Day 331

There's a lighthouse in our village which is odd as we're just about landlocked.
Closest bit of water here's the lake and no one bothers fishing there any more.
It was overfished in the sixties and it's basically just a massive outdoor pool nowadays.
Still, the lighthouse is there and nobody seems to know why.

There's no mention of it in any local history books,
Most people either ignored it or had some fabricated story about its origins.
Some said an earthquake made the shore rise up and the lighthouse was put out of use.
Others said that it was a monument to all the lives lost to the lake.

I came close to the truth and I would have gotten all the way were it not for the village.
There's something they won't let me know but god was I close.
You see, I found an old map in the back of the library.
It was quite worn but with a little digital help I managed to get a workable copy.

The coastline had changed, and drastically too.
That map dated back to 1572 but there were no other records to confirm this.
Every other map (though none dated that far back) had the coastline as it currently was.
It took a while to make sense but from what I gathered a huge cover up had taken place.

The lighthouse was just the tip of the iceberg.
Apart from a huge coastal shift there was also a dramatic change in population density.
According to the church records the population around the late 1500s had been five hundred.
Come the early 1600s it dropped right down to just over one hundred.

This certainly gave a lot of credit towards coastal shift theory but it still didn't seem right.
I moved on to look at the population on the other side of the lake - on the new coast.
There are no records of that place before 1650, like it never existed until then.
Besides that some kind of of outbreak occurred just after the first records.

The church's book had many deaths on both sides of the lake from 1650 to 1724.
Seventy four years of some illness called "Dyscrasia".
The only thing I've been able to find on that is that its a mediaeval term for "an abnormal body
condition" meaning unusual material found in the body, specifically the blood.

Whatever it had been it decimated the populations on the old coast and the new region.
In fact it seemed to have come from the new coastal area, maybe some deep sea thing?
Regardless I've been banned from all church records and the libraries.
It can only mean I was close to finding out the truth and whatever it may be, its bad news.

All I know for sure is that somehow the other side of the lake was just ocean 500 years ago.
Something happened,it all rose up and within thirty ears it had a steady populace.
Then a disease struck and decimated the whole area, some contaminate in the blood and/or body.
If only I knew the symptoms, I mean what if it comes back?

We don't stand a chance.
The village is conspiring against me.
What do they know that I can't be a part of?
It has to be in the lighthouse.

It has to be.

Day 330

You stood there on the corner of the bridge between two cities.
With Ipswich behind you and Suffolk in front you waited for the signal.
A child's laughter cut through the air just as the email had said.
Glancing down at the printed message you took four steps in front, three to the left.
And then you waited for the next signal.

The route you took to get there was incredibly specific, made the journey thrice as long.
As you waited a few cars sped past you, not even glancing in your direction.
You wondered why the email said this specific bridge, why did it want you to go there?
More importantly, why did you feel compelled to do so?
The feeling of icy water dripping down your right leg signalled for you to continue on.

Twenty paces forward and turn sharply right (as indicated by the water) and wait.
You were almost in the centre of the bridge now, from what the plaque on one end said you
were around 2,111 feet over the River Orwell and 623 feet above it.
Right before your eyes a whirlpool began to form in the fast-flowing current.
The final signal was almost upon you and fear began to take hold as the end of the email began.

Step twelve
Jump.
If the steps were followed correctly you will feel nothing but softness.
Keep your eyes closed - this is crucial.
There will be voices around you calling with the voices of your loved ones.
Do NOT open your eyes, do not breathe too deeply and do not flinch.
They will tear at your clothing, at your skin but do not cower.

Instead count to forty.
As you reach twenty the air around you will feel lighter, the voices will fade.
By thirty your feet will touch solid ground.
On the count of forty say aloud "The twelfth step is done".
Open your eyes, you will be there.

And that's where the instructions ended.
It never said where you would be, only that you would be.
As you glanced about you saw a torch hovering in front of you, one of those old wooden ones.
On impulse you grabbed it and felt it gently tugging you forward.
Placing all of your trust in that fragile light source you headed off.

You felt warmth behind you and heard faint sirens.
Curiously you looked back and saw your body being dredged from the River Orwell.
You were pale blue and swollen.
There was no ambulance, only a bodybag.
The torch yanked at your hand, drawing you away from that scene.

Had it been real?
Did this mean you succeeded or was this all for nothing?
You followed the message down to the last letter.
Before you could ponder any further neon lights sprung out of the darkness.
It took a few moments for you to read what they said, they seemed to be the seven deadly sins.

You didn't understand, where had you been taken?
The signs turned into arrows, pointing you left as the torch pulled you right.
Torn you stood still, letting go of the torch to think.
As soon as your hand left the rough wooden light everything went dark.
The laughter of children rose around you as you felt hands clasping your ankles with sharp claws.

Day 329

They rose up in the smoke and fire that engulfed your home.
Smoky limbs reaching for everyone and anyone, choking them slowly.
With skin like burning wood they began to walk around the blazing building.
It almost looked like they were searching for something or maybe someone.

The official report said chip pan fire gone out of control but you knew different.
You knew the smoke people had started this, dragging their smouldering fingers along the walls.
But what proof could you get when your home was just ashes and ruin?
It didn't seem like anyone else could even see them.

They drifted around pale skinned people on sunny days, burning their skin and laughing all the way.
You would sit in the shade and watch them run their hands lovingly across blistering flesh.
The stench of burning meat began to fill your nostrils as a smokey figure drifts over to you.
It peers at you, inching closer and closer before snapping its head towards an overheated child.

Right before your eyes you saw their skin redden and blister as the smoke figure embraced them.
Nobody was paying the figures any attention but you.
You hoped they wouldn't notice but something about your presence was drawing them in.
The people around you wondered where the cloudy skies had suddenly come from.

Looking up you saw only smoke as the figures began to swarm around you.
Breaking for a run you head to the nearest shop, locking yourself in the toilets to wait this out.
And so you sat gasping for breath on the bathroom floor, suddenly so tired.
It was agony to stay awake so you did the only thing you could - you slipped into darkness.

You woke up to a searing pain in your arm and lungs.
It felt like there were weights on your eyelids but you just about managed to pry them open.
A dark blurry figure is sitting on the floor in front of you though its hard to make out their shape
through the thick smog filling the room.

You drag your eyes down to the agony in your arm where you see the figure is stroking your skin.
Well, what used to be skin... you can see bone peering through the melting flesh.
Your lungs begin to fail and your vision starts to fade once more as smoke steals your air.
The figure smiles and moves to embrace you one last time.

Day 328

The view from her window was not the street.
Every window she looked through showed her a different angle of some place.
It was always the same place, never the same time.
Like she was seeing it throughout its history.

The first time she saw that place it was from her bedroom window.
What was once a car park now showed her a courtyard being built.
She had first thought it was just that window but it soon spread to every window she encountered.
The further it spread the older the place got - people came and went in all manner of clothing.

She did some research and based on that this place had been around for almost five hundred years.
That narrowed it down as did the architecture, if she found the actual place maybe it would all stop?
She missed being able to drive but the latest spread meant that even car windows showed rooms.
What she saw was in some windows narrowed it down to an asylum - all those poor people tortured.

She avoided windows as much as possible, it was too heartbreaking to see so many people suffer.
The windscreen in her car used to show her one patient there who looked right back at her.
He would sit on the floor and smile at her, even write messages to her on the ground.
Sure he used his own blood but she learnt so much from him in those few weeks he was there.

He told her where she could find that place and even how to get in past the gates.
She never suspected anything, she just wanted to stop seeing the asylum and put it all to rest.
It was forty miles from her home, thank god a train ran a few miles south of it.
From the train window she saw the building being overrun with ivy, it was in use at that time.

The walk filled her with trepidation - what if people were still there?
How could she explain that she needed to put these visions to rest so she could get on with her life?
These musings took up the hour long walk to the place that had been haunting her for almost a year.
Funny, it seemed to much bigger in the windows.

She soon stood before a large mansion home, remodelled countless times but always with the same
purpose, always to 'cure' and 'heal' and always full to the brim with poor souls.
Now it was just a shell of its former occupation, empty and decaying.
She peered through the glass window of the front door and saw her garden.

Day 327

So our town won some kind of lottery and decided to renovate the castle/museum's interior.
Let me just say it was well overdue, I mean the mannequins were literally polystyrene blobs.
About halfway through the castle's renewal they let the public walk around the place.
The usual areas of roof and cellar weren't open but everywhere else was empty.

When I went I had the idea to sneak into the cellar to take photos, it'd be so busy nobody'd notice.
At least, that was what I thought and I was half right.
It was very crowded, seems the whole town wanted to look at the shell of the museum.
All in all the castle looked so much smaller on the inside, I guess the walls were thick or something.

The entrance to the cellar was near the main entrance, just to the left behind a door.
I knew for a fact they never bothered to lock it, thought the "KEEP OUT" sign would work better.
Certainly made my quiet entrance that much easier!
I was glad for the lack of security at the time - looking back I realise they meant for people to go in.

The key to getting into rooms with such notices on them is to dress smartly and act well.
If you look like you're meant to be there nobody will question anything.
As soon as the door closed I had my torch pointed to the steps in front of me.
They were crooked and steep, looking back I now see that they weren't built for human feet.

At the time I just thought it was poor construction and hugged the wall on the way down.
The most interesting thing about the cellar was that it was full of these smaller passages.
From the three main semi-circular halls there were a dozen or so connecting tunnels or doors.
Now I'm not very tall but I still had to crouch right down for some of them, got great photos though!

The first large room had some of the old displays in there which were just plastic signs and photos.
Not exactly riveting stuff there - the most interesting part of that place was the lumpy floor.
There were huge dips and bumps all over, did they even try to flatten it out any time?
Seems they'd just covered it with thick foam which was peeling up at the edges.

On a whim I grabbed one of the corner and yanked it back as far as I could just to see underneath.
It was just rocks and what looked to be bones stuck in cement, I thought it was an old burial site.
Putting the foam flooring back as best I could I moved on to the small hallway into the next chamber.
I had to go on all fours through there, why would anyone build such narrow passages?

The second chamber was about the same size and had large stone tombstones along one wall.
According to the plastic sign they were Anglo-Saxon like the rest of the castle.
There was a small room behind the chamber with another tiny door leading to it... empty though.
The floor in there wasn't much better than the first, I shuddered at the thought of walking on bones.

The third and final chamber had always been the castle's biggest mystery as it had never been open to
the general public, nobody had been in there since the place had been given to the town.
Rumour had it that there was a pagan temple behind it but nobody had any proof.
All that stood between me and the truth of that room was a large wooden board covering the door.

Moving it to one side I found a passage that was actually a decent size - no more crouching!
The chamber behind it was enormous, as big as both of the others combined and... empty.
The only thing in there was a bundle of cloth or something near the far corner.
It was the only thing in there so I reckoned it must be important.

I shouldn't have gone near it, I should have put the board back and crept away from the damn thing.
The closer I got,the bigger it seemed... must have been the size of a small car.
I got to a couple of feet from the bundle when ever so slowly it lifted its head and blinked at me.
It looked quite surprised to see me and I can only imagine I looked the same to it.

Its face was almost human but larger, grey and its mouth stretched right across its jaw.
After I got over the initial shock I legged it out of there, not even bothering to put the board back.
I realised that when I got to the base of the stairs and heard shuffling behind me.
The stairs seemed a lot bigger going up.

The second I closed the door behind me I was grabbed by a member of staff and dragged away.
They kept asking me if I'd seen anything or touched anything down there and I said no.
Told them I never got past the first room before I chickened out.
Lucky for me they never checked my bag so I kept all the photos, including the thing.

I regret this now, not telling them I woke it up and led it to the stairs accidentally.
The next day the manager found trails of blood leading to the cellar and several of the staff gone.
Their bodies were never fully recovered and they somehow managed to pin the blame on a human.
I know it was whatever they've been keeping down there.

I'm going to go back tonight and check for sure, I just want to see its still down there.
After I've checked I'm going to nail that board to the wall, keep it down there for good.
I don't know how well this will work or even if it will work.
I've set this to post at midnight if I'm not back in time to cancel this.

Day 326

My gran keeps clogging the kitchen sink.
I've tried to stop her but everything I try just gets ignored.

I suppose I can't really keep here here forever.
Someone will notice eventually.

She's sat at the kitchen table with her newspaper in front of her.
Eyes all closed she looks pretty peaceful, I just wish she's stop rotting.

Bits of her fall off you see and I put them in the sink but they don't drain.
I can't call someone in to fix it can I?

Just have to put up with her blocking it.
I suppose its her way of getting back at me one last time.

Day 325

Some secrets aren't buried under dirt and stones.
Some secrets remain in our minds until age and decay rot them to a putrescent mess.
The mind is the safest place to store secrets, even more so when the holder can't speak.

You never know the lengths people are willing to go in order to keep it that way.

Every now and then you can tell when such secrets are spilled.

The signs are subtle but they are there.

Lips stained red, speechless, glazed eyes and hands bearing one white line through the palms.

There are those who are lucky to only bear the marks, others are found where their secrets left.

Secrets are uniquely human.

Something that we say that can cost us everything we hold dear.

It's such a shame that we live in an age where secrets can be shared globally in a split-second.

We've gone full circle now, the old hiding places are the safest.

Under old bridges where deep river currents render any writing illegible within minutes.

Soon-to-be demolished buildings and subways where the rubble is too dense to move.

In the still-living torso of your closest loved one, to remain there til rot takes their flesh completely.

The oldest hiding places are the safest, trust us.

Day 324

I can't make eye contact with anyone and not for lack of trying.
This started when I was a child, going to get a drink in a house of mirrors.
It was back in my aunt's flat, she was a collector of all things vintage, everything was antique.
Her favourite thing to collect was mirrors, she just loved seeing the rainbows they made.

I never used to pay much attention to these things, not until I stayed the night for the first time.
She gave me this big speech about being extra careful when moving around at night.
Being an eight year old I didn't realise just how scared she was as she told me this.
Her eyes were wide, her voice trembled and with a slight flourish she handed me an old torch.

Said that if I needed anything at night I had to say aloud what I needed and go get it with this light.
It had to be pointed directly in front of my feet the whole time.
Sure it seemed weird but that was just how my aunt worked, always a bit quirky.
I didn't think anything of it until I woke up late that night, desperate for a cold drink.

Remembering my aunt's words I said to myself I need a glass of water and pointed the torch down.
Slowly I made my way to the kitchen, occasionally startling myself as the flat creaked.
I recall how much bigger the flat seemed at night, how the faint reflections from the mirrors seemed
more... real somehow, like they were all staring at me.

They were all staring at me, every reflection was looking at me, no mater how I turned.
I don't know if it was the lighting or my imagination but they seemed so much paler than me.
As I stared back at them, slowly turning in a circle to see them all, they began to sway in unison.
Forgetting my thirst I scampered back to the guest room and moved all of the mirrors to the hallway.

My aunt questioned this in the morning and with tears in my eyes I told her.
I'll never forget what she told me then.
They won't leave you alone now, they'll be in the corner of your eyes, reflected in everyone's eyes.
Why do you think I never leave here, why this place is full of junk? It distracts them.

Keep them happy and focussed elsewhere and you'll be safe. It's all you can do now.
And she was right, when my parents came to pick me up I saw those pale faces in their eyes.
Over the years the faces have changed, they aren't me any more.
I have no idea what they are now, I don't think they're me but then again I never look at mirrors.

Every time I try to look in mirrors or eyes I can see them step closer.
I've filled my room with distractions for them, strange objects and puzzles.
Most nights I wake up and the puzzles are solved, the objects are moved.
Last I saw, their faces were pressed against the glass.

Day 323

They keep finding them in the woods, tied so tight to the trees their poor bodies are almost fused.
Nobody quite remembers how it all started but it's been going on for so long now that nobody cares.
They don't even bother trying to ID the corpses, they don't seem to exist anywhere else.
Once they tried moving one of the bodies to a morgue outside of the city, our morgue was full.
It never arrived, the truck never even left according to the other morgue.
Truck and corpse were never seen again.
They never tried again either.

We all kept a framed photo of a corpse in our bedrooms for good luck, so we wouldn't be taken.
When a child was born it was tradition to go into the woods and photograph a corpse for them.
The only rule was that it had to be a different corpse to everyone else's or it wouldn't work.
At least, that's what we all think and so far it's worked - nobody in the city ends up in the woods.
I swear mine moves from time to time but my parents assure me it's normal for them to do that.
It would be fine if she just moved her head or something but no, she moves out of the frame.
She's currently got her torso and one leg dangling freely, rope pulled taunt to her tree.

Soon enough she'll be out completely.
What will I do then and who'll believe me?
Everyone knows they're just photos.
Everyone knows it's only paper and ink behind glass.
There's no way this should even be possible.
And yet there she is, almost free.
And then what?

Day 322

You don't remember how you got there, the mansion style school.
It felt like you'd been there for years, wandering the pristine corridors from dawn til dusk.
At sunset your vision would fade and you'd wake at dawn, perfectly awake and ready to wander.
This place was endless, you have walked thirty floors so far and the staircase just spiralled up.

Sometimes you'd hear footsteps on the floor above you, they thudded along matching your pace.
Other times you'd glance out of a window and see many figures on the grassy fields around the place.
You thought about knocking but you're so high up they look like ants, they wouldn't hear you.
The stairs seemed endless, what was the point in you continually heading up?

Going down seemed to go much faster, gradually you got a better look at the people in the fields.
They all walked so disjointedly, you could hear cracking sounds with their every step.
Suddenly meeting them felt like a bad idea, perhaps there was a way around or under them?
You began to thoroughly explore the ground floor, hoping for a back door.

There wasn't one, most of the rooms were just plain empty and faintly dusty.
You did find a door at the base of the stairwell which was your last (now only) resort.
Like every other door in the building it was open but unlike every other room, it had no floor.
There was only a ladder leading to what looked like a green pipe.

You stood a while by the door, unable to decide when the familiar sound of cracking drew close.
Rather than face the twisted people you chose to take your chances in the pipe, wherever it lead.
It was deceptively deep, at least nine or ten feet down, hopefully you were safer.
A sudden crack above your head made you look up and into the eyes of something inhuman.

Their face was... fractal... like bits and pieces of a photo stuck together into a face.
As they rotated their head in an owl-like way you could see the fragments of their neck crackling.
The pipe was big enough for you to stand in so you sprinted away, taking as many turns as possible.
You blacked out before you could run out of breath.

You woke up in the middle of a four-way pipe junction, endless tunnels in every direction.
Perhaps doing eenie, meenie, minie, moe would help?
As you began to mutter the old phrase you heard a faint cracking in the distance.
You couldn't tell which direction it was coming from, everything echoed too well in there.

Taking a deep breath you made a dash for it, picking more directions at random.
You nearly crashed into the fragmented thing, terrified you let out a shriek and made another turn.
They moved slowly but relentlessly, the cracking constantly at your back.
In between blacking out and waking up in the same place you managed to outrun it altogether.

The next few cycles (as you'd taken to calling them) were spent trying to find a way out of the pipes.
You debated marking the tunnels but decided against it in case the fragmented thing followed you.
In the end you just kept heading up and right, up and right, up and right.
There had to be an end, surely?

Months must have passed at this point, you wondered if anyone missed you.
Your thoughts soon turned to your loved ones, how long had it been?
Lost to your mind you didn't notice when the lighting changed from dull green to a whiter tone.
Before you could process the sudden change of atmosphere you saw the tunnel's end.

Rushing through you found yourself at on a concrete platform, overlooking the fields of the mansion.
There didn't appear to be any way down to the grass, which was strangely empty.
Usually there would be dozens of the fragmented things wandering it, where were they?
A sound like a thousand breaking branches came from behind you as your vision faded once more.

Dy 321

The vicar hadn't come out of the church for weeks.
He just up and bolted the doors, hasn't been seen since.
All we know is that he's digging by the altar.
Mrs Hinx saw him through one of the windows.

The noises coming from there have been getting quite loud of of recent.
Whatever he's been digging for, I reckon he's found it or it's found him.
People have started trying to get into the church, we're all worried for the old Vic.
Shame the doors are solid oak, good old sturdy stuff with no chance of breaking.

They've made some proper dents but I don't see how they'll break through in all honesty.
Mr Conté was the one to finally get through to the Vic - rammed the church doors with his car!
Would you believe it, the doors just splintered and people went spilling in to see what had happened.
Our first look into the church since the old Vic had locked himself in there four months ago.

We never did find the vicar, we did find what he'd been working on though.
Right in front of the altar were steps leading steeply down, he'd even put lanterns at intervals.
Me and a few others went down to find our vicar, first aid kits in hand and no idea what lay below.
It got cold fast, that's the first thing we noticed... it was the kind of cold that soaked your bones.

If he'd managed to make these steps in just four months, he was a man of hidden talents I say.
They lead quite a ways under the church, Mr Hinx reckoned we should have hit pipelines by then.
Eventually the steps ended up leading to a large chamber that I can only describe as a torture pit.
No, I don't think our old vicar could have done anything in there, I think he found it though.

There were so many bodies, all skeletons and all disfigured.
I'd never seen so many vile contraptions, not in any film or museum.
Those poor souls, some of the bones were tiny - children and younger!
If our Vic did that then he'd been doing it for dozens of years.

After searching as much of the chamber as possible we determined that the vicar wasn't there.
Strange though, I swear five of us were in there - me, Willis, Hinx, Khan and Berry.
When we got out there was only four of us, Berry was waiting up with the others.
Claims he never went in but the rest of us all saw him in the chamber with us.

We talked to him, he took a few photos on his phone - heck he even put his hand on my shoulder.
According to everyone else though he never joined us, stood up there with the others.
I know someone who looked like Berry was there though, they looked real, they felt real.
Now I'm wondering if the four of us were the only living things down there.

Maybe we stumbled upon whatever it was the old Vic had been digging for.
I've tried discussing a return trip down there with the others but they won't hear it.
They says to just let that place lie but when I found an unboarded window last week I had a peek.
Berry was in there just like he'd been in the chamber, all worried looking.

I was about to ring his mobile when he came running up to the window screaming.
Before I knew it there were a dozen others from the village, bodies all ragged and torn and crying out.
I recognised them all, I grew up with half of them but I don't reckon they were real people.
They can't have been, I saw them again in the village, right as rain.

I go back there sometimes, they've stopped screaming at me you know.
They just watch me, eyes unblinking and bodies falling to pieces.
I've not told no one else about this, don't think they'd believe me if I did.
One of these days I'll go in there and talk to them, until then I'll leave it at this.

Day 320

I always got good marks in school, even though my assignments were gibberish scrawls.
My desk was haunted you see, former student shot themself here and won't leave.
Took some getting used to I'll admit, the warnings don't prepare you for it.

Not every kid can say "my desk came with a five page warning letter and automatic passing grades"
I guess I'm lucky in that respect, just wish the ghost would stay in the desk and not follow me.
Might be the wishful thinking of "The Dead Desk Kid" but I think they like me.

Maybe I remind them of how they used to be or maybe they want me to join them?
Either way I'm still not sure what to think about it, I mean I'd like to get on with class but they don't.
Keeps making my hands write all sorts of weird things like burn the dust the dawn of crows etc.

It wasn't just the writing either, they kept making hand-prints appear around me.
If I stood still for long enough they'd circle me again and again - really freaked people out.
The rest of the class was as used to this as I was even if they still kept their distance.

Honestly I'd be okay with all that but they won't leave me alone anywhere.
I keep seeing them behind me, their face is covered in blood and they wave when our eyes meet.
Sometimes I wake up and they've been making me text myself all sorts of things.

Strangely enough, my night texting is more coherent than my class writing.
I think it has something to do with how much my mind is interfering with them possessing my hands.
From what I've managed to gather so far, they're obsessed with that desk and my hair.

I woke up last night in agony with my hands tearing huge chunks of hair out.
Their face was inches away from me.
They looked so happy.

I'm scared to sleep now, they've gotten stronger.
Nobody's noticed my arms twitching, the patches missing from my hair.
These aren't my hands any more, my hands now.

Day 319

When the mine ran dry the town decided to re-purpose it.
Nine chapels were carved into the walls, they were clumsy enough to be passed off for ancient.
People came flocking in and everything was great for a time.
Until rumours came in of tapping coming from behind a carved window.

The town leaders were eventually pressed into breaking through the window.
Seems nobody believed that the carvings were as ancient as the townsfolk had said.
They were at least careful about it, hopefully there would be nothing there and they just put it back.
As the former miners began to cut around the carving they broke through the rock entirely.

Somehow they had missed that this carving was hollow, or at least it was hollow now.
The old mine was evacuated, leaving only the former miners there, just in case it was a gas leak.
It could even have been a sinkhole but they never came back to tell.
Eventually another group was sent in to find out what happened and possibly to collect the bodies.

Twelve went out and only three came back covered in blood, they said the rest were taken.
The tapping was alive and everywhere, they said, and it wanted sacrifices.
All of them described the same scene - the pathways were now a series of blood-filled rivers.
Bones grew from the walls, gaping jaws begging for help in the voices of their dead.

At first they weren't believed but the survivors from the next team came back with the same tale.
The only details that changed were the depth of the blood rivers and the bones in the walls.
The second rescue team said that the rivers had begun to form lakes in some areas, the mine was
gradually filling though they couldn't find the source of all the blood anywhere.

They also said that the bones the first team described (hands growing from walls, skulls peering
around every corner, jaws somehow still hinged and voices screeching) were now... more.
Fully formed skeletons roamed some tunnels, swam through the blood lakes, half formed ones
sprouted from most of the tunnel walls, grabbing anyone near and shredding them.

The mines were promptly closed off, the entrances were destroyed and the town began to forget.
It didn't stop people from trying to get into there and it certainly didn't stop things trying to get out.
The town eventually emptied and was forgotten.
They didn't die though, they live on in the mines.

Day 318

It was an old building.
The kind you saw in those old movies, all dilapidated glamour and faded rose wallpaper.
Lovely as it was, few people stayed for long, it was more like a hotel really.
They never complained about the place though, never said why they left at all.
I reckon it was due to the building's little... quirk.

Every time someone moves in, a new set of numbers appear on the bannister.
That number always meant something important to the new tenant.
For some it was their birthday or their spouses birthday, for others it was less pleasant.
The date their mother died, how many hits they took that night.
How old she was when that car struck.

I used to write down the new numbers and the names of their humans.
Call it creepy, call it a hobby... call it evidence.
They always say what the number meant to them, one way or another.
Sometimes they tell me over lunch, wondering how it got there.
Other times it is pried from their cold, rigid hands.

They always tell though, always.
So many relate to death, so many relate to pain.
I wonder if that's what the building picks up on, feeds on.
For those of us who've stayed so long, it whispers to us.
Asks us about our numbers and gives hints at who will be coming next.

It creeps Mr. Terrance in 42 so much that he hasn't left his room in nearly nine years.
Were it not for online shopping he'd have died after a week.
Ms. O'Neillson loves to hear the building talk, they have conversations late into the night.
The Groye family treat the building like and old relative.
As for me, the building is my friend and tormentor.

Everyone else's numbers are on the bannister.
Out in the open and accepted.
Mine isn't, never was.
I wrote mine myself, made up a date, a happy one - my first kiss.
The building wasn't happy, likes to remind me what my numbers really are.

Sometimes it is kind and tells me that they rest in peace, that I'm forgiven.
Other times I feel nails scratch the numbers into my legs.
Good thing I'm in a wheelchair, nobody can see them through the thick blanket.
As bad as some of the numbers are, mine could put me in prison for life.
17, 5, 13, 2, 64 and growing... that's how old they were and how old they'll be forever.

Day 317

I could have sworn I left the body in that old flat.
Left in sitting in a chair, gun in hand, no prints and nothing to lead back to me.
As far as anyone was concerned I'd just be an innocent landlord.
But when the police arrived to "remove the unwanted squatter" they found an empty flat.
There was no gun, no blood.
Nothing.

I hadn't gone in there since I shot that guy.
He'd been propped up all naturally, door bolted and windows locked.
Someone must have taken him.
They were probably planning to use him against me, put me in prison!
I had to find him.

There were cameras set up outside of the apartment block, checking the feed would be simple.
The first two floors even had cameras in the hallways (they'd always been most problematic).
I saw absolutely nothing unusual on any of the cameras until I checked the one by my office.
I saw this weird shambling thing with half a head missing walking towards my door.
It peered into my window before it sat down in the reception area (four chairs by a wall).

I was pretty freaked out, more so when I looked at the time stamp.
Seems I'd forgotten to check the logs and was on live-feed instead.
Someone faintly tapped on my door and I dialled the police, managing to garble out my address.
Made sure to push my desk against the door just in case that thing tried to break in.
The tapping faded after a few minutes.

I peered through the window blinds and saw its face pressed against the glass, the face I shot.
Not sure how his body got so warped, it looked like he was melting.
I could clearly see his ribs under stretched skin, waist down the skin was flabby and bulbous.
As his breath was fogging up the glass I saw his reach behind his head and into the gaping back.
With blood on his hands he wrote me a message.

When I woke up the police were standing over me.
They said they found me convulsing on the floor, wanted to know about the blood on the window.
I said some crazy man came here and had me confused for someone else, deleted the CCTV film.
Before I did I had a look, it clearly showed that thing, that man I killed walking to my office.
I doubt they'd even believe me.

He keeps following me you know, writing those words everywhere.
People think its some kind of gang tag or political message and I suppose it is in a way.
He's tagging the area, showing me that he's been following me, taunting me.
Sometimes he sits in my waiting room late at night, staring at my door.
Sometimes he stands outside my door, peering through the peephole.

He doesn't even knock any more and he's so quiet I've had way too many close-calls.
My only solution at this point is to face him.
Head-to-head.
I'll do it.
I'll record it.

Wish me luck.

Day 316

There's a field in my town where a travelling fairground would stay every summer.
They'd arrive with no warning and leave in the same manner.
You never saw them setting up, the rides would just be there.

Every opening day the field would be packed full of people enjoying themselves.
Sure there were rumours about the occasional death, the rides weren't totally safe.
Kids would swear they knew someone who just slipped right out of their seat and fell.

There was no proof of this of course, internet searches just turned up gossip.
I'd gone a few times, ate the awful food and gone on the childish rides - the usual.
Last year a new rumour began to spread - the fair was holding a Fright Night.

I thought they'd just put fake webs and glow in the dark ghost stickers everywhere.
They went above and beyond my expectations.
I haven't dared to go back since, nor have any of my friends.

Everything seemed fine when we turned up at 9PM and saw tacky Halloween décor everywhere.
They'd even put skeletons and "corpses" in some of the ride seats.
We thought it was great at first, cheesy but funny.

Took us a while to realise that the number of skeletons was rapidly growing and people vanishing.
We might never have noticed if one of our group hadn't gone missing.
He always wore the same shoes, the converse he drew on.

It's the only way they recognised his corpse.
His face had been burnt off, arms severed and his intestines wrapped tightly around his neck.
We ran home and told our parents but they said we couldn't possibly have gone to the fair.

It had left three days ago.
We never found our friend's body, police wouldn't believe us and declared him a runaway teen.
The fair still comes back every year... they send me letters inviting me to the Fright Night.

I'm gong to go.
I have to find him.
Prove them wrong.

Day 315

It had been night for a very long time now.

The sun had set maybe a month ago according to his watch and the tally marks.

He'd been in a hot air balloon when it set for the last time.

Not being able to see meant he was unable to land - stuck drifting, waiting and never hungering.

His emergency torch didn't make a big difference, it only let him see if a building was close.

After many narrow escapes the towering buildings had come to an end.

He reckoned that he was somewhere in the countryside though he still saw lights below.

There were a lot of campers, at least he thought they were camping.

Sometimes they would spot him and yell things too faintly for him to hear.

While he had rope with him, throwing it down or landing was a bad idea.

He still had no idea how he was still afloat, by all means the fuel should be long gone.

With no fuel worries (yet), he spent his time staring into the dark, wondering if sunrise would come.

Moths and birds were his closest company, sometimes swarming the balloon's flames.

Sometimes they would just land on the basket's rim and stare at him.

They made for good company - great listeners too - even if they left his small oasis.

There were days he thought about landing, days when the loneliness became a physical pain.

He had tried once, kept his torch shining down and gradually found an empty road.

The balloon was maybe around nine feet up still when screams started up and began closing in.

They sounded guttural, not making words just screeching to draw attention.

Panicking he let lose a load of ballast and ascended fast but not before he saw dark shapes below.

They looked somewhat human only not like several in one clump, all squat and shambling along.

His torch wasn't bright enough to see them properly, only their rough shapes in the gathering dark.

He hadn't tried to land since, he didn't want to go near those things - whatever they were.

Still he wondered what would have happened if he'd landed.

Would they be friendly, were they trying to help him?

What if there were others in the sky like him, stuck in planes or other balloons?

Surely there was some chance he would meet them, if they existed any more.

What if he was the last human alive among those things?

He noticed that he was drifting over more of the camps, if he squinted he could make out movement.

Cautiously he dropped more ballast, going slightly higher just in case they could jump that high.

With nothing else to do, he curled up on the basket's floor to sleep.

He hoped he would wake up at home, with the sun in his eyes and his family nearby.

He almost had his wish.

When he opened his eyes he winced at the brightness around him.

He'd missed the first sunrise in five months!

Still, the sun had risen and birds were calling out in the sky.

Maybe now he could find a safe place to land the balloon and find other people.

Rushing to his feet he peered over the basket's ledge to see... ruin.

As far as his eyes could see the ground was strewn with rubble and were those corpses?

The things he'd encountered trying to land last time were digging, probably for shelter from the sun.

Maybe they'd come from underground in the first place?

They didn't seem concerned with him in the sky though some did stop and peer at him.

He continued to drift along, unable to tear his gaze away from the remnants of his former society.

The further along he went, the fewer of those creatures he saw.

Everything appeared to be deserted and everyone either dead or monstrous.

With no way to move faster and no guarantee of safety should he land he stood there, helpless.

He reasoned with the incoming despair, at least he wasn't hungry.

Come to think of it, he hadn't felt a twinge of hunger or thirst since before the long night.

Something itched at the back of his mind, something he'd forgotten.

Something big, something monumental, something life changing.

Life changing, how those words rattled around his head, he'd almost forgotten, it was so close.

He was so close to remembering but there was still a missing piece!

Frantically he rummaged through his rucksack, laying neglected in the basket's corner.

It looked a lot more ragged than he remembered, he'd only purchased it the day before this trip.

That must have been a few months ago, how was it so torn and was that rust or       blood

The memory came rushing back at him, he'd been gone for so long it all made sense.

He remembered everything, the first time plan flyer - the crash.

The fire, the pain, the ambulance, the pain, the bumpy ride, the pain and then his balloon.

He didn't even make it to the hospital.

So this really was it then.

Day 314

The last thing he'd texted was "see u soon x".

That was last week, almost a year after she'd been hit by that car.

He would have been nineteen today.

His middle aged mother sat in her son's old room and contemplated texting him.

Surely if her phone was somehow able to send this message (a delay from some other time?)

the she would be able to send one back or even hear his answering machine message.

She didn't want to think about how the message had been sent in the first place.

Her dear son's phone had been just as crushed as the rest of him.

Taking a deep breath she sent a brief message to her son's number, "Okay, see you soon. x".

She felt relieved when it successfully sent, it was nice to think she could almost talk to him.

She wasn't expecting a reply.

"on my way now x"

She certainly wasn't expecting to hear those familiar thumping footsteps leading to the front door.

Slowly moving towards the bedroom's window she peered through the curtain.

He looked like he had after the accident, head crushed, spine twisted and blood leaking all over.

Keys in hand he opened the front door and she ducked back to sit on the bed.

Panicked at the thought of actually meeting her deceased son she hid under his bed.

Trying to calm her breathing she lay among the things strewn under there.

Mom, are you home? Hello, is anyone here? his voice rattled out, she cringed and held her breath.

His thudding footsteps said he was heading to the stairs.

Mom? Hello? he sounded so young, like he had as a child.

She went to move out, to greet her baby until a lower voice growled Come out mom, I miss you.

Was this really her son or did she call something else into her home accidentally?

Those heavy steps headed towards the room she was in and she saw the door open slowly.

Blood was almost pouring from him as he stepped over to the bed.

She noticed he wasn't breathing, what had her son become?

His feet stopped inches away from the bed.

He crouched down.

It wasn't her son.

Not any more.

Day 313

He opened his eyes after judgement day had passed and all was quiet.
There were no animals it seemed.
Wandering felt like the only option.
There had to be others.

The Great End was quieter than he thought, he only heard faint screaming.
Everyone had expected thee to be fire and chaos but instead they had this... peace.
If he looked up for a while he would see the occasional person being dragged into the clouds.
Those thick red-tinged clouds had been taking people non-stop.

It appeared to be dying out at least, there must be practically nothing left now.
He wasn't sure why he was even still there, better people than him had already gone.
With a sigh his eyes followed the remains of the people falling from the clouds.
They made loud wet splatters as they landed along the street in front of him.

It was almost like they were forming a path for him and in his detached mental state he walked it.
Their corpses felt warm beneath his bare feet, the blood seeping between his toes.
He wondered where this would lead to and after some thought he realised he didn't even care.
What's the point in caring when everything else is dead or dying?

And as he walked along those bodies more fell, sometimes miles from him, sometimes just in front.
They were leading him away from the town and out into the barley fields.
Everything felt so serene, not even the smell of blood and death could tear this feeling from him.
He was waist deep in blood drenched barley when he caught a glimpse of the path's end.

All serenity was forgotten.
He couldn't cry or move.
Fear flooded him.
The path ended.

Day 312

Everything seemed to be washed in a sickly shade of green today.
From his bathroom light to the entire office.
Everywhere he went the lighting was always that same nauseating shade of green.

The strangeness wasn't just limited to lighting either, the people around him seemed weird too.
It was like they were cardboard cut-outs that managed to move, their joints were all wrong.
Their speech was also off, words were garbled nonsense that only they understood.

After what felt like an eternity of pretending to be okay, the end of the work day approached.
He fled the office in a (hopefully) suitably nonchalant manner, heading straight for the tube.
And the train wouldn't be for another five minutes, it seemed like forever given the day's strangeness.

The platform monitor wouldn't stop staring at him with glazed eyes and a crooked smile.
"It'll come soon." he said, breath cloyingly sweet and far too close for comfort.
The smile he gave in return was in no was convincingly happy.

Before the worker could say anything else the train began to pull into the station, the man rushed to it.
Throwing a hasty have-a-nice-day over his shoulder as he power-walked to the nearest door.
Busier than normal, he thought as he glanced around the cramped carriage.

The lights here were worse than the others, the sickly green now an intense burning acidic shade.
At first he thought it was just tiredness but no amount of eye-rubbing made a difference.
This was only made worse by the occasional snicker of the strange looking passengers.

It was like they had some kind of inside joke and it was all about him.
Their dull wooden eyes stared at him as the train sped along the underground.
It bounced like one of those roller coaster rides, the train was practically jumping every second.

Moving faster and faster and throwing everyone about, the train felt more like a deathtrap.
The poor man was tossed about like a ragdoll into the uncanny people around him.
Muttering apologies left right and centre he the swore the lights were getting darker.

Eventually the announcer screeched out their next stop as garbled as everyone else was that day.
They were either speaking in a different language or it was a new stop he hadn't heard of before.
Either way he vowed to get off then and walk or get a cab home - it would be far safer!

Slowing down as sharply as it accelerated the carriages were almost compressed against each other.
Without looking the man pushed the button for the doors and dashed out, not caring to look collected.
Seems the day would only be getting stranger for him.

The station he'd walked onto looked like the worst kind of acid trip.
Everything was at impossible angles - even the people -  and the colours were hideously mixed.
The man just about managed to stumble into the nearest (possibly male) bathroom.

Locking the stall door in the thankfully empty room, his legs collapsed.
He sat in a crumpled heap, head buried in his arms and praying for it all to be a dream.
Luck was not on his side as a polite cough interrupted his mental begging.

It was coming from inside the toilet (covered in colours that swirled before his eyes).
Gingerly lifting the lid he peered in and screamed, scrambling back against the door.
Inside the porcelain bowl was a severed head, mangled and distorted and somehow alive.

Hey Johnny-boy, could ya at least knock first?

Day 311

Her parents weren't usually gone for this long.
They left every day, only staying a few hours at most.
She hated it when they left her there but they always promised to come back.
If only they would stop crying so much when she asked to come home with them.

They kept telling her to be brave, to find peace and sleep.
She didn't understand, she was scared and surrounded by strangers all the time.
Most of them weren't visited daily like she was and they all said how lucky she was.
She never saw it as lucky, how could she be lucky if she was there and not home?

Many times she tried to walk home but there was a large black dog that guarded the exit.
The strangers around her said she had to stay where she was or the dog would eat her.
Judging by the size of it she reckoned it had eaten a lot of people.
It didn't stop her from longing to go back though.

Her next plan was to pretend she was safely in her room and hope she would appear there.
She'd seen some strangers just vanish but they said she was too new to be able to do it too.
As her dad had said "Trying is better than nothing." and so she practised visualising her home.
Sometimes she almost felt her fluffy rug under her feet, nobody seemed to notice.

She tried every day and it began to work.
Last time she tried she was briefly there, saw her dad sitting on her bed crying.
He won't be sad when she comes home, everything will be fine again.
One last try tonight and she hoped she would remain at home forever.

Her parents visited her again during the evening and she tried to tell them she was coming back.
They looked scared, her mum even yelled at her to "just stay put, for god's sake why won't you go?!"
It was upsetting, why didn't they want her there, why did they keep leaving her here?
She promised to stay there but she never said how long she'd stay for.

After they left she began her exercise of picturing her room in every detail.
She was still upset from her mum's harsh words and didn't remember everything right.
Ended up in her best friend's room watching her bang her head against a wall until she crumpled.
After a few minutes she stood up again and turned around as a door unlocked downstairs.

Her friend had such a hard time after she'd left to the place full of strangers.
The two young girls smiled, glad to be together again.
One finally reunited with her dearest friend and the other no longer alone among strangers.
They linked arms and ran out of the window as a woman's heartbroken shriek filled the air.

Day 310

Nobody quite knew what they'd done or when it even started, if it hadn't been here all along.

What they did know was that the water changed people, or was it the air?

There were too many debates for anyone to really pick a side.

Arguing wouldn't solve the problem anyway, wouldn't unchange anybody.

The Changed were a pretty common site now and growing by the day.

You could see them shambling about their lives, metal exteriors cracked to expose their flesh.

In some places they had been worn to thin you could see right through them.

Most of them couldn't speak, it didn't help the fear their appearance brought.

This story is a glimpse into one of the Changed, his name was Jayden.

During his Change his mother took the family to the Lake District, to isolation.

Things had been peaceful until she passed away it was just him and the twins.

Jayden worried about them growing up away from people and so they left.

He didn't bring any food with them, he never ate and the twins hunted for themself.

While they were fairly self-sufficient he was never sure if they were one person or two.

All he'd ever seen of them were their wide toothy mouths, stick-like arms and a bit of their torso.

They hadn't grown any metal yet but he assumed they were Changed like him.

He dragged them along behind him in an old beer cooler he found.

Sometimes he saw lights nearby but they generally turned out to be other Changed like him.

They took one look at the twins and turned them away.

Strange how even the outcasts would cast out smaller people.

And so they became nomads, moving day and night around the great lakes and valleys of England.

They tried moving further North but the frost made Jayden's joints seize up and his vision flicker.

He had no idea how long they would wander for, would the twins grow up and leave him?

Thinking about it, they'd been so quiet as of late.

Usually they screamed when they wanted his attention (which was fairly regular).

It could have been four days since they lasted cried for him, he never paid much attention to time,

He found a sheltered area among some long grass and gently opened their container.

Usually they sat in a bundle of fabric but somewhere along the line it had turned to mush.

They lay in there lifeless and pale, tinged blue around the edges and rotted to bones waist-down.

If he had a nose he supposed he would have smelled them rotting away.

With a brief prayer that his mother had taught him, he closed the lid and walked away.

It took him a day to find another Changed who was willing to let him stay.

Sometimes he went back and visited his deceased siblings.

Sometimes he even went back to visit his mother's grave as well.

Life went back to being quiet, Changed couldn't talk.

He wondered if he would ever rust.

Day 309

It had been nearly sixty years since they sealed the main exits with concrete.
Poured it thick until it began to drip past the doors.
Sealed over two hundred people in.
Called us The Last.

It had been set up quite cleverly, down to the last detail.
Twenty storeys high and around twenty bedrooms per floor.
Every other floor was dedicated to food (growing, preparing and eating).
It was enough to make one wonder how long they'd been planning this.

The general consensus said longer than the Grey Hand disease had been around.
The entire skyscraper was completely self contained and seemingly invulnerable.
Nothing opened to the outside world, not even the windows and all vents were heavily filtered.
The population was out of harm's way, bottled into this prisonhaven.

Though the outside had been attacked many times during its sixty year reign, they remained safe.
Not once had any disease come to them, not once had any great tragedy occurred.
All was in order, and that order was Good.
It was never questioned.

They thought they were invincible, untouchable in their fortress.
Everything had been planned for, all the supplies were easy to obtain within the walls.
But some things can't be predicted, some people are bound to break the set order.
In this instance they didn't even mean to.

It's only a window, they thought, It's so stuffy in here all the time.
How bad could it be when we never even see any diseased? they wondered, smashing the glass.
Education within the walls was... uncoordinated at best.
Nobody realised that the contagion was airborne.

It had been so long since anyone had been outside that they quickly forgot the symptoms.
Their only memory of the Grey Hand was a distorted urban legend that personified it.
They never saw it coming, never stood a chance.
One by one they became Grey.

Their skin dying and separating from their bodies, hanging loosely as a grey sack of rotting flesh.
The prisonhaven wasn't equipped to handle it, no-one thought their seal would be broken.
The tower was thrown into chaos in a matter of days.
There were no uninfected left.

Months passed and nobody ate any more.
They had no need to.
The food floors became ridden with mould and toxic spores from decomposing labfood.
Grey Hand began to alter, the dead skin growing an impenetrable layer of fungal stems.

They reacted badly to light and dug a vast labyrinth of tunnels in their disease-addled state.
They didn't even realise what they were doing, they only knew that Dark was the new Good.
As they spread out underground their new strain spread through contact with underground streams.
All the while the mould seeped and oozed through the building, leaking out of the shattered window.

It created new breaks through the plaster walls, the vents - even the ceiling tiles.
Soon the entire building, all twenty storeys, was a dripping mass of fungal contagion.
The one who started all of this was now unaware, a shambling mass of spores like the rest.
Nothing in the world was prepared for this new monster.

Day 308

Few people know how hard it is to ride a bike in a storm when the ground is shaking.

It wasn't enough to be classed as a full on earthquake but just enough to skew her balance.

She couldn't slow down though, not by the riverside area, especially not in such heavy rain.

Too many broken buildings and dark corners, not a safe place.

She just had to make it over the bridge and get to the shops on the other side.

She could loiter in them until the shaking stopped or at worst grab a bus just outside them.

It wouldn't have been so bad during the day but the early evenings had caught her out.

The local council refusing to turn the lights on until 10PM didn't help much.

She had to navigate the slippery, shaking roads by her bicycle's small light.

As she passed a street sign labelled "Dock Lane" she knew she was closing in on the bridge

and by extension a warm, safe place to stop until the rain and tremors ceased.

A sharp turn left brought her onto the bridge.

It was an old bridge, narrow and cobblestoned on the pathways, a local treasure to some.

The road here was slipperier than the rest and, almost in slow motion, she fell from her bike.

It was like it had been pulled from underneath her.

She hit the cobblestones hard, head crashing into the path.

As lights danced about her eyes she felt something grip her leg.

Lifting her aching head with a squint she saw that her foot was hanging under the rails.

A pale, weed covered hand with long and twisted fingers was holding her shin.

Before she could fully comprehend what was happening it yanked her over the edge.

Life became a blur of waterskywaterskywatersky as she tumbled about the river's current.

When she awoke she'd washed up.., somewhere in the base of a rusted boat.

She vaguely remembered one that always sat on the river's edge near the warehouses.

Tide was out at this point and as she struggled to her feet she felt the ground still trembling beneath.

Her head ached and she could barely think, let alone pay attention to her surroundings.

Luck wasn't on her side as she tripped over something cold and wet.

Looking down she saw most of a human torso, skin stripped and huge chunks missing.

It took everything in her not to scream but it certainly snapped her into reality.

Crouching down she quietly moved to a corner away from the corpse and began to plot her route out.

She saw a street light's glow nearby but couldn't see any way up to the boat's deck.

A sudden cold feeling on her shoulders dragged her eyes down to her present level.

Glancing to her right she saw a familiar pale hand, fingers lightly tapping her damp shirt.

Quick as a wink it grabbed her hair and yanked her head painfully back and towards a face.

Oh that face, just as pale as the hand and just as distorted.

Like someone had taken the skin of a human but couldn't find the right bones.

This smiling face was the last face she saw.

It liked this one, such nice hair and bright eyes.

Have to savour it slowly, keep the eyes a-shining and the hair a-growing.

Would it be long enough to keep and to wear?

Mustn't eat this one at once, save it better than the last.

Day 307

Some phrases have long been separated from their origins.
And often with good reason.

Phrases like "you are what you eat" which comes from an old Pictish tradition.
They would symbolically eat representatives of their deceased as a form of remembrance.
Some took this literally as gnawed remains have shown.
One body that stands out particularly is one found in the remnants of a Pictish settlement.
From the position of the corpse we can tell that the young boy was trying to run.
Teeth marks were found all along his legs and torso.

Other phrases like "I'm all ears" also stemmed from ancient practices.
Roman records detailed a Gaulish punishment for lying.
Their ears were cut off and nailed to the older trees in the forest.
There were plenty of images to join the vivid description, it seems to have been quite common.
Apparently the stench of the decaying flesh could be smelt for miles.

"Paying through the nose" is another surprisingly dark idiom.
So made as those who were unable to repay a debt were slit from nose to brow.
A similar thing occurred when taking "an eye for an eye"during harvest season.
The collective noun for potatoes has always been "an eye" and so if the crop was low, payment
was still received, albeit in a more visceral form.

One final phrase, "it's hard to keep awake".
Coming from the old days of holding a "wake" for the deceased so as to ensure they were dead.
Keeping a wake was difficult due to impatient grave-robbers, wildlife and other creatures.
Bodies were wanted, their flesh was hungered for by many.
The belief at the time was that the soul took the entire night to fully depart and couldn't be disturbed.
Disturbing the flesh meant that their soul would be stuck wherever their body lay.

Like all things, these phrases were warped and bastardised to their current form.
The traditions behind them still continue and the beliefs hold steady.

Day 306

She shouldn't have taken it home, she should have ran.
It looked so weird that she couldn't help but want to bring it to the museum
Her nine year old self reckoned the people there would be able to tell her what it was.

It sort of looked human, it at least had the head of an old man with big flat teeth.
The rest of its body was this kind of tail - like a slug but wrinkly and stretchy when grabbed.
That's how she put it into the bucket, it had wrapped around her arm so tightly.

It seemed calmer in the bucket than it had on the floor by the river.
Wasn't thrashing about and gnashing its large teeth any more, it just curled its tail around its head.
Stared at her through a gap in its coiled limb, eyes wide like golf balls.

She went home with her discovery first, the museum was too far for her to walk.
Leaving the bucket just inside the back door she went to find her parents.
Her father was in the kitchen reading the newspaper, he'd take her to the museum for sure.

She had no idea how to describe the creature to him so she went to get the bucket as proof.
If he saw how amazing it was, he'd have no choice but to take her to whatever scientist would know.
When she got to the bucket however, it was empty and on its side.

There was no trail to help her find her creature, not a trace of it anywhere outside or by the door.
She should have put a book on top of it to keep it safely inside.
Defeated for now she headed back to her father as a loud, wet crash filled the air.

Running into the kitchen she was just in time to see her discovery bury itself in her father's torso.
There was blood everywhere and his head was completely gone.
She stood frozen in shock as the sound of chewing grew louder and louder.

With a sickening pop the creature re-emerged from the dead man, face coated in his blood.
It looked a lot bigger, less wrinkly and much fatter than it had been when she found it.
A shriek to her left meant her mother had arrived and the accompanying thud meant she'd fainted.

The little girl was still frozen as her discovery crawled over to her mother and tore out her jugular.
Its distended slug-like body seemed to grow by the minute, it looked more snake-ish now.
How could something that was so small eat so much and grow so fast?

Her legs collapsed underneath her which drew the creature's attention from her mother's corpse.
It began to writhe towards her, its head now the size of her torso and still expanding.
The last thing she saw was it coiling up, eyes like golf balls fixed on hers.

Day 305

The old townhouse was well known for the black ivy encompassing its walls.
Locals called it "The Old Fur Place" after the plant's almost furry appearance.
It had a scientific name that nobody bothered to remember.
No matter what websites said, it was the Fur Place.

The doors were always locked but nobody lived there.
Didn't stop people from seeing faces at the windows and pale arms reaching from behind the ivy.
So far nobody had dared to go inside, content to know the building was always locked.
As stories often go, it was time for that to change.

When has a young person ever listened to the warnings they are given?
When have they given up after being warned against something?
This youth was no different to the rest, a young teen by the name of Bryce.
He read on some forum somewhere that the Fur Place wasn't empty.

In the Victorian times it belonged to a fairly rich businessman.
His family we're involved in some kind of scandal and they just upped and left one day.
They took none of their belongings, not even their shoes.
They just locked the door and fled for America leaving a full house with black ivy.

After browsing some antiques websites Bryce reckoned there could be some serious valuables.
It was worth the risk of being caught trespassing, he could get rich from this!
The the Fur Place was right on the edge of the town centre, just before the main road out.
His time to strike came early one Wednesday morning, the town was practically dead.

He put it down to the heavy snow they had last night and made his way to the back of the house.
He even used a branch to cover his tracks as best as he could (which was barely passable).
He was never suspicious of the eerie quiet that seemed to swallow the house as much as the ivy.
After pressing newspaper to the glass of the back door he punched through the thin surface.

As the tutorial had said, it barely made a noise.
Slipping his arm though the broken window he managed to fumble the rear latch open.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, propping it slightly ajar with a broken brick he found nearby.
The house wasn't very well lit, the windows have been caked with grime for years.

The ivy had put anyone off wanting to clean them so it was left like the rest of the place.
It was with this in mind that a Bryce had brought a torch with him and many back up batteries.
Shining the beam around he noted that the ivy grew thickly inside, perhaps through a window?
It was mostly roots by the look of it, they seemed much more hair-like.

He checked the ground rooms first, finding photos of the old family, faded and ivy covered.
They looked pretty normal and their daughter had been beautiful and about his age.
Her hair was long and dark, her smile looked sweet and sincere.
Bryce took a photo of her from an icy-ridden cabinet and slipped it into his pocket.

He also slipped some silver looking cutlery and a mantle clock into his rucksack.
The pantry stank of rotten food so he avoided that, besides who would keep valuables in there?
His next stop was the upper floor, the bedrooms should be full of jewellery.
There were five rooms, three on the left and two on the right of the staircase.

He chose left first, get the most done as quickly as he could in case he'd been seen.
He ducked to avoid the windows, unaware of the large eyes that followed him under the ivy-flooring.
None of the doors had been locked so far, some were even wide open.
The story about the family leaving seemed more and more true the further he went.

Room number one, the furthest left was the master bedroom judging by the huge bed.
As he'd suspected there was indeed a jewellery box and it was full of buts and bobs.
He slipped the whole thing into his bag.
Hopefully the next room would be as promising.

As he stepped into the second room he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the staircase.
Treading as softly as possible he slipped into the room and through the first door he found.
It was a bathroom door which he pushed to just as the steps crashed onto the landing.
It sounded like someone had fallen over so Bryce crouched down and held his breath.


Whoever had fallen was now making groaning noises as something rustled out there.
Their groaning quickly became choking and faint cries for help.
Bryce was starting to panic, what the hell was happening out there and how many people were there?
The cries for help grew fainter and gradually stopped.

Shuffling noises drew closer to the room he was in, wait no it was more like dragging noises.
He was trapped, he had no escape route - the bathroom had no windows but so much ivy.
It was even coming from out of the old taps and into the bath!
A rude made the decision to use his torch as a weapon against whoever was coming.

He was so fixated on the door handle he didn't notice the plants around him shifting.
As the door was slowly opened he saw nobody at eye level.
Looking down he was confronted by a corpse wrapped in the ivy and being pulled towards him.
He screamed and dashed for a far corner, nearer to the bathtub.

The plants lifted the corpse off of the ground and held it near to the bath.
The ivy within the tub shifted and a young girl about his age sat up.
Her hair was the same dark colour as the photo he had and so long he couldn't tell it from the ivy.
She turned to face him, her eyes closed and a peaceful smile in her face.

She stopped smiling as her eyes opened to reveal vine filled sockets as black ivy leaked like tears.
The corpse was suddenly snapped in half with a sickening crunch and dropped into the bath.
The young girl stood up and held out her hand to Bryce.
A second crunch briefly filled the air and then all went still.

The young girl lay down again, content to feed.
Dreaming of the next brave explorer.
Ever hungry.
Ever patient.

Day 304

It happened slowly at first, cases weren't even reported until the condition hit the hundreds.
Too many for the public to ignore and too few for a national emergency.
Enough for global panic.

It began with a tight feeling beneath the skin, random muscle spasms and fatigue followed.
Bruises and swelling appeared around the joints especially around the jaw.
Those with the disease also suffered severe skin lesions around the extremities.

In the worst cases (pre-death) the bones of the fingers, toes and lower jaw were completely exposed.
Surveillance of patients with the condition showed somnophilic behaviours.
Specifically patients were found to be tearing at their own skin, somehow whilst in REM sleep.

Hypnosis of patients proved they had no subconscious awareness of their nightly activities.
Those in the final stages of the disease were kept in maximum security as a precaution.
Final stage patients and post death patients were contained in mixed rooms until movements ceased.

While this may seem unorthodox and even cruel to the living patients, I assure you it was necessary.
It's just that, well... it became hard to tell when a patient was actually dead.
They just kept moving, no matter how much flesh they'd lost.

Some would scrape themselves along the floor on stumps of bone, lower jaws totally gone.
Others just sat, still trying to remove their flesh by scraping their upper jaw on whatever they could.
There was no cure and there never will be.

Whatever this is it's nothing to do with the brain nor is it a contagion.
Their bodies and minds aren't infected - it's their bones.
We've found brain cell growths within the marrow that form a brain structure within their skeletons.

No, nobody has an explanation for this and no we haven't found a way to test for it.
Something must be triggered within the bones themselves to cause this growth.
Can you imagine Doctor, a body alive within another being?

So far attempts as communicating verbally with the far gone have yielded no result.
They are capable of speech, most still retain functioning vocal chords.
Footage from the patient's rooms shows them using head gestures as a form of speech.

We have yet to decipher this new form of body language but there are people working on it.
Whatever they're saying it seems to be about organisation among the infected.
Every night they shuffle into a line facing the camera and nod in a rhythm.

It's Morse code.

They keep saying the same thing, every night for at least eight hours constant.

T-H-E - F-L-E-S-H - W-I-L-L - N-O-T - L-A-S-T

Day 303

They floated about the surface of the lake like clumps of black weed.
Were it not for the occasional face coming past the surface, nobody would have cared.
Mostly it was just the hair though.

Some guy in the bar said he'd seen one get right out of the water and sit on the pier.
Due to the setting and time of night nobody believed him.
They should have.

Children would sit on the pier and poke the bobbing creatures with sticks and fishing rods.
Rumour has it a boy caught one with his fishing pole and it dragged him under.
Then they swarmed around him and he was never seen again.

Like all tales about nameless children, it was hard to prove right.
Especially when the adults were too busy trying to get rid of the lake things to notice the children go.
By the time they realised there were five children left.

There were more lake creatures than ever, you could barely see the water past them.
It didn't take the remaining people long to see the smaller drifters near the edge of the lake.
Their bodies were pure bone wrapped in what appeared to be some kind of plant.

A decision was made - seal the lake for good.
There were few options available: fencing around the lake, shut down the roads, one person even
suggested pouring concrete into the lake and trapping the creature in there for good.

The best they could manage was a wooden fence with barbed wire on top.
But people still go missing and on quiet nights you can hear wet feet walking the pier.
On the far edge of the fence, weeds have been thrown over the barbed wire and it looks flatter.

They aren't finished yet.

Day 302

They ran like clockwork, thundering over the bridge as they had done for hundreds of years.
He cursed himself for losing track of the time.
It was hard enough hiding under the bridge, clinging to the rocks like scraggy moss.
Harder still when those thumping humans were shaking the old stones to their core.

Strange how those lumbering creatures considered him, a mere troll, to be the monster.
Stranger still how they weren't able to recognise their own appearance.
They seemed to think they were these medium sized pinkish things, it was almost pitiful.
Such large, hulking brutes reducing themselves to snivelling two-legged pig things.

Truly it made no sense - it was like they weren't able to comprehend themselves.
They never seemed to realise what they did, talking in faint voices about "tax" and "politics".
Like they even had a government, they just travelled around in shambling herds.
Even now they were above his home, faintly laughing about some world only they saw.

Day 301

After the crash, the remains of the train were decommissioned.
Left to rot after they scraped the thirty three bodies out.
They couldn't get everyone, the fire had left them with charred and melted remains.
In the end they just gathered what they could and cremated the lot.
Of course they never told anyone this, imagine their shock if they knew.

For a few years people visited the train and left flowers, cards and other tokens of loss.
As humans do though, they began to forget.
One by one they stopped coming and their tokens were left to rot alongside the train.
Their lost ones could only watch from inside the wreckage as the last person left for good.
If only they could cry out please, we're still in here, we're still inside PLEASE!

But they couldn't, the dead can't speak you see.
At least, not without a living person to act as a mouthpiece.
They were the thirty three of platform twelve from York to London.
And they were still inside, looking out unseen at their rotting prison.
Even as the roof above them decays entirely, they remain inside.