geeky technogoth. Yknow my type, I like to fuck practitioners. Anyways, HE says we should go back to his place. So I say Ok, playing it like Im some rube, nevermind that Ive practically moved into Dream and that anyone who knows anything knows it. So we drive to Dalhousie station and get onboard. When we hit the free fare zone, he begins to count to a hundred, and when he gets to a hundred, he presses the help button and holds it until we leave the free fare zone. The train keeps going, and it keeps going after it reaches the last station, and it stops in this underground station thats all orange and British. He leads me upstairs, all giddy like hes showing me the kind of thing Ive never seen before. Which isnt true. But I pretend for his sake. Anyways, The Orange Room is like this old place, Victorian I think. Everyone has an accent and talks about how The War is going, which I THINK is world war one. Anyways, the only guy in the room who knows what year it is is this little old man who recognizes me and runs my ass out.

Dunno how useful it is, but I wouldnt recommend going back. Place STUNK of allspice. I bet that little faggot was a trap... Keep safe, Sand-Man, Nick Maharis.

The Terminal (#94)


Take the C-train to the furthest north station in the free fare zone. Across the street from the station, youll see an office building. Walk in and head up the stairs on the right to the mezzanine. Theres a door on the balcony that goes to a womens washroom, but its locked. The washroom is part of the lease of the business which rents the right side of the mezzanine, and they access it with the code 9620. Dont enter this code into the metal lock. Instead, punch in 4511. Instead of opening onto a washroom, the door will open onto a small closet with no furnishings other than a cheap office chair, a folding card table, and a terminal from the late seventies. The terminals screen will be blank other than the phrase What is your name? Type your real name or, if youre feeling adventurous, your online nickname. There will be a lot of lag between the terminal and wherever its connected to, but soon more words will appear, all of them questions. Answer them. When the terminals owner is satisfied, it will turn itself off. For the rest of your life, every piece of electronic equipment you try to use will just work out of the box with no difficulty, but youll feel nauseous if you get too far from a wireless signal.

The Pit (#95)


Downtown theyre working on some serious construction and probably will be as long as the boom goes on. Construction means building up, usually, but it also means digging down. If you wander the area down around The Palliser youll eventually find the pit. Deeper than deep, its supposed to house basements and sub-basements and a huge parkade for the building that is being built on top. Sometime after midnight on any given day, climb over the metal rented fencing and climb down into the pit, careful to avoid notice by anyone or anything that might be there after hours. In the center of the pit, you will find a blue tent. If the lights within the tent are white or yellow, leave as it is most likely occupied. If the light, however, is a dull red glow, then its safe. Enter the tent. Inside, you will discover the real reason for the pit: A pillar suspended in the mud, seven feet of it jutting upwards, with glowing red veins. Unless you have come prepared, all you can do is gaze at the strange stone and then leave. But if you have brought with you human blood that is not your own, which can be

acquired through a number of means, you may smear it on your eyelids and close your eyes. The glow of the pillar will penetrate your eyelids and you will see the tent through them, etched on your retina in red. The veins will resolve themselves into words which will describe in great detail the history of the land. Never read the full history, as you must leave the tent before the blood on your eyelids dries.

The Payphone Trick (#98)


In Ogden, between the hours of ten oclock PM and two oclock AM, a locked door in the back of a 24/7 convenience store will be opened. During these four hours, the third shift clerk will remain behind his counter if he can, leaving spills and other problems to sort themselves out until the door closes of its own accord. If you arrive during this hour, walk through the door and close it behind you. The door leads into a small room made of bare concrete. To your immediate left is a disused washroom. Dont open it under any circumstances, as they havent cut the bodies down since 1995. Instead, turn right and look at the payphone. Its old enough that it still has metal keys and an AGT sticker. The handset has been separated from the phone itself, but if you lift it to your ear, youll hear a dial tone. Put a quarter into the phone, then dial. Never, under any circumstances, call a cell phone. The phone will ring twice, and then youll hear whatever occurred in the room the phone is currently in on the day and at the time youre using the phone in the year the quarter was minted. The only exception to this is if the quarter was minted in the year you were born, in which case you hear whatever happens in that room during the moment of your death.

The Supermarket (#99)


Theres an independent supermarket in the far northwest. Although its just as big and well-stocked as any of the citys chains, it remains completely and totally devoid of life. There are no workers, no customers, no one. No one seems to question this, as though the store itself is a part of the citys geography that their minds simply smooth over. If you should find it despite the blind spot we all seem to have for it, do not enter without a lemon and an egg. The market is still and silent as a tomb. Proceed immediately to the back of the store and enter the employee break room. Put the egg and lemon in the refrigerator and close it. Say An egg for protein and a lemon for zest aloud, then leave the room. When you return to the store proper, the second layer of illusion will be lifted and you will see it as it truly is: empty and desolate. The carcass, half-gnawed, of a failed seeker will be lying behind the meat counter. He forgot to bring an offering. The blind spot is a defense mechanism, this place is like a venus flytrap. The shelves will be empty, save for empty boxes and bones, except for one. The herb rack is the best stocked in the city. Exotics and inedible herbs and spices of all

kinds, all of them useful in the craft and many of them extinct, are all sitting in the rack in clearly labelled flasks. Take one and leave. Do not look back and do not take more than one. There is plenty of room in the freezer aisle.

The Aim Bot (#100)


There is an AIM bot that only exists within the city of Calgary. To access it, search for a wireless signal anywhere in the city and connect to an un-secured network. Once youre online, start a new AIM account with no contacts. The accounts name MUST be a western first name like John or Sarah. This is currently almost impossible since most common names have been taken. However, some more esoteric or foreign names have been found to work, as have names from antiquity. For uncommon names, the names of saints seem to have the most success. When your account is made, log in and add Peigan as a friend. Peigan will claim to be a bot maintained by the city to help tourists, and will answer any questions about traffic, weather, restaurants, theatre or any of the citys attractions in with cheery, friendly text. However, the more you talk with Peigan, the less cheery and friendly it will become. After about two hours of conversation, Peigan will angry and will rudely insult whatever you ask it about. After three hours, Peigan will begin to threaten whatever location, person, institution or object you ask it about. After about five hours, Peigan will sign off. The last thing you asked Peigan about will be in some way destroyed within a month. Its vitally important not to use your real name for the AIM account, or Peigan will know who you are.

The Theatre (#101)


Theatre Calgary, ATP and One Yellow Rabbit are all housed in the Epcor Centre for the Performing Arts. The building is home to a fourth theatre, whose troupe and location remain a mystery to most. To find the theatre, which mounts performances twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week, you must first acquire a key. The Key works, even though the lock youll need to use it on is the wrong shape. Enter the elevator that leads into the Max Bell Theatre and insert your key into the elevators maintenance key-hole. Turn your key and punch all of the buttons in descending order. The doors will open on every floor, but the rooms beyond will be subtly wrong, and all inhabited by figures in strange papier mache masks that do nothing but render their features blank. Finally, instead of reaching the parkade, the elevator will drop you off in the lobby of the theatre. The performance is ongoing, and is made up of two masked performers, both of whom face the audience. In clear, rhetorical English, they recite their lines twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, with no breaks or rest. The language of the play is convoluted and wrong, as through translated from Russian by someone with a loose grip on English. The words are almost meaningless, but they open a door in your mind. What they let in depends on whether theyre performing a comedy or a

tragedy, but from that day on youll see the masks in crowds and never quite belong in this world.

The Surgery (#102)


There is a procedure they do, to awaken the part of your brain that knows how to listen. Elements of this surgery have been practiced throughout history. This surgery, akin to trepanation and lobotomy, was often misunderstood by hippies who accidentally killed themselves looking for a permanent high. The surgerys results are nothing like a high. In fact, the elevation of consciousness that results makes narcotic satisfaction... problematic. Especially for those who become proper acolytes. There is one surgery that does this kind of work in Calgary. It is located in the furnace room at Dalhousie Elementary and can only be found during the half moon as it relies on shaky borderlines. Enter through the gym, and you will find an improvised waiting room in the hallway. From the moment you sign your name to the walk in sheet, there is no turning back. Your feet and hands will move of their own accord. You will walk into the surgery, lock the door behind you, and go to work. Its likely that you will black out during the procedure. This is a mercy. Try not to mind the gaps in your memory or the disappearance of one of the local children that will occur the same night as your operation. There is such a thing as a necessary evil, and until stem-cell research is opened to more fringe physicians, third eyes wont grow themselves.

The Bakery (#105)


There is a Belgian baker in Calgary who is renowned for his great skill and his even greater bitterness. No one knows why the baker is filled with such disdain for the world despite his great talents and the success that they have wrought. Perhaps it is because of what you will discover if you go to his shop after hours. The bakers shop does most of its business in the morning, selling lattes and pastries to commuters driving into downtown from the south. By night, it is usually closed. But if you look in through the window, you will see the baker sitting alone in a corner, drinking coffee and eating something small and sweet and drizzled with red coulis. If he notices you, he will get up and open the door and invite you in. This is your last chance to avoid the trial ahead. The baker will ask if you have eaten and snort derisively before asking if you know the Epicerie next door. Say you dont, and that you prefer something sweet. Hell call you a man after his own heart and over to share something special with you. You have no choice but to accept, lest you wind up in the red coulis.

The baker will bring out a human heart, glazed with maple sugar, choked with cherry juice and custard and surrounded in a flakey crust. Eat this grisly treat, choking down the still warm, still half-alive organ, and you will be rewarded with an unearthly, haunting beauty, but your damnation will be complete and thorough.

The Epicure (#106)


Theres an epicerie downtown I frequent. Well, frequented. I dont think Ill be back there again. Ever since I moved here, Ive gone there for lunch, picked up an orangina and a croque monsieur, and ate it at the counter. The owners a real epicure, one of those hardcore French gourmet. Listen, Sandy, I know you wouldnt have asked unless you were interested, but this isnt really in your usual line, and Monsieur Boyer is a friend of mine. Dont go telling anyone this shit. Anyways, a couple weeks ago he smiles at me when I come in and tells me hes got something special and he wants to share it with me. He says hes got a couple ortolan smuggled in from a farm up north that raises the damn things in secret. An ortolan is like a finch or a bunting. But what the French do to them is just sick. They keep them in the dark and force feed them oats and millet. Once theyre fucking huge, they drown them in column-still brandy and leave them there until they cook them whole. You put it in your mouth until only the beak is out and then you bite down and eat it whole. Eyes, organs, all of it. The bones splinter and slash your gums and tongue, but thats part of it. It adds this salty, coppery taste. Monsieur Boyer put my head under the tablecloth before he served me. He says its how you do it, so you can hide from god. I couldnt see anything, all I could do what feel him push it into my mouth, taste it, and chew. The next morning, I coughed up what looks like a human eye. Monsieur Boyer was gone and nobody has seen him since. Jesus Sandy, What the fuck did I eat?

The Soup (#107)


There is a trio of homeless men in downtown Calgary who have been tending the same pot of soup for the last fifty years. Impossibly weathered, the trio have added more water, more bones, more half-rotten vegetables and more scraps to the pot for decades. Over the years, the soup has become thick and brown and heavy, rich with the flavours of time. The three guard their broth jealously and refuse to allow any others to eat it unless they bring something of power and value to trade. The three are almost impossible to find by choice. They reside in a splinter. To find the three, stand at tenth and fifth and slowly begin to walk south. As you move, the city will seem to grow denser and tighter, the buildings higher and the people dirtier and older. Eventually, the cars on the roads will give way to foot traffic and shantytowns, and the buildings will go dark and empty. Do not enter any of them, as the

office workers inside have been replaced by toothful predators. Eventually you will find the three at the center of an intersection. Tell them you have brought the ingredient to complete their labour and offer them either a jar of allspice or a jar of air. If you offer the jar of allspice, they will give you a cup of soup spiced with it. You will gain all the boons that They can give, but the three old men will turn on you once they recognize the scent as They are no friends of the downtrodden. If you offer them the empty jar, the blind old men will attempt to poor it into the soup and, in the process, fill it at least a quarter full. The broth will cure all injuries but leave your skin tough and leathery. Leave the splinter and never return.

The Book Shop (#110)


There is a hidden book store that can be found in every city on the continent. In Calgary, it can be found in the basement of a pizza shop in Brentwood. Tell the owner that youre from the health department. When he asks what department, say mental health. Hell laugh, but hell also unlock a door at the back of the kitchen which leads to a long, steep, rickety staircase that descends deeper into the ground than should be possible. At the bottom youll find a small, strange shop and a man named Eddie Decae. The shop specializes in the works of the homeless insane, with sheaves of scrawled mythologies from across North America: The blue lady of Florida, Chicagos gangster computer gods, and Calgarys They are described in intimate detail in the unreadable ramblings. Decae sells these sheaves for a dollar a page, and its worth it if you have the time to eke what meaning can be distilled from them. However, there is a shortcut to knowledge. Behind the counter, Decae keeps a bookshelf with over a hundred notebooks, diaries, clipboards, little boxes of index cards and the like. All have been prepared by acolytes and seekers and all describe the roadside horrors and urban attractions that we who favour the night enjoy. Decae will let you have one of these, but for a price: You must prepare one of your own. If you dont, you will find yourself unable to read anything. The words will swim before your eyes and sort themselves into paragraphs of the filthiest invective.

The Laptop (#111)


Beneath a nameless overpass is a dry concrete hole that descends into the citys foundations. Although the hole is open and unmarked, no one seems to fall into it or even come close. In fact, when you find it you will have to strain your eyes to see it. When you do, you will notice that the perfectly circular hole has no means of descent. The walls are too smooth to brace yourself against. The only way down is to jump. So jump, holding on all the while to perfect confidence that you will land

unharmed. If your confidence vanishes so will the mattress beneath you to break your fall. Once you land, get up and walk straight ahead through the dusty gloom. Eventually you will find a laptop computer sitting on top of a milk crate. The computer is on and its battery is perpetually at full, although it isnt plugged into anything. The screen doesnt display an operating system, instead showing a list of names that updates with a new name about once every eight seconds. The foolish think that this is a list of who is dying, with each name representing another death. If you try to remove the computer, your name will appear and you will realize that theyre wrong. The list is indeed of deaths, but its about five minutes behind.

The Ice Cream Truck (#112)


Edgemont is haunted every summer by an Ice Cream truck that only comes out after dark. Large and long and old fashioned unlike the small one-person trucks that drive the route by day, this truck and its sonorous, distorted bell fill everyone who hears it with a sense of unshakeable anxiety. The locals are so shaken by it that they refuse to talk about it or deny its existence outright. Its comings seem to coincide with the New Moon. If you steel yourself and manage to overcome the anxiety you will feel about sighting it, wave the truck down. The man who drives it has dead eyes and will only accept money minted before 1980. The trucks menu will be illegible with age, but ask for a sour cherry. The popsicle the man gives you will taste coppery and salty, but swallow every last mouthful without complaining about the taste. The man will smile and ask you if you want to ride along. Never accept his offer, no matter how tempted you feel. From that day forward, to your eyes the night will seem as bright as the day, and people will glow with the warmth of however many days of life remain for them. No one knows what happens if you flag the man down again or accept his offer.

The Cellular Phone (#113)


Enter Hillhurst Elementary after hours through the Girls Door. Do not use The Key to get in, as the school no longer stands in the desiccated world it opens onto. Instead pick the lock through a more conventional means or secure the key through some legitimate method. Then climb the stairs. The school has collected a handful of ghosts like all buildings; echoes of sound and heartbeat reverberate through the air. But the dead here are slow and calm. Climb to the top of the building and enter the cloakroom at the top of the staircase. It will be empty at this hour other than a leather jacket too large to belong to the children. You will hear the sound of a cellular phones ring from the moment you walk in the room, and after a moments effort you will find it in the jackets pocket.

The phone is an old nokia. Open it and hold it to your ear, but say nothing. Do not even breathe. For as long as you can remain silent, the person on the other end of the line will tell you everything you need to know to solve whatever problem youre currently faced with. But once you breathe or speak, she will stop mid-sentence and scream. The scream will be deafening, and you will pass out quickly. Explaining your presence in the school at night, in the cloakroom, will prove surprisingly easy. Claim you came back to reminisce. The principal will ask if you were a student there once. Tell him you like to think you are always a student. Hell recognize you as an acolyte and allow you to leave, but from then on you will owe him a great and grievous favour.

The DVD (#114)


In the new Crowfoot Public Library, there is an extensive collection of DVDs that can be borrowed provided you have a card. One of these, which nobody seems to borrow, is inside a blank case that inevitably seems to get lost between shelves or reshelved in the wrong section. The disk inside the case is unmarked as well, although it isnt a DVD-R. Attempting to borrow the disc will earn you a strange look, but no strong protestations. Take the disc home and do not watch it until after dark. Put the disc into your player at one in the morning and press play exactly ten second later. The screen will crackle to life in media res, the action already unfolding by the time the camera comes on. The scene depicts the murder of a man named Nick Maharis, gutted like a fish on the platform at Sunnyside Station, his intestines spilling out onto the concrete. The camera is dropped after he hits the ground, and the killers leave. The camera remains focused n Maharis as he bleeds out, watching the slow progress of his abdomen emptying onto the ground. Strangely, the pattern formed by his entrails differs every time you watch. He will make eye contact with you at the moment he expires. The disc is of no use to you unless you are skilled in haruspicy. If you are, you can see reflected in his innards the current future of the war.

The Paper Warehouse (#119)


Theres a vacant lot in the Southwest thats literally covered in paper: Old newspapers, old photographs, decaying books, fast food wrappers. Anything paper and mass produced. On Labour Day, the lot vanishes and is replaced by a small warehouse. Nobody notices because theres no way that a warehouse could go up that fast, is there? If you walk inside of the building, you will discover that it is in fact made of all the paper that was on the lot, which has been folded elegantly to resemble brick and sheet metal and concrete. The building will be furnished like an old importers. Dont put your weight on anything, however, as every last object in the building is made from paper. There

will be a display case against one of the warehouses walls containing the only wares it has ever housed: a dozen rings. One of them is real, the rest are made of paper. If you pick up the real one on your first try, youll be permitted by the aged Japanese man who seems to own the warehouse to take it with you. Never wear the ring, but instead give it to someone you love. For the rest of their life, theyll never fall ill. If you get one of the paper rings, wear it. It will bring you good luck and success at the office.

The Key (#121)


Theres a coffee shop in Bowness called Cadence. Go in and order a large black eye and specify that it needs to be made with the Prince of Darkness Roast. Your coffee will be served in short order, and will consist of four shots of espresso poured into a cup of the houses darkest roast. The espresso will be oxidized, so the coffee will be the most bitter thing youve ever drank. If you fail to drink the whole cup, you will never be able to get the key. If you do down the entire drink, youll find a small key blank at the bottom of the mug. Take it and leave. The blank will fit any lock in the city as if it were the appropriate key. However, the door will not open into the room it normally does. Instead, the room will be bloodstained and decayed, and a look out the window reveals a desolate apocalyptic landscape. However, some of these desolate rooms contain secrets and artefacts of the years to come. Be warned though: if the door closes behind you, the key will turn to dust in your hands.

The Encasement (#122)


In the basement of New City Hall, in an unlocked room, there is a cube of concrete measuring about six square feet. The cube is the only object in the room, which even lacks a lightbulb in the ceilings sole socket. Despite this, the room is lit at all hours as if a sickly fluorescent bulb were installed in the ceiling. If you enter the room by day, other than the cube there is nothing of any note and no apparent reason to remain. However, if you do remain, you will find it highly educational. After City Hall closes, the cube begins to warm up. Heat spreads across its surface, as if something burning hot were within. When the cube is too hot to touch, it will begin to whisper to you. Everything it whispers is a lie, but the whispers are so dense and so thick that with enough patience you can begin to piece together the truth. However, should you let yourself get lost in the lies, the whispering will never go away and it will slowly drive you mad.

The Window (#125)


There is a small downtown gallery housed in an aging sandstone building, its details weathered to nothing with age, that is almost entirely empty save for a handful of pop art prints, a lost de Chirico, and The Window. The first is of no interest, the second is part of a triptych which must never be completed, and the third is a simple window hung like a painting on the back wall. The window always seems to have its share of admirers, typically young students or other idiots. The window appears to be painted on the other side, depicting a scene of suburban carnage. Executed in perfect photorealism: A man with an axe standing on a bloodied lawn, the neighbourhood children behind him, chopped to bits. The man is standing on the lawn, mid-stride, approaching the window with a white picket fence behind him that is stained with gore. Do not gaze at the painting too long, allowing yourself to get caught in its brush strokes is a death sentence. Instead, enter the gallerys back room. There, you will discover the body of the owner, decomposed and dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. On the wall behind him, beneath the bloodstain, you will see photographs pinned to it of the window. In the first, the painting depicts an empty lawn. Its dated 10/5/01. Within a year, the children have appeared. Within six months of that, so has the man. The last photo, dated the first of this year, depicts the man approaching the window, although hes still further away than he is now. Never open the window, and never ever break it.

The +15 Walkways (#131)


Downtown Calgary is home to a small network of enclosed walkways (a "skywalk") called the +15 System. The +15's are designed to encourage pedestrian traffic during the day, but are closed at night. The city claims that this is for the sake of the security of the buildings connected by the walkways and to prevent transients from living in them. However, the actual reason is much more interesting. While the core of the system is open from 7 AM until Midnight, The western and eastern edges of the system are locked at 9 PM. If you are able to sneak into the closed systems at midnight, you'll discover new walkways that don't exist during the daylight hours. If you walk down these pathways, you'll eventually emerge in the Minneapolis Skyway. The Minneapolis Skyway connects every skywalk system in the world. Be warned, however, that if the skywalk you enter from it isn't in a city where the time is between midnight and six AM, you may find that walkways you rely upon no longer exist.

The Dry-Cleaners (#139)


Theres a one-hour dry-cleaners on 14th, next to a 24 hour film developer, that appears closed at all hours. The open sign is dimmed, the lights are out, theres nobody inside and a sign that reads ON VACATION is posted on the door. However, during the daytime it is possible to gain entrance to the drycleaners in three ways: First, entering through the front door is possible unless the current day is a weekend or holiday. Second, on weekends and holidays the rear door is unlocked. Third, the building has a small skylight which has been broken since 2002. No rain, wind or snow seems to enter through the broken skylight, but you can. Upon entering, ring the bell on the counter. An aged Asian woman and her mute husband will emerge from the back of the building, even if you passed through the back of the building while entering through the rear door and found no signs of life. The woman and her husband will stare at you in silence. If you leave, you will be dead within an hour. However, if you complain to the couple about the loss of an article of clothing, you will be spared. Your complaint must he highly specific, such as A pair of black jeans from nom de guerres winter collection, size eight The couple will leave. Remain in the building for an hour, and they will return with whatever clothing you complained about. It will be bloodstained, and they will helpfully direct you to another cleaner who can remove any stain.

The Abattoir (#140)


There is an abattoir in the city that is disguised as something else. From the outside, it looks like a print shop about a block from a mountain equipment co-op. But inside, when the stars are lined up correctly, the store gives way to a cement killing floor that is stained rust-red with blood. The interior of the building will be larger than is possible, rooms stretching on into eternity. Much larger than the city. A few rooms from the entrance, you will find a room full of meat hooks and full of... meat. Never enter this room shortly after a friend or relative dies, or you may see their face on one of the sliced-open bodies that the rooms small, Slavic inhabitants busy themselves with slicing. This is where the citys dead truly go. The familiar bodies in coffins are made of wax in another room still deeper in the abattoir. You should not venture further than this, however, or you will be mistaken for meat. Instead, try to find the once face in the room whose lips are still moving. The man, and it is always a man, will ask you for news from the front. Tell him that the good guys lost. His face will break into a smile and he will allow himself to die. With his last breath, he will bless you and yours. For the remainder of your life, good fortune will follow you so long as you keep to a strict vegetarian diet.

The Typewriter (#142)


There is a disused office in the basement of the Administration building at the University of Calgary. The door to the office is painted shut and covered over with a

broken bookcase that has been placed there for storage. However, if you move the bookcase and open the door, youll find that the office is actually surprisingly well preserved considering how long it has remained shut. The inside of the office is like a time capsule, furnished with thirty year old chairs and bookcases in the style of the time. The walls have a vaguely yellow patina to them, but this is of no significance. If you look at the degrees hanging on the walls or the books on the shelves, you will discover that the office belonged to Earl Wiser, PhD in history. No sign of Doctor Wiser remains, nor is he mentioned in any records kept by the university. Judging by the books on his shelves, Doctor Wiser was an expert on the Second World War. The only thing in the room that will appear to be touched by time is the 1930s typewriter on the desk. You will notice that this typewriter is unique for two reasons: it has German character keys, and it is typing the same narrative over and over again without any human interference. The narrative tells the story of a German victory in the Second World War and what happened after. If you take a closer look at the books on the shelves, youll notice that the axis won in them too.

The Postcards (#145)


[This ones an email, folded up and glued to the page. The headers cut off] Hey Sandy, Im gonna head over to your place after class, but in case youre not there, I need your help with something: post cards. Ever since the equinox Ive been getting these picture postcards from another place. You know where. I tried to send some scans but it all comes out garbled. The cards are a lot of old junk, kitschy pictures of German villages or Hugo Boss army men. The backs written in English though. Its this guy, a soldier I think, named Gregg. Hes writing home to this girl. Pretty usual stuff, and only about forty years off, except everythings a little bit wrong. All the brands are stuff Ive never heard of, and you know all that racist bullshit that disappeared because the companies changed their names? He mentions gassing American partisans in a coon chicken, only the postcards are dated in the seventies after all that shit disappeared. Matt thinks someones trying to send a message about something. I dunno what though. When hes not talking about killing, Gregg gets pretty spicy. Sex and Death... thats basically what Theyre all about, isnt it? Maybe Ill read some of them to you later. If we cant figure out whats up, we can at least have a good time... - Jess P.

The Gas Station Maps (#150)


Theres a chain of gas stations in Calgary, mostly dingy little places, called Fast Gas. For the most part there s nothing exceptional about them beyond that the decor hasnt been upgraded since the early eighties. But one station right on the highway that is a little different. Theres a pile of yellow roadmaps next to the cash register. If you try to purchase one, the clerk will say Oh, you dont want those. They dont have the new construction. Verbatim, to the word. If you want to own one of the maps, you must reply Im lost, Ill take anything right now. Hell nod and ring one of them up. The roadmaps depict Calgary as it was in 1978, with one major exception: it shows about a half dozen roads that youll never have heard of. If you track one of these side-streets down and drive down it, youll find yourself in one of the other Calgarys. The streets dont seem bound to any one of our citys reflections in particular, although most often they lead to the city made from all the buildings weve demolished.

Heritage Park (#151)


Heritage Park screams wrong to the psyche. It is a town that is not a town, built from the remains of others. Buildings that should have passed into the citys reflections remain here, stuffed, their innards taxidermied and displayed. Perhaps this is why people report ghosts and odd feelings. The place cries out to the mind. However, if you know the secret of the place, you can turn this wrong to your advantage. Like an open sore, the worlds immune system floods it. Steal something from the park, something thats actually as old as the place. A bit of brick from the wall of the Wainwright, a piece of antique crockery from one of the houses, anything of sufficient age will do. Never touch this with your bare hands. Instead, whatever it is, grind it down until it becomes a fine powder or dust. Store this powder someplace warm and dry, and wait until the day you need it. When you have the need to kill someone quietly and subtly, dissolve the powder into water and ensure that they drink or bathe in the resulting gritty mixture. Within a week, they will be dead of old age and be drawn into a reflection, forever. And you will have to kill subtly and quietly. If you cannot smile and murder while you smile, your days are numbered.

The India Ink (#152)


There are three bottles of unmarked India ink amongst the other art supplies at Sir John A. Macdonald High School. Students occasionally use this ink for projects, but for the most part these three bottles have remained untouched since the late seventies. The ink is thicker and darker than normal ink and has a special quality: Whatever is drawn in it will prove prophetic. A line drawing of a person will always depict their current location and situation, even after death.

Acquiring a bottle of the ink is difficult, and only once has it ever been accomplished. Should the ink feel threatened, the art projects displayed in the room will come to life and pull you back into them, trapping you for eternity within canvas or clay. To retrieve the ink, come by night and come alone. Instead of breaking into the school, hide in a closet or classroom until everyone has left. Then enter the art room. Approach the cabinet where the supplies are kept slowly, and if you start to see any stirring or movement in the dark, leave. Open the cabinet slowly using either The Key or more conventional means of lockpicking, and search for the ink. It sits near the back, and in the dark you can tell the jars apart from the others because they will feel very, very cold to the touch. Only take one jar, leave the other two for other seekers. Under no circumstances should you ever use the ink to draw an image that includes yourself. Doing so will create your nemesis, and the picture will show you his journey to reach you which will end in your death.

The Radio Station (#153)


Phenomena #153 requires a digital car radio. Satellite radio will not work, even if it gets local stations. When driving along the river at night, a normally unused FM radio frequency will crackle to life. The frequency is 104.6. The DJs name is never mentioned, and the voice sounds different to whoever listens. The station plays swing music and, ten minutes after every hour, dedicates five minutes to news. If you listen on your birthday, the news will change. Instead of being the past days headlines, the news segment will be made up of events that have happened or will happen to you. Before midnight, the events will be those of the past year. After midnight, the events will be from the year to come. The station identification message mentions the stations address, but the address belongs to a defunct arcade whose only remaining machine is a fortune telling scale.

The White Room (#160)


[The note at the top of the page describes this as a transcript of a botched induction tape] ED: Close your eyes and let your mind wander. Let your body wander too. Slowly relax to the sound of my voice and follow my words through the city. You are standing in the +15s, and you are walking slowly, slowly, nowhere in particular. Your eyes feel heavy, and the more you close them, the more certain you are that youre walking through the walkways. Turn left, then right, then left again. The more you walk, the heavier your body feels. The further and further away the place you want to go becomes and the more aimless you feel. Its so warm here, and theres nothing but the walkway in front of you and the sound of my voice. Now, Im going

to count backwards from ten, and when I get to zero, youll see a door in front of you. Do you understand? NM: I understand... ED: Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero. SA: The Fuck? Where the fuck did he go? ED: Hes in the white room, Sandy. Would you like to go there too?

The Dentists (#161)


There is a defunct dental practice on the top floor of the Northland Professional Building near Northland Mall. Although the door is supposed to be locked, its opened between the hours of 10 PM and 3 AM Tuesdays through Fridays. The building is locked before this, so in order to get into the office, youll have to hide at the bottom of the basement stairwell until the coast is clear and then sneak up to the top floor. Use the stairs; the door never opens to anyone who took the elevator. The office looks like any other dental practice, although noticeably more upscale and dated. The chairs are real leather, the walls are paneled with mahogany outside of the patient rooms. All the fixtures are ornate and beautifully decorated. The receptionist is quiet to the point where you may first mistake her for a corpse. When she calls your name, proceed to exam room one and lock the door behind you. There youll meet the Night Dentist. The Dentist will ask what youre in for. If you tell him you need a cleaning, hell investigate your teeth, frown, and tell you to leave. Your teeth will crumble to dust within a week. If you tell him you need a tooth pulled, hell smile and start pulling. For every tooth you let him pull from your mouth, you get a wish. Lastly, you can tell him you need a root canal. A long, slow root canal.Youll be subjected to the most torturous pain imaginable, but if you endure it youll never die.

The Ghost Hospital (#162)


In 1994, the province ordered the closure of Calgary General amidst recession and the fear of an unbalanced budget. Calgary Generals closure was fought tooth and nail as it was the citys only hospital equipped with an emergency room. The province continued to undermine public healthcare for over a decade, shuttering hospitals across the province and laying off doctors and nurses who are now in short supply. However, these hospitals arent truly gone. Like people, places can sometimes leave an impression behind. More of one if its etched in blood. If youre ever downtown and you find yourself in need of medical attention, try this: The old hospital site was in Bridgeland, although its impossible to get to the hospital from there now. Instead, you must wait until the lock up. Around that time, antiquated looking ambulances will start circulating in the city. Flag one down and

board it, and tell them you need to get to the hospital. The driver wont be able to care for your injuries. Hes a driver, not a paramedic. However, hell drop you off at Calgary General. Unlike the Ambulance, Calgary General will be as it was in its height: one of the leading medical centres in the country. Of course, everything will be about fifteen years out of date. Leaving is, unfortunately, more difficult. They get so few patients. They need the practice.

The Meat (#163)


Every year, The Stampede sets up. The rides are shit, Matt Good was the last good act to hit the Coke Stage and the rest of it is just dull. The one stand out is the food. Fried bread, mini doughnuts, the kind of county-fair fare that everyone remembers eating at the Stampede when they were kids. Phenomena 163 is not so much a ritual or a landmark, but a warning. Certain rituals and preparations outlined elsewhere in my notes can offer preternatural senses and awareness; The ability to read objects and understand. Should you have taken advantage of these, never eat anything you are offered at the Stampede. The Stampede traces its roots to the pagan rites that farmers new to this country brought with them from their homelands. The magic is old enough its no longer religion, just mechanical. The rituals performed after hours sustain the city, as the rituals that find their homes in other cities sustain them. But eating the meat makes you complicit, and the taste that what they do to it leaves behind carries with it all the cruelty of fresh blood on the snow. Some acolytes more talented than I have reported being able to see what the men saw before the axe came down, and at least one claims that when the meat touches his tongue, he can see what the men saw after.

The Blue Room (#169)


There is a room in Hillhurst that only appears during the rain. The room replaces a studio apartment above a local grocery store that boasts The best Sharma (sic) in town and shares the apartments dimensions. Unlike all the other locked rooms, entering the blue room is easy: You simply knock. The Room is home to three people whose appearances are totally impossible to recall. They tend to the room, cleaning its furniture and playing host for any new arrivals. The room itself is similarly nondescript: cracking blue paint and furniture that looks like it was purchased a year or two at ikea. The exception is an antique table in the center of the room which appears to date back to the early Victorian era. If you ask politely, one of the rooms inhabitants will give you a tarot card reading. The reading uses only the major arcana, and acolytes have reported that their readings have often involved cards which they dont recognize from any modern

tarot. The figurative meanings of the cards are totally unimportant. Instead, focus on the images. These depict a trial you will face over the course of your journey. For example, a seeker whose reading contained the tower unfortunately met the end of his journey while consulting with the Hassidic Wizards of New York a week after his September Fourth reading yielded only one card: The Tower.

The Museum (#170)


The Glenbow Museums permanent exhibits include a small hall that details in very rough terms the history and evolution of warfare, particularly that of Western European and North American warfare. At night, enter the building that houses the museum and break into the museum itself. Bring with you a small animal, no larger than a chicken or a small dog. Take the animal to the portion of the warfare exhibit that depicts a knight in a chapel and kill it with a black-handled knife. Leave the corpse on the ground in the exhibit. Move out to the stairway and look at the piece of tacky installation art in the center. Smear the blood of your kill on your eyes and look again. The work will blur and become iridescent and beautiful. Then it will begin to rotate. With each full rotation, the stairway will expand upwards a floor, revealing strange, hidden exhibits. The decor is markedly less modern, and the exhibits depict unfamiliar events and places. Although the plaques have long since become illegible, each diorama depicts a different event in the secret history.

The Sidewalk Chalk (#177)


Every summer, Canadian Tire rolls out these big black buckets of sidewalk chalk with transparent lids. Inside theres an assortment of all the usual colours, extra thick. But once in a while one of the buckets will be white with a black lid. If you see such a bucket, purchase it immediately and bring it home. Inside youll find the usual assortment and six clear pieces. Use the clear chalk for hobo signs, magic circles, or anything else like that. The clear chalk leaves invisible markings, youll be able to see anything youve drawn with it by memory, but things other people have drawn will be much better hidden. To see them, break one of the other pieces of chalk. It will crumble to dust in your grip and the wind will cast it around you. It will stick to the invisible chalk. Never do this in public, as the density of mystic patterns and glyphs in most of Calgary is prone to causing migraines.

The Liquor Store (#178)


The Liquor Store is nothing special, beyond that the owner is one of us. His stock, consequently, tends towards the sort of drink the awakened favour: strong and cheap. If you wish to learn more of the secret history, buy a bottle of Wisers Very Old and ask the owner to share it after the store closes. Though he was initiated in the days before days and knows more secrets than God, hell tell you nothing you

couldnt figure out on your own. What he will do is nudge. Imply. Insinuate. Help you think aloud. The old man who owns the liquor store is fond of cleverness, and if you surprise him with your acumen, he may smooth the citys rough edges for you. If you, like most, arent clever then you will have to ply him with his passion: liquor. Like most of the dead, hes constrained by rules and by customs. He cannot drink unless it is purchased for him, and he cannot forget unless he drinks. If you help him, he will owe you a favour. Forgiveness of a trespass against another practitioner such as those described elsewhere in my notes, or perhaps something more mundane. However, if he realises what you are trying to do, you wont make it out the door. Cleverness and whisky are no match for a Smith & Wesson with more than a century of practice behind it.

The Mustang (#180)


Marda Loop is haunted by night by a Shelby Mustang without a driver. Every night, at two oclock, it emerges from the parking lot outside Basils Pub and begins to drive in a slow circuit around the district. The car moves slowly like a prowling predator until it draws near potential victims, whereupon it suddenly accelerates and attempts to strike them. The car is responsible for a string of hit-and-run incidents over the past year and a half, before which it was utterly unheard of. However, if one can enter the car and take the wheel, the car will be pacified and its unique properties at the drivers disposal. There is no agreed-upon method for taking control of the car, and most who have tried have perished. However, if you find yourself in the drivers seat turn the car to face any of the principal compass directions and hit the gas. The car will accelerate and seemingly pass through any obstacle unharmed. Depending on which direction you turned it, the car will arrive in a different land of the dead and remain, waiting to ferry you back to the city after youve finished your business.

The Headset (#187)


The Viscount Bennett Center on Richmond Road is home to Chinook Learning and Westmount Charter School. The two schools share a library, which has a single row of aging computers. One of these computers has a large, rugged headset with a microphone connected to it at all times. The headset is never disconnected from the computer, but no student ever seems to use it. In fact, no one will notice the headset unless it is pointed out, and even then the most it will evoke is a shrug and One of the morning students must have left it. However, if you put on the headset you will be immediately seized by a sense of nausea and foreboding. The headset plays no sound other than a vague static hiss until you try to type a document on the computer its attached to. The headset will begin to scream. However, if you start to type the right word it will pause until

youre done typing the word. Though no one has ever tried, its assumed that with enough patience one could reconstruct the finished document. The only problem is that the words are in an extinct dialect of French.

The Purple Room (#188)


Enter any of Canadas railway hotels and check in. Bring no luggage and ask specifically for The Purple Room. After a few moments of insistence, the porter will acquiesce and lead you into the elevator. Using a special key, the porter will open the elevator panel and press a concealed, unmarked button. The elevator will open directly onto a parlour furnished in Edwardian finery. Everything in the room: the marble, the chairs, the doors, even the maid who greets you will be some different shade of purple. Ask to see the master of the House. The Master of the House will be indisposed, as will his elder son, but his youngest son will come out to meet you. After excusing his relatives, he will answer any three questions you ask. Unfortunately his answers will only make sense in retrospect. The young man will leave after extending an invitation to spend the night. Accept and turn in early. Around midnight, the Masters daughter will come into your bed and try to seduce you. Refuse. Her fathers slightest gesture could seal your fate. Instead, ask her to tell you about herself. What she will tell you is the story of Earth but not of man. The story of creation and destruction. The story of the world itself from the beginning to the end. The telling will take all night, after which she will leave you. Leave the room and check out of the hotel without speaking to anyone else.

The Vacant Lot (#190)


Some years ago, one of the citys historic churches burned down and left only a vacant lot behind. In the years since, the lot has healed, leaving no evidence of the fire behind, and the contents of the Churchs basement utterly entombed. The one exception to this is midnight on Saints Days that coincide with the full moon. On these nights, in the vicinity of the lot, time slows down and the night grows darker than dark. Moonlight refracts through naked air and the ghostly image of the church can be seen. Unlike other ghosts, this is utterly tangible. Climb the stairs and enter the church. It will take a few minutes for your eyes to fully register the interior as you will only be able to perceive the vaguest outline of the room and its furnishings. The Church will be as it was on the night of the fire, with ghostly flames burning the northwest corner. Once your eyes have fully adapted, approach the altar and cut your hand with a black handled knife. Bleed atop the altar, which will slowly recess into the floor. The altar will descend two full storeys. The hole into which it sinks has rough walls

and should prove easy to climb. Descend slowly and carefully. As you descend, you will find yourself sinking through the earth. Seeing will become impossible for a time, until you reach the basement. The basement contains the bones and ashes of a handful of practitioners and priests who have come seeking what you are about to find. Located in this basement room is The Christ, still on his Cross, still bleeding. One drop of his blood is enough to grant the strength to work miracles, but two will burn you to a cinder.

The Video Store (#192)


The video store is old and dingy, and some years back it transitioned from legitimate rentals to bootlegs and porn in the face of competition with the blockbuster down the street. Finally, it gave up the ghost last August. The owner retains his lease, but the store is never open. Instead, he uses it to store his incredible collection of snuff, rarities and bootlegs, many of which are of more than slight interest. The owner never enters except late at night, so a daylight or evening break-in is your best chance. The stores latter days have left their mark on it, complete with discarded merchandise and sordid video booths at the back. The break-in will have triggered the owners alarms, no matter how careful youve been, so you only have time to grab a video at random and run. Or else, should you be courageous, you can lock yourself overnight in one of the booths as hes long since lost his keys. Hell leave at dawn, allowing you to escape. However, hell turn the booth /on/. If your stomach is strong enough to endure whatever sadistic footage hes playing, you can escape unharmed in the morning, armed with the video you grabbed. None of them are in the correct case, and whatever system he uses to decide which cassette goes in which case is incomprehensible. It could be lost footage of the kennedy assassination, it could be Margaret Trudeaus Rolling Stones sex tape, it could be any number of different trip recordings from acolyte excursions. Or it could be a home-made snuff tape of the last acolyte to be caught.

The Other Mall (#199)


Some of the stores in Northland Mall are open at two ends, letting customers pass through them while cutting from one side of the mall to the other. Recently, one of the clothing stores thats like this closed up the path by installing a set of changing booths and mirrored cheap plywood wall covered in mirrors so that the other half of the store could be lent to another tenant. However, theres something wrong with one of the booths. Enter the third booth from the left and be sure to bring a sack lunch. Turn around thrice anti-clockwise, and leave the booth. Youll find yourself in the Othermall.

The Other Mall looks just the same as a regular mall, except the stores are all wrong. Woolworths, A&A Records, Eatons, every defunct company from the last twenty years. The products are even weirder. Instead of stocking normal goods, or even normal goods that have gone out of style, the stores stock things that never made it. Product ideas that died on the table. Amidst piles of anatomically correct dolls and surprisingly sharp-edged jewellery, amidst sweaters with three sleeves and all the other defective garbage, you can sometimes find a product that should have made it but didnt. Home Cold Fusion. The cure for Cancer. Appliances that never break down. Anything that THEYRE using the other mall to hide. The only problem is getting anything back with you. You dont want to know what they do to shoplifters on the other side.