They kept calling to her as she perched, anxious.
Come down from that tree Emily.
She scrambled for the branch above her, pulling her small body further away.
You might hurt yourself Emily.
"Go away!" they'd been standing down there for a fair while now.
You'll scare the birds Emily.
"I don't like you," she yelled, "Leave me alone!"
This isn't funny any more Emily.
She climbed one branch up, determined to get as far away as she could.
We're losing our patience Emily.
From her marginally taller viewpoint she looked around for her parents.
We'll give you to the count of three Emily.
There was no-one else around.
One...
Not a single solitary human - only the squat, furry monsters with their large teeth and glowing green eyes.
Two...
She wondered how high they could jump.
T͝͏̼̗͈͓͓̟̯̘͝ḩ̵̡͎̤̥͚͇̙͍̩͕̱̱̬r̰̬̮͙͢ę̴̷͢҉̩̹̹̘̝͇̰͉̻̬e̷͔̯̲̝̻̻̳̻̤͚͎ͅͅ
20150131
20150130
Day 271
I was sent a photo last week, it was a man standing in a dark concrete looking hallway.
He was bleeding quite badly from cuts on his face - his eyes were swollen and closed.
That wasn't what I noticed most though.
Behind him stood a figure, I could only partially make it out.
It seemed to be made from tar and its jaw wide open and close to the man's neck.
All week I couldn't get that image out of my head and then, then I saw the man.
He seemed fine but when I tried to talk to him he looked scared.
I showed him the photo I got.
He showed me his.
I saw myself standing in that street staring at a photo.
Behind me stood a figure made of black, dripping tar.
Its' hand on my shoulder.
It left a mark.
He was bleeding quite badly from cuts on his face - his eyes were swollen and closed.
That wasn't what I noticed most though.
Behind him stood a figure, I could only partially make it out.
It seemed to be made from tar and its jaw wide open and close to the man's neck.
All week I couldn't get that image out of my head and then, then I saw the man.
He seemed fine but when I tried to talk to him he looked scared.
I showed him the photo I got.
He showed me his.
I saw myself standing in that street staring at a photo.
Behind me stood a figure made of black, dripping tar.
Its' hand on my shoulder.
It left a mark.
Day 270
First comes the cold, the kind that winds under your clothes and into your bones.
Then the fog comes rolling in swathes, suffocating the city streets.
Everyone will panic and wait anxiously inside.
They will all miss the danger.
Those who remain outside - the lost souls and waifs - will be the forerunners.
It will seep into them, the cold fog of forgetting and they will succumb one by one.
They will be left empty husks of their former selves.
Now roaming the streets becomes a death sentence.
Humans will prey upon humans til the fog learns to open.
And it learns so fast.
For there are many outside, both living and dead.
And they are eager to speak once again.
They will be left empty husks of their former selves.
Now roaming the streets becomes a death sentence.
Humans will prey upon humans til the fog learns to open.
And it learns so fast.
For there are many outside, both living and dead.
And they are eager to speak once again.
20150128
Day 269
There are no others, it's just me now.
They look normal in person, you know some, live with some and even love some.
But do me a favour, take a photo of them.
It has to be film, black and white.
You see, it shows what they really are.
No faces, just flesh and stitches roughly shaped to have human features.
They come into our world alone from the shadows in old homes.
They never leave that way.
I think they're lonely, I've seen to many of their faces repeated throughout history.
At every great massacre they are there.
They wear uniforms.
They take and take and take until their human forms are killed.
I don't think they can actually be killed though.
Haven't tried it yet but there's one living with me, thought he was my son.
I was too late, they already stole and replaced him with one of their own.
Soon.
Soon I'll see how easily they die.
They look normal in person, you know some, live with some and even love some.
But do me a favour, take a photo of them.
It has to be film, black and white.
You see, it shows what they really are.
No faces, just flesh and stitches roughly shaped to have human features.
They come into our world alone from the shadows in old homes.
They never leave that way.
I think they're lonely, I've seen to many of their faces repeated throughout history.
At every great massacre they are there.
They wear uniforms.
They take and take and take until their human forms are killed.
I don't think they can actually be killed though.
Haven't tried it yet but there's one living with me, thought he was my son.
I was too late, they already stole and replaced him with one of their own.
Soon.
Soon I'll see how easily they die.
20150127
Day 268
Their grandchildren loved to make them things out of whatever they found.
One day them visited with an egg, they drew a cartoonish smile and called it "Grammy".
She laughed and said it was the spitting image of her and put it on her bedside table.
She stopped talking soon after that.
Bells Palsy they called it, the old man felt sad.
The doctor said that due to her age it was likely that she'd get worse.
As the old man helped his now mute wife into bed he glanced at the smiling egg.
He'd know what grin anywhere, he married the woman behind it!
No longer was the mouth a thick, black pen line.
It was hers, it even had her teeth and dimples!
He could see other dents in its' surface and wondered what it would steal next.
Over the following week her left eye began to droop and the egg began to form.
The following month both her eyes were lax and uselessly swaying as the egg glared.
It grinned and it glared, sometimes whispering things that almost sounded like her poetry.
He wanted to smash it, he wanted to but his heart was weak.
Whenever he sat in front of it it looked at him the way his wife used to.
It smiled her smile, laughed her laugh and spoke half gibberish.
He began to grow fonder of it than his spouse.
Eventually the egg took over from her.
He didn't know what to do with the lifeless husk that he'd married.
The egg, no Mavis told him to leave her body so they could run away together.
By this point his dearest Mavis was almost human looking, she didn't have hair yet but she was still perfect.
She was more like the woman he married than his wife had ever been.
And that's why she had to go.
They eventually found the old man a few miles away from the burnt shell of his home, dying.
He was holding a rotten egg in his hand, muttering about "becoming as perfect as my new Mavis".
One day them visited with an egg, they drew a cartoonish smile and called it "Grammy".
She laughed and said it was the spitting image of her and put it on her bedside table.
She stopped talking soon after that.
Bells Palsy they called it, the old man felt sad.
The doctor said that due to her age it was likely that she'd get worse.
As the old man helped his now mute wife into bed he glanced at the smiling egg.
He'd know what grin anywhere, he married the woman behind it!
No longer was the mouth a thick, black pen line.
It was hers, it even had her teeth and dimples!
He could see other dents in its' surface and wondered what it would steal next.
Over the following week her left eye began to droop and the egg began to form.
The following month both her eyes were lax and uselessly swaying as the egg glared.
It grinned and it glared, sometimes whispering things that almost sounded like her poetry.
He wanted to smash it, he wanted to but his heart was weak.
Whenever he sat in front of it it looked at him the way his wife used to.
It smiled her smile, laughed her laugh and spoke half gibberish.
He began to grow fonder of it than his spouse.
Eventually the egg took over from her.
He didn't know what to do with the lifeless husk that he'd married.
The egg, no Mavis told him to leave her body so they could run away together.
By this point his dearest Mavis was almost human looking, she didn't have hair yet but she was still perfect.
She was more like the woman he married than his wife had ever been.
And that's why she had to go.
They eventually found the old man a few miles away from the burnt shell of his home, dying.
He was holding a rotten egg in his hand, muttering about "becoming as perfect as my new Mavis".
20150126
Day 267
Death couldn't tear us apart but it certainly tried.
It took less than a year for her to come back to me.
She wasn't like I remembered but she was still the woman I married.
Her hair smelt like the mud that still clings under her nails, she won't clean them.
Says she has to keep her coffin dirt with her or she has to go back.
I'll mind these changes just to keep her here.
Last week she dropped her arm.
The maggots inside wanted to be free and, bless her heart she let them go.
She manages without that arm now, I tied some lace around her open shoulder joint.
I swear she hasn't stopped smiling since she got back, her teeth are still the same old pearlies.
Sure her lips are a tad smaller, like two old red balloons all deflated but she's still my gal.
Every time she smiles, my heart swoops like it always has.
I'm beginning to suspect she's changed more than I reckoned.
She's an early riser sure but it don't explain why her night dress is all torn and stained red.
I'd ask our neighbour, Mr Jefferson, but he's been out for a while now, must be fishing.
Having said that, if he was fishing then his back door would be locked... not wide open.
I haven't told her I went inside to look.
I don't wanna make her mad, not if I end up like Jefferson.
I wonder if he'll come back like my wife, shrivelled, smiling and changed.
Never tell her I think this, she's suspicious though.
Always was sharp, still is.
Part of me still loves her, you know.
Part of me wants to pretend she's still my old gal and everything is as it always was.
I can't ignore the bloodied night dresses any more.
If I cut off her hands she'll have to go back and rest.
I hate to lose her but this is no way for her to live.
I just hope she goes quiet like the first time.
It took less than a year for her to come back to me.
She wasn't like I remembered but she was still the woman I married.
Her hair smelt like the mud that still clings under her nails, she won't clean them.
Says she has to keep her coffin dirt with her or she has to go back.
I'll mind these changes just to keep her here.
Last week she dropped her arm.
The maggots inside wanted to be free and, bless her heart she let them go.
She manages without that arm now, I tied some lace around her open shoulder joint.
I swear she hasn't stopped smiling since she got back, her teeth are still the same old pearlies.
Sure her lips are a tad smaller, like two old red balloons all deflated but she's still my gal.
Every time she smiles, my heart swoops like it always has.
I'm beginning to suspect she's changed more than I reckoned.
She's an early riser sure but it don't explain why her night dress is all torn and stained red.
I'd ask our neighbour, Mr Jefferson, but he's been out for a while now, must be fishing.
Having said that, if he was fishing then his back door would be locked... not wide open.
I haven't told her I went inside to look.
I don't wanna make her mad, not if I end up like Jefferson.
I wonder if he'll come back like my wife, shrivelled, smiling and changed.
Never tell her I think this, she's suspicious though.
Always was sharp, still is.
Part of me still loves her, you know.
Part of me wants to pretend she's still my old gal and everything is as it always was.
I can't ignore the bloodied night dresses any more.
If I cut off her hands she'll have to go back and rest.
I hate to lose her but this is no way for her to live.
I just hope she goes quiet like the first time.
20150125
Day 266
The pennies that we once placed on the eyes of the dead are a bribe.
That's what my gran used to say.
It stuck with me all these years and I never knew why.
Now I keep seeing and hearing it everywhere.
Some guy on the subway will mutter it under his breath.
A bunch of teens will sing it - its their band's latest song.
The graffiti near my house.
Inside my house.
The wallpaper in my bathroom peeled away to reveal those exact same words.
Slowly they are being carved into my arms while I sleep.
It stuck with me all these years and I never knew why.
Now I keep seeing and hearing it everywhere.
Some guy on the subway will mutter it under his breath.
A bunch of teens will sing it - its their band's latest song.
The graffiti near my house.
Inside my house.
The wallpaper in my bathroom peeled away to reveal those exact same words.
Slowly they are being carved into my arms while I sleep.
20150124
Day 265
They say you could hear crying coming from the scrapyard.
A young woman couldn't keep her baby so she left it there.
Nobody noticed until they saw blood coming out of a recently compacted car.
Poor mite never stood a chance.
The mother's been seen too.
On the day they crushed her baby you can hear her calling for it.
Well, I say calling... it's more like a desperate wail.
If you hang around outside the gates at night you can hear her running.
A bunch of teenagers dared each other to go in last year.
Only three came out alive.
They kept saying that the woman was a demon, she crawled out of the car crusher
holding her baby in her arms but as she drew closer the baby became the severed
head of one of them.
Police could only find his body, they reckon his head ended up like the baby.
Thought it was a copycat killer for a while until last week - her anniversary.
Everyone saw what happened to them.
They were half car crushed and left outside the gates.
Seems she's starting to move on.
Crushers have been found all over the city, sometimes even in their beds.
We don't know how to stop her.
A young woman couldn't keep her baby so she left it there.
Nobody noticed until they saw blood coming out of a recently compacted car.
Poor mite never stood a chance.
The mother's been seen too.
On the day they crushed her baby you can hear her calling for it.
Well, I say calling... it's more like a desperate wail.
If you hang around outside the gates at night you can hear her running.
A bunch of teenagers dared each other to go in last year.
Only three came out alive.
They kept saying that the woman was a demon, she crawled out of the car crusher
holding her baby in her arms but as she drew closer the baby became the severed
head of one of them.
Police could only find his body, they reckon his head ended up like the baby.
Thought it was a copycat killer for a while until last week - her anniversary.
Everyone saw what happened to them.
They were half car crushed and left outside the gates.
Seems she's starting to move on.
Crushers have been found all over the city, sometimes even in their beds.
We don't know how to stop her.
20150123
Day 264
The milk factory her dad worked in for thirty years got shut down last month.
The boss wouldn't tell anybody why but rumour had it that everyone who'd be working
on January 7th had either left the country or was found dead.
Police said nothing, just boarded the main entrances and windows and left it at that.
Nobody knew what was going on so she thought she'd find out for herself.
She spent a few weeks figuring out the security guards patrol schedule.
Thought it was weird that they even had a bunch of guards there - what were they guarding?
At exactly 10:36PM when the guards were midway around the building (furthest away from the entrance)
she ran for the delivery exit and used her dad's key to unlock the door.
As she stepped in she noticed how well-lit and quiet it was.
Last time she was there everything was at full swing... now everything was silent except for a faint clink.
The noise was coming from further in, maybe down by the vats?
She wasn't sure when but somewhere along the way the concrete beneath her feet turned to thick grass.
It grew longer and harder to walk through the further in she went.
Her feet began to sink into the ground and, looking down, she saw muddy green water around her ankles.
What the hell was going on?
The clinking grew very loud by the time she got near the vats, it sounded like plates being knocked together.
The door was partially open, she could just about squeeze through only to fall into waist deep water.
As she clung to the door handle, desperately looking around for a dry surface she saw a grass covered table
sitting in the centre of the room, there were antique looking chairs settled about it and steaming teapots.
The table seemed to be raised above the murky water so she took a breath and swam for it.
It was further away than she'd reckoned as she just about managed to collapse onto a chair, heaving her
weary body onto the grass covered seat, feet dangling in the air, barely touching the water.
The aroma of tea filled her senses as one of the pots moved towards her and tilted to fill the nearest cup.
Well it looked fine at least, surely a break couldn't hurt?
She'd come all this way and it was only 11:25PM, besides the tea might be nice.
It tasted herbal, earthy, so overwhelming she slumped over.
The cup fell from her weak, green tinted hands.
She felt her body begin to sink somehow and sleepily looker around her.
She couldn't move her head but her eyes could just slide across her face.
They slid to view the chair next to her and locked gaze with another pair of eyes.
A very familiar pair, an old friend maybe?
Everything was blurring together.
The face on the chair over slid their mouth around to smile at her.
She felt at peace as her body became little more than grass and water.
The boss wouldn't tell anybody why but rumour had it that everyone who'd be working
on January 7th had either left the country or was found dead.
Police said nothing, just boarded the main entrances and windows and left it at that.
Nobody knew what was going on so she thought she'd find out for herself.
She spent a few weeks figuring out the security guards patrol schedule.
Thought it was weird that they even had a bunch of guards there - what were they guarding?
At exactly 10:36PM when the guards were midway around the building (furthest away from the entrance)
she ran for the delivery exit and used her dad's key to unlock the door.
As she stepped in she noticed how well-lit and quiet it was.
Last time she was there everything was at full swing... now everything was silent except for a faint clink.
The noise was coming from further in, maybe down by the vats?
She wasn't sure when but somewhere along the way the concrete beneath her feet turned to thick grass.
It grew longer and harder to walk through the further in she went.
Her feet began to sink into the ground and, looking down, she saw muddy green water around her ankles.
What the hell was going on?
The clinking grew very loud by the time she got near the vats, it sounded like plates being knocked together.
The door was partially open, she could just about squeeze through only to fall into waist deep water.
As she clung to the door handle, desperately looking around for a dry surface she saw a grass covered table
sitting in the centre of the room, there were antique looking chairs settled about it and steaming teapots.
The table seemed to be raised above the murky water so she took a breath and swam for it.
It was further away than she'd reckoned as she just about managed to collapse onto a chair, heaving her
weary body onto the grass covered seat, feet dangling in the air, barely touching the water.
The aroma of tea filled her senses as one of the pots moved towards her and tilted to fill the nearest cup.
Well it looked fine at least, surely a break couldn't hurt?
She'd come all this way and it was only 11:25PM, besides the tea might be nice.
It tasted herbal, earthy, so overwhelming she slumped over.
The cup fell from her weak, green tinted hands.
She felt her body begin to sink somehow and sleepily looker around her.
She couldn't move her head but her eyes could just slide across her face.
They slid to view the chair next to her and locked gaze with another pair of eyes.
A very familiar pair, an old friend maybe?
Everything was blurring together.
The face on the chair over slid their mouth around to smile at her.
She felt at peace as her body became little more than grass and water.
20150122
Day 263
It wards of the Night Ones.
I carved this one into the church cause the Night Ones got in last week.
They leave behind masks made of human flesh and bird bones.
Father McKaithe didn't tell the Police but he called me in to help him bless the church again.
We made sure to sprinkle salt around every possible entrance and mixed rosemary in too.
You can never be too careful when the Night Ones are nearby.
That was when I carved this symbol.
It's the same one I use on my house, you know.
Keeps the Night Ones right away.
That and other symbols, not the cross though... they like to show how ineffective it is... eagerly.
They did in the church, used it to gouge out the eyes of every face in all the photos and books
before finally screwing it up into a ball.
Now it was a big cross -at least two foot tall - and made of iron.
Not that it mattered apparently.
A few days ago the Night Ones sent one of their human followers to the church.
He came late at night and couldn't get past the door.
Father McKaithe had the idea to push him in so he'd fall on the salt/rosemary mix.
We didn't expect him to start convulsing and vomiting blood.
Seems he'd been involved with the Night Ones for so long he was almost one himself.
Never thought I'd see that, to be quite honest.
His face began to warp and twist, showing his actual face,well it wasn't so much a face as it was
a large mottled green/grey slab made mostly of mouth and pulsating veins.
His body was more human but almost skeletal, seems he'd come to the church to feed.
Now we knew what the mixture did, we made sure to keep some in our pockets at all times.
Lucky we did too, last time I used it was actually last night.
I was just heading through the gate to go visit Father McKaithe, see how he was holding up.
The Night Ones were already there, pressing themselves against the walls and peering in.
They were standing on top of what looked to be human skeletons.
None of them were near the front door as we'd covered that whole area with the mix so I thought
I was safe to go inside.
I was wrong, they all turned as one and screeched at me.
I nearly made it to the door, hands flinging the mix everywhere around me.
My pockets weren't deep enough, I nearly made it though.
I left instructions for Father McKaithe to put the special symbol on my grave so they couldn't turn me.
I can see the good Father now.
I'm going to tell him it doesn't work.
I was just heading through the gate to go visit Father McKaithe, see how he was holding up.
The Night Ones were already there, pressing themselves against the walls and peering in.
They were standing on top of what looked to be human skeletons.
None of them were near the front door as we'd covered that whole area with the mix so I thought
I was safe to go inside.
I was wrong, they all turned as one and screeched at me.
I nearly made it to the door, hands flinging the mix everywhere around me.
My pockets weren't deep enough, I nearly made it though.
I left instructions for Father McKaithe to put the special symbol on my grave so they couldn't turn me.
I can see the good Father now.
I'm going to tell him it doesn't work.
20150121
Day 262
The greenhouse had been forgotten for almost eighty years before the "urban explorer" found it.
He fancied himself a modern day Indiana Jones, a James Cook of rural England.
It definitely wasn't on any map and according to search engines the field was empty.
That made this a discovery in his books.
It was built strangely for a greenhouse, it looked like the metal between the glass plates was brass.
He figured it must be art-deco maybe, something meant more for decoration than function.
Trying the door he found it wasn't even locked but it was very stiff, from the moisture inside maybe?
Either way it was a pain to push open but he just about managed it.
It was like stepping into a jungle, the plants inside were wildly overgrown and definitely not native.
Palm trees towered above him, he made note to keep an eye out for falling coconuts.
As he carefully made his way deeper inside he noticed a large rock formation on the side walls.
It had thick vines crawling up it, looked like there were chairs on the top of them.
Christ it was the biggest greenhouse he'd ever laid eyes on, maybe even record breaking!
He couldn't see stairs anywhere,maybe they were overgrown too?
As he felt around the wall gradually coming to a dip in the vines.
Pressing into it he managed to feel his way up an extremely covered staircase.
Once he caught his breath and looked around he saw a beautiful view.
The plants were truly picturesque, like something out of a movie, almost unreal in their perfection.
He gingerly sat down on one of the fairly rusty benches just to admire the view... and take pictures.
He tried to post them online but there was no signal inside, might be the brass on the outside.
Regardless of internet connectivity, he had to explore more of this place.
The platform he was on looked pretty solid and extended towards what looked to be a café
Maybe he could take some vintage food tins back home as a souvenir?
It was worth a look so he made his way over there, stepping over more vines along the way.
The doorway was wide open, propped with a little wooden peg that had begun to sprout flowers.
The inside of the little café smelt damp, like mould and warm air left still for too long.
It was so dingy, the plants behind had begun to swallow the rear end of the place, crawling through any and every crack, cracking the floorboards and causing the entire back end to almost break away.
He entered into a small side area, might have been the kitchen, might have been the pantry.
There was no food anywhere, which seemed strange, the cans that had once maybe stood on shelves now lay shredded on the floor.
Something about this place now seemed bad.
Walking out of the side room he saw that the café door was now closed and the wooden peg that had been holding it open all these years had been forced into the counter.
Seems he wasn't alone and yet, he hadn't heard a thing.
He crouched and crawled his way over to peer out of a window, through the mottled glass he saw a large dark shape walking over to the bench where he had sat minutes before.
He ducked down and crept back into the side room, he could wait until they left or were far enough away for him to make a break for the exit, hopefully it was slow and wouldn't follow him outside.
To pass the time he scrolled through the pictures on his phone and, to his surprise, saw a large dark figure standing in the background of every single shot.
In his selfies, it stood right behind him... he couldn't make out its face but it wasn't quite human.
He was beginning to hyperventilate now, shocked that he'd been so close to something so terrifying.
As he put his phone down he saw a large black shape squatting in the doorway.
It lifted its' head, huge bloodshot eyes staring right at him, lower jaw almost falling off.
It wore the tattered remains of an old fashioned suit, rusty stains all over it.
As he sat, paralysed with fear it began to creep closer to him.
When its' face was right next to his, its' breath reeking of rot, he fainted.
He woke up around early evening by his car, wondering if it had all been a dream.
As he sat in his car he opened his phone, if the pictures were still there then it must have been real.
Swiping his phone screen he saw a picture was already opened.
It was the creature's smiling face... right next to his unconscious one.
A knife was being held to his throat and its' mouth was covered in blood.
He looked in his rear mirror and saw a large gash through his neck, fresh blood staining his shirt.
He fancied himself a modern day Indiana Jones, a James Cook of rural England.
It definitely wasn't on any map and according to search engines the field was empty.
That made this a discovery in his books.
It was built strangely for a greenhouse, it looked like the metal between the glass plates was brass.
He figured it must be art-deco maybe, something meant more for decoration than function.
Trying the door he found it wasn't even locked but it was very stiff, from the moisture inside maybe?
Either way it was a pain to push open but he just about managed it.
It was like stepping into a jungle, the plants inside were wildly overgrown and definitely not native.
Palm trees towered above him, he made note to keep an eye out for falling coconuts.
As he carefully made his way deeper inside he noticed a large rock formation on the side walls.
It had thick vines crawling up it, looked like there were chairs on the top of them.
Christ it was the biggest greenhouse he'd ever laid eyes on, maybe even record breaking!
He couldn't see stairs anywhere,maybe they were overgrown too?
As he felt around the wall gradually coming to a dip in the vines.
Pressing into it he managed to feel his way up an extremely covered staircase.
Once he caught his breath and looked around he saw a beautiful view.
The plants were truly picturesque, like something out of a movie, almost unreal in their perfection.
He gingerly sat down on one of the fairly rusty benches just to admire the view... and take pictures.
He tried to post them online but there was no signal inside, might be the brass on the outside.
Regardless of internet connectivity, he had to explore more of this place.
The platform he was on looked pretty solid and extended towards what looked to be a café
Maybe he could take some vintage food tins back home as a souvenir?
It was worth a look so he made his way over there, stepping over more vines along the way.
The doorway was wide open, propped with a little wooden peg that had begun to sprout flowers.
The inside of the little café smelt damp, like mould and warm air left still for too long.
It was so dingy, the plants behind had begun to swallow the rear end of the place, crawling through any and every crack, cracking the floorboards and causing the entire back end to almost break away.
He entered into a small side area, might have been the kitchen, might have been the pantry.
There was no food anywhere, which seemed strange, the cans that had once maybe stood on shelves now lay shredded on the floor.
Something about this place now seemed bad.
Walking out of the side room he saw that the café door was now closed and the wooden peg that had been holding it open all these years had been forced into the counter.
Seems he wasn't alone and yet, he hadn't heard a thing.
He crouched and crawled his way over to peer out of a window, through the mottled glass he saw a large dark shape walking over to the bench where he had sat minutes before.
He ducked down and crept back into the side room, he could wait until they left or were far enough away for him to make a break for the exit, hopefully it was slow and wouldn't follow him outside.
To pass the time he scrolled through the pictures on his phone and, to his surprise, saw a large dark figure standing in the background of every single shot.
In his selfies, it stood right behind him... he couldn't make out its face but it wasn't quite human.
He was beginning to hyperventilate now, shocked that he'd been so close to something so terrifying.
As he put his phone down he saw a large black shape squatting in the doorway.
It lifted its' head, huge bloodshot eyes staring right at him, lower jaw almost falling off.
It wore the tattered remains of an old fashioned suit, rusty stains all over it.
As he sat, paralysed with fear it began to creep closer to him.
When its' face was right next to his, its' breath reeking of rot, he fainted.
He woke up around early evening by his car, wondering if it had all been a dream.
As he sat in his car he opened his phone, if the pictures were still there then it must have been real.
Swiping his phone screen he saw a picture was already opened.
It was the creature's smiling face... right next to his unconscious one.
A knife was being held to his throat and its' mouth was covered in blood.
He looked in his rear mirror and saw a large gash through his neck, fresh blood staining his shirt.
20150120
Day 261
My son has been seen at the graveyard recently.
Not the one he was buried at, this one is nearer the old playground.
It's fenced off and private but my friend Tess said she talked him through the bars.
"He didn't look no different," she told me in hushed tones, "talked all normal and everythin'."
I wanted to go there and see him right away but my wife refused, she was furious.
Wouldn't talk about it either, she hated superstition but I had to try.
I just wanted to see my little boy again.
While I was meant to be on lunch break the next week I decided to walk past the place.
Just in case he was there, you know.
The gates were always locked, why would he even be there?
I waited by those bars for as long as I could but he didn't show up.
I went day after day, every lunchtime for weeks.
He never came but Tess kept swearing he was there and talking.
Why was he talking to her and not me, his own damn father.
I can't even talk to my wife about this, she's stopped talking tome.
Come to think of it, she hasn't said a word in weeks.
She's been drawing more though, therapy or something... I might have a look at some.
She's been drawing him at that place.
Her notepad is like a flickbook of him pacing behind the bars.
His face is like nothing I've ever seen before.
It looks like him but he's never looked so angry before.
That's when the running started.
As I looked up from the drawing I saw him run past the office door.
I spent the rest of the day searching the whole house for him, every nook and cranny.
After that he came back at least once a day, I don't know where he goes or why.
Sometimes he leaves footprints though.
They lead to the spot in the back garden where we found his body.
He even leaves me notes every now and then.
Just to let me know he hasn't forgotten.
I was the last thing he saw after all.
Not the one he was buried at, this one is nearer the old playground.
It's fenced off and private but my friend Tess said she talked him through the bars.
"He didn't look no different," she told me in hushed tones, "talked all normal and everythin'."
I wanted to go there and see him right away but my wife refused, she was furious.
Wouldn't talk about it either, she hated superstition but I had to try.
I just wanted to see my little boy again.
While I was meant to be on lunch break the next week I decided to walk past the place.
Just in case he was there, you know.
The gates were always locked, why would he even be there?
I waited by those bars for as long as I could but he didn't show up.
I went day after day, every lunchtime for weeks.
He never came but Tess kept swearing he was there and talking.
Why was he talking to her and not me, his own damn father.
I can't even talk to my wife about this, she's stopped talking tome.
Come to think of it, she hasn't said a word in weeks.
She's been drawing more though, therapy or something... I might have a look at some.
She's been drawing him at that place.
Her notepad is like a flickbook of him pacing behind the bars.
His face is like nothing I've ever seen before.
It looks like him but he's never looked so angry before.
That's when the running started.
As I looked up from the drawing I saw him run past the office door.
I spent the rest of the day searching the whole house for him, every nook and cranny.
After that he came back at least once a day, I don't know where he goes or why.
Sometimes he leaves footprints though.
They lead to the spot in the back garden where we found his body.
He even leaves me notes every now and then.
Just to let me know he hasn't forgotten.
I was the last thing he saw after all.
20150119
Day 260
There are places where bodies are unexpected.
There are also places where they are expected.
A new body in such a place would not go amiss, especially if one wasn't looking.
It was early in the morning, the morgue staff were flitting in gradually.
The air, formerly filled with the scent of caffeine and fond greetings grew cold.
Seven bodies were sitting in the middle of the prep room.
They were talking, well as close to talking as they could.
Some of them had already had their mouths sewn shut, seems they tore that out.
It was near impossible to understand what any of them were saying.
Those that were fresher were more vigorous in their gestures and garbled speech.
The morgue staff quietly retreated to the staffroom, closing the prep door behind them.
They never heard the the bodies say all clear and they certainly didn't hear the sighs of relief.
By the time the staff returned to the prep room they found it empty.
Every body was gone, every single one.
The police refused to believe their stories of "the living dead".
Such a shame none of them noticed that there were more bodies than their prep room could hold.
If you look carefully there are always extra bodies.
After all, what better way to steal a corpse than by becoming one?
20150118
Day 259
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
Aren't they just lovely?
So fresh and sumptuous, better than those cheap knock-offs.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
Each one is unique, taken so carefully.
Treasures almost, but for the screams.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
The rules here are simple: keep the factory stocked.
The Movement must be maintained.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
If you look to your left you'll see the corrals being cleaned.
The stock have a tendency to bash against them.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
Oh no it's not from fear, we remove that part of their brains at birth.
Completely painless, they just get so excited coming through they just lash out.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
We'll skip out the gory bit, I know you were eager to see it but management rules.
Now, don't lean too far over or you'll fall in! Haha!
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
Now that our tour is near the end we'll be meeting the factory mascot - John the Human!
Doesn't he look funny with all that pink hairy skin, he's modelled after our own stock you know.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
See the meat hooks swaying low.
All to the Big House, all we go.
See them swaying to and fro.
Aren't they just lovely?
So fresh and sumptuous, better than those cheap knock-offs.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
Each one is unique, taken so carefully.
Treasures almost, but for the screams.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
The rules here are simple: keep the factory stocked.
The Movement must be maintained.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
If you look to your left you'll see the corrals being cleaned.
The stock have a tendency to bash against them.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
Oh no it's not from fear, we remove that part of their brains at birth.
Completely painless, they just get so excited coming through they just lash out.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
We'll skip out the gory bit, I know you were eager to see it but management rules.
Now, don't lean too far over or you'll fall in! Haha!
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
Now that our tour is near the end we'll be meeting the factory mascot - John the Human!
Doesn't he look funny with all that pink hairy skin, he's modelled after our own stock you know.
Round and round and round they go.
See them swaying to and fro.
See the meat hooks swaying low.
All to the Big House, all we go.
20150117
Day 258
Her ceiling wasn't usually covered with doors in varying states of openness.
Neither were her walls and yet somehow her house was this distorted turmoil.
Nobody else could see the doors, even though they appeared on the photos she took.
After her original panic she began to try a different approach to her new décor.
Exploration.
At first when she tried to approach the doors with intent to open them, they all shut at once
with a near deafening series of slamming as her entire house sealed itself off from her.
Yet when she stopped focusing on them, they all began to gradually open.
She decided to set up cheap webcams around the place just in case it was possible to see
what was on the other side of them, if anything at all.
The following morning she checked the cameras.
She expected something like her all or more doors behind the open doors.
As she sped the footage up, wanting to get through 8 hours fairly quickly, she saw little flickers
of movement coming from the doors.
Taking the footage to her laptop she managed to slow it down until she saw what the movement was.
Or rather, whom.
The figures all resembled her grandmother, if her grandmother had insectish legs and was dark red all over.
Whatever they were, they scuttled all around her house, pouring from the open doors like a flood.
It took her a while to realise... they came out... and never went back in.
Or rather, whom.
The figures all resembled her grandmother, if her grandmother had insectish legs and was dark red all over.
Whatever they were, they scuttled all around her house, pouring from the open doors like a flood.
It took her a while to realise... they came out... and never went back in.
20150116
Day 257
It was one of the greatest storms of our time.
Lightning struck the ground nearly every second.
Somehow (though it's scientifically impossible) it brought the dead back.
Some rejoiced, others attacked.
Now we've reached a standstill and the dead roam the streets freely.
We can't really kill them and their state of constant decay means we refuse to live with them.
Eventually whatever's been keeping them alive wears off and we gather up their parts to bury.
Strange to think these were once our loved ones.
We don't think of them like that anymore, they barely look human.
I've never said it aloud but my late husband was one of the rising.
He was murdered... by me.
So far nobody's found out - they never suspected the abuse I faced behind closed doors.
He left me no choice.
When I saw him among the crown of the rising that remained by their graves I knew I had to act.
They don't speak often but they still can.
I couldn't have him tell anyone what had happened, even if it was years ago it's still murder.
He had to go, plain and simple... but how do you kill the dead?
My plan was thus - lure him away from the rest or lure them all apart and strike him down.
I figured that if I cut out his tongue and lower jaw he'd never be able to talk.
I had this all worked out, after weeks of planning and waiting I arrived at night and he saw me.
He turned around and bent down to pick something up off his grave and hid it behind his back.
Not taking any chances I played out my distraction - fireworks.
It worked, every risen shuffled out and onto the street to get a better look at the lights.
I took my chance, signalled for him to follow me and he did, hands still behind him.
As soon as we were far enough away I took my serrated kitchen knife and grabbed his lower jaw.
It took some effort but he wasn't trying to stop me.
He just stood there with his hands behind his back.
So calmly.
When I'd finished cutting away his jaw and tongue I placed them in a bag to burn later.
As I turned to leave he tapped me on my shoulder.
His drew his hands towards me, a bouquet of my favourite flowers in them and a note attached.
It read:
I understand, how could I have treated you like that?
Please forgive me, love.
Now he lives in my back garden, he's a changed man for sure.
For the better.
Til death us do part.
Lightning struck the ground nearly every second.
Somehow (though it's scientifically impossible) it brought the dead back.
Some rejoiced, others attacked.
Now we've reached a standstill and the dead roam the streets freely.
We can't really kill them and their state of constant decay means we refuse to live with them.
Eventually whatever's been keeping them alive wears off and we gather up their parts to bury.
Strange to think these were once our loved ones.
We don't think of them like that anymore, they barely look human.
I've never said it aloud but my late husband was one of the rising.
He was murdered... by me.
So far nobody's found out - they never suspected the abuse I faced behind closed doors.
He left me no choice.
When I saw him among the crown of the rising that remained by their graves I knew I had to act.
They don't speak often but they still can.
I couldn't have him tell anyone what had happened, even if it was years ago it's still murder.
He had to go, plain and simple... but how do you kill the dead?
My plan was thus - lure him away from the rest or lure them all apart and strike him down.
I figured that if I cut out his tongue and lower jaw he'd never be able to talk.
I had this all worked out, after weeks of planning and waiting I arrived at night and he saw me.
He turned around and bent down to pick something up off his grave and hid it behind his back.
Not taking any chances I played out my distraction - fireworks.
It worked, every risen shuffled out and onto the street to get a better look at the lights.
I took my chance, signalled for him to follow me and he did, hands still behind him.
As soon as we were far enough away I took my serrated kitchen knife and grabbed his lower jaw.
It took some effort but he wasn't trying to stop me.
He just stood there with his hands behind his back.
So calmly.
When I'd finished cutting away his jaw and tongue I placed them in a bag to burn later.
As I turned to leave he tapped me on my shoulder.
His drew his hands towards me, a bouquet of my favourite flowers in them and a note attached.
It read:
I understand, how could I have treated you like that?
Please forgive me, love.
Now he lives in my back garden, he's a changed man for sure.
For the better.
Til death us do part.
20150115
Day 256
When I was a kid I always worried about our glass back door.
At night all you could see was a door shaped void.
I remember going down one night to get a drink, I must have been about five.
Everything was dark downstairs except for the small sliver of light coming from
under the living room door where my parents were watching TV.
Sneaking past them I made it to the kitchen and turned on the extractor light on.
It was still pretty dark but I could see enough to get my drink.
I was just grabbing a glass when I saw something black and spindly creeping along the window,
like dozens of spider legs.
Quickly, I skittered over to the hallway cupboard and grabbed the big torch.
As I shone it outside I saw that all of the tiny black strands were hair.
I moved the torch further right and saw a woman's face.
Her head was enormous, bigger than my entire torso and she looked so angry.
She began mouthing words at me, I had no idea what she was saying but I ran.
I went to bed and cowered under the sheets for the rest of the night.
I must have dozed off some time that night, the next thing I remember it was morning.
My mum was angry that I'd left the light on.
As she was talking I realised what the huge woman had been mouthing.
Go sleep outside.
That night, curiosity kept me awake and I decided to go downstairs again and try to talk to Her.
I figured that if I sat on the kitchen counter I could crack open the window and remain out of reach.
So I did.
The huge woman was already waiting.
She stopped looking angry as I climbed onto the counter and reached for the window.
Her hair began to climb in as I heard her speak wit my mum's voice.
You should be asleep.
Get out.
GET OUT
G E T O U T
Again I fled to my room and hid under the blankets.
Then I remembered that I hadn't closed the kitchen window.
I had to.
What if the huge woman came fully inside?
I took a deep breath and ran downstairs as quietly as possible.
She was still at the window, her hair crawling about the counter.
She hadn't seen me yet but she was looking, squinting through the glass for me.
I had an idea.
I rushed in, grabbed the kitchen scissors and cut her hair off.
She shrieked and as she fell back I closed and locked the window.
The next morning I heard my mum scream for dad to call the police.
They wouldn't let me downstairs or anywhere near the back of the house for months.
I didn't find out what had happened until I remembered this and searched up the date and
my address, the results shocked me.
A woman had been found dead in our garden, she'd somehow snuck over the fence.
What had shocked the news was her size, almost 8 feet.
Made me question, how much of those two nights had been real?
At night all you could see was a door shaped void.
I remember going down one night to get a drink, I must have been about five.
Everything was dark downstairs except for the small sliver of light coming from
under the living room door where my parents were watching TV.
Sneaking past them I made it to the kitchen and turned on the extractor light on.
It was still pretty dark but I could see enough to get my drink.
I was just grabbing a glass when I saw something black and spindly creeping along the window,
like dozens of spider legs.
Quickly, I skittered over to the hallway cupboard and grabbed the big torch.
As I shone it outside I saw that all of the tiny black strands were hair.
I moved the torch further right and saw a woman's face.
Her head was enormous, bigger than my entire torso and she looked so angry.
She began mouthing words at me, I had no idea what she was saying but I ran.
I went to bed and cowered under the sheets for the rest of the night.
I must have dozed off some time that night, the next thing I remember it was morning.
My mum was angry that I'd left the light on.
As she was talking I realised what the huge woman had been mouthing.
Go sleep outside.
That night, curiosity kept me awake and I decided to go downstairs again and try to talk to Her.
I figured that if I sat on the kitchen counter I could crack open the window and remain out of reach.
So I did.
The huge woman was already waiting.
She stopped looking angry as I climbed onto the counter and reached for the window.
Her hair began to climb in as I heard her speak wit my mum's voice.
You should be asleep.
Get out.
GET OUT
G E T O U T
Again I fled to my room and hid under the blankets.
Then I remembered that I hadn't closed the kitchen window.
I had to.
What if the huge woman came fully inside?
I took a deep breath and ran downstairs as quietly as possible.
She was still at the window, her hair crawling about the counter.
She hadn't seen me yet but she was looking, squinting through the glass for me.
I had an idea.
I rushed in, grabbed the kitchen scissors and cut her hair off.
She shrieked and as she fell back I closed and locked the window.
The next morning I heard my mum scream for dad to call the police.
They wouldn't let me downstairs or anywhere near the back of the house for months.
I didn't find out what had happened until I remembered this and searched up the date and
my address, the results shocked me.
A woman had been found dead in our garden, she'd somehow snuck over the fence.
What had shocked the news was her size, almost 8 feet.
Made me question, how much of those two nights had been real?
20150114
Day 255
They were always a pale shade of blue and he still didn't know why.
1 in 100 people can see this, not that they are always aware.
Doctors generally put it down to stress, or deteriorating vision.
Doesn't explain why whenever he sees someone blue, they die within minutes.
It certainly doesn't explain how nobody notices this or how they get up afterwards.
He's never spoken to them after they've come back, it isn't always safe to.
They look so much more alive when they come back.
So alive that they made the people around them look... grey... pallid...
He never wondered if he was alive - why would he?
Besides his ability to see the Blue Death (as the public had dubbed it), everything
else in his life was standard and uneventful.
And then his uncle came back from the Shetland Isles.
He'd always been fond of uncle Artie, the man was full of the most amazing
scientific sounding stories.
His recent return was no different.
This time uncle Max had information regarding the Blue Death and especially
relating to his visually gifted nephew.
"The thing," he said "about the Blue Death is that everyone is vulnerable... Even you."
He went on to say that the theories behind the sudden uprising on the presumed
hallucinations was that we were all soulless and the Blue Death was actually a new
soul entering us and giving us new life.
The more into his speech he got, the bluer uncle Max became.
Spit was flying from his mouth as his voice grew louder and louder until he was screeching
his message to the ceiling, eyes bulging out of their sockets.
As he thought things couldn't get worse, as uncle Max's voice began to break he saw it.
That faint glimmer, almost missable were it not hovering above his raving relative.
The Blue Death had come for uncle Max.
He'd never seen it this close before, too busy studying the way it gradually settles to notice
how uncle Max had stopped talking.
How his features were drooping and relaxed as his eyes rolled back.
His entire body slumped as the blue aura engulfed him.
He tried talking to his uncle, maybe he could still hear him?
He could.
His voice sounded metallic and far away, like talking into a tin can phone.
"It doesn't hurt," he muttered, sounding surprised, "I thought it would hurt but it feels... Warm."
After what seemed like forever, the blue glow sunk into him and faded to nothing.
Max lifted his head, squinted at his nephew and smiled too widely.
His teeth were pitch black.
"Look up, boy."
The ceiling was blue.
1 in 100 people can see this, not that they are always aware.
Doctors generally put it down to stress, or deteriorating vision.
Doesn't explain why whenever he sees someone blue, they die within minutes.
It certainly doesn't explain how nobody notices this or how they get up afterwards.
He's never spoken to them after they've come back, it isn't always safe to.
They look so much more alive when they come back.
So alive that they made the people around them look... grey... pallid...
He never wondered if he was alive - why would he?
Besides his ability to see the Blue Death (as the public had dubbed it), everything
else in his life was standard and uneventful.
And then his uncle came back from the Shetland Isles.
He'd always been fond of uncle Artie, the man was full of the most amazing
scientific sounding stories.
His recent return was no different.
This time uncle Max had information regarding the Blue Death and especially
relating to his visually gifted nephew.
"The thing," he said "about the Blue Death is that everyone is vulnerable... Even you."
He went on to say that the theories behind the sudden uprising on the presumed
hallucinations was that we were all soulless and the Blue Death was actually a new
soul entering us and giving us new life.
The more into his speech he got, the bluer uncle Max became.
Spit was flying from his mouth as his voice grew louder and louder until he was screeching
his message to the ceiling, eyes bulging out of their sockets.
As he thought things couldn't get worse, as uncle Max's voice began to break he saw it.
That faint glimmer, almost missable were it not hovering above his raving relative.
The Blue Death had come for uncle Max.
He'd never seen it this close before, too busy studying the way it gradually settles to notice
how uncle Max had stopped talking.
How his features were drooping and relaxed as his eyes rolled back.
His entire body slumped as the blue aura engulfed him.
He tried talking to his uncle, maybe he could still hear him?
He could.
His voice sounded metallic and far away, like talking into a tin can phone.
"It doesn't hurt," he muttered, sounding surprised, "I thought it would hurt but it feels... Warm."
After what seemed like forever, the blue glow sunk into him and faded to nothing.
Max lifted his head, squinted at his nephew and smiled too widely.
His teeth were pitch black.
"Look up, boy."
The ceiling was blue.
20150113
Day 254
The bridge was situated among tall hedges near train tracks.
It was an hour or so away from the town and generally undisturbed.
Nobody really went there apart from the occasional dog-walker.
Even then they never went near the bridge, it used to be a popular suicide spot.
The river flowing underneath looked calm and still but the current was brutal.
Never left survivors, it dragged them down never to be seen again.
Rumour had it there was a door under the bridge and it led to treasure hidden by
the old Catholic monks during the religious upheavals.
It was a popular thing in my old school, other kids would say that so-and-so had
gone down there and been chased away by a headless monk or something.
It was good for a laugh,or a scare, depending on how it was told.
The person who told it best was my old friend Ray.
He had this way with words that made it seem like he'd been there himself, no
matter what the story was he could make your blood freeze.
I wanted him to write this but he went missing nearly nine years back and hasn't
been seen since.
Don't know why but I thought that writing this story down might help me move on.
Humans value gold more than life.
For this reason the Carthusian monks at St Bruno's monastery built that bridge for
the sole purpose of hiding their lavish possessions from the destructive hands of the
protestant majority, it was intended as a last resort but soon became their only option.
It's said that after they filled the many rooms underneath with gold and richly bound
manuscripts they placed ancient latin curses on it to ward off would-be thieves.
Of course there's no proof of that, they hid the door behind bricks and sealed it good.
Still people are drawn there,drawn to the gold without even realising it.
They find themselves hunting around the area for some indescribable thing, something
precious and near the bridge
Nobody's found the entrance yet, the monks were slaughtered and any text or map
relating to it had long since been destroyed or lost.
But that didn't stop two friends, barely teens, from stumbling upon it.
They were just mucking about near the base, drawing on the side with chalks when one
of them pushed too hard on a stone and it cracked in half.
As they began to panic about having broken such an old bridge they noticed that where the
stone had fallen was an old iron handle.
Daring each other didn't work, they were both worried.
In the end they decided to go home, grab torches and come back to pull the handle together.
They didn't tell anybody else about this, if there was treasure then they wanted to discover it.
After a while, torches in hand they returned and with bated breath they yanked down on the
old handle as hard as their small arms could.
It took several attempts before it began to creak open, dislodging several other bricks as it went.
They were met with stale air as they walked inside, torches shining all around as they began
their search for whatever treasures lay within.
The room they were in was damp all around, seems the monks hadn't accounted for the rising
water levels over the years, there was a thin layer of water on the floor that made their foot-
steps echo in the otherwise near silent area.
The next room had mould covered books, each with a dusty but golden cover, heavily decorated.
There were several shelves of this alongside an equally adorned desk.
As they went deeper into the rooms they had yet to see any actual treasure, not the way their
young minds had envisioned it at least.
No gold coins, no jewels, not even a treasure chest, just books and scrolls.
The last room they came across had a door to it which was strange as none of the others did.
Again, it took both of them their full strength to budge it gradually open enough to slip inside.
Their roaming torch beams fell upon a skeleton dressed in brown cloth, it held a rosary between
its' hands, who'd have guessed they buried one of their own down there?
They certainly wouldn't have guessed it was guarding the place.
Its' neck cracked as it lifted its' head up to meet their torch beams and its' jaw began to open.
the younger boy shoved the older one down, ran to the door and pushed it closed with all his
might, all the while his friend was shrieking inside.
After a few minutes of frantic pounding on the door his screams were cut off by a sickening
crunch
And it went silent.
The young boy ran home and told his parents what happened but when they went to the bridge
they found it had collapsed entirely.
The other boy was never found, they assumed the river had swept his body away as it did to
many others before him and many more after.
I'm so sorry Ray.
It was an hour or so away from the town and generally undisturbed.
Nobody really went there apart from the occasional dog-walker.
Even then they never went near the bridge, it used to be a popular suicide spot.
The river flowing underneath looked calm and still but the current was brutal.
Never left survivors, it dragged them down never to be seen again.
Rumour had it there was a door under the bridge and it led to treasure hidden by
the old Catholic monks during the religious upheavals.
It was a popular thing in my old school, other kids would say that so-and-so had
gone down there and been chased away by a headless monk or something.
It was good for a laugh,or a scare, depending on how it was told.
The person who told it best was my old friend Ray.
He had this way with words that made it seem like he'd been there himself, no
matter what the story was he could make your blood freeze.
I wanted him to write this but he went missing nearly nine years back and hasn't
been seen since.
Don't know why but I thought that writing this story down might help me move on.
Humans value gold more than life.
For this reason the Carthusian monks at St Bruno's monastery built that bridge for
the sole purpose of hiding their lavish possessions from the destructive hands of the
protestant majority, it was intended as a last resort but soon became their only option.
It's said that after they filled the many rooms underneath with gold and richly bound
manuscripts they placed ancient latin curses on it to ward off would-be thieves.
Of course there's no proof of that, they hid the door behind bricks and sealed it good.
Still people are drawn there,drawn to the gold without even realising it.
They find themselves hunting around the area for some indescribable thing, something
precious and near the bridge
Nobody's found the entrance yet, the monks were slaughtered and any text or map
relating to it had long since been destroyed or lost.
But that didn't stop two friends, barely teens, from stumbling upon it.
They were just mucking about near the base, drawing on the side with chalks when one
of them pushed too hard on a stone and it cracked in half.
As they began to panic about having broken such an old bridge they noticed that where the
stone had fallen was an old iron handle.
Daring each other didn't work, they were both worried.
In the end they decided to go home, grab torches and come back to pull the handle together.
They didn't tell anybody else about this, if there was treasure then they wanted to discover it.
After a while, torches in hand they returned and with bated breath they yanked down on the
old handle as hard as their small arms could.
It took several attempts before it began to creak open, dislodging several other bricks as it went.
They were met with stale air as they walked inside, torches shining all around as they began
their search for whatever treasures lay within.
The room they were in was damp all around, seems the monks hadn't accounted for the rising
water levels over the years, there was a thin layer of water on the floor that made their foot-
steps echo in the otherwise near silent area.
The next room had mould covered books, each with a dusty but golden cover, heavily decorated.
There were several shelves of this alongside an equally adorned desk.
As they went deeper into the rooms they had yet to see any actual treasure, not the way their
young minds had envisioned it at least.
No gold coins, no jewels, not even a treasure chest, just books and scrolls.
The last room they came across had a door to it which was strange as none of the others did.
Again, it took both of them their full strength to budge it gradually open enough to slip inside.
Their roaming torch beams fell upon a skeleton dressed in brown cloth, it held a rosary between
its' hands, who'd have guessed they buried one of their own down there?
They certainly wouldn't have guessed it was guarding the place.
Its' neck cracked as it lifted its' head up to meet their torch beams and its' jaw began to open.
the younger boy shoved the older one down, ran to the door and pushed it closed with all his
might, all the while his friend was shrieking inside.
After a few minutes of frantic pounding on the door his screams were cut off by a sickening
crunch
And it went silent.
The young boy ran home and told his parents what happened but when they went to the bridge
they found it had collapsed entirely.
The other boy was never found, they assumed the river had swept his body away as it did to
many others before him and many more after.
I'm so sorry Ray.
20150112
Day 253
She gasped as he bucked underneath her.
His hands grasped at the air, wrists bleeding from too-tight handcuffs.
He jolted as she suddenly twisted the knife embedded in his windpipe.
As his struggling began to cease, her laughter grew.
Things don't always end as they begin.
"Darling, your hand is colder than usual. Are you alright?"
He rubbed her arm, trying to bring the warmth back.
She could only watch as her husband cradles her arm from across the room.
Her body lay in the back garden where he'd ambushed her.
Words are string and as they progress the tale unravels.
"Oh I love your new shoes!"
"They're real leather, my husband made them"
Shame there wasn't enough of him to make a matching bag.
At least she wouldn't have to worry about dinner for a week or so.
Everything we say is two-sided.
His hands grasped at the air, wrists bleeding from too-tight handcuffs.
He jolted as she suddenly twisted the knife embedded in his windpipe.
As his struggling began to cease, her laughter grew.
Things don't always end as they begin.
"Darling, your hand is colder than usual. Are you alright?"
He rubbed her arm, trying to bring the warmth back.
She could only watch as her husband cradles her arm from across the room.
Her body lay in the back garden where he'd ambushed her.
Words are string and as they progress the tale unravels.
"Oh I love your new shoes!"
"They're real leather, my husband made them"
Shame there wasn't enough of him to make a matching bag.
At least she wouldn't have to worry about dinner for a week or so.
Everything we say is two-sided.
20150111
Day 252
They found a body in the nearby woods.
It happens from time to time and nobody can figure it out.
Within the last twenty years or so human remains have been discovered in those woods
all with the same cause of death - high impact trauma, cause unknown.
Police reckon it's some kind of serial killer as all of the remains include a right arm holding
a train ticket dating back to the mid 1800s.
They're calling it "the train wreck murders".
The woods were normally fenced off to deter people from entering.
Chain fence, barbed wire, CCTV - the works.
Somehow people were still getting in so guards were hired.
They were supposed to patrol the borders at set places where the fencing was weakest
but they'd dare each other to go inside.
One unfortunate guard by the name of Mason accepted such a dare.
He had to go to the latest body scene and take a photo laying down next to the chalk outline.
It wasn't too far from his usual patrol and he'd gotten one of the lads to give him a leg over
the fence, promising to buy them a beer if they waited for him to get back.
It was darker than he expected, the trees were densely packed together and hard to navigate.
Finding the body was easy at least, the forensics team was packing up still and their lights
shone like a beacon in the underbrush.
Luckily the team was relaxed enough to let him finish his dare and, phone in hand, he headed back.
He stumbled a lot, was the ground this uneven on the way over or was he just high on nerves
from posing next to bloody ground where most of a person was found.
Eventually he fell over entirely, his arm slamming into something...metal?
Why was there metal in the woods?
Feeling around for his phone he swiped for his torch app and shone it at whatever he'd hit.
It was a train line, how could there be a train line in the middle of a forest?
There had never been a train here as far as he knew, maybe it had something to do with the
murders?
If he could get to the source maybe he could catch the killer and get famous!
Plan set he followed the line, wading through the underbrush and occasionally having to walk
around large swathes of bramble and other vegetation.
The tracks seemed to go on far beyond the woods limit, it could just be the dark playing tricks
with his mind.
A few minutes later he found a second set of tracks running parallel to the first and widening slightly.
He began to hear a rhythmic noise somewhere in front of him.
The second he stepped off the tracks a large train came hurtling past, knocking him off balance and
nearly onto the tracks.
As he got his breath back, panting and shaking beside the line he saw faint lights out of the corner
of his eye.
He turned his head and saw a train station that looked like it came from a Dickens' book.
People stood on the platform dressed old fashioned and all in the same shade of grey.
He got up, deciding to try and talk to them, was this some kind of cult or prank?
The second his foot touched the platform all of their heads whirled to face him and he found
himself turning away from them.
Something grabbed his legs, walked him onto the tracks and held him there.
He didn't even have time to scream, the train was too fast.
They found him two weeks later, his legs torn to shreds, his face crushed beyond recognition.
A train ticket in his right hand dating back almost 200 years.
It happens from time to time and nobody can figure it out.
Within the last twenty years or so human remains have been discovered in those woods
all with the same cause of death - high impact trauma, cause unknown.
Police reckon it's some kind of serial killer as all of the remains include a right arm holding
a train ticket dating back to the mid 1800s.
They're calling it "the train wreck murders".
The woods were normally fenced off to deter people from entering.
Chain fence, barbed wire, CCTV - the works.
Somehow people were still getting in so guards were hired.
They were supposed to patrol the borders at set places where the fencing was weakest
but they'd dare each other to go inside.
One unfortunate guard by the name of Mason accepted such a dare.
He had to go to the latest body scene and take a photo laying down next to the chalk outline.
It wasn't too far from his usual patrol and he'd gotten one of the lads to give him a leg over
the fence, promising to buy them a beer if they waited for him to get back.
It was darker than he expected, the trees were densely packed together and hard to navigate.
Finding the body was easy at least, the forensics team was packing up still and their lights
shone like a beacon in the underbrush.
Luckily the team was relaxed enough to let him finish his dare and, phone in hand, he headed back.
He stumbled a lot, was the ground this uneven on the way over or was he just high on nerves
from posing next to bloody ground where most of a person was found.
Eventually he fell over entirely, his arm slamming into something...metal?
Why was there metal in the woods?
Feeling around for his phone he swiped for his torch app and shone it at whatever he'd hit.
It was a train line, how could there be a train line in the middle of a forest?
There had never been a train here as far as he knew, maybe it had something to do with the
murders?
If he could get to the source maybe he could catch the killer and get famous!
Plan set he followed the line, wading through the underbrush and occasionally having to walk
around large swathes of bramble and other vegetation.
The tracks seemed to go on far beyond the woods limit, it could just be the dark playing tricks
with his mind.
A few minutes later he found a second set of tracks running parallel to the first and widening slightly.
He began to hear a rhythmic noise somewhere in front of him.
The second he stepped off the tracks a large train came hurtling past, knocking him off balance and
nearly onto the tracks.
As he got his breath back, panting and shaking beside the line he saw faint lights out of the corner
of his eye.
He turned his head and saw a train station that looked like it came from a Dickens' book.
People stood on the platform dressed old fashioned and all in the same shade of grey.
He got up, deciding to try and talk to them, was this some kind of cult or prank?
The second his foot touched the platform all of their heads whirled to face him and he found
himself turning away from them.
Something grabbed his legs, walked him onto the tracks and held him there.
He didn't even have time to scream, the train was too fast.
They found him two weeks later, his legs torn to shreds, his face crushed beyond recognition.
A train ticket in his right hand dating back almost 200 years.
20150110
Day 251
When they tore up the old dining room carpet they found a door underneath.
Not one of those old movie-style ones, it was more like a wooden slab painted to look like a door.
There didn't seem to be any way to use it - there was no handle, but it had hinges about an inch
from the skirting.
When they tapped on the surface they heard the sound reverberate, there must be a basement.
The home owners planned to call someone in to open it without damaging the floor around it.
After phone calls were made and a time set out for three days time they postponed the new
carpet and left the dining room alone for the time being.
That night however, their dreams were filled with images of spindly white arms opening the
door from the other side, screaming and howling in was no human ever could.
They awoke panting and gasping, both rushing to the dining room.
The door lay as it had the previous afternoon, still unopenable.
Nothing had changed in the room but something about it felt different.
Frantic phone calls were made the next day but the carpenter they'd booked was unavailable
until the set date, doing it for themselves was entirely out of the question.
So they shut the door leading to the dining room and (just in case) they blocked it with a chair.
Feeling safer they resumed their lives as normally as they could with that room out of use.
The dreams came back that night, the same pale skeletal arms pushing the door open, the same
howling and screeching.
This time, however the arms stretched towards the door they'd closed, they stretched unbelievably
long with their emaciated hands scrabbling and failing to open it.
Once again the dreamers both woke up hyperventilating and afraid.
As they checked the dining room door they saw that the chair had been pushed to one side.
They goaded each other into moving closer, inching near and nearer.
As their hands touched the doorknob it rattled and the whole door shook as though something
on the other side of it was trying to break out.
The couple sprinted to the hallway phone and called the police, somehow someone had gotten
into their house and was trying to rob them.
When the police arrived however, the dining room was empty, the windows were all intact and
the door on the ground remained as passive and sealed as it was when they first found it.
They joked it had been rats, embarrassed that their imagination had gotten so away with them.
Still, they were unsettled by what happened and refused to sleep that night.
They camped out in the dining room instead, armed with kitchen knives just in case.
Around two in the morning the door on the ground began to open.
Next door had phoned the police in, said they'd heard screaming coming from the house over.
They found a woman sitting in a hole in the ground in a dining area, a wooden plank lay beside her.
She was covered in blood and shivering, the man who lived with her was nowhere to be seen.
She would only say two things.
It was never a dream.
The doors surround us.
20150109
Day 250
Mam called them faerie houses.
There were fields and fields of them, these concrete slabs shaped like roofs.
Me and my friends used to play there all the time when we were kids.
Used to try to get into them too, the grown-ups told us off every time.
They said it was disrespectful but they never said why.
Me and my best friend Paula thought we'd find out.
We slept over at hers (which was right on the edge of the big field) and waited til night.
Her nan said faeries would come out at night to dance and we'd been looking forward to it.
We wound up Paula's old alarm clock and hid it under her pillow so it wouldn't wake
everyone else up, we didn't want them stopping us from dancing with faeries after all.
We snuck out around 11PM when everyone else was dead to the world.
The field seemed smaller at night, the houses looked closer together and somehow bigger.
Paula walked ahead of me as she had the torch.
I remember telling her to turn it off and wait with me on the field's far edge.
If we were to see fae, we should sit in the dark so we don't scare them.
Honestly I have no idea how long we waited there but they did come.
They gracefully rose out of the little houses and floated about the air like stars.
There was something not right about them, I couldn't place it but Paula did.
She saw her granda' out there, twirling with a lady whose head was on backwards.
We thought maybe one of them was a faerie, they had to be here somewhere.
Walking towards the floating, glowing people, we began to search for Paula's granda'
We wanted an explanation and he'd always been nice.
He was still dancing with the woman whose head was on the wrong way and was very
angry to see us there, he didn't say anything but we felt hands pushing us away.
They didn't want us there.
When we got back to Paula's room we went back to sleep,what else could we have done?
We woke up to the sound of Paula's mam screaming bloody murder downstairs.
There was one of the faerie houses in the living room.
It was where Paula's da' usually sat.
His slippers were at the bottom of it.
We didn't get to hear what happened until we were a lot older.
The "faerie houses" were graves.
Our town didn't exactly bury people cause they thought their souls wouldn't move on then.
So they were covered in soil and the stone slabs were placed all around so animals didn't eat them.
I'm still not sure what we saw.
There were fields and fields of them, these concrete slabs shaped like roofs.
Me and my friends used to play there all the time when we were kids.
Used to try to get into them too, the grown-ups told us off every time.
They said it was disrespectful but they never said why.
Me and my best friend Paula thought we'd find out.
We slept over at hers (which was right on the edge of the big field) and waited til night.
Her nan said faeries would come out at night to dance and we'd been looking forward to it.
We wound up Paula's old alarm clock and hid it under her pillow so it wouldn't wake
everyone else up, we didn't want them stopping us from dancing with faeries after all.
We snuck out around 11PM when everyone else was dead to the world.
The field seemed smaller at night, the houses looked closer together and somehow bigger.
Paula walked ahead of me as she had the torch.
I remember telling her to turn it off and wait with me on the field's far edge.
If we were to see fae, we should sit in the dark so we don't scare them.
Honestly I have no idea how long we waited there but they did come.
They gracefully rose out of the little houses and floated about the air like stars.
There was something not right about them, I couldn't place it but Paula did.
She saw her granda' out there, twirling with a lady whose head was on backwards.
We thought maybe one of them was a faerie, they had to be here somewhere.
Walking towards the floating, glowing people, we began to search for Paula's granda'
We wanted an explanation and he'd always been nice.
He was still dancing with the woman whose head was on the wrong way and was very
angry to see us there, he didn't say anything but we felt hands pushing us away.
They didn't want us there.
When we got back to Paula's room we went back to sleep,what else could we have done?
We woke up to the sound of Paula's mam screaming bloody murder downstairs.
There was one of the faerie houses in the living room.
It was where Paula's da' usually sat.
His slippers were at the bottom of it.
We didn't get to hear what happened until we were a lot older.
The "faerie houses" were graves.
Our town didn't exactly bury people cause they thought their souls wouldn't move on then.
So they were covered in soil and the stone slabs were placed all around so animals didn't eat them.
I'm still not sure what we saw.
20150108
Day 249
I died just behind my house you know.
Got shot by some guy, never found out who he was until recent.
He comes back here frequently, he might have moved in.
I'm not sure... seeing what the living do is hazy sometimes, like looking at the world through soup.
Mostly I spend my days pacing the garden, occasionally peering into the house.
Every now-and-then I even walk inside.
Not for long though... hurts to be away from my death area.
I say hello to the spirit inside the house, they wave or smile.
It's almost peaceful being here, apart from my killer living there of course.
Last week, the other soul and I met on the stairs.
Neither of us like the people living there and we want them gone.
We agree on a lot of things, it's nice.
Except that we disagree about the house.
See, the other guy thinks that if we destroy our death area our souls can "move on".
He has no idea where we'd go or if it would actually work, he's just desperate to leave.
As a compromise we both started trying to move things but for very different reasons.
I want to kill the people living there, he wants to destroy the whole house.
Made me wonder, could a spirit hurt another spirit?
He was a curious fella so he agreed to test in between our joint efforts to poltergeist.
I could grab him but not pull him, like he was fixed in place and could only move if he chose to.
The same was for me when he tried to shove me, I felt an impact but it was...soft?
It's hard to describe, pushing is like a stiff breeze and grabbing is a bracelet.
The final attempt was a success.
You simply have to think about what you're doing.
Before he fully realised what had happened I'd already torn his arms off.
His head went next, no mess and no noise.
Then he evaporated into nothingness.
I thought he'd be happy having moved on.
Turns out it isn't that simple.
God was he angry when he came back.
Refused to look at me or go near me, he just kept vanishing and reappearing.
I decided my attentions were better suited to moving things and trying to remove the living ones.
He was a quicker learner, managed to beat me to it.
Burnt the whole house down and stood there smiling as he held onto the living by their throats.
when he was sure they were also dead he focused on keeping the fire going, still determined to
destroy everything and battling quite well against the emergency services.
In the end they won and the fire was put out.
As expected there was a lot of sobbing, news crews and the like and it was so tragic the whole
family had died holding hands so hard they'd fused together.
The other spirit is still here, taught me how to start fires.
We've been targeting gas pipes under the ground just to see what will happen.
Most of the area's abandoned now, it's so peaceful.
Well it would be if the other ghosts would leave me be.
Especially the man who killed me.
No matter how many times I tear off his head he just keeps coming back.
I'll get him though, I have an eternity to figure it out and plenty of test subjects.
Got shot by some guy, never found out who he was until recent.
He comes back here frequently, he might have moved in.
I'm not sure... seeing what the living do is hazy sometimes, like looking at the world through soup.
Mostly I spend my days pacing the garden, occasionally peering into the house.
Every now-and-then I even walk inside.
Not for long though... hurts to be away from my death area.
I say hello to the spirit inside the house, they wave or smile.
It's almost peaceful being here, apart from my killer living there of course.
Last week, the other soul and I met on the stairs.
Neither of us like the people living there and we want them gone.
We agree on a lot of things, it's nice.
Except that we disagree about the house.
See, the other guy thinks that if we destroy our death area our souls can "move on".
He has no idea where we'd go or if it would actually work, he's just desperate to leave.
As a compromise we both started trying to move things but for very different reasons.
I want to kill the people living there, he wants to destroy the whole house.
Made me wonder, could a spirit hurt another spirit?
He was a curious fella so he agreed to test in between our joint efforts to poltergeist.
I could grab him but not pull him, like he was fixed in place and could only move if he chose to.
The same was for me when he tried to shove me, I felt an impact but it was...soft?
It's hard to describe, pushing is like a stiff breeze and grabbing is a bracelet.
The final attempt was a success.
You simply have to think about what you're doing.
Before he fully realised what had happened I'd already torn his arms off.
His head went next, no mess and no noise.
Then he evaporated into nothingness.
I thought he'd be happy having moved on.
Turns out it isn't that simple.
God was he angry when he came back.
Refused to look at me or go near me, he just kept vanishing and reappearing.
I decided my attentions were better suited to moving things and trying to remove the living ones.
He was a quicker learner, managed to beat me to it.
Burnt the whole house down and stood there smiling as he held onto the living by their throats.
when he was sure they were also dead he focused on keeping the fire going, still determined to
destroy everything and battling quite well against the emergency services.
In the end they won and the fire was put out.
As expected there was a lot of sobbing, news crews and the like and it was so tragic the whole
family had died holding hands so hard they'd fused together.
The other spirit is still here, taught me how to start fires.
We've been targeting gas pipes under the ground just to see what will happen.
Most of the area's abandoned now, it's so peaceful.
Well it would be if the other ghosts would leave me be.
Especially the man who killed me.
No matter how many times I tear off his head he just keeps coming back.
I'll get him though, I have an eternity to figure it out and plenty of test subjects.
20150107
Day 248
So my film came back in the post.
None of the photos quite matched what I remember taking.
The sky was dark red and everything in frame was covered in a thick layer of red dust.
And that was just the start of it.
The people in the photos didn't look right, not even my face looked like me.
Everyone's eyes were pitch black and their necks looked askew somehow.
I checked the negatives, just in case they were normal and someone was just pranking me.
They were worse than the photos.
Every image had the same distorted, bulbous face covering most of the image.
In some frames its' head stuck out, completely overlapping the edges in a way no photo
should be able to.
It was practically coming out of the film altogether!
The last frame showed a blank scene that looked something like a desert.
The face wasn't there.
I went to the kitchen to show my parents the disturbing images.
They weren't exactly there, they were just half formed imprints on the floor.
I heard faint giggling at the window and saw it.
That wretched bulbous face was pressed against the kitchen window, grinning in at me.
Blood was smeared around its' mouth and it held a beating heart in its' hand.
With the other it began to write something on the glass, never breaking eye contact with me.
s̳͇̘͍M̙̪͖̖̻i͡L͢e̸͙͖͚ ͓̬͍̭̩̳͇͠S̟̀w̹͓̟͖̙̭ͅḘ͓̥̤̯e̗͉̙̝̲͚̝͠T̨͕̙͎̪͕̱̞h̼̥͉̜E̙̤̥̞̭͓̱a̞͎̭͡Ŗ̪̙̲͓t̹̼͙̫͍͟
None of the photos quite matched what I remember taking.
The sky was dark red and everything in frame was covered in a thick layer of red dust.
And that was just the start of it.
The people in the photos didn't look right, not even my face looked like me.
Everyone's eyes were pitch black and their necks looked askew somehow.
I checked the negatives, just in case they were normal and someone was just pranking me.
They were worse than the photos.
Every image had the same distorted, bulbous face covering most of the image.
In some frames its' head stuck out, completely overlapping the edges in a way no photo
should be able to.
It was practically coming out of the film altogether!
The last frame showed a blank scene that looked something like a desert.
The face wasn't there.
I went to the kitchen to show my parents the disturbing images.
They weren't exactly there, they were just half formed imprints on the floor.
I heard faint giggling at the window and saw it.
That wretched bulbous face was pressed against the kitchen window, grinning in at me.
Blood was smeared around its' mouth and it held a beating heart in its' hand.
With the other it began to write something on the glass, never breaking eye contact with me.
s̳͇̘͍M̙̪͖̖̻i͡L͢e̸͙͖͚ ͓̬͍̭̩̳͇͠S̟̀w̹͓̟͖̙̭ͅḘ͓̥̤̯e̗͉̙̝̲͚̝͠T̨͕̙͎̪͕̱̞h̼̥͉̜E̙̤̥̞̭͓̱a̞͎̭͡Ŗ̪̙̲͓t̹̼͙̫͍͟
20150106
Day 247
There were bars on the cave and nobody knew why.
The locals would say "demons" this and "gateway to the underworld" that.
They never let anyone in, it was for the dead only.
Didn't stop the curious few who never seemed to go far in but always came out aged.
The view of the cave is said to be breathtaking from the inside.
The horizon seems to extend forever, gently mingling over the forest below.
It was this combined with terrifying legend that inspired the young trio to go further
than everyone else.
Sienna, Jaye and Tara went in around midday armed with a GPS tracker as proof
and enough batteries to power a torch factory, let alone their small plastic lights.
The gate was usually unlocked, the stories were supposed to be enough of a deterrent.
It looked disappointingly normal inside, bit damp but it was a cave so they expected it.
Nothing stood out as particularly "evil" or "underworld-like".
There was the occasional graffiti tag that repeated throughout the cave, seems someone
went quite far in before them.
They just had to get deeper than that tag and write their own somehow.
As they went in deeper the cave began to get bigger, darker and much colder.
After what seemed like hours the cave became a cavern and the wet walls expanded
to become tiny red streams (the cave had copper or something, Jaye reckoned).
It was pitch black, eventually they were ankle deep in the reddish water, treading carefully
in case it suddenly got deeper.
Their torches were kept pointing at the floor, not that is showed much besides rocks.
Deeper and deeper they went, not noticing the floors gradual incline until the ankle-level
water began tugging at their feet as it flowed down.
They noticed that there were no tags anywhere at this point and the GPS tracker said they
were almost four miles in which seemed awfully short for how long they'd been going.
As a group they decided to go to five miles, surely the cave wasn't that deep?
According to the internet it was only supposed to be 2 and a half miles deep so they could
show everyone that it went way past that.
Just as they began to tire of walking up an increasingly steep incline, it sharply levelled off
to a plateau.
The ceiling was littered with small holes that filled the medium sized chamber with dim light
revealing what looked to be an old well right at the centre covered with red moss and overflowing.
Seems they found the source of the red river that flowed through the place.
Stepping round the well they saw eight chairs lining the back wall.
Each chair had a skeleton seated, heads tilted towards the well, hands holding a single cup.
Their GPS tracker now said they were twelve miles in.
Dismissing it as broken they began to dare each other to take a cup and drink from the well.
Eventually they all took one and drank on the count of three.
None of them were seen again.
The authorities were too superstitious to look into it.
After eight months a phone was found at the entrance of the cave, though everyone denies it.
Still, if you ask in the right pub late at night they'll tell you about the photos they found.
The girls' heads in red water, smiling with far more teeth than is humanly possible.
Their bodies sitting on stone chairs, heads on their laps facing something behind the camera.
The view from the cave, half covered by a skeletal hand.
The locals would say "demons" this and "gateway to the underworld" that.
They never let anyone in, it was for the dead only.
Didn't stop the curious few who never seemed to go far in but always came out aged.
The view of the cave is said to be breathtaking from the inside.
The horizon seems to extend forever, gently mingling over the forest below.
It was this combined with terrifying legend that inspired the young trio to go further
than everyone else.
Sienna, Jaye and Tara went in around midday armed with a GPS tracker as proof
and enough batteries to power a torch factory, let alone their small plastic lights.
The gate was usually unlocked, the stories were supposed to be enough of a deterrent.
It looked disappointingly normal inside, bit damp but it was a cave so they expected it.
Nothing stood out as particularly "evil" or "underworld-like".
There was the occasional graffiti tag that repeated throughout the cave, seems someone
went quite far in before them.
They just had to get deeper than that tag and write their own somehow.
As they went in deeper the cave began to get bigger, darker and much colder.
After what seemed like hours the cave became a cavern and the wet walls expanded
to become tiny red streams (the cave had copper or something, Jaye reckoned).
It was pitch black, eventually they were ankle deep in the reddish water, treading carefully
in case it suddenly got deeper.
Their torches were kept pointing at the floor, not that is showed much besides rocks.
Deeper and deeper they went, not noticing the floors gradual incline until the ankle-level
water began tugging at their feet as it flowed down.
They noticed that there were no tags anywhere at this point and the GPS tracker said they
were almost four miles in which seemed awfully short for how long they'd been going.
As a group they decided to go to five miles, surely the cave wasn't that deep?
According to the internet it was only supposed to be 2 and a half miles deep so they could
show everyone that it went way past that.
Just as they began to tire of walking up an increasingly steep incline, it sharply levelled off
to a plateau.
The ceiling was littered with small holes that filled the medium sized chamber with dim light
revealing what looked to be an old well right at the centre covered with red moss and overflowing.
Seems they found the source of the red river that flowed through the place.
Stepping round the well they saw eight chairs lining the back wall.
Each chair had a skeleton seated, heads tilted towards the well, hands holding a single cup.
Their GPS tracker now said they were twelve miles in.
Dismissing it as broken they began to dare each other to take a cup and drink from the well.
Eventually they all took one and drank on the count of three.
None of them were seen again.
The authorities were too superstitious to look into it.
After eight months a phone was found at the entrance of the cave, though everyone denies it.
Still, if you ask in the right pub late at night they'll tell you about the photos they found.
The girls' heads in red water, smiling with far more teeth than is humanly possible.
Their bodies sitting on stone chairs, heads on their laps facing something behind the camera.
The view from the cave, half covered by a skeletal hand.
20150105
Day 246
What if he finds out before we tell him?
What if he hears it from someone at school?
What will they tell him and how wrong will they get it?
I can't just tell a twelve year old boy that there is in fact a monster in our home.
I certainly can't tell him I bargained with it.
My life for his.
I know I'm scum, I'm a coward but don't I deserve to live too?
The thing in my home it... it's killed before.
Become something of a local legend.
I thought this was bad enough but people have started talking about it more now.
Somebody's spotted it near here.
God forbid they spread that, it'll lead the police right to me and I can have that.
Every precaution has been taken, just want it over and done so I can mourn in safety.
He should have been here by now, I've hidden myself away in the shed just in case.
I can see the monster moving in the living room, when did it get so bulky?
It's heading to the front door, maybe it's going out to hunt him?
Good.
It'll draw all attention away from me.
They won't suspect the grieving mother whose poor son has gone missing.
I swear I hear footsteps outside.
Has the thing come back to tell me it's done?
Does it do that?
Yes, it's there but my son is with it?
He should be dead or at least dying.
Looks like he's talking to it and pointing at the shed.
It's crouching down now.
It's peering through my eyehole.
What if he hears it from someone at school?
What will they tell him and how wrong will they get it?
I can't just tell a twelve year old boy that there is in fact a monster in our home.
I certainly can't tell him I bargained with it.
My life for his.
I know I'm scum, I'm a coward but don't I deserve to live too?
The thing in my home it... it's killed before.
Become something of a local legend.
I thought this was bad enough but people have started talking about it more now.
Somebody's spotted it near here.
God forbid they spread that, it'll lead the police right to me and I can have that.
Every precaution has been taken, just want it over and done so I can mourn in safety.
He should have been here by now, I've hidden myself away in the shed just in case.
I can see the monster moving in the living room, when did it get so bulky?
It's heading to the front door, maybe it's going out to hunt him?
Good.
It'll draw all attention away from me.
They won't suspect the grieving mother whose poor son has gone missing.
I swear I hear footsteps outside.
Has the thing come back to tell me it's done?
Does it do that?
Yes, it's there but my son is with it?
He should be dead or at least dying.
Looks like he's talking to it and pointing at the shed.
It's crouching down now.
It's peering through my eyehole.
20150104
Day 245
The fishpond was clogged again.
He was quite eager to see what it was this time.
Last week it had been a bag of gold buttons - real gold.
Week before it was a pearl necklace, fake pearls but still fetched a good price.
This time as he bagged his fishes and dumped them into a bucket, hands greedily grabbing
onto the water pump, practically squealing in delight at the sight of another bag.
This bag, unlike the other few, was a dark red and felt quite heavy.
Opening it his, hands swiftly reached in to grasp something soft, cold and... pulsing?
As he pulled it out he saw it was a small heart.
A living heart.
He threw it into the trash and prayed next time it would be something valuable again.
That night he swore he could still hear it beating, hear the rubbish bag crinkling.
The next time the fishpond got clogged he was far less eager to fix it.
As he reached into the pond this time he found a child's arm, its' tiny hand wedged into the filter.
It was grasping a ceramic tile.
The words on the tile were an eerily familiar list.
Item 1: Nine gold buttons
Item 2: One pearl necklace
Item 3: My heart
He was quite eager to see what it was this time.
Last week it had been a bag of gold buttons - real gold.
Week before it was a pearl necklace, fake pearls but still fetched a good price.
This time as he bagged his fishes and dumped them into a bucket, hands greedily grabbing
onto the water pump, practically squealing in delight at the sight of another bag.
This bag, unlike the other few, was a dark red and felt quite heavy.
Opening it his, hands swiftly reached in to grasp something soft, cold and... pulsing?
As he pulled it out he saw it was a small heart.
A living heart.
He threw it into the trash and prayed next time it would be something valuable again.
That night he swore he could still hear it beating, hear the rubbish bag crinkling.
The next time the fishpond got clogged he was far less eager to fix it.
As he reached into the pond this time he found a child's arm, its' tiny hand wedged into the filter.
It was grasping a ceramic tile.
The words on the tile were an eerily familiar list.
Item 1: Nine gold buttons
Item 2: One pearl necklace
Item 3: My heart
20150103
Day 244
They tore off the plaster around the fake fireplace, worrying about the potential water damage after last
month's floods.
They found the bricks were worse than they'd hoped, the mortar was practically running down the
wall.
Tapping on the sodden surface (praying the bricks didn't dislodge) they heard a quiet voice answer.
helloooo
It was certainly unexpected - it was supposed to be solid brick all the way through.
Was someone playing a trick on them?
Was the chimney stack on the roof real and had they crawled down there during the flooding?
Oh god, what if they were trapped, what if they were injured?
The homeowners asked the trapped person how long they'd been in there and if they needed food.
been here so long so dark and so cold
no
no food
don't need it anymore
food is for living ones
They began to worry now, was this person delusional?
Had they been stuck there so long?
The authorities were called and would be there within the hour.
Making the call had been difficult, how could anyone believe that someone had just crawled into a chimney (who knows how long ago), gotten stuck in the fireplace and begun spouting nonsense.
Eventually the firemen arrived, couldn't send anyone down the stack - too narrow for any adult.
They decided that gradually removing the bricks would work best.
All the poor person stuck inside would say was no need no need not living have to stay so dark so cold.
Naturally an ambulance arrived shortly after, expecting a potentially hypothermic young person.
The firemen waited for the correct tools to arrive and set upon the fireplace with great care.
Soon enough a small hole was created and a fireman shone his torch in, paramedics hovering like flies
eagerly awaiting visual confirmation from whoever was inside the fireplace.
After shining the small beam around, the fireman paused and shot back like he'd been violently shoved.
His face was ashy pale and he refused to go near the hole again and even screamed as the trapped
person spoke louder than before.
see
no need
no worry
so warm outside
i can see you all
haven't seen people for so long
forgotten what humans look like
A grey skeletal hand slowly reached through the hole, grasping at the air.
Everyone stood frozen, shocked at the state of the clearly starved being.
The hand, not finding anything to hold began to withdraw and the paramedics sprung into action yelling at the firemen to just open the bloody thing so we can get to them right now for god's sake!
Shakily they complied and as the hole grew they began to see exactly what was in there.
It had been in there since they made the house, the architect thought it was good luck to keep a living
person within the walls of a home.
Forensics named it a forty year old corpse.
The media declared it a hoax.
Those involved never speak about it.
Not the voice they heard nor how they still hear it taping faintly on their doors.
why won't you let me out
been so lonely so long
i saw you
I SAW YOU
I SAW YOU
I SAW YOU
month's floods.
They found the bricks were worse than they'd hoped, the mortar was practically running down the
wall.
Tapping on the sodden surface (praying the bricks didn't dislodge) they heard a quiet voice answer.
helloooo
It was certainly unexpected - it was supposed to be solid brick all the way through.
Was someone playing a trick on them?
Was the chimney stack on the roof real and had they crawled down there during the flooding?
Oh god, what if they were trapped, what if they were injured?
The homeowners asked the trapped person how long they'd been in there and if they needed food.
been here so long so dark and so cold
no
no food
don't need it anymore
food is for living ones
They began to worry now, was this person delusional?
Had they been stuck there so long?
The authorities were called and would be there within the hour.
Making the call had been difficult, how could anyone believe that someone had just crawled into a chimney (who knows how long ago), gotten stuck in the fireplace and begun spouting nonsense.
Eventually the firemen arrived, couldn't send anyone down the stack - too narrow for any adult.
They decided that gradually removing the bricks would work best.
All the poor person stuck inside would say was no need no need not living have to stay so dark so cold.
Naturally an ambulance arrived shortly after, expecting a potentially hypothermic young person.
The firemen waited for the correct tools to arrive and set upon the fireplace with great care.
Soon enough a small hole was created and a fireman shone his torch in, paramedics hovering like flies
eagerly awaiting visual confirmation from whoever was inside the fireplace.
After shining the small beam around, the fireman paused and shot back like he'd been violently shoved.
His face was ashy pale and he refused to go near the hole again and even screamed as the trapped
person spoke louder than before.
see
no need
no worry
so warm outside
i can see you all
haven't seen people for so long
forgotten what humans look like
A grey skeletal hand slowly reached through the hole, grasping at the air.
Everyone stood frozen, shocked at the state of the clearly starved being.
The hand, not finding anything to hold began to withdraw and the paramedics sprung into action yelling at the firemen to just open the bloody thing so we can get to them right now for god's sake!
Shakily they complied and as the hole grew they began to see exactly what was in there.
It had been in there since they made the house, the architect thought it was good luck to keep a living
person within the walls of a home.
Forensics named it a forty year old corpse.
The media declared it a hoax.
Those involved never speak about it.
Not the voice they heard nor how they still hear it taping faintly on their doors.
why won't you let me out
been so lonely so long
i saw you
I SAW YOU
I SAW YOU
I SAW YOU
20150102
Day 243
The only place he could think to hide it was the old church out in the countryside.
It mustn't see daylight, not after what it did to the village.
He'd never seen so much pus in one place and he served in the last war!
Maybe the retired vicar could spare a blessing for the wretched thing?
After all, it will be in his former place of work.
Lucky they closed the old place down really, he didn't want to thank of anything living
going near this or digging it up though it would only be a matter of time before rumour
Spread about it.
The former vicar lived in the East Vale Retirement Hall about a mile away from the wreck
of a village and no doubt he would have already heard about the devastation.
But where to leave the thing while he went in to speak to the old man?
He couldn't just leave it chained up, not with all the fuss it was making.
God forbid he even entertain the thought of taking it in!
He supposed drawing a ring of salt might work, his grandmother said something about salt.
The closest salt he had was for de-icing his driveway, it'd have to do.
With the ring set up he walked into the retirement home, confident that the thing was trapped.
The staff let him see the vicar right away, there was no reason for them not to.
He was sitting by a window in his room one floor up, looking out at the thing.
How can he be so composed while it stared up at him so fixedly?
"My child, what have you brought here." He asked in a trembling voice.
In all honesty you had no idea what it was, only knew it was dangerous and evil.
He wasn't satisfied with this answer, didn't believe it was as bad as you said.
"Why, this poor creature used to be Mr Brakethorpe. What malice has befallen him?"
Again, you had no idea, it just turned up in Brakethorpe's house and it went downhill from there.
The old vicar turned away from the window to regard you with a cool stare as he calmly said,
"A possession so severe is beyond help. If he can be further contained in iron we may be able to spare his suffering and save what is left of his soul, if anything."
So he thought the thing was some kind of demonic possession then, did salt help with those?
The crash from downstairs suggested not.
The screams that followed stopped sounding human after a few seconds.
Quickly peering over the vicar's shoulder you saw your former salt ring had been changed to say:
'Wait fOr me'
After several tense minutes you heard what sounded like a large crowd walking towards their room.
There was no place to hide, no chance of the vicar surviving a drop out of the window.
They were trapped like rats.
The vicar began to murmur prayers, as if the unseen forces he favoured would save them.
Deciding it was better to go out fighting than to die, he grabbed the large metal crucifix from the bedside wall.
With his other hand he opened the door.
It mustn't see daylight, not after what it did to the village.
He'd never seen so much pus in one place and he served in the last war!
Maybe the retired vicar could spare a blessing for the wretched thing?
After all, it will be in his former place of work.
Lucky they closed the old place down really, he didn't want to thank of anything living
going near this or digging it up though it would only be a matter of time before rumour
Spread about it.
The former vicar lived in the East Vale Retirement Hall about a mile away from the wreck
of a village and no doubt he would have already heard about the devastation.
But where to leave the thing while he went in to speak to the old man?
He couldn't just leave it chained up, not with all the fuss it was making.
God forbid he even entertain the thought of taking it in!
He supposed drawing a ring of salt might work, his grandmother said something about salt.
The closest salt he had was for de-icing his driveway, it'd have to do.
With the ring set up he walked into the retirement home, confident that the thing was trapped.
The staff let him see the vicar right away, there was no reason for them not to.
He was sitting by a window in his room one floor up, looking out at the thing.
How can he be so composed while it stared up at him so fixedly?
"My child, what have you brought here." He asked in a trembling voice.
In all honesty you had no idea what it was, only knew it was dangerous and evil.
He wasn't satisfied with this answer, didn't believe it was as bad as you said.
"Why, this poor creature used to be Mr Brakethorpe. What malice has befallen him?"
Again, you had no idea, it just turned up in Brakethorpe's house and it went downhill from there.
The old vicar turned away from the window to regard you with a cool stare as he calmly said,
"A possession so severe is beyond help. If he can be further contained in iron we may be able to spare his suffering and save what is left of his soul, if anything."
So he thought the thing was some kind of demonic possession then, did salt help with those?
The crash from downstairs suggested not.
The screams that followed stopped sounding human after a few seconds.
Quickly peering over the vicar's shoulder you saw your former salt ring had been changed to say:
'Wait fOr me'
After several tense minutes you heard what sounded like a large crowd walking towards their room.
There was no place to hide, no chance of the vicar surviving a drop out of the window.
They were trapped like rats.
The vicar began to murmur prayers, as if the unseen forces he favoured would save them.
Deciding it was better to go out fighting than to die, he grabbed the large metal crucifix from the bedside wall.
With his other hand he opened the door.
20150101
Day 242
Have you ever seen a dead body?
I have... it was my cousin's.
Haven't been to a family reunion since.
There hasn't been one since.
I remember it being at my gran's house but she's always denied that.
She's denied the entire thing, you know.
Just repainted the room and acted like my cousin was never there.
Nobody in the family talks about it, we still don't quite know how it happened.
They arrested her dad and said "case solved" but we all know it wasn't him.
It couldn't have been, he never went near that room the whole day.
By the time I got to the house she was already in there so I went in to check on her.
Aunt Joyce said she'd rushed there the second they got there, never said a word.
By the time I got to her it was too late.
The first thing I noticed was the blood seeping under the closed door.
The handle was stiff, I had to shove my whole body against it to get it open.
As soon as it gave way I heard a sickening crunch and something wet hit the floor with a dull thud.
Slowly peering into the room I saw an arm lying on the floor.
The entire room was covered in blood, huge splatters along the walls and... strings?
Yes, strings nailed to every surface.
That's what was holding her up.
She was still breathing when I went in, trying to scream through a partially slit throat.
The strings dug deep into every inch of her body.
As I screamed I saw her still attached arm jerk towards me, outstretched and pleading for help.
I didn't know what to do, who in my situaton would?!
The more she tried to reach me, the deeper the strings cut.
She began to struggle and flail as our relatives rushed towards us.
Just as they reached the door she fell.
In pieces.
Somehow we never found her entire body.
That first arm is still missing.
I see it sometimes,string tightly wrapped round it, digging in, tapping on my window.
I have... it was my cousin's.
Haven't been to a family reunion since.
There hasn't been one since.
I remember it being at my gran's house but she's always denied that.
She's denied the entire thing, you know.
Just repainted the room and acted like my cousin was never there.
Nobody in the family talks about it, we still don't quite know how it happened.
They arrested her dad and said "case solved" but we all know it wasn't him.
It couldn't have been, he never went near that room the whole day.
By the time I got to the house she was already in there so I went in to check on her.
Aunt Joyce said she'd rushed there the second they got there, never said a word.
By the time I got to her it was too late.
The first thing I noticed was the blood seeping under the closed door.
The handle was stiff, I had to shove my whole body against it to get it open.
As soon as it gave way I heard a sickening crunch and something wet hit the floor with a dull thud.
Slowly peering into the room I saw an arm lying on the floor.
The entire room was covered in blood, huge splatters along the walls and... strings?
Yes, strings nailed to every surface.
That's what was holding her up.
She was still breathing when I went in, trying to scream through a partially slit throat.
The strings dug deep into every inch of her body.
As I screamed I saw her still attached arm jerk towards me, outstretched and pleading for help.
I didn't know what to do, who in my situaton would?!
The more she tried to reach me, the deeper the strings cut.
She began to struggle and flail as our relatives rushed towards us.
Just as they reached the door she fell.
In pieces.
Somehow we never found her entire body.
That first arm is still missing.
I see it sometimes,string tightly wrapped round it, digging in, tapping on my window.
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