fear

My Late Uncle Clive (3)

/ ~ / Leave a comment

Click here for Part 2

 

 

I have to type quickly.  Time is of the essence.

The morning after the firebombing of my house, we went to the college again to try and find more clues.  I kept the hidden note my uncle mentioned a secret.  It was a hot day, and the AC in my truck doesn’t exactly work at 100 percent.  By the time we arrived, we both had rings of sweat under our arms and on our backs.  The heat was oppressive, and made me feel almost lethargic.  Max the dog was to stay at the hotel all day, and watch National Geographic.  Lucky dog.

We both arrived to see the smiling secretary again, who greeted us.  In a sing-song voice she told us that no one had gone into the office of my late Uncle Clive.  Relieved, we walked in silence down the large hallway, and opened the wooden door to see a ransacked room.  Papers thrown everywhere, priceless looking artifacts were tossed to the ground.  Someone was looking for something.  Luckily nothing seemed destroyed.  I noticed something that was mentioned in my uncle’s notes: a strange bas-relief of some inconceivable language, like the one from before, and a more detailed picture of the odd creature from before.  It was a queer caricature of an octopus / man with bat-like wings, towering over impossible architecture that my mind struggled to perceive.  The strange angles and geometry captivated me, and the color of it was an unknown, black-green blend of strange stone.  Trent had to shout to catch my attention, at which I whirled around.

“Hey ____, are you listening?  I said I found something odd.”

I walked over, carefully avoiding important looking papers and set the etching onto the table.

“What is it?”

“Well I noticed that nothing is missing, it is obviously not a robbery.  These artifacts were left alone.  But I also noticed that there is no forced entry.  Extremely odd.  I’m going to go review the cameras in the hallway.”  He quickly left me alone in the cluttered office, dust spiraling around me lazily in the scattered sun.

Perfect.  I could get a chance to look for the secret note, and it would be discrete.  I began to look around the room.

“Something that holds the whole world in it”, I muttered to myself over and over.  A globe?  Surprisingly there was no globe.  I looked in an atlas, and then another.  Time was passing quickly as each of my ideas went to no avail.  Not in the encyclopedia.  Not in the dictionary.  I was becoming frustrated and I bumped into the computer tower that stuck slightly out from under his desk, knocking it over.

The side panel came ajar, and a the corner of an envelope peeked out from within.  I laughed to myself because I never would have figured that out.  I was surprised that my uncle knew enough about computers and the internet to create that small mystery.

I propped the chair back up, sat in it, and reached for that really sweet letter opener — the golden tentacle.  To my dismay, only pencils and pens sat in the container.  I looked under the table, on the floor, frantically picking up papers and tossing them aside.  It was nowhere to be found.  Why would someone have stolen just that?  There were plenty of other (and more expensive) artifacts and tokens in the room.  Strange.

I sat down again in the chair and as it squeaked I opened the letter to read:

“Dear (Redacted),

I knew you would find this.  I have a terrible secret.  It’s simpler to show you rather than try to explain it.  Go to the painting opposite my desk, which is probably where you are sitting and reading this now.  Move it to the side.  They are overconfident, and won’t expect outsiders to find their way in.  

Make your way down on the first of September, at 11 PM.  Hide in an alcove, and keep your mouth shut and your ears open.  Bring a camera, no flash.  Night vision.  Detective Trent may have contacted you by now, and if not, he is the creepy guy who might be following you around.  He really is an odd one.  

Please forgive me.  I know what they… or what WE were doing was wrong.  But I want to help put an end to this.  Maybe then my soul can find respite.  

I’m sorry.  

Your Uncle Clive” 

Immediately I stood and went to the picture, an old timey work of an ancient sea monster attacking an old ship.  I went to move it, and it didn’t budge and I strained against it as Trent walked back into the room.

“What are you doing?” He asked quickly, and I asked in a strained voice for him to help.  Finally with his help, the painting suddenly flipped open, revealing a door raised from the ground, and a staircase that flipped down like the stairs of an attic.  A secret passage!  But, the door was locked.  Two sets of keyholes made it apparent that we could not get in without alerting whomever frequented it.

“Well, this explains the lack of forced entry.  I’ll bet it is other staff members who are using this…”

“I found what was stolen!” Blurting out and cutting him off, I quickly sketched the molluscan blade.  His face turned pale as a sheet as he pulled an old drawing from his wallet.  It was a scan of an old primary document, covered in wrinkles and tears of time.  The same tentacle knife was there, staring at me.  I felt strange again, somehow mesmerized by its shapes.  My eyes flicked over Trent’s shoulder to the bas-relief.  I swear then I heard whispers in my mind, and I must have lost track of time because Trent shook my shoulders.

“Hey!  I said this was found with that cult in Louisiana!  Could it be the same one here?”

I stared at the picture he gave me in silence.  The similarity was undeniable.  We decided that we would come back on the first of September, and hide somewhere in the room and wait for those who may use that tunnel to come back and use it, then somehow follow them in.  Maybe break in.  Trent and I gathered what important papers and documents we could find so that we could go back to the motel and see if anything important could be found.  What was interesting was what happened to me that night.

The whispers were definitely real.  Trent had passed out, and Max had too.  So I sat alone in my twin bed and I was going over some of the same documents again when I glanced at the wrapped up stone etching of the strange creature and the writing.  I felt like I was being drawn to it, like an obsession.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day, and now I couldn’t resist looking at it again!  It was really amazing and horrible at the same time.  The ancient, elder god of some forgotten tribe perhaps.  The artwork was fascinating, and before I knew it I was holding it, touching the curves and the lines.  Trying to understand the impossible architecture of the city the being towered over.  Before I realized it, I had been listening to whispers for the entire time, and as I became aware of their hushed syllables and clicking tongues they disappeared.  I looked around, but there was nothing but peaceful sleep and scattered papers.

I have to get some sleep, because last night I did not.  I must have stayed up for 7 hours just looking at the thing.  Before I knew it, as I traced the exquisite lines of the relief, the sun had risen and Max was ready to be fed.  So was I.  Time flies when you are having fun.

 

Click here for the final entry.

 

My Late Uncle Clive (2)

/ ~ / Leave a comment

Click here for Part 1

 

 

I’ve lived alone since the kids have grown up, and my wife left me soon after that. We stayed together to raise the family, but she never really loved me. I don’t resent her for anything at all, so lets move along as I correct myself. I don’t live alone, not really.

 

My dog Max was a big ol’ Golden Retriever, and in his prime he was rambunctious and would bark at everything. But as time went by, he became more reserved. Some people follow the same pattern. I’m just glad he didn’t follow the terrible pattern that is senility. Max was my best friend, and he always managed to find his way up to my lap no matter how tired he was.

 

I got home, and I was greeted by the familiar thumping of his tail on the hardwood floor of the hall. I flipped lights on and kicked my shoes off and scooped all the old boxes of take-out off of the kitchen table and into the trash. I threw down the old manuscripts and papers, and took some fresher take-out from the fridge to sate my growling stomach.

 

Max found his way in with me, and sat eagerly by his feeding frenzy area. His tail was uncontrollable as I poured fresh food into his bowl. We ate together in silence as I looked at these strange documents. The night was steadily growing darker, but I forgot to turn on the lights and my eyes adjusted without my knowing. They were too fascinating to peel myself away from. There was something about the strange, completely foreign symbols. They were unlike anything I had ever seen before. Pictographs and dashes and curls all blended together into some forgotten story.
Some of the scrolls were something similar to ancient Sumerian. But they were also not quite like what Google searches spat back to me. There were flourishes here and there, and odd pictures blended in between some of the lines. The text spiraled around some of these eldritch images. One in particular caught my eye. Some strange octopus, turned upside down but with angry eyes carved right ways up in the head of it. The tentacles held different items: A cross, a strange “Y” with two dashes in the botttom, and knives. I stared at the image for longer than I thought, because Max’s whine broke my concentration. He stared at me with keen interest and tilted his head. I took another bite of my food and it was already cold! Time was passing by with unusual expediency.
The night had fallen completely by this point, and to see I had my face pressed up all the way to the papers. I didn’t even notice! I stood and flipped some lights on to continue, but then I heard Max begin to bark at the front of the house. Extremely out of character for him, the barking was persistent and growing louder. He never barked at anything anymore, not even the mailman. But something had grabbed his attention with an eerie tenacity. A loud knocking broke the silence from the front door, and Max’s barks turned to growls. No one ever visited me, not even my kids. And at this hour?
I grabbed the bat that was by the front door and looked carefully into the peephole. On my front step was that strange man from before, his brown hair was carefully combed in a modest pompadour, and he was wearing a dark coat. He looked nervously over his shoulder and reached up again to knock when I popped the door open a crack. My eye was the only thing he could see when I asked:

 

“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I… Haven’t been honest with you, sir.”
“Well anyone could have figured that out, buddy. You’re not a good liar.” He chuckled and reached into his back pocket, at which I slammed the door shut thinking he was going for a gun.
“WAIT! I’m a detective! I was getting my badge!” he shouted with frustration. I carefully peeped out the peeper, and sure enough there was a gold shield there, held up next to his sheepish grin.
I opened the door again, this time unlatching the various locks all of the way so that I could let him in.
“Well, why didn’t you just start with that yesterday? Would have been much easier for both of us. Plus I thought you were some creepy and stuck up asshole.” He laughed at that as he stepped inside, hanging up his coat.
“I get that all the time. There’s a lot to tell you.”
I cleared the manuscripts off of the table hurriedly, putting a pot of water on to boil for a french-press brew. All the while trying to think about why a cop would be interested in my late uncle.
“I’m just going to dive right into it, sir. I’ve noticed a pattern in some recent cases, as well as some cold cases going back… quite some time.” He produced a file from thin air, it seemed.
“Oh, by the way. My name is Detective Jackson, call me Trent. I’m sorry for yesterday. I’ve had to be extremely cautious. I’ve been receiving death threats for my work, which is unusual, because I thought only I knew about it. Even my boss doesn’t know I’m here right now. I’ve kind of become obsessed. But hear me out.”
“Sure. I have nothing else to do, and I haven’t had company in years. Plus I like stories!” I smiled and he gave a thin smile back.
“Women have been disappearing from this town for hundreds of years. But people always assumed they were runaways, or something along those lines. Because there was no discernible pattern or similarity. Until I took the time to do all this work. Every 4 years, a young woman vanishes. She is always between 16 – 25, and according to the reports that are complete, they have no real close friends, and their family is broken. Fathers or mothers gone or addicted to drugs, you know. Very sad situations.” He spread the thick file out on the table this whole time, laying out photographs from recent years, and ending with one from a very long time ago. The type of photograph from when folks never smiled. Her hair and eyes were as black as the underside of the clouds outside that wandered through the night.
“People always assumed that because of their home situations, and their ages, that they simply ran away, or killed themselves. No one had ever been found, and so without a body they remain a missing-persons case. Never able to warrant a full on homicide investigation. There were never any witnesses to the disappearance, it was like they just walked out their homes one day and never returned. But this is where it gets weird. All of these disappearances began when the college was founded. I’ve even found old primary documents from colonial eras about some disappearances, but those were assumed to be Indian kidnappings or the like.”
The sound of my phone timer exploded into the kitchen, and scared us both. He actually stood completely upright and drew his gun, which he now awkwardly put back into his holster. The coffee was ready.
“But I have made a map of the disappearances, and they all are within 30 miles of the college. I had been researching strange disappearances like this, and apparently there was something similar going on in Louisiana a long time ago, and it had to do with some strange cult that required human sacrifice. Throats were cut, then burned, or simply just burned alive. Really horrific stuff. But your Uncle intrigued me because some of the records from that case had strange manuscripts remarkably similar to what he was working with when I went to canvass the staff at the college. He said that he wanted to meet me, that he had something to tell me that would blow a hole in this case but… He died within 48 hours of talking to me. That is how I know something is seriously amiss here. Of course there were the death threa — ”

 

 

Max began barking again, furiously. He had barked more this night than in the last few years all together. I stood and looked for him in the front, and saw he was foaming at the mouth and barking like a wild animal. His eyes were crazed and my heart was pounding as suddenly the window shattered inward, and the room burst into flames. The curtains caught fire and the fire spread over pictures on the wall and an old couch as Max bolted from the living room and into the kitchen, barking and barking and barking. Trent stood and had his gun drawn just as another Molotov cocktail burst into the opposite end of the house. The heat filled the air as flames began to cover everything.
“Save the manuscripts!” I shouted at him, as I grabbed an old family picture of mine. From a time when we were happy. With the picture in one hand, I scooped the massive retriever under my other arm, and followed Detective Jackson as he kicked down the back door and covered the flames there with a blanket he had found. We tumbled out into the dewy grass and stood in the night, watching the flickering flames spike up high into the sky. Tires squealed out front as the culprits got away. No time for even a glance.
“Well, I guess we should go to…. well my place isn’t safe either.” He looked at me, then the ground. Within an hour we awkwardly were checking into a hotel together. He passed out in one of the twin beds, and I sat in the other, typing this. I will update soon.

 

Something is afoot.

Click here for the next part!

Scratching (Final)

/ ~ / Leave a comment

Click HERE for the part before.

I’m writing this in the lobby of a Starbucks. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I need to make a record of this before I finally lose my senses to the fear that is lurking behind my eyes. Or they catch up with me. My wife has left me and its my fault, all my fault. I’ve become obsessed. I should start from where I left off. Looking back at what happened there is so much gray, and not enough black and white. The people here are casting odd glances at me, they must think it strange for a homeless looking man to have a laptop and to be typing furiously while stifling the crazed laughter that keeps bubbling up into his mouth. No matter. Who cares what THEY think?? Th0ey have no idea of what lives out in the untouched woods east of this town.

 

OK, I need to focus. Focus.

 

I went back to the house. The house on the left, where the old man was, was embalmed with yellow CAUTION tape. Wind made it flutter and sound like some leathery wings above the din of the trees that swayed and twitched in the heat that blew through them. The humidity was so thick that I felt as if I was wading into some great, invisible sauna. The strange, seemingly empty house on the left stood silently. Staring. The trees all around us, being fairly far into the countryside, towered into the sky as they moved with the wind. I thought about how I wished I had enough money to buy a pistol. Buckshot and slugs would do.

I was going to move without hesitation today. I was going to finish this. It was going to be easy. I could corner them here and finally finish this. Oh, to be finished. Were that I could be and not a raving man holding on desperately to the cliffs of sanity — trying to save myself from the black waters of madness frothing below. I have to push their strange ritual out of my mind. That dark altar in the woods. Forgotten… Demanding attention.

Wait. The beginning.

 

I was about to re-enter my old home, the one that I had fallen in love in. So many memories were held within its walls; pale echoes of laughter glowed in my mind as I went to slide the key into the lock. The key barely touched the brass when a quick clamor and came from inside and I whirled to the window next to the door to see my white curtains obscuring my view. Shadows were all I could see, and one moved into the hallway and out of sight while another stealthily slithered to the kitchen on the right. A trap was in the process of being set and I had stumbled upon their devious workings. I would not become the next skull on their filthy shrine, cut into that wet colon of the earth. I would not be another trophy to be polished and displayed carefully in the foul darkness while they cleaned their rotting teeth with a splinter of my rib bone. I would not be, as it seemed more likely now, a sacrifice. It did not matter. I would not become another victim. Not today. Or ever.
I put a chair under the front door to keep it from being opened. Leaving it locked, I doused the front of the house in gasoline. Even the windows were covered in dancing flames as I moved around to the back. From the hole in the house foundation, rats came squeaking out into the dirt and into the underbrush. Then a black-nailed hand – elongated in a disgusting strangeness – pulled a pallid beast out as it gripped the dirt. I shot it and it wheezed and looked up at me as it gave its last repulsive breath. Hatred brewed in those obsidian orbs that stared unblinking as death filled its new corpse. Another came, and it was so fast!! It crawled out low to the ground as if this was another natural way that they moved — on all fours!! In one motion it had come out of the hole, and pulled its revolting counterpart over itself like a cloak. I fired 3 rounds into it, the buckshot only slightly penetrating until my final round – a slug – tore through them both and it fell into a steaming hump of grey flesh half into the brush and half in the dirt. Dark red blood began to pool and be absorbed by the planet. Mosquitoes and flies landed instantly on the macabre pile. A wafting of horrible smells from the body blended with the natural stink of a swamp. My house was engulfed in flames behind me, and while I was far enough away from the main part of town for it to take some time for police to get here, I had to work quickly — I knew I had to I had to finish them off now and here and forever and then leave this place and never talk again. There could be no more rituals. I had no clue – at the time – that these horrors were nothing compared to what I would find later. The blending of onyx and green in the moonlight… No. Not yet. I must write it all.
The house that had seemed vacant next to me all of those years was not, and the fire had grown out of control with the wind and spread to it. I checked inside the shed to make sure that my rudimentary barricade had held, which it did. A loud crashing and cries of the beings who had long been hidden echoed out. Melancholy and angry, animalistic and frightened. Unnatural, and yet… human. Almost. I moved just in time to see the last of them tumbling over each other into the forest, screeching and clicking and talking to each other… Maybe to me. Fragments of half-words and almost familiar tones drifted into my ears. I did see one that sat, staring at me from across the small field. It saw me, too. I raised my gun to fire a slug I had loaded, but it was gone. I knew that I could not leave them free in the forest, I could not pass the buck on to some other unsuspecting soul.

 

They were my responsibility. They were mine to kill.

 

I left the inferno raging behind me, screams of the damned erupting from the yellow blossoms of their funeral pyre. I crashed into the underbrush, and ran after the creatures. The fauna was thick on the ground, cutting and pulling and tearing at my arms and face and clothes. Ahead of me, I could hear the stampede of the hominids running through the forest. I caught glimpses of them standing upright, and I fired at them, missing. I don’t remember how long I chased them, my breath burned in my lungs and my legs were aching when I finally slowed down. It could have been an hour. Maybe even more. The adrenaline was endless, and my heart fluttered like a captured bird in my chest. I managed to slow my breath after a time, and listen. The sun was beginning to fall already. How long did I run? This part of the forest seemed untouched by man. A forgotten swamp. I began to walk, hearing silence around me. My crunching was stifled by the mud, for the ground had become much more damp. My eyes investigated every leaf and bush, tree and branch. I saw no signs of animal life in that place. No paths cut by boars in the brush. No scratchings from deer. Even the insect life was drained from this place, as the sun fell behind a clouded horizon. There was darkness now, and I was lucky to have packed a flashlight.
I moved through muck now, my boots almost getting sucked off by their sinking into a mire of ancient land. Spanish moss was thick in many places, choking the life from parts of thick oaks. Slopping through more and more, I was worried for gators, but saw none. I thought myself lucky for it, and stopped my breathing and strained my ears to focus on a sound I swore that I did not hear. But I did hear, and to think of it now makes me want to scream out at these fools around me who have no fucking clue what lives east of their suburbs and lattes.
The sound was chanting, words that I had never heard and wish to never hear again even if it means I have to take a spike to my ears. Half-human tones and alien syllables distantly found their way to my mind. Words meant to remain unheard — but I must try to make some sense of it all! some record so that people can know and avoid and perhaps… No. There is no defeating it I suppose. The dreams made it clear. The voices blended and clicked and did not make sense but here, I will try:

 

Ft’ngluii maglwf’nafh Kuthluun Reh’lyeh wvagah-najl phutadjnn

 

I heard these mumblings and moved closer, that is when the words became more clear to me. They chanted low, just above a whisper, and yet being in that strange silence of that old land it reverberated into my bones with every vile syllable. I moved quietly closer to observe a horrible sight and strange things that disappeared when I went back to look for them. I combed that same area for days and could not find anything. That glade was still there, a str a n ge island in the swamp with a river gliding around it murky and brown. It was still empty, when I went back. No animal life. But the shrine was gone, or invisible. Yes… The shrine.
The creatures swayed grimly chanting around a monolithic structure around 8 feet tall. Fires surrounded it, layers of sticks blended with a few headless corpses that crackled and popped and made me nauseous with a stench of charred flesh. The stone towered and was an odd color. Black and green and… yet not. Not obsidian and emerald though, it was almost as if the green had blended into the black, a disgusting and unknown color. Strange carvings were visible, unexplainable hieroglyphs and a malevolent etching of some strange being I cannot describe. Something from the sea. I stared upon the horror of this evil ritual, and raised my gun to fire. Slugs ripped into one and it fell suddenly, like a repulsive rag doll. The others looked around frantically and screamed with an overwhelming hatred as I fired again, and again, pumping rounds into the bush next to me. I think it was then I went mad, as some picked up strange amulets or totems from around the shrine and took off into the night, leaving the horrible fire burning flesh under the stars. The night was silent again, and I blacked out.
I woke up several days later, for I had grown a beard and bug bites covered my body. Maybe I came back into rational thought again, and repressed the time spent insane? I found my way back to that place and it was empty, no green/ black monolith jutting from the earth on that strange old island. Not even evidence of burnt grass. I laughed into the silence. Just empty dirt filled the island, and not even footsteps remained. I must be insane. I went back to the town, and I found that my wife had left the hotel without a forwarding address. Her number was disconnected. Her family’s was off. And so I went to look again at that place. It must be there!  But, there was nothing. I hunted in those woods for anything now, no boar or deer or ancient subterranean human cult lived there anymore. I googled my home address in the news just now. People disappeared 20 years ago from there, almost to the day. And 40 years before that. I have to leave now. The police are on their way, apparently. Something about arson. More like some sort of cover up. The people are whispering around me and I have to leave.

 

The Stone

/ ~ / Leave a comment

Day 1

Never kept a journal before, decided to start because my Grandfather died, the man who raised me. He died on the old farm that his Grandfather bought all those years ago. Our family broke and tended to this land for generations, growing all manner of crops. But now that Grandfather is gone, its all mine now. No problem really, its what I’ve been bred for. Plus there’s plenty of help from the farmhands. But there was one responsibility that had been hidden from me, out on the far corner of our property. The one small barn that was a fraction the size of the main ones, hardly more than a tool shed. I was never allowed in there. Not until I found his note, with the key.

Life after life, we pass this down. A duty passed from father to son.

Go to that shed, you will learn how.

I thought it was the weirdest damn thing I ever read. And I’ve read a lot for a farmer. So I thought I would go out to the shed and see what all this fuss was about. I was never really curious about it, to be honest. The building was just an old run down-looking thing with some old wood rotting away. Sitting in the middle of a field you would have to walk across to get to it. Not a pleasant walk either because that sun gets hot. But I went out anyway, taking the pupper along with me. But when we got closer to it, the old coot started acting strange. Barking like mad, that dog refused to cross the field to the hut. So I sent him on back and kept going. Dog never spooked easy, but who knows what dogs think about anyway.
But one really strange thing was the squirrels. There were 3 sitting outside of the building and facing it, un-moving. I thought they were dead because they were so still! Normal squirrels would be long gone by the time I walked up. But they just sat like they were frozen solid. I shouted and they turned and looked at me, and for a long time too. And I looked back at them real awkward-like. Then suddenly they went their way, scurrying about all normal. Strange as hell. Kind of got a chill from that but I brushed it off and opened the door.
The place was mostly empty, but there was a big ol’ rock sitting in the middle. That’s all. No grass around it either, just a dirt floor. Dark as night in there, the odd place actually was sealed up pretty tight i guess. No light came in. But… there was something about that stone. It was sleek, once I took a good look at it. Real nice to look at. Real pleasing to the eye, something about the smoothness of it. It was black. A deep black. I got this really weird feeling that came over me as I looked at it, and I started looking around, looking for how I was gonna learn how to take care of this damn thing. For what do do with it. But there was nothing else in that place. Nothing but that sweet-looking rock. Pointless thing though, no idea why they would keep it here. But it was so nice to look at! Maybe it was some sort of family shrine. It was light before I went in there, but it was dark outside somehow, I must have lost track of time. So I came back in to write this. That’s why I felt like I needed to write this down for someone, because there was something wrong with how time passed in there. Better get to bed, gotta do a literal ton of work tomorrow.

 

Day 4

 

I keep going out to keep the dirt in the shed the way it is, picking up any weeds that might have sprouted up and taking the rake to it so the dirt looks real nice around that stone. I don’t know what I am supposed to do out here, but for my Grandfather I would do anything. I felt compelled to just keep things nice like the way I found them. I mean that thing really demanded my attention. His tombstone is on the other end of the property, but there is something about this place that makes me feel closer to him, and my late father. I know they all took care of this place and kept it the way it was, so I must too. Besides, it was nice and cool in there, the air slightly drafty somehow despite it being shut up in the dark. Even the lantern I used never seemed to get warm. I cleaned the door as much as I could on the inside, and the walls too.

I polished the rock for the first time yesterday, and it was extremely satisfying to wipe the soft cloth over its smooth surface. Even bought some nice cloth to use for it, out of respect I guess. It deserves more than just an old rag. It deserves more. I made it shine, even in that dark! Every once in a while I see some squirrels trying to get in to see it, so I shoo’d them away as usual. Weird little critters. Last night I couldn’t sleep though, I kept thinking about those curves on that strange stone, that altar! There was something about polishing it that was amazingly satisfying, like scratching an itch that you cant get to without exhausting effort. I could not shake the thought that I missed a spot! I tossed and turned, could not get comfortable to save my damn life. Frustrating really. My folks always raised me to be thorough, and my Grammy always told me “if you do a job, do it right!” So naturally I got up in the moonlight, threw my boots on, and got on out there to clean it. Man its a sight to behold, this night it seemed even darker than black, like it was swallowing light around it. Thats how good I polished it. Can almost feel it thanking me. Feels warm sometimes too. THe more attention it gets the better it looks so I have to make sure to keep checking on it to keep it all nice for my family. Maybe one day my kids can take care of it too. When I was done, it was morning. So I came in and decided to just eat and stay up and get the days work done.

Day 11

 

Something weird was happening, and I just noticed it today. THeres dirt all around the shed now, a perfect circle going about 10 feet away from the structure itself. Some sort of wood rot spreading to the plants, or some science stuff. Should go away soon enough. But while it was thhere, I defcided to start just raking it again like I do to the inside, gotta keep the ground fresh! Makes it look amazing, the smooth cuts into the earth. THe patterns.s. Dream about them sometimes too. I feel like I need to rake in a certain way and I do, and it looks strange but… right somehow. But that rock is just getting nicer and nicer. I wish I could share it with the world, but somethign tells me to keep it a secret. For now. Sometimes when I am out there polishing it, I hear some squirrels outside trying to get into it, I feel like they know that theres something interesting in here. THey go away though. But I keep polishing. Sometimes I stay out there all day, and just hire another fellow to help the guys down in the fields. My responsibiliy is here now, just like my Grandfather’s was. But I never noticed him coming out here to take care of it like this. Maybe he did it at night, when we all slept. He never liked wasting time. I(‘m sure he knew this Stone needs attention, and as much as it can get. Whenever I am away from the Stone, I feel like it is calling out to me, telling me to come take care of it to make sure no dust settles on it. I have to go to it, even when I am at the store getting goods, I feel drawn back to it.

 

Day 20

Whispers.

 

 
I hear them sometimes when i am away from it, but always when I am around it. Comforting me. I feel like it is my Grandfather and those before me, but I cant quite hear them. Whenever I polish the Stone they are the loudest but only slightly above a whisper. They do not come from the Stone, but from the air it seems. From the constant draft in that place, swirling. It’s soothing to me, like I’m back sitting on the porch with Grandfather. And I do not feel that hollow pain when I am there. I cannot understand what they sa y but something tells me that I must keep cleaning. I must keep the stone pristine so that I can hear more and understand itwhat they are trying to tell me. I must. I h a v e to. There something for me to know, something that only I can discover, It needs me to take care of it it needs me to listen and be ther for it so thats why I decided to hire another full time manager to take my place. Sure it hits the budget a bit but we can take it besides I have to take care of this old thing out here in the field. Only I can. I dont know why but the whispers are not scary to me, I can hear them now tickling me, almost makes me want to giggle. Wait, The Stone. More whispers?, calling at their dependable friend. it is time again, it needs some more loving. It needs to be darker.

 

Day 25

 

So clean, so tended to. Like an impeccable zen garden. But this morning was amiss. I must ha dve left the door open, becaduse I could see it open from far off whispering to me telling me to take care of it. I look inside and among the whispers and the dirt surrounding the Stone was a circle of squirrels all looking up at the Stone like little minuature druids, identical each other all frozen stand still like statues worshipping maybe.. or perhaps the stone opened the door because it wanted more attention. It was stronger now. Good. I shoo’d them off, but with that they only backed up a bit enough for me to clean so it was enough I listened to the whispers well and they let me take care of that beautiful black smooth Stone throbbing with darkness. I felt a hum from within almost like a purr I swear thats how good I clean it. Ill keep cleaning until it purrs again because that felt so good and so satisfying like when a kitten purrs and you want to hold it closer because its s o sooothing and nice and comforting to me like it fills a hole that I never knew that I had. The hole my Gr an d father left perhaps. the dirt outside was bigger now so it took almost constant care but I dont mind I have the time I have the guts to take care of all this. The tree nearest to it died so it could make room for more dirt. Pulled it out with my truck to make room for more dirt. Sent all the men home, no t hi ng to tend to no more. Combed it over the spot real nice so it looks like nothing was ever there, nothing but the pattern, zig-zagged into squares. Hope Grandfather is proud of me they never got it to be like this to make such sounds and emit such feelings. How did I never know this art was here? doesnt matter I know its here now and I will tend to it, alone. Gotta keep it safe from others, who knows what other people would think?: what would it want if others saw it and didnt want to admire and respect it? ? why would they do that I have no clue but no risk will be taken. No one can see it but me. And the squirrels too they know they understand what the rock is. I know what it is. It is so old, and so lonely. It needs more and more care forever, and its ok I will always be here.

 

Day 46

 

It Rumbles each day now, and the dirts swell and fill the farm!! I had other workers destroy the fields and raze the trees and leave nothjing but the topsoil! Perfectly tilled like a giant zen garden Glorious in the light, the Great Rock now stands open without that stupid barn around it. No idea why they kept it there, the old fools. How could they not know that it needed to be f re e? Something weird about keeping it hid? it NEEDS to be free it yearns to be free and it needs all the room it can to grow. It needs the dirt. It rumbles each day now, echoing into the home. It wants me to get rid of the house too. No matter. I will live by it with a tent and a small mess. The whispers are constant, comforting me god I love them. Its amazingly Black, that Great Rock. Even with the sun on it there is no issue with it being darker than dark. It absorbs the light around it with ease and on a s u per sunny day the light diffuses by it making shadows leap into the sky sometimes, jabs back at the sky vibrating around it waves of shadows emanating off in such a beautfiul way. GOd theres nothing like it why did my folks keep somethign so awe-inspiring hidden? The squirrels even come in numbers around it, surrounding friends who had died in solemn reverence to their Elder. I keep polishing it and making sure that there is no dust on it. Not one grain. It ne e ds to breathe. The earth rumbles and I know it is connected to this stone, this ancient thing, and that the earth knows that I tend to this place. This paradise. An old responsibility I have, that I will always do. The rumblings grow so loud now!! Amazing. It knows I am wasting time with this journal. THe earth shakes!! Its beautiful and horrifying and humbling and I am its servant, it needs me to grow stronger.

 

The Day

 

The Ground rumbles with anxiety, I can see the trees on hills offf in the distance quivering with the reverberations from the grouund. I think I am mad, because the landscape is qu iveringd and waving like waves on an ocean sometime, I kept polishing and the rumbling gets so LOUDthat it fills the air, the birds in flew off long ago, and up and high in the sky circling, all of them, a cloud. But there was no sound of life but the life within the land here that i have nutured and cared for this primeval being I know now that It was my duty my destiny to care for and be here for the Stone of the world, the Stone that stuck from the earth that shakes every minute now of every day. I cannot stay much longer I think or I could be swallowed up byh the planet

 

The squirrels have all died, their skeletons sucked up by the dirt they died on, disappearing into the dust, i cleaned it more, but the rumbling has become so violent that I couldnot stay so crying i left, I could not become like those tiny rodents so loyal to the forgotten One here in this place.

I walked to my truck and drove it off onto another hill where I could see this event and now that I was farther away I know that I have done something.. unnatural.. and wwrong. The whispers were loud enough that I could hear that they were Words that should not be spoken, Words forbidden by time and forgotten on purpose. They were gleeful now… As I watch the earth buckle and pulse, something rising up out of the ground where my family farm once stood pulling itself out and I want to keep typing but id ont think I can anymore there’s some darkness coming from the planet, a massive pulsing earthen hell pushing its way from the crust and breaking free from the plates where it had been kept a secret. I see it’s hand, the size of a hill. I know I will die.. I’m sorry. I have ruined it all, and I was not smart enough to stop myself. The whispers are laughing now, softly in my mind. Taunting. They know that the ancient One has finally been freed, some primordial Titan that ancient magicks had sealed away or ancient tribes buried in the dirt or God or the gods themselves had pushed back down into the crust. It should have stayed forgotten.

Its free now, dear God. It sees me. Im sorr

barn

Scratching (2)

/ ~ / Leave a comment

Click HERE for Part 1

I heard something heavy on the roof, crawling above us.   I went outside to get a look at the thing, and I peered into the shadows above my house, trembling.  An overwhelming sensation of being watched came upon me, stifling my breathing.  I gazed upon nothing.  But that feeling of being quietly observed made me sick to my stomach.  There was nothing on the house… Not anymore.

I quickly went back inside.  Bolted that door tight again.  Moved the couch back in front of it.  I wasn’t going to risk going outside again, not after what I did.  Not after what happened.  There was something primal about our interaction, like a story that had been told too many times already over the course of history,  Us versus them.  I can’t explain it, but there is a hostility innate to the interaction between us.  Like homo sapiens forcing homo erectus into extinction.  Who would have thought my high school biology class would become useful to me?
After the roof scare, we decided to take all of the animals and just go into the bedroom for the night, since the doors were locked and blocked.  My wife took a pill to help her get some rest since she is a schoolteacher, and she can’t miss work since tests are coming up for the kiddos.  I stayed awake, clutching my Mossberg.  I felt pretty confident that all of the barriers that I made in the shed should keep the creatures in the ground.  But as I sat there in the darkness, I found myself thinking of their eyes, glittering in the dark looking up at me.
None of the descriptions you folks suggested really looked like what I saw.  The rake’s hands are much too big for this.  These things had more… dexterity.  Nimble fingers.  And the eyes were not dark, at least not with a light shining at them.  Seems more like some forgotten link between us and the primordial soup.
My thoughts were a whirlwind as sleeplessness began to catch up to me in a wild delirium.  The faintest brush of a wind in the bushes made my heart flutter, and my muscles tense.  And that FEELING!  The one of being watched.  Even the walls of my home seemingly could not keep those prying humanoid eyes from whispering into my mind.  The darkness itself seemed to hold them.  The shadowy corner, black in the room.  For all I could tell, there was something crouching in my room now —
Scratching began anew.

 

The location made me feel a new fear.  The walls!! The WALLS!! I have heard rats in walls before in apartments I lived in during my youth.  Light scratches and tiny scuttles.  This, was completely different.  It must be Them.  Scraaaaaaatch scratch. Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatch.  Long, subtle scratches.  Like dragging long nailed fingers lightly over drywall.  I could picture the creature, skinny enough to slip into the frame of my home, grey skin pallid in the dusty darkness.  I loaded my shotgun with buckshot.  There was no question in my mind now, that there was something there.  And it was the thing that I saw.  There are no coincidences on a moonless night like that one.  There were no cute mice in my wall.  I knew.  I could not bring myself to pump shells into the walls, lest it let the creature spill into the bedroom.  Luckily my wife was out cold, but the dog was whining and growling again — like before.  I sat on the edge of my bed, feet hanging over the side to the ground, cradling my shotgun at the origins of the hellish sounds.
When the scratching first stopped, I went out into the living room to see the other side of the wall, to make sure it was within the thin frame and it hadn’t gotten into the home itself.  Surely, it was where I suspected.  But this gave me more scares.  The angles that strange body would have to twist into to get to where it is now are wholly unnatural.  It took all my strength left to not vomit, thinking of the disgusting being covered in dirt that had lived so close to me for so long.  And then I noticed that the cat had come out with me, and was at the window looking out intently at something.  I slowly walked over and I swear I caught a glimpse of a face peeking into my home.  A face not devoid of reasoning.  A face looking for something, someone.  Me.  As I got closer it was nothing but reflections and shadows…
I waited all night for something more.  But the scratching would stop, I would begin to drift off to sleep and then they would begin anew.  Toying with me.  As if it could sense my sleepiness and was playing with my mind.  Psychological warfare.  It is now almost 8 am, and the scratching has been gone since just before the sun rose.  They must be nocturnal.

I sure hope so.
I am going to take a quick nap, then go out into the shed.
If my hands will stop shaking.

 

Click HERE for Part 3

Scratching

/ ~ / 1 Comment

I haVE to type this quickly, please just give me a chance to explain.  I told the police what I am about to tell you, but they refused to believe me.  A friend told me that you folks might have some idea of what I am dealing with here.  In my backyard.
The yard is overgrown, there is an old shed that we haven’t had access to for years.  Peeking inside the single dusty pane on the garage, there is nothing remarkable to see: Tired old tools, shelves, and spiders skittering into the darkness.
My wife and I have a Shiba Inu, a very cute dog and also very intuitive.  It knows somehow when anyone is sad or even slightly stressed, and he will toss his body onto you to comfort you whether you like it or not.  We always just let him go running out into the yard to let him do his thing, and he always comes running back.  He loves crashing through the overgrown backyard that our landlord refuses to cut.  Ferns and bamboo mix to create a veritable Vietnam, especially on hot nights.  Like last night.
To write as clearly as I am, it is taking all of my focus.  What I saw makes me laugh and cry at the same time to think of and I couldn’t sleep at all because of it.  I kept my shotgun with the rack open next to me in bed, and my wife did not even protest.  She did not see, but she could hear.  And the police thought we were pranking them.  So much for protect and serve.
I let the dog outside as usual, and he ran into the underbrush with a hop and a skip.  But as I closed the door behind him to prevent the cloud of mosquitos from coming inside I heard something else out there with him.  Thinking a possum or the like, I stuck my head outside to call the dog back inside, but he was waiting for me already at the door.  I have never seen a dog afraid before, not outside of the movies.  He stood there shaking, and whimpering.  Tossing nervous glances outside as I began to shut the door.  Strange.  As we walked away, I heard something scratching at the door I just shut.
Thinking it was just an outside cat, which we have, I ignored it.  Best thing to do.  But the scratching did not stop for an hour.  My eyes locked on our ceiling fan spinning for eons as scratch scratch.  Scraaaaatch scratch scratch.  Over/ and over and over and eover and over
I finally got up to go kick the kitty off the steps but it stopped just as I strode over.  But then as I turned to walk back to bed there was more.  I rushed the door and opened it.
By the time I could see, all I caught a glimpse of was something like a pale hominid, crouching unnaturally as it crawled into the bushes.  A distinctly human looking head, but somehow elongated and sloping back.  Long arms.  The poilice wouldnt believe me.  I stayed up all night clutching my gun, sitting in the kitchen facing the back door.  Time to to time, the scratching would begin again.  And then subside immediately as I stood to open the door.  I could not get the courage to go out and find the creature, even with the cold steel at m side.  Somethiing about the darkness was different that night, obsidian without a moon.  That pale grey skin, stretched over strange bones, seemed powerful despite its emaciated appearance.

I called off work the next day to use the sun to boost my strength.  The heat was oppressive, beating through the leaves of the trees and onto my clammy skin.  The dog would not go out, he stood in the doorway whining and tap-dancing nervously which only added to my blood pressure and apprechension.  I could see a single footstep in the damp dirt outside the door, a shape that made me sick to see since I knew this was something beyond the realm of normal understanding.  Long toes, wide feet.  Like a simian, but with obvious abberations.  Swallowing my fear I delved into the greenery.

With each slow crunch of my feet going through the ground, my heart skipped a beat.  I could feel something watching me.  It brushed my arm and I turned to fire and looked at nothing more than a bush.  My nerves were shot.  I peeked into some bushes, moving slowly around the yard.  Then the shed came into view, and my heart stopped in my chest and tried to crawl into my throat.

The shed door was OPENED.  We were told that it could not open and they were going to demolish it once we were finsihed with our lease.  I entered with the gun raised ready to rip somethjing in half with a fleet of lead friends.   But there was nothing.  Tools, shelves, and dusty old spider skittering off to shadowed corners.
Nothing except for a rug upturned, and a trapdoor exposed by it.  Taking my phone, I lifted it open quickly and shined a light down there.

Several pairs of eyes glared back from the dark, and i fired without thinking into the black and shut the door immediately.  Chilling cries spewed up from the dirt basement, and loud crashes pushed wildly up against the door as I stood holding it shut slipping into insanity I could not push the eyes from my mind – they looked animal because they glowed but also they had an intelligence to them.  Some were scared some were angry what the fuck was living in my back yard this whole time.  Maybe it was not the posssums that were eating the stray cat food i leave out maybe it was them and their young creeping onto the porch each night it makes me sick to think of their long fingers shoveling dry kibble into their rotting mouths dear god I am going to be sick writing this

i turned a heavy tool chest over the door, and a shelf, and everything in the garage on top of it.  There was no way they could get out.  I cannot bring myself to try and kill them, they might get me… No one will believe me or even come out so I can show them this hell.  Not even my family.  My wife just laughs nervously when I try to bring it up and says i was seeing things.  But she wont go out and listen, or look.  I cant say I blame her.  I did not sleep again.  I don’t know if I ever will.
Even though there is no more scratching at my door.

_____________________________________________________________________

Got home from work, luckily everything was fine but I have to update.  There is scratching again.  The sun had been down for a few hours now, and my wife and I were dozing on the couch when it started.  The cat and the dog both started acting unusual, the cat scampering away into the house somewhere, and the sheebs just whining and grunting and growling at the door.  I stood up and paced quickly to the door, and it stopped.  I slowly crept toward the door, step by step lightly setting my feet on the ground with great care.   I put my ear up to the cold wooden door, hoping to hear something.  There was nothing.  Crickets droned on in the background.  I came back and sat down to upadte thi

There is somethiing on the roof now. I have to go.

 

Click HERE for Part 2

Sand

/ ~ / Leave a comment

Click HERE to read the Tale before this one!

Click here to get the full story, in paperback!

Alone and writhing in the obsidian emptiness of space, Robert James strained to breathe. The vacuum of darkness pulled at his lungs with furious persistence. His lungs burned for oxygen and his mind screamed:

PLEASE GOD LET ME WAKE U–

night sky hanging with a moon bro

Eyes opened to what looked like some dark corridor with holes dotting the walls and ceiling, light poking through them all into the dusty gallery. Robert could hear whispers echoing from every direction, the languages twisting between each other like tangles of smoke. Forgotten tongues blended with the arcane, and they all reached into his mind with each opaque syllable. Inhuman laughter let loose, laughing at him. His hands clutched at his ears to stifle the sounds, but they crept from within his skull. Heart heavily thumping a primal rhythm to accompany the intoxicating multitude of forbidden sounds driving him unceasingly to madness and he felt a scream begin to erupt from his mouth –

He was staring at an old ceiling, a brown-green-black blotched work of shitty abstract art. Heat filled the dry air as an ancient ceiling fan lazily rotated above him with infuriating slowness, creaking.

This is not my house… This isn’t even the place where I fell asleep…

He sat up to look at an obviously abandoned and ancient hotel room, completely dilapidated and… plain nasty. There were some big black bugs on the rotting dresser, and a dirty grey rat sitting propped up in the corner… Relaxing?

Oh… The dream. Right. Time to wake up.

Robert pinched himself as hard as he could and twisted a large fold of flesh on his forearm with all of his might, digging his nails in with extra force he summoned with desperation.

A desperation that comes from fighting a descent into psychosis.

Well…

Blood spotted on his arm. It continued to ache as he waited to wake, and he noticed the amount of dust and sand covering the floor. The mattress he was on, more a pile of springs and cloth, creaked with his standing up. The corner-rat scampered off into some hole, leaving Robert alone with his confusion. Shoes gritting the sand he walked to the window, covered by blinds that seemed dozens of years his elder.

“Might as well see where I am…” R.J. whispered into the musty air. Droves of dust flecks that were dancing slowly in the strips of light became erratic with this sudden gust. The pane of the window was covered in grime and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his suit, a dry cough escaping his mouth.

Robert James looked out upon a desert scene, sand dunes reaching to the horizon, the area near the old hotel could only be recognized as a former parking lot by the tops of cars peeking out of the drifts. The place was apparently named “Hotel Kansas”, as the sign sticking out of a golden heap read.

Looks more like the Sahara than Kansas. What happened here?

Robert ripped the hotel room door open after it stuck for a moment and it flew open abruptly. Sand spilled into his shoes from the mound that had blown up against the remnants of the building.

“Great.” He stepped outside, crunched up a hill, and looked around with eyes reaching for the blurred horizon: there were no other ruins in sight. He strained his eyes to the distance where motion glimmered through waves of heat rising off of the sand. The sun was beating down on a mass exodus of people.

Where are these people going? Why are they here?

Robert’s curiosity suspended his disbelief, and questions flooded his mind. He slid-walked down the dune he was on, and hiked carefully up the next one. His feet slipping down with each step, laboring to climb what seemed to be a disintegrating hill. Reaching the top, he crouched to hide his profile from the crowd and looked on. Hundreds of dusty people with down-turned faces slunk in huddled masses, all lurching toward some unknown refuge off to the empty horizon to his right.

As R.J. looked closer, he could see that there were military personnel urging the people forward, his ears catching the echos of men speaking to the crowd in a mix of English, Spanish… Chinese? Further ahead of the crowd, Robert saw a small detachment of desert fatigues talking together on a crest of a dune, pointing farther to R.J.’s right. He followed their gaze, and saw a massive wall of sand hanging on the horizon. It was so colossal it seemed to be still, but they all knew it was moving. Quickly too.

The men slid back toward the main group in a tumbling rush, and met with the other soldiers. They all seemed skittish, pitching glances around. One pointed in Roberts direction, and he felt the icy hand of a chill brush down his back. They dispersed and herded the crowd slowly toward where R.J. was. The sandstorm was closer now, the people were moving along faster with the soldiers trotting beside them. A baby’s cry carried over the sand and through the shimmering heat, wailing forcefully.

Robert stood and looked up again to see the storm, now noticing flashes of lightning within, and in the blink of an eye it seemed to change the direction it was heading, turning now toward him. The icy hand cemented its grip around R.J.’s heart.

Why can’t I wake up Jesus God please let me wake up I want to go home to my wife an–

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

A hollow, mechanical drone violently filled the air, echoing into the expanse like a foghorn. It was distinctly artificial, and loud enough so that R.J. was forced to cover his ears, but the vibration was so low and loud that he could still hear it no matter how hard he pushed his hands against his head. Sand slipped in tiny avalanches on the dunes all around him. The bones in his body shook, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the sound or the fear. The horrible tone lasted for a full minute.

The people all stopped silently in a valley between dunes, for just a moment, and looked around. The soldiers frantically urged them to continue, each holding a gun in one hand while windmilling their other arm fervently. As they saw the sand storm crash over the hills around them, spilling over them, they broke into a frightened sprint.

Like… roaches…

The baby continued to cry, but was cut off by another drone. Robert felt that the sound sounded ancient, somehow. Primeval. The sandstorm ceased along with the hellish tone, and there was a second of false silence as his ears rang. The chilling screams of the forsaken filled the air, drowning out the cries of the child. Robert beheld something which defied logic, and his eyes locked with horror on something that should never be able to exist.

A silver serpentine behemoth looked down at the crowd, and towered above the landscape. Sand fell from it as the harsh sun reflected off of chrome and it made a series of sounds: Horrifying whirrs from unseen gears, disgusting clicks from a gaping maw where dozens of cold steel mandibles slammed together in hungry anticipation. Hundreds of bright red eyes covered what could only be its head, flashing and darting in all directions. Robert fell to his knees in terror, as he watched the extermination of his species.

We are… vermin…

The mechanical colossus curled, lowering itself to the sea of humans trying to escape. Arms appeared, like titanic scythes, and began to slice into the crowd with the quick, efficient strokes of a skilled surgeon. The dunes surrounding were painted with splatters of red, turning the sand dark like mud. Sparks erupted all over the monster’s body as the soldiers began to fight back in vain. Robert cowered as bodies were tossed like insects into the air, the air whooshing around him with each methodical pass. Blood flecked across his face as a lone officer shouldered a rocket launcher and looked up to fire, hands shaking. The fear forced his aim to land only a glancing blow off what must be the being’s torso. It turned to focus its ancient gaze on the mortal, and another drone echoed out, freezing the rest of the humans where they stood.

An all-too-brief moment passed, and with strange intelligence, the thing leaned down further. The baby had survived somehow and was crying again into the macabre silence. A tumultuous sound creaked from the silver horror and its body opened to allow mechanical tendrils to spread from within. They reached, spreading around the baby to cradle it carefully and bring it back inside. Its desperate mothers’ arms were outstretched instinctively as the steel mountain confirmed the child was tucked safely within the darkness of its frame. With stoic professionalism, the carnage began with a new sincerity. Robert turned down the dune he was on to run somewhere, anywhere but here.

Silence. A gunshot, a loud thump of a muffled blow against the sand which peppered the back of Robert’s neck. Overwhelming silence. His feet scrunched the ground. There was nowhere to escape, nowhere to go. He was not sure if he could die anymore, but if he could he did not want to go like this.

My wife has no idea what is happening to me. How long have I been out? Am I even alive anymore? I want to go home…

The ground rumbled and he looked back, against his better judgement. Through tears of fear he caught a glimpse of shining silver as it slithered back into the dunes, whispers of sand moving and becoming louder, taunting him. It was coming for him now. It knew.

He looked down at the roofs of cars just under the sand in this desert of a parking lot. Roberts mind sparked with some understanding now, he had to go to sleep, and fast. He had to get back home, back to his wife and his life – however bleak he thought his existence to be, it was worlds better than where he was now. Worlds. His mind filled with thoughts, images, feelings of his wife. Her long, black hair. Those big, dark eyes. The beach at night when he proposed. He forced his mind to fill with only thoughts of her.

Her.

Dream to escape. Escape to dream.

Robert James jumped as high as he could for the first time in over ten years. As he guided his body, a fraction of a second he wondered if he had died and this was his hell. His hands clasped behind him as he flew head first toward the roof of a rusted car. His wife’s face filled his mind’s eye.

To die, to sleep.

To sleep…

Sleep.

Perchance to dream.

wispy sand gif

 

Click Here to get the rest of the story – in paperback!

 

The Descent

/ ~ / 3 Comments

 

Click HERE for the Tale that comes before this one!

 

The scratching all around the cabin was much louder now, echoing off of the wooden walls inside.  Curious sounding clicks, squeaks, and trills rode the cold air through the space between the front door and its frame – sounds that could be considered cute if you didn’t know the source.   Continue reading →

A Forest in the Appalachians

/ ~ / 3 Comments

CLICK HERE for the first Tale!

 

R.J. was numb, laying there in the shade of the great oak. Keep Reading!

Robert James Lowman

/ ~ / 2 Comments

The bed seemed to have its own gravity this morning, pinning Robert’s body to the dampness of the sheets.  He had that dream again, the one he always had but could never remember the details of.   Continue reading →