A sluggish movement, slowly testing the space around itself.
The dirt had been compacted and it felt movement above.
So much movement, so little air to breathe.
It needed food and it needed space.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The restaurant was new, built from several demolished buildings in the town.
They called it "upcycling" and it was apparently the latest thing.
At least it looked nice, an interesting mix of polished timber and minimalism.
Still, it had that eerie undertone to it, some even said it was haunted.
Who honestly believes that nowadays?
I mean sure the floors got creaky at night but they're wooden, wood creaks sometimes.
Some of the towners have even claimed to see the lights flicker at night and shadowy people walk.
Said some of the buildings were built on an old graveyard/site of a massacre/generally haunted.
It was pure rumour, the security cameras have never picked up a single thing.
In order to appease the locals and put the negative rumours to rest the owners hired a night guard.
Weeks passed and the only thing reported were faint vibrations coming from the main hall.
Later in the week, the news called it multiple minor earthquakes, possibly a sink-hole.
The restaurant was closed after a few short months until the seismologist's report came in clear.
It was strange as the area was located nowhere near any fault lines, they ruled out a quake.
That didn't stop the rumours from spreading about gas build-ups.
The slight rise in the main hall weren't noticed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was so hungry, the movements above had died down to nearly nothing.
Must move faster, need to eat need to breathe need to eat.
The surface was so close now, It rested underneath the hard crust that had formed while It slept.
Its' tongue stabbed holed near Its' head and after centuries It could breathe again.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The report came in wary but clear so far, though they had plans to scan the ground.
The sudden minor change in ground level was worrying and growing steadily by the day.
By the time the equipment arrive the main hall's floor had shifted to almost a bulbous tunnel.
What had once been smooth wooden panelling was now heavily distorted by the shifting ground.
The steady pulse of the flooring could clearly be seen.
As a precaution the restaurant was shut down completely and the entrances were barred to the public.
Still people peered through the large glass front, gawking at the rise and fall of the wood.
All the while the ground around them vibrated faintly as It moved upwards slowly.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
So much movement now and so close too!
It was going to feast for years.
Not long to go now, the surface was weakening by the hour and it was eager.
It could smell them so close by, they smelt full of blood.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Word had gotten out of the "Breathing Floor" and somehow a photo had been taken of Its' tongue.
The thin flickering rod had been called "gas", been called "fake", been called "snake infestation".
They had no idea what was meters away from them.
It was so very close and so very hungry.
The floor sunk back to normal overnight, leaving a large dip where the pulsing floor had bulged.
Rumours had begun anew saying a local jogger had seen some kind of enormous thing in the woods.
Searches only turned up large circular indents and faint trails leading to and from the town's edge.
People went missing more often and nobody had connected the dots.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
They were so bloody, bags of sweet liquid and so slow too.
It hadn't feasted like this for longer than It could remember.
It just needed to wait for the meat to gather in Its' woods so it could pick them off faster.
The meat were so curious, they followed Its' tracks perfectly.
The meat would even go into Its' dens, it couldn't be more perfect!
Now to test, would they walk into a cave if It made tracks leading there?
20150228
20150227
Day 299
She reckoned the only reason they weren't attacking her was her smiling balloon.
The wind made them all sway in a similar way.
So long as none of them looked down, she should be fine.
There seemed to be more than usual, they must have drifted in with the storm.
They looked like those cheap Halloween skulls you get but fleshier and with tendrils.
Like something between a corpse and a jellyfish only less human and more teeth and tongue.
You'd see them from time to time in their swarms with bodies trailing underneath them.
She could see one nearby and made note of where the tendrils were, plotting a path through them.
Slowly she began to edge out, making sure her balloon moved as smoothly as the floaters.
The edge of the cluster drew closer as the wind around her picked up her balloon began to speed up.
It moved faster than the floaters and three of them moved in on it curiously.
Panicking she ran for the cluster's edge and the floaters followed.
Nobody had warned her how fast they were, nothing like the placid jellyfish they were related to!
The curious three had spotted her underneath the balloon bit the imposter
The sudden bang it caused made her trip over and the floaters closed in swiftly.
The last thing she saw was their mouths screaming down as their tendrils moved over her.
She felt nothing, her nerves destroyed in one pulse and her body very much alive.
Her body wouldn't be found until later that day and remained with the floaters til they dropped her.
20150226
Day 298
You try not to remember what happened in your neighbour's flat.
The psychiatrist said something about repressed memories.
But you remember what you found there.
What it caused and how you still see them everywhere.
You were twelve and your neighbour had asked your family to look after their plants.
They were going away for a month somewhere, you've forgotten where.
Your volunteered to water the various plants there, you found it fun.
Until you noticed a weird colour seeping out from under a door.
You wondered if he's spilled ink on the ground, it was the same colour as ink in the movies.
It took you several days to work up the guts to go open the door.
Another day to turn on the lights.
The room was filled with glasses in heaps and stacks.
Some of them were rusted and melting, some were so tiny you could have held dozens in one hand.
You decided to take a pair right from the back, they weren't as rusted as the rest.
With all of the glasses in there you figured your neighbour wouldn't notice.
They looked like they'd fit you, after you washed them of course.
You kept them hidden from your parents, stealing was bad but you doubted anyone would know.
After trying them on in your room you found they fit you perfectly - like they were made for you.
A sudden noise outside of your window caught your attention, it was like a wet thump.
Had a bird hit the glass?
When you peered past the curtains, someone was peering back.
Their face was leathery and grey, their eyes locked with yours and they began to scream.
SHE SEES US, HEY EVERYONE A GIRL SEES US!
Dozens more came floating up to your window, pressing their faces against the glass.
All of them were yelling, telling you to open the window and talk to them.
They wanted you to tell their loved ones things, why weren't you listening?
The yelling grew louder and louder and you began screaming for them to be quiet and go away.
And that's how your parents found you.
Ever since you put those glasses on you've been able to see them.
Those grey people floating everywhere, smothering the sky with their translucent forms.
You couldn't let them know you could see them.
When your neighbour came back he knew right away that you'd worn the glasses.
That was when he tried to take your eyes.
He said it was for your own good, they won't leave you be while you can see them.
Luckily someone next door heard your screams and came rushing through the open front door.
You hoped the grey things hadn't heard what he said.
They had.
Wherever you go they always follow behind you.
They don't yell any more though, they've moved on to writing on every surface near you.
It's amazing what people don't notice.
The writing appearing on their desks, their clothes.
The sudden headache as words are carved into their foreheads by grey hands.
How they trip over sentences carved deeply into every inch of ground around you.
Sudden flat tires as they become pages for unseen words.
You don't read the words, it only makes them come closer.
Ever since you put those glasses on you've been able to see them.
Those grey people floating everywhere, smothering the sky with their translucent forms.
You couldn't let them know you could see them.
When your neighbour came back he knew right away that you'd worn the glasses.
That was when he tried to take your eyes.
He said it was for your own good, they won't leave you be while you can see them.
Luckily someone next door heard your screams and came rushing through the open front door.
You hoped the grey things hadn't heard what he said.
They had.
Wherever you go they always follow behind you.
They don't yell any more though, they've moved on to writing on every surface near you.
It's amazing what people don't notice.
The writing appearing on their desks, their clothes.
The sudden headache as words are carved into their foreheads by grey hands.
How they trip over sentences carved deeply into every inch of ground around you.
Sudden flat tires as they become pages for unseen words.
You don't read the words, it only makes them come closer.
20150225
Day 297
It wasn't often that they were caught but when they were the heads were the first thing to go.
The village had developed this way of drying the heads to near a husk without them shrinking.
Truly it was an art, they all agreed.
One that was very much in use.
The rest of the body wasn't dried, the meat was removed, stored and eventually eaten.
Bones became decoration, passed off for cow or fox, depending on size.
Outsiders were none the wiser and the village's traditions continued unhindered.
They knew it would have to end some day, the heads were missed by their kin.
As old as their recipe was the heads would still crumble eventually.
It was such a shame, especially when it happened during a parade.
Last year a sharp gale nearly destroyed everyone's effigy!
So many people had to hunt down new heads, it caused a real fuss all around the area.
A few of the villagers were even caught and arrested, poor souls.
They were at least smart enough to not give the village's tradition away.
So the parades continued even though they were several short of the preferred number.
It didn't seem to have any impact on the celebrations, besides their empty seats.
Still, it was a time of joy for the whole community.
Children would spend weeks drawing their future effigies and sewing the clothes for them.
They would even practice the drying process on whatever small animal they could catch.
It wasn't the same as catching a head but it gave them a good start.
Ah, you never forget your first head.
The thrill of the hunt, silencing their screaming in case they travelled with others.
Separating, drying and preserving the head for the effigy while keeping the meat was the tricky part.
Most didn't quite manage to keep the meat at first, too caught up with the head process.
Some never took part in the process but that was okay, they knew the consequences.
If you wouldn't get a head you would become someone else's.
That's just how it went there, everyone wanted a fresh head, didn't matter whose it had been.
Some had walls of them proudly displayed, they walked first during the parades.
Best part of the parade was the Burnt One, a wooden effigy standing around ten feet tall.
Hand carved by the same family every year, they were also in charge of putting the Live One inside.
The Burnt One and Live One were the centre of the whole event, cleansed the village.
Kept them safe for another year.
They read the signals in the smoke and screams of the Great Cleansing Pyre.
In them they saw the next year's events, who would die, who would be headed and who would run.
There was always at least one runner, they were dealt with swiftly.
This year's runner was given to the school as head practice, they all had such fun!
Last year's smoke held the worst prediction possible - the end of the village.
The dark billows showed one person surrounded by an army of effigies.
It was time for them to join the parade but who would lead it?
Everybody wanted that honour.
The news reported it as mass hysteria turned genocide.
The Cannibal Village went down in history as one of the quietest massacres in history.
Some museums even have the remaining effigies, others were given to their families to rest.
The parade never stopped though.
Every year on that same day someone is found near the village, always in the same field.
Burnt to death and surrounded by fallen trees.
Police keep watch but they've never been able to stop it.
The Great Cleansing Pyre still burns.
The parade will go on.
The village had developed this way of drying the heads to near a husk without them shrinking.
Truly it was an art, they all agreed.
One that was very much in use.
The rest of the body wasn't dried, the meat was removed, stored and eventually eaten.
Bones became decoration, passed off for cow or fox, depending on size.
Outsiders were none the wiser and the village's traditions continued unhindered.
They knew it would have to end some day, the heads were missed by their kin.
As old as their recipe was the heads would still crumble eventually.
It was such a shame, especially when it happened during a parade.
Last year a sharp gale nearly destroyed everyone's effigy!
So many people had to hunt down new heads, it caused a real fuss all around the area.
A few of the villagers were even caught and arrested, poor souls.
They were at least smart enough to not give the village's tradition away.
So the parades continued even though they were several short of the preferred number.
It didn't seem to have any impact on the celebrations, besides their empty seats.
Still, it was a time of joy for the whole community.
Children would spend weeks drawing their future effigies and sewing the clothes for them.
They would even practice the drying process on whatever small animal they could catch.
It wasn't the same as catching a head but it gave them a good start.
Ah, you never forget your first head.
The thrill of the hunt, silencing their screaming in case they travelled with others.
Separating, drying and preserving the head for the effigy while keeping the meat was the tricky part.
Most didn't quite manage to keep the meat at first, too caught up with the head process.
Some never took part in the process but that was okay, they knew the consequences.
If you wouldn't get a head you would become someone else's.
That's just how it went there, everyone wanted a fresh head, didn't matter whose it had been.
Some had walls of them proudly displayed, they walked first during the parades.
Best part of the parade was the Burnt One, a wooden effigy standing around ten feet tall.
Hand carved by the same family every year, they were also in charge of putting the Live One inside.
The Burnt One and Live One were the centre of the whole event, cleansed the village.
Kept them safe for another year.
They read the signals in the smoke and screams of the Great Cleansing Pyre.
In them they saw the next year's events, who would die, who would be headed and who would run.
There was always at least one runner, they were dealt with swiftly.
This year's runner was given to the school as head practice, they all had such fun!
Last year's smoke held the worst prediction possible - the end of the village.
The dark billows showed one person surrounded by an army of effigies.
It was time for them to join the parade but who would lead it?
Everybody wanted that honour.
The news reported it as mass hysteria turned genocide.
The Cannibal Village went down in history as one of the quietest massacres in history.
Some museums even have the remaining effigies, others were given to their families to rest.
The parade never stopped though.
Every year on that same day someone is found near the village, always in the same field.
Burnt to death and surrounded by fallen trees.
Police keep watch but they've never been able to stop it.
The Great Cleansing Pyre still burns.
The parade will go on.
20150224
Day 296
Grandad didn't think of himself as a hoarder, he insisted he was a "collector".
It would almost be believable but for the state of his home.
There were countless jars stacked along each and every wall, no room excluded.
They were either filthy or filled with some greyish/brownish liquid.
He made it very clear that we weren't allowed to touch them and never, ever open them.
We weren't allowed to clear up in there but with months of pestering we got him to move some jars.
He insisted on renting a room as near to the sea as he could get, and he had to paint it red.
He had a specific shade picked and everything, it was the same shade as the rest of his house.
In the end he filled three rooms and visited them regularly.
It was good to see Grandad out of the house and socialising more, before he was practically a hermit.
His body wasn't up to all the walking he was putting it through and eventually he became sick.
The rest of the family and myself took turns staying with him for a day, he was so fragile.
My turn came and everything went well, he seemed to be getting better.
The only thing I'd been warned about was the lights, Grandad had this thing about leaving them on.
I dreaded to think how high his energy bill must have been but it kept him happy.
Night came and I went to sleep in the living room, the sofa wasn't too comfortable but it would do.
The lights made it so difficult to sleep, they were too bright and the reflections from the newly
cleaned jars only made the room brighter - it looked like daylight in there!
I decided that if I closed the door I could turn off the lights without Grandad ever knowing.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, before I took a good look at the jars in the dark.
As I was lying on the lumpy sofa trying to sleep, I heard a faint laugh followed by a sharp tap.
My eyes were still adjusting to the dark but I knew it was coming from my left, so I got up.
There was faint light coming from behind the jars, I could actually sort of see what was in the jars.
Not clearly at first but gradually I began to make out shapes, like preserved animals.
I still don't know why Grandad kept them but they weren't all dead.
The tapping was louder and further left, it came from a pretty big jar around waist level.
Crouching down I waited for it to tap again, figuring it was just gas bubbles or something.
Until a tiny fist rapped sharply on the glass.
I fell back and held my breath, staring and waiting to see if it happened again.
A misshapen face pressed against the glass, bulbous eyes staring at me, mouth set in a wide grin.
It looked right at me and laughed loudly before retreating into the jar's murky waters once more.
I kept the light on after that but it didn't stop the others from joining in.
The entire wall became a frenzy of activity, all those tiny hands and faces pressed against the glass.
Each jar had something alive in it and they were wide awake at last.
The light wasn't stopping them, I even used my phone's torch to try and make them stop.
It only made things worse, I got a clear look at them and I don't think I'll sleep again.
They looked mostly human but some were more like worms, they had reticulated looking skin.
Some had no eyes, some were covered in blinking black pinpricks that followed me around.
At least none of them seemed able to speak, only tap and rattle their jars.
I slept in the car that night, I swear I saw them out of their jars and peering through the curtains.
It was some time near morning when I woke up, hearing a loud crash from Grandad's room.
The worst had happened, we didn't think it would after the clean-up.
An entire wall of jars had fallen and crushed him, some had broken but most were intact.
I came into the room just in time to see worm-like creatures scurry under the bed.
Turns out everyone who'd stayed had seen some kind of creature.
We agreed to never opened the rest of the jars.
Just left the house for someone else, what else could we do?
I still see them some times, they creep into my house at night.
I've got a plan though - I'm going to catch them.
My Grandad's jars suddenly make so much more sense, these things are dangerous.
Nobody will believe this... its just me and a few cousins who've seen them too.
We'll set fire to some of the jars to lure the others out and then strike.
It would almost be believable but for the state of his home.
There were countless jars stacked along each and every wall, no room excluded.
They were either filthy or filled with some greyish/brownish liquid.
He made it very clear that we weren't allowed to touch them and never, ever open them.
We weren't allowed to clear up in there but with months of pestering we got him to move some jars.
He insisted on renting a room as near to the sea as he could get, and he had to paint it red.
He had a specific shade picked and everything, it was the same shade as the rest of his house.
In the end he filled three rooms and visited them regularly.
It was good to see Grandad out of the house and socialising more, before he was practically a hermit.
His body wasn't up to all the walking he was putting it through and eventually he became sick.
The rest of the family and myself took turns staying with him for a day, he was so fragile.
My turn came and everything went well, he seemed to be getting better.
The only thing I'd been warned about was the lights, Grandad had this thing about leaving them on.
I dreaded to think how high his energy bill must have been but it kept him happy.
Night came and I went to sleep in the living room, the sofa wasn't too comfortable but it would do.
The lights made it so difficult to sleep, they were too bright and the reflections from the newly
cleaned jars only made the room brighter - it looked like daylight in there!
I decided that if I closed the door I could turn off the lights without Grandad ever knowing.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, before I took a good look at the jars in the dark.
As I was lying on the lumpy sofa trying to sleep, I heard a faint laugh followed by a sharp tap.
My eyes were still adjusting to the dark but I knew it was coming from my left, so I got up.
There was faint light coming from behind the jars, I could actually sort of see what was in the jars.
Not clearly at first but gradually I began to make out shapes, like preserved animals.
I still don't know why Grandad kept them but they weren't all dead.
The tapping was louder and further left, it came from a pretty big jar around waist level.
Crouching down I waited for it to tap again, figuring it was just gas bubbles or something.
Until a tiny fist rapped sharply on the glass.
I fell back and held my breath, staring and waiting to see if it happened again.
A misshapen face pressed against the glass, bulbous eyes staring at me, mouth set in a wide grin.
It looked right at me and laughed loudly before retreating into the jar's murky waters once more.
I kept the light on after that but it didn't stop the others from joining in.
The entire wall became a frenzy of activity, all those tiny hands and faces pressed against the glass.
Each jar had something alive in it and they were wide awake at last.
The light wasn't stopping them, I even used my phone's torch to try and make them stop.
It only made things worse, I got a clear look at them and I don't think I'll sleep again.
They looked mostly human but some were more like worms, they had reticulated looking skin.
Some had no eyes, some were covered in blinking black pinpricks that followed me around.
At least none of them seemed able to speak, only tap and rattle their jars.
I slept in the car that night, I swear I saw them out of their jars and peering through the curtains.
It was some time near morning when I woke up, hearing a loud crash from Grandad's room.
The worst had happened, we didn't think it would after the clean-up.
An entire wall of jars had fallen and crushed him, some had broken but most were intact.
I came into the room just in time to see worm-like creatures scurry under the bed.
Turns out everyone who'd stayed had seen some kind of creature.
We agreed to never opened the rest of the jars.
Just left the house for someone else, what else could we do?
I still see them some times, they creep into my house at night.
I've got a plan though - I'm going to catch them.
My Grandad's jars suddenly make so much more sense, these things are dangerous.
Nobody will believe this... its just me and a few cousins who've seen them too.
We'll set fire to some of the jars to lure the others out and then strike.
20150223
Day 295
She had no idea where the puddles of tar were coming from but she knew it had something to do with
her daughter's latest imaginary friend.
Tori was such an imaginative child and, to her mother's dismay, she seemed to have made a friend.
Made as in she said it existed and it seemed to be coming into existence.
Tori said her friend was way bigger than mum.
She felt smothered in her own home, like huge hands were pressing against her ribs.
Tori said her friend walked on the ceiling.
How was she putting those footprints there? How could she reach that high or make prints so big?
Tori said her friend was the one making those puddles, not her!
Those damned pools of tar, how was she doing this? Why were they getting bigger?
Tori said her friend liked to keep an eye on them.
Those damned eyes! They were always peering over her shoulder, darting away when she looked.
Tori said her friend was here to stay.
The eyes stopped darting away and started glaring at her, they were so big.
The piles of tar led right to her bedside, Tori's bed was covered in it now so they had to share.
The footprints could be seen walking across the ceiling,always above them.
Tori has made a friend.
They are here to stay.
her daughter's latest imaginary friend.
Tori was such an imaginative child and, to her mother's dismay, she seemed to have made a friend.
Made as in she said it existed and it seemed to be coming into existence.
Tori said her friend was way bigger than mum.
She felt smothered in her own home, like huge hands were pressing against her ribs.
Tori said her friend walked on the ceiling.
How was she putting those footprints there? How could she reach that high or make prints so big?
Tori said her friend was the one making those puddles, not her!
Those damned pools of tar, how was she doing this? Why were they getting bigger?
Tori said her friend liked to keep an eye on them.
Those damned eyes! They were always peering over her shoulder, darting away when she looked.
Tori said her friend was here to stay.
The eyes stopped darting away and started glaring at her, they were so big.
The piles of tar led right to her bedside, Tori's bed was covered in it now so they had to share.
The footprints could be seen walking across the ceiling,always above them.
Tori has made a friend.
They are here to stay.
20150222
Day 294
The attic has never struck him as weird until he tried to get it converted.
He figured a room for rent room would bring in a bit more cash and company.
When the builder arrived to check how easily he could make his new room things got complicated.
Complicated in a police-need-to-be-involved-now way.
There had always been a faint smell up there which he'd put down to mould or stale air.
The builder had been checking the water tank in the corner and nearly collapsed after lifting the lid.
Seems they'd finally found where his mother had gone, not that there was much of her left now.
When the police arrived to check out the rest of the attic they found others.
His mother had company all this time.
He never realised he had siblings much less five of them.
They were so tiny, so very small.
He figured a room for rent room would bring in a bit more cash and company.
When the builder arrived to check how easily he could make his new room things got complicated.
Complicated in a police-need-to-be-involved-now way.
There had always been a faint smell up there which he'd put down to mould or stale air.
The builder had been checking the water tank in the corner and nearly collapsed after lifting the lid.
Seems they'd finally found where his mother had gone, not that there was much of her left now.
When the police arrived to check out the rest of the attic they found others.
His mother had company all this time.
He never realised he had siblings much less five of them.
They were so tiny, so very small.
20150221
Day 293
You never forget the sound flesh makes as it cooks.
The crack and sizzle they make is almost drowned out by the screaming.
Eventually it dies down but it's enough to put the new ones off.
At first.
We all get used to it, they don't really sound human after a while.
More like animals, like pigs even.
They taste like pigs too but gamier.
My dad used to say it was the perfect "crime".
Can't catch someone when they've eaten the evidence.
Never understood why he called it a crime though.
They're just meat, we're all just meat.
Where's the harm in eating?
The crack and sizzle they make is almost drowned out by the screaming.
Eventually it dies down but it's enough to put the new ones off.
At first.
We all get used to it, they don't really sound human after a while.
More like animals, like pigs even.
They taste like pigs too but gamier.
My dad used to say it was the perfect "crime".
Can't catch someone when they've eaten the evidence.
Never understood why he called it a crime though.
They're just meat, we're all just meat.
Where's the harm in eating?
20150220
Day 292
They'd mapped out the entire island, not that there was much to it.
You could take a virtual tour through everywhere but the mine.
He just wanted to see how his childhood home had crumbled over the years.
All sixty four of them.
He'd left with his mother when he was ten, the work on the island was all but gone.
They'd bled the mine dry and now there was nothing left.
Shame his father had never agreed, he and a few others kept going back.
They swore there was a vein of gold deep down and they were so close to it.
It was hard for him to recall the last few days before they left, his father was a stranger to them.
His mother had whispered to relatives that the coal dust had gotten to their brains.
There was no convincing them and so with tear filled eyes people left them behind.
He never even came to see them off, just went to the mines at sunrise with the others like usual.
Now all these years later he was going to take the virtual tour and relive those last days.
He held his breath as the first area loaded, the pier where he and his mother had shared a final look.
The tears came faster than he thought they would as he remembered how his father had changed.
Formerly a bright and cheerful man, despite the coal-dust covering his skin became a shadow.
Became obsessed with the mines and the alleged gold vein deep, deep down.
Him and the others spent every possible hour down there, burning weight like paper in winter.
The further the old man scrolled through his old home, the more he wanted to see it in person.
He had this feeling that he would find out what had driven the miners to obsess over an empty place.
The flats where he used to live were mapped out too apparently, or the hallways were at least.
He'd lived in 712, twelfth room and seventh floor that had a great view of the second housing block.
Scrolling along that hallway he found he could stand almost exactly where he had as a boy.
He nearly fainted as he saw his father standing in the opposite building, frozen mid wave.
He looked like he had during their last days there, thin and dirty and so, so sad.
But how could he be there, the island was only mapped the previous year, surely he would be dead?
If his father was alive he'd be over a hundred years old and yet apparently he was standing right there.
Maybe the website makers had put photos of the old miners in as tribute?
That had to be it, what other explanation was there?
He scrolled further through the island to find the others, if they were there then it was a tribute.
He looked into the rooms on he seventh floor, seeing concrete and plants sprawled everywhere.
At a whim he went to the ninth floor, the highest place on the island, to see it all from the top.
The ninth floor was missing, there were meant to be flats there, the tallest flats.
Instead there was only a concrete slab with thick foliage around the edges.
He moved the viewpoint around until he saw a familiar figure, his father, once again.
He looked the same as the other image only much closer and not waving.
He looked to sad, the old man scrolled closer towards him until his father's face filled the screen.
He could see every pore and crease in his father's tired looking face, he could see himself reflected
in his father's eyes and began to feel a gentle breeze around him.
Blinking he found himself standing on the concrete slab where floor nine was, inches from his father.
He had no words, what could you say to someone who by all accounts should be long dead?
What could you say upon finding yourself in an impossible place?
So he said nothing.
His father smiled like he had before he made a joke.
Look at the mine, son, look at the gold I promised.
He held out his hand revealing several chunks of glistening gold, the kind you only saw in cartoons.
Gently he placed the gold in his son's hand and held it shut.
Go give some to your mother, tell her we found it and we'll be home soon.
The old man awoke on the floor of his home, by the computer.
His father's face no longer filled the screen, only the grey slab of floor nine and the plants around.
His hand hurt where his father had held it but he was holding something.
Slowly opening his hand he found he had no gold.
He held his father's ID card, crumpled, coal-stained and faded and three teeth.
As he stood he saw black footprints leading from the computer, down the desk and out of the door.
So his father had come home after all.
You could take a virtual tour through everywhere but the mine.
He just wanted to see how his childhood home had crumbled over the years.
All sixty four of them.
He'd left with his mother when he was ten, the work on the island was all but gone.
They'd bled the mine dry and now there was nothing left.
Shame his father had never agreed, he and a few others kept going back.
They swore there was a vein of gold deep down and they were so close to it.
It was hard for him to recall the last few days before they left, his father was a stranger to them.
His mother had whispered to relatives that the coal dust had gotten to their brains.
There was no convincing them and so with tear filled eyes people left them behind.
He never even came to see them off, just went to the mines at sunrise with the others like usual.
Now all these years later he was going to take the virtual tour and relive those last days.
He held his breath as the first area loaded, the pier where he and his mother had shared a final look.
The tears came faster than he thought they would as he remembered how his father had changed.
Formerly a bright and cheerful man, despite the coal-dust covering his skin became a shadow.
Became obsessed with the mines and the alleged gold vein deep, deep down.
Him and the others spent every possible hour down there, burning weight like paper in winter.
The further the old man scrolled through his old home, the more he wanted to see it in person.
He had this feeling that he would find out what had driven the miners to obsess over an empty place.
The flats where he used to live were mapped out too apparently, or the hallways were at least.
He'd lived in 712, twelfth room and seventh floor that had a great view of the second housing block.
Scrolling along that hallway he found he could stand almost exactly where he had as a boy.
He nearly fainted as he saw his father standing in the opposite building, frozen mid wave.
He looked like he had during their last days there, thin and dirty and so, so sad.
But how could he be there, the island was only mapped the previous year, surely he would be dead?
If his father was alive he'd be over a hundred years old and yet apparently he was standing right there.
Maybe the website makers had put photos of the old miners in as tribute?
That had to be it, what other explanation was there?
He scrolled further through the island to find the others, if they were there then it was a tribute.
He looked into the rooms on he seventh floor, seeing concrete and plants sprawled everywhere.
At a whim he went to the ninth floor, the highest place on the island, to see it all from the top.
The ninth floor was missing, there were meant to be flats there, the tallest flats.
Instead there was only a concrete slab with thick foliage around the edges.
He moved the viewpoint around until he saw a familiar figure, his father, once again.
He looked the same as the other image only much closer and not waving.
He looked to sad, the old man scrolled closer towards him until his father's face filled the screen.
He could see every pore and crease in his father's tired looking face, he could see himself reflected
in his father's eyes and began to feel a gentle breeze around him.
Blinking he found himself standing on the concrete slab where floor nine was, inches from his father.
He had no words, what could you say to someone who by all accounts should be long dead?
What could you say upon finding yourself in an impossible place?
So he said nothing.
His father smiled like he had before he made a joke.
Look at the mine, son, look at the gold I promised.
He held out his hand revealing several chunks of glistening gold, the kind you only saw in cartoons.
Gently he placed the gold in his son's hand and held it shut.
Go give some to your mother, tell her we found it and we'll be home soon.
The old man awoke on the floor of his home, by the computer.
His father's face no longer filled the screen, only the grey slab of floor nine and the plants around.
His hand hurt where his father had held it but he was holding something.
Slowly opening his hand he found he had no gold.
He held his father's ID card, crumpled, coal-stained and faded and three teeth.
As he stood he saw black footprints leading from the computer, down the desk and out of the door.
So his father had come home after all.
20150219
Day 291
It took you a while to figure out how to step out of your body.
The others had left long ago leaving him and the other dead ones, the ones who didn't rest.
You heard them calling you to join them and walk free but it was so hard.
Like moving through a smoke filled room it made every step hell but eventually he broke free.
Your body was little more then a half-crushed skeleton, some of the others were worse off.
It didn't even look like you any more.
You spent most of his time now walking around the town with the rest of the dead.
Everything gradually changed, the buildings grew utterly decayed and began to collapse around you.
Days were beginning to blur together and all that was left for you all was endless walking.
Former friends in life were in the same state, listlessly ignoring one another.
Some of them had even stopped walking, they just stood there staring at their old bodies.
It had to change, they couldn't go on like this.
You gathered as many as you could and they began to test their limits.
Were they tied to their bodies or could they move away from the town entirely?
And so began their practice moving away from their home-come-prison.
The feeling of walking through smoke filled rooms was strong at first but grew dull with practice.
Time was irrelevant to them, they never stopped trying to move further and further out.
Their goal was the next town, twelve miles away.
The people there would give them purpose, something to watch and to help.
You wondered if you could touch them, you missed holding someone, feeling their warmth.
It was always so cold now, everyone agreed that they felt it.
The bone numbing chill that seeped through them and made their movements sluggish and slow.
Finding the living might help that, maybe someone alive would out you to rest?
You'd always wondered what the afterlife was and if this was it then you wanted out.
Again, the living could be the way out for you, if you could steal their body.
You'd have life again, you could live forever and be whoever you wanted, jumping bodies forever!
The first step to this, your goal: the next town and the people who live there.
With this in mind you encouraged everyone to try every minute they could to move out.
They moved inches daily and finally town was barely meters away from them.
Their goal was within reach, your goal was within reach and you could see the living walking.
As you grew closer you saw your mistake, they weren't alive, they were like you.
At least they greeted you warmly, asked if you could show them how you moved so far.
You and your group were disappointed at not finding any living you knew but these new dead helped.
They gave you all a new purpose, to teach and to expand your group and move further afield.
Still, you wondered where all the living had gone to, yours left long ago and apparently so did theirs.
Their town was just as ruinous as your own, if not more so.
Your goal remained the same over the years: find the living.
And you would make it happen, no matter how long it took.
After all, what is time to the dead?
You'll find a living person to have and to hold one day, you have an eternity ahead of you.
The others had left long ago leaving him and the other dead ones, the ones who didn't rest.
You heard them calling you to join them and walk free but it was so hard.
Like moving through a smoke filled room it made every step hell but eventually he broke free.
Your body was little more then a half-crushed skeleton, some of the others were worse off.
It didn't even look like you any more.
You spent most of his time now walking around the town with the rest of the dead.
Everything gradually changed, the buildings grew utterly decayed and began to collapse around you.
Days were beginning to blur together and all that was left for you all was endless walking.
Former friends in life were in the same state, listlessly ignoring one another.
Some of them had even stopped walking, they just stood there staring at their old bodies.
It had to change, they couldn't go on like this.
You gathered as many as you could and they began to test their limits.
Were they tied to their bodies or could they move away from the town entirely?
And so began their practice moving away from their home-come-prison.
The feeling of walking through smoke filled rooms was strong at first but grew dull with practice.
Time was irrelevant to them, they never stopped trying to move further and further out.
Their goal was the next town, twelve miles away.
The people there would give them purpose, something to watch and to help.
You wondered if you could touch them, you missed holding someone, feeling their warmth.
It was always so cold now, everyone agreed that they felt it.
The bone numbing chill that seeped through them and made their movements sluggish and slow.
Finding the living might help that, maybe someone alive would out you to rest?
You'd always wondered what the afterlife was and if this was it then you wanted out.
Again, the living could be the way out for you, if you could steal their body.
You'd have life again, you could live forever and be whoever you wanted, jumping bodies forever!
The first step to this, your goal: the next town and the people who live there.
With this in mind you encouraged everyone to try every minute they could to move out.
They moved inches daily and finally town was barely meters away from them.
Their goal was within reach, your goal was within reach and you could see the living walking.
As you grew closer you saw your mistake, they weren't alive, they were like you.
At least they greeted you warmly, asked if you could show them how you moved so far.
You and your group were disappointed at not finding any living you knew but these new dead helped.
They gave you all a new purpose, to teach and to expand your group and move further afield.
Still, you wondered where all the living had gone to, yours left long ago and apparently so did theirs.
Their town was just as ruinous as your own, if not more so.
Your goal remained the same over the years: find the living.
And you would make it happen, no matter how long it took.
After all, what is time to the dead?
You'll find a living person to have and to hold one day, you have an eternity ahead of you.
20150218
Day 290
Parents can be so oblivious sometimes, wandering into places like this.
The dilapidated fairytale themed amusement park offered free entry to kids under 16.
Of course, any tired parent on a week long vacation up north is going to want to go.
Somewhere the kids can run about and get tired while the parents talk to other parents.
Fun for the whole family.
This place wasn't right and Janine's parents accused her of being "fussy".
Her younger sister Kat agreed with her, everything looked weird.
Most of the rides didn't work properly, jerking the two girls all over the place and bruising them.
The only one that couldn't possibly go wrong was the "Crooked House".
Janine remembered the poem and it didn't sound bad, how could they muck it up?
The paint on the outside was peeling off and the animatronic in the window kept freezing.
Otherwise it looked like it would be boring which was a relief from the rest of the rides.
The man at the entry desk made the girls sign a "friends" book which only had three other entries.
Seemed this ride was the least popular, probably because the entire place was a dump.
They were lifted over the turnstile as it had rusted shut, their parents waved to them as they went in.
The first thing they noticed was the music, a lilting and badly sung version of the rhyme.
At least they got the "crooked house" right, the floor was so slanted they had to cling to the walls.
It wasn't too bad so far, but the further they went in the more it began to smell.
The hallway they were in took a sharp and narrow turn to the right bringing them to the first room.
It was a country scene of the crooked man with the words "and he walked a crooked mile" displayed.
The words were scrawled on the sky in childish pink writing that sloped at the end like they'd fallen.
It looked as grimy as the rest of the park with small brown hand-prints all over the glass in front.
Poorly taxidermied animals were placed carelessly about the room, rotting and melting.
Janine wanted to leave right then and there but Kat insisted they follow the rules so "no backsies".
Strangely the crooked man figure was nowhere to be seen, even though this was all about him.
Their next challenge was going up steps that were barely big enough to grip, Kat had to go first.
Her small hands just about managed to make the climb while her sister struggled behind her.
Right at the top was the second room had a poorly nailed together wooden structure of some kind.
A "stile" according to the writing on the wall, brown and smeared at the end.
The bad smell was very strong here and in the background was a black squiggle-ish shape.
It might be the crooked man but neither girl was sure, it looked more like an octopus.
There were no animals in this room thankfully.
The girls moved on quickly, eager to get some fresh air and flat flooring.
To their right was a window where they could see their parents waving up at them, they waved back.
As the began to move on they heard the sound of their parents faintly yelling something.
Looking back out of the window their parents were trying to enter the house, they looked scared.
The desk man wouldn't let them past saying something that made them stop and cry.
Both girls were really worried now and began to move faster along the hallway to the next room.
The glass was covered in blood spatters and the "crooked cat" looked to be clumps of stitched-up fur.
As they stared in horror a large patch fell to the ground with a wet splurch and Kat began to cry.
The "crooked mouse" was made to look 3D and almost pop out of the glass and onto them, running
from the "crooked cat" and like that it was also just clumps of stitched fur with plastic mouse teeth.
Parts of it had begun to grow mould that seeped around the glass it was pressed against.
The writing in the background was fur nailed to the wall and it oozed blood.
The black squiggle was bigger but hard to see past the blood, it looked more human though.
Tearing her younger sister's gaze from there, Janine dragged her to the end of the hallway.
A slide led them down and glass lined the inner side, whirring mechanically, must be a bot in there.
With Kat on her lap she braced herself for whatever was moving in the side wall and pushed.
It was hands, rows and rows of small bloodied hands waving at them, all attached to pulleys.
The slide ended abruptly with a large furry cushion that made a squishing noise as the landed on it.
Without looking back Janine tugged Kat towards the final room and the exit beyond.
As they turned the final sharp corner they were met with broken glass and red footprints all around.
Some were small and others enormous - the room inside looked like an average kitchen.
A teapot sat on a sagging table with the "cat" and "mouse" much smaller and seated around it.
Their eyes looked leaky and one of the "mouses'" had begun to fall out, dripping blood down its' face.
Treading carefully so as to not slip on the bloody glass the girls made their way to the open door.
They could clearly hear what their parents were saying now and they were terrified.
"What the hell is that thing? Let me get my children! For god's sake will you MOVE let us IN!"
As soon as the girls approached the door their parents ran as close as they could get, yelling at them
to run quickly and get out right now, don't talk just come here PLEASE.
The girls began to run but Janine's arm was suddenly yanked back as something pulled Kat inside.
Her head snapped around in time to see a large bulky figure hold her sister by the neck.
It's head looked like it had been pulled off and sewn back on the wrong side, a bloody stump where
an ear should be and a mouth extending right round it's bulbous mismatched head.
Before she could try to grab Kat back the thing, the Crooked Man slammed the door shut.
She felt numb as her mum pulled her back and away from the ride while her dad phoned the police.
As she fell into shock all the sounds around her grew dull and muted, time seemed to slow.
This was sharply broken when her sister began shrieking from inside the house.
Looking up Janine saw her tiny bleeding face pressed against that small window and large teeth
stood behind her opening and closing slowly, like a cross between laughing and eating.
Then silence as Kat's head was jerked back and her body sunk from sight.
The Crooked Man bent down and came back up holding her small arms.
He waved them and slunk away from the window.
The dilapidated fairytale themed amusement park offered free entry to kids under 16.
Of course, any tired parent on a week long vacation up north is going to want to go.
Somewhere the kids can run about and get tired while the parents talk to other parents.
Fun for the whole family.
This place wasn't right and Janine's parents accused her of being "fussy".
Her younger sister Kat agreed with her, everything looked weird.
Most of the rides didn't work properly, jerking the two girls all over the place and bruising them.
The only one that couldn't possibly go wrong was the "Crooked House".
Janine remembered the poem and it didn't sound bad, how could they muck it up?
The paint on the outside was peeling off and the animatronic in the window kept freezing.
Otherwise it looked like it would be boring which was a relief from the rest of the rides.
The man at the entry desk made the girls sign a "friends" book which only had three other entries.
Seemed this ride was the least popular, probably because the entire place was a dump.
They were lifted over the turnstile as it had rusted shut, their parents waved to them as they went in.
The first thing they noticed was the music, a lilting and badly sung version of the rhyme.
At least they got the "crooked house" right, the floor was so slanted they had to cling to the walls.
It wasn't too bad so far, but the further they went in the more it began to smell.
The hallway they were in took a sharp and narrow turn to the right bringing them to the first room.
It was a country scene of the crooked man with the words "and he walked a crooked mile" displayed.
The words were scrawled on the sky in childish pink writing that sloped at the end like they'd fallen.
It looked as grimy as the rest of the park with small brown hand-prints all over the glass in front.
Poorly taxidermied animals were placed carelessly about the room, rotting and melting.
Janine wanted to leave right then and there but Kat insisted they follow the rules so "no backsies".
Strangely the crooked man figure was nowhere to be seen, even though this was all about him.
Their next challenge was going up steps that were barely big enough to grip, Kat had to go first.
Her small hands just about managed to make the climb while her sister struggled behind her.
Right at the top was the second room had a poorly nailed together wooden structure of some kind.
A "stile" according to the writing on the wall, brown and smeared at the end.
The bad smell was very strong here and in the background was a black squiggle-ish shape.
It might be the crooked man but neither girl was sure, it looked more like an octopus.
There were no animals in this room thankfully.
The girls moved on quickly, eager to get some fresh air and flat flooring.
To their right was a window where they could see their parents waving up at them, they waved back.
As the began to move on they heard the sound of their parents faintly yelling something.
Looking back out of the window their parents were trying to enter the house, they looked scared.
The desk man wouldn't let them past saying something that made them stop and cry.
Both girls were really worried now and began to move faster along the hallway to the next room.
The glass was covered in blood spatters and the "crooked cat" looked to be clumps of stitched-up fur.
As they stared in horror a large patch fell to the ground with a wet splurch and Kat began to cry.
The "crooked mouse" was made to look 3D and almost pop out of the glass and onto them, running
from the "crooked cat" and like that it was also just clumps of stitched fur with plastic mouse teeth.
Parts of it had begun to grow mould that seeped around the glass it was pressed against.
The writing in the background was fur nailed to the wall and it oozed blood.
The black squiggle was bigger but hard to see past the blood, it looked more human though.
Tearing her younger sister's gaze from there, Janine dragged her to the end of the hallway.
A slide led them down and glass lined the inner side, whirring mechanically, must be a bot in there.
With Kat on her lap she braced herself for whatever was moving in the side wall and pushed.
It was hands, rows and rows of small bloodied hands waving at them, all attached to pulleys.
The slide ended abruptly with a large furry cushion that made a squishing noise as the landed on it.
Without looking back Janine tugged Kat towards the final room and the exit beyond.
As they turned the final sharp corner they were met with broken glass and red footprints all around.
Some were small and others enormous - the room inside looked like an average kitchen.
A teapot sat on a sagging table with the "cat" and "mouse" much smaller and seated around it.
Their eyes looked leaky and one of the "mouses'" had begun to fall out, dripping blood down its' face.
Treading carefully so as to not slip on the bloody glass the girls made their way to the open door.
They could clearly hear what their parents were saying now and they were terrified.
"What the hell is that thing? Let me get my children! For god's sake will you MOVE let us IN!"
As soon as the girls approached the door their parents ran as close as they could get, yelling at them
to run quickly and get out right now, don't talk just come here PLEASE.
The girls began to run but Janine's arm was suddenly yanked back as something pulled Kat inside.
Her head snapped around in time to see a large bulky figure hold her sister by the neck.
It's head looked like it had been pulled off and sewn back on the wrong side, a bloody stump where
an ear should be and a mouth extending right round it's bulbous mismatched head.
Before she could try to grab Kat back the thing, the Crooked Man slammed the door shut.
She felt numb as her mum pulled her back and away from the ride while her dad phoned the police.
As she fell into shock all the sounds around her grew dull and muted, time seemed to slow.
This was sharply broken when her sister began shrieking from inside the house.
Looking up Janine saw her tiny bleeding face pressed against that small window and large teeth
stood behind her opening and closing slowly, like a cross between laughing and eating.
Then silence as Kat's head was jerked back and her body sunk from sight.
The Crooked Man bent down and came back up holding her small arms.
He waved them and slunk away from the window.
20150217
Day 289
Today we bring you vision.
We bring you clear sight.
We bring you glasses that help you see life sharper than you've ever seen before.
Today you will see through people's lying skin.
You will see them as they truly are, without the fleshy topcoat masking their horrors.
You will see them as the drooling masses of rotting meat they really are.
Today we bring you realisation.
Flesh has never been more human until now.
You have never seen more humanly until now.
Embrace the cold reality of your loved ones as they crumble and decay.
Watch as your own body joins them.
We bring you clear sight.
We bring you glasses that help you see life sharper than you've ever seen before.
Today you will see through people's lying skin.
You will see them as they truly are, without the fleshy topcoat masking their horrors.
You will see them as the drooling masses of rotting meat they really are.
Today we bring you realisation.
Flesh has never been more human until now.
You have never seen more humanly until now.
Embrace the cold reality of your loved ones as they crumble and decay.
Watch as your own body joins them.
20150216
Day 288
Our cities are full of hidden areas, places that only older people remember.
Some are ruined, full of trash and left to rot.
Others remain as they always have been, metaphorically frozen in time.
Others literally so.
One such place was through a long series of narrow alleyways (as old cities are wont to have).
If you asked the right person in the right café they would take you near to it.
All other attempts leave you in circles, unable to get there no matter what turns you take.
Nobody knows if anyone has ever made it to this place, they never seem to return.
The last couple to go there carried a large camera with them, determined to capture the place.
All they wanted was proof of its existence - the rumoured "Parque Congelada" or "frozen park".
They'd asked a man named Bartolome who had allegedly guided tourists there before.
He was plied with most of their cash to wait until they returned, they wanted to take precaution.
It was a relief to have Bartolome with them, the paths looked too similar to their new eyes.
They seemed to head downhill for most of the trip which was strange as the city was mainly flat.
Their guide explained that the city was built on many layers, the oldest parts were still in use.
Some areas, like the one they were heading to, were in disuse though due to the... unique layout.
He wouldn't explain this further, said they would understand when they arrived.
Coming to a halt Bartolome declared this was as far as he was willing to go, even with their money.
The Congelada was through the left path and right at the house with icicles on the right window.
Their questions were met with pointing hands as the old man sat on nearby steps to wait.
With no further response the couple began to follow his directions.
The air in the path seemed different somehow, like it had a taste they couldn't put words to.
It was longer and steeper than the others, they had to grip the houses' windowsills and almost slide.
As they reached the bottom they tasted something almost metallic in the air, sharp and crisp.
Looking around for the "house with icicles on the right window" they found it with ease.
As they approached it and the footpath beside it the air temperature diminished rapidly.
They found themselves wishing they had worn thick coats, despite the previously humid climate.
The further they walked down this cold, narrow path the more ice had formed on the houses around.
Caught up in their filming they almost didn't notice the icy metal gate before them.
It was frozen solid, wouldn't budge an inch until the young man kicked it down entirely.
The sight of the park before them, literally frozen in time, took their breath away.
It was hard to tell at first but they soon realised that they were not alone.
Once it had been a popular place to bring young children, the high house walls around it felt safe.
As the couple looked closely at the swing-sets they saw that the children had never left.
They were encased in ice (mostly opaque but clear in patches) and laughing at unheard jokes.
Wandering around the couple saw more and more people - men, women and children of all ages.
All trapped in whatever they had been doing at the moment this place froze.
The couple decided their first call of action would be to find the source.
They started at the outside and worked their way towards the opposite end, going left to right.
Despite the frigid temperatures they had covered almost half of the park, filming all the while.
And then he slipped and fell on the icy ground, his head hitting a perfectly preserved pram.
His partner gasped, unable to comprehend what they saw as the man began bleeding and freezing.
Within seconds he was the same as the others.
His face laughing and eyes unseeing.
The other ran for the gate falling over just before they could reach it.
Hitting the ground with a painful thud they looked behind to see what they had tripped on.
One of the frozen children (who had previously been eating an ice-cream) was standing behind him.
Their leg was now outstretched and their face was turned towards the fallen person.
The ice that had covered their head opaquely was now clear as glass.
The child was smiling.
The child blinked.
The child moved.
Bartolome waited until sunset before heading towards the police station.
He would tell them that the Congelada had been fed for the time being.
They would deliver charred remains to the tourists' home country and pray for forgiveness.
And the cycle would continue until someone forgot.
Another never ending cycle.
Frozen in repetition.
Some are ruined, full of trash and left to rot.
Others remain as they always have been, metaphorically frozen in time.
Others literally so.
One such place was through a long series of narrow alleyways (as old cities are wont to have).
If you asked the right person in the right café they would take you near to it.
All other attempts leave you in circles, unable to get there no matter what turns you take.
Nobody knows if anyone has ever made it to this place, they never seem to return.
The last couple to go there carried a large camera with them, determined to capture the place.
All they wanted was proof of its existence - the rumoured "Parque Congelada" or "frozen park".
They'd asked a man named Bartolome who had allegedly guided tourists there before.
He was plied with most of their cash to wait until they returned, they wanted to take precaution.
It was a relief to have Bartolome with them, the paths looked too similar to their new eyes.
They seemed to head downhill for most of the trip which was strange as the city was mainly flat.
Their guide explained that the city was built on many layers, the oldest parts were still in use.
Some areas, like the one they were heading to, were in disuse though due to the... unique layout.
He wouldn't explain this further, said they would understand when they arrived.
Coming to a halt Bartolome declared this was as far as he was willing to go, even with their money.
The Congelada was through the left path and right at the house with icicles on the right window.
Their questions were met with pointing hands as the old man sat on nearby steps to wait.
With no further response the couple began to follow his directions.
The air in the path seemed different somehow, like it had a taste they couldn't put words to.
It was longer and steeper than the others, they had to grip the houses' windowsills and almost slide.
As they reached the bottom they tasted something almost metallic in the air, sharp and crisp.
Looking around for the "house with icicles on the right window" they found it with ease.
As they approached it and the footpath beside it the air temperature diminished rapidly.
They found themselves wishing they had worn thick coats, despite the previously humid climate.
The further they walked down this cold, narrow path the more ice had formed on the houses around.
Caught up in their filming they almost didn't notice the icy metal gate before them.
It was frozen solid, wouldn't budge an inch until the young man kicked it down entirely.
The sight of the park before them, literally frozen in time, took their breath away.
It was hard to tell at first but they soon realised that they were not alone.
Once it had been a popular place to bring young children, the high house walls around it felt safe.
As the couple looked closely at the swing-sets they saw that the children had never left.
They were encased in ice (mostly opaque but clear in patches) and laughing at unheard jokes.
Wandering around the couple saw more and more people - men, women and children of all ages.
All trapped in whatever they had been doing at the moment this place froze.
The couple decided their first call of action would be to find the source.
They started at the outside and worked their way towards the opposite end, going left to right.
Despite the frigid temperatures they had covered almost half of the park, filming all the while.
And then he slipped and fell on the icy ground, his head hitting a perfectly preserved pram.
His partner gasped, unable to comprehend what they saw as the man began bleeding and freezing.
Within seconds he was the same as the others.
His face laughing and eyes unseeing.
The other ran for the gate falling over just before they could reach it.
Hitting the ground with a painful thud they looked behind to see what they had tripped on.
One of the frozen children (who had previously been eating an ice-cream) was standing behind him.
Their leg was now outstretched and their face was turned towards the fallen person.
The ice that had covered their head opaquely was now clear as glass.
The child was smiling.
The child blinked.
The child moved.
Bartolome waited until sunset before heading towards the police station.
He would tell them that the Congelada had been fed for the time being.
They would deliver charred remains to the tourists' home country and pray for forgiveness.
And the cycle would continue until someone forgot.
Another never ending cycle.
Frozen in repetition.
20150215
Day 287
The house was desolate and the young boy was almost alone.
He was trying to avoid the only other living person there.
This being was definitely alive, he muttered actual words.
Dead people don't say words they say... memories.
It's hard to explain but where speech would be there are instead images in your mind.
The young boy was scared of them, they never said nice things to him.
Now the living one, the one who walked slowly from room to room humming softly.
The boy had never seen this man, only heard him.
His loneliness had grown to the point where he would follow the living man's every step.
He had tried many times leaving notes to communicate with this live one.
It never worked, the dead kept moving the notes and tearing them up or bleeding all over them.
Even as he carried notes to their places red drops would coat them, following was the only solution.
Today's wandering had lead him to a new part of the house.
The floor rustled as he kicked up the music sheets coating the floor beneath him.
They'd all been violently torn from their books, the covers nailed to the walls in rows.
The living man was nearby, he'd recognise those slow thudding steps anywhere.
Pressing his ear to the nearest wall he heard the soft sound of humming coming through.
The living man must be on the other side, now was his chance to finally make contact.
He tiptoed to the door as quietly as he possibly could (considering the floor was covered in paper).
Peering round he got his first glimpse of the living man who went silent the moment he was spotted.
He wore a dark grey suit and had a bowed head, shuffling his feet slightly as he stood facing a corner.
The young boy crept up behind him and stood, waiting for him to turn around.
All that could be heard from the room was the man's slowly moving feet and the boy's quiet breaths.
His feet were moving strangely, almost like he was writing as he leisurely scuffed the floor.
Suddenly as if struck by lightening the living man's body went rigid and he swiftly marched out.
The young boy made a move to follow him but stopped as the man stepped through the opposite wall.
Seems he was dead, but not dead like the others... maybe somewhere in between.
Deciding to not follow for the time being (just in case) the young boy crouched to look at the floor.
Where the (possibly not) living man had been standing words were now scratched into the wood.
Only a few words and the young boy began to understand his predicament and his home.
No life left.
He was trying to avoid the only other living person there.
This being was definitely alive, he muttered actual words.
Dead people don't say words they say... memories.
It's hard to explain but where speech would be there are instead images in your mind.
The young boy was scared of them, they never said nice things to him.
Now the living one, the one who walked slowly from room to room humming softly.
The boy had never seen this man, only heard him.
His loneliness had grown to the point where he would follow the living man's every step.
He had tried many times leaving notes to communicate with this live one.
It never worked, the dead kept moving the notes and tearing them up or bleeding all over them.
Even as he carried notes to their places red drops would coat them, following was the only solution.
Today's wandering had lead him to a new part of the house.
The floor rustled as he kicked up the music sheets coating the floor beneath him.
They'd all been violently torn from their books, the covers nailed to the walls in rows.
The living man was nearby, he'd recognise those slow thudding steps anywhere.
Pressing his ear to the nearest wall he heard the soft sound of humming coming through.
The living man must be on the other side, now was his chance to finally make contact.
He tiptoed to the door as quietly as he possibly could (considering the floor was covered in paper).
Peering round he got his first glimpse of the living man who went silent the moment he was spotted.
He wore a dark grey suit and had a bowed head, shuffling his feet slightly as he stood facing a corner.
The young boy crept up behind him and stood, waiting for him to turn around.
All that could be heard from the room was the man's slowly moving feet and the boy's quiet breaths.
His feet were moving strangely, almost like he was writing as he leisurely scuffed the floor.
Suddenly as if struck by lightening the living man's body went rigid and he swiftly marched out.
The young boy made a move to follow him but stopped as the man stepped through the opposite wall.
Seems he was dead, but not dead like the others... maybe somewhere in between.
Deciding to not follow for the time being (just in case) the young boy crouched to look at the floor.
Where the (possibly not) living man had been standing words were now scratched into the wood.
Only a few words and the young boy began to understand his predicament and his home.
No life left.
20150214
Day 286
Her family didn't know she was pregnant when she died.
She was barely a month into it, not even the mortician noticed.
The coffin was only built for one.
But the baby wasn't done growing yet.
It continued to feed on every part of her body.
Draining it dry from the inside out.
Eight months later, mourners reported hearing a baby crying in the graveyard.
People began to scour the place, convinced someone had abandoned an infant there.
It was found by her tombstone, cold and hungry and unnerving somehow.
Nobody could quite place their finger on what it was about the child that seemed off.
As the child grew it left sickness in its wake.
Everyone who came into contact with it developed the same symptoms.
Coughing, anaemia and severe tremors of the head and arms.
The news reported it as a disease outbreak.
People began to drop dead on the streets - autopsies revealed their heart muscles were tissue thin.
Doctors had no idea where this new illness was coming from or why is was only in that town.
Nobody suspected the child, well... nobody suspected the child and lived.
It made sure of that.
Everybody was too busy taking care of loved ones or being taken care of to pay much attention to it.
So it roamed the graveyard, its home, and fed on the bodies left there.
The older it grew, the worse the disease got and yet it didn't spread.
By this point the voluntary medical staff had noticed the child's apparent immunity.
When they asked for a blood sample it grew violent, killed four of them just by touching their skin.
After a brutal fight it was killed by nine bullets to the torso and head.
Blood tests revealed what some had suspected all along.
The child was never alive.
Whatever it had been, it had been dead for around seven years and eight months.
She was barely a month into it, not even the mortician noticed.
The coffin was only built for one.
But the baby wasn't done growing yet.
It continued to feed on every part of her body.
Draining it dry from the inside out.
Eight months later, mourners reported hearing a baby crying in the graveyard.
People began to scour the place, convinced someone had abandoned an infant there.
It was found by her tombstone, cold and hungry and unnerving somehow.
Nobody could quite place their finger on what it was about the child that seemed off.
As the child grew it left sickness in its wake.
Everyone who came into contact with it developed the same symptoms.
Coughing, anaemia and severe tremors of the head and arms.
The news reported it as a disease outbreak.
People began to drop dead on the streets - autopsies revealed their heart muscles were tissue thin.
Doctors had no idea where this new illness was coming from or why is was only in that town.
Nobody suspected the child, well... nobody suspected the child and lived.
It made sure of that.
Everybody was too busy taking care of loved ones or being taken care of to pay much attention to it.
So it roamed the graveyard, its home, and fed on the bodies left there.
The older it grew, the worse the disease got and yet it didn't spread.
By this point the voluntary medical staff had noticed the child's apparent immunity.
When they asked for a blood sample it grew violent, killed four of them just by touching their skin.
After a brutal fight it was killed by nine bullets to the torso and head.
Blood tests revealed what some had suspected all along.
The child was never alive.
Whatever it had been, it had been dead for around seven years and eight months.
20150213
Day 285
Day by day the courtyard changed but... nobody talked about it.
It started with small things - a flower changed colour or moved slightly.
Gradually the changes became bigger to the point where it was cordoned off entirely.
Today as it stood there was now a roof where an open area had once been.
The courtyard had sealed itself somehow and still nobody talked about it.
She thought to change that as, in the centre of the new roof, there was an opening.
Waiting until everyone at home had gone she made her way to the corridor overlooking it.
The roof seemed stable enough, perfectly normal even.
All things considered the roof looked as old as everything else, even though it appeared last week.
It didn't even creak when she stepped on, so far so good though she swore it shifted slightly.
The opening looked much bigger up close, big enough for a dining table at least.
Shining her torch down there seemed to be a pile of wooden pallets stacked close enough to reach.
They were fairly secure, only shaking slightly as she stretched to step onto them,
From there the floor was at least five stories down and there was no way she could jump.
Strange, the surrounding building was only three floors high.
It looked nothing like it had when she was a kid.
All the flowers had been replaced by more wooden pallets, crates and was that netting?
Didn't make sense to her, where had everything else gone?
The only thing that had remained the same there was the metal bench that Mr Tolf had died on.
Well this wasn't what she had hoped to find, though she wasn't really sure what she'd hoped for.
Something more interesting, maybe another dimension, maybe monsters maybe...
Was that crate always open?
The straw inside was filthy, had someone left an animal here?
She frantically shone her torch beam around trying to find it.
Poor thing didn't realise what was in there.
It could climb far faster then her and it was hungry.
It started with small things - a flower changed colour or moved slightly.
Gradually the changes became bigger to the point where it was cordoned off entirely.
Today as it stood there was now a roof where an open area had once been.
The courtyard had sealed itself somehow and still nobody talked about it.
She thought to change that as, in the centre of the new roof, there was an opening.
Waiting until everyone at home had gone she made her way to the corridor overlooking it.
The roof seemed stable enough, perfectly normal even.
All things considered the roof looked as old as everything else, even though it appeared last week.
It didn't even creak when she stepped on, so far so good though she swore it shifted slightly.
The opening looked much bigger up close, big enough for a dining table at least.
Shining her torch down there seemed to be a pile of wooden pallets stacked close enough to reach.
They were fairly secure, only shaking slightly as she stretched to step onto them,
From there the floor was at least five stories down and there was no way she could jump.
Strange, the surrounding building was only three floors high.
It looked nothing like it had when she was a kid.
All the flowers had been replaced by more wooden pallets, crates and was that netting?
Didn't make sense to her, where had everything else gone?
The only thing that had remained the same there was the metal bench that Mr Tolf had died on.
Well this wasn't what she had hoped to find, though she wasn't really sure what she'd hoped for.
Something more interesting, maybe another dimension, maybe monsters maybe...
Was that crate always open?
The straw inside was filthy, had someone left an animal here?
She frantically shone her torch beam around trying to find it.
Poor thing didn't realise what was in there.
It could climb far faster then her and it was hungry.
20150212
Day 284
The trail wasn't very well built and nobody seemed to mind.
It went right through the forest in big circuits, broken up by platforms overlooking the floor.
By day it was hauntingly beautiful, truly picturesque and serene.
By night the familiar pathways twisted and ran in circles, losing all who walked it until dawn.
When searched for only traces remained of these people, these night wanderers.
A boot casually tossed into a bush, a jacket lying on a post, hair caught high up in branches.
They have never been found, not even sniffer dogs can catch their trace among the forest.
The entire trail was almost closed off several times but in the end they restricted walks to tours only.
So it remained like that for years, fewer people went missing and yet more items were found.
Still no clues were found as to the people's whereabouts until a phone was picked up by a tour-guide.
It had been precariously balancing on the edge of a plank, just above a small stream.
Police took it as evidence, hoping it contained some hint of their location or state of being.
After charging it was easy enough to unlock - the person had set their passcode to 1-2-3-0.
After calling a contact labelled "JP" they got an ID on her.
A woman aged 27 who went missing nine years ago.
Their next step was searching the phone for evidence that she was still alive.
Only one photo had been taken, according to the tech results.
A photo of her sitting in the same spot the phone was found in, it looked to be late evening.
She was smiling and it looked like someone wearing green was sitting next to her.
This stranger might be her kidnapper, they finally had something!
Looking further into her phone they found a video taken in the same location.
It was hours after the photo according to the angle of the sun.
She was lying down, eyes closed and smiling.
A bone-like green arm came into frame and stroked her face.
That same shade of green began to seep into her skin as her smile faded.
It was then that the camera began jerking and shaking as she appeared to be having a seizure.
The phone was flung to one side showing her entire upper half spasming uncontrollably.
It also showed the emaciated green arm stretching inhumanly further.
Either the body was off-screen or it was a puppet of some kind.
As her body came to a halt the hand reached over to bring the camera closer to her face.
Her entire body was that sickly shade of green now and her eyes were bloodshot and bleeding.
It was then she spoke those seven unforgettable words.
Don't look for us. We are home.
And the video ended.
And they never found her body, nor any of the others to go missing.
And the forest expanded.
And nobody questioned the new trees whose knots looked so painfully familiar, like an old friend.
It went right through the forest in big circuits, broken up by platforms overlooking the floor.
By day it was hauntingly beautiful, truly picturesque and serene.
By night the familiar pathways twisted and ran in circles, losing all who walked it until dawn.
When searched for only traces remained of these people, these night wanderers.
A boot casually tossed into a bush, a jacket lying on a post, hair caught high up in branches.
They have never been found, not even sniffer dogs can catch their trace among the forest.
The entire trail was almost closed off several times but in the end they restricted walks to tours only.
So it remained like that for years, fewer people went missing and yet more items were found.
Still no clues were found as to the people's whereabouts until a phone was picked up by a tour-guide.
It had been precariously balancing on the edge of a plank, just above a small stream.
Police took it as evidence, hoping it contained some hint of their location or state of being.
After charging it was easy enough to unlock - the person had set their passcode to 1-2-3-0.
After calling a contact labelled "JP" they got an ID on her.
A woman aged 27 who went missing nine years ago.
Their next step was searching the phone for evidence that she was still alive.
Only one photo had been taken, according to the tech results.
A photo of her sitting in the same spot the phone was found in, it looked to be late evening.
She was smiling and it looked like someone wearing green was sitting next to her.
This stranger might be her kidnapper, they finally had something!
Looking further into her phone they found a video taken in the same location.
It was hours after the photo according to the angle of the sun.
She was lying down, eyes closed and smiling.
A bone-like green arm came into frame and stroked her face.
That same shade of green began to seep into her skin as her smile faded.
It was then that the camera began jerking and shaking as she appeared to be having a seizure.
The phone was flung to one side showing her entire upper half spasming uncontrollably.
It also showed the emaciated green arm stretching inhumanly further.
Either the body was off-screen or it was a puppet of some kind.
As her body came to a halt the hand reached over to bring the camera closer to her face.
Her entire body was that sickly shade of green now and her eyes were bloodshot and bleeding.
It was then she spoke those seven unforgettable words.
Don't look for us. We are home.
And the video ended.
And they never found her body, nor any of the others to go missing.
And the forest expanded.
And nobody questioned the new trees whose knots looked so painfully familiar, like an old friend.
20150211
Day 283
There were no horses nearby and yet they kept washing up.
The beach was littered with them, not just the local breed either.
Every single one was missing their hooves.
Police thought it was some black market thing gone wrong.
Locals remembered things they'd pushed out of their minds.
Brought up old stories of a young woman who died there.
Said she'd murdered her family and hid their bodies on their farm.
Pretended everything was fine and claimed they went on holiday.
Nobody suspected anything and even she began to forget.
But they came back, they wanted her to suffer and suffer she did.
They wouldn't let her leave - she tried.
They'd killed all the animals - cut off their hooves and left them to die.
Just like she'd left them to die, tongues cut out and bodies strung up in the cellar.
Her last option was on foot, they chased her still.
Through fields, along empty road and into the sea.
They chased her until she could swim no further, until she joined them.
Some say she still suffers under them.
They torment her in the afterlife and on clear nights you can hear her screaming on the beach.
The sudden arrival of the mutilated horses were just another part of this.
Some of them were still alive when they were found.
Their cries sounded almost like a young woman screaming.
She's even been sighted apparently - her head floating and the water red around her.
She begs for help until red hands pull her under the waves.
We don't know how to stop this.
Please help.
The police won't believe us,
She can't rest.
They won't let her.
The beach was littered with them, not just the local breed either.
Every single one was missing their hooves.
Police thought it was some black market thing gone wrong.
Locals remembered things they'd pushed out of their minds.
Brought up old stories of a young woman who died there.
Said she'd murdered her family and hid their bodies on their farm.
Pretended everything was fine and claimed they went on holiday.
Nobody suspected anything and even she began to forget.
But they came back, they wanted her to suffer and suffer she did.
They wouldn't let her leave - she tried.
They'd killed all the animals - cut off their hooves and left them to die.
Just like she'd left them to die, tongues cut out and bodies strung up in the cellar.
Her last option was on foot, they chased her still.
Through fields, along empty road and into the sea.
They chased her until she could swim no further, until she joined them.
Some say she still suffers under them.
They torment her in the afterlife and on clear nights you can hear her screaming on the beach.
The sudden arrival of the mutilated horses were just another part of this.
Some of them were still alive when they were found.
Their cries sounded almost like a young woman screaming.
She's even been sighted apparently - her head floating and the water red around her.
She begs for help until red hands pull her under the waves.
We don't know how to stop this.
Please help.
The police won't believe us,
She can't rest.
They won't let her.
20150210
Day 282
The three of them went around the old neighbourhood one last time.
It was due to be demolished in the next month or so and they were beginning to ramp up security.
Nobody had lived there for almost forty years, they claimed it was cursed and left.
The trio of teens had played there in secret when they were children and no harm had come.
They all thought the rest of the town were weird for thinking the place was haunted or whatever.
Shame it all had to go, they'd had a whole area of houses to explore!
For their final adventure there they decided to go swimming in the biggest pool they could find.
It was somewhere around the middle and they'd never actually been in it before.
There's a first time for everything though, both good and bad.
The pool was still full of water (rainwater they assumed) tinged a worrying shade of green.
Suddenly swimming there seemed nauseating - were those bubbles over there?
Their back-up plan had been to do a seance in the old town hall, it seemed better than the green pool.
The former town hall was ten or so minutes further into the old area but the route was scenic.
The houses had begun to collapse, some already had, and flowers sprung from every concrete crack.
So caught up in their revelry the three didn't notice their audience.
Every window had vague shapes floating around it, sometimes dashing out only to retreat sharply.
Who would notice these though, when they could instead laugh with their friends?
Perhaps they did notice and chose to play ignorant in the hopes of remaining safe... who can say?
What can be said is that they reached the town hall and at least began a seance.
They were found there eventually, cross-legged and holding hands too tightly to be separated.
A ouija board lay in front of them, shattered and covered with blood from a woman long dead.
Forty years dead from the police records.
20150209
Day 281
She found that when the wallpaper began to shift, blinking didn't help.
She'd been staring at it for a fair while now, not sure if it was meant to do that.
In all her eight years she'd never seen moving wallpaper.
The moving bits were all in one clump that was gently circling the room.
Pacing, she thought, like the tigers in the zoo.
It seemed to like waiting behind her bed and leaping out when she turned off the lights.
She played with it when she was meant to be asleep.
It would reach out and make grabby hands, it was so much fun!
Never could reach her though, she'd flash her torch at it and watch it race away from the light.
Some days it just stood near her bed.
She reckoned it was sulking, it tended to do that after she played torch-tag with it.
Maybe it just wanted a hug, had she ever hugged it?
Her small arms reached out and the wallpaper lifted off as much as it could.
The second her fingers touched it she shrieked as pain shot through her arm.
Through her tear-filled eyes she saw her skin beginning to peel and flake and... pattern?
The pain faded fast leaving her feeling shaken and weak.
Slowly she looked up and saw her wallpaper friend was leaning over her.
It looked like it had a face, she didn't remember it having a face.
Oh, it also had hair - long brown hair just like hers!
And it had brown eyes like her and it had... cat pyjamas just... like...hers?
Why was it looking more and more like her?
It pulled her arm towards the wall and her hand began to sink into the surface.
Everything went dark.
As she blinked awake she saw herself sitting on her bed talking to her parents.
She tried to get their attention, this wasn't right and that wasn't her!
She tried reaching out but something was pulling her arm back.
Laughter filled her ears as she saw the not-her and her parents grinning at her.
Their skin shifted to the same pattern that ran all through her house.
The not-her had her torch and it burned so much.
She fled her room moving through the wallpaper just like it had.
A voice caught her attention halfway down the stairs and she saw another wallpaper thing.
Her mother?
They'd caught her mother on the stairs, her father wasn't in the house, mum had no idea where he was.
As they held each other (as best as two wallpaper like beings could) they heard footsteps above them.
The light burns so much.
She'd been staring at it for a fair while now, not sure if it was meant to do that.
In all her eight years she'd never seen moving wallpaper.
The moving bits were all in one clump that was gently circling the room.
Pacing, she thought, like the tigers in the zoo.
It seemed to like waiting behind her bed and leaping out when she turned off the lights.
She played with it when she was meant to be asleep.
It would reach out and make grabby hands, it was so much fun!
Never could reach her though, she'd flash her torch at it and watch it race away from the light.
Some days it just stood near her bed.
She reckoned it was sulking, it tended to do that after she played torch-tag with it.
Maybe it just wanted a hug, had she ever hugged it?
Her small arms reached out and the wallpaper lifted off as much as it could.
The second her fingers touched it she shrieked as pain shot through her arm.
Through her tear-filled eyes she saw her skin beginning to peel and flake and... pattern?
The pain faded fast leaving her feeling shaken and weak.
Slowly she looked up and saw her wallpaper friend was leaning over her.
It looked like it had a face, she didn't remember it having a face.
Oh, it also had hair - long brown hair just like hers!
And it had brown eyes like her and it had... cat pyjamas just... like...hers?
Why was it looking more and more like her?
It pulled her arm towards the wall and her hand began to sink into the surface.
Everything went dark.
As she blinked awake she saw herself sitting on her bed talking to her parents.
She tried to get their attention, this wasn't right and that wasn't her!
She tried reaching out but something was pulling her arm back.
Laughter filled her ears as she saw the not-her and her parents grinning at her.
Their skin shifted to the same pattern that ran all through her house.
The not-her had her torch and it burned so much.
She fled her room moving through the wallpaper just like it had.
A voice caught her attention halfway down the stairs and she saw another wallpaper thing.
Her mother?
They'd caught her mother on the stairs, her father wasn't in the house, mum had no idea where he was.
As they held each other (as best as two wallpaper like beings could) they heard footsteps above them.
The light burns so much.
20150208
Day 280
I didn't think I'd live to see this, the room.. the man above me with a scalpel.
Does he realise I'm still inside?
I thought that I'd be gone before he got to this.
Laying still through weeping family members was bad enough.
At least they all know what to do with my things.
I wonder what the procedure is for this?
Do they pray or, oh wait seems he's feeling impatient, just went right in for it.
Slice, slice and sliiiice and now my chest is completely open.
Where is he putting - oh there's a tray for my organs.
I think those are going to be donated, I can't quite remember.
Hope they read my final words, hope they found my final words.
Well there go my organs, off to wherever they go to.
I wonder when I'll go,or will I just sit here?
Huh, the assistants are being shooed away, I wonder why.
He's turning back to me and he's got something in his hand... another knife?
What's he goin - wait, is he cutting out my flesh?
Why is he even, oh god he just ate some!
He ate my flesh... I just watched the mortician eat my flesh.
Hope you choke on me.
I could just reach out and slap the living daylii I just moved my arm.
Did he see?
He's squinting at me, maybe he saw.
Now, if I get angry enough can I slap him?
Okay think.
Be angry.
Be furious, hurt him, hurt him, hurt him.
Woah, I managed to sit up.
Come here, I want to have words with you.
Man he's light, when did I get this strong?
Time to get slapped!
Oh no, oh no...his head, his head!
There's blood everywhere, what do I do?
I've got to get out of here.
There must be a back way, I'll go through there and slump in the alley.
Not like I can be arrested, why am I even panicking?
I'll just walk out, fall over and see how it goes.
Right, walking is difficult but... manageable... almost.
Just out this door, follow the exit signs and there.
Now if I fall down here, will it hurt?
Okay then, let's see and.... nope.
I can't feel pain, that's not too bad.
Now relax the face, assume dead position aaaand wait.
What's that sound, there's a lot of thumping coming from inside, maybe?
It can't be the mortician, his head's in pieces.
It can't be him... can it?
Apparently it can and he's spotted me.
I can't feel pain so why should I worry?
He got strong too, lifting me like I'm made of paper.
I think his hand's gone through my lower back, not quite sure.
Crap, is that my spine?
He just pulled out my spine and, ugh he's eating that too!
Was my flesh not enough for you?
Well two can play at this game!
See how well you pull at me when you've got no hands!
Pulling off my jaw, eh?
Real mature there.
Not going to stop me though.
We'll see who has the last laugh!
Does he realise I'm still inside?
I thought that I'd be gone before he got to this.
Laying still through weeping family members was bad enough.
At least they all know what to do with my things.
I wonder what the procedure is for this?
Do they pray or, oh wait seems he's feeling impatient, just went right in for it.
Slice, slice and sliiiice and now my chest is completely open.
Where is he putting - oh there's a tray for my organs.
I think those are going to be donated, I can't quite remember.
Hope they read my final words, hope they found my final words.
Well there go my organs, off to wherever they go to.
I wonder when I'll go,or will I just sit here?
Huh, the assistants are being shooed away, I wonder why.
He's turning back to me and he's got something in his hand... another knife?
What's he goin - wait, is he cutting out my flesh?
Why is he even, oh god he just ate some!
He ate my flesh... I just watched the mortician eat my flesh.
Hope you choke on me.
I could just reach out and slap the living daylii I just moved my arm.
Did he see?
He's squinting at me, maybe he saw.
Now, if I get angry enough can I slap him?
Okay think.
Be angry.
Be furious, hurt him, hurt him, hurt him.
Woah, I managed to sit up.
Come here, I want to have words with you.
Man he's light, when did I get this strong?
Time to get slapped!
Oh no, oh no...his head, his head!
There's blood everywhere, what do I do?
I've got to get out of here.
There must be a back way, I'll go through there and slump in the alley.
Not like I can be arrested, why am I even panicking?
I'll just walk out, fall over and see how it goes.
Right, walking is difficult but... manageable... almost.
Just out this door, follow the exit signs and there.
Now if I fall down here, will it hurt?
Okay then, let's see and.... nope.
I can't feel pain, that's not too bad.
Now relax the face, assume dead position aaaand wait.
What's that sound, there's a lot of thumping coming from inside, maybe?
It can't be the mortician, his head's in pieces.
It can't be him... can it?
Apparently it can and he's spotted me.
I can't feel pain so why should I worry?
He got strong too, lifting me like I'm made of paper.
I think his hand's gone through my lower back, not quite sure.
Crap, is that my spine?
He just pulled out my spine and, ugh he's eating that too!
Was my flesh not enough for you?
Well two can play at this game!
See how well you pull at me when you've got no hands!
Pulling off my jaw, eh?
Real mature there.
Not going to stop me though.
We'll see who has the last laugh!
20150207
Day 279
He was sitting in the field on the outskirts of town waiting for a friend.
It was a hilly area - fairly steep too.
His gran used to say there was something under it, something old.
Never specified anything more, no matter how many times He asked.
The most she ever said was that it used to drag people down right under the ground.
You'd find the tops of their heads, the rest would be under.
Bored of waiting he took out his phone to pass the time and - wait, did the ground just vibrate?
He put his hands against the soil and waited a few tense moments... nothing.
His attention turned once more to his pho - there it was again.
The ground beneath him began pulsing.
He leapt up, looking around to see if anyone else was worried.
Everyone else was quite far from him, when had they moved that far?
Wait... they were still moving away... was he being shifted instead?
Walking towards them did no good, the pulsing only grew faster and they shot away.
His footing became more unsteady as he was carried further out.
The pulsing was now more like a rhythmic vibration.
He didn't know how much longer he could keep himself upright.
He couldn't for long - his feet just slipped and down he went.
Now he expected to slam into the ground but to his surprise he felt his body gently sinking into softness.
Looking down he saw that the ground looked more like a tar-ish liquid.
Calling out for help did no good - he was so far away he couldn't even see anyone.
He wasn't even sure if he was in the same field.
As his body sank further he swore he felt hands pulling him faster.
So there was something in the hill.
And it was impatient.
It was a hilly area - fairly steep too.
His gran used to say there was something under it, something old.
Never specified anything more, no matter how many times He asked.
The most she ever said was that it used to drag people down right under the ground.
You'd find the tops of their heads, the rest would be under.
Bored of waiting he took out his phone to pass the time and - wait, did the ground just vibrate?
He put his hands against the soil and waited a few tense moments... nothing.
His attention turned once more to his pho - there it was again.
The ground beneath him began pulsing.
He leapt up, looking around to see if anyone else was worried.
Everyone else was quite far from him, when had they moved that far?
Wait... they were still moving away... was he being shifted instead?
Walking towards them did no good, the pulsing only grew faster and they shot away.
His footing became more unsteady as he was carried further out.
The pulsing was now more like a rhythmic vibration.
He didn't know how much longer he could keep himself upright.
He couldn't for long - his feet just slipped and down he went.
Now he expected to slam into the ground but to his surprise he felt his body gently sinking into softness.
Looking down he saw that the ground looked more like a tar-ish liquid.
Calling out for help did no good - he was so far away he couldn't even see anyone.
He wasn't even sure if he was in the same field.
As his body sank further he swore he felt hands pulling him faster.
So there was something in the hill.
And it was impatient.
20150206
Day 278
It was bad enough finding a corpse while you were jogging in the woods.
It was worse to find a corpse that talked.
I mean I thought he was actually dead at first, all curled up under a tree.
Went to grab my phone when he turned his head and said "Now that won't be necessary, boyo."
When I say turned his head I mean he snapped it round like an owl.
His face was all shrivelled and warped, he barely looked human.
He wouldn't say how long he'd been there.
Wouldn't let me walk away either, said he needed me to stay put.
"Y'see boyo, there's a small problem with me as ye can probably tell.
I can't die just yet. This is where you come in, now there's a small jar buried just there."
He pointed to a spot about three feet from where he lay.
"I need you to dig it up and smash it so my poor soul can finally rest in peace."
So being naive I agreed to unearth his jar, not even knowing how far down it was buried.
Or if it was buried at all.
I was so focused on finding it I never even noticed him slowly getting up.
I certainly didn't notice the others.
Not until I was surrounded.
They all looked the same.
All the same.
It was worse to find a corpse that talked.
I mean I thought he was actually dead at first, all curled up under a tree.
Went to grab my phone when he turned his head and said "Now that won't be necessary, boyo."
When I say turned his head I mean he snapped it round like an owl.
His face was all shrivelled and warped, he barely looked human.
He wouldn't say how long he'd been there.
Wouldn't let me walk away either, said he needed me to stay put.
"Y'see boyo, there's a small problem with me as ye can probably tell.
I can't die just yet. This is where you come in, now there's a small jar buried just there."
He pointed to a spot about three feet from where he lay.
"I need you to dig it up and smash it so my poor soul can finally rest in peace."
So being naive I agreed to unearth his jar, not even knowing how far down it was buried.
Or if it was buried at all.
I was so focused on finding it I never even noticed him slowly getting up.
I certainly didn't notice the others.
Not until I was surrounded.
They all looked the same.
All the same.
20150205
Day 277
The rain screamed at him as he ran.
He wasn't supposed to be outside.
It had been so sunny just a few minutes ago.
The further he ran, the thicker the rain fell.
His house was close by, he should have been there by now.
Maybe he missed his street?
It was so hard to tell with the sky pouring so.
The radio had warned him about this.
Why didn't he listen?
He usually followed what it said to the letter.
It had steered him clear of many troubles.
Dark Sunday, the Bloomsbury Mist, Four Twenty three.
The radio had warned him each and every time.
What made this time different?
Wherever the rain was guiding him to, that would be the answer.
He passed by the streets like a ghost though they seemed more ghostly to him.
The rain made them little more than grey outlines.
Everything seemed unreal.
Unravelled.
Undone.
He began to slow down.
The rain had led him... to his home?
The front door was wide open, the lights inside so welcoming.
With great relief he walked inside.
Eagerly he sought out the radio and the soothing cries it gave forth.
The radio was nowhere to be found.
His whole house far different than he remembered.
The lights switched themselves off.
The front door slammed shut.
He should have listened.
He wasn't supposed to be outside.
It had been so sunny just a few minutes ago.
The further he ran, the thicker the rain fell.
His house was close by, he should have been there by now.
Maybe he missed his street?
It was so hard to tell with the sky pouring so.
The radio had warned him about this.
Why didn't he listen?
He usually followed what it said to the letter.
It had steered him clear of many troubles.
Dark Sunday, the Bloomsbury Mist, Four Twenty three.
The radio had warned him each and every time.
What made this time different?
Wherever the rain was guiding him to, that would be the answer.
He passed by the streets like a ghost though they seemed more ghostly to him.
The rain made them little more than grey outlines.
Everything seemed unreal.
Unravelled.
Undone.
He began to slow down.
The rain had led him... to his home?
The front door was wide open, the lights inside so welcoming.
With great relief he walked inside.
Eagerly he sought out the radio and the soothing cries it gave forth.
The radio was nowhere to be found.
His whole house far different than he remembered.
The lights switched themselves off.
The front door slammed shut.
He should have listened.
20150204
Day 276
They say there was a man whose words were so harsh the village cut out his tongue.
The story goes on to say they hung him in a cage in the middle of the forest nearby.
When they went back to bury his remains four months later they found the cage empty.
It looked to have been cut open, blood drying along the edges.
There was no sign of the man anywhere.
Not even footprints.
Everyone assumed he'd either been freed by a friend or mauled by the wildlife.
He became a local story and nobody thought anything of him until one year later.
The village children would dare each other to touch the rusted cage where the man had been.
So far none of them had gotten that close until, on the year anniversary of his death, a child did.
She even went so far as to stand inside and call for the dead man to come see them.
The other children called her the bravest and left it at that.
She was found the following morning.
Her tongue lay beside her on the pillow, thick bruises around her neck.
The following day the other children were found dead on the outskirts of the woods.
Most of them were lying down at the base of a tree, mouths sewn shut.
The girl who'd died just the day before was hanging from the tree.
Not hung with rope, but the tongues of the other children.
Sewn neatly together.
The story goes on to say they hung him in a cage in the middle of the forest nearby.
When they went back to bury his remains four months later they found the cage empty.
It looked to have been cut open, blood drying along the edges.
There was no sign of the man anywhere.
Not even footprints.
Everyone assumed he'd either been freed by a friend or mauled by the wildlife.
He became a local story and nobody thought anything of him until one year later.
The village children would dare each other to touch the rusted cage where the man had been.
So far none of them had gotten that close until, on the year anniversary of his death, a child did.
She even went so far as to stand inside and call for the dead man to come see them.
The other children called her the bravest and left it at that.
She was found the following morning.
Her tongue lay beside her on the pillow, thick bruises around her neck.
The following day the other children were found dead on the outskirts of the woods.
Most of them were lying down at the base of a tree, mouths sewn shut.
The girl who'd died just the day before was hanging from the tree.
Not hung with rope, but the tongues of the other children.
Sewn neatly together.
20150203
Day 275
She used to have imaginary friends, just like anyone else.
Only when she told people about them they got... worried.
Asked how her home life was, did daddy yell.
Didn't make any sense.
Her friends were fine.
She remembered them living in her wardrobe she inherited from her grandmother as a child.
Her friends would come late at night and read stories to her.
Sometimes they even helped her with her homework.
She wondered if her mother had kept that wardrobe.
A nostalgic phone call had her heading to her mother's new flat to get the keys to a storage unit.
It was one of those cheap places you always drive past but never really think about.
Her room was 023, quite close to the main entrance.
If the wardrobe was in good enough condition she decided she'd take it home.
It'd be nice to have a piece of her childhood with her again.
It looked smaller than she remembered, more worn around the edges.
Completely empty too and the drawer her friends would come out of (a tiny middle compartment)
was locked as it had been in her childhood until they opened it from the inside.
She thought it would look perfect in her new bedroom, just like it had as a child.
After a lot of heaving and help from a friend she managed just this.
It stood in the corner perfectly, like it had always been there.
She closed her bedroom door and sat in front of it, like she used to when she wanted to see her friends.
She never expected them to come.
They certainly weren't how she remembered them.
What had once been peach coloured fur was now dark brown, matted and torn in places.
Blood poured from formerly closed smiling mouths and their eyes red-shot and bulging.
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN WHY DID YOU LEAVE US ALL ALONE
WE NEARLY DIED DID YOU EVEN CARE WE THOUGHT YOU WERE OUR FRIEND
They cornered her, heads snapping from side to side and screeching at her.
The last thing she remembered was them tearing at her arms with their gaping jaws.
She looked around her,everything was normal except...
Their drawer was wide open.
Had she dreamt it all?
She began to creep towards the drawer, moving low and slow, wondering if she was losing her mind.
The closer she got, the stronger the smell of burnt hair was.
As she peered over the edge she began to cry.
There they lay, just like she'd left them as a little girl.
Eight kittens, charred and torn.
Only when she told people about them they got... worried.
Asked how her home life was, did daddy yell.
Didn't make any sense.
Her friends were fine.
She remembered them living in her wardrobe she inherited from her grandmother as a child.
Her friends would come late at night and read stories to her.
Sometimes they even helped her with her homework.
She wondered if her mother had kept that wardrobe.
A nostalgic phone call had her heading to her mother's new flat to get the keys to a storage unit.
It was one of those cheap places you always drive past but never really think about.
Her room was 023, quite close to the main entrance.
If the wardrobe was in good enough condition she decided she'd take it home.
It'd be nice to have a piece of her childhood with her again.
It looked smaller than she remembered, more worn around the edges.
Completely empty too and the drawer her friends would come out of (a tiny middle compartment)
was locked as it had been in her childhood until they opened it from the inside.
She thought it would look perfect in her new bedroom, just like it had as a child.
After a lot of heaving and help from a friend she managed just this.
It stood in the corner perfectly, like it had always been there.
She closed her bedroom door and sat in front of it, like she used to when she wanted to see her friends.
She never expected them to come.
They certainly weren't how she remembered them.
What had once been peach coloured fur was now dark brown, matted and torn in places.
Blood poured from formerly closed smiling mouths and their eyes red-shot and bulging.
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN WHY DID YOU LEAVE US ALL ALONE
WE NEARLY DIED DID YOU EVEN CARE WE THOUGHT YOU WERE OUR FRIEND
They cornered her, heads snapping from side to side and screeching at her.
The last thing she remembered was them tearing at her arms with their gaping jaws.
She looked around her,everything was normal except...
Their drawer was wide open.
Had she dreamt it all?
She began to creep towards the drawer, moving low and slow, wondering if she was losing her mind.
The closer she got, the stronger the smell of burnt hair was.
As she peered over the edge she began to cry.
There they lay, just like she'd left them as a little girl.
Eight kittens, charred and torn.
20150202
Day 274
It was meant to be a short mission - only fourteen months out in The Black.
The team of three were told to report to Base every day with whatever findings they had.
Apparently plant growth in space was very important.
Too important for regular check-ins at least.
The team hadn't reported back for almost four weeks now.
Base was frantic, assuring the public that all was well while scrambling to find what was going on.
Last they'd heard the plants were growing at a truly rapid pace - 4 inches a day!
Next day the comms. were down and they haven't been working since.
Finally, after four weeks of trying to reconnect with the station's computer they got a line.
They even managed to get through to the station's camera system but the colour was off.
Everything was washed in green and wrecked, like something had gone hurtling through it all.
The plant specimen were floating through the station, each of them a small bush.
At least something was doing well there.
Switching from feed to feed Base scoured every inch of the ship, hoping to find the three crew members.
And one by one they did.
Well, what was left of them anyway and in all honesty it wasn't much.
Their bodies were in the suits, two were huddled near the air lock as if they were trying to get away.
Strangely, their suits were covered in seedlings, they even sprouted from huge tears in the fabric.
They weren't responding to anything Base did, not temperature change or light change - nothing.
They'd have to send another team up there if the third wasn't alive.
Base couldn't find her anywhere, they searched every angle they could get from the cameras and that
covered practically everywhere on-board which left them with the worst alternative.
What other option was there but to send a second team up to at least retrieve their bodies.
And find the third crew member.
She found them.
The others followed her, plants spewing from the tears in their suits choking, grasping, ripping.
They came home.
The team of three were told to report to Base every day with whatever findings they had.
Apparently plant growth in space was very important.
Too important for regular check-ins at least.
The team hadn't reported back for almost four weeks now.
Base was frantic, assuring the public that all was well while scrambling to find what was going on.
Last they'd heard the plants were growing at a truly rapid pace - 4 inches a day!
Next day the comms. were down and they haven't been working since.
Finally, after four weeks of trying to reconnect with the station's computer they got a line.
They even managed to get through to the station's camera system but the colour was off.
Everything was washed in green and wrecked, like something had gone hurtling through it all.
The plant specimen were floating through the station, each of them a small bush.
At least something was doing well there.
Switching from feed to feed Base scoured every inch of the ship, hoping to find the three crew members.
And one by one they did.
Well, what was left of them anyway and in all honesty it wasn't much.
Their bodies were in the suits, two were huddled near the air lock as if they were trying to get away.
Strangely, their suits were covered in seedlings, they even sprouted from huge tears in the fabric.
They weren't responding to anything Base did, not temperature change or light change - nothing.
They'd have to send another team up there if the third wasn't alive.
Base couldn't find her anywhere, they searched every angle they could get from the cameras and that
covered practically everywhere on-board which left them with the worst alternative.
What other option was there but to send a second team up to at least retrieve their bodies.
And find the third crew member.
She found them.
The others followed her, plants spewing from the tears in their suits choking, grasping, ripping.
They came home.
20150201
Day 273
The girls at the end of the pier only want to play.
They never meant no harm.
It was only a game.
They only want to talk.
They'll even tell you how they died if you ask.
Of course they all tell a different story but they mean well.
It's such a quiet part of town, they get so lonely.
They only wanted to make friends.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
We even put up a list of rules at the end of the pier so everyone would know.
It's dead simple - big letters and everything.
First thing is you're not meant to go into the water.
That's what happened, he broke the rules.
Don't blame the girls, they'd never hurt no-one.
Its whatever's in that lake that's to blame.
We've all heard about it, its what killed those girls in the first place.
Not like they'll say so but they're still only kids.
The thing in the lake killed him, dragged him under good and proper.
Poor mite, hope he went fast is all I can say.
You'll see him with the girls soon enough if its any consolation.
I'm sure they'll like having a new friend.
Still I wonder...
Where'd the rest of his body go?
The girls turned up whole but we only found his head and arm.
Maybe he'll find his own way home though.
Maybe he'll shamble out of the lake, soaking and dragging pondweed with him.
He could even be coming back now.
Listen.
Listen for him.
Won't be long now.
You'll see.
He'll be home soon.
They never meant no harm.
It was only a game.
They only want to talk.
They'll even tell you how they died if you ask.
Of course they all tell a different story but they mean well.
It's such a quiet part of town, they get so lonely.
They only wanted to make friends.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
We even put up a list of rules at the end of the pier so everyone would know.
It's dead simple - big letters and everything.
First thing is you're not meant to go into the water.
That's what happened, he broke the rules.
Don't blame the girls, they'd never hurt no-one.
Its whatever's in that lake that's to blame.
We've all heard about it, its what killed those girls in the first place.
Not like they'll say so but they're still only kids.
The thing in the lake killed him, dragged him under good and proper.
Poor mite, hope he went fast is all I can say.
You'll see him with the girls soon enough if its any consolation.
I'm sure they'll like having a new friend.
Still I wonder...
Where'd the rest of his body go?
The girls turned up whole but we only found his head and arm.
Maybe he'll find his own way home though.
Maybe he'll shamble out of the lake, soaking and dragging pondweed with him.
He could even be coming back now.
Listen.
Listen for him.
Won't be long now.
You'll see.
He'll be home soon.
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