The Whirlpool House Affair

The Founder’s Journal

The Whirlpool House — were it not for that one small flaw, she would have been my masterpiece.

Founding the “Whirlpool Sect,” gathering the faithful, amassing their money, savoring wealth and glory: this is the most successful thing I have accomplished in my life thus far. None of it would have been possible without this octagonal-prism building I so painstakingly designed and built — the Whirlpool House. To be blunt, she exists to execute “sinners.” I call them sinners, but that is merely a tale for the ignorant believers to swallow. One has only to announce, with great solemnity, that on such-and-such a day at such-and-such an hour the fire of chastisement will descend upon the room where a sinner dwells — and when at last this “miracle” comes true, every one of them trembles like a frightened hen, then joins in reviling the sinner’s shamefulness, and in the end prostrates themselves at my feet as ever before.

This time the Whirlpool House welcomed several guests once more. Besides myself, there are seven people. One is the Deputy Founder, my loyal and capable lieutenant — though of course he has never known my secret. There is another whom I have already resolved to make the unlucky sacrifice: his faith in the Whirlpool Sect seems to have wavered of late, and certain of his behaviors even make me suspect he is an undercover informant for the police. I have made my arrangements; I intend to be rid of him here. The others are, by and large, believers foolish to the bone, and should pose no trouble — one of them is even a mentally disabled child, brought along by his mother, who devoutly believes the “Whirlpool House” can restore her son’s mind.

This afternoon, once everyone had arrived one after another, I gathered them in my room and trotted out the same old refrain once more:

“The Whirlpool House — this building, which revolves ceaselessly counterclockwise in a cycle of twenty-four hours, gathers all the power of every ‘whirlpool’ between heaven and earth, to cleanse Her faithful of original sin.”

In front of them all, I took up the device that controls the building’s rotation and entered the passcode known to me alone. I noticed that the Deputy Founder’s odious gaze was once again hovering around my arm; he seems lately to have grown very interested in this device. I could not possibly let him learn the passcode.

“There’s a question I’ve long wished to ask,” the Deputy Founder suddenly said before everyone. “You always seem to dress so meticulously… even in this season, long sleeves and long trousers, and even the collar buttons of your shirt are both done up—”

“To leave no flesh exposed is the most basic reverence toward the god; this is written quite clearly in the doctrine, and you should not ask such a question,” I replied coldly. “‘To bare the body is a grievous sin; save when bathing, a believer of the Whirlpool Sect should at all times be clad in garments that cover the whole body.’ This is the seventh article of the doctrine. As Founder, I must of course set the example.”

Watching those benighted believers begin, then and there, to inspect their own attire one after another, fastening tight the buttons at collar and cuff, I could not help feeling a flash of amusement.

“Next I shall take you into the Confessional. But first you must remember what I say: only while the ‘Whirlpool House’ has ceased to revolve may you enter the Confessional. And when it ceases to revolve is the will of the god, conveyed to you through me.” I shook the device in my hand. “At all other times, even should you wish to enter, you are fated to be unable to push the door open — this is the miracle. The rotation has now stopped; let me first show you the Confessional.”

I pushed open the inner door. Within was a narrow compartment partitioned off by two walls. The crowd pressed at the doorway, peering inside.

“You may come in and look,” I said.

A furtive, shifty-eyed believer came in and looked all around. First he stroked the inner door.

“How smooth — and slightly curved, too. Is this door made of gold?”

“It is bronze,” I said, forcing up a smile. “The outer door as well. I am fond of the noble feel peculiar to metal.”

The disabled child’s mother came in with her neck drawn down, looked around once, then lifted her head to gaze upward and cried out softly: “That is — the Holy Stone!”

Everyone looked up. There, at the apex of the dome some seven or eight meters overhead, was set a vast circular pane of glass — by any reckoning, no different from an ordinary skylight. These believers truly are easy to fool.

The furtive man from before sidled up to the wall and stood on tiptoe to look:

“These Confessional walls seem to be only a little over three meters high,” he said, his eyeballs rolling. “From the Holy Stone down to the top of the walls, what a great empty space.”

“It is precisely so that those who confess may bathe fully in the holy light,” the Deputy Founder explained on my behalf. “If the walls were built all the way up to the dome, the light would be greatly diminished.”

The mother hurriedly began to pray with her eyes shut. Suppressing the impatience in my heart, I patted her gently:

“The sky is overcast today; the holy light is not strong enough—”

At that moment the old grandfather clock in my room began to sound, and everyone held their breath. I waited patiently until the six chimes had finished, then spoke:

“Remember, you may confess only during the times the god permits; whoever breaks this rule is a sinner, and sooner or later will be devoured by the fire the god sends down. Furthermore, I would have all of you keep the inner door locked of your own accord at ordinary times — this gesture is a way of declaring your heart’s sincerity to the god.”

With that, I drove everyone out of the Confessional, drew the door shut behind me, then took up the device, entered a string of passcode, and afterward set it back in its old place atop the grandfather clock — and so, before them all, the “rotation” of the Whirlpool House was set in motion once more.

I saw the believers out the door and watched them return. At that moment my room’s door faced due north; the sun in the western sky was slowly sinking, and once it had set, the Southern Cross would again be visible in the night sky. Back in my room, I shut the door and, as always, turned the lock twice round to be sure it was bolted. Then I read at my desk for several hours. When darkness fell, I stripped off my clothes, put out the light, and went to bed. Outside it was still raining, as it had been for days on end.

As for what comes after — let it proceed according to plan.

What “Peter” Witnessed

I have always loved to fall asleep to the sound of rain, yet tonight, lying in bed, sleep was long in coming.

I sensed the restlessness within me, as though I had been faintly worrying over something all along, a feeling like a thorn in my back. I yearned for the salvation of the god of the “Whirlpool.” During those few short minutes of viewing after supper today, I had only managed a glimpse of the Confessional’s appearance before the Founder quickly shut the door. To be honest, I had not forgotten the Founder’s warning, but back in my own room I still secretly tried to push at the inner door — and sure enough, it did not budge in the slightest. I drew back at once, inwardly confessing my irreverence to the god while reverently locking the door, my faith in the power of the miracle deepening all the more.

But at this moment I felt a distinct throbbing within my breast, an indescribable force that seemed to guide me, to urge me to try once more — to open that door. Trembling, I climbed out of bed and walked toward the door that led to the Confessional.

My fingers touched the metal of the inner door, its patterning intricate and exquisite. I summoned my courage and pushed. The door opened soundlessly.

This was a miracle! If the Founder’s prohibition was the will of the god, and my earlier failed attempt was also the will of the god, then now, with this miraculous door opening once again, I believe this too is surely the will of the god!

Inside the door was the Confessional, no different from the one I had seen in the Founder’s room by day.

I entered the Confessional and gently closed the door behind me. Out of habit I went to lock it, only to find that the inner door had no lock on the Confessional side. I lifted my head and bathed in the clear, cold moonlight, which, purified by the Holy Stone, became holy light. Just then a faint chiming reached my ears; I knew it came from the grandfather clock in the Founder’s room.

“Dong — dong — dong — dong — dong — dong — dong — dong — dong —”

To the back-and-forth of the chimes, I devoutly closed both eyes, lifted my chin slightly, and sat down upon the floor in the holy light to begin my confession.

Slowly I opened my eyes in the moonlight. To be honest, I cannot quite say whether, through all that time, I had been in a state of meditation or had simply fallen asleep sitting up. Each time I think on this question, a trace of doubt about the Whirlpool Sect’s confession ritual rises in my heart. Sometimes there is no use thinking too much, so I simply tell myself that even just to bathe in the holy light for so long is enough to wash away sin.

I tried to rise and found my legs had gone somewhat numb. Bracing against the wall, I lifted my left wrist and glanced at my watch: 23:56. Had so much time really passed? I pushed open the door by which I had come and found the moonlight gathered upon it, where an oval halo of light appeared; I knew this too was a miracle.

The door opened and shut in silence, and in silence I returned to my room and fastened the lock. The room was pitch dark, and now I felt not the slightest drowsiness — very likely I really had been asleep for nearly three hours just now — so I decided to step outside for a breath of air.

The outer door had the same smooth feel. I stroked the patterning upon it, simpler than that of the inner door. I twisted the lock — a crisp click — and pushed the door open.

Outside the door was a scene of tranquil harmony. The Whirlpool House stands deep within a forest; the Founder says this is to make heaven and man one body. I walked toward the north. Not far from the north side of the House lay a river, its surface broad, perhaps fifty meters wide. The water flowed quietly, and the ripples that now and then rose upon it glinted in the moonlight. All around, moreover, stood trees high enough to pierce the heavens, their outlines etched by fine, dense needles, black and forbidding against the curtain of night — the sight of them made my skin crawl a little. Still, the outdoor air was fresher, after all; I drew a deep breath, left the door ajar behind me, and walked into the grass. Twelve crisp chimes sounded from within the Whirlpool House, and I knew it was now the next day.

The rain seemed to have stopped for some while; dampness hung in the air. A wind came blowing through the forest — strong, yet quite pleasant. Before I knew it, I had walked to the bank of that east–west-running river. I crouched down and put my hand in; the water by the bank was not deep, so I took off my shoes and slowly lowered both feet into the water. The water was bitingly clear, only the current was a little faster than I had thought. I relaxed my calves and let them sway to the right with the flow.

Bored, I let my gaze drift with the current, then suddenly looked up and saw the moon again within my view. There it hung, in the eastern part of that patch of sky before me. Compared with the sight I had seen in the Confessional earlier, the bright moon I now beheld was larger and brighter.

Suddenly a noise came from somewhere. I looked toward the far bank some tens of meters away and saw a black shape. By the moonlight I made out what it was — a bear. It had never occurred to me that there might be bears here, but the scene before me could not be denied by any means: this was a bear. Its huge body had halted at the bank, and for a few moments I seemed to see the cold glint reflected in its small eyes. A shiver ran through me, but with a whole river between us, I was, after all, not yet thrown into a panic.

The bear stretched its head toward the river water at the bank, its nose seeming to touch the surface, then its left forepaw reached into the water and pawed at it once. It hesitated a good while, then tried again with the other paw, as though gauging the depth of the water. At last it slowly immersed its entire upper body in the water, then leapt bodily into the river, with a “splash.” Very soon a black shape rose in the river — the bear’s head; it thrashed its body and swam straight toward where I was.

It had never occurred to me that a bear could swim, nor could I make out what it meant to do by crossing to my bank — would it attack a person? There was no time to ponder these things; instinct drove me to flee for my life. In a fluster I pulled on my shoes, rose, and backed away. By now the bear was almost to this side, more and more of its body emerging above the water. I paid it no mind, turned my head, and ran. Circling halfway around the Whirlpool House, I finally found my room — the metal patterning on the door forming the two characters “No. 8.” I shoved hard, only to find the outer door shut fast; very likely the wind had blown it closed on its own. By great good fortune, I had brought my key when I went out. Bracing against the door, I hurriedly dug the key from my coat pocket, jabbed it into the keyhole, and turned with all my might. The door opened; I darted into the room and slammed the door hard behind me. While my heart was still pounding, I heard the beast scratching at the door outside, followed by waves of howling, furious and helpless.

I glanced at my watch: the time I had spent outside already came to half an hour. I pressed myself against the back of the door, listening carefully to the beast’s movements; it seemed to circle nearby a while longer. Once I was sure the sounds had gone, I got into bed and wrapped my whole body in the quilt.

Before long, I entered the land of dreams once more.

I had not slept long when I was awakened again by a knocking at the door. It was about eight in the morning; the Deputy Founder stood at the doorway, and outside it was raining again.

“Something has happened to the Founder.”

Twenty minutes later, I and several others had gathered in the Deputy Founder’s room. The Deputy Founder said that every morning, while it was still dark, the Founder would come to his room to perform the blessing ritual over the “holy water.” The “holy water” was ordinarily kept in the Deputy Founder’s room; once the blessing was done, the Founder would then enter each believer’s room in turn, to sprinkle the blessed holy water upon them. This morning the Deputy Founder waited a long while and the Founder did not come, so he went to the Founder’s door to look for him; he knocked for a long time with no answer, and so used the spare key to open the door — only to find the Founder upon the bed, beheaded.

A man — in the church we call him “Stephen” — proposed that everyone should go together to look at the scene. The others agreed, and the Deputy Founder did not refuse either.

The state of the scene was much as the Deputy Founder had described. The Founder lay there upon the bed, his head and body already separated. On the floor between the bed and the inner door lay flung an axe. “Stephen” stepped forward and lifted the quilt to examine the corpse. There were no other external wounds upon the Founder’s body; it appeared his life had been neatly ended with a single stroke of the axe. Moreover, the body was clad in pajamas; the Deputy Founder said they were indeed the ones he usually wore. The clothing was very neat, with no signs of a struggle. There was a good deal of blood at the scene: besides the pillow, which was covered in spattered blood, the carpet around where the axe had fallen was also stained with large patches of red.

The Deputy Founder gave a startled cry and stepped close to the grandfather clock:

“That device… the device that controls the rotation of the Whirlpool House is gone! The Founder always kept it here.”

We pressed close as well; atop the grandfather clock lay a layer of dust, and within it there was indeed a rectangular imprint, indicating that something had once rested there for a long time.

Although everyone found the Founder’s death hard to believe, seeing is believing; the Deputy Founder said his death was a summoning-back by the deity, and so everyone could only sigh in grief.

“Look upon the Founder’s solemn aspect… though he has ascended to heaven, the true essence of the Whirlpool Sect must still be carried on by us all,” the Deputy Founder said gravely. “Henceforth I shall shoulder the Founder’s heavy charge; I ask that you all place your trust in me.”

Afterward, under the Deputy Founder’s guidance, we went to Room No. 5.

I noticed a pot upon the table in the room, deep red all over, with a very long spout, as well as a handle and a lid. I drew near the table, wishing to examine it closely, but the Deputy Founder reached out a hand to block me.

“What this holds is the holy water I told you of,” he said drily. “Were the Founder still here, he ought now to be blessing you all himself.”

“Then what exactly is this holy water?” asked the man named “James.” “Might you demonstrate for us how the blessing is sprinkled? Let it make up for the Founder’s lost opportunity. Many of the newcomers are at the Whirlpool House for the first time and have never witnessed this ritual.”

The Deputy Founder thought it over and was not too resistant to the suggestion. Pinching the pot’s handle in one hand, he lifted the pot, paced a few rounds about the room reciting scripture, then suddenly halted, pressed his thumb against the lid, tilted the pot, and a stream of liquid poured out from the spout. It fell upon the carpet. At this moment “James” lunged forward in a single stride, bent low, cupped both hands into the shape of a bowl, and caught the holy water as it cascaded down.

“What are you doing?” Before the Deputy Founder had finished speaking, “James” had already brought his nose close to the holy water and given it a quick sniff, then stuck out his tongue and licked it, and thereupon, before everyone’s eyes, drained the holy water in his palms in one gulp.

Everyone let out a cry of alarm. The Deputy Founder put the pot away and regarded “James” with disgust, uttering a few words of intimidation. Faced with this kind of extreme religious fervor, he could probably do no more than rebuke him verbally. Thinking of this, I prayed once again that my own secret entry into the Confessional would not be discovered.

“My child! My child!” “Zenobia,” that mother, suddenly erupted into a fit of shrieking. “He seems… to have been gone this whole time!”

Only now did everyone realize that the dim-witted child “John” had been absent from the scene all along.

“Could it be that he killed the Founder?!” “James” cried out.

“Andrew is missing too!” I said.

“Go quickly and check their rooms!” the Deputy Founder commanded.

While the crowd was in disarray, I drew “James” aside and asked him in a low voice: “What does the holy water actually taste like?”

“No taste at all, just like water,” he said, winking at me.

The door of “Andrew’s” room stood wide open, and the scene within was too horrible to look at. Upon the snow-white bedsheet lay the one and only thing there: “Andrew’s” body, mangled out of human shape. The torso was covered all over with bite and tearing marks; the chest and belly had been ripped open, with scarcely any organs left within; the limbs were nearly all dismembered — the left arm especially, the whole forearm torn off and vanished without a trace — and the head, too, was severed from the neck. The quilt had fallen to the floor by the bed in a heap. Both the bedsheet and the quilt were spotted with bloodstains.

It could only have been a beast — a ferocious beast had killed him. I thought of my encounter the night before: had that bear, which failed to catch me, broken into “Andrew’s” room and devoured him whole? Even as I shuddered with afterfright, I prayed for this pitiable soul before me.

“The glasses are still here.” “James” walked over to the round table and picked up a pair of thick-lensed glasses. “Andrew” was severely nearsighted.

“The situation is quite clear: a beast from nearby killed him,” the Deputy Founder said, stepping forward and speaking slowly. “This poor man… very likely forgot to lock his door at night.”

“Wait… could it be,” “James” said, standing by the bed, “that the manner of his death — do none of you find it strange?”

“Where is the problem?” The Deputy Founder’s face was taut.

“It’s the clothing,” he answered. “The body has been gnawed to such a state, yet not even a scrap of torn cloth can be found upon it. This means he wore no pajamas at all when he slept — which violates the seventh article of the doctrine! In other words, ‘Andrew’ was no devout believer at all!”

“He deserved to die!” I led the cry, and everyone’s emotions instantly surged — we could not tolerate that such an impure person had been lurking among us.

“Even if he was eaten by a beast, it was because he would not accept the doctrine, and so the god sent down heaven’s punishment upon him!”

“And my child? Could he also have…” That devout mother began to shriek once more.

Everyone then went to the doorway of Room No. 7.

“I have the spare key,” the Deputy Founder said, producing a ring of keys and deftly opening the door. “John’s” mother, “Zenobia,” was the first to enter the room, calling her child’s name while searching for him throughout that none-too-large space. But anyone with eyes could see that there was simply nowhere in this room that could conceal a person.

“That child… his mind has never been quite clear; he must have been possessed by a demon,” “Zenobia” began to sob. “Whether hungry or thirsty, he never once calls out… When he was little, he once played hide-and-seek with me and shut himself in the storeroom; search as I might, I could not find him, and in the end even crying out for him to come out did no good… At the time I thought he was merely being mischievous; only later, after seeing a doctor, did I learn that there are times he simply cannot be aware of his own situation… Now, even if he has truly wandered off or hidden somewhere, we could shout our throats raw and still never call him out.”

“Madam, do not despair just yet.” “James” patted the mother on the shoulder. “Perhaps, just as you say, he really is playing hide-and-seek with you — look, isn’t there still one place in this room that has not been searched?”

He meant the Confessional; I think everyone understood. Yet no one dared, before everyone, to demand entry into the Confessional — that would be a violation of the god’s will.

Amid everyone’s silence, the distant clock chimed nine times — nine in the morning had come. No sooner had the chiming ended than, to everyone’s surprise, “Stephen” lunged forward in a single stride and seized the Deputy Founder by the collar: “A human life is at stake — quickly, let us into the Confessional to search!”

“But… for that we would have to stop the Whirlpool House’s rotation!” The Deputy Founder looked utterly helpless. “The device has been taken by who knows whom; and even if it were still here… the device’s passcode is unknown even to me.”

“Is there truly no way, then?!” The despairing “Zenobia,” murmuring words of prayer and blessing, gripped the door handle and rammed at it with all her might — and the door duly swung open. For the first few seconds, everyone was struck dumb; then, with “Zenobia” leading, everyone cried out together: “A miracle!” Even the Deputy Founder muttered to himself:

“How could this be…”

Yet the sight within the narrow Confessional was even more plain to see: here there were only two bare walls, and the suspended ceiling high above. “Stephen” looked all around and gauged the height of the walls with a gesture:

“About three and a half meters, and the walls are so smooth — by human strength alone, surely no one could climb over into the neighboring Confessional.”

That mother, eyes brimming with tears, nodded silently, as though she had accepted the fact that her child was no longer within this building.

“If there is nothing more, everyone had best come out,” the Deputy Founder said. And so I, “Stephen,” and “Zenobia” filed out of the Confessional one after another. I was the last to come out; as I did, I drew the door shut and fastened the lock for good measure.

“So who in the end killed the Founder?” asked “Andrew,” after we had gathered once again in the Deputy Founder’s Room No. 5.

The Deputy Founder pressed his lips together and gave a slight shake of his head: “I fear that I, for now, cannot provide an answer either.”

“But you said the door was locked at the time, did you not?” “Stephen” raised his hand. “If that is truly so, is this not a locked-room murder?”

“You cannot put it that way.” The Deputy Founder’s expression was grave. “When I opened the door, it was not in a bolted state — otherwise I could not have opened it with the spare key… It is entirely possible that someone entered the room and killed the Founder.”

“But surely the Founder would bolt his door when he slept at night? And how do you explain ‘John’s’ disappearance?” he pressed relentlessly.

“You mean to slander my child?” “Zenobia” cried. “He cannot even look after himself — how could he possibly kill anyone?”

“That is not at all what I meant.” “Stephen” hastily and awkwardly waved his hands.

What followed was the woman’s hysterical roaring. The Deputy Founder hurriedly brought the situation under control.

“In any case, let everyone first calm down. Next, I shall organize us into teams of several to search the nearby woods. Perhaps ‘John’ has merely happened to wander off somewhere near here. Also, there are beasts roaming about these parts, so everyone must take the greatest care while searching.”

“What did you say?” “Zenobia” opened her eyes wide, as though only now realizing something.

The Deputy Founder nodded, staring incredulously at her face.

“My child… the thing he fears most of all is those ferocious animals… Even if he was not eaten by a beast, the mere sight of one would surely send him into hiding for dear life—”

I was put in a group with “James,” chiefly responsible for the eastern region of the Whirlpool House; yet after several hours of shouting in the pouring rain, we came up with nothing in the end. When we returned to the Whirlpool House, the other three were likewise exhausted, and had likewise found no sign of “John” or “Andrew.” So we agreed to first take lunch in the Deputy Founder’s room. The pad of the Deputy Founder’s right thumb had been scratched by pine needles in the woods, and when he held his table knife, he had to deliberately cock the thumb up for fear of the pain; though I felt for him, it did look somewhat comical to watch. After the meal, the five of us each returned to our rooms to rest.

At 14:43, the Deputy Founder knocked at my door and I asked his purpose. He shook the red pot in his hand at me.

“The Founder is gone, and I keep thinking that, as Deputy Founder, there is something I can do for everyone. I recall the Founder once told me that the holy-water sprinkling ritual must be performed once a day, before sunrise. The incantation for the blessing ritual I learned long ago; I have just now performed the blessing over it, and now let me sprinkle it for you all.”

I respectfully welcomed him in. He paced a few rounds in the center of the room, much as he had this morning, then, hugging the wall, began to sprinkle the holy water, sprinkling as he advanced, going once around all four walls of the room. I noticed his thumb was still cocked up, while the remaining four fingers held firmly to the end of the pot’s handle.

The whole ritual took two or three minutes; when it was over we bowed to each other, and he took his leave, saying he should next go to “Stephen’s” room next door. After he left, I locked the door securely, confirmed that no one was at the window, then lay prone on the ground and sniffed at the smell of the holy water. Upon the thick carpet, the damp traces of the holy water had not yet dispersed; I pressed my nose to the floor and greedily breathed in its odor — a faint sweetness, but… more like the smell of gasoline I had smelled as a child in my uncle’s factory. At this I knew “James” had been lying to me this morning: having alone been first to taste the holy water, he had lied to me that it was “just like water” — truly not loyal enough.

After a while, the unbroken gloom and rain outside the window finally ceased, and very soon the sun rose instead, shining through the glass window and warming the room. Wearied by the whole morning, my body now flooded irresistibly with drowsiness, and I took a nap of about half an hour upon the bed, only to be startled awake at last by a knocking at the door. I got out of bed and braced one hand against the wall, meaning to change my shoes; the knocking at my ear grew louder still. I pulled the door open — it was the Deputy Founder, who led me to the doorway of Room No. 3.

Room No. 3 is “Stephen’s” room; at this moment the Deputy Founder and “James” were also outside the door of this room. From within the door came a series of “bang, bang, bang” sounds; the person inside seemed to be ramming the door ceaselessly. We looked at one another, none of us knowing what the situation was.

“We can only hear the sound of someone hitting the door; we’ve called out his name and he doesn’t answer. We don’t know what has happened,” “James” explained.

“Can the door be opened?” I said, and tried to step forward and push at the door, but my fingers met a stab of pain — it was a scorching heat.

“We’ve tried the key too; it won’t open from outside. It seems to have been bolted from within.” The Deputy Founder shrugged, and “James” nodded in agreement.

As we spoke, we all saw a scene suddenly unfold before our eyes: the small window to the right of the door, over which a curtain had originally been drawn, now — through the glass — that corner of the brown curtain cloth began to curl, blacken, and then rapidly shrivel, and leaping flames at once climbed up it. We all understood at once what was happening inside — it was a fire.

“Save him, quick!” “James” cried out, and then made to break the window, but plainly a fist could not smash the glass. He snatched up a stone from the ground nearby and hurled it with all his strength; the window broke a hole. He pounded a few more times with his fist, but the back of his hand was soon cut and bleeding by the shards of glass. The Deputy Founder stepped up and pulled him back, saying, “Let me.” Thereupon, from somewhere he produced a cloth of white and green, wrapped it about his hand and forearm, and quickly enlarged the small hole somewhat, then reached his arm in, as though trying to reach the lock on the inside of the door. Presently two “click” sounds came from the door lock.

“It’s open!” the Deputy Founder cried; but his hand suddenly jerked, he shouted “So hot!” and at once withdrew his arm. The cloth wrapped about his arm fell off inside as well. He returned to the door, tremblingly drew out the key, inserted it into the keyhole — only to find it still would not open.

“Let me try!” I shoved him aside and twisted the key with all my strength, but still it would not turn.

“Call the fire brigade, quick!” Before “James” had finished speaking, sirens were already sounding all around.

Work Log

Case No.: 1983711772  Date: January 18th

I am accustomed to writing my work log on electronic devices, but here all devices have been confiscated, so I use pen and paper.

I have been embedded in the “Whirlpool Sect” for one year and three months; as of yesterday (the 17th) I have at last gained entry to the “Whirlpool House.” Below I record my recent work in chronological order.

Yesterday I spent most of the day traveling, arriving at the House around 17:30; afterward I assembled in the “Founder’s” room, where he took us to view the Confessional and introduced certain rules. Back in my room I tried to push open the inner door without success; the principle is unclear for now, but I conjecture there is some sort of device within the House controlling the opening and closing of the inner doors.

In the night I lay resting through the first half of the night, but slept poorly; my cold has been very bad lately and my rhinitis has flared up again, my nose so stuffed I could not breathe. At 2:59 I began to act. I opened the door, keeping careful watch to lock it at all times. Reaching the doorway of Room No. 1, where the “Founder” was, I confirmed no one was about, then skillfully used a silent tool to cut a perfectly round hole ten centimeters in diameter in the glass window beside the door; I then reached my arm in, successfully touched the knob on the inside of the outer door, turned it one full revolution clockwise, and successfully opened the door. The whole process, as always, took five minutes.

The room was very quiet; apart from a faint anomalous sound coming from the depths of the room as I entered, almost all that could be heard was the “shh-shh” of the grandfather clock’s second hand and the sound of the light rain outside the window. The “Founder” had certainly not woken. I too kept my movements to a minimum, feeling my way forward in the dark. Having memorized the room’s layout, I successfully skirted the two obstacles (the square table and the round table), though near the bed I tripped over some handle-shaped object on the floor; fortunately the floor was carpeted and my reactions were quick, so I did not wake the person in the room.

Afterward I successfully reached the grandfather clock, and atop it felt the target object (the control device). I recalled the noise I had heard at the start, and suspected someone was hiding nearby, so I checked all around the inner door — nothing amiss. I then tried again to push the inner door, and again it could not be pushed open. So I returned by the way I had come, this time avoiding the obstacle on the floor. Once outside the room, I restored the door entirely to its previous state, and fitted back the pane of glass I had earlier cut out, so that it would look as inconspicuous as possible.

Worth recording: at this point I spotted a black shape in the forest not far off, of the height of an adult human; I watched it for a few seconds and it soon ran off. It may be wildlife roaming the vicinity.

I returned to my room at 3:35; the thing I had obtained I hid in the safe I had brought with me. Nothing further occurred afterward.

At 8:23 in the morning, I and several others were gathered by the “Deputy Founder” at the doorway of Room No. 1; the Deputy Founder opened the door before everyone with the spare key, and the “Founder” inside was already dead. I took the chance to survey the scene: the body was beheaded, and I confirmed the murder weapon was the axe on the floor. But the murder was a sudden, unforeseen event, not the chief purpose of this mission, so I omit any account of the scene here. According to intelligence, the important objective of this trip (the controller’s passcode) ought to be printed on the “Founder’s” left arm, so I secretly drew back his sleeve — and sure enough, there was a string of digits upon it. I memorized the passcode.

Later everyone discovered the death of “Andrew” and the disappearance of “John”; the former apparently suffered a beast attack, and the morning was spent chiefly searching for the latter, without result. Of note: while we were searching in “John’s” room, the inner door was actually opened successfully — yet at that time I had not used the controller to stop the rotation of the Whirlpool House. Later we searched for the person in the nearby forest, and by the time we returned it was about half past one in the afternoon. After finishing the meal, at 14:50 the “Deputy Founder” came into my room to perform the “holy-water sprinkling” ritual. After he left I bolted the door, took the device from the safe, and entered the passcode — so the Whirlpool House’s rotation should now be able to stop.

It is now 15:04; the sky has been clear for a while and the room is growing hotter and hotter. I had meant to step outside for some air, but suddenly heard a scream coming from the direction of the Confessional.

What “Andrew” Witnessed

This wretched House has nowhere to relieve oneself, as I only realized when I woke in the middle of the night with a stomachache.

It seemed I could only see to it outside. I left the door ajar — otherwise I’d need to bring the key, and the pajamas I had on had no pockets. Where to go? The clearing by the door clearly wouldn’t do; I had no wish to be interrogated when my droppings were discovered in the morning. The woods meant walking a few extra steps, but were at least more concealed.

I found a spot in the woods and squatted down; the ground was utterly muddy, all the fault of that endless rain — luckily it had stopped for now. There must have been something wrong with supper; now my lower belly ached so fiercely. That meal was supposedly made by the Deputy Founder; I heard he used to be a cook, but evidently he’s nothing to speak of, unable even to manage the quality of the ingredients. Ceaselessly I cursed him in my heart.

I squatted for nearly twenty minutes, the cramping coming in waves, seemingly with no end. The wind blew until I shivered, which only worsened the pain. I regretted having come out in nothing but a single layer of pajamas — or rather, these pajamas were simply my evil star: they always remind me of my brush with death at Auschwitz.¹ I truly do not know how I came to bring them to the Whirlpool House. I squatted nearly another ten minutes, until at last my legs went numb, before I could finally be sure my belly would ache no more.

I rose, ready to make my way back through the woods to my room. A rustling sound came, and the next instant my heart froze. A huge black shape stood there, behind a tree barely five meters from me. I wanted to look closely, but only then realized I had left my glasses in the room, so I squinted hard. A bear — my eyes told me this was a bear, yet by anything I knew, I could in no way understand why such a creature should appear in this godforsaken place. Would it attack me? Instinct drove me to freeze in place, motionless.

The thing saw me, its sly eyes fixed upon me, but its body did not move for a long while. Only then did I try to retreat bit by bit; confirming it still had not moved, I quickened my pace, and at last suddenly took to my heels. On the way I took a fall, my teeth biting through my lower lip, my nose smarting from the blow as well; but I paid these no mind, scrambled up again, and bolted back to the vicinity of the Whirlpool House, in utter disarray.

The bearings of the rooms and such I had never managed to remember. I recalled that the building revolves, and after squatting half an hour, its position had surely long since changed. So I searched along the counterclockwise direction, groping my way to the door I had earlier left ajar. I locked the door; a crisp “click” came. Gazing out the window, having confirmed that black thing had not followed, I felt my way by instinct to the bedside and threw myself headlong into the warm bedding. Just then I had the feeling that a faint, barely-there smell of blood pervaded the air around me, but I was too sleepy, so I told myself it was probably some problem my nose had taken from the fall and not worth minding. As the pounding of my heart gradually faded, drowsiness soon swept over me; I tried to ignore that uncomfortable smell and forced myself to fall asleep once more.

Police Investigation Report

On January 18th at 15:30, the police lying in wait around the “Whirlpool House” detected a fire within the House and quickly arrived at the scene. At the scene, Room No. 3 was ablaze. After the fire brigade reached the scene, they entered by breaking a window, successfully extinguished the fire, and, once the residual heat at the scene had dissipated, carried out clearing and survey operations. There were two bodies at the scene, both fallen 20–30 cm from the inside of the outer door, namely those bearing the church names “Stephen” and “John.” The bodies bore extensive burns, but the cause of death in both cases was excessive inhalation of dense smoke, so the majority of the injuries were post-mortem. The bodies bore no other external wounds or special marks. Judging by the degree of charring, the point of origin of the fire was on the carpet, at a position about 20 cm from the inner door. Furthermore, the burns on the right palm of “John’s” body were markedly more severe than on the left hand. A safe was also found in the room, containing a black rectangular object which, according to the witnesses, is the device that controls the rotation of the Whirlpool House; in addition, a work log was found. The outer door had been bolted from the inside (that is, turned twice counterclockwise); once the room’s fire lock had been released, the door opened normally. Upon disassembly, it was found that the outer door possessed certain special structures: one, the top door frame and the top of the door leaf were of an unusual form (as shown in Fig. 3); and one, within each of the room’s two side walls was found a layer of copper plate, wrapped on the outside with a layer of heat-insulating, fire-resistant material.

Other investigative clues regarding the Whirlpool House:

1. When the police arrived at the scene, the Whirlpool House was still in a state of rotation;
2. Each room of the Whirlpool House has only one spare key for its door lock, all of which are on the “Deputy Founder’s” person; apart from this there is no other way to open the doors. This set of spare keys has always been on the “Deputy Founder’s” own person, and has never passed into anyone else’s hands;
3. Regarding the red pot that holds the “holy water,” it was found to have a small hole at the lid and at the end of the handle respectively; on surveying its internal structure, it is in fact a puzzle pot (a “return-to-center” pot);
4. There exists no such thing as a remote-control device capable of locking the inner door;
5. As for the clues concerning Room No. 1, these are essentially covered by “Peter’s” account; in addition, the police found that the back of the pajamas on the body was also stained with a certain amount of blood;
6. The time on the grandfather clock within the Whirlpool House is at all times consistent with the local mean time.

The testimony of “James”:

Police: Were you the first to discover the anomaly in “Stephen’s” room?

James: No, I would say I discovered it together with the Deputy Founder.

Police: Can you describe the process of the discovery?

James: All right. It was about three in the afternoon. The Deputy Founder had just finished sprinkling holy water for us, and I was in my room writing a novel… you know, I’m fond of writing a bit of — um — detective fiction in my spare time. But I soon found I couldn’t settle down… I tried touching the wall against which the head of my bed rested and found it rather hot. Then from the room next door — yes, the one that caught fire — there seemed to come the sound of someone ramming the door with their body. I went out and just then saw the Deputy Founder hurrying over too. We called out to “Stephen,” and he didn’t speak. The Deputy Founder used the key to open the door and found it wouldn’t turn. I tried too, and it was the same — no use. Later “Peter” came as well, and the Deputy Founder and I broke the window together, but the door lock still wouldn’t open, so we called you in.

Police: All right, thank you. We hear you’ve been in the sect a long time and were close to the Founder. Could you describe the scene when you all discovered Room No. 1?

James: That’s right, I was indeed quite close to the Founder. But there’s really nothing to say about the scene — it was just as you saw it. He lay there, dressed in pajamas, solemn as ever, only his neck severed in a single stroke — oh no, it should be a single stroke of the axe… a pool of blood on the floor. I do recall that fellow called “Stephen” was clumsy and ham-handed; he moved a lot of things — you people would call that “disturbing the scene,” wouldn’t you?

Police: You needn’t concern yourself with that… Also, according to our investigation, this is not the first time the Whirlpool House has caught fire, is it? And as a believer, you must have witnessed the so-called “judgments” before; could you describe one for us?

James: I have indeed seen it a few times. Generally it’s not long after daybreak that a room suddenly bursts into flame, and by the time we go in, the sinner has long since been burned to death. Strangely enough, it always seems to be Room No. 3 that catches fire, and from the look of the blaze at the scene, it always seems to start from the side of the inner door… Probably the sinners had all tried to slip into the Confessional, and in the end were instead burned to death by the fire that issued from within the Confessional — isn’t that quite ironic?