Benjamin was an orphan, he never knew his real parents as they died when he was only a baby, a tragic farm accident resulted in both of them being killed. He was raised by an Uncle of his who was a good man but when Benjamin turned eighteen he moved out, he wanted to find himself and always had a passion for writing. He loved the idea of creating a unique world inside a story that other people would read, most of his stories were fiction and in the horror genre. He lived in a small apartment which he paid for by working in a local corner shop much to his dismay but he was never happy in it, it was just used as a way to get by until he could get his writing career up and running.
Local legends was what enthused him the most, on weekends he would drive to different towns/villages and get to know the locals by quizzing them on the history of the place. He described each place as having a different feel to it and these feelings were what he based his stories on. His name was starting to get known around the place, "The Writer Boy" was what he was known locally as. It sounded a little condescending but it was some sort of publicity. Surrounding where he lived were the open plains, a great place to clear the mind and Benjamin used this area to free his imagination.
The plains were magnificent, such beautiful scenery. On a bright evening after work Benjamin decided to go camping out in the plains, he had his favorite spot down tucked away behind a large boulder that had beautiful forestry enclosing it. After pitching his small shabby looking tent he went for a wander around down by the stream that ran just west of the boulder and sat there pondering for a while, his brain was now in sync with the relaxed burble of the stream. Lost in thought glaring into the stream he noticed a box like container that was stuck on the banks on the stream and being a curious individual he went over to get it. It was a metal box that was seemed to be welded shut, he shook it a few times and heard a rattle inside, his curiosity was starting to get the better of him now.
He brought it back to his tent, holding it close to his chest like it was the last treat available at a children's birthday party. Sitting in his tent with his legs crossed he continued to shake it and as the rattle got more adventurous so did his ideas of what this could possibly be. He took out a small pocket knife and tried to edge it open enough to be able to get a grip on it but no luck. There was a small hole on the face of the box that he tried with his knife but again nothing happened, his irritation grew as he continued to poke at this hole angrily before his blade snapped off. Reaching into his overnight kit all he had that would fit into the small rounded indented hole was his writing pen, he shoved it in and turned it clockwise; similar to how someone would try wriggle out some earwax, and lo and behold the lid of the box slowly started to raise until it was fully open.
What was inside was a dusty looking old brown book with a pen attached to it. Benjamin opened it and saw a few sentences on the front page ; " Prophet will come, Towers will fall, Famine will strike, Greed will cause wars, Sinking of a large ship, Revolutions will take place and extinction by ourselves". Benjamin was intrigued by this as the book was clearly very old and definitely before most of these events happened if not all. He was also excited as he needed a new cool looking book to write in, something that was full of character and gave the story some life. He sat out under the boulder on a rock and began writing about a story that was in his head for the past few days, it was about a quiet botanist who plans to spray the plants with a deadly scented virus. He spent most of the evening writing this before going to sleep in the relaxing silence that night time out in the plains brought.
The next morning he packed up his equipment and left for work. On arrival he noticed his boss was upset and after asking what was wrong he was sunned by the response he got "Twelve people killed, killed by some virus off the plants down at the garden shop they said". Benjamin's face dropped, he went pale white and immediately went to check it out. At the garden shop which was a no enter zone at this point, people told him the exact same thing that his boss told him, the plants did it!!
He ran to his apartment, locked the door and took out this book. Sweat pouring from his bewildered face, he read over what he wrote again and it matched exactly what just happened. "Is this the strangest coincidence ever or did this book make that happen" he stuttered out loud before quickly jotting down " Make my pockets full of chocolate". After a few minutes his pockets were full of exactly what he wished for, he was stunned. All kind of thoughts crossed his mind - Good, bad and the downright crazy ones. After a lot of thinking he listened to the devil on his shoulder and wrote yet again in the book this time was for him to make it famous as a writer. Days later after his fame wish came to fruition he went back out to the plains and disposed of this book in a way that it will never be found again.
Exactly one year after he first came across the book he looked into the mirror in his luxurious bathroom hat was bigger than the apartment that he used to live in and saw that he had aged,a lot!! He was only nineteen but looked like a man hitting eighty.
The CryptKeeper book was made up of demonic black magic designed to cause mayhem on earth. "He who writes shall pay the price one year to the day of twenty years per etching" this was inscribed in the language of the doomed at the bottom of the box. Benjamin died a few weeks later of old age, and to think he aged twenty years over chocolate.
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