Day 27

Anyone can be anything on the internet.
You could be anything.
What if all your friends weren't?
What if they were ghosts trapped inside our electric grids?
This could be the only way they know how to talk to us.

A test for these phantoms:
Ask them if they are here. Are you here?
Type random letters til a name appears. dssdbsgddhfjonhdh
Type that name nine times. Jon Jon Jon Jon Jon Jon Jon Jon Jon
Type a paragraph, long sentence, anything and wait for the re͏͍p̞̦̹l͏̘y͚͖i̻͈̘̹'̘̮͚m̡͍͍̻̠h̴̭̞̖̱e̴͕̙͔r͍̮̗͜ͅe҉̤̖͕̬ͅi̮̘̲m̼͙̻͔̙̟h͈͍̜͍̹͢e̸̝̜̝re̡i̴͈̦̜͔m̞̹h̪̜̰̟̙̼̕er̸̪ȩ̘̮i͔̙͉̘̫ͅm̸̜h̸̯̖̱̮̲e̞͙̱̳r̻̖̭̦e̙̦̝̟͓̤͘

I̕҉̗̳̟'̟m̴͔̪̀ ̡̣͖h͏̵͔̜̜͇̘͍͓̝̳è̡̖̖̞̱̙̮͜r̵͇̘̼̪̖̰͞ȩ͚͇̪̬̻͈̱̹͎

Day 26

You wouldn't believe what washes up on the coast.
Plastic bottles, torn fishing nets... fingers.
It makes you wonder, where did they come from?
What boat now misses its net?
Whose fingers are these?
Why are they still moving?
Where are they trying to get to?

You follow them across the beach and into the shipping yard.
its like a maze here.
After many twists and turns the severed digits pile up outside
of one warehouse that looks more than ready to crumble.
You reach over the fingers, compelled to push the door.
It opens.

You wait for the fingers to writhe inside and follow after,
careful to make as little noise as possible though you
aren't sure why.
What could possibly be in here?

You see the fingers making their way to the back of the building,
to a large, greyish shape.
It seems to be a tarpaulin.
With something moving underneath.
Moving towards you.
Maybe it can smell you?

A large scaled hand quietly lifts the corner of the plastic sheet up.
It lets the fingers through.
It lifts the corner higher.
It beckons you in.

Day 25

Your skin itches.
Your entire skin itches.
Like a thousand ants are writhing underneath.

Scratch it all away.
Scratch until you see red.
Until you see blood, until you see bone.

Peel the skin back.
Expose the ants.
See them pore out and onto the floor.

Peel yourself further.
Let yourself go.
Lose yourself to the dark, squirming flow.

Your skin lies before you.
The ants consume it.
You are free now.

Day 24

Summer means the insects are waking up.

Being born and reborn.

Summer is also a good time for walking

As you walk through an open field you see a large black cloud approaching.

You hear the cloud humming loudly.

Its insects swarming.

They surround you.

Look closely at them.

They have faces.

You know these faces.

You've lived with these faces.

They look angry.

They move in.

They are the last thing you see.

Day 23

I used to see darkness when I woke
It was so lonely
I began to dig
Took so long
My hands are bloodied and mangled but now
Now I see stars
I see animals

I stumble through the woods where they buried me
My legs are less than I remember
I am less than I remember yet so much more
So much stronger

I caught a hiker
Like catching a fish on land
He was so fragile
Now we are friends
He tells me he is becoming less than he remembers

We search for more friends

Day 22

You've been to this restaurant before.
It's a small family business.
They know you here.

This time your regular table isn't free.
You get sat in the very back table.
The first thing you notice about this is how far away it is from the doors.
The second thing you notice is that you can see everyone else here.

A few minutes into your meal you start to notice other things.
Little things.
Like how nobody else is eating their food.
They are all facing away from you.
They are all muttering.
Make that chanting.

When did it get so dark outside?
When did everyone stop chanting?
When did you start chanting?

Day 21

I heard the back door open and began to panic.
"It's alright," my wife whispered, "he's just let himself in."
My wife died nine years ago.
Who is he?

Day 20

Sometimes driving makes the journey seem longer.
Every turn in the road is an hour of your life.
Every roundabout is a step back as you gradually move towards your goal.

Night driving feels the longest.
Long empty roads where the car in front is a blinking red star in the distance
and you see no others behind or beside you.

Eventually you begin to doze off, gently drifting to sleep.
You jolt awake to find its sunrise and you're miraculously still on the road.
Reaching your destination you find its nothing how you remember it to be.
Nothing looks the same but your navigator says you're there.
Getting out and asking a nearby stranger they say your destination hasn't
been there for many years.

You begin to panic, where have they gone? What's happening?
You reach for your phone only to gasp at your wrinkled hands.
Running to the car and gazing into the mirror you see an old person staring back.

Sometimes driving makes the journey seem longer.
Sometimes things are exactly what they seem.

Day 19

In horrifying circumstances there's rarely cause to look up.
How often do you look up?
The answer is not enough.
You have always been taught to look down.

Mistakes, mistakes.

Watch where you step. But not who's above you.
How high up am I? We are higher still.
Look under my bed for monsters. Your room is filled with corners.
                                                    We wait for you to sleep.

LOOK UP
         LOOK UP
                  LOOK UP

Day 18

Look outside your windows at night.
See the shadows dancing over the light of the street lamps.
You assume its trees casting shadows but they are too circular.
They look more like rows of heads.
Heads bobbing along to some unknown beat.
Your heartbeat.
As your pulse quickens so do the heads.
They move closer.
They turn.

Day 17

Faces are strange.
Your mind ignored the faces of strangers around you and yet they appear in your dreams.
Your mind fixates on some faces so much that you become that face in your dreams.
You don't even realise it.

Every being in your dreams is something you have seen in reality.
Every being.
Every monstrosity that tears you from sweet slumber with its warped features, sickly scent
and blood curdling screeches is based on something you've seen before.
Every friend-turned-creature is or was real.

You've seen them all.
Do you remember them?
They remember you.
Do you remember us?
We'll see you tonight sweetheart.

Day 16

You are at your most vulnerable when you sleep.
You are easy prey when you're drifting off.
Are you sure you're alone?
Is your door closed?
Can you hear laughter?
You're probably alone... but are you safe?

Imagine as you lay in bed unable to keep your eyes open any longer, you see a face.
Inches from your own and staring it grins down at you.
Jolting upright, it vanishes only to appear again when you squint.
Closer than before. Jaws open.

Day 15

Revised version

Some kids from class said they'd seen faces in the water.
Nobody took them seriously til the flooding came.
Worst in years, the BBC said.
They didn't talk about the faces we saw.
Cut it out of the interview clips.
Hid the danger from the public but nobody is safe now.

The hands came next.
Cold and slimy, grasping at everything near the water.
Grasping at everyone.
I reckon half of the people the "floods" claimed were dragged away by the hands.
I'm not sure what was worse.
At least the faces stayed under the water, smiling and laughing.

Finally we saw them whole.

Day 14

Don't be afraid of the sounds you hear at night, we only want to speak to you.

Don't be afraid of our hands creeping over your windows, we only want to hold you.

Don't be afraid of our glowing grins as you slip into sleep, we only happy to see you.

So happy
             to see
                    you

Day 13

What if I told you that your shadow was alive?

What if I told you your shadow was once human?

Shadows are a form of ghost.

Stand outside, smell the fresh air and stare at your shadow.

Look for inconsistencies.

What clothes does it seem to wear?

Is your hair the same?

Walk up to a wall and stand with your shadow in front if you.

Look into your shadows eyes. See it stare back.

Take a single step forward.

Move on.

Day 12

They say the constant but faint ringing in your ears is a death toll.
They say you hear it when someone is going to die.
Someone is always going to die.
You may know them, they may know you.
They may be you.
You may die.

It is said that the ringing becomes unbearably loud when your time comes.
It is said the ringing stops when you die.

How loud is the ringing?
Has it stopped yet?
Have you never heard it?

Day 11

To go on a train is to enter into a world of noise and compression.
The people surrounding you seem unreal, like reflections of statues.
Everyone absorbed by their own thoughts.
Silent ghosts of the underground trapped in a perpetual journey.

You alone are real on this train. You can tell somehow.
Everyone else shimmers slightly but your hands still have that meaty
texture to them.
You ponder talking to these apparitions. What could they tell you?
Would they say nothing? Would they say too much.
These you wonder as you look up to notice a young woman sitting
opposite you staring.

She doesn't shimmer.  She too is real.
Why does this scare you more than the ghosts?
She smiles, her teeth as straight as tombstones and as white as chalk.

Day 10

A child's playhouse. Wooden. A birthday gift.
Lovingly crafted and saturated with memories.
Places like this have a certain Pull to them.
The Pull of this toy home was so strong it pulled the young birthday girl into it.
It took them just over a month to find her and when they did there wasn't much left.
What little remained of her was fused with the walls - yes walls.
Plural.
It was as if her tiny body had been stretched over the whole interior.
Spread thinly like butter, it took forensics hours to peel her corpse off the enclosed space.
Clumps of her remained stuck to the walls, sealed permanently to them.

Twice a year, on her birth and death days, she is seen the clearest. All other days she remains
translucent.
Always inside the home crafted so lovingly it became unwilling to let her leave.
Her grave lay partially empty.
Her tomb she shared with many other spirits.
All young girls.
And it draws more in. It needs more.
Its walls now heavily reinforced by their formerly fragile bodies.
It may never collapse.

Home sweet home.

Day 9

Your eyes are fascinating.
Your eyes are deceiving.
Convince yourself you're alone.
Convince yourself you're safe.
Go ahead.
It amuses us.
Ignorance is humanities greatest invention.
Ignorance is our greatest weapon.

Of course you didn't see anything in the mirror.
Of course that noise was nothing.

Reassure yourself that humans are the top of the food chain.

Nothing can hurt you.

So open the door.

We're waiting.

Day 8

We all know the tradition of leaving your tooth under the pillow for some fae being to collect in exchange for monetary compensation.

We've all left a tooth or two behind and woken to find it replaced.

What if you left a tooth under your pillow and found more teeth in the morning?
What if all those teeth were yours?
What if they weren't human?
What if they kept coming?

Day after day, month after month more teeth. Bigger teeth.
Soon a whole jawbone of some creature under your pillow.

Then the rest of the creature arrives, creaks and groans under what's left of its body.

You should have stopped leaving it teeth.
It ran out of anything else to give.

With one dull eye it stares balefully at you, no, at your pillow.

You weren't supposed to be awake for it.
You weren't supposed to see its insectoid wings twitch as it reaches inside its grubby coat.

You'll never un-hear the loud crunch, never un-see it wince and hold back a sob.

It gently places a sharply pointed rib under your pillow and limps off with your coin.

You never leave money for the tooth fairy again, choosing instead to bury your teeth in the schoolyard.

Day 7

Voices.
Some things have voices.
Not the things you'd expect though.
For instance houses have voices.
Homesteads have stories.
The best and worst part is not knowing what tales they hold. What curses lie in their foundations.
Stories of bloodshed - the toil and labour that went into crafting them, the agonies that happened inside them.
Some are so drenched in the past that they become horrors themselves.
Blood dripping from door handles where frantic fingers have grasped their last.
Floors creaking and screaming, echoing with the final footsteps of the damned.
Faces in windows begging, beckoning the living to follow them deep down.
And lastly, attics where fraying ropes and silent hopes lay hand in wretched hand behind locked doors.

Houses have voices. Houses have stories. Be wary of listening to them lest you become a part of them.

Day 6

Ever pull a face at the mirror and laugh at yourself?
What if your reflection kept laughing?
What if your reflection was laughing hysterically?
What if it stopped laughing and started smiling?
What if its smile kept growing?
What if it spoke?
What if its voice sounded so much older than your own?
What would it tell you?

Day 5

The doors of the bus sigh open as the beastly contraption sinks down. You step on. You, an unsuspecting fool, step on. The driver is surprisingly cheerful yet somehow inhuman but you can't quite place why. He grabs your fare stiffly, sweat dripping over his face like oil over a slab of meat, and smiles slightly wider than you reckon is normal.

You sit towards the front of the bus, on the left side and your head begins to pulsate achingly. You debate asking the elderly lady opposite you for painkillers but think better of it as you see she is sweating as heavily as the driver. Looking around you all of the other passengers are sweating heavily.

This doesn't strike you as strange, the bus is oppressively warm. The windows don't look like they open. As the thumping in your head grows louder and slightly faster the bus pulls away from the stop and you gaze sleepily out of the window.

You jolt awake as the bus staggers over what you can only assume is the biggest speed bump ever. You resume window gazing. It takes you a while to realise that you can't see anything out of the window. Everything outside is smothered in darkness yet your phone clearly reads 13:23. Your phone's dim glimmer and the flickering strip lights on the ceiling reveal a gruesome sight.

The inside of the window appears to be covered by some sort of fleshy film.
So is the chair.
So is the floor.
So are your feet.

As you struggle to move the elderly lady snaps her head towards you at an angle that looks... wrong and smiles as she points just over your head.

Above you is the biggest heart you have ever seen.

And the last thing you ever see as the bus begins to fill with a sickly green liquid that hisses as it touches your shoes.

This is your stop.

Day 4

Have you ever felt something crawling up your arm when nothing was there?
She's trying to lead you.

Have you ever shuddered for no apparent reason?
She runs her hands down your spine but they go right through you.

Have you ever sworn you saw something out of the corner of your eye?
She wants you to see her. You mustn't let her know you have.

If you hear something tapping on your window tonight - it's not rain.

Day 3

Let's talk about books.
Let's talk about letters.
Let's talk about the strange itching feeling at the back of your eyes compelling you to read.
Read til dawn.
Read til your eyes hurt.
Read til the words swirl... the words aren't meant to swirl.
Rub your eyes and see them gently rotating forming strange twisted shapes.
They swirl to form faces, screaming faces.
The conglomeration of screaming mouths morphs into one singular mouth that begins to speak.

The first words are hissed, like the rustling of pages and irritated librarians shushing their patrons.
Then they become crisp words that you don't understand, though some part of you feels you should know.
All you know is that this moment is important and you can't comprehend it in the slightest.

You wonder when it will stop speaking at you, if it realises you are already lost.
Will it be angry when it realises that you are utterly ignorant and probably not who this was meant for?
You don't want to stick around and find out but you can't risk leaving.

It seems to be slowing down, its words jumbling together until it reverts to hissed nothings.
As it dissolves gradually back into words on a book that looks like an old almanac, you feel drained.
Whatever it had to say, it had been waiting such a long time and all for nothing.

You know less than you knew when you entered the library.
You don't remember entering the library.
Perhaps you have always been there too, waiting for a message you'll never understand. 

Day 2

Imagine your favourite song just came on your computer.

Imagine it sounding slightly off in a way you just can't quite place.

Imagine turning the volume all the way up and realising that between the instrumental sections a voice is saying your name.

Reverently.

This voice is in every song you listen to, even on the radio it still says your name.

You get used to it after a while and even find it comforting to think that something out there acknowledges your existence so piously.

That is, until it stops saying your name and begins to say your address instead, until it begins to describe what you are wearing instead.

Until you hear it behind you instead.

Saying your name reverently.

Repeatedly.

So pleased to finally meet you.

See you.

Be you.

Day 1

Imagine bird feet, not legs just feet about the size of your hand and always just beside your right foot.

You can run, cycle, fly, swim but the feet will follow you.

If you look for long enough you'll see them move. If you listen long enough you'll hear them speak.

Softly at first, growing louder and louder the longer you stare saying all the things you thought nobody knew about you.

All the things you've thought when you were angry beyond all reason, when you wish you could just choke the life out of someone, when you kill someone over and over and over again in your mind.

The feet speak. The feet follow. They grow.