You don't remember buying a desktop computer but its always been there.
Dusty and too out of date to have been purchased in your life.
It has never been turned on, to your knowledge at least.
You aren't even sure if it works any more.
There are days when you debate throwing it away, selling it or donating it.
You never do, something about it just feels right, like it was meant to be there.
Perhaps, you think out loud, I should see if it still turns on.
As your fingers touch the circular power button it begins to hum.
The screen flickers and words appear, words you recognise as a chill seeps into your bones.
It is showing you the names of everyone you went to school with and their current location.
So many of them moved to one small area, was there a reunion?
Their names continued to scroll on the screen repeatedly.
A loud hiss threw your attention over to your TV as it too switched itself on somehow.
The local news channel was reporting some great tragedy.
Names were listed and your blood ran cold - those same names were on the computer.
Details came soon after - mass suicide.
You pulled the TV plug out of the wall and went to do the same to the computer.
There was no connecting cable, it had no power supply.
Pressing the power button seemed to refresh the screen, bringing up new names.
Your parents who lived in the neighbouring town.
The TV burst into life once more.
Names scrolling down the plasma screen too fast to read but a few still stuck out.
You saw their names on the mailboxes on the ground floor of the apartment every day.
It froze on your name, flashing those sickly green letters before all of the lights burst.
20150430
20150429
Day 360
There was no way to control how he moved, he just drifted.
It felt like he'd been floating along for an eternity but glimpses of the news said it'd been 34 years.
34 years since the fever took him.
35 years since he'd walked on his own two feet.
Almost 40 years since he'd been to his home country.
He was drifting towards a beach so maybe he would end up there again.
Maybe that was where he'd been heading all along, drifting back home to finally rest.
As his feet (formerly gently dragging over the ground) touched the water he knew this was it.
He would never come back here.
Never catch glimpses of his loved ones.
The water lapped through his feet and he felt nothing, he hadn't felt anything since his death.
Even then it wasn't so much a feel as the gradual loss of feeling.
His eyes were the first to go, they'd faded so gradually over the year he'd barely noticed.
His ears went next and left him with years of silent darkness, years of contemplation.
His heart went last, it wasn't the dramatic spluttering you saw on TV, it was quiet final flutters.
He'd been drifting over the ocean for so long, he'd even seen a few boats, gone through them too.
Huge waves engulfed him from time to time but he remained roughly on level.
Sometimes he thought he could see land incoming.
He swore he saw others like him drifting in the distance.
He even he thought he saw his parents walking away from him.
His inability to follow them felt like torture, he couldn't even cry out.
When did they die, was he there, did he say goodbye?
They were alive when he last saw them, whenever that was.
It wasn't too long ago, that much he knew for sure.. for sure.
They faded in and out in front of him, always in the distance but close enough to almost touch.
Forgetting is the easiest thing to do, he eventually realised as he tried to recall his children's names.
Waves rolled over him and he began to drift down.
This was different, he had always remained at one level even when waves washed over him.
He was almost glad to be dead at this point, how else would he ever have seen all of this?
It got dark a faster than he expected.
For the first time since his death he felt things brush past him, fish probably.
He felt something, no someone, hold his hand.
They felt warm as their grasp tightened, dragging him down faster and faster.
Surely he should feel panic but it had been a long time since he had felt anything.
After a while the hand let go and he was left suspended in endless darkness.
It felt like he'd been floating along for an eternity but glimpses of the news said it'd been 34 years.
34 years since the fever took him.
35 years since he'd walked on his own two feet.
Almost 40 years since he'd been to his home country.
He was drifting towards a beach so maybe he would end up there again.
Maybe that was where he'd been heading all along, drifting back home to finally rest.
As his feet (formerly gently dragging over the ground) touched the water he knew this was it.
He would never come back here.
Never catch glimpses of his loved ones.
The water lapped through his feet and he felt nothing, he hadn't felt anything since his death.
Even then it wasn't so much a feel as the gradual loss of feeling.
His eyes were the first to go, they'd faded so gradually over the year he'd barely noticed.
His ears went next and left him with years of silent darkness, years of contemplation.
His heart went last, it wasn't the dramatic spluttering you saw on TV, it was quiet final flutters.
He'd been drifting over the ocean for so long, he'd even seen a few boats, gone through them too.
Huge waves engulfed him from time to time but he remained roughly on level.
Sometimes he thought he could see land incoming.
He swore he saw others like him drifting in the distance.
He even he thought he saw his parents walking away from him.
His inability to follow them felt like torture, he couldn't even cry out.
When did they die, was he there, did he say goodbye?
They were alive when he last saw them, whenever that was.
It wasn't too long ago, that much he knew for sure.. for sure.
They faded in and out in front of him, always in the distance but close enough to almost touch.
Forgetting is the easiest thing to do, he eventually realised as he tried to recall his children's names.
Waves rolled over him and he began to drift down.
This was different, he had always remained at one level even when waves washed over him.
He was almost glad to be dead at this point, how else would he ever have seen all of this?
It got dark a faster than he expected.
For the first time since his death he felt things brush past him, fish probably.
He felt something, no someone, hold his hand.
They felt warm as their grasp tightened, dragging him down faster and faster.
Surely he should feel panic but it had been a long time since he had felt anything.
After a while the hand let go and he was left suspended in endless darkness.
20150428
Day 359
They had always been around the area, slow moving and gradually turning green with moss.
Some said they looked beautiful - the very souls of the deceased come back.
Others were more realistic and called the, as they were.
Shambles, bones, alive and dead and moving all at once.
It wasn't known how this was possible, nobody outside of the city believed it.
They poked about for wires, insisted they were animatronics.
Thought themselves clever they did, thought they had it all figured out.
We let them think that, it was easier to digest than the truth.
Honestly though, even we weren't quite sure how or why they were here.
We had no way of knowing what they really were so we let them be.
We let them into our homes thinking they were just harmless old bones.
We didn't stop them from stealing everything we held dear.
Friends, family, memories - they took whatever they wanted and we couldn't stop them.
How can you kill moving bones, how can they even move?
In our defence we didn't know they would spread out from here.
Sightings started in the smaller towns nearby and gradually more joined.
They claimed it as a government project to raise environmental awareness and for a time it worked.
That was before people started vanishing at an alarming rate and dementia cases shot up.
So far we're safe at least, they're slowly leaving our city for the surrounding settlements.
Is it so bad to be happy that we're being left alone at last?
I do wonder if they've had their fill of us yet, will they come back again?
Those slow giants, so peaceful looking and so quiet.
Nobody will suspect them until its too late.
They'll survive at least, the bones prefer us alive.
Some said they looked beautiful - the very souls of the deceased come back.
Others were more realistic and called the, as they were.
Shambles, bones, alive and dead and moving all at once.
It wasn't known how this was possible, nobody outside of the city believed it.
They poked about for wires, insisted they were animatronics.
Thought themselves clever they did, thought they had it all figured out.
We let them think that, it was easier to digest than the truth.
Honestly though, even we weren't quite sure how or why they were here.
We had no way of knowing what they really were so we let them be.
We let them into our homes thinking they were just harmless old bones.
We didn't stop them from stealing everything we held dear.
Friends, family, memories - they took whatever they wanted and we couldn't stop them.
How can you kill moving bones, how can they even move?
In our defence we didn't know they would spread out from here.
Sightings started in the smaller towns nearby and gradually more joined.
They claimed it as a government project to raise environmental awareness and for a time it worked.
That was before people started vanishing at an alarming rate and dementia cases shot up.
So far we're safe at least, they're slowly leaving our city for the surrounding settlements.
Is it so bad to be happy that we're being left alone at last?
I do wonder if they've had their fill of us yet, will they come back again?
Those slow giants, so peaceful looking and so quiet.
Nobody will suspect them until its too late.
They'll survive at least, the bones prefer us alive.
20150427
Day 358
As she waited doors opened and closed towards the end of the corridor.
At first they were quiet, cautious even, handles clicking softly and doors grazing shut.
She must have spent a good ten minutes listening to the unseen person trying to be so quiet.
Curiosity is a dangerous thing mind you, yet there she was hesitantly standing.
This unseen person has piqued her interest and their near silence was strange in such an environment.
Though it was early in the day, one would think that a university would have more people around.
She walked towards the end of the tiny passageway she had been waiting in and held her breath.
Whoever had been opening the doors stopped, the door's hinges protested at being held open.
They slowly shut the door, its old frame filling the hallway with deafeningly loud screeching.
She sighed in relief, though unsure as to why she was relieved.
Just as the tension in her shoulders had drained the next door was yanked open and slammed shut.
They had stopped trying to be quiet as their footsteps thundered down the hallway.
Doors were heaved open and slammed shut as they drew closer towards her.
She ducked back into the short passageway, frantically trying to think of a way to escape.
There were two doors on either side of her - one locked,the other leading to a series of open rooms.
There must be somewhere to hide in there, though they were only separated by curtains.
A table behind stacks of chairs was her best bet, the rest of the rooms were utterly empty.
She hoped whoever was slamming the doors grew bored before they reached her refuge.
Crouched down and trying not to breathe too loudly, her heart pounded in time to the closing doors.
They were so close now, she could hear them breathing in the passageway outside.
After a moment of silence the sound of heavy boots kicking wood belted her eardrums.
Seems the locked door was only making them worse.
Sharp splintering filled the air as the door finally gave way and they moved to the next one.
It slammed into the wall just like the others, dislodging small chunks of plaster in its wake.
For the first time she could see the feet that had been thundering towards her.
They were encased in large worker's boots, following the line of their legs up she saw blood.
So much blood - their legs were practically torn to shreds, how were they even walking?
If she looked closely enough she could see bone poking out in several places.
She didn't realise how long she'd been staring at them, they should have moved on to the next door.
They hadn't lingered since she first tried to peer around the corner.
Slowly they stepped towards her hiding spot, standing right in front of the chair stacks.
They crouched, or rather their legs collapsed like a well folded map and they sank down.
Their torso was just as bloodied as their legs, if not more so.
She couldn't see their face but their lower jaw was entirely gone leaving half a tongue sticking out.
They only had one arm which looked to have been reattached to the centre of their chest.
It began to reach out, jerking and twitching, hitting the chairs on either side before finding her.
Doors were heaved open and slammed shut as they drew closer towards her.
She ducked back into the short passageway, frantically trying to think of a way to escape.
There were two doors on either side of her - one locked,the other leading to a series of open rooms.
There must be somewhere to hide in there, though they were only separated by curtains.
A table behind stacks of chairs was her best bet, the rest of the rooms were utterly empty.
She hoped whoever was slamming the doors grew bored before they reached her refuge.
Crouched down and trying not to breathe too loudly, her heart pounded in time to the closing doors.
They were so close now, she could hear them breathing in the passageway outside.
After a moment of silence the sound of heavy boots kicking wood belted her eardrums.
Seems the locked door was only making them worse.
Sharp splintering filled the air as the door finally gave way and they moved to the next one.
It slammed into the wall just like the others, dislodging small chunks of plaster in its wake.
For the first time she could see the feet that had been thundering towards her.
They were encased in large worker's boots, following the line of their legs up she saw blood.
So much blood - their legs were practically torn to shreds, how were they even walking?
If she looked closely enough she could see bone poking out in several places.
She didn't realise how long she'd been staring at them, they should have moved on to the next door.
They hadn't lingered since she first tried to peer around the corner.
Slowly they stepped towards her hiding spot, standing right in front of the chair stacks.
They crouched, or rather their legs collapsed like a well folded map and they sank down.
Their torso was just as bloodied as their legs, if not more so.
She couldn't see their face but their lower jaw was entirely gone leaving half a tongue sticking out.
They only had one arm which looked to have been reattached to the centre of their chest.
It began to reach out, jerking and twitching, hitting the chairs on either side before finding her.
20150426
Day 357
A flyer for a "secret" fair came through your door.
The paper began to crumble in your hands as you noted down the address and date.
By the time you had finished it was a small pile of dust.
This wasn't new to you, this fair came by once a year, a different date and venue every time.
Seems that this year's one was to be held along a wide alley you knew only by name.
It was near the old town hall, down by the Dutch Quarter.
They organisers did so love to host in decrepit places and especially near graves.
Nobody really knows who the main company is but we assume they mean well.
As always there was a parade to celebrate the opening of the fair which was full of strangers.
Not your usual run-of-the-mill strangers either, they were strangers and not quite human.
There was a forum on the town's social media site debating the nature and existence of them.
The most popular theory so far was that they were temporary reincarnations of the deceased.
They did have this air of familiarity about them, like their names were just out of mind's reach.
Shame they were never seen again after the fair ended, each year brought new strangers out.
At least it kept the locals busy, photographing and questioning these partial outsiders even if
their correspondence was impossible to recall or note down.
Besides these beings and the inability to recall any significant features they possessed (if they
even had features) the rest of the fair and its events were generally pretty innocuous.
From the jewellery stalls and their humming artefacts to the musicians' incessant wailing to
the way everyone seemed to mouth the same words over and over again in between conversations.
All was at it had always been at the "secret" fair.
The paper began to crumble in your hands as you noted down the address and date.
By the time you had finished it was a small pile of dust.
This wasn't new to you, this fair came by once a year, a different date and venue every time.
Seems that this year's one was to be held along a wide alley you knew only by name.
It was near the old town hall, down by the Dutch Quarter.
They organisers did so love to host in decrepit places and especially near graves.
Nobody really knows who the main company is but we assume they mean well.
As always there was a parade to celebrate the opening of the fair which was full of strangers.
Not your usual run-of-the-mill strangers either, they were strangers and not quite human.
There was a forum on the town's social media site debating the nature and existence of them.
The most popular theory so far was that they were temporary reincarnations of the deceased.
They did have this air of familiarity about them, like their names were just out of mind's reach.
Shame they were never seen again after the fair ended, each year brought new strangers out.
At least it kept the locals busy, photographing and questioning these partial outsiders even if
their correspondence was impossible to recall or note down.
Besides these beings and the inability to recall any significant features they possessed (if they
even had features) the rest of the fair and its events were generally pretty innocuous.
From the jewellery stalls and their humming artefacts to the musicians' incessant wailing to
the way everyone seemed to mouth the same words over and over again in between conversations.
All was at it had always been at the "secret" fair.
20150425
Day 356
She blinked and the school corridor looked different.
Everything seemed less real, flatter almost like a child had drawn it.
In fact as she looked closer she could see that the other classroom doors weren't real.
They were just crayon outlines on the walls in that stereotypically childish style.
The handles were still the same as were the windows.
Looking into the rooms she could see children seated as normal but there were no teachers.
She tried to get their attention and leapt back as their heads cracked round to face her.
They turned vertically, faces warped with pinhole eyes and misshapen mouths.
One of them walked up to the door, staring up at her through the window.
Are you lost miss? The staff room's that way. the meeting is in progress.
As the child turned their body went flat for a brief second, like they were a paper cutout.
The other students continued to stare and point down the hall, eyes unblinking.
She slowly turned and took a few steps in the direction they had pointed.
A quiet thud behind her drew her attention and as she turned she saw that the children were
pressing their faces against the glass so hard that some of them were bleeding.
This continued with each classroom she passed, they pointed then pressed against the glass.
She was thankful that so far none of the windows had broken however worrying this all was.
The further along the hallway she went the more violently they rushed to the glass panels.
By the sixth or seventh classroom they were banging on the door and screaming at her.
They kept saying that she was very late for the staff meeting and that it was down the hall.
This contrast of violent behaviour and plain message was what kept her calm until she found it.
The door labelled as staff room was at the very end of the hallway and was the first real door there.
A wave of relief washed over her as the children suddenly ceased their commotion.
As she opened the door the relief dissipated to be replaced by fear.
The staff room was more like a court room, high benches on either side of her and the headmaster
on a grand podium higher than all the other presumed staff members.
Their faces were similar to the children's only much, much bigger.
Their uniform looked to be patches of skin, she could see faces in some places, eyes rotting.
She was the only human there, poor thing.
One of the presumed tutors beckoned her over to a spare seat where her skincoat waited.
It wasn't as long as the others but she worked on it during detentions.
The screams of a new student declared the meeting's beginning.
Everything seemed less real, flatter almost like a child had drawn it.
In fact as she looked closer she could see that the other classroom doors weren't real.
They were just crayon outlines on the walls in that stereotypically childish style.
The handles were still the same as were the windows.
Looking into the rooms she could see children seated as normal but there were no teachers.
She tried to get their attention and leapt back as their heads cracked round to face her.
They turned vertically, faces warped with pinhole eyes and misshapen mouths.
One of them walked up to the door, staring up at her through the window.
As the child turned their body went flat for a brief second, like they were a paper cutout.
The other students continued to stare and point down the hall, eyes unblinking.
She slowly turned and took a few steps in the direction they had pointed.
A quiet thud behind her drew her attention and as she turned she saw that the children were
pressing their faces against the glass so hard that some of them were bleeding.
This continued with each classroom she passed, they pointed then pressed against the glass.
She was thankful that so far none of the windows had broken however worrying this all was.
The further along the hallway she went the more violently they rushed to the glass panels.
By the sixth or seventh classroom they were banging on the door and screaming at her.
They kept saying that she was very late for the staff meeting and that it was down the hall.
This contrast of violent behaviour and plain message was what kept her calm until she found it.
The door labelled as staff room was at the very end of the hallway and was the first real door there.
A wave of relief washed over her as the children suddenly ceased their commotion.
As she opened the door the relief dissipated to be replaced by fear.
The staff room was more like a court room, high benches on either side of her and the headmaster
on a grand podium higher than all the other presumed staff members.
Their faces were similar to the children's only much, much bigger.
Their uniform looked to be patches of skin, she could see faces in some places, eyes rotting.
She was the only human there, poor thing.
One of the presumed tutors beckoned her over to a spare seat where her skincoat waited.
It wasn't as long as the others but she worked on it during detentions.
The screams of a new student declared the meeting's beginning.
Day 355
Any time you took a photo your camera would show you what used to be there.
People called you a conceptual genius among other less pleasant names.
You thought of yourself as a historian, uncovering the world's forgotten places
Lately it hadn't been working right, the damn thing just kept showing you snapshots of people.
Two people specifically, a couple you reckoned and it didn't seem to matter where you were.
It looked like they lived in a mansion up in a mountain, it was a little run down but still huge.
The couple in question didn't fit in with their surroundings, you wondered if they were squatters.
It didn't matter to you, you could still make some kind of series on this maybe.
From the looks of things they spent most of their time looking around the house or arguing.
You figured out by chance that if you zoomed in with the camera you could read the papers that
they left lying all over the place which pertained to a missing person named Arles Le Veere.
Researching him revealed that he'd been missing for almost a hundred years!
He was a wealthy eccentric man in his mid fifties who had lived in the Le Veere mansion all his life.
Despite amassing an enormous fortune through ownership of multiple companies he was rarely seen.
He had a habit of sending letters to his closest relative (a cousin or aunt, sources are conflicted) as
a way of both maintaining contact with the outside world and letting them know he was alive.
The letters stopped coming around 1912 and he was declared missing five years later.
Though you couldn't hear what the couple were saying, you knew they were looking for his fortune.
For weeks you followed them around the mansion, making notes on the corresponding locations.
They eventually focused their search around the family mausoleum which bore the Le Veere crest.
Every inch of it was poked, it didn't look to have a door so there must have been a mechanism.
You took to travelling further than ever, trying to see inside the crypt somehow.
After weeks of fruitless searching you returned to the spot where you last saw the couple.
They weren't there and after returning to all of the corresponding places you knew of, scouring the
old mansion through your lens, you couldn't find them anywhere but their belongings remained.
Eventually your camera focused on other places and refused to focus on the Le Veere mansion.
You asked around, showing your photos of the couple to as many contacts as possible, you even
put the clearest images of them online in case someone knew who they were but nobody did.
You returned to the room where they slept one last time and saw two skeletal figures embracing.
They looked like they'd been dead for centuries rather then the few months you hadn't seen them for.
The room itself (formerly a parlour of some sort) was covered in a thin sheen of ice.
You couldn't see any open windows but the fireplace looked strangely deep, far deeper than normal.
Crouching and moving you managed to peer into it and used the flash to get a clear image.
Inside was another corpse - a man who was black, leather skinned and twisted.
His head snapped up and he leapt at you.
He keeps following you somehow, every image shows him travelling.
He is in your country, heading towards you.
You have to admit, he's persistent and no amount of moving deters him.
While you aren't sure exactly where he is you swear you can see his footprints.
Last week they lead to the back of your house, black and damp like tar they retreated to the road.
Last night they stopped beside your bed, one single track... he hasn't left and neither have you.
People called you a conceptual genius among other less pleasant names.
You thought of yourself as a historian, uncovering the world's forgotten places
Lately it hadn't been working right, the damn thing just kept showing you snapshots of people.
Two people specifically, a couple you reckoned and it didn't seem to matter where you were.
It looked like they lived in a mansion up in a mountain, it was a little run down but still huge.
The couple in question didn't fit in with their surroundings, you wondered if they were squatters.
It didn't matter to you, you could still make some kind of series on this maybe.
From the looks of things they spent most of their time looking around the house or arguing.
You figured out by chance that if you zoomed in with the camera you could read the papers that
they left lying all over the place which pertained to a missing person named Arles Le Veere.
Researching him revealed that he'd been missing for almost a hundred years!
He was a wealthy eccentric man in his mid fifties who had lived in the Le Veere mansion all his life.
Despite amassing an enormous fortune through ownership of multiple companies he was rarely seen.
He had a habit of sending letters to his closest relative (a cousin or aunt, sources are conflicted) as
a way of both maintaining contact with the outside world and letting them know he was alive.
The letters stopped coming around 1912 and he was declared missing five years later.
Though you couldn't hear what the couple were saying, you knew they were looking for his fortune.
For weeks you followed them around the mansion, making notes on the corresponding locations.
They eventually focused their search around the family mausoleum which bore the Le Veere crest.
Every inch of it was poked, it didn't look to have a door so there must have been a mechanism.
You took to travelling further than ever, trying to see inside the crypt somehow.
After weeks of fruitless searching you returned to the spot where you last saw the couple.
They weren't there and after returning to all of the corresponding places you knew of, scouring the
old mansion through your lens, you couldn't find them anywhere but their belongings remained.
Eventually your camera focused on other places and refused to focus on the Le Veere mansion.
You asked around, showing your photos of the couple to as many contacts as possible, you even
put the clearest images of them online in case someone knew who they were but nobody did.
You returned to the room where they slept one last time and saw two skeletal figures embracing.
They looked like they'd been dead for centuries rather then the few months you hadn't seen them for.
The room itself (formerly a parlour of some sort) was covered in a thin sheen of ice.
You couldn't see any open windows but the fireplace looked strangely deep, far deeper than normal.
Crouching and moving you managed to peer into it and used the flash to get a clear image.
Inside was another corpse - a man who was black, leather skinned and twisted.
His head snapped up and he leapt at you.
He keeps following you somehow, every image shows him travelling.
He is in your country, heading towards you.
You have to admit, he's persistent and no amount of moving deters him.
While you aren't sure exactly where he is you swear you can see his footprints.
Last week they lead to the back of your house, black and damp like tar they retreated to the road.
Last night they stopped beside your bed, one single track... he hasn't left and neither have you.
20150423
Day 354
There's something in the office.
Everyone knew about it, a few had even seen glimpses of it.
It seemed to live inside of the off-white walls, hands pushing against the plaster leaving imprints.
You'd see them if you came in before the cleaners, handprints the size of your torso.
Everyone had heard that it was big but it couldn't be proved.
The cleaners were too good at their jobs mopping up those prints and whatever other mess it leaves.
The office is so big that it could take weeks before you're absence is noticed or even noted.
You'd think that with such a large company that wouldn't be the case, that they'd care for all workers.
That was simply not the case, they wanted work done and didn't care what means it took.
Muttered gossip said the CEOs were as bad as the lurker, leaving a trail of missing nobodies.
Still, both rarely came out during the daylight and had never been seen at the same time.
Wherever the CEOs were, the lurker was not and vice versa.
The guys in security said so, the CEOs always appeared fuzzy on the camera feed, (and this was top
quality equipment) while the lurker was a dark red stain moving along the walls.
When one was out, the other was nowhere in the building, or so the footage showed.
Everyone reckoned they were connected somehow but they had no idea of the extent.
There were six CEOs altogether, it was weird but the office building continued multiple companies.
Somehow they all managed to run efficiently, holding joint meetings but never merging.
They generally walked in a cluster, muttering over miscellaneous papers and figures.
Blood trailed behind them, entrails clung to their shoes from particularly vigorous meetings.
Everyone knew not to mention the blood trail, never mention the blood trail.
Just as they knew not to mention the way that red stain moved sluggishly along the ways.
Nobody ever said if it was following someone, last time they did it made sure they stayed quiet.
It seemed to get bigger with each person it quietened.
Everyone knew about it, a few had even seen glimpses of it.
It seemed to live inside of the off-white walls, hands pushing against the plaster leaving imprints.
You'd see them if you came in before the cleaners, handprints the size of your torso.
Everyone had heard that it was big but it couldn't be proved.
The cleaners were too good at their jobs mopping up those prints and whatever other mess it leaves.
The office is so big that it could take weeks before you're absence is noticed or even noted.
You'd think that with such a large company that wouldn't be the case, that they'd care for all workers.
That was simply not the case, they wanted work done and didn't care what means it took.
Muttered gossip said the CEOs were as bad as the lurker, leaving a trail of missing nobodies.
Still, both rarely came out during the daylight and had never been seen at the same time.
Wherever the CEOs were, the lurker was not and vice versa.
The guys in security said so, the CEOs always appeared fuzzy on the camera feed, (and this was top
quality equipment) while the lurker was a dark red stain moving along the walls.
When one was out, the other was nowhere in the building, or so the footage showed.
Everyone reckoned they were connected somehow but they had no idea of the extent.
There were six CEOs altogether, it was weird but the office building continued multiple companies.
Somehow they all managed to run efficiently, holding joint meetings but never merging.
They generally walked in a cluster, muttering over miscellaneous papers and figures.
Blood trailed behind them, entrails clung to their shoes from particularly vigorous meetings.
Everyone knew not to mention the blood trail, never mention the blood trail.
Just as they knew not to mention the way that red stain moved sluggishly along the ways.
Nobody ever said if it was following someone, last time they did it made sure they stayed quiet.
It seemed to get bigger with each person it quietened.
20150422
Day 353
The exhibition was exactly what the old man expected from modern "art".
The room was plain white as they always were, packed with a variety of people.
He hated these events but the invitation he'd received from an old flame promised something new.
Art like you wouldn't believe, Roy! For old time's sake, get over here!
She was right, he could hardly believe this counted as art, these (admittedly enormous) sheets of
paper with the vaguest hints of crowded rooms behind them and a metallic scent that lingered.
He wasn't sure if they were painted or stencilled or if there was a diorama behind them.
Either way he disliked them, disliked the venue and especially disliked all the people.
They had no respect for a man clearly in his waning years, pushing him aside at every "frame".
At least there were some door-sized pieces that weren't as packed, some were totally vacant.
He leant against the wall beside one and tried to peer at the scene behind the paper.
All of a sudden the crowd caught sight of the smaller works and rushed to view them.
Instead of getting pushed away he ended up being pushed into the thin sheet and right through it.
He was right about the diorama but he couldn't possibly have imagined what the scene was.
The room was far bigger than the small paper covering and stank of fresh blood.
Bodies were stacked in five neat square piles, head-to-foot-to-head.
He began to scream and the crowd by the door backed off, startled and worried.
Running out he cried MURDER, SOMEONE'S KILLED THEM ALL! HELP! POLICE! ANYONE!
A security guard came running forward, calming the crowd with raised hands and a smile.
It's alright folks, just a part of the exhibition as the artist herself will explain.
The guard gestured, to a nervous looking woman who glared at the terrified old man.
This show is all about mortality and how fragile we are in the face of death.
She droned on until the crowd was satisfied enough to applaud her "craftsmanship" with the bodies.
The old man didn't buy it, they looked too real and some of them were even twitching!
As the final act of my show, the gentleman here will "finish off" the animatronic bodies inside!
The security guard handed his gun over with a dark look that promised bad things if he refused.
Everyone else was thrilled, they didn't expect it to be performance art - how genius of her!
Impatient they cheered him on as the artist gently pushed him towards the nearest dying person.
As he pulled the trigger their eyes shot open and their breath rattled out of their punctured lungs.
Bodies were stacked in five neat square piles, head-to-foot-to-head.
He began to scream and the crowd by the door backed off, startled and worried.
Running out he cried MURDER, SOMEONE'S KILLED THEM ALL! HELP! POLICE! ANYONE!
A security guard came running forward, calming the crowd with raised hands and a smile.
It's alright folks, just a part of the exhibition as the artist herself will explain.
The guard gestured, to a nervous looking woman who glared at the terrified old man.
This show is all about mortality and how fragile we are in the face of death.
She droned on until the crowd was satisfied enough to applaud her "craftsmanship" with the bodies.
The old man didn't buy it, they looked too real and some of them were even twitching!
As the final act of my show, the gentleman here will "finish off" the animatronic bodies inside!
The security guard handed his gun over with a dark look that promised bad things if he refused.
Everyone else was thrilled, they didn't expect it to be performance art - how genius of her!
Impatient they cheered him on as the artist gently pushed him towards the nearest dying person.
As he pulled the trigger their eyes shot open and their breath rattled out of their punctured lungs.
20150421
Day 352
The door to the staircase was always locked but for some reason today it was wide open.
It seemed to beckon him upstairs (though there was no upstairs, it led to the roof).
With nothing urgent that needed doing immediately and no class for twenty or so minutes
he walked up those steps - if nothing else he'd at least have a story to tell.
It didn't lead to the roof... it should have led to the roof but there was clearly a second floor.
Strange how you couldn't see it from the outside or maybe you could?
The door was locked but there were people inside working on some art installation or something.
They wore old fashioned costumes and as they noticed him they looked so excited.
One yelled the code is 1919 and sure enough the door opened.
Stepping inside he felt the air grow cold, could even see his breath mist in front of him.
The people inside didn't seem to mind it though their skin was faintly blue.
Even their voices were strange, they sounded hollow and tinny like they were far away.
They were so happy so see him even if they kept a fair distance away.
A bell rang and they scurried off, leaving him alone and surrounded by grotesque artwork.
The frames were twice the size of him, showing bodies in varying stages of disfigurement and
decay, plastered onto what appeared to be thin plaster walls.
Whispering noises came from behind thick curtains that hung loosely between the white walls.
Some had large holes torn through them, painted brown in places and stiff like they'd been starched.
Peering through one he saw the costumed people kneeling in a circle, muttering and cursing.
He heard them say his name with such anger it made him audibly gasp.
Their heads snapped round with a sickening crack and he leapt back, stumbling away.
The door he had come through was locked from the outside and with no way to input the code he
found himself stranded among these strange people, if they even were people.
His next thought was to find a window and try to escape to the ground floor, anywhere but there.
As he walked he saw their pale blue faces glaring at him through the holes and slits in the curtains.
They looked furious, hissing curses at him as he passed by and muttering the word blue.
Passing by a mirror he turned sharply to stare at himself, realising why they'd been staring.
His skin, formerly tan, was now the same pale blue as the costumed people.
While he was distracted by the state of his skin, the coldness that had begun to seep into his bones
he never noticed the people creeping out from behind the curtains, brushes and wires in hand.
The same bell that had caused them to flee now sent them in, swarming around as he screamed.
They put up a new painting depicting him in his final moments of torment and were pleased.
They said the stairs at the back lead to a second floor.
Everyone knew the building was only one floor high but it didn't stop people from talking.
It used to be the art department before they moved it in the 20's to a new building.
Some big accident up there had killed a whole classroom but nobody knew the details.
Still, sometimes pale figures could be seen walking along the rooftop holding canvas and brushes.
You weren't supposed to look at them though not everyone knew that.
People went missing from time to time, it never traced back to the second floor but they all knew.
Like all artists, they needed new materials, new canvas and paints.
It seemed to beckon him upstairs (though there was no upstairs, it led to the roof).
With nothing urgent that needed doing immediately and no class for twenty or so minutes
he walked up those steps - if nothing else he'd at least have a story to tell.
It didn't lead to the roof... it should have led to the roof but there was clearly a second floor.
Strange how you couldn't see it from the outside or maybe you could?
The door was locked but there were people inside working on some art installation or something.
They wore old fashioned costumes and as they noticed him they looked so excited.
One yelled the code is 1919 and sure enough the door opened.
Stepping inside he felt the air grow cold, could even see his breath mist in front of him.
The people inside didn't seem to mind it though their skin was faintly blue.
Even their voices were strange, they sounded hollow and tinny like they were far away.
They were so happy so see him even if they kept a fair distance away.
A bell rang and they scurried off, leaving him alone and surrounded by grotesque artwork.
The frames were twice the size of him, showing bodies in varying stages of disfigurement and
decay, plastered onto what appeared to be thin plaster walls.
Whispering noises came from behind thick curtains that hung loosely between the white walls.
Some had large holes torn through them, painted brown in places and stiff like they'd been starched.
Peering through one he saw the costumed people kneeling in a circle, muttering and cursing.
He heard them say his name with such anger it made him audibly gasp.
Their heads snapped round with a sickening crack and he leapt back, stumbling away.
The door he had come through was locked from the outside and with no way to input the code he
found himself stranded among these strange people, if they even were people.
His next thought was to find a window and try to escape to the ground floor, anywhere but there.
As he walked he saw their pale blue faces glaring at him through the holes and slits in the curtains.
They looked furious, hissing curses at him as he passed by and muttering the word blue.
Passing by a mirror he turned sharply to stare at himself, realising why they'd been staring.
His skin, formerly tan, was now the same pale blue as the costumed people.
While he was distracted by the state of his skin, the coldness that had begun to seep into his bones
he never noticed the people creeping out from behind the curtains, brushes and wires in hand.
The same bell that had caused them to flee now sent them in, swarming around as he screamed.
They put up a new painting depicting him in his final moments of torment and were pleased.
They said the stairs at the back lead to a second floor.
Everyone knew the building was only one floor high but it didn't stop people from talking.
It used to be the art department before they moved it in the 20's to a new building.
Some big accident up there had killed a whole classroom but nobody knew the details.
Still, sometimes pale figures could be seen walking along the rooftop holding canvas and brushes.
You weren't supposed to look at them though not everyone knew that.
People went missing from time to time, it never traced back to the second floor but they all knew.
Like all artists, they needed new materials, new canvas and paints.
20150420
Day 351
You couldn't put it off any more - it was time to visit the old estate.
It was where you'd grown up, among the noise and chaos you'd been at home.
Nowhere since had felt so right.
Your bones belonged here, where you could trace every year of your life by the graffiti.
Lin used to meet you by that shop corner before you'd walk together to school.
Those broken toilets were where everyone ended up at some point, generally smoking.
Mrs MacHennesy used to sit on that wall every day with a can of lager, yelling at her kids.
Over there Jay had been beaten half to death for getting involved in the wrong kind of business.
These were all as much a part of you as they were for everyone else.
It was all different now of course, the place had lost its vibrancy since you left for uni.
The shops were all different, all new but still coated with the same grime and graffiti.
The people were mostly the same only less like the had been, more like photos than humans.
Still you traced the old route you took through the estate for old time's sake.
Along the shops, past the park and over to the retirement home to see your nana one last time.
She'd been in there for as long as you remembered, always a pale, shrunken bundle of a woman.
It was more duty than affection that drove your actions.
As you approached the park you stopped to gaze nostalgically at its rust and grime.
Nothing had ever worked properly there, the swings were stiff, the slide had snapped when Jake
tried to go down it on his skateboard and instead of fixing it, the council had planked it shut.
It didn't stop kids from trying to break it of course, you could see the cracks in the wood.
Movement towards your right caught your eye as an old friend of yours walked over to you.
You couldn't remember his actual name, everyone had called him Skeevo for some reason.
He remembered you and seemed so much older now, hair greying and clothing fraying.
You mentioned that you were back here to see your nana in the old folk's place.
He looked terrified, face paler than you'd ever seen, he grabbed your arms and begged you to leave.
Nobody comes out, don't do it mate. Get out while you can, nobody leaves. NOBODY!
Before you could get him to calm down and explain he threw you aside and ran away.
Had he always been so twitchy?
Brushing yourself off and taking a few deep breaths you continued on to the retirement home.
As you went to cross the road opposite the playground you heard kids screaming behind you.
It was hard to hear what they were saying, all screaming at once you only caught a few words.
It sounded like a rhyme, one you'd heard when you were a kid but forgot all the words to.
You put it down to kids being kids, nothing had changed here really.
Not even the retirement home - still the same peeling red paint,still the same broken sign.
The staff there remembered you, treated you like family just as they always had.
When they took you to your nana's room however, there was nobody there.
The door slammed shut behind you and the lock clicked into place.
No amount of banging or screaming made them open the door for you.
Eventually when you were too tired to move one of the nurses entered (Camilla was it?).
She called you by your nana's name, settled you into her old wheelchair and pushed you outside.
She continued to talk to you as if you were your nana, told you how nice the weather was.
You were exhausted, tried to tell her that she'd gotten it all wrong and that wasn't your name.
Nurse Camilla let out a frustrated sigh and said we've been through this dear, your mind's going.
Pushing the chair towards a hallway mirror she helped you to stand.
When had it gotten so hard to move, you'd walked all the way here!
You screeched when you saw your nana's face staring at you in the reflective surface.
This drew the attention of a few other nurses who tried to calm you, why was breathing so hard now?
Its okay, you're fine. Look, your grandson's here to see you!
It was where you'd grown up, among the noise and chaos you'd been at home.
Nowhere since had felt so right.
Your bones belonged here, where you could trace every year of your life by the graffiti.
Lin used to meet you by that shop corner before you'd walk together to school.
Those broken toilets were where everyone ended up at some point, generally smoking.
Mrs MacHennesy used to sit on that wall every day with a can of lager, yelling at her kids.
Over there Jay had been beaten half to death for getting involved in the wrong kind of business.
These were all as much a part of you as they were for everyone else.
It was all different now of course, the place had lost its vibrancy since you left for uni.
The shops were all different, all new but still coated with the same grime and graffiti.
The people were mostly the same only less like the had been, more like photos than humans.
Still you traced the old route you took through the estate for old time's sake.
Along the shops, past the park and over to the retirement home to see your nana one last time.
She'd been in there for as long as you remembered, always a pale, shrunken bundle of a woman.
It was more duty than affection that drove your actions.
As you approached the park you stopped to gaze nostalgically at its rust and grime.
Nothing had ever worked properly there, the swings were stiff, the slide had snapped when Jake
tried to go down it on his skateboard and instead of fixing it, the council had planked it shut.
It didn't stop kids from trying to break it of course, you could see the cracks in the wood.
Movement towards your right caught your eye as an old friend of yours walked over to you.
You couldn't remember his actual name, everyone had called him Skeevo for some reason.
He remembered you and seemed so much older now, hair greying and clothing fraying.
You mentioned that you were back here to see your nana in the old folk's place.
He looked terrified, face paler than you'd ever seen, he grabbed your arms and begged you to leave.
Nobody comes out, don't do it mate. Get out while you can, nobody leaves. NOBODY!
Before you could get him to calm down and explain he threw you aside and ran away.
Had he always been so twitchy?
Brushing yourself off and taking a few deep breaths you continued on to the retirement home.
As you went to cross the road opposite the playground you heard kids screaming behind you.
It was hard to hear what they were saying, all screaming at once you only caught a few words.
It sounded like a rhyme, one you'd heard when you were a kid but forgot all the words to.
You put it down to kids being kids, nothing had changed here really.
Not even the retirement home - still the same peeling red paint,still the same broken sign.
The staff there remembered you, treated you like family just as they always had.
When they took you to your nana's room however, there was nobody there.
The door slammed shut behind you and the lock clicked into place.
No amount of banging or screaming made them open the door for you.
Eventually when you were too tired to move one of the nurses entered (Camilla was it?).
She called you by your nana's name, settled you into her old wheelchair and pushed you outside.
She continued to talk to you as if you were your nana, told you how nice the weather was.
You were exhausted, tried to tell her that she'd gotten it all wrong and that wasn't your name.
Nurse Camilla let out a frustrated sigh and said we've been through this dear, your mind's going.
Pushing the chair towards a hallway mirror she helped you to stand.
When had it gotten so hard to move, you'd walked all the way here!
You screeched when you saw your nana's face staring at you in the reflective surface.
This drew the attention of a few other nurses who tried to calm you, why was breathing so hard now?
Its okay, you're fine. Look, your grandson's here to see you!
20150419
Day 350
It felt liker her stomach would never finish emptying itself.
She'd been crouched by the toilet for most of the day and it wasn't letting up.
What started out as everything she'd eaten had gradually become a pale green liquid.
It was stickier than anything she'd ever experienced, coating her mouth and chin.
Breathing through her nose was her only option, her mouth felt like a solid lump.
Still the liquid continued to pour out in great heaves.
The toilet was close to overflowing and the liquid had clogged it up too badly to flush.
Her vision flickered, hazy and dark around the edges as her head began to dip.
Before she could comprehend her head had gotten stuck in the thick ooze she was spewing.
At this point she was too tired to struggle and steeled herself for the end.
Her head dipped further and further into the ooze as if it was being dragged down.
She gave one final push, one final attempt at freeing herself.
It only pulled her deeper into the slimy liquid.
She should have been dead by then and yet she was able to breathe better down here.
Her lungs felt full of life but her body felt like lead.
---
They don't know what they found in there but it was definitely the source of the stench.
The tenant (or was it former tenant?) was discovered in the bathroom, coated in green ooze.
It dripped from the walls, had seeped under the door and encrusted her shrivelled form.
Stranger still they saw her head rotate 180 degree from inside the toilet bowl to stare at them.
They decided to leave her there, at least until her rent stopped coming.
The apartment was sealed off, every possible gap was closed off just in case it kept spreading.
Eventually her bank account ran dry and the landlord called in the cops.
They opened the door and refused to go any further, said it was something unnatural.
The ooze was a thick green wall blocking the rest of the flat off.
Her head drifted through it calmly, hair dragging behind like seaweed.
Sometimes you can see her peering through the curtains, she always seems so happy.
People have tried to join her before but she rejects them all.
Their bodies are found within hours of them walking into her apartment.
Always shrivelled and coated in that green slime.
Their faces though, their faces are always untouched and smiling like they got what they wanted.
She'd been crouched by the toilet for most of the day and it wasn't letting up.
What started out as everything she'd eaten had gradually become a pale green liquid.
It was stickier than anything she'd ever experienced, coating her mouth and chin.
Breathing through her nose was her only option, her mouth felt like a solid lump.
Still the liquid continued to pour out in great heaves.
The toilet was close to overflowing and the liquid had clogged it up too badly to flush.
Her vision flickered, hazy and dark around the edges as her head began to dip.
Before she could comprehend her head had gotten stuck in the thick ooze she was spewing.
At this point she was too tired to struggle and steeled herself for the end.
Her head dipped further and further into the ooze as if it was being dragged down.
She gave one final push, one final attempt at freeing herself.
It only pulled her deeper into the slimy liquid.
She should have been dead by then and yet she was able to breathe better down here.
Her lungs felt full of life but her body felt like lead.
---
They don't know what they found in there but it was definitely the source of the stench.
The tenant (or was it former tenant?) was discovered in the bathroom, coated in green ooze.
It dripped from the walls, had seeped under the door and encrusted her shrivelled form.
Stranger still they saw her head rotate 180 degree from inside the toilet bowl to stare at them.
They decided to leave her there, at least until her rent stopped coming.
The apartment was sealed off, every possible gap was closed off just in case it kept spreading.
Eventually her bank account ran dry and the landlord called in the cops.
They opened the door and refused to go any further, said it was something unnatural.
The ooze was a thick green wall blocking the rest of the flat off.
Her head drifted through it calmly, hair dragging behind like seaweed.
Sometimes you can see her peering through the curtains, she always seems so happy.
People have tried to join her before but she rejects them all.
Their bodies are found within hours of them walking into her apartment.
Always shrivelled and coated in that green slime.
Their faces though, their faces are always untouched and smiling like they got what they wanted.
20150418
Day 349
The ship had stalled nowhere near the island.
It was barely visible in the distance, over the light mist covering the sea.
Waves gently slapped the hull as the occupants began to panic.
They wondered how they would get aboard the island.
They wondered what was stopping them.
The engine was running normally but the propellers weren't.
Perhaps some sea creature had run into them and clogged the blades with its corpse?
Maybe it was seaweed or they'd hit a reef (unlikely but still possible).
It was decided that a team of three would dive and see what could be done.
They were grateful for it being daylight, though the ever-present mist made the light dull.
Two carried diving torches while the third held a toolkit as they descended to the base.
The water around them was murkier than seawater usually was, they seemed surrounded
by darkness which wasn't visible from the surface.
It was easy to forget just how large the propeller was compared to the three divers.
Each blade stood at seven feet long and four feet at the widest.
They quickly saw the problem and it was worse than they'd feared.
Some kind of whale had been gored by the blades, nearly torn in half.
The current made the large body sway, or was it still alive?
All three divers agreed to check out the head end, just in case.
It was so much bigger than they had thought, they were exhausted and nowhere near the head.
Swimming to the surface they found themselves surrounded by thick mist.
The ship wasn't in sight, their cries went unanswered.
Their joint decision was to keep going for the head, if it was floating they could rest there.
Swimming along the surface of the sea (their oxygen tanks were too low for anything else)
they saw a large dark shape in the distance and it seemed to be moving closer.
Whatever it was it wasn't a whale, that much was certain.
No kind of whale was as big as the thing they were swimming above.
The dark shape drew closer and closer as the three divers swam onwards.
It must be dead, they thought, or at least dying.
The mist began to clear and they found themselves floating in front of a giant eye.
It was as big as they were, the body seemed to stretch upwards for miles.
The water beneath them was pitch black, probably the rest of the body.
Judging by the sheer size and position of the creature, only its fin was caught in the propeller.
It certainly wasn't a whale though it had whale-like features.
As they debated the kind of being they had found, the sea level began to dip.
Slowly at first, they barely realised that the eye was rising above them.
By the time they realised and looked around them they saw that its mouth was wide open.
It was sucking them in, dragging them down and they were helpless against its current.
They screamed and tried their hardest but as they approached its jaw they gave in.
Their final cries were sharply cut off as its mouth closed and they drowned peacefully.
It was barely visible in the distance, over the light mist covering the sea.
Waves gently slapped the hull as the occupants began to panic.
They wondered how they would get aboard the island.
They wondered what was stopping them.
The engine was running normally but the propellers weren't.
Perhaps some sea creature had run into them and clogged the blades with its corpse?
Maybe it was seaweed or they'd hit a reef (unlikely but still possible).
It was decided that a team of three would dive and see what could be done.
They were grateful for it being daylight, though the ever-present mist made the light dull.
Two carried diving torches while the third held a toolkit as they descended to the base.
The water around them was murkier than seawater usually was, they seemed surrounded
by darkness which wasn't visible from the surface.
It was easy to forget just how large the propeller was compared to the three divers.
Each blade stood at seven feet long and four feet at the widest.
They quickly saw the problem and it was worse than they'd feared.
Some kind of whale had been gored by the blades, nearly torn in half.
The current made the large body sway, or was it still alive?
All three divers agreed to check out the head end, just in case.
It was so much bigger than they had thought, they were exhausted and nowhere near the head.
Swimming to the surface they found themselves surrounded by thick mist.
The ship wasn't in sight, their cries went unanswered.
Their joint decision was to keep going for the head, if it was floating they could rest there.
Swimming along the surface of the sea (their oxygen tanks were too low for anything else)
they saw a large dark shape in the distance and it seemed to be moving closer.
Whatever it was it wasn't a whale, that much was certain.
No kind of whale was as big as the thing they were swimming above.
The dark shape drew closer and closer as the three divers swam onwards.
It must be dead, they thought, or at least dying.
The mist began to clear and they found themselves floating in front of a giant eye.
It was as big as they were, the body seemed to stretch upwards for miles.
The water beneath them was pitch black, probably the rest of the body.
Judging by the sheer size and position of the creature, only its fin was caught in the propeller.
It certainly wasn't a whale though it had whale-like features.
As they debated the kind of being they had found, the sea level began to dip.
Slowly at first, they barely realised that the eye was rising above them.
By the time they realised and looked around them they saw that its mouth was wide open.
It was sucking them in, dragging them down and they were helpless against its current.
They screamed and tried their hardest but as they approached its jaw they gave in.
Their final cries were sharply cut off as its mouth closed and they drowned peacefully.
20150417
Day 348
Funerals in our town were unique.
We had this kind of wake in church.
Well, we'd try to wake the dead in the church.
It wasn't meant to work, it was just a symbolic thing.
That changed when the pastor's son took over.
Had all these ideas about sacrifice and bowing to the open casket.
We humoured him, he seemed like such a nice lad.
When old Mr Snate went, our young pastor tried these ideas out.
Dear Mr Snate had been fond of the lad, treated him like his own.
He would have wanted us to follow all the new ideas.
How were we supposed to know it would work?
The new pastor lad said he'd keep it simple for Mr Snate at least.
It's what he would have wanted, you see.
Poor young pastor kept stumbling the words out though.
He was so nervous, got half the words wrong or so we thought.
Seems we'd been mispronouncing them all this time.
Mr Snate screamed and convulsed, scared us half to death.
He began walking, looking around wildly.
We thought it was a miracle, old Mr Snate back to life again!
But he never finished the words, never sealed the soul inside.
Now Mr Snate's body drags itself along the ground.
His skin's shredded all along the front side.
It's the soul attached y'see, pouring out of his mouth and floating about.
Keeps screaming something awful.
You get used to it fairly quickly.
So long as you don't touch him, you're fine.
Mrs Snate held his hand, now she's joined him.
The spirit isn't either of theirs, too big to be just one person's, or one human's.
We had this kind of wake in church.
Well, we'd try to wake the dead in the church.
It wasn't meant to work, it was just a symbolic thing.
That changed when the pastor's son took over.
Had all these ideas about sacrifice and bowing to the open casket.
We humoured him, he seemed like such a nice lad.
When old Mr Snate went, our young pastor tried these ideas out.
Dear Mr Snate had been fond of the lad, treated him like his own.
He would have wanted us to follow all the new ideas.
How were we supposed to know it would work?
The new pastor lad said he'd keep it simple for Mr Snate at least.
It's what he would have wanted, you see.
Poor young pastor kept stumbling the words out though.
He was so nervous, got half the words wrong or so we thought.
Seems we'd been mispronouncing them all this time.
Mr Snate screamed and convulsed, scared us half to death.
He began walking, looking around wildly.
We thought it was a miracle, old Mr Snate back to life again!
But he never finished the words, never sealed the soul inside.
Now Mr Snate's body drags itself along the ground.
His skin's shredded all along the front side.
It's the soul attached y'see, pouring out of his mouth and floating about.
Keeps screaming something awful.
You get used to it fairly quickly.
So long as you don't touch him, you're fine.
Mrs Snate held his hand, now she's joined him.
The spirit isn't either of theirs, too big to be just one person's, or one human's.
20150416
Day 347
The room went dark as the play began, the stench of iron filled the air.
It was meant to be a play about 19th century French ballet but they were now half an hour in
and not a single actor had appeared on stage, they'd only heard chanting and rhythmic steps.
As people began to leave the curtains raised to reveal nine dancers dressed in nearly all white.
The actors moved brutally about the stage, flinging their frail selves to and fro as they sang.
Their shoes were dark red, a red that had seeped up their white tights and onto the floor around.
Each one looked to be in agony as their chant increased in volume and their feet splashed.
Suddenly they broke off, tiptoeing away leaving one dancer behind.
She struggled to stay on point for a few minutes more before collapsing altogether.
Dancers came pouring in holding daggers, singing about "slaying the weak to spare the rest".
The poor dancer began to cry, trying desperately to stand up and continue dancing.
Each time her legs collapsed beneath her, the floor too slippery with blood.
They circled her like vultures as she eventually forced herself to her feet once more, screaming
as her ankles broke with a startlingly loud SNAP.
She continued to dance like that for another hour, face contorting between joy and agony.
The other dancers continued to prowl around her all the while, daggers sweeping past her.
The second she began to slow they would leave shallow cuts along her arms and torso.
Half way through the second act she was dragged off and replaced by another.
This substitute lasted minutes before the others surrounded her, stamping in unison.
By the time they were done you couldn't tell that she'd even been human.
It felt like an eternity before the play was finally over and the actors took their bows.
She came out last, being dragged by two others as her head lolled between them.
Shakily she stood and smiled, bowing once before slowly falling off stage.
Paramedics said she'd been dead for at least twelve hours, the dancers only said:
It was meant to be a play about 19th century French ballet but they were now half an hour in
and not a single actor had appeared on stage, they'd only heard chanting and rhythmic steps.
As people began to leave the curtains raised to reveal nine dancers dressed in nearly all white.
The actors moved brutally about the stage, flinging their frail selves to and fro as they sang.
Their shoes were dark red, a red that had seeped up their white tights and onto the floor around.
Each one looked to be in agony as their chant increased in volume and their feet splashed.
Suddenly they broke off, tiptoeing away leaving one dancer behind.
She struggled to stay on point for a few minutes more before collapsing altogether.
Dancers came pouring in holding daggers, singing about "slaying the weak to spare the rest".
The poor dancer began to cry, trying desperately to stand up and continue dancing.
Each time her legs collapsed beneath her, the floor too slippery with blood.
They circled her like vultures as she eventually forced herself to her feet once more, screaming
as her ankles broke with a startlingly loud SNAP.
She continued to dance like that for another hour, face contorting between joy and agony.
The other dancers continued to prowl around her all the while, daggers sweeping past her.
The second she began to slow they would leave shallow cuts along her arms and torso.
Half way through the second act she was dragged off and replaced by another.
This substitute lasted minutes before the others surrounded her, stamping in unison.
By the time they were done you couldn't tell that she'd even been human.
It felt like an eternity before the play was finally over and the actors took their bows.
She came out last, being dragged by two others as her head lolled between them.
Shakily she stood and smiled, bowing once before slowly falling off stage.
Paramedics said she'd been dead for at least twelve hours, the dancers only said:
The show must go on.
20150415
Day 346
The rope tightened and went lax for the fifth time.
She'd been standing by the well for a good hour now, waiting to see what would crawl out.
Her ma had told her to keep well away when the ropes moved by themselves.
Last time they did that she was with her ma enjoying the sun.
Ma dragged her away faster than she ever had before.
Ma wasn't here now though and she could finally find out what was down there.
In spite of her excitement she didn't dare lean over the stone ledge just yet.
The tugging was getting faster now, less time between them.
She reckoned it must be getting closer now, she could faintly hear water dripping.
Taking a risky step forwards she squinted, seeing shadowy movements down there.
She held her breath and leant back as the outline of a figure emerged from the well.
Its tiny pale green hands clutched the rope and its chest heaved as it pulled itself up.
She had no idea what it was, its face was covered in eyes of all sizes.
Maybe ma would know, if she said she found it somewhere else then it'd be fine, right?
Better yet, she could just put it in the back garden and let ma find it herself!
Plan all set she grabbed the almost childlike thing that had been squinting at her in the bucket
and ran home, holding it under its stick-thin arms.
It began burbling along the way, writhing too - she nearly dropped it several times.
As she approached her home she spared a glance around her in case Mrs Neeves was watching.
She didn't want to get in trouble, she just wanted to know what this little thing was.
It took her a fair while to decide where to place the green fairy (that's what she thought it was).
In the end she crammed it under a flowerpot and ran inside to call her ma.
Of course being a child she got distracted and forgot about the thing she'd left in the garden.
She forgot for days until her mother's screech called her outside.
Her ma stood there the police, crying harder than she'd ever seen.
They asked all sorts of questions about a neighbour's missing baby.
It'd been left in a metal pram by the well and hadn't been seen for months now.
Mrs Neeves had seen her carrying something and told the police, they wanted to know what it was.
She told them she found a little green monster in the well and hid it in the garden.
She told them about the eyes, the claws, the rope and how her ma never let her near it.
They left her alone after that, took her ma to the station and left her with her aunt.
Nobody told her what happened to her ma but she heard whispers.
Whispers saying murderer, jealous and child snatcher drowned it but freak child found it.
She didn't understand it all until she went back to where she'd hidden the little green fairy thing.
All she found under the pot was a lump of something that stank, bones stuck out in some places.
A small hat sat on top of the crumpled pile, brown liquid seeping into the stitched word Angel.
She'd been standing by the well for a good hour now, waiting to see what would crawl out.
Her ma had told her to keep well away when the ropes moved by themselves.
Last time they did that she was with her ma enjoying the sun.
Ma dragged her away faster than she ever had before.
Ma wasn't here now though and she could finally find out what was down there.
In spite of her excitement she didn't dare lean over the stone ledge just yet.
The tugging was getting faster now, less time between them.
She reckoned it must be getting closer now, she could faintly hear water dripping.
Taking a risky step forwards she squinted, seeing shadowy movements down there.
She held her breath and leant back as the outline of a figure emerged from the well.
Its tiny pale green hands clutched the rope and its chest heaved as it pulled itself up.
She had no idea what it was, its face was covered in eyes of all sizes.
Maybe ma would know, if she said she found it somewhere else then it'd be fine, right?
Better yet, she could just put it in the back garden and let ma find it herself!
Plan all set she grabbed the almost childlike thing that had been squinting at her in the bucket
and ran home, holding it under its stick-thin arms.
It began burbling along the way, writhing too - she nearly dropped it several times.
As she approached her home she spared a glance around her in case Mrs Neeves was watching.
She didn't want to get in trouble, she just wanted to know what this little thing was.
It took her a fair while to decide where to place the green fairy (that's what she thought it was).
In the end she crammed it under a flowerpot and ran inside to call her ma.
Of course being a child she got distracted and forgot about the thing she'd left in the garden.
She forgot for days until her mother's screech called her outside.
Her ma stood there the police, crying harder than she'd ever seen.
They asked all sorts of questions about a neighbour's missing baby.
It'd been left in a metal pram by the well and hadn't been seen for months now.
Mrs Neeves had seen her carrying something and told the police, they wanted to know what it was.
She told them she found a little green monster in the well and hid it in the garden.
She told them about the eyes, the claws, the rope and how her ma never let her near it.
They left her alone after that, took her ma to the station and left her with her aunt.
Nobody told her what happened to her ma but she heard whispers.
Whispers saying murderer, jealous and child snatcher drowned it but freak child found it.
She didn't understand it all until she went back to where she'd hidden the little green fairy thing.
All she found under the pot was a lump of something that stank, bones stuck out in some places.
A small hat sat on top of the crumpled pile, brown liquid seeping into the stitched word Angel.
20150414
Day 345
The office was stuffy, the air was a thick haze of heat and sweat from the staff therein.
A sign that had once read "Opening Hours" now lay in a damp crumpled heap on the floor.
You didn't remember what the opening hours even were, it felt like you'd never left.
It felt like this place had never opened or closed, it just was.
Customers were few and far between, drifting through in varying states of shock and disarray.
The damned things rarely had the right forms with them, preferring to stare with blank terror.
You had the faint feeling that you had served these people many, many times.
One drifted towards you presently, shirt tattered and skin greying round the edges.
F-f-for̀m̵ ͡sigǹed̵. ͡N̸áme͡ p͡r̢in̴te̢d i͢ņ ͢c-͝c̛-c-͡c̷a̕pi̢t͠a͠ls̛. P̵l̕ea͡s̡e͟ r͞e͡s̶po͘n͠d̛-͠d-͜ḑ.́
It felt like centuries since you had been given a completed form, you'd forgotten what to do with it.
Come to think, you never really did anything with the forms, your desk was coated in them.
They spilled from every surface, every drawer and many staff mouths were crammed with them.
A compulsion came over you to ask what the Customer's name was, some security protocol.
N-n-n͏am̸e̶ o͢n̵ ͢fǫr͠m̛.͠ For͝m ͝s͡í-i̛-i-͝g͢n͜e̵d.̸ ̀Asķ n͢o҉ q-̶q̡-ue͝s̸t̸io͝n̕s.͠ ̕Send o҉n̷-n-n-n.͡
Your hand automatically reached for the paper on your lap, plucking a sheet at random.
The Customer gazed sadly at the form as you told it to fill it out and speak to Server 45.
You had no idea who Server 45 was but you always sent customers on to them.
Whatever 45 did, it only angered the Customer and the only thing you knew for sure sprung to mind.
T H E C U S T O M E R I S A L W A Y S R I G H T
45 bled a lot more than 12 had, must be because he was so young, 12 was nothing but bones.
When the Customer was finished shredding Server 45, it sat down in the Customer seat and waited.
Just like 12's had, you thought to yourself, sparing a glance over to the still waiting being.
You turned your attention back to your desk, shuffling papers and trying to read the glyphs.
Time had passed, that much you were aware of as you pondered the concept of a "lunch break".
You don't remember ever having one but the idea was tantalising, even if your shift felt eternal.
Maybe your shift was eternal, you couldn't say for sure as it felt like centuries and minutes always.
While you wondered what you would do in a "lunch break" a bloody form was slapped onto the desk.
The Customer had returned from Server 45 with a new form, one you'd never seen before.
It was signed with fresh glyphs and made the already warm air literally boil around it.
N-̧n-̡nam͝e̵ ́o̶n͝ ͞f̸o̷rm͞. For̨m͘ s̨i-i-͡i-̢gne͘d̶. ͟A̛s̀k̕ ̡n͜o q̷-q̨-̨ues̡ti͘ons.̵ S̢e͢n̕d ̸o͡n͜-̴n-n-́n͟. 45 ͞is ҉v-̵v-v-va̢can͢t-̡t̸.͘
You don't want to be as vacant as 12 and 45 so you do the unthinkable.
You send the Customer to the Next Room, filled with the sounds of flesh being torn and laughter.
A sign that had once read "Opening Hours" now lay in a damp crumpled heap on the floor.
You didn't remember what the opening hours even were, it felt like you'd never left.
It felt like this place had never opened or closed, it just was.
Customers were few and far between, drifting through in varying states of shock and disarray.
The damned things rarely had the right forms with them, preferring to stare with blank terror.
You had the faint feeling that you had served these people many, many times.
One drifted towards you presently, shirt tattered and skin greying round the edges.
F-f-for̀m̵ ͡sigǹed̵. ͡N̸áme͡ p͡r̢in̴te̢d i͢ņ ͢c-͝c̛-c-͡c̷a̕pi̢t͠a͠ls̛. P̵l̕ea͡s̡e͟ r͞e͡s̶po͘n͠d̛-͠d-͜ḑ.́
It felt like centuries since you had been given a completed form, you'd forgotten what to do with it.
Come to think, you never really did anything with the forms, your desk was coated in them.
They spilled from every surface, every drawer and many staff mouths were crammed with them.
A compulsion came over you to ask what the Customer's name was, some security protocol.
N-n-n͏am̸e̶ o͢n̵ ͢fǫr͠m̛.͠ For͝m ͝s͡í-i̛-i-͝g͢n͜e̵d.̸ ̀Asķ n͢o҉ q-̶q̡-ue͝s̸t̸io͝n̕s.͠ ̕Send o҉n̷-n-n-n.͡
Your hand automatically reached for the paper on your lap, plucking a sheet at random.
The Customer gazed sadly at the form as you told it to fill it out and speak to Server 45.
You had no idea who Server 45 was but you always sent customers on to them.
Whatever 45 did, it only angered the Customer and the only thing you knew for sure sprung to mind.
T H E C U S T O M E R I S A L W A Y S R I G H T
45 bled a lot more than 12 had, must be because he was so young, 12 was nothing but bones.
When the Customer was finished shredding Server 45, it sat down in the Customer seat and waited.
Just like 12's had, you thought to yourself, sparing a glance over to the still waiting being.
You turned your attention back to your desk, shuffling papers and trying to read the glyphs.
Time had passed, that much you were aware of as you pondered the concept of a "lunch break".
You don't remember ever having one but the idea was tantalising, even if your shift felt eternal.
Maybe your shift was eternal, you couldn't say for sure as it felt like centuries and minutes always.
While you wondered what you would do in a "lunch break" a bloody form was slapped onto the desk.
The Customer had returned from Server 45 with a new form, one you'd never seen before.
It was signed with fresh glyphs and made the already warm air literally boil around it.
N-̧n-̡nam͝e̵ ́o̶n͝ ͞f̸o̷rm͞. For̨m͘ s̨i-i-͡i-̢gne͘d̶. ͟A̛s̀k̕ ̡n͜o q̷-q̨-̨ues̡ti͘ons.̵ S̢e͢n̕d ̸o͡n͜-̴n-n-́n͟. 45 ͞is ҉v-̵v-v-va̢can͢t-̡t̸.͘
You don't want to be as vacant as 12 and 45 so you do the unthinkable.
You send the Customer to the Next Room, filled with the sounds of flesh being torn and laughter.
20150413
Day 344
I never knew there were woods so near my house - I found them by accident.
It is all too easy to take a wrong turn in a new neighbourhood.
Nobody had said this place was so close to nature.
I spent most of my free time there, just wandering around or sitting on one of the many benches.
Seriously, there were dozens of benches and all were dedicated to someone or a family.
I casually brought it up with a work acquaintance and they grew pale, said I should get one too.
They never gave me a specific reason, only the name of someone who was the go-to person for these.
I called him up a while ago and he was very keen to get me a bench.
Apparently its some kind of tradition here, some local protection thing.
He told me several times during our conversation that I must never sit on my named bench.
It wouldn't cost me a penny too - the tradition states it has to be done "of good will" or something.
I'll admit I never looked too closely into it, I was just pleased to have my own named bench.
A month or so later I found it while on my routine stroll and it looked quite comfortable.
There was a letter placed neatly on one of the arms, addressed to me.
It said that under no circumstances was I to sit on the bench, I was to leave it be.
There was also some warning about how nobody but me would be responsible for the tragedies that
I would face should I ignore their message and sit there regardless.
Curiosity haunted me for days before I gave in and sat down.
Almost immediately I felt like I was being watched from everywhere, mainly right in front of me.
At first I couldn't see anything, focusing my vision around ground and eye level.
A flickering movement caught my eye and I looked up.
The branches above me, all interwoven, were now loose and swaying and prehensile.
Dozens of large amber eyes gazed down, a few jaws began to snap their sharp teeth.
No matter how far I've moved from that area, I can still see them watching me from high places.
They dart around my windows, howling to be let in, they never attack outside though.
Recently they've figured out how to get inside my flat.
They leave me "presents" sometimes, carving my name into small animals by my bedside.
It is all too easy to take a wrong turn in a new neighbourhood.
Nobody had said this place was so close to nature.
I spent most of my free time there, just wandering around or sitting on one of the many benches.
Seriously, there were dozens of benches and all were dedicated to someone or a family.
I casually brought it up with a work acquaintance and they grew pale, said I should get one too.
They never gave me a specific reason, only the name of someone who was the go-to person for these.
I called him up a while ago and he was very keen to get me a bench.
Apparently its some kind of tradition here, some local protection thing.
He told me several times during our conversation that I must never sit on my named bench.
It wouldn't cost me a penny too - the tradition states it has to be done "of good will" or something.
I'll admit I never looked too closely into it, I was just pleased to have my own named bench.
A month or so later I found it while on my routine stroll and it looked quite comfortable.
There was a letter placed neatly on one of the arms, addressed to me.
It said that under no circumstances was I to sit on the bench, I was to leave it be.
There was also some warning about how nobody but me would be responsible for the tragedies that
I would face should I ignore their message and sit there regardless.
Curiosity haunted me for days before I gave in and sat down.
Almost immediately I felt like I was being watched from everywhere, mainly right in front of me.
At first I couldn't see anything, focusing my vision around ground and eye level.
A flickering movement caught my eye and I looked up.
The branches above me, all interwoven, were now loose and swaying and prehensile.
Dozens of large amber eyes gazed down, a few jaws began to snap their sharp teeth.
No matter how far I've moved from that area, I can still see them watching me from high places.
They dart around my windows, howling to be let in, they never attack outside though.
Recently they've figured out how to get inside my flat.
They leave me "presents" sometimes, carving my name into small animals by my bedside.
20150412
Day 343
Nobody was supposed to be there, not in the old airfield.
Abandoned since WWII everything had just been left there to rot.
No explanation given and no one had asked why.
Sometimes people try to figure it out but they never get far.
They get found soon after, never in one piece mind you.
That doesn't happen often though, generally only their hands are.
Always have flecks of paint on them too, paint that dates back to the War.
Something in that airfield doesn't want to be touched.
The most recent discovery was, for once, a whole corpse jammed into the fencing.
Poor sod, they had to cut the fence away with him on it and cart it all off.
He's the first to have evidence with him, to be able to show us what's on the inside.
The police missed his camera but some morbid person put the video online.
It starts with him holding the camera to his face and cheerfully introducing himself.
Gavin Lewisham, a person so average you felt you'd seen him before.
He kept the camera in his hand, steady at first but shakier as the film progressed.
Every so often you could see shadowy people walking around, Gavin didn't seem to notice.
He came across the soldier's quarters, everything strewn about as if they let in a hurry.
Reading through papers strewn on the floor he found something about a flight gone wrong.
Worse than wrong, the plane caught fire before it had a chance to leave the ground.
Cockpit had jammed too, the pilot and co-pilot had burnt to death while everyone else stared on.
At this point Gavin swore he smelt smoke and as he turned a shadowy figure darted past him.
He didn't notice it and continued to explore as much of the officer's area as he could.
About halfway through the video he put the camera down on a table and took a lunch break.
Charred hands grasped the table on either side of him as he chatted to the camera.
When he'd finished and picked the device up again it pointed down briefly and two burnt bodies
could be seen crouched on either side of him, faces tilted up and gaping eye sockets staring.
They stood up as Gavin walked away and followed him outside as he headed for the hangers.
All of the doors were off their hinges which seemed to worry him but he pressed on regardless.
The planes were still inside, much to his delight and the view leapt about as he ran for one.
It went altogether for a brief moment as he clambered onto one to peer into the cockpit.
He let out a startled shriek as he found corpses within, hands missing.
In his panicked state he fell from the wing he's been perched on and the camera clattered away.
A pair of charred feet slowly walked into the screen and stopped as Gavin rushed to pick the cam up.
As he raised it to eye level it panned up the scorched figure, you could almost make out the uniform.
He ran to the door only to find it locked and frantically picked the closest one which led to hanger 2.
Inside he found a gaping hole in the roof, light filtering down onto the singed remains of a plane.
From there the footage was jerky, cutting between static and close-ups of the wreckage.
It was drawing to an end as it panned over the remains of the two burnt pilots.
Their heads snapped towards Gavin and the footage cut again to him running away from the hanger.
Shadowy figures chased him, he dropped the camera as he tried to climb the fence.
The last few seconds showed those shadowy figures pressing him into the fence.
As the swarm of hazy beings left you could hear Gavin gasping for breath, limbs twitching.
They stilled and a charred hand reached for the camera, body off screen.
That's how the footage ended, at least we now know where the other bodies are.
20150411
Day 342
There were always footprints coming out of the water - hand prints too.
No tracks leading to the water, always to shore.
They generally lead to this opening where an underground stream pours into the dockside.
There used to be a gate covering it but it's been broken for years, the lock was torn clean off.
Never found out why until I spent the night on my cousin's boat.
He always kept it moored at the docks, used to take it out every day to fish.
Its been almost five months since he quit and left the boat to rot.
After weeks of bugging him he relented and we spent the day fishing and moored up for the night.
It was so peaceful, you could hear the river flowing into the low tide and the faintest breeze.
I had a hard time falling asleep though, kept thinking I heard slapping sounds.
Reminded me of playing in the mud when I was a kid, it had that same earthy splat sound.
I thought some night air would do me some good so I stepped out onto the deck for a while.
That wet slapping noise was louder outside so I looked around for the source.
Part of me thought it would be something like a fish that had gotten caught on land, other fishermen
would just toss the unwanted ones overboard and leave them floundering about.
I had a good look around and saw vague movement towards the base of the boat but the noise was
coming from further away, nearer the rear end of the boat than the side.
Just as I was heading towards the back of the boat my cousin came hurtling through the cabin door.
He looked so scared, dragged me back under into the lower cabin and locked the door to the deck.
Wouldn't answer any of my questions, just said to sleep and wait until morning.
I slept badly, all I could hear was that slapping sound right above me.
When I woke up my cousin was unlocking the door to the deck and peering out.
I asked him what was up with last night, why he'd acted so weirdly and he pointed outside.
The deck was covered in muddy prints - dozens of hands and feet scattered everywhere.
As I looked over the edge of the boat I saw that they climbed up the side of it.
It was the talk of the waterfront all week.
The day They never reached the river.
From then on those muddy marks were found on most of the boats.
People were worried but they just washed it off and carried on as normal.
They only began to flee when folk started going missing, when They walked on land.
No tracks leading to the water, always to shore.
They generally lead to this opening where an underground stream pours into the dockside.
There used to be a gate covering it but it's been broken for years, the lock was torn clean off.
Never found out why until I spent the night on my cousin's boat.
He always kept it moored at the docks, used to take it out every day to fish.
Its been almost five months since he quit and left the boat to rot.
After weeks of bugging him he relented and we spent the day fishing and moored up for the night.
It was so peaceful, you could hear the river flowing into the low tide and the faintest breeze.
I had a hard time falling asleep though, kept thinking I heard slapping sounds.
Reminded me of playing in the mud when I was a kid, it had that same earthy splat sound.
I thought some night air would do me some good so I stepped out onto the deck for a while.
That wet slapping noise was louder outside so I looked around for the source.
Part of me thought it would be something like a fish that had gotten caught on land, other fishermen
would just toss the unwanted ones overboard and leave them floundering about.
I had a good look around and saw vague movement towards the base of the boat but the noise was
coming from further away, nearer the rear end of the boat than the side.
Just as I was heading towards the back of the boat my cousin came hurtling through the cabin door.
He looked so scared, dragged me back under into the lower cabin and locked the door to the deck.
Wouldn't answer any of my questions, just said to sleep and wait until morning.
I slept badly, all I could hear was that slapping sound right above me.
When I woke up my cousin was unlocking the door to the deck and peering out.
I asked him what was up with last night, why he'd acted so weirdly and he pointed outside.
The deck was covered in muddy prints - dozens of hands and feet scattered everywhere.
As I looked over the edge of the boat I saw that they climbed up the side of it.
It was the talk of the waterfront all week.
The day They never reached the river.
From then on those muddy marks were found on most of the boats.
People were worried but they just washed it off and carried on as normal.
They only began to flee when folk started going missing, when They walked on land.
20150410
Day 341
In the forgotten corners where abandoned cars rot and technology goes to die there lives a being.
Perfectly hidden among the rust and wires, skin the colour of dried blood on grass.
Rumours about their diet are many and varied, some say they eat living meat, others say rusty metal.
There are so many accounts of them - most countries have a dozen or more outcrops.
I saw one a few weeks ago and it looks nothing like the rumours claim.
They said the best time to see one was at dusk, to wait at the entrance of wherever they'd been seen.
If you were lucky you'd hear one speak, their voice sounded like they spoke through tin cans.
Nothing really prepared you for actually seeing them.
When I went mid evening to a scrapyard by the river and waited, it invited me in.
I was prepared in case anything went wrong, had a hefty torch that would at least sun it... hopefully.
Also took a bunch of old batteries in case it ate those - it did.
I spent most of the brief meeting frozen in place, too scared to move.
The rumours said it would look like a metallic apelike thing, this was not what I'd expected.
It didn't really have a body or fur, it was just an enormous head with long, muscular arms.
They got the colour right at least, that browny green that seemed to shine in the lowlight.
Nobody'd said anything about the sheer size of it, especially its face.
There is nothing so worrying as conversing with something whose face is bigger than your body.
Especially when its teeth look like jagged glass dug deep into grey/green gums.
It took the box of batteries I shakily offered and swept them into its large maw with a tongue bigger
than a small car and as grey as the rest of its jaw.
My short visit ended with it gently pushing me out of the gate and closing it behind me.
I stiffly turned around to see it pressing its face against the bars, grinning wildly, mouth wide open.
Never thought I cold run so fast but that tin-sounding laugh seemed to follow me home.
I haven't slept right since, I swear I see its shadow outside my windows.
This was only made worse when they found five bodies in the scrapyard, torn to shreds and covered
with some kind of greyish substance that didn't match anything else alive.
It seems like every day they have an update on the bodies.
The latest was that they all had batteries in their throats.
20150409
Day 340
He was in a tent in the woods on a week long getaway - no mobile, no laptop, flare gun just in case.
The aim was to go tech free and relax away from all the bad news and crowded city life.
He'd just finished settling in for the night, tent happily suspended between two trees.
There were the usual sounds of nature around him, insects, a few night birds, feet steadily walking
along a wooden floor in a way that reminded him of his grandmother's old house.
Wait that last one, that didn't seem right but as he sat up and listened it continued.
He wasn't asleep, no he was wide awake and slowly moving towards the zip on the tent.
Surely he must be imagining things, the ground was mostly mud around here.
The zip made a deafening noise as he pulled it down and the footsteps stopped.
He held his breath hearing only silence, the woods had become deathly still.
Peering through the partially open tentflap he looked around in surprise.
The woods he was in were suddenly so different.
Gone was the muddy floor, replaced with polished wood that pale trees were sprouting from.
Occasionally there seemed to be chairs growing from both the floor and trees.
Grabbing his rucksack and forsaking his boots he got out of his tent as quietly as possible.
His thick socks barely made a sound which was good, he felt, better to be stealthy until you know
what's happening here and who is here - especially who is here.
The flare gun could double up as a weapon, right?
He certainly hoped so.
Looking up he saw that the ceiling seemed to have small lights in it, this whole place was fake.
Well, it seemed fake... the trees felt real though... maybe he was just dreaming.
He pinched his arm hard and confirmed that he was definitely awake.
Hopefully there would be an exit somewhere so he could escape to the actual woods.
The wilderness seemed safer than this sterile mockery.
The further along he went (choosing to head right from the tent) the more dilapidated the trees grew.
Instead of those seamless, almost perfect trees there were gradually more and more misshapen and
warped attempts of trees, like someone had the idea of a tree but never see one before.
The sound of boots clicking along the (still perfect) wooden flooring threw him into panic.
His thoughts became consumed by the overwhelming need to hide, quick, danger, don't be seen.
He just about managed to squeeze himself into a hollow lump of a tree.
The sound of the boots grew faster as they approached him and he held his breath.
Louder and louder, closer and closer, he could hear rabid panting and
The footsteps ran behind his hiding place and off into the distance.
Peering out he saw something that could only be described as four humans stitched together at the
waist and severely overfed to the point where you'd expect them to burst at the seams.
One of the torsos swivelled to face him and shrieked, mouth extending from under the nose to waist.
He struggled to get out of his cramped hiding space-turned-trap.
It lost him precious time and by god that thing was fast.
A small part of his mind reckoned it was because it had so many legs in comparison.
The sound of several mouths panting to their own rhythm grew louder behind him as he fled.
He swerved and ducked under chairs, hoping to lose the thing.
Just as he rounded a corner it sprang out in front of him.
Five arms came hurling towards him and he blacked out.
He woke up to a blinding light and thought for a moment he'd just been sleepwalking.
As he squinted, still partially blinded, he saw perfect looking trees.
The ceiling lights were on full blast and everything felt burnt.
He looked around and saw he was tied to one of the chairs, high up in a tree.
The rope looked to have grown from the bark.
He tried to move his feet, kick his legs up but felt nothing.
Gazing down he saw his legs were gone and he had company instead.
The torso that had screeched at him rose up from the slumped monstrosity they were a part of.
Its smile didn't seem so scary now, it looked pleased.
Up close he could see how leathery its skin was and how his own skin tone contrasted the rest.
The other torsos peered at him one by one, nodding their approval.
Slowly they managed to get up on their complex array of limbs and set off in a new direction.
Unused to his placement he ended up flopping all over the place until another torso grabbed him.
He was adjusted to a comfortable position facing down, he noticed how only two feet wore shoes.
The aim was to go tech free and relax away from all the bad news and crowded city life.
He'd just finished settling in for the night, tent happily suspended between two trees.
There were the usual sounds of nature around him, insects, a few night birds, feet steadily walking
along a wooden floor in a way that reminded him of his grandmother's old house.
Wait that last one, that didn't seem right but as he sat up and listened it continued.
He wasn't asleep, no he was wide awake and slowly moving towards the zip on the tent.
Surely he must be imagining things, the ground was mostly mud around here.
The zip made a deafening noise as he pulled it down and the footsteps stopped.
He held his breath hearing only silence, the woods had become deathly still.
Peering through the partially open tentflap he looked around in surprise.
The woods he was in were suddenly so different.
Gone was the muddy floor, replaced with polished wood that pale trees were sprouting from.
Occasionally there seemed to be chairs growing from both the floor and trees.
Grabbing his rucksack and forsaking his boots he got out of his tent as quietly as possible.
His thick socks barely made a sound which was good, he felt, better to be stealthy until you know
what's happening here and who is here - especially who is here.
The flare gun could double up as a weapon, right?
He certainly hoped so.
Looking up he saw that the ceiling seemed to have small lights in it, this whole place was fake.
Well, it seemed fake... the trees felt real though... maybe he was just dreaming.
He pinched his arm hard and confirmed that he was definitely awake.
Hopefully there would be an exit somewhere so he could escape to the actual woods.
The wilderness seemed safer than this sterile mockery.
The further along he went (choosing to head right from the tent) the more dilapidated the trees grew.
Instead of those seamless, almost perfect trees there were gradually more and more misshapen and
warped attempts of trees, like someone had the idea of a tree but never see one before.
The sound of boots clicking along the (still perfect) wooden flooring threw him into panic.
His thoughts became consumed by the overwhelming need to hide, quick, danger, don't be seen.
He just about managed to squeeze himself into a hollow lump of a tree.
The sound of the boots grew faster as they approached him and he held his breath.
Louder and louder, closer and closer, he could hear rabid panting and
The footsteps ran behind his hiding place and off into the distance.
Peering out he saw something that could only be described as four humans stitched together at the
waist and severely overfed to the point where you'd expect them to burst at the seams.
One of the torsos swivelled to face him and shrieked, mouth extending from under the nose to waist.
He struggled to get out of his cramped hiding space-turned-trap.
It lost him precious time and by god that thing was fast.
A small part of his mind reckoned it was because it had so many legs in comparison.
The sound of several mouths panting to their own rhythm grew louder behind him as he fled.
He swerved and ducked under chairs, hoping to lose the thing.
Just as he rounded a corner it sprang out in front of him.
Five arms came hurling towards him and he blacked out.
He woke up to a blinding light and thought for a moment he'd just been sleepwalking.
As he squinted, still partially blinded, he saw perfect looking trees.
The ceiling lights were on full blast and everything felt burnt.
He looked around and saw he was tied to one of the chairs, high up in a tree.
The rope looked to have grown from the bark.
He tried to move his feet, kick his legs up but felt nothing.
Gazing down he saw his legs were gone and he had company instead.
The torso that had screeched at him rose up from the slumped monstrosity they were a part of.
Its smile didn't seem so scary now, it looked pleased.
Up close he could see how leathery its skin was and how his own skin tone contrasted the rest.
The other torsos peered at him one by one, nodding their approval.
Slowly they managed to get up on their complex array of limbs and set off in a new direction.
Unused to his placement he ended up flopping all over the place until another torso grabbed him.
He was adjusted to a comfortable position facing down, he noticed how only two feet wore shoes.
20150408
Day 339
Lane five kept getting blocked so often it was closed altogether.
We claimed mechanical malfunction, carried on as normal.
They were none the wiser.
None of them even suspected a missing child had gone anywhere near it.
Little brat got stuck in lane five's mechanism, too crushed by the time we got to him.
There was no way we could have scraped him off so we didn't.
Dressed another staff member's kid in similar enough clothing and got them to walk off camera.
Our CCTV is rubbish enough that they looked just like the unfortunate brat had.
It worked too, the police took our footage and left us alone.
Lane five kept getting blocked so often it was closed altogether - for our sakes.
We claimed mechanical malfunction, carried on as normal.
They were none the wiser.
Sometimes I swear I can see him crawling through up the lane towards me.
I'm not the only one either, the others have seen him too.
His face is partially caved in, throat completely crushed and limbs broken all over.
From what we gathered he'd gotten his head stuck first, couldn't make a sound.
It's a miracle nobody noticed the blood oozing out, one concerned parent did point it out though.
I was the one to claim mechanical fault - too much oil in the joints because it barely works.
Lane five kept getting blocked so often it was closed altogether - for our sakes.
I claimed mechanical malfunction, carried on as normal.
They were none the wiser.
20150407
Day 338
The bridge was shaped like a wolf to commemorate the first wolf-sighting in over 90 years.
Everyone had thought the native species was extinct until both paw prints and footage proved
that at least one had survived.
That was forty years ago, the bridge has since fallen into disrepair - too expensive to maintain
was their main reason, the employees of the surrounding park said otherwise.
According to one I spoke to a few months ago, the wolves were a cover-up.
There was something in the lake and they wanted to generate enough revenue to fund an investigation into it... the guy I talked with never said exactly what they were looking into.
Never said what - or even if - they found anything.
So I went there myself about a week ago, I didn't remember the wolf looking so creepy before.
The lake was covered in a thick layer of algae that had begun to spread onto the wolf, the path.
The park was slowly being consumed.
I walked through the bridge or I tried to... I was met by a wall of algae about halfway through.
The algae must have leaked through from the roof somewhere.
As I looked closer I saw part of a skull peeking through.
I tore through the green wall with my hands as best I could, just to see if it was some cheap prank.
The more I pulled away, the more of the body I saw.
From the clothes they were a park worker, chained to the wall of the wolf bridge by their ankle.
Peering past them I saw a dozen more bodies in varying states of decay and mixed clothing.
They ranged from more park workers to children and even a baby.
I heard a creak and pulled back just as the skeleton in the algae wall bit down on my hand.
I ran out of there, not ashamed to admit that I was terrified.
Ever since I've been keeping away from water, it only makes the green tinge in the bitemark worse.
It's already spread past my shoulder and the bite itself has algae coming out of it.
Everyone had thought the native species was extinct until both paw prints and footage proved
that at least one had survived.
That was forty years ago, the bridge has since fallen into disrepair - too expensive to maintain
was their main reason, the employees of the surrounding park said otherwise.
According to one I spoke to a few months ago, the wolves were a cover-up.
There was something in the lake and they wanted to generate enough revenue to fund an investigation into it... the guy I talked with never said exactly what they were looking into.
Never said what - or even if - they found anything.
So I went there myself about a week ago, I didn't remember the wolf looking so creepy before.
The lake was covered in a thick layer of algae that had begun to spread onto the wolf, the path.
The park was slowly being consumed.
I walked through the bridge or I tried to... I was met by a wall of algae about halfway through.
The algae must have leaked through from the roof somewhere.
As I looked closer I saw part of a skull peeking through.
I tore through the green wall with my hands as best I could, just to see if it was some cheap prank.
The more I pulled away, the more of the body I saw.
From the clothes they were a park worker, chained to the wall of the wolf bridge by their ankle.
Peering past them I saw a dozen more bodies in varying states of decay and mixed clothing.
They ranged from more park workers to children and even a baby.
I heard a creak and pulled back just as the skeleton in the algae wall bit down on my hand.
I ran out of there, not ashamed to admit that I was terrified.
Ever since I've been keeping away from water, it only makes the green tinge in the bitemark worse.
It's already spread past my shoulder and the bite itself has algae coming out of it.
20150406
Day 337
A small hand grasped mine while I lay in bed.
I looked over expecting to see my son, instead I saw a long fleshy limb extending past the doorway.
Gingerly letting go of the tiny hand I began to follow the rest of it.
I figured it was my husband pranking me.
The long fleshy thing stretched down the stairwell and out the back door.
I followed it without thinking.
It was getting quite dark outside, I could barely see where the limb ended.
I followed it to the end of the garden, to a huddled figure under a blanket.
Thinking it was my husband underneath I pulled off the fabric.
It wasn't my husband, it wasn't even human.
Its limbs stretched and contracted as its head rotated round to face me, gaping holes where eyes
should be and its mouth extending from eye to eye like the letter u.
Its teeth were like needles, and there were so many.
I had been too busy staring at it to notice where its limbs were as one slammed into the back of my
legs and another came crashing down onto my back.
Dazed and gasping for breath I looked up just in time to see it bring that tiny hand towards me.
Before my eyes its arm thickened and broke off into several hands with claws and descended.
The last thing I saw was that monstrous limb rushing towards my eyes.
I woke up in hospital, I'd been found at the base of the garden, bleeding and unconscious.
It had taken my eyes but I can still see it wandering around the town.
Its head it always facing me, arms a hair's breadth away.
I looked over expecting to see my son, instead I saw a long fleshy limb extending past the doorway.
Gingerly letting go of the tiny hand I began to follow the rest of it.
I figured it was my husband pranking me.
The long fleshy thing stretched down the stairwell and out the back door.
I followed it without thinking.
It was getting quite dark outside, I could barely see where the limb ended.
I followed it to the end of the garden, to a huddled figure under a blanket.
Thinking it was my husband underneath I pulled off the fabric.
It wasn't my husband, it wasn't even human.
Its limbs stretched and contracted as its head rotated round to face me, gaping holes where eyes
should be and its mouth extending from eye to eye like the letter u.
Its teeth were like needles, and there were so many.
I had been too busy staring at it to notice where its limbs were as one slammed into the back of my
legs and another came crashing down onto my back.
Dazed and gasping for breath I looked up just in time to see it bring that tiny hand towards me.
Before my eyes its arm thickened and broke off into several hands with claws and descended.
The last thing I saw was that monstrous limb rushing towards my eyes.
I woke up in hospital, I'd been found at the base of the garden, bleeding and unconscious.
It had taken my eyes but I can still see it wandering around the town.
Its head it always facing me, arms a hair's breadth away.
20150405
Day 336
There were a couple of old factory buildings round the back of my house.
My dad used to say they were water pumps but the pipes weren't connected to anything.
They were strange buildings, more like huts with shutters for doors.
My dad used to say they were water pumps but the pipes weren't connected to anything.
They were strange buildings, more like huts with shutters for doors.
This one was my favourite to hide out in, it was so peaceful in there.
I never felt the need to take any pictures of it, not sure why.
Just seemed like I should keep it a secret but now it should be shared.
It was my own little den, it may have been next to an industrial estate but nobody paid any notice
of me, never so much as blinked an eye at me walking in and out.
I had quite a nice little set-up there, it felt like home to me.
The last time I went there I must have been eleven or so.
Told my parents I'd be staying at a friend's place but went to spend the night in my den.
It wasn't the first time I'd done that, I'd sit on the upper floor and read until I dozed off.
Something about it last time seemed off and I could never put my finger to it.
I ended up coming home early, it just didn't feel right being there.
Something about the rust on the walls was eerie, it had never been eerie before.
I went back a few days ago and it was still there.
Different to how I remembered it, smaller and a lot creepier.
It stank like iron and old meat on the inside.
The little ladder I'd put there to lead to the second floor was gone, luckily it wasn't much of a stretch
to reach my alcove where I'd spent so many days and nights.
I wasn't alone, the pile of blankets I'd left there was steadily breathing.
I held my breath and began to lower myself down when a child-like voice said wait.
My body wouldn't move, I half-hung there frozen and staring at the moving pile of fabric.
Before my eyes a small figure began to crawl out on stick thin limbs.
Its head snapped towards me - it had my face.
My eleven year old face only grey and covered in dried blood.
It reached out with its bony hands, touched my face and I remembered.
I'd never been alone there, this thing had been my companion only it had never looked like me.
It had persuaded me to stay overnight, never wanted me to leave but I did.
I left when it killed my friend and painted the building with their blood.
Their body was never found, they never even found the bloody walls.
I abandoned the place after that, blanked it out of my mind.
Now I'm here again, with my dear friend.
Its like I never even left.
20150404
Day 335
She found a series of wooden paths in between Grindleford and Hathersage.
They meandered about the hills and through the heart of Sherriff Wood.
Sometimes she'd follow them for as long as she could but they never lead anywhere.
Eventually she began to map them out, measuring and mapping whole sections at a time.
There was no logic to them, they'd just cut off and reappear at random intervals.
There was nothing about these walkways online or in local history book.
It was like they didn't exist.
She decided to make it her mission to document every path.
Someone somewhere was bound to know what these were and where they came from.
The latest area crossed through part of Sherriff Wood to the western edge along an unnamed road.
She knew it was around the Hope Valley area but without a map she was relying on GPS.
Specifically her phone's GPS which was buggy to begin with, let alone in an area with little signal.
The wooden slats here looked particularly old, grass sprouting through most of them.
Some parts of the pathway had been entirely consumed by grass and weeds.
She walked beside these ones, not wanting to break the fragile looking walkway.
As it progressed further into the woods it got sturdier, probably because it was more sheltered here,
she reasoned as she stepped back onto the slats and continued deeper into the trees.
A brief glance at her phone told her she was nearing the middle of the woods already.
Strange, it felt like she'd only been walking for a few minutes and yet she'd gone so far.
Ten more minutes, she thought, ten more and I'll take a break for a while.
Just as she began to think of where she would sit down the path grew steeper.
It grew to steep she was almost crawling up it as it extended towards the treetops.
How could no one have noticed these paths if they were so complex in structure?
It took a lot of careful manoeuvring to get to the top without sliding back down.
The mossy growths along the wood had made it incredibly slippery in places.
It did even off eventually, into a fairly large plateau with several pathways joining it.
She was too busy staring at the view around her to notice that she wasn't alone.
She'd never taken notice of the figures that sometimes walked the paths near her.
Most of the time she only caught glimpses of them out of the corners of her eyes.
Dismissed them too, as mist or trees or her imagination.
They'd been following her every step, waiting just outside of her sight.
Their gaunt faces ever patiently waiting until she was too isolated to escape.
The pathways were theirs, always had been and always would be.
It wasn't like she was the first, the others had been handled just the same as she would be.
How could they let outsiders stroll along them so carefree, had they no respect?
They would have to teach it to her.
Months after she entered the forest her clothing and rucksack were found along the B6001 roadside.
There was no trace of foul play, nothing on her phone to indicate where she'd gone.
Strange though, someone had stuffed her rucksack full of red leaves with letters on them.
They would never find her body on the platform, covered from head to toe in similar leaves.
They would never find the paths she took or the maps she drew.
But someone else would find those walkways and join her.
There's always room for more high up in those trees.
Who looks up any more?
Nobody.
20150403
Day 334
He'd been noticing new moles on his arms.
They itched, mostly at night.
The doctor wouldn't take him seriously, they were just moles so what?
Gave him antihistamines and sent him off.
But the moles kept spreading, he swore he could see them growing.
Again, nobody thought it was anything serious.
He began to believe them until one burst.
It was full of tiny worms.
He gathered as many as he could in a small plastic bag and visited the doctor once more.
Now he had proof, now they had to believe something was wrong.
It wasn't enough proof though, the mole had healed up to nothing - not even a mark.
His mental health was questioned, why was he claiming to be full of worms?
He would show them.
He would show them all.
He just needed more roof, more worms, bigger cuts.
Don't give them time to heal just release.
Remains were found in his house.
They were identified via dental records.
The world wondered why someone would let themselves be eaten alive by worms.
Meanwhile, a young girl noticed a new mole on her foot.
They itched, mostly at night.
The doctor wouldn't take him seriously, they were just moles so what?
Gave him antihistamines and sent him off.
But the moles kept spreading, he swore he could see them growing.
Again, nobody thought it was anything serious.
He began to believe them until one burst.
It was full of tiny worms.
He gathered as many as he could in a small plastic bag and visited the doctor once more.
Now he had proof, now they had to believe something was wrong.
It wasn't enough proof though, the mole had healed up to nothing - not even a mark.
His mental health was questioned, why was he claiming to be full of worms?
He would show them.
He would show them all.
He just needed more roof, more worms, bigger cuts.
Don't give them time to heal just release.
Remains were found in his house.
They were identified via dental records.
The world wondered why someone would let themselves be eaten alive by worms.
Meanwhile, a young girl noticed a new mole on her foot.
20150402
Day 333
Some of the town's buildings were façades.
You know, just fronts for large generators or gas tanks or something.
Next door is one, you can tell because the curtains are just black paint.
That and there are no ground floor windows which is weird for a supposed apartment.
I've always wondered what was behind it but never had the guts to look.
According to my upstairs neighbour's kid there's a door connecting us to next door in the attic.
That would sound reasonable but for the act that there is no attic, just another flat.
I even asked the guy who lives there and he showed me that there's just a wall.
I still wanted to get into next door, just to see what was in there.
The only option that came to mind was to try the back door, surely it was a real door right?
I made sure to do it late at night so I was less likely to get caught.
I'd hoped that it wouldn't even be locked, maybe they wouldn't think anyone would try it?
Seems they didn't even bother to close it properly, not that I'd ever seen anyone go in or out.
Maybe it was the kid from upstairs, he was generally a bit of a nuisance.
Carefully pushing the door in, I flicked my torch on and gently let the door shut behind me.
It was dank and dark inside but it was otherwise well kept.
I heard a faint humming noise so I figured this was some kind of generator building.
There were signs up all over the place warning about health and safety, generator maintenance etc.
I paid them no real mind, just making a mental note of the main issues apparently involved.
Every sign at some point mentioned keeping out of mouth's reach.
It made no sense, was the caretaker here a bit off or something?
Was there even a caretaker or did someone just come in from time to time?
I never found the answer to the latter.
The former became clear when I found the source of the hum.
It was the kid from upstairs.
He was sitting in the middle of a large room clutching a bag to his chest.
His face was white as a sheet so forsaking my further investigations I took him home.
He told me not to knock, he had a key and was going to let himself in all quiet like.
As ill as he looked I left him there and went to my own flat for the night.
Next thing I know it was midday and the Mrs upstairs was screaming and crying.
I went halfway up the steps and had a quick look, see if I could help maybe.
There were two policemen at her door, hats off and solemn faced.
I walked up to the Mrs and asked if she was okay, what happened and such.
The kid had been found a few streets down.
Stone cold dead, chest sliced to ribbons.
The killer had even stuffed most of his innards into a bag, made it look like he was sleeping.
You know, just fronts for large generators or gas tanks or something.
Next door is one, you can tell because the curtains are just black paint.
That and there are no ground floor windows which is weird for a supposed apartment.
I've always wondered what was behind it but never had the guts to look.
According to my upstairs neighbour's kid there's a door connecting us to next door in the attic.
That would sound reasonable but for the act that there is no attic, just another flat.
I even asked the guy who lives there and he showed me that there's just a wall.
I still wanted to get into next door, just to see what was in there.
The only option that came to mind was to try the back door, surely it was a real door right?
I made sure to do it late at night so I was less likely to get caught.
I'd hoped that it wouldn't even be locked, maybe they wouldn't think anyone would try it?
Seems they didn't even bother to close it properly, not that I'd ever seen anyone go in or out.
Maybe it was the kid from upstairs, he was generally a bit of a nuisance.
Carefully pushing the door in, I flicked my torch on and gently let the door shut behind me.
It was dank and dark inside but it was otherwise well kept.
I heard a faint humming noise so I figured this was some kind of generator building.
There were signs up all over the place warning about health and safety, generator maintenance etc.
I paid them no real mind, just making a mental note of the main issues apparently involved.
Every sign at some point mentioned keeping out of mouth's reach.
It made no sense, was the caretaker here a bit off or something?
Was there even a caretaker or did someone just come in from time to time?
I never found the answer to the latter.
The former became clear when I found the source of the hum.
It was the kid from upstairs.
He was sitting in the middle of a large room clutching a bag to his chest.
His face was white as a sheet so forsaking my further investigations I took him home.
He told me not to knock, he had a key and was going to let himself in all quiet like.
As ill as he looked I left him there and went to my own flat for the night.
Next thing I know it was midday and the Mrs upstairs was screaming and crying.
I went halfway up the steps and had a quick look, see if I could help maybe.
There were two policemen at her door, hats off and solemn faced.
I walked up to the Mrs and asked if she was okay, what happened and such.
The kid had been found a few streets down.
Stone cold dead, chest sliced to ribbons.
The killer had even stuffed most of his innards into a bag, made it look like he was sleeping.
20150401
Day 332
The camera showed that the falcons had not returned to their nest.
They'd been coming there for nine years in a row, pretty long for wild birds.
It wasn't unheard of for birds to abandon their nests if they felt threatened.
In this case it was, the nest was on a skyscraper ledge about nine floors up.
They left behind four eggs though one of then didn't look right.
It was larger and... lumpy?
Was it possible that they mistook a ball for one of their eggs?
Maybe it was food or something, the feed was quite hazy still.
The building's owners decided to leave the nest alone in case the falcons returned.
As the week went on the chances of them returning dropped.
Stormy weather was forecast, the eggs (now probably dead) wouldn't make it.
The winds picked up and the nest was flung to pieces.
The eggs rolled about the dipped ledge, smashing on the walls.
The strange not-egg rolled around also, revealing tiny ears.
Tiny human ears and a bloody stump where a neck would be.
Where the face should be there was instead a sheet of laminated paper sewn on.
It read:
Two birds, one stone.
They'd been coming there for nine years in a row, pretty long for wild birds.
It wasn't unheard of for birds to abandon their nests if they felt threatened.
In this case it was, the nest was on a skyscraper ledge about nine floors up.
They left behind four eggs though one of then didn't look right.
It was larger and... lumpy?
Was it possible that they mistook a ball for one of their eggs?
Maybe it was food or something, the feed was quite hazy still.
The building's owners decided to leave the nest alone in case the falcons returned.
As the week went on the chances of them returning dropped.
Stormy weather was forecast, the eggs (now probably dead) wouldn't make it.
The winds picked up and the nest was flung to pieces.
The eggs rolled about the dipped ledge, smashing on the walls.
The strange not-egg rolled around also, revealing tiny ears.
Tiny human ears and a bloody stump where a neck would be.
Where the face should be there was instead a sheet of laminated paper sewn on.
It read:
Two birds, one stone.
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