The front door opened; uncle Albert and aunt Kathy were the first to enter their house. A handful of family members followed, with James bringing up the rear.

The funeral had been positively dreary. Enough chairs were set up to hold three dozen people; no more than a quarter of the seats had been taken. The priest was from Albert and Kathy’s church, but was a younger pastor, selected by lot; he had little more to offer than generic homilies. James had hardly listened; his mind was focused on his furtive experiences with Alan’s ring.

As soon as he returned home from discovering Alan’s remains, he had slipped on the ring. His shabby studio apartment suddenly seemed to gleam; the dull wooden floor was somehow polished, the coffee table set up in front of the couch had a selection of contemporary magazines, and there was no dust to be found anywhere.

There was pizza in the fridge he didn’t remember ordering. Even more odd was that he could eat a piece of it, and if he looked away and then in the fridge again, the piece had been replaced. If he took off the ring, he was just as hungry as before, but if he put the ring back on, he was full again.

But far more odd was the experience of walking outside; he opened the door to see a white void, and when he stepped into it, everything went black momentarily, then he found himself standing three feet in front of the door.

And all the while, the message in the corner of his eye nagged him, plaintively stating “Rank: 0 (fresh face)”. He still had no idea what it meant. The experiences had been amusing, he had to concede, but that was all. It certainly didn’t seem worth basing one’s life around.

When the pastor had called for people to speak, James was the only one to do so. He related how Alan had been one of the few family members to understand him, how he enjoyed what little time they spent together, and how much he would be missed. As he wrapped up, he noticed the family members were simply staring at him. None of them appeared to be moved, or emotional in any way. James felt a twinge of pain tug at his heart; even in death, no one else seemed to care about Alan. His face curled into a frown as he took his seat. The funeral ended soon afterwards; the pastor simply handed Aunt Kathy the urn containing Alan’s ashes.

Now she emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plastic-wrapped tray of snack foods; removing the wrapping, she put it on the coffee table. The assembled mourners dug into them with zest. Uncle Albert held the urn, looking at it uneasily. “I guess I’ll put this in his room,” he announced. “It can stay with his other things until we decide what to do with them.”

“I’ll come with you,” James offered.

Albert gave him a nonplussed look. “Sure, knock yourself out.”

The stairs to the basement were at the end of a long hallway, one that passed by all the house’s bedrooms, as well as the guest bathroom. Albert opened the door and flicked the switch; a light bulb dangling from a cord illuminated the rickety wooden staircase. Albert descended cautiously, holding on to the handrail, cursing as a splinter sloughed from the aged wood. James followed slowly, taking each step firmly, wrinkling his nose as he passed the light bulb, the collected dust on it now burning off.

Alan walked toward a bookcase and placed the urn on an empty part of a shelf. James perused Alan’s cramped residence, dimly lit by a standing lamp. A simple bed took up one corner, just under a curtained window near the ceiling; beyond was a ground-level view of some plants to the side of the driveway. A bookcase took up the back wall; to its right was an old pressboard desk, with a bedraggled office-chair tucked into it. Standing to its right, next to the stairway, was a glass case with several shelves; in it were displayed several figurines, some from sci-fi/fantasy properties, some pewter playing-pieces from role-playing games. James looked closely at the avatars; they sported highly detailed paint.

“You can look through his stuff if you want,” Albert announced as he headed for the exit. “Take whatever you like. The rest, we’ll drop off at the thrift store or something.” Without another word, he ascended the flight of stairs and was gone.

James chased Albert with a dirty look. Even his parents didn’t care to know their son, to be interested in what he did! He hopped up onto the bed and opened the curtains; bright sunlight suddenly flooded the small basement. Dust could now be seen drifting through the air, a swirling cavalcade of motes. He reflexively cleared his throat as he jumped back to the floor. The sunlight now illuminated the bookcase, casting its details into sharp relief. Striding toward it, he suddenly stopped.

Something was off. It took him a few moments, but then the outpoint jumped at him. He had expected an even coat of dust on everything, but with the extra light, it was now clear that several books had been moved, perhaps taken off the shelf and put back. Certain areas were more active than others, and some shelves looked untouched, but there had been quite a bit of activity. Judging by the relative coatings of dust, someone had used this bookshelf within the last few months, perhaps more recently.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

James’ pulse quickened. He bolted up the stairs, down the hallway, and entered the living room. The guests had polished off almost half of the snack tray, and Kathy was entering with a carafe of coffee.

“Are you OK, James?” Kathy asked, looking concerned.

“Has anyone been in that basement recently?” James asked.

Albert and Kathy exchanged puzzled glances. “No,” Albert related. “Not until today.”

“We tried to leave it the way he left it,” Kathy added.

“Are you sure?” James asked. “Several of the books look like they’ve been moved recently. The levels of dust are different.”

The guests exchanged amused expressions, then Albert snickered. “That’s not possible. No one has been there.”

“But–” James began.

“Look,” Albert interrupted. “You can take whatever you want. Nothing there is likely to be valuable, except to you. If you need boxes, we have some in the attic.”

James looked crestfallen. “Sure. I’ll get a few if I need any.”

“Would you like to take some coffee with you?” Kathy offered, holding a cup out to him.

The rich smell hit James’ willing nostrils. “I’d love some,” he gushed, taking the cup before striding off.

He heard Albert speak in a low voice. “Can you believe it? The imagination in that kid! Just like Alan.” That was followed by the guests chuckling politely.

James could feel his cheeks redden. Alan had been the only member of the family he ever got along with, and this was a good example of why. He entered the basement, padded down the stairs, and approached the bookcase. A few moments’ observation confirmed his earlier hunch; the books had definitely been moved.

He sipped his coffee and looked at the more popular titles. Oddly, most of them were esoteric religious texts, the majority Eastern in origin, a few occult works, and the rest unclassifiable. James’ brow furrowed; what was Alan’s interest in these subjects? He had always been such a rational scientist, so grounded in reality. What had he gotten himself involved in, that required such bizarre reading material? And had he come back to make use of these references? And if not him…who?

One section, in particular, had less dust than the others. There, James found a book with no title. Removing it from the shelf; he realized it was a blank-book; although appearing to be a normal, bound book from the outside, its pages started out blank. Some people used them as notebooks; apparently Alan did too. After looking at the equally blank cover, James opened it to the first page, and was immediately assaulted by gibberish; some appeared to be text, but the letters were all wrong. Other areas may have contained drawings, but looked completely jumbled. Why would Alan have bothered to do this? Had he gone insane?

James blinked. Was it really this easy? He found the ring in his pocket and put it on; as expected, the room suddenly looked cleaner and more ordered, almost glossy. He looked once again inside the book. Replacing the gibberish were blocks of text, interspersed with drawings of mysterious objects, and floor plans of unknown buildings. As goosebumps washed over his body, he started to read.

So begins the account of my explorations of the other world…one existing parallel to our own, even sharing some of its characteristics,

but…thoroughly different.

It all started when I put on the ring I bought at a swap meet. It wasn’t my style, but the elderly bohemian said it was meant for one like

me, someone with imagination, and offered me a steep discount. I still don’t understand how she seemed to know so much about me.

Boy, was I ever surprised the first time I put it on! I immediately found myself…

James closed the book; his heart raced. Alan had returned here! And now he was holding a guidebook to the world revealed by the ring! But how had Alan entered and left without notice? And where was he the rest of the time?

James put the book back on the shelf and waited for his heart to settle down. Sweat beaded on his forehead; he wiped it off with his shirt sleeves. Opening the drawers in the desk, he looked closely at the contents.

The top drawer had the usual collection of stationery junk–paper clips, pencils, pens, sticky notepads, and the like. He thumbed through a deep drawer containing hanging folders. Most of it was mundane; bank statements, old employment/rental contracts, some paid medical bills.

One folder caught his eye; it was Alan’s creative writing! He leafed through it to find some of the stories he remembered reading as a youth. He stopped at one, his face beaming. It was a short story that he wrote! Alan had kept it all these years! His heart swelled as he beheld a lost work of his own creativity. This folder, he decided, was coming with him.

Another folder had a gibberish scribble tucked into the plastic tab. Slipping the ring on once more, it immediately revealed its title as “Assets”. Thumbing through them, his jaw dropped; it was a sizable collection of deeds, all relating to property Alan owned in the other world. He giggled as he saw one incredible possession after another–houses, luxury cars, even a rural airport. He removed the ring again; he resolved to track down each of these deeds, and accept the inheritance of his uncle’s otherworldly riches.

All but one of the funeral guests had left. Albert and Kathy turned to see James enter, striding by them. “I’m gonna grab a few boxes from the attic,” he announced. “About half of his books are right up my alley.”

Albert waved at him idly. “Knock yourself out.”