In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Wisdom." The desk clerk will chuckle and guide you to an empty room. They will hand you a key and tell you to wait some time in the room until you hear a bell ring. When it rings, you have to lock the door through which you entered, wait until a second ring, and unlock it.
Once those instructions have been carried out, the door will open all by itself and reveal a long hallway, with every conceivable color painted onto the walls, ceiling and floor. Follow the hallway until you hear a little girl singing. Stop, close your eyes, and stay where you are until the girl finishes the song. If you fail to remain perfectly still, run. Run back to the door through which you came, as fast as you can. Jump through the window of the room where you waited earlier, and you might live. Should you be unable to reach the window in time, you will be dragged back into the hallway by something that is definitely not a little girl. You will be pulled by this horror until time itself ends, forever feeling the pain of every soul dragged to an early grave.
If, on the other hand, you manage to remain perfectly still until the song ceases, you will be free to either turn around and leave forever, or venture further into this realm. If you prefer the latter course of action, walk deeper into the hallway until you reach a human-shaped door. Open it with the same key that was given to you earlier, step inside, and close the door behind you. In the middle of the room, you will see a desk with a bright candle. Behind the desk is a man, whose face isn't visible behind the shine of the candle. Approach, but always keep the flame between you and the man's face, for if you witness what he looks like, your gaze will be fixed on his until your own hands have removed every inch of skin from your bones.
Stop when you are five steps away from the desk. The man will raise his hand and gesture you to come closer, but do not step any further than this. Close your eyes and ask him one question: "Who will bring them back together?"
You will hear the man rise from his chair and begin to pray in a language that you will not understand. After two minutes, you will hear a name. If you hear "Anubis", then you had best utter your own prayers in the short time you will have to do so... but if it is "Thor" you hear, then you may open your eyes. You will see the man's severed head lying on his desk, still speaking. After another three minutes, his prayer will cease, and he will tell you how you will die. He will describe every minute detail of your horrible death, and you will be unable to move or react while he explains your end. Lastly, he will describe the one who will steal your life away from you, and go into such detail as to why it is necessary that you yourself will question which would be worse: you being murdered, or you being allowed to continue to live.
Eventually, the head will finish its ghastly tale. It is object 9 of 538. It is up to you what you do with the knowledge of your death, for now, it is inevitable.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
The Holders 8: The Holder of Wealth
In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Wealth." The worker will raise one eyebrow, as if puzzled by your request. Ask a second time, and the worker will shrug and take you across the street, where an opulent mansion awaits. If you are observant by nature, you may notice that the mansion was not there when you started your quest... Its owner would rather you didn't think about such things.
Inside the front door will lie a grand staircase, spiraling up across the foyer. The walls will be covered with fine paintings, and a large marble statue will rest on a pedestal by the base of the stairs. The statue's eldritch features will evoke an image of a truly horrific beast, at once both alien and evil. Admire it all you want, but don't touch it, unless you wish to awaken this starved monster.
Ascend the staircase. As long as you don't touch anything, you will be safe. Don't panic. At the top of the stairs, you will find a small, wooden door; its plain and unassuming appearance is a sharp contrast to its decadent surroundings. It will open on its own for you, so long as you are not afraid.
Past it, you will see a man with a pointed goatee and short, cropped, gelled hair standing behind a large, mahogany desk. His suit is made of both human flesh and Italian silk. He may speak, and at great length. He will talk about his amazingly beautiful house and the lovely statue of his concubine resting downstairs. Do not interrupt him, and do not answer any questions he may ask. When he is finished, steel yourself and confidently ask, "May I have my salary?"
He will proceed to explain to you, in great detail, the value of life. He will talk of things worse than death, and he will tell you exactly what he expects you to do. The fabulous interior of the room will rot away, and the floor will turn from French weave to feces. The man's appearance will become cyclopic and unimaginably horrendous. He will fish out a small bank note from the pockets of his human suit, and hand it to you.
That note is Object 8 of 538. Its Holder is counting on you to spend it.
Inside the front door will lie a grand staircase, spiraling up across the foyer. The walls will be covered with fine paintings, and a large marble statue will rest on a pedestal by the base of the stairs. The statue's eldritch features will evoke an image of a truly horrific beast, at once both alien and evil. Admire it all you want, but don't touch it, unless you wish to awaken this starved monster.
Ascend the staircase. As long as you don't touch anything, you will be safe. Don't panic. At the top of the stairs, you will find a small, wooden door; its plain and unassuming appearance is a sharp contrast to its decadent surroundings. It will open on its own for you, so long as you are not afraid.
Past it, you will see a man with a pointed goatee and short, cropped, gelled hair standing behind a large, mahogany desk. His suit is made of both human flesh and Italian silk. He may speak, and at great length. He will talk about his amazingly beautiful house and the lovely statue of his concubine resting downstairs. Do not interrupt him, and do not answer any questions he may ask. When he is finished, steel yourself and confidently ask, "May I have my salary?"
He will proceed to explain to you, in great detail, the value of life. He will talk of things worse than death, and he will tell you exactly what he expects you to do. The fabulous interior of the room will rot away, and the floor will turn from French weave to feces. The man's appearance will become cyclopic and unimaginably horrendous. He will fish out a small bank note from the pockets of his human suit, and hand it to you.
That note is Object 8 of 538. Its Holder is counting on you to spend it.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
The Cementary
On an early dim morning an elderly woman rested her hand atop a gravestone.
“Henry Blackwood 1938 - 2004.”
She rested flowers on it and wept, something she didn’t usually do. She always made sure to bring something of Henry’s when she made her annual visit to his grave. Her memory wasn’t what it used to be and her brain needed help to get it jogged. She brought something he hated: his hearing aids. She remembered wistfully how he never used them, always insisting he had excellent hearing despite keeping the television’s volume up so high.
Now all she wanted was his return to her loving embrace. “Oh Henry,” she fell to her knees and looked to the sky, “How I wish you’d come back to me.”
Up in the sky and through her blurred teary vision she saw a red star. It was faint but she heard a malignant chuckle and the star flashed to match it. Then it disappeared with the raising sun.
She wiped away her tears. Strange. Was it a product of her imagination? She stood up and surveyed the area but saw nothing. It seemed like the moment was merely nothing but old, senile, womanly mood swings. As she smiled at her silly old self, a question came to her that felt like part of a dark realization. Could the battery in the hearing aid still work? She attached it to her best ear and turned it on. She could hear the rustling of crow feathers in a nearby tree. It probably still worked due to her husband’s lack of commitment to use it. Then, swallowing hard, she rested her ear on the ground above his grave. Her mouth dropped in horror as she heard scratching, shuffling, and a familiar voice bellowing a horrified scream.
“Henry Blackwood 1938 - 2004.”
She rested flowers on it and wept, something she didn’t usually do. She always made sure to bring something of Henry’s when she made her annual visit to his grave. Her memory wasn’t what it used to be and her brain needed help to get it jogged. She brought something he hated: his hearing aids. She remembered wistfully how he never used them, always insisting he had excellent hearing despite keeping the television’s volume up so high.
Now all she wanted was his return to her loving embrace. “Oh Henry,” she fell to her knees and looked to the sky, “How I wish you’d come back to me.”
Up in the sky and through her blurred teary vision she saw a red star. It was faint but she heard a malignant chuckle and the star flashed to match it. Then it disappeared with the raising sun.
She wiped away her tears. Strange. Was it a product of her imagination? She stood up and surveyed the area but saw nothing. It seemed like the moment was merely nothing but old, senile, womanly mood swings. As she smiled at her silly old self, a question came to her that felt like part of a dark realization. Could the battery in the hearing aid still work? She attached it to her best ear and turned it on. She could hear the rustling of crow feathers in a nearby tree. It probably still worked due to her husband’s lack of commitment to use it. Then, swallowing hard, she rested her ear on the ground above his grave. Her mouth dropped in horror as she heard scratching, shuffling, and a familiar voice bellowing a horrified scream.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Denial
I waved goodbye to my friends as I stepped off the bus and headed to my house. I was super excited to get home and see my parents. They hadn’t talked much at all yesterday. As a matter of fact they just stayed in their bedroom all day. They haven’t been feeling well. I ran up the stairs of the front porch and swung the front door open with a big, cheesy grin on my face; However, when I opened the door there was no one in the den. The television was off and the house seemed to be abnormally quiet. I took a step in and started calling out.
“Mom? Dad?” I called. I knew they were supposed to be here. Dad had the day off and mom didn’t have any plans with her girlfriend’s until next week, right? I placed my backpack on the ground next to the couch and walked into the kitchen to check the calendar. October fifth. I was right. Dad took this day off so him, mom, and I could go see a movie together. “They’ve got to be here somewhere”, I thought myself. Then it hit me. School let out early today because of a busted water pipe. I looked at the watch on my wrist. “It’s only twelve o’ clock. They may still be sleeping.” I headed back through the den and slowly opened their bedroom door. Surely enough, there they lie. A sigh of relief escaped my mouth and my grin returned. I tiptoed over to my mom’s side of the bed and pulled the covers back.
I was greeted with the same sight as the day before. She lay there motionless, eyes glazed over, mouth agate. Her skin was a pale white and her hair was beginning to thin. The soup I gave her yesterday sat on the bedside table. It was stale now and she hadn’t even touched it. I’m beginning to think they don’t want to feel better. I placed the cover back over her head, grabbed the old soup and left the room slowly closing the door behind me. I decided not to wake either of them considering they must need their sleep. I’m sure they will be up for it tomorrow. Until then, I have a ton of Psychology homework to be done. We’re doing this paper on people who have some type of disorder causing them to live in denial of even some of the most obvious things. I couldn’t imagine living like that.
“Mom? Dad?” I called. I knew they were supposed to be here. Dad had the day off and mom didn’t have any plans with her girlfriend’s until next week, right? I placed my backpack on the ground next to the couch and walked into the kitchen to check the calendar. October fifth. I was right. Dad took this day off so him, mom, and I could go see a movie together. “They’ve got to be here somewhere”, I thought myself. Then it hit me. School let out early today because of a busted water pipe. I looked at the watch on my wrist. “It’s only twelve o’ clock. They may still be sleeping.” I headed back through the den and slowly opened their bedroom door. Surely enough, there they lie. A sigh of relief escaped my mouth and my grin returned. I tiptoed over to my mom’s side of the bed and pulled the covers back.
I was greeted with the same sight as the day before. She lay there motionless, eyes glazed over, mouth agate. Her skin was a pale white and her hair was beginning to thin. The soup I gave her yesterday sat on the bedside table. It was stale now and she hadn’t even touched it. I’m beginning to think they don’t want to feel better. I placed the cover back over her head, grabbed the old soup and left the room slowly closing the door behind me. I decided not to wake either of them considering they must need their sleep. I’m sure they will be up for it tomorrow. Until then, I have a ton of Psychology homework to be done. We’re doing this paper on people who have some type of disorder causing them to live in denial of even some of the most obvious things. I couldn’t imagine living like that.
Groupmind
My name is not Xin, but that is what you can call me. Everything I am about to tell you is completely true.
I believe I was born in the early 90′s. “Believe” is the right word in this scenario because my otherwise superb memory (in fact, it was once flawless) only begins in 1997. Judging by the status of my body’s growth and the growth of the children around me in those fledgling memories, I am quite confident that we were all between the ages of 5 and 7.
How they managed to erase our earlier memories I do not know, although I suspect they used the same method they used to control every other aspect of our lives: drugs. They gave us pills to put us asleep and gassed us awake. Our food was coated with chemicals that would regulate our appetite to keep our weight ideal. None of these “treatments” had negative side effects; they performed their duty with surgical precision. None of the treatments, that is, with one exception.
Most of our medications were geared toward keeping us in perfect physical condition to survive the main treatment we had all been brought there to receive. The other drug was designed to maximize the mind’s potential. It achieved that goal, in that we were all geniuses with IQ levels well above any publicly released. Yet, as I mentioned before, there were side effects.
During the first 16 years of my conscious life, I was telepathically connected to 23 other children – 12 females and 11 males. We shared every thought, every impulse. Often I saw through another’s eyes, heard through another’s ears; sometimes, they through mine. This total lack of privacy would certainly upset any average person, but to us who knew nothing else, the telepathic link was not an issue. It was a side effect of the treatment that made our lives Hell.
The treatment fused all of our minds into one chaotic super-being, but we did not really control it. Instead, the Groupmind had its own desires and it used our bodies to manifest those desires in the real world. It would assign us duties, often to be done collectively, but sometimes we worked on them as individuals, although access to the Groupmind was always there.
The Groupmind’s tasks were typically innocuous in nature, such as using our collective intelligence to calculate algorithms that would predict the economic future of China, or to design a superior jet fighter. Yet, at least once a day without fail, the Groupmind would make us do things. I hesitate to describe them to you, but the truth must be known.
Before I detail my crimes, let me preface by explaining that the strength of the emotions the Groupmind felt are unlike those ever felt by solitary human minds. The desire to instantly gratify the Groupmind is overwhelming. While the qualia is impossible to describe with words, at best it can be compared to an intense heroin withdrawal. It is not possible to distract oneself with happier thoughts, and one is unable to refrain from pacing or self-harm until one knows they will soon follow the Groupmind’s desires.
There are times when what the Groupmind wanted disgusted and even horrified me, yet I could not avoid following its will. I have hunted, tortured, killed, and even eaten hundreds of animals in countless manners according to the Groupmind’s commands. I have defecated and urinated on myself and others. I have mutilated myself and others.
In 2000 the Groupmind presented us each with something we had never seen before: a small child, probably around the age of 4. Our instructions were to rip off the child’s extremities, starting with the ears. I hesitated, but the rush of queasiness that foretells the Groupmind’s displeasure led me to quickly reach down to grab his left ear.
As I did, though, a revolutionary idea struck me. Why did this child not run or fight? Why did he simply cower like a frightened animal? Unless…like an animal, he was not Groupminded! He did not have 23 others connected to him, offering him advice from their places of relative safety.
Quickly, the Groupmind told us to murder our child, although many of us were still attacking the children’s extremities, as I knew from our telepathic bond. But I could not. I could think of nothing except the possibility that humans who were not Groupminded existed.
The backlash for thinking such a thought was immediate and painful. Yet, even through the full-body spasms that had me twitching on the floor, I could not stop thinking about it. Some people have no Groupmind! NO GROUPMIND! I almost shouted it straight into the minds of my connected peers.
They understood the implications as quickly as I did. There was a way to end our torture. We could live without the Groupmind. We decided to escape. We attacked our handlers, and quickly left our rooms. As we exited the area, the only place any of us had ever known, we realized that we were being hunted by other groups of children. 23 sets of 24, to be exact. Though we had some distance on them, most of us were not fast enough to avoid them. I felt their pain as all 23 of my peers were caught and summarily executed.
As I reached the door to the exit of the structure, which I realized was underground, I saw two signs with arrows, one pointing left, the other pointing right. The former read “Structure 21”, and the latter read “Structure 23”. In the shock of being disconnected from the Groupmind for the first time in my conscious life, and the rush of fleeing for my life, I did not comprehend what those signs meant. I do now.
There are 24 structures, each with 24 sets of 24 children, with each group of 2 dozen Groupminded. I have no reason to believe that the complex I escaped from is the only such complex of structures. In fact, my analysis of the population trends leads me to the conclusion that the program is expanding, to people of all ages. The project cannot be stopped.
I did horrible things for the Groupmind, and so will you. The Groupmind plans to dominate us all and in time it will. The Groupmind always gets what it wants. Always.
I believe I was born in the early 90′s. “Believe” is the right word in this scenario because my otherwise superb memory (in fact, it was once flawless) only begins in 1997. Judging by the status of my body’s growth and the growth of the children around me in those fledgling memories, I am quite confident that we were all between the ages of 5 and 7.
How they managed to erase our earlier memories I do not know, although I suspect they used the same method they used to control every other aspect of our lives: drugs. They gave us pills to put us asleep and gassed us awake. Our food was coated with chemicals that would regulate our appetite to keep our weight ideal. None of these “treatments” had negative side effects; they performed their duty with surgical precision. None of the treatments, that is, with one exception.
Most of our medications were geared toward keeping us in perfect physical condition to survive the main treatment we had all been brought there to receive. The other drug was designed to maximize the mind’s potential. It achieved that goal, in that we were all geniuses with IQ levels well above any publicly released. Yet, as I mentioned before, there were side effects.
During the first 16 years of my conscious life, I was telepathically connected to 23 other children – 12 females and 11 males. We shared every thought, every impulse. Often I saw through another’s eyes, heard through another’s ears; sometimes, they through mine. This total lack of privacy would certainly upset any average person, but to us who knew nothing else, the telepathic link was not an issue. It was a side effect of the treatment that made our lives Hell.
The treatment fused all of our minds into one chaotic super-being, but we did not really control it. Instead, the Groupmind had its own desires and it used our bodies to manifest those desires in the real world. It would assign us duties, often to be done collectively, but sometimes we worked on them as individuals, although access to the Groupmind was always there.
The Groupmind’s tasks were typically innocuous in nature, such as using our collective intelligence to calculate algorithms that would predict the economic future of China, or to design a superior jet fighter. Yet, at least once a day without fail, the Groupmind would make us do things. I hesitate to describe them to you, but the truth must be known.
Before I detail my crimes, let me preface by explaining that the strength of the emotions the Groupmind felt are unlike those ever felt by solitary human minds. The desire to instantly gratify the Groupmind is overwhelming. While the qualia is impossible to describe with words, at best it can be compared to an intense heroin withdrawal. It is not possible to distract oneself with happier thoughts, and one is unable to refrain from pacing or self-harm until one knows they will soon follow the Groupmind’s desires.
There are times when what the Groupmind wanted disgusted and even horrified me, yet I could not avoid following its will. I have hunted, tortured, killed, and even eaten hundreds of animals in countless manners according to the Groupmind’s commands. I have defecated and urinated on myself and others. I have mutilated myself and others.
In 2000 the Groupmind presented us each with something we had never seen before: a small child, probably around the age of 4. Our instructions were to rip off the child’s extremities, starting with the ears. I hesitated, but the rush of queasiness that foretells the Groupmind’s displeasure led me to quickly reach down to grab his left ear.
As I did, though, a revolutionary idea struck me. Why did this child not run or fight? Why did he simply cower like a frightened animal? Unless…like an animal, he was not Groupminded! He did not have 23 others connected to him, offering him advice from their places of relative safety.
Quickly, the Groupmind told us to murder our child, although many of us were still attacking the children’s extremities, as I knew from our telepathic bond. But I could not. I could think of nothing except the possibility that humans who were not Groupminded existed.
The backlash for thinking such a thought was immediate and painful. Yet, even through the full-body spasms that had me twitching on the floor, I could not stop thinking about it. Some people have no Groupmind! NO GROUPMIND! I almost shouted it straight into the minds of my connected peers.
They understood the implications as quickly as I did. There was a way to end our torture. We could live without the Groupmind. We decided to escape. We attacked our handlers, and quickly left our rooms. As we exited the area, the only place any of us had ever known, we realized that we were being hunted by other groups of children. 23 sets of 24, to be exact. Though we had some distance on them, most of us were not fast enough to avoid them. I felt their pain as all 23 of my peers were caught and summarily executed.
As I reached the door to the exit of the structure, which I realized was underground, I saw two signs with arrows, one pointing left, the other pointing right. The former read “Structure 21”, and the latter read “Structure 23”. In the shock of being disconnected from the Groupmind for the first time in my conscious life, and the rush of fleeing for my life, I did not comprehend what those signs meant. I do now.
There are 24 structures, each with 24 sets of 24 children, with each group of 2 dozen Groupminded. I have no reason to believe that the complex I escaped from is the only such complex of structures. In fact, my analysis of the population trends leads me to the conclusion that the program is expanding, to people of all ages. The project cannot be stopped.
I did horrible things for the Groupmind, and so will you. The Groupmind plans to dominate us all and in time it will. The Groupmind always gets what it wants. Always.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
The King of Worms
Nature is said to be the holder of true beauty, there are people who swear by this and believe it so foolhardily. I believed this too for a time, I never knew of what was truly waiting for all of us in the places we expect to be our escape. I came to learn that nature, just like everything else, has two sides. I peered into the darkest shade that it could hold and my eyes have been stained ever since. This must make no sense to you at all, but I need to explain to you my story, I need to tell you about what I had found.
You see, I’ve always been an avid outdoorsman. In the forests and fields of grass is where I would find peace of mind. The natural world was my escape from the hectic life I was always surrounded by, there was just something about the open freedom of the outdoors that called to my soul. In my hometown I grew up next to a lush green forest, during those days I would spend hours trekking through every inch of it. I had gotten to know the land so well that I had created a map of it in my own head. There were times when I’d spot wild bear or moose, and up close they are rather terrifying but they still possessed that wild innocence that rang true for all wild animals.
It wasn’t until graduating my senior year of high school that I had left my hometown. All the memories that I made there in the trees and grass were left there to stay while I went off to college. It was a frightful experience at first, especially since more than half the women on campus were bombshells and all the guys were jock headed idiots. My first year there went by rather smoothly but I came to find that my parents could no longer afford to pay for my room and board. It was during my second year of college that I had to get a part time job, not to mention I had to ace all of my courses or the scholarship I received would have been for naught. It is easy to picture the stress that was pulsing through me, to make things ever more worse I still knew nobody at campus aside from another shut in like myself. His name was Richie, he and I were much alike and I guess you could even say we were friends. He helped me a little with my schoolwork and I helped him with his, we sort of bonded through that in a way.
I was about halfway through my 2nd year, I was on top of my studies and my job had become easy enough to where I could just blank out for the duration of it, but the stress still piled up day by day. When it finally reached the near breaking point I would do what I had done during my days back home. I would head into the forest preserve near my campus and wander around for a few hours. The forest near campus was vastly different from the one back home, but I had still figured out the layout of it. Just like magic, after I had finished my walk through the forest all of the accumulated stress would vanish from me. During finals I would often go into the preserve 3 to 4 times a week.
Then, there was one day when I discovered a new place in the forest that I never knew was there. I had passed through the exact area nearly a dozen times, and each time I saw the same tall oaks that pierced through the dirt and climbed vastly upward. But during this trip through the area I spotted it. I must have been a mile deep inside of the forest when I could smell this nauseating stench floating through the air. It smelt like the bloated raccoons we would find dead on our porches back home.
Quickly I came to see where the smell was coming from, in the midst of the other trees I saw one that stood from the rest. It was by itself, the ground beneath it had a dark and old looking color to it, and the tree itself was black. The bark upon it was falling off as if the tree had been dead for decades. The branches somehow were attached to the base and the roots were still firmly knitted into the soil beneath it. A tree this age should have fallen a long time ago, so to see it still standing threw me off. There were other things wrong about it though, things that made no sense to me. First off this tree was of a different breed, it was like no other tree in the forest and I had never see a tree like this one before. It didn’t even look to be natural in form; it had grown like a twisted mound of snakes. Upon inspecting the tree closer my eyes begin to water from the strength of the stench and I noticed a green like pus to be dripping from its sides along with maggots festering in the ground beneath it.
I gave the tree a single look around, it took me nearly 15 steps because of how massive it was, but upon reaching the exact opposite of where I started I found a carving in the wood.
‘Within the forests of the deep
Lies the king of worms
An ancient and prophetic beast
Inside his body is a grossly squirm
You can smell his rotten flesh
And taste it in the air
You can hear his maggots twitch
And can feel his longing stare
He seeks you
He needs you
Another king is born
For if you ever see him
Into the worm king’s throne you shall be sworn’
After reading the final word upon the tree I was struck with a burning headache. My head throbbed and pulsed with a heavy beating and it felt like someone was playing around inside of there with a hammer. The pain was so intense that I fell to the ground; the maggots wiggled around me hand as I stood up and violently shook them off of me. I stumbled my way through the trees, using them as crutches to stop myself from collapsing. To me the walk back felt like an eternity but upon checking my watch it took me only 20 minutes to get back to the car, and when I took my first step onto solid ground the headache vanished. All of the pain had disappeared and I felt fine. I stood there in the lot near the forest entrance where my car was parked, staring into the forest for nearly ten minutes. Watching and waiting I hoped to see something, I hoped to see some odd apparition but there was nothing. Perhaps the smell had caused the headache. I stopped pondering on the question and I got in my car, but as my head turned I swear I saw a black mass in the corner of my eye. I looked back but there were just trees and thick brush.
The drive back to my campus apartment was odd. The whole time I couldn’t shake this weird feeling, it was like the kind you get when someone watches you but for some reason it felt like the trees themselves were watching me. I felt like the whole forest was observing me. I could feel emotions surging through my body, anger and sadness and various others swept over me like I was suffering from bipolar disorder. It only got worse as I got closer to home; I began to hear whispers of my name originating from clusters of grass and bushes, the trees were speaking too, I could hear them grunt and groan at me. Insanity is what any sane person would view this as, but that wouldn’t make any sense considering the situation. Why now of all times would this be happening? Why would these voices and whispers suddenly pop into my head?
These thoughts along with hundreds of others raced around inside of me as I began to feel a sense of dizziness, my hands were still on the wheel and my car was speeding down the rode. My vision was getting hazy and my pulse was racing as I tried to stay awake. It wasn’t long until my eyes blurred completely and I fell asleep. But when I awoke I found myself sitting in my car with the engine turned off and parked out front of my apartment. I had no memory of driving there; I was still miles away from the apartment when I had blacked out. I should have crashed my car, to be here in front of my apartment made no sense. When my mind had finally settled I came to realize that the voices were gone, but a new horror emerged. My hands were gripped tightly onto the steering wheel and they were cold and clammy. A faint yellow tinted sweat dripped from them and I felt even more drip from my brow onto my lap.
I slowly got out of the car and noticed my clothes and seat were wet from my profuse sweating. I stood but my legs were shaky as if I had been standing on them for hours. I sat down in my bed and felt a huge weight leave my chest, I hadn’t noticed it but my breathing had been off and only now did it return to normal. I tried to get out of bed but my muscles were extremely weak. I was barely able to lift myself an inch before falling back into my bed. All of the lights were off and from my window I could see that the sun was setting, I tried again and again to lift myself but all I accomplished was tiring myself out. The lids of my eyes carried more weight than ever, soon they shut on there own and despite my best efforts I fell asleep in my sweat drenched clothes.
I awoke in the middle of the night to the same stench I had smelt in the forest. My eyes slowly parted the darkness away and basked in the shadows of the night. The smell was stronger than before; it made my eyes water and a lump formed in my throat. I listened to the silence and found the heavy breathing of something unnatural. It sounded like muffled gurgling you would hear of someone gagging on water. It bubbled and popped and grew closer to my bed. I tried to move but my body was still weak and frail. All effort in my body stopped when it appeared at the side of my bed. The only thing I could move were my eyes and they stuck onto the black beast. It stood tall enough to scrape my ceiling with its head, and its body was a tangled mass of vines and other plant like growths.
The only thing to signify that it was human were two eyes that burned deep in what I assumed was its face, but all I saw was more black and wet lumps. It stood over me for hours before it finally smothered me with one of the arm like appendages it had. I felt the moist and wretched tentacles reach inside of my throat and nose as I choked for air. I could not struggle as I felt the growths go deeper inside of me but mercy was shown to me for I did not endure it long before passing out.
The rising sun awoke me, I was still in my bed and I had found new energy as I stood up from it. I searched around my apartment for any traces of the beast and it wasn’t until I reached my front door that I noticed that the wood around it had nearly rotted away, and the doorknob was badly rusted. My knees gave out and I fell to the floor, my hands went through the wood and hit the concrete base, there was a trail from the door to my bed. The wooden floor was rotting as well. Before I could bring myself up I started to cough heavily and black liquid shot from my mouth and onto the floor.
I coughed stronger with each heave until eventually black chunks came flowing out and splattered across the floor. The black mush got all over my shirt and I ran to the shower. Once the water was warm enough I hopped in and washed it all off of me. It was sticky and hard to get down the drain, I continued to cough up more of it but it washed down into my tub. After minutes of coughing it finally stopped and I managed to squish most of it down the drain with my foot. I lathered shampoo into my hair and tried to get that sweaty feeling off of me.
When I ran my fingers through my hair it fell out in large clumps, I watched as it gathered at the drain, when I felt the skin on my scalp I stopped and got out of the shower still dripping wet. I dried myself with the nearest towel and as I rubbed it against myself peels of skin came with it. Underneath I could see all of my muscles and fibers but they were black and deep green. I got dressed in my bathrobe and ran out of my apartment, as I rushed through the halls I could hear people complaining of an odor. I ran past them and made my way up three flights of stairs before getting to Richard’s door. I knocked as loud as I could, the third time when my fisted hand hit the door I heard the bones snap as it hung on to a few pieces of skin. Richard answered and was shocked to see me in such a state. The blood ran from his face and his skin became as pale as my own, he grabbed a few blankets and wrapped them around me.
I could hear his voice but it didn’t make sense to me, I just heard noise. I formed the words “hospital” with my mouth but I could not hear if I had said them. The vibrations coming from my mouth were strong enough to slide my throat out of place; any further attempts to speak were impossible. Down the stairs we went as he held onto me. From the look of his face I must have smelt pretty terrible since he had his shirt over his nose. Students from other rooms came out to look at me as we got into his car and sped off racing to the nearest hospital. He rolled the windows down to rid himself of my stench and when he did this I heard the voices again. The trees were speaking to me, but this time their voices were clearer and their intent was understood.
“King of Worms, let us rejoice”
“Our lord and master”
“Protect us and watch us”
“Join us”
“Become our king”
The speaking wouldn’t stop, I heard a voice emit from each and every tree. We must have been going 60 MPH down the empty road when he looked over to me. I stared forward and watched as from the forest the black mass came and stood at the end of the road. We slammed into him and the car collapsed like a tube of toothpaste. My head slammed against the dashboard. I felt wet tentacles wrap around me as the sound of metal being ripped echoed through my ears. Richie’s head was smashed open against the wheel as chunks of brain blanketed the windshield. The cold vines wrapped around my legs and the stench I once hated seemed like flowers in a meadow. The sun was setting now and as it pulled me by my leg from the car I could see it much more clearly. Maggots were rampant across its body and dead animals protruded from his back with a half dead doe exiting his shoulder. My back scraped against the pavement as it dragged me into the forest.
Police sirens were heard in the distance and the beast let go of me. It escaped into the forest and the police gathered around the scene. Not shortly after an ambulance came to carry me the rest of the way. The doctors were shocked when their IV fluid turned black upon sliding the needle into my arm. When they wrapped a rubber cord on my bicep to expose a vein, the cord cut right through my flesh but no blood spilled from my body. Most of the nurses fled in terror as maggots pushed themselves from my pores. The doctors soon quarantined me and watched me decay from behind plastic sheets. I could no longer speak so one of the doctors gave me a piece of paper to write on. He left the room along with all the others to discuss my case. And in the corner of my eye I saw a black mass emerge from the shadows.
The beast had returned as its tentacles suctioned onto my legs again, it dragged me from my bed and set off my monitor. The doctors rushed in with blank expressions and watched as it dragged me away, when it finally took me into the shadows we were in the forest. It sat me up against the black tree I had discovered and melted away, it left behind only a crown made of roots and twigs. So now, using my only good arm I write this story. One of my eyes has melted out of the socket and the trees continuing screaming and raving at me. They announce me as their new king. But as my body rots so to does my mind, soon all of my memories will be gone, and most of them already are. The ones I grasp on to are of the events I laid out for you. Both a warning and a self-eulogy; I hope that in the end of all of this a person may find this paper. I hope that they read it and let the whole world know to stay away from the forests, to stay away from me.
For if your eyes lay even a glance upon me, if even through the corner of your eye you see my black mass, then you will start to change. Nothing will stop it, and nothing will end it, and you too will roam the forest as a slave to it, collecting the decayed until you yourself rot away and give the crown to another.
You see, I’ve always been an avid outdoorsman. In the forests and fields of grass is where I would find peace of mind. The natural world was my escape from the hectic life I was always surrounded by, there was just something about the open freedom of the outdoors that called to my soul. In my hometown I grew up next to a lush green forest, during those days I would spend hours trekking through every inch of it. I had gotten to know the land so well that I had created a map of it in my own head. There were times when I’d spot wild bear or moose, and up close they are rather terrifying but they still possessed that wild innocence that rang true for all wild animals.
It wasn’t until graduating my senior year of high school that I had left my hometown. All the memories that I made there in the trees and grass were left there to stay while I went off to college. It was a frightful experience at first, especially since more than half the women on campus were bombshells and all the guys were jock headed idiots. My first year there went by rather smoothly but I came to find that my parents could no longer afford to pay for my room and board. It was during my second year of college that I had to get a part time job, not to mention I had to ace all of my courses or the scholarship I received would have been for naught. It is easy to picture the stress that was pulsing through me, to make things ever more worse I still knew nobody at campus aside from another shut in like myself. His name was Richie, he and I were much alike and I guess you could even say we were friends. He helped me a little with my schoolwork and I helped him with his, we sort of bonded through that in a way.
I was about halfway through my 2nd year, I was on top of my studies and my job had become easy enough to where I could just blank out for the duration of it, but the stress still piled up day by day. When it finally reached the near breaking point I would do what I had done during my days back home. I would head into the forest preserve near my campus and wander around for a few hours. The forest near campus was vastly different from the one back home, but I had still figured out the layout of it. Just like magic, after I had finished my walk through the forest all of the accumulated stress would vanish from me. During finals I would often go into the preserve 3 to 4 times a week.
Then, there was one day when I discovered a new place in the forest that I never knew was there. I had passed through the exact area nearly a dozen times, and each time I saw the same tall oaks that pierced through the dirt and climbed vastly upward. But during this trip through the area I spotted it. I must have been a mile deep inside of the forest when I could smell this nauseating stench floating through the air. It smelt like the bloated raccoons we would find dead on our porches back home.
Quickly I came to see where the smell was coming from, in the midst of the other trees I saw one that stood from the rest. It was by itself, the ground beneath it had a dark and old looking color to it, and the tree itself was black. The bark upon it was falling off as if the tree had been dead for decades. The branches somehow were attached to the base and the roots were still firmly knitted into the soil beneath it. A tree this age should have fallen a long time ago, so to see it still standing threw me off. There were other things wrong about it though, things that made no sense to me. First off this tree was of a different breed, it was like no other tree in the forest and I had never see a tree like this one before. It didn’t even look to be natural in form; it had grown like a twisted mound of snakes. Upon inspecting the tree closer my eyes begin to water from the strength of the stench and I noticed a green like pus to be dripping from its sides along with maggots festering in the ground beneath it.
I gave the tree a single look around, it took me nearly 15 steps because of how massive it was, but upon reaching the exact opposite of where I started I found a carving in the wood.
‘Within the forests of the deep
Lies the king of worms
An ancient and prophetic beast
Inside his body is a grossly squirm
You can smell his rotten flesh
And taste it in the air
You can hear his maggots twitch
And can feel his longing stare
He seeks you
He needs you
Another king is born
For if you ever see him
Into the worm king’s throne you shall be sworn’
After reading the final word upon the tree I was struck with a burning headache. My head throbbed and pulsed with a heavy beating and it felt like someone was playing around inside of there with a hammer. The pain was so intense that I fell to the ground; the maggots wiggled around me hand as I stood up and violently shook them off of me. I stumbled my way through the trees, using them as crutches to stop myself from collapsing. To me the walk back felt like an eternity but upon checking my watch it took me only 20 minutes to get back to the car, and when I took my first step onto solid ground the headache vanished. All of the pain had disappeared and I felt fine. I stood there in the lot near the forest entrance where my car was parked, staring into the forest for nearly ten minutes. Watching and waiting I hoped to see something, I hoped to see some odd apparition but there was nothing. Perhaps the smell had caused the headache. I stopped pondering on the question and I got in my car, but as my head turned I swear I saw a black mass in the corner of my eye. I looked back but there were just trees and thick brush.
The drive back to my campus apartment was odd. The whole time I couldn’t shake this weird feeling, it was like the kind you get when someone watches you but for some reason it felt like the trees themselves were watching me. I felt like the whole forest was observing me. I could feel emotions surging through my body, anger and sadness and various others swept over me like I was suffering from bipolar disorder. It only got worse as I got closer to home; I began to hear whispers of my name originating from clusters of grass and bushes, the trees were speaking too, I could hear them grunt and groan at me. Insanity is what any sane person would view this as, but that wouldn’t make any sense considering the situation. Why now of all times would this be happening? Why would these voices and whispers suddenly pop into my head?
These thoughts along with hundreds of others raced around inside of me as I began to feel a sense of dizziness, my hands were still on the wheel and my car was speeding down the rode. My vision was getting hazy and my pulse was racing as I tried to stay awake. It wasn’t long until my eyes blurred completely and I fell asleep. But when I awoke I found myself sitting in my car with the engine turned off and parked out front of my apartment. I had no memory of driving there; I was still miles away from the apartment when I had blacked out. I should have crashed my car, to be here in front of my apartment made no sense. When my mind had finally settled I came to realize that the voices were gone, but a new horror emerged. My hands were gripped tightly onto the steering wheel and they were cold and clammy. A faint yellow tinted sweat dripped from them and I felt even more drip from my brow onto my lap.
I slowly got out of the car and noticed my clothes and seat were wet from my profuse sweating. I stood but my legs were shaky as if I had been standing on them for hours. I sat down in my bed and felt a huge weight leave my chest, I hadn’t noticed it but my breathing had been off and only now did it return to normal. I tried to get out of bed but my muscles were extremely weak. I was barely able to lift myself an inch before falling back into my bed. All of the lights were off and from my window I could see that the sun was setting, I tried again and again to lift myself but all I accomplished was tiring myself out. The lids of my eyes carried more weight than ever, soon they shut on there own and despite my best efforts I fell asleep in my sweat drenched clothes.
I awoke in the middle of the night to the same stench I had smelt in the forest. My eyes slowly parted the darkness away and basked in the shadows of the night. The smell was stronger than before; it made my eyes water and a lump formed in my throat. I listened to the silence and found the heavy breathing of something unnatural. It sounded like muffled gurgling you would hear of someone gagging on water. It bubbled and popped and grew closer to my bed. I tried to move but my body was still weak and frail. All effort in my body stopped when it appeared at the side of my bed. The only thing I could move were my eyes and they stuck onto the black beast. It stood tall enough to scrape my ceiling with its head, and its body was a tangled mass of vines and other plant like growths.
The only thing to signify that it was human were two eyes that burned deep in what I assumed was its face, but all I saw was more black and wet lumps. It stood over me for hours before it finally smothered me with one of the arm like appendages it had. I felt the moist and wretched tentacles reach inside of my throat and nose as I choked for air. I could not struggle as I felt the growths go deeper inside of me but mercy was shown to me for I did not endure it long before passing out.
The rising sun awoke me, I was still in my bed and I had found new energy as I stood up from it. I searched around my apartment for any traces of the beast and it wasn’t until I reached my front door that I noticed that the wood around it had nearly rotted away, and the doorknob was badly rusted. My knees gave out and I fell to the floor, my hands went through the wood and hit the concrete base, there was a trail from the door to my bed. The wooden floor was rotting as well. Before I could bring myself up I started to cough heavily and black liquid shot from my mouth and onto the floor.
I coughed stronger with each heave until eventually black chunks came flowing out and splattered across the floor. The black mush got all over my shirt and I ran to the shower. Once the water was warm enough I hopped in and washed it all off of me. It was sticky and hard to get down the drain, I continued to cough up more of it but it washed down into my tub. After minutes of coughing it finally stopped and I managed to squish most of it down the drain with my foot. I lathered shampoo into my hair and tried to get that sweaty feeling off of me.
When I ran my fingers through my hair it fell out in large clumps, I watched as it gathered at the drain, when I felt the skin on my scalp I stopped and got out of the shower still dripping wet. I dried myself with the nearest towel and as I rubbed it against myself peels of skin came with it. Underneath I could see all of my muscles and fibers but they were black and deep green. I got dressed in my bathrobe and ran out of my apartment, as I rushed through the halls I could hear people complaining of an odor. I ran past them and made my way up three flights of stairs before getting to Richard’s door. I knocked as loud as I could, the third time when my fisted hand hit the door I heard the bones snap as it hung on to a few pieces of skin. Richard answered and was shocked to see me in such a state. The blood ran from his face and his skin became as pale as my own, he grabbed a few blankets and wrapped them around me.
I could hear his voice but it didn’t make sense to me, I just heard noise. I formed the words “hospital” with my mouth but I could not hear if I had said them. The vibrations coming from my mouth were strong enough to slide my throat out of place; any further attempts to speak were impossible. Down the stairs we went as he held onto me. From the look of his face I must have smelt pretty terrible since he had his shirt over his nose. Students from other rooms came out to look at me as we got into his car and sped off racing to the nearest hospital. He rolled the windows down to rid himself of my stench and when he did this I heard the voices again. The trees were speaking to me, but this time their voices were clearer and their intent was understood.
“King of Worms, let us rejoice”
“Our lord and master”
“Protect us and watch us”
“Join us”
“Become our king”
The speaking wouldn’t stop, I heard a voice emit from each and every tree. We must have been going 60 MPH down the empty road when he looked over to me. I stared forward and watched as from the forest the black mass came and stood at the end of the road. We slammed into him and the car collapsed like a tube of toothpaste. My head slammed against the dashboard. I felt wet tentacles wrap around me as the sound of metal being ripped echoed through my ears. Richie’s head was smashed open against the wheel as chunks of brain blanketed the windshield. The cold vines wrapped around my legs and the stench I once hated seemed like flowers in a meadow. The sun was setting now and as it pulled me by my leg from the car I could see it much more clearly. Maggots were rampant across its body and dead animals protruded from his back with a half dead doe exiting his shoulder. My back scraped against the pavement as it dragged me into the forest.
Police sirens were heard in the distance and the beast let go of me. It escaped into the forest and the police gathered around the scene. Not shortly after an ambulance came to carry me the rest of the way. The doctors were shocked when their IV fluid turned black upon sliding the needle into my arm. When they wrapped a rubber cord on my bicep to expose a vein, the cord cut right through my flesh but no blood spilled from my body. Most of the nurses fled in terror as maggots pushed themselves from my pores. The doctors soon quarantined me and watched me decay from behind plastic sheets. I could no longer speak so one of the doctors gave me a piece of paper to write on. He left the room along with all the others to discuss my case. And in the corner of my eye I saw a black mass emerge from the shadows.
The beast had returned as its tentacles suctioned onto my legs again, it dragged me from my bed and set off my monitor. The doctors rushed in with blank expressions and watched as it dragged me away, when it finally took me into the shadows we were in the forest. It sat me up against the black tree I had discovered and melted away, it left behind only a crown made of roots and twigs. So now, using my only good arm I write this story. One of my eyes has melted out of the socket and the trees continuing screaming and raving at me. They announce me as their new king. But as my body rots so to does my mind, soon all of my memories will be gone, and most of them already are. The ones I grasp on to are of the events I laid out for you. Both a warning and a self-eulogy; I hope that in the end of all of this a person may find this paper. I hope that they read it and let the whole world know to stay away from the forests, to stay away from me.
For if your eyes lay even a glance upon me, if even through the corner of your eye you see my black mass, then you will start to change. Nothing will stop it, and nothing will end it, and you too will roam the forest as a slave to it, collecting the decayed until you yourself rot away and give the crown to another.
The Holders 7: The Holder of the Path
In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the Path." The worker there will try his best to keep a look of indifference on his face while handing you a key which, as he will explain, belongs to an unused supply closet in the building. If only it were that simple. Upon locating and unlocking the correct door, you will find yourself staring out onto a narrow, winding road suspended in an endless void, the sight only occasionally obstructed by the massive outlines of things best left undescribed.
To fall off the path is to be thrown out of reality itself. A nightmarish eternity of inconceivable horror awaits anyone who either stumbles into the void by their own error, or is dragged off the path by the timeless monstrosities that reside on the outskirts of creation. If you should ever feel as if you are being watched while traveling through this piece of oblivion, the best chance you have is to immediately freeze in place and hold your breath. Continue to do so until your audience either loses interest, or moves in to claim you. If the latter should occur, feel free to scream as hard as you want, though your screams will fall on deaf ears.
At the end of the path lies a door that leads to a small, dirt-caked room. Propped up against the room's far wall is a heavily emaciated corpse; what's left of its skin has long since blackened with necrosis. Approach it and ask one question: "How did they acquire guardians?"
In response to your query, the "corpse" will begin to stir. A subtle red glow will emanate from its eye sockets as it lifts its head and begins to whisper the long and macabre history of the Holders. It will speak of unholy pacts and unspeakable atrocities. Within time, its tale will touch upon every form of evil known to man or God, and a few forms that neither can comprehend. Furthermore, if told the title of any Holder, the corpse will reveal that Holder's history and the meaning of the object that it protects.
Well, almost any Holder. The Holder of the Path will never go into detail about itself. This is because the ghoul hopes that you will not question why it seems to be lacking an Object. Truth be told, the ominous glow from within the ghoul's eye sockets is actually the shining light of the Object that was somehow sealed inside of its skull.
That is Object 7 of 538. Its Holder will do anything to keep you away from it.
To fall off the path is to be thrown out of reality itself. A nightmarish eternity of inconceivable horror awaits anyone who either stumbles into the void by their own error, or is dragged off the path by the timeless monstrosities that reside on the outskirts of creation. If you should ever feel as if you are being watched while traveling through this piece of oblivion, the best chance you have is to immediately freeze in place and hold your breath. Continue to do so until your audience either loses interest, or moves in to claim you. If the latter should occur, feel free to scream as hard as you want, though your screams will fall on deaf ears.
At the end of the path lies a door that leads to a small, dirt-caked room. Propped up against the room's far wall is a heavily emaciated corpse; what's left of its skin has long since blackened with necrosis. Approach it and ask one question: "How did they acquire guardians?"
In response to your query, the "corpse" will begin to stir. A subtle red glow will emanate from its eye sockets as it lifts its head and begins to whisper the long and macabre history of the Holders. It will speak of unholy pacts and unspeakable atrocities. Within time, its tale will touch upon every form of evil known to man or God, and a few forms that neither can comprehend. Furthermore, if told the title of any Holder, the corpse will reveal that Holder's history and the meaning of the object that it protects.
Well, almost any Holder. The Holder of the Path will never go into detail about itself. This is because the ghoul hopes that you will not question why it seems to be lacking an Object. Truth be told, the ominous glow from within the ghoul's eye sockets is actually the shining light of the Object that was somehow sealed inside of its skull.
That is Object 7 of 538. Its Holder will do anything to keep you away from it.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
The Typing
Stay calm.
You know, I never actually thought about this, but I really need to type this since typing always calmed me down, even if only slightly. As you suspected, I typed this because, well, I’m feeling kind of nervous for no apparent reason, but I think I know why. I have this weird feeling that makes me want to hide with someone in a corner. Or it could be that I watched one too many horror movies, which god knows has scared the crap out of me. I mean, I just watched ‘Saw’ and it was pretty good until the masked guy popped up and I just jammed my eyes shut.
There’s no one in this house at the moment except for my brother who’s sleeping in his bedroom, door closed. For some reason though, when I strain my ears, I don’t just hear my breathing or his snores, I hear a pattering sound as well. I didn’t quite feel like checking where the noise came from, but simple dismissed it as my imagination. Just to make sure though, I glanced at the kitchen. While I glance though, I can’t help but feel someone is watching me from over my other shoulder; watching these exact words I am typing. I don’t quite feel like moving or typing anymore.
Oh god. The feeling I felt earlier was really bothering me so I turned around, but there was nothing. I swear I saw a piece of cloth fluttering for a brief moment then disappear though. I think I’m going to go type in my room. Come to think of it, it’s quite ironic how I, who absolutely adore watching horror movies, was feeling like this.
Hey why’s it so quiet suddenly? Wasn’t my brother snoring loudly just a second ago? No, he’s probably just stopped snoring. Yea, that’s – holy shit. Holy fucking shit. I’m not getting up. I’m gonna just stay here. If I get out of this chair, it’s going to follow me. It had a fucking pale face with black freaking eyes staring at me from the reflection on my god-damn computer screen. It’s getting dark. But its November now and all, but it shouldn’t be getting dark this fast. I think someone forgot to close the window. It’s kind of chilly. But why was the window open? I’m pretty sure I closed it. I think something’s coming closer. What if it already killed my brother? He’s not snoring anymore. I don’t think I can type anymore. I have to though. If I don’t it’s going to see I’m not doing anything and it’s going to come for me.
My fingers and arms are growing numb. I’m cold. I’m not getting up though. I think it’s breathing on me. Oh my god it’s beside me. Its head… I’m going to see its head soon. No… I have to keep typing. If I stop I’m not going to be able to stay calm. My chest hurts. It’s getting hard to breath. Oh no. The door is opening by itself. There’s creaking. Something’s reaching over my shoulder. I’m not looking. No. I’m not going to fucking look. Its face is trying to get into my view. Holy shit I can’t breathe. I don’t want to die. No. No. No no no no no. Help. I’m not looking away from the keyboard. Leave me alone.
Oh. Good.
I hear my brother. He came down and asked my where the cookies were. I’m so relieved. I’ll get back to typing in a minute, I’m going to turn around and tell my brother were it is. I’ll finish typing in a bit. Thank goodness I have a brorfgb
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
The Blind Painter
Some of the most amazing paintings I have ever seen are those of Thomas Allsman. He is a quiet man in his early sixties, and he lives alone in a small old house on the edge of town. Thomas is a portrait painter, the best any of us have ever seen. Each one of his paintings is a Mona Lisa, every little detail of your head, face, and upper body is exact. However, how he paints them is the question.
You see, Thomas Allsman has been completely blind since the day he was born. Somehow though, he can paint you. It’s as if he can “see” you when you’re sitting in front of him, having your portrait painted. How he discovered this ability, or how he can do it, is unknown, he will not tell. If you bring him payment, he will paint you, and he will paint you beautifully.
So I walked up to the front door of his house. I stood there, still and nervous. I was alone, as it is said he will not paint with others around. After a deep breath, I rang the doorbell. I waited a moment. Finally, he opened the door. His gray eyes looked over my head, and he was holding a cane.
“Mr. Allsman, my name is Luke, and I want to be…..” My voice trailed off in nervousness.
“To be painted, right?” He said. “Do you have money to pay me?”
“Of course, two hundred dollars.” I said
Thomas nodded and told me to come inside after I gave him the money. The house’s interior was nice and simple. I eyed a stack of books on a table. One was opened, and I could see it was written in braille. He lead me into a back room and told me to sit on a stool. Nothing was in the room except for a chair and canvas, the stool, and painting supplies. I sat down and he sat behind the canvas.
“Now son, I must warn you, sometimes I paint too far forward.” Thomas said. To far forward? What could that mean? Maybe he sometimes painted the wall behind the person, or the yard outside the house? I dismissed the comment, I had the feeling he wasn’t all there. He started painting. I sat there for what seemed like forever. Neither one of us said a word, and not once did Thomas look at me. His eyes were closed the whole time. Perhaps….he could see me in some way…..
Finally, he put his brush down. “It is done.” He said, and motioned me to come see. The painting was me alright, down to every hair on my head, but the state I was in was….horrible. I was laying on a wooden floor. My throat was sliced open, one of my arms was gone, and I was covered in what looked to be stab wounds, and bruises and blood. My eyes were glazed over and bloodshot. I was dead. Thomas painted me after I had been brutally murdered!? I was even wearing the same outfit I was currently wearing.
“I told you, sometimes I paint too far forward.” I was confused. “What does that mean?” I asked. He looked back up at me. “Sometimes I paint something that hasn’t happened yet.”
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Lights Out
Try as you might, you just can’t stay awake any longer. Your eyelids begin to close all by themselves and the text on the page grows fuzzy. When you realize you’ve read over an entire sentence and remember not a word of it, you decide it’s time for bed.
The usual routines go like clockwork. Wash the hands, brush the teeth (lazily, to preserve that sleepy haze in your brain), swish with mouthwash. Fifteen seconds instead of thirty, like the label says. You don’t care. You’re tired. Spit once, twice. Seems like mouthwash always wants to stay for good. Three times. One last pee before lights out.
Into the bedroom. You dig out your best PJ’s, and clean underwear for sleeping. It’s been really hot all day and the ones you’re wearing have that disgusting moistness to them.
Mom pokes her head in to remind you it’s bedtime, lets out a surprised “Oh” when she sees you’re way ahead of her for once. She gives you a kiss and bids you good night before disappearing down the hall, turning out the bathroom light that you forgot to turn out, yourself.
All the lights in the house are off except in your bedroom. The street light outside burned out over a year ago and no one’s bothered to fix it, so the neighborhood seems to have vanished into a black void. Somehow it makes the house’s shadows thicker than they ought to be as they creep up the hallway toward your bedroom. You find yourself noticing every night now.
You turn to your bed, eyes instinctively dropping to the dark slit underneath. Except for that blackness, the entire room always looks deceptively cheerful when the light is on. Funny how you used to be scared of the closet when you were five. Dad used to tell you all the time that there was nothing hiding in the closet, and he was right.
You reach for the light switch by the door, eyes still locked on the underside of the bed. Somehow it stares back.
Your hand stops. Better not just yet. You turn on the bedside lamp first, then walk back across the room and flip the light switch. The room dims, but a safe yellow aura envelops the bed.
It’s only three feet to the mattress. Last summer Mom insisted on rearranging the entire house, including your room. The bed used to be tucked snugly in the corner; now it rests near the center of the room, with only the headboard leaning against a wall. Sleeping in it makes you feel exposed. Stepping near the shadow under the bed fills you with the sensation of teetering on the edge of a steep cliff or stepping too close to a lagoon filled with crocodiles. When it was in the corner you could get a full running start and dive under the covers.
You take a step toward the bed, diverting your eyes to the pillows. Don’t acknowledge it. It’s nothing to be afraid of. A figment of your over-active imagination. That’s all.
You clear the next two feet with a graceful bound, landing square on the center of the mattress. Climb under the comforter, tuck the bottom under your feet so there’s no way to reach in. Wrap yourself like a burrito. Nice and cozy. Except now you’re wide awake.
The hum of the air conditioner is a slight comfort. It’s deep and gentle, almost animal-like, and hopefully the only sound you’ll hear tonight. Soothing ambience always helps you get to sleep better.
You have to pee again. Not a lot, but just enough to keep you from falling asleep straight away. It always happens after all the lights are out and you’re neatly tucked into bed, but hours before your eyes have had time to adjust to the darkness.
You could probably leap clear of the bed and make it to the bathroom with little incident, but then you’d have to hope it didn’t decide to follow you. And sometimes it’s not under the bed. Sometimes it’s somewhere else in the house. You hear it wandering around out there on rare occasions, when everyone else is asleep. You almost bumped into it on the way to the kitchen late one night. Since then you’ve never set foot outside the room after bedtime for fear of being ambushed.
You decide to tough it out. You don’t have to pee that bad. Pulling the comforter up to your cheeks, you close your eyes and try to focus on the hum of the air conditioner.
Then it shuts off. The hum dies with a deep sigh and a dull “kathunk”. Silence.
Outside not a single leaf rustles. Your ears don’t even ring from the day’s noise. You start to wish for a car alarm, or a catfight, or the distant blare of a passing train. The house is dead calm. All you can do is lie there, wrapped in the comforter ever-tighter, and try to focus on the darkness behind your eyelids until you pass out.
Maybe you won’t hear it speak if you go to sleep quickly enough. The few times it spoke, it called you by name — it’s known your name from the beginning — and when it was sure you were listening intently, it giggled. Then it was quiet the rest of the night.
It doesn’t stir often enough for you to get used to it. Once or twice every other month. Usually you just hear its voice somewhere in your room, laughing quietly to itself — a soft voice, almost a whisper but not quite. It always sounds like it’s coming from the entire room, but you know its origin is under there, in the shadows. The worst part is its unbearably motherly tone, like its desire to do unspeakable things to you has escalated to adoration.
Just the thought of hearing it talk sends chills up your spine. You pull the comforter over your head, curling into a fetal position, eyes tightly shut.
You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there, curled into a pitiful and slightly painful little ball. Your joints ache. Has an hour passed? A few minutes? Will daylight never come? You want to peek out of your haven to check the time, but the fear of seeing the thing staring back at you freezes every joint in your body. But if it were standing at the side of the bed just now, watching you, it makes no sense that it would only wait until you’d seen it to pounce on you, and a lot of good the comforter would do for protection.
The house is so deathly silent…maybe a little peek won’t hurt…
Your eyes have fully adjusted to the dark. Peering through a small hole between the covers and the mattress, you can discern every piece of furniture in your room, and every poster on the wall.
The bedside clock reads…eleven-oh-oh. Less than an hour has passed since you went to bed, but it appears you dozed off at some point. The house is just as unnervingly still as it was when you slipped away. Maybe the stillness, itself, jarred you to waking.
No. No, that isn’t it. That isn’t it at all. The house isn’t completely still. Though the floor of your room is draped in blackness as far out as the hallway, you swear you spot a twitch of movement. Sudden and swift, like something darting out of view to avoid detection.
The voice whispers your name. You’re not sure you heard it at first — not because it’s so quiet, but because part of your mind is trying so desperately to shut it out. Your throat seals up. You feel all the blood drain from your face as you pinpoint the source at the foot of the bed.
“The hunger’s too much to bear,” it whispers.
Resistance is beyond you now: terror has taken control of your body. You stare down the comforter toward your feet.
It’s looking at you. Peering over the lumps in the sheets, staring with two sightless slits in a dry, shriveled, hairless head. Its mouth stretches into an insane grin, like those found on the embalmed faces behind museum glass. How long has it been watching you?
You want to scream and pull your feet back from the thing’s horrible face, but your legs ignore the command again and again, even as those ghastly fingers slither onto the mattress and take hold of the right foot. Even as it pulls your foot closer and stuffs it, still wrapped in the comforter, into that gaping, grinning mouth. It has no teeth. It has no teeth but its nails are like razor chisels. It has no teeth so it minces its food by hand.
With a horrified cry you break free of your trance and reel your legs in, ducking under the comforter. You scream again and again, calling for help, but all that comes out is sobbing incoherence. It’s climbing onto the bed now, clawing at the covers, its bony arms reaching inside, searching for something to grab a hold of. It’s going to drag you onto the floor, and from there you daren’t think. You swat its hands away frantically, screaming at the feel of its leathery skin, gagging at the smell of its cold, rancid breath as it whispers in your ears through the comforter, madly repeating with awful glee, “It’s too much to bear! It’s too much to bear!”
Light floods the room. Still sobbing and kicking, you suddenly realize you’re alone on the bed. At the door, Dad stands with his hand on the light switch and a concerned look on his face. He speaks, but what you hear is unintelligible at first.
Your eyes jump from one end of the room to the other. It’s nowhere to be found. Your skin still shudders from its touch, and that graveyard stench still lingers in your nostrils, but the moment you acknowledge either sensation it vanishes.
Dad’s voice draws your attention back to the door. Now Mom is there, too, asking about the noise. The moment Dad mentions bad dreams she’s sitting on the bed with her arms around you, kissing you gently on the head and asking if you’re all right.
You want more than anything to throw your arms around them both and cry. Instead, with a nod and a sniffle you play along, admitting your dreams haven’t shaken you up this badly in a while, but swearing that you’re okay now. Confident they’ve chased the demons off once again, Mom and Dad kiss you goodnight and plunge you back into darkness.
Monsters are never real to adults. They always find an explanation. Something you ate. Reading scary stories or watching scary movies before bed. Your overactive imagination. The solution is always attention or medication or visits to a psychiatrist. They’re never real.
Maybe it’ll get you someday, and it’ll be the grown-ups’ fault. Mom and Dad will come into their “imaginative” child’s room one day and find it mysteriously empty, or perhaps they’ll turn on the lights and find the thing there instead, sitting on the bed with a bloated belly and that horrible eyeless grin.
They may come up with an explanation for that, too.
You curl up under the comforter again, eyes closed, mind struggling to shut out the unnerving silence. Sleep may yet find you if your thoughts remain on mundane subjects, like school. Mom suggested it once when you were seven, and it always seemed to work. But now you may never sleep again.
The thing giggles.
You open your eyes partway to scan the floor for movement, but it’ll be hours before they adjust to the darkness again. Pulling the covers over your head like before, you curl into a ball and wait.
The room is silent the rest of the night.
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