The flat was the latest scheduled for emptying - another dead tennant.
He was only discovered last week but the lingering smell said he'd been there far longer.
Seems the old guy didn't have much stuff, no relatives either.
Not many people in the area did, it was like a dumping ground for the elderly.
Harsh way to put it, but honest at least.
The view wasn't so bad really, if you could stomach the smell that is.
We joked among ourselves that it was the delightful parfum left just for us.
Us being our small team from the NACSC - forensic cleaners.
We split the homes into rooms to make easier, slowest cleaner buys the others beer.
I got the kitchen which was near empty anyways but as the "discovery room" it stank the worst.
I reckoned a right broke one must have lived here though - no food, no cleaning agents,not even a
plate!
All he'd left in here was a puddle of muck where'd he'd been rotting away.
Decided to get the worst out of the way first, save the easy stuff til last to make it a quick getaway.
Took me a fair while too, he may have been small but he had a lot of blood in him.
A lot of blood.
Halfway through wiping him up I found he'd scratched something in the floor.
Couldn't make out half of it - he had scratchy writing.
All I could make out was "D N T PE T E SU TC E"
Didn't make sense of it, not until one of the others called us all into the master bedroom.
Said she'd found something bad.
She'd found a suitcase full of children's heads.
It was literally stuffed full of them, congealed blood thick around the cases' edges.
The worst part was the police couldn't identify any of them.
They were known as the lost boys after Peter Pan.
See, I wouldn't be talking about this but this family moved in down the road from me.
I've seen their kid's faces before.
They were in the case.
20141231
20141230
Day 240
The rollercoaster promised an "unforgettable ride".
I'll admit it was pretty impressive on a clear day, I went with my friend Meena.
We went when it was all foggy, meant the queue was tiny.
Who'd want to go to a theme park in the cold, damp mist?
It started out as they always do, a few sweeping corners and the slow build up to the 98ft drop.
The higher up we got, the thicker the mist grew until we were at the ride's peak where it cleared
and left us feeling like we were floating above a sea of grey clouds.
We were suspended there for several minutes growing more and more anxious, wondering if the
ride was broken, if we were stuck there completely, if this was a part of the ride and worse.
The person in front of Menna and I began to climb out of the cart and had only their leg behind the
bar when the coaster suddenly jerked into life and began the thrilling trip down.
The poor guy in front was tossed about like a ragdoll, bones snapping against each turn, skin splitting
and tearing showering us with blood as his screams faded into wet gurgles.
Soon after his leg snapped altogether and his body fell into the mist.
The people at the very front of the coaster began to shriek and yell something about the tracks as we
went into our fourth or fifth loop.
We'd been too scared by the gruesome scene in front of us to even consider looking at the ride itself.
As it drew to a straight track we saw that the sides all around us were rusted and some even had thick
chunks of something wet and dripping on them.
The further along we went the worse it got.
Finally the ride ended and we were left exactly at the beginning except that the fog was far worse now.
We shakily got out of our seats, some of us still wearing the remains of the man who tried to leave,
and headed to where we remembered the exit being.
Faint figures moved about near the other attractions, some queueing up for the hellish ride we just left.
Meena tried to warn them about it but as she drew closer they appeared to move further back.
I pulled her away, more concerned with getting home, washing the blood off me and forgetting all this.
We couldn't find the exit anywhere.
The fog was too thick and the people didn't seem to exist at all.
From time to time we bumped into another real person who'd been on the coaster, we tried to stick
together, afraid to be alone in the surreal nightmare this place had become.
Occasionally we saw one of the coater people around the other rides.
Well, we assumed they were from the coaster, they were always dead and too mangled to see who
they had been... almost like their identity was being physically erased the same way the fog was
erasing the landscape around us leaving vague shapes and lights roaming among the dead.
We're still here you know.
Sticking together in the fog.
The food stalls are always stocked with fresh sweets and meat.
We try not to question where it's being sourced from but my steak had a tattoo.
The entire place is surrounded by walls made from barbed wire and bones.
We're trapped.
At least the moving figures don't bother us... I don't actually think they can, they're just part of the fog.
Part of this place, whatever it is.
None of us go anywhere near the rides,we stick to the food areas and gift stalls.
Still as careful as we're being, someone always ends up dead and in a ride.
We're never alone though, new people always turn up - dead and alive.
I'll admit it was pretty impressive on a clear day, I went with my friend Meena.
We went when it was all foggy, meant the queue was tiny.
Who'd want to go to a theme park in the cold, damp mist?
It started out as they always do, a few sweeping corners and the slow build up to the 98ft drop.
The higher up we got, the thicker the mist grew until we were at the ride's peak where it cleared
and left us feeling like we were floating above a sea of grey clouds.
We were suspended there for several minutes growing more and more anxious, wondering if the
ride was broken, if we were stuck there completely, if this was a part of the ride and worse.
The person in front of Menna and I began to climb out of the cart and had only their leg behind the
bar when the coaster suddenly jerked into life and began the thrilling trip down.
The poor guy in front was tossed about like a ragdoll, bones snapping against each turn, skin splitting
and tearing showering us with blood as his screams faded into wet gurgles.
Soon after his leg snapped altogether and his body fell into the mist.
The people at the very front of the coaster began to shriek and yell something about the tracks as we
went into our fourth or fifth loop.
We'd been too scared by the gruesome scene in front of us to even consider looking at the ride itself.
As it drew to a straight track we saw that the sides all around us were rusted and some even had thick
chunks of something wet and dripping on them.
The further along we went the worse it got.
Finally the ride ended and we were left exactly at the beginning except that the fog was far worse now.
We shakily got out of our seats, some of us still wearing the remains of the man who tried to leave,
and headed to where we remembered the exit being.
Faint figures moved about near the other attractions, some queueing up for the hellish ride we just left.
Meena tried to warn them about it but as she drew closer they appeared to move further back.
I pulled her away, more concerned with getting home, washing the blood off me and forgetting all this.
We couldn't find the exit anywhere.
The fog was too thick and the people didn't seem to exist at all.
From time to time we bumped into another real person who'd been on the coaster, we tried to stick
together, afraid to be alone in the surreal nightmare this place had become.
Occasionally we saw one of the coater people around the other rides.
Well, we assumed they were from the coaster, they were always dead and too mangled to see who
they had been... almost like their identity was being physically erased the same way the fog was
erasing the landscape around us leaving vague shapes and lights roaming among the dead.
We're still here you know.
Sticking together in the fog.
The food stalls are always stocked with fresh sweets and meat.
We try not to question where it's being sourced from but my steak had a tattoo.
The entire place is surrounded by walls made from barbed wire and bones.
We're trapped.
At least the moving figures don't bother us... I don't actually think they can, they're just part of the fog.
Part of this place, whatever it is.
None of us go anywhere near the rides,we stick to the food areas and gift stalls.
Still as careful as we're being, someone always ends up dead and in a ride.
We're never alone though, new people always turn up - dead and alive.
20141229
Day 239
Working nights as a security guard wasn't ideal but it paid well.
She only had to watch the top few floors, walking round and checking in on whoever was still there.
Today it was just the usual ones - a couple of new guys behind on their work, the deputy CEO and
a few IT guys (it varied depending on how much needed repairs).
Everything seemed as usual, gossip with the IT guys revealed a small feud going on between the
deputy and a new guy (Callum or Calvin, something like that).
Their emails were pretty heated for a "minor" feud, she made a mental note to keep an eye on it, just
in case things stopped being so "minor".
Last stop was the deputy, quiet guy... always had a jug of water on his desk.
He was even quieter than normal, seemed nervous.
Nothing else was out of the ordinary, but there was a small plastic man in his water jug, had a roll of
paper tied to its' leg.
Deputy it was a good luck charm.
As she was heading out the door the front desk rang an emergency in.
Someone called Cale Bradwell was dead on the sixth floor, soaking wet and stone cold.
The expected chaos happened soon after, police, forensics, questions, questions and more questions.
No lead suspect.
Eventually the report was released, Bradwell had drowned.
Nobody had a clue how but she remembered the doll.
This time, she was going to confront the deputy, get a confession and hand him in.
Started her shift as normal, didn't want him to suspect.
Had it always been this cold in here?
Why was she starting to sweat so much, was it the flu?
By the time she got to the deputy's office she was gasping for breath, vision swimming.
She collapsed as soon as she opened his office door.
He stepped over her and walked away without saying a word.
Dragging herself upright she finally slumped in the deputy's chair, head slamming onto the desk as
her lungs filled with water.
The last thing she saw was a small plastic doll at the bottom of a large jug of water.
It wore her uniform.
It wore her face.
She only had to watch the top few floors, walking round and checking in on whoever was still there.
Today it was just the usual ones - a couple of new guys behind on their work, the deputy CEO and
a few IT guys (it varied depending on how much needed repairs).
Everything seemed as usual, gossip with the IT guys revealed a small feud going on between the
deputy and a new guy (Callum or Calvin, something like that).
Their emails were pretty heated for a "minor" feud, she made a mental note to keep an eye on it, just
in case things stopped being so "minor".
Last stop was the deputy, quiet guy... always had a jug of water on his desk.
He was even quieter than normal, seemed nervous.
Nothing else was out of the ordinary, but there was a small plastic man in his water jug, had a roll of
paper tied to its' leg.
Deputy it was a good luck charm.
As she was heading out the door the front desk rang an emergency in.
Someone called Cale Bradwell was dead on the sixth floor, soaking wet and stone cold.
The expected chaos happened soon after, police, forensics, questions, questions and more questions.
No lead suspect.
Eventually the report was released, Bradwell had drowned.
Nobody had a clue how but she remembered the doll.
This time, she was going to confront the deputy, get a confession and hand him in.
Started her shift as normal, didn't want him to suspect.
Had it always been this cold in here?
Why was she starting to sweat so much, was it the flu?
By the time she got to the deputy's office she was gasping for breath, vision swimming.
She collapsed as soon as she opened his office door.
He stepped over her and walked away without saying a word.
Dragging herself upright she finally slumped in the deputy's chair, head slamming onto the desk as
her lungs filled with water.
The last thing she saw was a small plastic doll at the bottom of a large jug of water.
It wore her uniform.
It wore her face.
20141228
Day 238
The first thing he noticed was that he couldn't move.
A tight, damp cold encompassed his entire body.
He could hear wind blowing past his face but could not feel it on his skin.
His eyes felt like sandpaper but without any pain.
He couldn't speak, his mouth creaking open he felt the skin around his lips tear.
Still, there was no pain.
Stiffly he opened his eyes and began to glance around him.
He saw dirt packed all around his body and a skeletal arm sticking out nearby.
His arm.
He tried to point and the fingers began to move almost robotically ('rigor mortis?' he wondered).
His ears picked up voices moving closer to him and he tried speaking again.
They came to a sudden stop behind him.
'Oh god Sarge, it's one of them!' one said tremblingly.
'Not one of ours, clearly been under a long time. Still, better put it out of its' misery, eh?'
Two sets of clicking came from behind and he frantically tried to move his neck.
It snapped round at an angle allowing him to see two soldiers behind him, guns pointed at his forehead.
Trying to speak one final time, words at the tip of his shrivelled up tongue.
The guns fired.
Two soldiers walked away, more aware of their surroundings now.
A tight, damp cold encompassed his entire body.
He could hear wind blowing past his face but could not feel it on his skin.
His eyes felt like sandpaper but without any pain.
He couldn't speak, his mouth creaking open he felt the skin around his lips tear.
Still, there was no pain.
Stiffly he opened his eyes and began to glance around him.
He saw dirt packed all around his body and a skeletal arm sticking out nearby.
His arm.
He tried to point and the fingers began to move almost robotically ('rigor mortis?' he wondered).
His ears picked up voices moving closer to him and he tried speaking again.
They came to a sudden stop behind him.
'Oh god Sarge, it's one of them!' one said tremblingly.
'Not one of ours, clearly been under a long time. Still, better put it out of its' misery, eh?'
Two sets of clicking came from behind and he frantically tried to move his neck.
It snapped round at an angle allowing him to see two soldiers behind him, guns pointed at his forehead.
Trying to speak one final time, words at the tip of his shrivelled up tongue.
The guns fired.
Two soldiers walked away, more aware of their surroundings now.
20141227
Day 237
It was pretty cool that your aunt made her own sausages, even cooler that she's letting you help.
She uses an old family recipe handed down through at least five generations.
They were made once per generation and are the best sausages you'll ever taste.
Weird though, whoever made them vanished before they were served.
Apparently that was due to tradition as well, like their ultimate goal had been fulfilled or something?
I never understood, not until my aunt let me help.
I was late to meet her, she was already halfway through.
I'll never forget the smell of raw meat and blood that filled the small kitchen.
As I approached her from behind I noticed how pale her hands were, she was shaking like a leaf.
She wouldn't respond to her name.
I gently tapped her shoulder and she collapsed.
Well, she sort of collapsed... she was left hanging from her waist.
She'd been using her own intestines as sausage casing, squeezing the meat in inch by inch as she
slowly passed away.
I ran away, never spoke about it and pretended that everything was fine.
Makes me wonder... what happens to the rest of the body?
She uses an old family recipe handed down through at least five generations.
They were made once per generation and are the best sausages you'll ever taste.
Weird though, whoever made them vanished before they were served.
Apparently that was due to tradition as well, like their ultimate goal had been fulfilled or something?
I never understood, not until my aunt let me help.
I was late to meet her, she was already halfway through.
I'll never forget the smell of raw meat and blood that filled the small kitchen.
As I approached her from behind I noticed how pale her hands were, she was shaking like a leaf.
She wouldn't respond to her name.
I gently tapped her shoulder and she collapsed.
Well, she sort of collapsed... she was left hanging from her waist.
She'd been using her own intestines as sausage casing, squeezing the meat in inch by inch as she
slowly passed away.
I ran away, never spoke about it and pretended that everything was fine.
Makes me wonder... what happens to the rest of the body?
20141226
Day 236
He was coming back from a holiday in Snape Maltings.
He'd been visiting his gran who decided to "live out her days there" as she delightfully phrased it.
It wasn't a bad area per say, just....dull, had a few local shops but it was mostly fields.
He regretted volunteering to stay the week with her over Christmas.
At least now it was over.
The drive back up to Dumfries would have taken over 6 hours but heavy rainfall made it worse.
He managed to grab a room about halfway through his journey in a small B&B hotel.
It was cheap and even boasted a "friendly ghost".
He didn't care, he was tired and just wanted some peace and quiet.
The room was standard sized, the ceiling was low but it was an old house so he expected as much.
It all seemed so normal but something was off but the only thing he could think of was the lack of
doors, the bathroom was almost opposite the bed which was weird but not what was bothering him.
Instead of focusing his attentions on finding what felt so unnatural about the place he headed to the
bathroom, intent on brushing his teeth and sleeping until the rain cleared.
For such a small hotel, their bathroom mirror was very... theatrical compared to the rest of the room.
Its' frame was brassy gold with curls and flicks all over the place.
Shame the glass was so filthy and translucent.
He rubbed it with his sleeve to try and polish it and as his arm withdrew he saw his reflection continue to rub at the surface.
It just kept going, like it had a mind of its own.
He pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming as his "reflection" began to slow down.
Moving closer he tried to peer into the cloudy surface only to jump back in surprise as his "reflection"
pressed its face right against the glass and stared at him with pitch black eyes.
It wasn't his face.
It wasn't a human face.
It began to move closer gradually moving through the glass, panting and gasping and laughing.
He sprinted out of the bathroom and headed to the door only to find it gone as were the windows.
Even the furniture was gone.
He was left alone in the room with whatever was coming out of the mirror.
Curling up in the furthest corner he prepared for the worst as the sound of its laughter filled his ears.
He'd been visiting his gran who decided to "live out her days there" as she delightfully phrased it.
It wasn't a bad area per say, just....dull, had a few local shops but it was mostly fields.
He regretted volunteering to stay the week with her over Christmas.
At least now it was over.
The drive back up to Dumfries would have taken over 6 hours but heavy rainfall made it worse.
He managed to grab a room about halfway through his journey in a small B&B hotel.
It was cheap and even boasted a "friendly ghost".
He didn't care, he was tired and just wanted some peace and quiet.
The room was standard sized, the ceiling was low but it was an old house so he expected as much.
It all seemed so normal but something was off but the only thing he could think of was the lack of
doors, the bathroom was almost opposite the bed which was weird but not what was bothering him.
Instead of focusing his attentions on finding what felt so unnatural about the place he headed to the
bathroom, intent on brushing his teeth and sleeping until the rain cleared.
For such a small hotel, their bathroom mirror was very... theatrical compared to the rest of the room.
Its' frame was brassy gold with curls and flicks all over the place.
Shame the glass was so filthy and translucent.
He rubbed it with his sleeve to try and polish it and as his arm withdrew he saw his reflection continue to rub at the surface.
It just kept going, like it had a mind of its own.
He pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming as his "reflection" began to slow down.
Moving closer he tried to peer into the cloudy surface only to jump back in surprise as his "reflection"
pressed its face right against the glass and stared at him with pitch black eyes.
It wasn't his face.
It wasn't a human face.
It began to move closer gradually moving through the glass, panting and gasping and laughing.
He sprinted out of the bathroom and headed to the door only to find it gone as were the windows.
Even the furniture was gone.
He was left alone in the room with whatever was coming out of the mirror.
Curling up in the furthest corner he prepared for the worst as the sound of its laughter filled his ears.
20141225
Day 235
There's an old Bible that's been handed down through our family for centuries.
Passed on from living heir to living heir, through untold tragedies.
Now this is pretty uncommon I know, but what's weirder is that no-one's ever opened it.
I mean, what's the point of having an ancient religious text if you can't open it and compare
it to its' modern counterparts?
We may be missing huge chunks of text in our current Bibles!
Who knows what chapters were considered too "blasphemous" or just unwanted by whoever
was in charge of whichever country this was in at the time.
I'm going to give it to a Biblical expert and see if they can find anything interesting about it.
Update:
So far everything seems to be roughly the same as the modern Bible.
There's the expected language difference, slight alterations in wording to fit the changing time
periods and language.
I spoke with the expert yesterday and he was impressed with the age of the book but overall
the contents were unremarkable and pretty standard for a Bible.
She's only halfway through it but I'll make a note again when she's gone through it all.
Update:
She finished it last week and I met with her two days ago.
Turns out there was a secret compartment in the thick cover (I always wondered about that).
We opened it together and inside were four scraps of paper with handwritten notes on them.
See, this is where is gets really strange- one sheet had all the names of the people in my family
who have had the book before me... and including me...
The next one I looked at had their causes of death, it varied from the expected "old age" to
seriously messed up stuff like "poisoned by firstborn" and "curse".
Apparently my great-aunt died by"demon" whatever that means.
Either my so called "expert" put this in here to freak me out or... or it's real.
The third sheet was a map of some place in Northumberland and the fourth was a number.
I googled it and the first thing that came up is some weird book I've never heard of.
It was only available in the Morpeth Library so I headed there hoping this would eventually lead
to treasure or at least some important historical discovery.
The book was real,the only one in the library and god it was old.
Right at the back of the history section I found it, took it out and found a quiet café to read it in.
It knew my name.
Every page had my name written on it.
And my cause of death.
What the hell is a Dybbuk and how can I stop it?
Passed on from living heir to living heir, through untold tragedies.
Now this is pretty uncommon I know, but what's weirder is that no-one's ever opened it.
I mean, what's the point of having an ancient religious text if you can't open it and compare
it to its' modern counterparts?
We may be missing huge chunks of text in our current Bibles!
Who knows what chapters were considered too "blasphemous" or just unwanted by whoever
was in charge of whichever country this was in at the time.
I'm going to give it to a Biblical expert and see if they can find anything interesting about it.
Update:
So far everything seems to be roughly the same as the modern Bible.
There's the expected language difference, slight alterations in wording to fit the changing time
periods and language.
I spoke with the expert yesterday and he was impressed with the age of the book but overall
the contents were unremarkable and pretty standard for a Bible.
She's only halfway through it but I'll make a note again when she's gone through it all.
Update:
She finished it last week and I met with her two days ago.
Turns out there was a secret compartment in the thick cover (I always wondered about that).
We opened it together and inside were four scraps of paper with handwritten notes on them.
See, this is where is gets really strange- one sheet had all the names of the people in my family
who have had the book before me... and including me...
The next one I looked at had their causes of death, it varied from the expected "old age" to
seriously messed up stuff like "poisoned by firstborn" and "curse".
Apparently my great-aunt died by"demon" whatever that means.
Either my so called "expert" put this in here to freak me out or... or it's real.
The third sheet was a map of some place in Northumberland and the fourth was a number.
I googled it and the first thing that came up is some weird book I've never heard of.
It was only available in the Morpeth Library so I headed there hoping this would eventually lead
to treasure or at least some important historical discovery.
The book was real,the only one in the library and god it was old.
Right at the back of the history section I found it, took it out and found a quiet café to read it in.
It knew my name.
Every page had my name written on it.
And my cause of death.
What the hell is a Dybbuk and how can I stop it?
20141224
Day 234
The last one left about thirty years ago.
10964 days to be precise.
I should know, sunlight comes through a small window.
I marked every day on every surface I could.
The others used to be so irritated by this but now they're just tired.
We all need to rest but there's nobody to help us anymore.
The door is rusted shut and with the air conditioning broken we rot faster.
Mrs Schon can't even move anymore, the flesh on her limbs is gone and her torso's just as bad.
It's even worse for Mr Verdat... he's mainly a fleshy puddle... everything's just going.
The Old Lady in box 39 is only bones now, never knew her name but she's been here longest.
I'm heading that way myself but I still manage to get around enough to note the day.
Nobody knows where the attendants went to, where the morticians are.
We need to rest, have they no consideration?
Every day someone will say we should break down the door and go find a priest while others dig
our burial holes but we're too weak now.
In all fairness though we only figured out how to move as the last Living One went for good.
We've long since stopped with the "what if's" and wondering if we could have at least tried harder
to move or signal or speak.
We can't really speak now, we just sort of know what we're all thinking.
Sometimes we hear others outside.
Other Dead Ones.
They seem so fresh but their thoughts are all about hunger.
As Mr Verdat says, even Dead Kids have no manners.
10964 days to be precise.
I should know, sunlight comes through a small window.
I marked every day on every surface I could.
The others used to be so irritated by this but now they're just tired.
We all need to rest but there's nobody to help us anymore.
The door is rusted shut and with the air conditioning broken we rot faster.
Mrs Schon can't even move anymore, the flesh on her limbs is gone and her torso's just as bad.
It's even worse for Mr Verdat... he's mainly a fleshy puddle... everything's just going.
The Old Lady in box 39 is only bones now, never knew her name but she's been here longest.
I'm heading that way myself but I still manage to get around enough to note the day.
Nobody knows where the attendants went to, where the morticians are.
We need to rest, have they no consideration?
Every day someone will say we should break down the door and go find a priest while others dig
our burial holes but we're too weak now.
In all fairness though we only figured out how to move as the last Living One went for good.
We've long since stopped with the "what if's" and wondering if we could have at least tried harder
to move or signal or speak.
We can't really speak now, we just sort of know what we're all thinking.
Sometimes we hear others outside.
Other Dead Ones.
They seem so fresh but their thoughts are all about hunger.
As Mr Verdat says, even Dead Kids have no manners.
20141223
Day 233
The weather forecast said there'd be light fog in the evening leading on overnight.
LIGHT.
I can barely see a foot in front of me.
I swer this isn'tmy street.
They're headign towarsd me and i don't know wherre to go
evetywhere is fog
the housed are g0ne
nowherd is sqfe anym9re
where is my houde?
all i cans ee are these towrrds
So light, so safd sos warm
warm
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̫̳͙͟
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͢
̷͈̺
͈̱̩̭B̥͎̭̮̦̲r͖̖͔i͈͍ng͉̠̭̦ ̙͍̮͍͢g҉͍̰̟̤̳ṳ̭̝̺̯ͅͅe҉ṣ̥̣̳̗͇͜t͚̜̝̪͜ͅͅs͟
̜̪̬̠́ͅB̗̳r̢̞i̖͜n̺̮g̦̘͓̭̯ ̀w͏͖a̻r͚͙͙͔̼m̜̥̬t҉̘̬̳̠h̢̼̭̮
LIGHT.
I can barely see a foot in front of me.
I swer this isn'tmy street.
They're headign towarsd me and i don't know wherre to go
evetywhere is fog
the housed are g0ne
nowherd is sqfe anym9re
where is my houde?
all i cans ee are these towrrds
So light, so safd sos warm
warm
war̶̯̞m̸͉͉̪
20141222
Day 232
We have all hidden at some point in our lives, even if we didn't mean to.
Mine was in my parent's wardrobe, tucked away behind long skirts and an old suitcase.
I remember being there but not what I had hidden from in the first place.
It can't have been siblings as I was an only child at the time.
My older sister had died by then.
She was six, loved to play games.
That's what killed her you know, she wanted to climb the bookcase while our parents were out.
I was four and couldn't stop her.
The police only came because the neighbours heard a loud crash and my screaming.
I don't really know why all this has come back to me.
It's just that the old hiding place is such a vivid memory, so lucid.
If I close my eyes right now I can see myself peering past the edge of the case at whatever
is in the room with me, trying to find me.
I get the feeling that I know the person in the room but they shouldn't be there.
They can't be there, it's somehow wrong.
But there they are, just out of sight.
My gut is telling me they are female.
I've had the urge recently to go back to my parent's home.
To sit in the cupboard and relive that memory... put it to rest.
I know the wording is weird but I just need to find out who is waiting there.
I need to finish the game.
For her.
For us.
Mine was in my parent's wardrobe, tucked away behind long skirts and an old suitcase.
I remember being there but not what I had hidden from in the first place.
It can't have been siblings as I was an only child at the time.
My older sister had died by then.
She was six, loved to play games.
That's what killed her you know, she wanted to climb the bookcase while our parents were out.
I was four and couldn't stop her.
The police only came because the neighbours heard a loud crash and my screaming.
I don't really know why all this has come back to me.
It's just that the old hiding place is such a vivid memory, so lucid.
If I close my eyes right now I can see myself peering past the edge of the case at whatever
is in the room with me, trying to find me.
I get the feeling that I know the person in the room but they shouldn't be there.
They can't be there, it's somehow wrong.
But there they are, just out of sight.
My gut is telling me they are female.
I've had the urge recently to go back to my parent's home.
To sit in the cupboard and relive that memory... put it to rest.
I know the wording is weird but I just need to find out who is waiting there.
I need to finish the game.
For her.
For us.
20141221
Day 231
The last human alive walked through the city's vacant streets whistling.
They stepped over large cracks in the road and thick bushes that sprouted seemingly overnight.
Their whistling echoed dimly off of crumbling skyscrapers and began to echo, almost sounding
like they were not alone.
But they were.
They were so very alone now.
At the ripe old age of 87 they were the end of a race.
When I can walk no more, I will lay there. They said aloud to the nothing around them.
As night began to close in they trudged into a half-standing house.
It was best to hide before the current dominant species woke up.
Well, they weren't sure what these new beings were but they were in the majority now.
Guess that's all that matters in the end.
They weren't so bad at least just... curious and clumsy.
Sure they'd torn most people apart but they brought them back safely.
Just not as humans.
While the last human pondered the intentions of the new beings dim lights appeared in the street.
The formerly desolate city slowly became overwhelmed by humanoid light shapes.
They were all sizes and shapes, all running around and climbing everywhere.
Exploring their new domain and searching for the last human.
They'd been following the old thing for months, pity they only awoke at night.
The elderly one closed their eyes and curled up at small as their old bones would allow.
Just have to last the night, won't be like the others. Just have to wait it out like always.
Silently they began to shiver, alone and hopefully hidden away safely.
Maybe if they thought of warmth they would feel better?
This shivering would only attract attention.
And so they remembered warm summers, sunburnt on the beach with their family and a snug bed.
It seemed to work after a while and warmth began to seep into their fragile frame.
Now if only dad would turn off the living room light, it's too bright to sleep dad it's...
They slowly opened their eyes to see a glowing yellow face with enormous eyes and no mouth.
They'd never been this close to one of the new beings or been held by them.
The eyes seemed to smile as the elderly human was carried out of the ruined house and into the open.
When I can walk no more, I will lay there.
And so the last human was no more, for the new beings still hadn't learnt fragility.
They stepped over large cracks in the road and thick bushes that sprouted seemingly overnight.
Their whistling echoed dimly off of crumbling skyscrapers and began to echo, almost sounding
like they were not alone.
But they were.
They were so very alone now.
At the ripe old age of 87 they were the end of a race.
When I can walk no more, I will lay there. They said aloud to the nothing around them.
As night began to close in they trudged into a half-standing house.
It was best to hide before the current dominant species woke up.
Well, they weren't sure what these new beings were but they were in the majority now.
Guess that's all that matters in the end.
They weren't so bad at least just... curious and clumsy.
Sure they'd torn most people apart but they brought them back safely.
Just not as humans.
While the last human pondered the intentions of the new beings dim lights appeared in the street.
The formerly desolate city slowly became overwhelmed by humanoid light shapes.
They were all sizes and shapes, all running around and climbing everywhere.
Exploring their new domain and searching for the last human.
They'd been following the old thing for months, pity they only awoke at night.
The elderly one closed their eyes and curled up at small as their old bones would allow.
Just have to last the night, won't be like the others. Just have to wait it out like always.
Silently they began to shiver, alone and hopefully hidden away safely.
Maybe if they thought of warmth they would feel better?
This shivering would only attract attention.
And so they remembered warm summers, sunburnt on the beach with their family and a snug bed.
It seemed to work after a while and warmth began to seep into their fragile frame.
Now if only dad would turn off the living room light, it's too bright to sleep dad it's...
They slowly opened their eyes to see a glowing yellow face with enormous eyes and no mouth.
They'd never been this close to one of the new beings or been held by them.
The eyes seemed to smile as the elderly human was carried out of the ruined house and into the open.
When I can walk no more, I will lay there.
And so the last human was no more, for the new beings still hadn't learnt fragility.
20141220
Day 230
As a fire swallower she was used to a weird after-feeling in her throat.
As someone whose job was fairly dangerous she was used to gasps of surprise..
She'd never heard screams of terror nor felt fire stroke her gums.
Not like this.
She had no idea how it was even possible but it was just there.
At the end of the baton she regularly swallowed was a small hand.
It was grasping the rod so tightly, its' tiny knuckles were white.
Frantically shaking the baton she managed to knock the hand onto the floor.
As it uncurled she saw a large eye in the centre of its' palm.
Overcome with a wave of nausea she fell to her knees dry-heaving.
Before she could even react the hand shot up her arm and back into her throat.
She could feel it crawling down her oesophagus, choking her.
She collapsed altogether, vision fading to black.
Just before she fell unconscious she felt the hand climb back out.
As she lay on the floor gasping for breath it crept into her line of sight.
The last thing she saw was its' fingers reaching towards her eye, closing around and pulling.
As someone whose job was fairly dangerous she was used to gasps of surprise..
She'd never heard screams of terror nor felt fire stroke her gums.
Not like this.
She had no idea how it was even possible but it was just there.
At the end of the baton she regularly swallowed was a small hand.
It was grasping the rod so tightly, its' tiny knuckles were white.
Frantically shaking the baton she managed to knock the hand onto the floor.
As it uncurled she saw a large eye in the centre of its' palm.
Overcome with a wave of nausea she fell to her knees dry-heaving.
Before she could even react the hand shot up her arm and back into her throat.
She could feel it crawling down her oesophagus, choking her.
She collapsed altogether, vision fading to black.
Just before she fell unconscious she felt the hand climb back out.
As she lay on the floor gasping for breath it crept into her line of sight.
The last thing she saw was its' fingers reaching towards her eye, closing around and pulling.
20141219
Day 229
The red stood out against stark white of his otherwise clean shirt.
His ID badge splattered wit visceral remains as the chants of KILL THE PATIENTS KILL THE CUTS
faded to a vague background noise.
The pay cuts were the most drastic yet.
The government just kept taking and taking and they would stand it no more.
They decided to take back.
Every hour the cuts still stood, they killed another patient.
This standoff had been going on for almost a week.
They were running out now, had to kill several extra when the police tried to break in.
Five doctors were sent to find the next hourly kill.
By now only the quick ones were left.
Doctor Walsh heard half silenced crying coming from the hospital chapel.
As he crept in he gently closed the doors behind, paging Doctor Ford to wait outside.
His weapon of choice in this - 85 mcg of Midazolam, more than the average dose but they were
done helping people who refused to help them in return.
The man was crouched down, almost hidden but for the crisp blue gown he wore.
Walsh could just about see the tag on the patient's wrist, his hands were clutching his head.
His whimpering drowned out the sound of the doctor's approach.
Never even saw the needle coming.
As the patient lay squirming on the floor, growing hazier by the second, Walsh felt his pager vibrate.
Ford was in position outside, Walsh called out for help carrying the patient to the designated
execution area.
As Walsh slit the patient's throat and felt the life drain from them he felt a scalpel at his own throat.
KILL THE PATIENTS KILL THE CUTS echoed in his ears over the desperate pounding of blood
as he yelled as Ford who KILL THE PATIENTS KILL THE CUTS held the scalpel waiting for the
signal to KILL THE PATIENTS KILL THE CUTS end him.
They had run out of patients.
They had to cut more.
More and more.
His ID badge splattered wit visceral remains as the chants of KILL THE PATIENTS KILL THE CUTS
faded to a vague background noise.
The pay cuts were the most drastic yet.
The government just kept taking and taking and they would stand it no more.
They decided to take back.
Every hour the cuts still stood, they killed another patient.
This standoff had been going on for almost a week.
They were running out now, had to kill several extra when the police tried to break in.
Five doctors were sent to find the next hourly kill.
By now only the quick ones were left.
Doctor Walsh heard half silenced crying coming from the hospital chapel.
As he crept in he gently closed the doors behind, paging Doctor Ford to wait outside.
His weapon of choice in this - 85 mcg of Midazolam, more than the average dose but they were
done helping people who refused to help them in return.
The man was crouched down, almost hidden but for the crisp blue gown he wore.
Walsh could just about see the tag on the patient's wrist, his hands were clutching his head.
His whimpering drowned out the sound of the doctor's approach.
Never even saw the needle coming.
As the patient lay squirming on the floor, growing hazier by the second, Walsh felt his pager vibrate.
Ford was in position outside, Walsh called out for help carrying the patient to the designated
execution area.
As Walsh slit the patient's throat and felt the life drain from them he felt a scalpel at his own throat.
KILL THE PATIENTS KILL THE CUTS echoed in his ears over the desperate pounding of blood
as he yelled as Ford who KILL THE PATIENTS KILL THE CUTS held the scalpel waiting for the
signal to KILL THE PATIENTS KILL THE CUTS end him.
They had run out of patients.
They had to cut more.
More and more.
20141218
Day 228
The aquarium's latest exhibit was only open from 11pm to 2am.
You had to buy a ticket to get through the new vault-esque doors and into the area which was
strange as the rest of the aquarium was free.
Quite a few people had been through the new exhibit but none of them would talk about it.
I wouldn't be talking about it either but I got a ticket in the post.
I vaguely remember trying to order one a few weeks ago but I swear didn't go through...
The date was coincidently one of my off days so I made the travel arrangements and eagerly waited.
Everything seemed fine beforehand but I did get a weird email, it just said "what you are in for" with
a photo attachment that my computer blocked.
I deleted it without thinking, in hindsight I'm grateful that someone out there is trying to warn us all.
Still, the day came and nothing unusual happened, nothing to put me off.
By the time I got there I was about ten minutes early, the queue was shorter than I expected.
There were only five of us, I reckoned any others would be fashionably late.
We got let in early which was nice, everything else inside was shut down and the lights were all dim.
The fish looked bigger at night, their movements eerily reflecting on the floor and ceiling.
Our guide was a large older man who looked very nervous but then again, the atmosphere was tense.
He stammered out an introduction to the exhibit which was only titled "Tiefer als der Tod" which, he
haltingly explained meant 'deeper than death' approximately.
I understood why as we entered, the whole place was freezing cold, the only light at first was from
small luminescent fish that derted to and fro on either side of the corridor and overhead as I realised
we were in a glass tunnel.
We wandered through this for what seemed like an eternity, almost hypnotised by the tiny lights and
faint rhythmic music that was so familiar.
The tunnel suddenly opened into a wide room with a huge tank that swept round every wall.
It was too dark to get much detail but it looked like there were statues inside covered in... kelp maybe?
The guide stopped us here, sweat pouring from his every pore and told us that one person had to stay
behind, we had to decide amongst ourselves within five minutes or one would be chosen for us.
We thought it was a joke until we saw an enormous black shape glide into view in front of us.
Its' eyes glowed iridescent in the low light as did the markings on its face and sides.
From what I could see then it was some kind of deep sea eel, its' mouth never closed.
We were all a little worried at this point and began to argue as to who would stay.
We didn't decide in time apparently as the eel-like creature grew too impatient.
How could we have not noticed that the tank had an open top?
It lept out just enough to grab the guide with what looked almost like arms, it was too dark to tell then.
He didn't scream for long but he did set off some kind of alarm which turned on bright fluorescent
ceiling lights that flooded the room and drove the creature back.
Now that we could clearly see it definitely had arms - three pairs - all webbed and a long eel-like tail.
Its' skin was pitch black and it snarled at us before retreating with the guide's lifeless body.
Looking around the room, what I assumed to be statues were all people, torn and half eaten in the
greenish water, all tied with strips of their own flesh.
They floated almost peacefully.
We all ran out of the room followed by a loud wet thump and growling hiss from behind us.
Thank god the exit door was unlocked - we made sure to barricade it with chairs from the café.
As we all left we swore to tell the world what we saw when the exhibit closed down.
The exhibit closed last week but it's far from over.
Rumour has it something big is in a local lake.
And it is hungry.
You had to buy a ticket to get through the new vault-esque doors and into the area which was
strange as the rest of the aquarium was free.
Quite a few people had been through the new exhibit but none of them would talk about it.
I wouldn't be talking about it either but I got a ticket in the post.
I vaguely remember trying to order one a few weeks ago but I swear didn't go through...
The date was coincidently one of my off days so I made the travel arrangements and eagerly waited.
Everything seemed fine beforehand but I did get a weird email, it just said "what you are in for" with
a photo attachment that my computer blocked.
I deleted it without thinking, in hindsight I'm grateful that someone out there is trying to warn us all.
Still, the day came and nothing unusual happened, nothing to put me off.
By the time I got there I was about ten minutes early, the queue was shorter than I expected.
There were only five of us, I reckoned any others would be fashionably late.
We got let in early which was nice, everything else inside was shut down and the lights were all dim.
The fish looked bigger at night, their movements eerily reflecting on the floor and ceiling.
Our guide was a large older man who looked very nervous but then again, the atmosphere was tense.
He stammered out an introduction to the exhibit which was only titled "Tiefer als der Tod" which, he
haltingly explained meant 'deeper than death' approximately.
I understood why as we entered, the whole place was freezing cold, the only light at first was from
small luminescent fish that derted to and fro on either side of the corridor and overhead as I realised
we were in a glass tunnel.
We wandered through this for what seemed like an eternity, almost hypnotised by the tiny lights and
faint rhythmic music that was so familiar.
The tunnel suddenly opened into a wide room with a huge tank that swept round every wall.
It was too dark to get much detail but it looked like there were statues inside covered in... kelp maybe?
The guide stopped us here, sweat pouring from his every pore and told us that one person had to stay
behind, we had to decide amongst ourselves within five minutes or one would be chosen for us.
We thought it was a joke until we saw an enormous black shape glide into view in front of us.
Its' eyes glowed iridescent in the low light as did the markings on its face and sides.
From what I could see then it was some kind of deep sea eel, its' mouth never closed.
We were all a little worried at this point and began to argue as to who would stay.
We didn't decide in time apparently as the eel-like creature grew too impatient.
How could we have not noticed that the tank had an open top?
It lept out just enough to grab the guide with what looked almost like arms, it was too dark to tell then.
He didn't scream for long but he did set off some kind of alarm which turned on bright fluorescent
ceiling lights that flooded the room and drove the creature back.
Now that we could clearly see it definitely had arms - three pairs - all webbed and a long eel-like tail.
Its' skin was pitch black and it snarled at us before retreating with the guide's lifeless body.
Looking around the room, what I assumed to be statues were all people, torn and half eaten in the
greenish water, all tied with strips of their own flesh.
They floated almost peacefully.
We all ran out of the room followed by a loud wet thump and growling hiss from behind us.
Thank god the exit door was unlocked - we made sure to barricade it with chairs from the café.
As we all left we swore to tell the world what we saw when the exhibit closed down.
The exhibit closed last week but it's far from over.
Rumour has it something big is in a local lake.
And it is hungry.
20141217
Day 227
There were bloodstains on the ceiling.
Again.
Sighing wearily they left the solace of their bedroom to head to the top floor.
The hatch was rusty, no matter how much they oiled it.
As it creaked open they debated ending their problem... or their life.
They weren't sure what would be easier at this point.
It was hard to hook the ladder's latch with the old fire poker but after a few attempts they managed.
Folding the ladder out took a fair amount of force - like most things in the house it was rusted.
Taking the fire poker with them they ascended.
To deal with their problem once and for all.
The attic was always freezing, damp and the floor had a thin layer of mist.
All a part of the creature's effect, they supposed.
Its' body was chained to the floor,had been for as long as they could remember.
They'd inherited the house with the condition that they keep the creature alive.
No consequences were specified though, neither was the trouble it caused.
Its' neck was fully outstretched, bloody vertebrae extending from its bloated, hairy body all the
way up to the ceiling where its' bulbous, toothy head grinned down at them, blood and saliva
dripping from its' open mouth as it began to cackle excitedly.
It loved guests.
Sometimes it spoke, never said anything nice... just repeated all the hurtful things people had said
to whomever was in the room at the time... or near the room... or in the house.
It had strong lungs, that much was clear.
They'd lost track of how many times it had the police coming over before they were convinced
(after a speedy purchase) that it was all just a nasty family parrot.
That wasn't a total lie at least.
But that was then, the first year.
This was now, eight painful years later.
And now no more.
They'd been warned not to cross the line carved into the floor, its' head couldn't reach past that.
It was the only real safety net there, besides the chains of course.
Before they even thought of crossing the line they yelled at the creature, eight years of pent-up
aggression, frustration all coming to a boiling point.
They stepped over the line, fire poker ready to drive in their point and drive out the creature.
End it at last.
As the tip of their foot went over the line the creature's head rushed forward and tore into their leg.
They fell forward, not even given the chance to scream as it tore out their throat, swallowing
chunks of their flesh as their body fell to the floor with a wet thud.
The creature left only their bones, licking the blood off the floor with its' spiked tongue.
Shrugging off the chains it headed down the ladder, gradually shifting until it looked just like its' meal.
By the time it reached the door it looked almost human, mouth still too wide and eyes too bulbous.
Stretching long disused limbs it walked free, the house shuddering behind it.
By the time the creature reached the end of the street the house collapsed on itself entirely.
20141216
Day 226
There used to be another town nearby, before the dam.
They flooded it, everyone was warned beforehand of course.
Rumour has it that some of them stayed behind though the number varied from seven to twenty.
This was fifty years ago though.
Now all that's left is the stone remains under the new lake.
The church spire sticks out of the water, the clock on the side still works.
Mohala, Alex, Di and I have planned to go inside the windows at the very top when the lake freezes.
It always freezes.
This year was no different.
We made sure to go during the early morning so there would be light but no people.
Alex tested the ice in front of us while we dragged my cousin's canoe behind.
We were totally prepared in case the ice broke but it was solid all the way there.
The closest window was about 2 meters above us, again we were prepared.
We had as much rope as we could possibly get which, thanks to the internet, was 220 meters.
It cost us all our months money but it would be worth it to see what was inside.
In all honesty we just expected water, maybe some fish or even a skeleton.
We expected to hear a splash when we threw the rope over the ledge, having used a grappling
hook to get up on there in the first place.
Di (the best climber out of the four of us) said they couldn't see anything but heard the rope hit
ground.
We tied a torch to the rope and Di pulled it up to get a better look down.
"Holy shit you guys, you've GOT to get up here. I'll meet you inside!"
And with that they climbed right down, ignoring our yells.
We couldn't just let Di go in alone, what if they drowned?
One by one we went after them, I went next as I was slow and the others were scared.
They had good reason to be, the church should have been flooded.
I could see Di waiting at the bottom, it was about 3 stories down... pretty far to fall.
It was dry inside, like bone dry.
As I got to the bottom I grabbed my torch out of my backpack and shone it around.
The stories were almost right but they got the numbers wrong.
Every pew was filled with people dressed in outdated clothing, heads all bowed.
Di, looking half-scared half-excited, went over the the closest person and knelt down.
"Oh god, they're breathing!" they frantically whispered, "They're ALIVE!"
Shaking, I knelt beside him and, sure enough, I saw the woman's breath in the cold air.
It was faint, barely there but still it was there.
We jumped at the sound of Alex's feet hitting the floor and hissed at him to be quiet.
Didn't want to think what would happen if these people woke up (if they could).
Alex looked pretty freaked out when he saw, and with good reason.
As Mohala quietly hit the floor after him she didn't even look at the people.
She went straight to the windows.
I went over to her while Di calmed Alex down near the alter.
"Can you see any fish?" she asked, not looking at me.
I peered out of the windows with Mo while she looked out, face totally blank.
There were no fish in sight, just the empty stone houses.
It was hard to see through the stone glass but I swear there was something out there.
Someone maybe.
We nearly shrieked when the congregation lifted their heads, faces sunked and faintly green.
They stood and began to sing an old hymn.
Di and Alex screamed as a priest walked over the the alter they were near.
In a panicked blur we all ran towards the rope as fast as we could.
By the time we'd scrambled back outside, still hearing the singing, it was mid morning.
We sat in the boat catching our breath when Alex asked, voice shaking, "Hey, where's Mo?"
As we looked at the church window where our rope still was, the singing stopped.
We held our breaths, Di began to cry.
A hand came over the edge, an arm followed.
It was Mohala... at least it tried to look like her.
Its' skin was faintly green and the smile was far too wide.
We jumped out of the canoe and ran, the ice cracked behind me and I heard Alex scream.
Di had fallen in and the thing pretending to be Mohala was beating their hands away with her torch.
I looked on, rooted to the spot as greenish hands began to pull Di down.
Alex snapped me out of it as "Mohala" jumped down after her, laughing.
We ran back to shore, hearing knocks on the ice underneath us the whole way.
Nobody saw either of them again.
When the police investigated the church was empty and flooded.
After we questioned them they said that yes, the church doors were wide open.
But no one was inside.
They flooded it, everyone was warned beforehand of course.
Rumour has it that some of them stayed behind though the number varied from seven to twenty.
This was fifty years ago though.
Now all that's left is the stone remains under the new lake.
The church spire sticks out of the water, the clock on the side still works.
Mohala, Alex, Di and I have planned to go inside the windows at the very top when the lake freezes.
It always freezes.
This year was no different.
We made sure to go during the early morning so there would be light but no people.
Alex tested the ice in front of us while we dragged my cousin's canoe behind.
We were totally prepared in case the ice broke but it was solid all the way there.
The closest window was about 2 meters above us, again we were prepared.
We had as much rope as we could possibly get which, thanks to the internet, was 220 meters.
It cost us all our months money but it would be worth it to see what was inside.
In all honesty we just expected water, maybe some fish or even a skeleton.
We expected to hear a splash when we threw the rope over the ledge, having used a grappling
hook to get up on there in the first place.
Di (the best climber out of the four of us) said they couldn't see anything but heard the rope hit
ground.
We tied a torch to the rope and Di pulled it up to get a better look down.
"Holy shit you guys, you've GOT to get up here. I'll meet you inside!"
And with that they climbed right down, ignoring our yells.
We couldn't just let Di go in alone, what if they drowned?
One by one we went after them, I went next as I was slow and the others were scared.
They had good reason to be, the church should have been flooded.
I could see Di waiting at the bottom, it was about 3 stories down... pretty far to fall.
It was dry inside, like bone dry.
As I got to the bottom I grabbed my torch out of my backpack and shone it around.
The stories were almost right but they got the numbers wrong.
Every pew was filled with people dressed in outdated clothing, heads all bowed.
Di, looking half-scared half-excited, went over the the closest person and knelt down.
"Oh god, they're breathing!" they frantically whispered, "They're ALIVE!"
Shaking, I knelt beside him and, sure enough, I saw the woman's breath in the cold air.
It was faint, barely there but still it was there.
We jumped at the sound of Alex's feet hitting the floor and hissed at him to be quiet.
Didn't want to think what would happen if these people woke up (if they could).
Alex looked pretty freaked out when he saw, and with good reason.
As Mohala quietly hit the floor after him she didn't even look at the people.
She went straight to the windows.
I went over to her while Di calmed Alex down near the alter.
"Can you see any fish?" she asked, not looking at me.
I peered out of the windows with Mo while she looked out, face totally blank.
There were no fish in sight, just the empty stone houses.
It was hard to see through the stone glass but I swear there was something out there.
Someone maybe.
We nearly shrieked when the congregation lifted their heads, faces sunked and faintly green.
They stood and began to sing an old hymn.
Di and Alex screamed as a priest walked over the the alter they were near.
In a panicked blur we all ran towards the rope as fast as we could.
By the time we'd scrambled back outside, still hearing the singing, it was mid morning.
We sat in the boat catching our breath when Alex asked, voice shaking, "Hey, where's Mo?"
As we looked at the church window where our rope still was, the singing stopped.
We held our breaths, Di began to cry.
A hand came over the edge, an arm followed.
It was Mohala... at least it tried to look like her.
Its' skin was faintly green and the smile was far too wide.
We jumped out of the canoe and ran, the ice cracked behind me and I heard Alex scream.
Di had fallen in and the thing pretending to be Mohala was beating their hands away with her torch.
I looked on, rooted to the spot as greenish hands began to pull Di down.
Alex snapped me out of it as "Mohala" jumped down after her, laughing.
We ran back to shore, hearing knocks on the ice underneath us the whole way.
Nobody saw either of them again.
When the police investigated the church was empty and flooded.
After we questioned them they said that yes, the church doors were wide open.
But no one was inside.
20141215
Day 225
What I remember best about Christmas was my grandmother's box of decorations.
She'd had them since she was a child and they were beautiful.
They may have smelt strange, the paint may have been a bit runny but they were Christmas to me.
I stopped thinking of them like that when the accident happened.
Really it wasn't entirely my fault - I didn't hit the hornet nest, I just pointed it out.
Nobody could have guessed, she hid it so well.
The tree ornaments were always heavy, they were the heaviest thing I was allowed to lift back then.
Grandma always insisted on spraying the baubles with a mix of perfume and formaldehyde.
She said it kept them fresh, an old family thing apparently.
We never questioned it.
Never had reason to.
Part of me wishes I'd never dropped one of those damned decorations.
Maybe then grandma would still be here, though I'm not sure if that would be a good thing.
See, what we'd never realised is that those little glass balls weren't filled with water like she'd said.
It was obvious really; the formaldehyde, the wet sloshing noises they made, the faint smell.
Maybe we'd known all along and didn't want to be right.
I blamed myself for years, you know.
That bauble just shattered and this thick clump of bloody hair fell to the floor.
The police couldn't find a DNA match.
Grandma wouldn't admit to anything.
Nobody knows who was in those decorations, all cut up and preserved.
She'd had them since she was a child and they were beautiful.
They may have smelt strange, the paint may have been a bit runny but they were Christmas to me.
I stopped thinking of them like that when the accident happened.
Really it wasn't entirely my fault - I didn't hit the hornet nest, I just pointed it out.
Nobody could have guessed, she hid it so well.
The tree ornaments were always heavy, they were the heaviest thing I was allowed to lift back then.
Grandma always insisted on spraying the baubles with a mix of perfume and formaldehyde.
She said it kept them fresh, an old family thing apparently.
We never questioned it.
Never had reason to.
Part of me wishes I'd never dropped one of those damned decorations.
Maybe then grandma would still be here, though I'm not sure if that would be a good thing.
See, what we'd never realised is that those little glass balls weren't filled with water like she'd said.
It was obvious really; the formaldehyde, the wet sloshing noises they made, the faint smell.
Maybe we'd known all along and didn't want to be right.
I blamed myself for years, you know.
That bauble just shattered and this thick clump of bloody hair fell to the floor.
The police couldn't find a DNA match.
Grandma wouldn't admit to anything.
Nobody knows who was in those decorations, all cut up and preserved.
20141214
Day 224
The museum closes at seven pm sharp, that's when my shift starts.
Usually it's just me and Terry until the next guys start at six but we were training a new guy this time.
Poor kid didn't look a day over seventeen and had no idea what he was in for.
We decided we'd ease him into it, Tony said he'd cover the stuff we missed.
So we started out front, nice and easy stuff first.
Now our museum is pretty tame compared to others in terms of night rituals.
We only have three statues that require nightly or weekly blood offerings.
I heard this place in Brooklyn has ten - that's a lot of blood and I don't wanna know their source.
Generally we like to use cows or pigs, they're like legal blood bags.
Sure the statues grumble and sometimes they refuse entirely but we can't feed them humans.
Not on purpose anyways, they get their human blood sometimes whether we like it or not.
That's just how they can get, you know?
Telling this to the new guy didn't scare him off right away but he certainly looked worried.
Can't say I blame him, when I saw my first statue feeding I fainted!
Nothing quite prepares you for the sudden movements they make, so fluid and fast.
One minute you're holding fresh bloody meat on a silver platter then BAM blood everywhere
and the platter's halfway across the room with a sculpture tearing into it.
And that's just the ground floor, we like to keep them roughly grouped by what rituals they need.
The floor above is mainly paintings, some want singing, some want blood and some just want to talk.
It's my preferred floor but I admit I don't actually sing, I use a recording that sounds better.
Now for the paintings you have to give them the blood with a straw and they just lean out and take it.
Some try to get greedy and grab at you, hence the straw.
'Remember,' I told the new guy, 'when in doubt - minimum contact.'
By the time we got to the top floor he seemed calm but worried, which is better than the last one.
Though in all fairness it's all pretty simple, right?
Let's hope this guy lasts longer than his predecessor.
Poor man tried to talk to a feeding sculpture.
We didn't find much of him.
It's easy to tell if a statue's eaten too much (like a whole person).
Their skin gets this pink humanish tone and their eyes follow you around the room.
They aren't supposed to move during the day but if you feed them enough they get up and walk.
Nothing is freakier than hearing a marble statue jumping towards you, its worse seeing it.
Mind you I've only seen that once, when I witnessed my first statue-kill - ate her whole it did.
That one started talking soon after.
Hasn't stopped talking.
Something about our bodies being nothing more than rotten leaves or whatever.
Anyway, the new guy... right...
He'd better last, we can't move another talking statue.
We could barely keep it chained up so we doubled the locks and barricaded the room.
If you listen close to closing time, it gets real active and starts ramming at the door.
God forbid it ever breaks free.
Usually it's just me and Terry until the next guys start at six but we were training a new guy this time.
Poor kid didn't look a day over seventeen and had no idea what he was in for.
We decided we'd ease him into it, Tony said he'd cover the stuff we missed.
So we started out front, nice and easy stuff first.
Now our museum is pretty tame compared to others in terms of night rituals.
We only have three statues that require nightly or weekly blood offerings.
I heard this place in Brooklyn has ten - that's a lot of blood and I don't wanna know their source.
Generally we like to use cows or pigs, they're like legal blood bags.
Sure the statues grumble and sometimes they refuse entirely but we can't feed them humans.
Not on purpose anyways, they get their human blood sometimes whether we like it or not.
That's just how they can get, you know?
Telling this to the new guy didn't scare him off right away but he certainly looked worried.
Can't say I blame him, when I saw my first statue feeding I fainted!
Nothing quite prepares you for the sudden movements they make, so fluid and fast.
One minute you're holding fresh bloody meat on a silver platter then BAM blood everywhere
and the platter's halfway across the room with a sculpture tearing into it.
And that's just the ground floor, we like to keep them roughly grouped by what rituals they need.
The floor above is mainly paintings, some want singing, some want blood and some just want to talk.
It's my preferred floor but I admit I don't actually sing, I use a recording that sounds better.
Now for the paintings you have to give them the blood with a straw and they just lean out and take it.
Some try to get greedy and grab at you, hence the straw.
'Remember,' I told the new guy, 'when in doubt - minimum contact.'
By the time we got to the top floor he seemed calm but worried, which is better than the last one.
Though in all fairness it's all pretty simple, right?
Let's hope this guy lasts longer than his predecessor.
Poor man tried to talk to a feeding sculpture.
We didn't find much of him.
It's easy to tell if a statue's eaten too much (like a whole person).
Their skin gets this pink humanish tone and their eyes follow you around the room.
They aren't supposed to move during the day but if you feed them enough they get up and walk.
Nothing is freakier than hearing a marble statue jumping towards you, its worse seeing it.
Mind you I've only seen that once, when I witnessed my first statue-kill - ate her whole it did.
That one started talking soon after.
Hasn't stopped talking.
Something about our bodies being nothing more than rotten leaves or whatever.
Anyway, the new guy... right...
He'd better last, we can't move another talking statue.
We could barely keep it chained up so we doubled the locks and barricaded the room.
If you listen close to closing time, it gets real active and starts ramming at the door.
God forbid it ever breaks free.
20141213
Day 223
There's no set time and place for death, though we do try to contain it in our own ways.
We send our elderly to homes and rarely expect them to return, we dedicate hospital wards
to the terminally ill and in some cases we have buildings dedicated to legally ending life.
Have you ever wondered why we try to keep death in these places?
Why we try so desperately to capture death, hold it away from us and lock it up.
Maybe you already know.
Restless spirits are technically the third largest cause of death globally.
Poltergeist, possessions, mirror fiends, sensory trappers, even objects like ghost ships.
There are more now than there ever have been.
The places we dedicate to death are special in both location and design.
A living animal is usually placed in the north facing wall and left to suffocate.
Its' suffering creates a magnet for those who will die there to stop them from wandering.
This doesn't always work, some dead are just too set in their routines.
Alongside the dead animal, prayers and instructions are written on the first layer of the
inner walls before plaster and wallpaper are layered on top.
These are used to distract the spirits who will have the unstoppable urge to read every word.
However, most spirits lose all comprehension of written language when they split from their body.
But they are learning.
Soon our death rooms will not hold them in and they will escape.
Every morgue, cemetery, hospital, retirement home, everywhere.
They will all escape.
We send our elderly to homes and rarely expect them to return, we dedicate hospital wards
to the terminally ill and in some cases we have buildings dedicated to legally ending life.
Have you ever wondered why we try to keep death in these places?
Why we try so desperately to capture death, hold it away from us and lock it up.
Maybe you already know.
Restless spirits are technically the third largest cause of death globally.
Poltergeist, possessions, mirror fiends, sensory trappers, even objects like ghost ships.
There are more now than there ever have been.
The places we dedicate to death are special in both location and design.
A living animal is usually placed in the north facing wall and left to suffocate.
Its' suffering creates a magnet for those who will die there to stop them from wandering.
This doesn't always work, some dead are just too set in their routines.
Alongside the dead animal, prayers and instructions are written on the first layer of the
inner walls before plaster and wallpaper are layered on top.
These are used to distract the spirits who will have the unstoppable urge to read every word.
However, most spirits lose all comprehension of written language when they split from their body.
But they are learning.
Soon our death rooms will not hold them in and they will escape.
Every morgue, cemetery, hospital, retirement home, everywhere.
They will all escape.
20141212
Day 222
The house was in surprisingly good condition for its age.
It was seventy five years old according to the estate agent, " a real steal".
My parents thought it was great.
We moved in a month later.
While we were redecorating the hallway we noticed something weird.
You could only see it when the wallpaper was gone.
The plaster on one side was fresh and new, far more recent than the rest.
It looked like there had been a doorway there.
My parents decided to knock part of it down to see if there was decent storage space or
even another room.
The wall took ages to break, it turned out to be heavily reinforced.
There was a room inside it looked like an old office.
We went in armed with torches and disposable dust masks.
Good thing too, the air was practically grey and every surface was caked in dust, mould and god
knows what else.
The paper strewn about was too faded to be legible and crumpled to the touch.
While my parents were busy trying to find some kind of document that would tell them
exactly what this room had been used for or at least something valuable
I went further in, through a doorway I'd spotted beside a bookcase.
Another room we hadn't know about!
The walls were lined with bookcases and overflowing with faded novels.
At the furthest end I saw four portraits on the walls.
They were hyperrealistic, you know, the ones where they eyes seem to follow you.
Whoever painted these must not have liked the people, their faces were hideous.
I swear I saw them breathe but It must have been my flickering torch, the batteries were old.
Grabbing a random book from one of the shelves I went out to rejoin my parents.
They'd apparently found something about the first owners.
Leaving the room was uneventful as were the next few days.
The book I'd taken was too mouldy to read so I binned it only to find it back on my bookshelf
the next morning, my parents denied doing anything.
It was weird but I reckoned it was them anyway.
That was, until last night.
I woke up early in the morning to see one of the people from the portraits walking out of my room.
Later in the morning (when it was light outside) I went downstairs for breakfast.
I assumed that earlier on was just a weird dream.
Three of the portrait people were sitting calmly at the table with my parents.
Well, what was left of my parents.
Their heads took up the remaining two seats.
The didn't seem to notice me, too busy eating plates of red meat.
I didn't want to think about where it came from.
I backed away slowly, planning to go check the portraits again, this had to be a dream.
It had to be.
I crept into the old room just in time to duck down as the fourth portrait thing passed by.
It was holding a shirt of mine, sniffing intently at it then lifting its' head to sniff around.
I crawled into the book room, making as little noise as I possibly could.
The portrait frames were on hinges, the background behind that I thought had been just
a nice continuous setting was yet another room.
The air coming from there smelt stale and rotten.
I heard shuffling behind me and, with nowhere else to go, I ducked into the room and hid
behind a draped curtain right at the back.
Just in time as well, all four of the portrait people came into the room.
They closed the doors to their respective windows and locked them from the inside.
I realised I was trapped.
Then they all turned to look at me, face stained with my parent's blood.
This is the end.
20141211
Day 221
Finding roadkill is never nice but deer is expensive and quite tasty.
I was sure it was dead when I put it in the trunk, its' head was nearly cut off for chrissake!
By the time I got home its' leg was twitching.
I figured it was those final electrical impulses dead things get, like when corpses sit up.
Didn't think much of it and went inside to get my dad so we could prep it for later.
I'll admit we had a brief chat, it wasn't that long, but when we got to the car the deer was gone.
Even the old picnic blanket it had been lying on was gone.
The only trace it had ever been there was faint rusty red stains on the floor and the smell of blood.
We looked up just in time to see the edge of the blanket move slowly out of sight round the corner.
Grabbing a gun each, me and dad went followed as quietly as possible.
Again as we got past the corner we saw the blanket move out of sight, it was near the open back door.
We sped up, still trying to be quiet - nobody wants an injured wild deer in their house!
Just as we rounded the corner we heard a shriek coming from inside that faded into watery sounds.
We rushed into the dining room and saw a bloody scene we could never have prepared for.
The deer, half covered in the picnic blanket and head still mostly severed, had my mother by the throat.
She was still alive and clawing frantically at the deer's face while blood poured from her mouth.
It didn't seem to be affecting the deer who turned its' head, dragging mother with it, towards us.
Its' jaws clamped harder round her neck and she went limp.
Dropping her it hobbled towards us, head hanging to one side and blood matting its' fur.
We emptied bullet after bullet into it and it kept on coming.
When we ran out of ammo we began to back up quickly, not wanting to be next to die.
We reached the back door at the same time, the deer was close in front of us and breathing heavily.
In a fit of adrenaline and fear I pushed my dad in front and ran outside.
Not sure what was worse, his screams of agony or the sickening crunch that cut them abruptly off.
I ran to the summer cabin at the end of the garden, shut and barricaded the large glass door.
As I sat in the corner, gasping for breath and trying not to cry I heard knocking.
Turning around I saw the deer.
It had company.
My parents stood beside it, heads hanging at the same twisted angle as the animals'.
They both beckoned me to join them.
As I looked into their eyes I understood.
I removed the barricades and lowered my head.
I was sure it was dead when I put it in the trunk, its' head was nearly cut off for chrissake!
By the time I got home its' leg was twitching.
I figured it was those final electrical impulses dead things get, like when corpses sit up.
Didn't think much of it and went inside to get my dad so we could prep it for later.
I'll admit we had a brief chat, it wasn't that long, but when we got to the car the deer was gone.
Even the old picnic blanket it had been lying on was gone.
The only trace it had ever been there was faint rusty red stains on the floor and the smell of blood.
We looked up just in time to see the edge of the blanket move slowly out of sight round the corner.
Grabbing a gun each, me and dad went followed as quietly as possible.
Again as we got past the corner we saw the blanket move out of sight, it was near the open back door.
We sped up, still trying to be quiet - nobody wants an injured wild deer in their house!
Just as we rounded the corner we heard a shriek coming from inside that faded into watery sounds.
We rushed into the dining room and saw a bloody scene we could never have prepared for.
The deer, half covered in the picnic blanket and head still mostly severed, had my mother by the throat.
She was still alive and clawing frantically at the deer's face while blood poured from her mouth.
It didn't seem to be affecting the deer who turned its' head, dragging mother with it, towards us.
Its' jaws clamped harder round her neck and she went limp.
Dropping her it hobbled towards us, head hanging to one side and blood matting its' fur.
We emptied bullet after bullet into it and it kept on coming.
When we ran out of ammo we began to back up quickly, not wanting to be next to die.
We reached the back door at the same time, the deer was close in front of us and breathing heavily.
In a fit of adrenaline and fear I pushed my dad in front and ran outside.
Not sure what was worse, his screams of agony or the sickening crunch that cut them abruptly off.
I ran to the summer cabin at the end of the garden, shut and barricaded the large glass door.
As I sat in the corner, gasping for breath and trying not to cry I heard knocking.
Turning around I saw the deer.
It had company.
My parents stood beside it, heads hanging at the same twisted angle as the animals'.
They both beckoned me to join them.
As I looked into their eyes I understood.
I removed the barricades and lowered my head.
20141210
Day 220
The weather has been cold recently, not enough for ice but here it was.
In the midst of all the other graves this one was unmarked and covered with
a thick layer of clearish, grey ice.
You could see the dirt beneath the ice, it still looked fresh.
Flowers had been laid there before the ice formed and were now pressed flat,
thin stems sunken into the soil like they'd been pulled down.
They were being pulled down.
Tiny blue fingers were clutching onto the flowers, though they were near
impossible to see through the thick layer of ice... maybe they weren't real?
The flowers suddenly vanished under the soil.
And all was silent.
The graveyard seemed to hold its' breath and nothing moved.
Nothing, except the hand.
It appeared again, pressing against the ice, feeling, testing its' strength.
When it found no obvious weaknesses it began punching the ice, tearing its'
skin to reveal maggot filled flesh.
The more it pounded, the more maggots were smeared against the surface
until the whole grave was coated with a thick layer of the corpse-eating insects.
Again, it stopped, thinking up its' next move perhaps?
The wrecked stump withdrew and the other hand took its' place.
It drew a line down the mess.
And another, and another.
It was writing something.
bailey
1802
The "2" finished with a scrawled attempt at a flourish and the hand proceeded
to clear the rest of the grime from the ice, leaving a filthy square around the name.
The hand withdrew again and moments later came back cleaned of the crushed maggots.
It gently pressed against the icy tomb's corners before freezing in place just beside the name.
And all else was still.
In the midst of all the other graves this one was unmarked and covered with
a thick layer of clearish, grey ice.
You could see the dirt beneath the ice, it still looked fresh.
Flowers had been laid there before the ice formed and were now pressed flat,
thin stems sunken into the soil like they'd been pulled down.
They were being pulled down.
Tiny blue fingers were clutching onto the flowers, though they were near
impossible to see through the thick layer of ice... maybe they weren't real?
The flowers suddenly vanished under the soil.
And all was silent.
The graveyard seemed to hold its' breath and nothing moved.
Nothing, except the hand.
It appeared again, pressing against the ice, feeling, testing its' strength.
When it found no obvious weaknesses it began punching the ice, tearing its'
skin to reveal maggot filled flesh.
The more it pounded, the more maggots were smeared against the surface
until the whole grave was coated with a thick layer of the corpse-eating insects.
Again, it stopped, thinking up its' next move perhaps?
The wrecked stump withdrew and the other hand took its' place.
It drew a line down the mess.
And another, and another.
It was writing something.
bailey
1802
The "2" finished with a scrawled attempt at a flourish and the hand proceeded
to clear the rest of the grime from the ice, leaving a filthy square around the name.
The hand withdrew again and moments later came back cleaned of the crushed maggots.
It gently pressed against the icy tomb's corners before freezing in place just beside the name.
And all else was still.
20141209
Day 219
I was sent an invitation for some private gallery viewing.
"THE GREATEST EXHIBIT THE WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN"
It didn't appear on any internet search or newspaper.
Didn't think there was any harm in checking it out.
It was in a small building - a local gallery.
I arrived a few minutes after the official opening time, 11PM.
Apparently it was normal for these things to happen at night.
Nothing seemed overly suspicious to me.
Should have tipped me off really.
The worried look on the receptionists' face should have tipped me off too.
So should the dress code - your best and last.
Everything in there was weird and... distorted?
All the exhibits seemed to be body parts floating in varying liquids.
They had regular names like "Lydia" and "Ryan".
Every exhibit title featured y as the second letter.
My name had y as the second letter.
Something which I'd forgotten until the last few minutes... when I met the others.
Seems I wasn't the only person there, despite the emptiness of the building.
They were all gathered round an empty tank discussing potential titles with the attendant.
They were yelling names, all with y as the second letter and asking who had that name.
It seemed like a game - your name as this title, an interactive art piece.
Then they called my name.
The attendant standing beside the tank had been checking his list the whole time.
He yelled my full name and pointed to me.
Everyone around me parted and hands pulled me to the front.
The man smiled and said it was fortuitous that I'd joined them.
It's a privilege to join.
You become a part of something glorious for all eternity.
They chose my eyes, you know.
Voted on it.
Said my eyes were perfection.
The rest of me has rotted away, not good enough to be seen alongside the other art.
Some day, maybe you'll join me in perfection.
Join the greatest exhibition the world has never seen.
"THE GREATEST EXHIBIT THE WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN"
It didn't appear on any internet search or newspaper.
Didn't think there was any harm in checking it out.
It was in a small building - a local gallery.
I arrived a few minutes after the official opening time, 11PM.
Apparently it was normal for these things to happen at night.
Nothing seemed overly suspicious to me.
Should have tipped me off really.
The worried look on the receptionists' face should have tipped me off too.
So should the dress code - your best and last.
Everything in there was weird and... distorted?
All the exhibits seemed to be body parts floating in varying liquids.
They had regular names like "Lydia" and "Ryan".
Every exhibit title featured y as the second letter.
My name had y as the second letter.
Something which I'd forgotten until the last few minutes... when I met the others.
Seems I wasn't the only person there, despite the emptiness of the building.
They were all gathered round an empty tank discussing potential titles with the attendant.
They were yelling names, all with y as the second letter and asking who had that name.
It seemed like a game - your name as this title, an interactive art piece.
Then they called my name.
The attendant standing beside the tank had been checking his list the whole time.
He yelled my full name and pointed to me.
Everyone around me parted and hands pulled me to the front.
The man smiled and said it was fortuitous that I'd joined them.
It's a privilege to join.
You become a part of something glorious for all eternity.
They chose my eyes, you know.
Voted on it.
Said my eyes were perfection.
The rest of me has rotted away, not good enough to be seen alongside the other art.
Some day, maybe you'll join me in perfection.
Join the greatest exhibition the world has never seen.
20141208
Day 218
Churches hadn't always been a place of sanctuary.
You pondered this as you sat among the crowded pews.
The sermon was taking longer than usual, seemed everyone had fallen asleep.
While Father Thomas was yelling at the ceiling, you snuck back a row, squeezing
in beside someone you vaguely recognised but couldn't name.
You'd missed the first half of the sermon by accident, some old woman on the
street outside grabbed you and began raving about "the screams of The Flock
as the Wolf among them lay waste to appease a Dark God" and yes, you could
hear the capitals in her speech.
It was almost pitch black inside the church but you managed to grab a seat right
on the edge of a side row.
Father Thomas was already in full swing so you didn't dare speak, he had excellent hearing.
It occurred to you a few times that churches had once been full of death where plague
had struck and desperation drove the people to the arms of their Lord.
In fact, your church had records of this, a mass grave was found in the basement
and was claimed to be from the Black Death but some people thought it was way older.
The sermon was drawing to a close now, Father Thomas looked exhausted.
He swayed as he walked out of the door beside the alter and the door slammed behind him.
Everything was quiet in the church.
Too quiet.
The only sound was your breath and dripping water.
Slowly and carefully you crept out of the church and out of the door only to be greeted by
eight police cars and more officers than you'd ever seen before.
You were grabbed and dragged away to be questioned by a policewoman who informed you
that the church was now a crime scene.
An anonymous tipper had called to report the sounds of screaming coming from inside as
well as gunshot.
You realised that your trousers were damp and stained red.
You pondered this as you sat among the crowded pews.
The sermon was taking longer than usual, seemed everyone had fallen asleep.
While Father Thomas was yelling at the ceiling, you snuck back a row, squeezing
in beside someone you vaguely recognised but couldn't name.
You'd missed the first half of the sermon by accident, some old woman on the
street outside grabbed you and began raving about "the screams of The Flock
as the Wolf among them lay waste to appease a Dark God" and yes, you could
hear the capitals in her speech.
It was almost pitch black inside the church but you managed to grab a seat right
on the edge of a side row.
Father Thomas was already in full swing so you didn't dare speak, he had excellent hearing.
It occurred to you a few times that churches had once been full of death where plague
had struck and desperation drove the people to the arms of their Lord.
In fact, your church had records of this, a mass grave was found in the basement
and was claimed to be from the Black Death but some people thought it was way older.
The sermon was drawing to a close now, Father Thomas looked exhausted.
He swayed as he walked out of the door beside the alter and the door slammed behind him.
Everything was quiet in the church.
Too quiet.
The only sound was your breath and dripping water.
Slowly and carefully you crept out of the church and out of the door only to be greeted by
eight police cars and more officers than you'd ever seen before.
You were grabbed and dragged away to be questioned by a policewoman who informed you
that the church was now a crime scene.
An anonymous tipper had called to report the sounds of screaming coming from inside as
well as gunshot.
You realised that your trousers were damp and stained red.
20141207
Day 217
They keep saying I need to move out but I promised to stay.
The house is haunted.
Not your typical poltergeist of shadow being, there are at least four poltergeists
that I've counted and every shadow whispers at me.
They won't tell me their names, if I try to use a ouija board they only get worse.
The history of the house is too dull, too recent to hold any details.
I can't even find any cults or cultish activity around to explain this chaos.
I would leave but, as I said, I promised.
Not sure how much longer I'll survive here, at first They seemed curious.
Their destruction was almost playful, like they were testing me, not expecting me
to stay for more than a month or two.
After that They got serious.
Whenever I come home after work They've scrawled something in animal blood
on the front door, I've given up cleaning it so I paint the door red - just a quick coat.
As I step inside I see They've made it harder for me to get in, sometimes They leave
piles of maggots on the floor in the shape of footprints or faces and sometimes They
just simply tear up the floorboards and leave animal corpses inside.
The trick is to pretend like it doesn't phase me.
It can't phase me, I made a promise.
They keep whispering to me late at night, keep saying to mind the 8th.
I don't think I'll make it to sunrise, They've really stepped up Their game now.
I can see bloody handprints on the ceiling.
They are heading towards me.
The shadows are screaming.
I can't keep my promise.
Forgi
The house is haunted.
Not your typical poltergeist of shadow being, there are at least four poltergeists
that I've counted and every shadow whispers at me.
They won't tell me their names, if I try to use a ouija board they only get worse.
The history of the house is too dull, too recent to hold any details.
I can't even find any cults or cultish activity around to explain this chaos.
I would leave but, as I said, I promised.
Not sure how much longer I'll survive here, at first They seemed curious.
Their destruction was almost playful, like they were testing me, not expecting me
to stay for more than a month or two.
After that They got serious.
Whenever I come home after work They've scrawled something in animal blood
on the front door, I've given up cleaning it so I paint the door red - just a quick coat.
As I step inside I see They've made it harder for me to get in, sometimes They leave
piles of maggots on the floor in the shape of footprints or faces and sometimes They
just simply tear up the floorboards and leave animal corpses inside.
The trick is to pretend like it doesn't phase me.
It can't phase me, I made a promise.
They keep whispering to me late at night, keep saying to mind the 8th.
I don't think I'll make it to sunrise, They've really stepped up Their game now.
I can see bloody handprints on the ceiling.
They are heading towards me.
The shadows are screaming.
I can't keep my promise.
Forgi
20141206
Day 216
We couldn't have done anything - there just wasn't the time.
It's not like we expected her to die, I mean she wasn't that old.
Or ill, or unhealthy in any way, shape or form!
It just... happened.
You see, we'd broken down.
Had been for nearly two hours.
She'd been sleeping in the back of the bus while me and my brother sat in the middle.
It was fairly crowded, very hot and tempers were running short.
We collectively decided to wander about the woods nearby, have some space.
My brother went to wake her up, she wasn't moving so I thought she was just fast asleep.
I'll never forget the look on his face when he came over to tell me "Nan's dead, Jo".
I told him to keep it quiet, didn't want anyone thinking anything bad about us.
We smiled and spread that our Nan was having a nap in the bus, aww bless etcetera.
And we walked away, trying to remain calm and not suspicious.
We didn't kill her or anything, so we had no real reason to worry.
Just, had to pretend it was all fine until someone else figured it out.
We should have buried her right away or at least said a prayer.
By the time we'd gotten tired and returned to the bus she was moving.
She was talking to the driver and smiling.
As she turned towards us and waved we saw her face distort.
Whatever she was, she wasn't our nan anymore.
She was something else.
But what could we say?
"Sorry guys, our Nan passed away so we went for a walk and now she's possibly possessed"?
My brother shot me a terrified look, told him to keep quiet, maybe he'd been wrong.
I started heading closer towards the rest of the group when he pulled me back and hissed,
"I wasn't wrong okay! She was dead, she had blood running out her damn ears, she was DEAD!"
What the hell killed her, more importantly, was it planned?
We didn't have long to think as our "Nan" approached us.
She was smiling just like she used to.
She leant in close and said, in a voice that was definitely not human:
W̧h͍̼̻͔͖̤a̻̫̗̘͙̹ͅt̶ ͉͇͕̺̹̖̖à̦̠̪͎̩r͎͉̟̻͠e̢̖ y̺͡o̞̜̤̞u̧̺̞̺̳̬̣̘ b҉͖̰̹͕͙̝͇o̯̘̦͈͞y̤͕͓̟͜s͟ ͇͇̜̣̻u̥͙̠p̶͕̖̮ ͔̱̘̖͙͚ͅt҉̰͍͔̞̣͖̥o̪̳͖?̫̜͎͔
We were terrified, okay?
So we pretended everything was fine, told her we were just annoyed at the breakdown.
We acted like everything was fine as best we could.
She smiled too widely, her teeth all yellow and sharp and too big for her mouth.
I quickly made excuses to go talk to the driver, just to see how long it'd be.
Her neck snapped to one side with a sickening crack as we walked past her.
How could nobody else see that she was clearly a monster?!
From then onwards we avoided her, just about managing to keep well away.
We should have kept an eye on her, it's all our fault.
Another hour or so after all this the repair van finally came and everything was fixed.
Unfortunately we got stuck sitting next to "Nan" on the way back.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend you aren't sitting next to a corpse-turned-monster?
I know that's not a nice way to speak about a former relative but you weren't there.
You don't know what it was like to see what she'd done to everyone else.
How quickly it spread.
They all began screaming, blood pouring from their faces.
The bus swerved off the road and crashed into a signpost.
When I came too I was in hospital.
They'd found me in the bus, surrounded by blood and missing one of my hands.
They never found anyone else, just a load of bloody footprints leading towards the forest.
I'd like to have forgotten this but I got a parcel yesterday.
It was a snapshot of the bus group.
And my hand.
They want me back.
It's not like we expected her to die, I mean she wasn't that old.
Or ill, or unhealthy in any way, shape or form!
It just... happened.
You see, we'd broken down.
Had been for nearly two hours.
She'd been sleeping in the back of the bus while me and my brother sat in the middle.
It was fairly crowded, very hot and tempers were running short.
We collectively decided to wander about the woods nearby, have some space.
My brother went to wake her up, she wasn't moving so I thought she was just fast asleep.
I'll never forget the look on his face when he came over to tell me "Nan's dead, Jo".
I told him to keep it quiet, didn't want anyone thinking anything bad about us.
We smiled and spread that our Nan was having a nap in the bus, aww bless etcetera.
And we walked away, trying to remain calm and not suspicious.
We didn't kill her or anything, so we had no real reason to worry.
Just, had to pretend it was all fine until someone else figured it out.
We should have buried her right away or at least said a prayer.
By the time we'd gotten tired and returned to the bus she was moving.
She was talking to the driver and smiling.
As she turned towards us and waved we saw her face distort.
Whatever she was, she wasn't our nan anymore.
She was something else.
But what could we say?
"Sorry guys, our Nan passed away so we went for a walk and now she's possibly possessed"?
My brother shot me a terrified look, told him to keep quiet, maybe he'd been wrong.
I started heading closer towards the rest of the group when he pulled me back and hissed,
"I wasn't wrong okay! She was dead, she had blood running out her damn ears, she was DEAD!"
What the hell killed her, more importantly, was it planned?
We didn't have long to think as our "Nan" approached us.
She was smiling just like she used to.
She leant in close and said, in a voice that was definitely not human:
W̧h͍̼̻͔͖̤a̻̫̗̘͙̹ͅt̶ ͉͇͕̺̹̖̖à̦̠̪͎̩r͎͉̟̻͠e̢̖ y̺͡o̞̜̤̞u̧̺̞̺̳̬̣̘ b҉͖̰̹͕͙̝͇o̯̘̦͈͞y̤͕͓̟͜s͟ ͇͇̜̣̻u̥͙̠p̶͕̖̮ ͔̱̘̖͙͚ͅt҉̰͍͔̞̣͖̥o̪̳͖?̫̜͎͔
We were terrified, okay?
So we pretended everything was fine, told her we were just annoyed at the breakdown.
We acted like everything was fine as best we could.
She smiled too widely, her teeth all yellow and sharp and too big for her mouth.
I quickly made excuses to go talk to the driver, just to see how long it'd be.
Her neck snapped to one side with a sickening crack as we walked past her.
How could nobody else see that she was clearly a monster?!
From then onwards we avoided her, just about managing to keep well away.
We should have kept an eye on her, it's all our fault.
Another hour or so after all this the repair van finally came and everything was fixed.
Unfortunately we got stuck sitting next to "Nan" on the way back.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend you aren't sitting next to a corpse-turned-monster?
I know that's not a nice way to speak about a former relative but you weren't there.
You don't know what it was like to see what she'd done to everyone else.
How quickly it spread.
They all began screaming, blood pouring from their faces.
The bus swerved off the road and crashed into a signpost.
When I came too I was in hospital.
They'd found me in the bus, surrounded by blood and missing one of my hands.
They never found anyone else, just a load of bloody footprints leading towards the forest.
I'd like to have forgotten this but I got a parcel yesterday.
It was a snapshot of the bus group.
And my hand.
They want me back.
20141205
Day 215
The portrait of your great, great grandmother blinked twice.
You weren't as afraid as you should have been, everyone said she was kind.
It was a rite of passage in your family now.
When you turned ten you went to see her, to see if she approved.
They kept her portrait in a rented storage room on the outskirts of town.
She wasn't alone there, when anyone in your family died their portraits joined hers.
They all watched as you gently shut the door behind you, your family waiting on the other side.
There were specific words you had to say when you went in,a polite introduction.
If only you had remembered them.
You just walked up to her and peered at the old painting.
She didn't like that.
Her kind smile drew you in and she held out her hand, somehow outside of the painting.
It looked real, pale and wavering slightly but real.
It felt real as you took it until suddenly a lightning bolt of pain shoot up your arm.
Looking down you saw your hand was turning red, your skin was shredding itself.
Yanking your hand back you could only gasp and struggle for breath as it spread.
You collapsed in a pile of your own blood and your vision began to fade.
None of the paintings were smiling now, some were angry but most were... sad?
Your portrait will not be left here.
They will forget you.
20141204
Day 214
You aren't supposed to be home yet.
The voice sounded like it was coming from a bucket of water.
You stood frozen where you stood, having just closed your front door.
You crept around downstairs checking the rooms as the voice upstairs continued to talk to you.
You never come home this early, NEVER.
Your life is clockwork, everything is done by and on the minute so why change?
Why now?
What changed?
Did something... happen?
Come on, it's just the two of us here, tell me.
TELL ME!
The voice began screaming at you from upstairs but you continued to look around.
Satisfied that the voice upstairs was the only other living thing here you went to see it.
As usual it was in the bathroom, sitting in the sink which was now overflowing with....blood?
The screaming had stopped and now it stared at you from under the gore filled water.
Its' beady eyes blinked and it asked again why so early, what happened?
You regarded the creature - your creature - with disgust as it began screaming again.
Every day was like this, this relentless questioning.
But no more.
No. More.
You took it out of the sink and down to the kitchen, it would be easier to throw away
if it was in smaller pieces.
All the while it was still screaming but at least it was struggling to breathe.
You knew that eventually it would die - it needed that sick bloodbath to survive.
Too bad.
It should have kept quiet.
The voice sounded like it was coming from a bucket of water.
You stood frozen where you stood, having just closed your front door.
You crept around downstairs checking the rooms as the voice upstairs continued to talk to you.
You never come home this early, NEVER.
Your life is clockwork, everything is done by and on the minute so why change?
Why now?
What changed?
Did something... happen?
Come on, it's just the two of us here, tell me.
TELL ME!
The voice began screaming at you from upstairs but you continued to look around.
Satisfied that the voice upstairs was the only other living thing here you went to see it.
As usual it was in the bathroom, sitting in the sink which was now overflowing with....blood?
The screaming had stopped and now it stared at you from under the gore filled water.
Its' beady eyes blinked and it asked again why so early, what happened?
You regarded the creature - your creature - with disgust as it began screaming again.
Every day was like this, this relentless questioning.
But no more.
No. More.
You took it out of the sink and down to the kitchen, it would be easier to throw away
if it was in smaller pieces.
All the while it was still screaming but at least it was struggling to breathe.
You knew that eventually it would die - it needed that sick bloodbath to survive.
Too bad.
It should have kept quiet.
20141203
Day 213
Would you be able to live with yourself if you accidently killed someone?
I never meant to, you see, it just sort of... well, happened.
We were just kids, it was only a dare.
How were we to know the flat was actually haunted?
I mean, nobody believed in that, right?
Paul and I didn't.
We only went in there cause the old lady who lived there died recently.
We thought it would be cool to contact her spirit with a ouija board.
Yeah, its the start of every cliche piece of crap ever written.
Not that we noticed at the time, we were just playing.
Except it went wrong, it went so wrong.
It started with the usual "are you there", "prove it" stuff and nothing happened.
As we got bored we wandered around the house, it was pretty much empty, her family had
already cleaned out whatever they wanted.
The only interesting thing we found were some of those old fashioned fire poker things.
We had a sword fight with them before we got bored and went back to the ouija board.
The planchette had been moved from the floor to HELLO.
Neither of us could have done it, we checked out the house together.
While we were bickering over whose fault it was it began to move by itself.
It was spelling out something repeatedly, after a few attempts we got what she was saying.
G - E - T - O - U - T - G - E - T - O - U - T - G - E - T - O - U - T - G - E - T - O - U - T -
We fled to the front door but she was already there.
The papers said she died of old age.
They were so wrong.
Her clothing was heavily bloodstained, one of her hands was missing as were her eyes.
Whoever had killed her was brutal about it.
We ran, I was faster and managed to duck into a room as she went chasing after Paul.
Hearing a scream I ran out of the room to find that the old lady had cornered him by the back door.
Fire poker in hand I did what I thought best at the time and, ridden with fear and childish
stupidity I jammed the poker into her.
And through her.
And she vanished.
And Paul was still there.
I never told anyone what really happened, managed to hide the poker under a loose floorboard
in the house and ran home.
Nearly twenty years later and I've gotten married, had a kid and moved out of town.
Thought everything was going perfectly.
Then my daughter learned to talk.
She has an imaginary friend you know, as most kids do.
He's called Paul.
She tells me he hasn't forgotten.
20141202
Day 212
As she looked at the sky she noticed stars peering through the branches above her.
Camping was a great idea, she decided.
While she lay contentedly gazing up at the sky her eyes began to close.
She had spent all day hiking up to this point and it was so warm outside.
Putting her glasses beside her she relaxed in her sleeping bag.
In between languid blinks, the stars above her changed colour.
It started with just a few red ones, twinkling away like the rest.
Before she was fully aware most of the stars were red.
Worrying she sat up, trying to peer at the stars, squinting at their fuzzy outlines.
Hastily putting on her glasses she didn't see stars.
She saw eyes, blinking at her, glaring down from the forest canopy.
They began to move in.
Camping was a great idea, she decided.
While she lay contentedly gazing up at the sky her eyes began to close.
She had spent all day hiking up to this point and it was so warm outside.
Putting her glasses beside her she relaxed in her sleeping bag.
In between languid blinks, the stars above her changed colour.
It started with just a few red ones, twinkling away like the rest.
Before she was fully aware most of the stars were red.
Worrying she sat up, trying to peer at the stars, squinting at their fuzzy outlines.
Hastily putting on her glasses she didn't see stars.
She saw eyes, blinking at her, glaring down from the forest canopy.
They began to move in.
20141201
Day 211
The pub was crowded and most surfaces were covered in that slight residue that
comes with years of use and misuse.
Alcohol is being slowly served the the few locals surrounding the bar, at least you
assume it is alcohol, the thick tarish liquid crawls out of its container at a mind
numbingly slow pace and yet... nobody seems to care.
You aren't sure how you came to be here, but you feel you cannot leave.
Not yet.
Something must happen first, something very important.
Something you should have remembered by now.
You ordered the same "drink" as everyone else and waited for it to be poured.
The other patrons ignore your presence, seemingly caught up in their own heads.
Or are they waiting for the same moment as you?
Time crawls as slowly as the assumed beverage you wait for.
You use the time-old social excuse of heading to the bathroom.
The door is rusty with age and requires a great deal of force to open.
Black, slimy footprints have left a trail on the floor leading to one cubicle.
You feel compelled to look.
This is the moment you have waited for.
Hesitantly, you pulled the door open, not prepared for what lay inside.
You aren't sure what caught your eyes first - the decaying torso that was propped
up against the cistern or the writhing flesh peering out from behind the cracking
wallpaper, glistening and... blinking?
As you stare, unable to move from your spot, the torso begins to move.
It writhes and eventually falls over, maggots spewing all over the floor.
You fall backwards in shock but you do not hit the floor.
You fall through the floor.
And everything fades away.
You awaken sitting in a dingy corner of the pub, black "drink" in hand.
There is nobody else there, even the barkeep has vanished.
The next thing you are aware of is the tar-like drink sluggishly slipping down your throat
and how the walls around you warp and twist as faces spasm into existence and fade twice
as fast.
They are flickering closer and closer to you.
You find yourself smiling back.
comes with years of use and misuse.
Alcohol is being slowly served the the few locals surrounding the bar, at least you
assume it is alcohol, the thick tarish liquid crawls out of its container at a mind
numbingly slow pace and yet... nobody seems to care.
You aren't sure how you came to be here, but you feel you cannot leave.
Not yet.
Something must happen first, something very important.
Something you should have remembered by now.
You ordered the same "drink" as everyone else and waited for it to be poured.
The other patrons ignore your presence, seemingly caught up in their own heads.
Or are they waiting for the same moment as you?
Time crawls as slowly as the assumed beverage you wait for.
You use the time-old social excuse of heading to the bathroom.
The door is rusty with age and requires a great deal of force to open.
Black, slimy footprints have left a trail on the floor leading to one cubicle.
You feel compelled to look.
This is the moment you have waited for.
Hesitantly, you pulled the door open, not prepared for what lay inside.
You aren't sure what caught your eyes first - the decaying torso that was propped
up against the cistern or the writhing flesh peering out from behind the cracking
wallpaper, glistening and... blinking?
As you stare, unable to move from your spot, the torso begins to move.
It writhes and eventually falls over, maggots spewing all over the floor.
You fall backwards in shock but you do not hit the floor.
You fall through the floor.
And everything fades away.
You awaken sitting in a dingy corner of the pub, black "drink" in hand.
There is nobody else there, even the barkeep has vanished.
The next thing you are aware of is the tar-like drink sluggishly slipping down your throat
and how the walls around you warp and twist as faces spasm into existence and fade twice
as fast.
They are flickering closer and closer to you.
You find yourself smiling back.
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