Episode Two: The Beginning

Everything has three parts, beginning, middle, and end. Nothing can escape this fact

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January 1st, 1900.

Llanfyllin, Wales, United Kingdom: Dr. Elmer Edward Garfield. 1:00:00 AM.

Looking through the telescope in his home, Elmer had been observing and marking the movements of the moon for hours. When, quite suddenly, his friend made a loud exclamation of surprise.

Elmer looked at him, intending to ask what was wrong, but, seeing his friend looking at the sky. Elmer glanced up too. What he saw, made him drop his pen in surprise.

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Winton, Minnesota, United States: Christian Andrews. Same time.

Christian was running along the slippery mud covered ground outside of town as fast as he could, chasing after his friend who he was playing a game with. Then he slowed to a stop, and then just stood there looking at the sky.

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São Gabriel do Oeste, Mato Grosso do Sul, Brazil: Joana da Silva. Same time.

Joana was looking through the window, seeing if her husband was coming back, he was probably at the bar. She was getting tired of him. Why didn't she listen to her mother when she told her not to marry him?

Busy thinking, she almost didn't notice something strange in the sky. She was so astonished by it, that she couldn't help but exclaim "Oh my God!".

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Osaka city, Honshū island, Japan: Yamada Takashi. Same time.

Takashi was in front of the mirror, making sure his suit was perfect, if everything would go right in the meeting, his company would practically monopolize the telephone market, and that was something he had wanted for quite some time.

He heard his wife calling him, he told her to wait, he was almost done, she insisted, but he simply told her to wait again, only a bit louder. She stormed into his room with a strange expression on her face, an expression that he mimicked, almost perfectly, when she told him what she saw.

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A Personal Note of Professor Harold Lindsay: January first, 1901

As professor in the Cambridge University, I am always surprised by the incredible, insane or simply unintelligible things my students are apt to invent. I am not certain of the correct classification of this one though. But if I had to answer it on a test, I would probably mark "All of the above".

Today, after the class was over, one of them, that I will refer as L, in case anyone that shouldn't be, is reading this, came to me with a walking stick. The thing was of no importance. It couldn't be older than her majesty, queen Victoria (Long life to her) and was mostly made from simple wood, except the very tip, which was made from some cheap metal, probably copper.

What was strange about the otherwise nondescript walking stick, is that, according to L, (Whom was wearing, unusually, very thick gloves) whenever he touched it, he felt a strong sense of hostility towards whoever came close to him, he felt that he needed to hurt anyone he saw. He said that the "feeling" isn't so strong at first, but the more time he spends holding the stick, the more he wants to...hurt people.

I, of course, was very skeptical that such a thing was possible, but L seemed a complete master of his own mental faculties, therefore I gave him the benefit of doubt and told him to leave the walking stick on my table, not touching it until he left...Oh! And when I asked him where he found the object, he said that it was on the university grounds, as if someone had dropped it. (Which is quite possible, given the nature of the object).

After L left, I finally touched the walking stick, I must note that I felt compelled to do so while L was in the room, but the compulsion faded almost immediately, after he left. At any rate, I could not feel any strange sensation while holding the walking stick, and, naturally, started to believe L was, at least mildly, mad.

But, when I saw a fellow professor, through the window, I suddenly felt my blood rush to my head and was strongly urged to hit his head as hard as I could with the stick. Nevertheless, after I could not see him anymore, I dropped the walking stick.

The fact, naturally, made me quite curious as to the nature of the stick, and I decided to study it, in order to find the source of its...power?

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The Journal of John Constantine.

Monday, May Twelfth, 1902:

All this week a feeling has been haunting me, as though I'd forgotten something of no real magnitude, but that was of such personal importance to me that if I didn't recall it soon I would be a Dorian Grey without his portrait.

Such did this feeling of agitation disturb me that I awoke today at half-past five and was powerless to regain my sleepy state of unconsciousness. I say half-past five, but I cannot be certain for I did not see the iron face of my grandfather until I was dressed and downstairs; at which point it was six-o'clock in the morning. Mrs. Dawson had not yet arrived and so my breakfast would not be ready for some time.

I came to sitting in my study, once more attempting to read through Conan Doyle's master detective. However I found myself again foiled by Holmes' vices. I cannot stand the way he speaks of people whom he decides are lower them himself. It is simply impossible to understand why a gentleman would act in such a manner. I restlessly tossed the book aside.

So it was that I was standing, looking out my study window upon the empty street below, when Mrs. Dawson arrived. I went into the hallway to greet her. We talked for a moment, she spoke of her surprise to see me awake so early, and apologized, unnecessarily for not having arrived sooner. I tried to console her that I had not been inconvenienced, but in my attempt I believe I discomforted her more then anything by overstepping the boundary separating me from being someone who she chooses to spend her time with, and being an employer who she must spend time with. I apologized clumsily and retired into my study once more. Closing the doors behind me.

After this event I rested in my armchair for several minutes, the events of that conversation repeating in my head many times; as though I were trying to find and ammend the flaw in my logic which had caused it. This served only to allow my mind to avoid thinking of the ghostly feeling that has been haunting me like Death himself. It only reappeared now that I was alone again and thinking of nothing else. Almost at the time that I thought of this somewhat unexpected coincidence, someone knocked on the door outside. I went to open it myself, telling Mrs. Dawson not to trouble herself as I passed her in the hall.

It was Billy who had come to call, as soon as I greeted him, he, by way of reply, asked me if I had heard the news he carried. I answered in the negative, as it was obvious I did not know what news he carried. He seemed very excited. He started by explaining to me who he had learned the information from, and continued with a long line of succession until he finally reached the end, apparently the news came from a man named Dogerty. Of whom I had never before heard and have not since.

But this is mere digression; the information itself was that Arthur Conan Doyle had been offered knighthood for his service the empire; apparently he had written a pamphlet. I found the news interesting. So I invited Billy to stay and talk it over during breakfast. He accepted. And we had a wonderful long argument over whether Mr. Doyle deserved the offering he was receving. Over the course we each switched sides back and forth, going from one point of view to another. Billy has learned a lot from our conversations together.

And so it was that I escaped the haunting in my mind for a few more hours.

But, now I am alone; Mrs. Dawson went home for the night and Billy left me some time around noon; which in itself was due only to my efforts of trying to keep him for as long as I possibly could.

But, I am out of page, and the day is over. Time for my retirement.

It looks as if I shall have to use another page tonight. I suppose I will just have to live a life one day shorter then before, in order to account for my waste. And tomorrow will now be Wednesday instead of Tuesday, but I will have to cope.

As I was walking into the hall and headed off to bed, as my grandfather chimed to me the hour of sleep, I felt that the thing that I had forgot was in the kitchen.

Which seemed ridicules.

But disregarding the doubts my logic threw upon the situation I followed my emotions and went into the kitchen, and the feeling guided me quite perfectly to an old teacup hidden away in one of the ancient cupboards that have remained unopened since before the house was mine. And my haunting ghost vacated my mind at once.

But all of this is beside the point. That thing which matters, what made me write this down, the thing that I cannot fully describe; it is a feeling, almost an emotional response, upon touching the cup I felt comforted, almost; warm. I cannot help but feel that I have never seen this thing before, though I feel connected to it, in such a manner that I cannot fully transcribe. The feeling that haunted me is now gone, I have found what caused it. Though I know not how; this cup is important to me, and, perhaps, this little teacup, I somehow feel, may be important to the whole world one day.

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Excerpts from a letter by Mrs. Maggy Harrison to Mrs. Amanda Fleming. Oregon, United States: 1902.

While I was out walking in the woods yesterday, I found a small cabin that was so old and abandoned, it must have been a remainer of the civil war.

Curious, I went up to it. Before I go on, you must understand mother, under ordinary circumstances I would never have entered a strange house in the woods, but I felt a compulsion so strong I could not control it. I entered the house.

The insides were empty, and just as abandoned as the outsides looked. It did seem as if no one had been living there for a long time.

It's strange though, I was very much at home in that house, when I was there, I felt safe. I felt comfortable. I felt warm. I didn't feel like getting out of it, nor did I feel fear, due to the fact it was empty. I felt like I was home again. Very peculiar, don't you think mother? Did we ever live in the woods when I was little?

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The Journal of John Constantine

Wednesday, October Twentieth, 1903:

Tuesday, the events of this day have once more reminded me of what happened on that day a year ago when I first found the cup. It's almost like it was only yesterday; something I'm reminded of every time I add another entry to this book. I cannot imagine that the inventor of this journal could have forseen the possibility of an event such as this, but I would think he could have shown forsight enough to know that marking each page with the name of one of the seven days of the week might have caused a problem for someone. But whoever made this book decided to mark them anyway.

Due to the great bore that people are, I will not write down everything that happened today, but will only remark upon those things which will for the rest of my life be what I remember of this day.

Today, some time around noon. While I was socializing at a café. I saw a person, who's name I would later discover to be Ben Ingeres (pronounced similar to the words In and Jeers), with whom I felt the strangest familiarity, of which I cannot describe except to say that I am certain that I have never before seen this man in my life.

I sought to speak with him before he left, he had only just entered and seemed to be on his way out.

However I managed to have a brief conversation with him, in which I discovered several things;

One, I found that he seemed to think he knew me somehow.
Two, in his short and ugly manner of speech, he uses as many curses as he can manage and reaches his point quickly.
Three, that he is rich.
Four, that he is some sort of American, or so I judge him to be.

I did not discover his name until after he left. Which was immediatly after our conversation (which did not go badly).

Later this day I did head off to meet him at his home, without invitation but I felt great frustration at not having come to any understanding of what connected us.

Blast it, but I am almost out of paper again.
He invited me into his house, and inside, we talked for some time, and I managed to discover that he has a chair which affects him lazily, like my teacup

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An unpublished paper created by Dr. Huang Bao and Dr. Z. Andrews, made between November 1902, through Febuary 1903: Page 1.

Until a commonly accepted theory regarding the origin of these events, the main body of the paper cannot be written. Though many hypotheses have come to light, currently only a listing of phenomena can be made, and so that is what I have made.

This paper was created by Doctors Huang and Andrews, in a neutral voice.

This phenomena was first discovered by Doctor Huang on August 30th, 1902. He had a premonition warning him not to go to a diner, he heeded the warning. The diner was attaked by men with guns that night.

He proceded to attempt to study the premonition, but he was unable to come to anything, until Doctor Z. Andrews contacted him.

Andrews had discovered an object, a Phonograph Recorder, the proximity of which made him experience a strange feeling. Together, they continued to study these things and theorize what could possibly cause them, and to try to predict what other anomalies might have a common origin with the goal of being able to predict additional anomalies that might not have occurred yet.

On January First, Ninteen-Hundred, some time around one in the morning, an unexplained astrological occurance seen by millions worldwide changed the color of the sky, for a few moments alone.


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