They say she's like Llorona, a soul stuck around the waters where she died.
Her body is only visible when it rains.
You can see the droplets form her or what she remembers being.
The mind is a tricksy thing, never remembers it quite right.
She thinks herself a little girl, remembering the last time she felt happy by the waters.
Forgets entirely that she was an old woman when her son drowned her there.
Prefers to think back to the days before he was born.
I still wonder what would happen if she ever saw him.
Would she remember and finally fade away in peace?
Would she drag him down with her?
His descendants avoid the entire river, live the other side of the country.
I still wonder if she moves through all the rivers or just this one.
She likes to play with the other children.
They call her Riachuela and think she's one of them.
Still they avoid her when it rains.
That's when she takes them home with her.
Perhaps it's because she was drowned during a storm.
Perhaps she plans it as she splashed about with them, invisible all the while.
She's taken twelve so far, their little bodies found bloated and cold downstream.
I swear when it rains I can see them still playing.
20151031
20151030
Day 544
The painting had never led so far, only told us what's going to happen.
It's been flickering a lot lately, showing only the impossible instead of the probable.
Just last week it showed Wales breaking off and merging with Ireland!
Usually it shows us the small things like which cities will burn next and who will take them over.
It was right about London, the second Great Fire took out half of Essex alongside it.
Just as the painting told us and just as it will tell us again... we hope.
Today it seems to think the fires will start again and never end.
The whole of England is ablaze, even us in our isolated town in the Highlands.
It won't say when, the date in the corner is replaced by the word "henceforth"
It's been flickering a lot lately, showing only the impossible instead of the probable.
Just last week it showed Wales breaking off and merging with Ireland!
Usually it shows us the small things like which cities will burn next and who will take them over.
It was right about London, the second Great Fire took out half of Essex alongside it.
Just as the painting told us and just as it will tell us again... we hope.
Today it seems to think the fires will start again and never end.
The whole of England is ablaze, even us in our isolated town in the Highlands.
It won't say when, the date in the corner is replaced by the word "henceforth"
Day 543
Our story today sits in a library half forgotten in the rural maze of dilapidated English council estates. It was on the second floor of a small series of shops, mostly food based with the exception of a tanning salon and nail bar. The shelves well stocked in all areas - overstocked in some, but empty in the children's section.
That particular section was little more than a series of rumours to the local children that included such delights as the books were made of human skin and the librarian was a corpse. They weren't too far from the truth though none of them ever dared to go there and find out. In fact the CCTV records for the shop across the street show only three people going in and out like clockwork on their set days and times. Nobody seems to recognise them and they have no online presence - they are modern day ghosts.
The library itself sits squashed between "Declan's fish & chip" shop and "Nailz", both as worn as the nearby houses. A grubby door between them and a steep staircase lead to what looks to be an old lounge of some sort. Torn couches sprawl along one wall and a small labyrinth of books cover the remaining area, crammed to the brim but for a corner with five plastic stools that had seen better days, surrounded by empty shelves and a box of filthy stuffed animals.
The air is permeated by the stench of grease, it clings to the wall on the chip shop side and runs down in thin brown rivulets, congealing on the floor leaving large puddles that are in the process of engulfing the entire carpet.
Now the three patrons, the absolute unknown people wandering in and out of the library ignored by all. Not so much as a whisper in the playgrounds about them or why they are the only ones to go into the library each week to some unknown schedule. They all wear long brown coats with a hoodie underneath, their faces absolutely obscured. One thing I noticed from the CCTV footage was their complete lack of a shadow.
I once went to meet one of them. I waited by the library door five minutes before their usual time of arrival and ended up staying their for over an hour. footage showed that they walked right past me, waved and seemed to have a conversation that I have no recollection of. I remember waiting and then getting bored and going to the chip shop for a snack.
The footage shows they went in with me. The footage shows them walking beside me for the next few days, right by my side. It showed them following me to the security room I'm in now, reviewing the footage and writing my notes.
I still can't see them but I saw their shadow in the library yesterday. In the children's section.
That particular section was little more than a series of rumours to the local children that included such delights as the books were made of human skin and the librarian was a corpse. They weren't too far from the truth though none of them ever dared to go there and find out. In fact the CCTV records for the shop across the street show only three people going in and out like clockwork on their set days and times. Nobody seems to recognise them and they have no online presence - they are modern day ghosts.
The library itself sits squashed between "Declan's fish & chip" shop and "Nailz", both as worn as the nearby houses. A grubby door between them and a steep staircase lead to what looks to be an old lounge of some sort. Torn couches sprawl along one wall and a small labyrinth of books cover the remaining area, crammed to the brim but for a corner with five plastic stools that had seen better days, surrounded by empty shelves and a box of filthy stuffed animals.
The air is permeated by the stench of grease, it clings to the wall on the chip shop side and runs down in thin brown rivulets, congealing on the floor leaving large puddles that are in the process of engulfing the entire carpet.
Now the three patrons, the absolute unknown people wandering in and out of the library ignored by all. Not so much as a whisper in the playgrounds about them or why they are the only ones to go into the library each week to some unknown schedule. They all wear long brown coats with a hoodie underneath, their faces absolutely obscured. One thing I noticed from the CCTV footage was their complete lack of a shadow.
I once went to meet one of them. I waited by the library door five minutes before their usual time of arrival and ended up staying their for over an hour. footage showed that they walked right past me, waved and seemed to have a conversation that I have no recollection of. I remember waiting and then getting bored and going to the chip shop for a snack.
The footage shows they went in with me. The footage shows them walking beside me for the next few days, right by my side. It showed them following me to the security room I'm in now, reviewing the footage and writing my notes.
I still can't see them but I saw their shadow in the library yesterday. In the children's section.
20151029
Day 542
The kitchen is the heart of the home - everyone knows this.
Its counters pulse and thrum with life as the rest of the home patiently awaits new occupancy.
The chairs are fixed in place, thick fabric coated veins leading to the heart.
Ornate wooden tables covered in dust and seemingly merged with the floorboards.
It went beyond the interior, neighbours reported seeing movements from within.
Little things like strangely shaped people waving at them from the windows, arms bent impossibly
and the sound of something enormous breathing heavily as they walked past.
One person even reported seeing the walls move like it was trying to reach them.
Needless to say it's been empty for years and the rumours of it living have put off any demolitions.
The house was so desperate for something to live within in, it created its own family.
Blankets and cushions stuffed themselves into clothing and gave themselves names.
Nice human names - things they'd heard on TV that fit them like Cecíle, Roberto and Lorna.
The house was less empty with its family of puppets moving about, garbling "normal" conversations.
Of course they sounded nothing like humans but it was enough to content the lonely building.
Until a living child climbed over the fence of its back garden.
Until it remembered what a living being's footsteps felt like.
Many have gone missing since that child, the house sent its family out to get friends.
They don't always stay for long - the house's cupboards are too empty to keep them alive.
The neighbours have either moved out or moved in and the whole street is flooded with silence.
Houses keep their lights off and doors locked, protecting their own from the other.
Its counters pulse and thrum with life as the rest of the home patiently awaits new occupancy.
The chairs are fixed in place, thick fabric coated veins leading to the heart.
Ornate wooden tables covered in dust and seemingly merged with the floorboards.
It went beyond the interior, neighbours reported seeing movements from within.
Little things like strangely shaped people waving at them from the windows, arms bent impossibly
and the sound of something enormous breathing heavily as they walked past.
One person even reported seeing the walls move like it was trying to reach them.
Needless to say it's been empty for years and the rumours of it living have put off any demolitions.
The house was so desperate for something to live within in, it created its own family.
Blankets and cushions stuffed themselves into clothing and gave themselves names.
Nice human names - things they'd heard on TV that fit them like Cecíle, Roberto and Lorna.
The house was less empty with its family of puppets moving about, garbling "normal" conversations.
Of course they sounded nothing like humans but it was enough to content the lonely building.
Until a living child climbed over the fence of its back garden.
Until it remembered what a living being's footsteps felt like.
Many have gone missing since that child, the house sent its family out to get friends.
They don't always stay for long - the house's cupboards are too empty to keep them alive.
The neighbours have either moved out or moved in and the whole street is flooded with silence.
Houses keep their lights off and doors locked, protecting their own from the other.
20151028
Day 541
So where were you when the birds died?
Do you even remember or where you too young?
I was in a waiting room that day.
Nobody likes waiting rooms.
I remember being surrounded by dozens of miserable faces, nervous faces.
They were all somewhat weary and mostly elderly.
I just went for a yearly checkup, only to find every doctor was running late.
Spent most of the time staring up through the domed glass skylight.
Never seen another surgery with anything similar to it - but then again it it was a big city place.
I remember seeing more birds than usual flying about.
Just before It happened I saw the largest murmuration of starlings.
It's unusual to see one in a city, starlings are countryside birds but there must have been thousands.
They flew round and round in an almost tornado-like formation, hovering over the building.
More and more birds joined them, all different kinds.
And then came the drop.
All of them at once just stopped, stone dead and piling up in a circle around the surgery.
Some landed on the skylight, crashing through and causing absolute chaos.
While everyone panicked I sat,mind numb and body number.
A magpie landed on my lap - barely past fledging, judging by its fuzzy back feathers.
It's eyes seemed to have been torn right out.
The news reports never mentioned that, said all the other birds were in perfect health.
There was no reason for any of them to have died at all.
I've kept the magpie though I'm not sure why.
A friend preserved it in a jar for me.
It flaps sometimes, slow and deliberate when I look at it.
The birds aren't dead, not really... they aren't birds anymore though.
Do you even remember or where you too young?
I was in a waiting room that day.
Nobody likes waiting rooms.
I remember being surrounded by dozens of miserable faces, nervous faces.
They were all somewhat weary and mostly elderly.
I just went for a yearly checkup, only to find every doctor was running late.
Spent most of the time staring up through the domed glass skylight.
Never seen another surgery with anything similar to it - but then again it it was a big city place.
I remember seeing more birds than usual flying about.
Just before It happened I saw the largest murmuration of starlings.
It's unusual to see one in a city, starlings are countryside birds but there must have been thousands.
They flew round and round in an almost tornado-like formation, hovering over the building.
More and more birds joined them, all different kinds.
And then came the drop.
All of them at once just stopped, stone dead and piling up in a circle around the surgery.
Some landed on the skylight, crashing through and causing absolute chaos.
While everyone panicked I sat,mind numb and body number.
A magpie landed on my lap - barely past fledging, judging by its fuzzy back feathers.
It's eyes seemed to have been torn right out.
The news reports never mentioned that, said all the other birds were in perfect health.
There was no reason for any of them to have died at all.
I've kept the magpie though I'm not sure why.
A friend preserved it in a jar for me.
It flaps sometimes, slow and deliberate when I look at it.
The birds aren't dead, not really... they aren't birds anymore though.
20151027
Day 540
The scarecrow stood in the midst of a disease stricken corn field.
It was surrounded by grey sticks that emitted a thick smoke at the slightest whiff of a breeze.
There were no people, hadn't been for a good hundred or so years.
It remembered the ones that made it, the small ones named it Thomas.
Thomas had played with them at night, come off their pole and chased them about the corn.
How they had shrieked with laughter and had such fun, been such good friends.
Then one of the small ones stopped coming outside- sick the other one said.
A screaming white tractor came and took the small one away for good.
The other people stopped coming outside too, began to board up their windows.
Thomas saw the corn around them, the corn they were made to protect, rot and spread clouds.
Even the people's house had turned grey (if it was the people's still, they'd been gone so long now).
They wondered what the inside was like, they'd never been allowed in before.
And so the next night Thomas crept from his pole and drifted across the grey fields to the home.
There were no lights on, there had always been at least one light on from somewhere.
Not even the small ones' light was on and they were scared of pitch black nights.
Thomas gently pushed the door open and it crumpled to the floor in a shower of grey dust.
Stepping inside they saw that everything was either piles or coated in a thick layer of grey powder.
Each downstairs room was vacant, risking the crumbling stairs Thomas continued onwards.
They found the people in the first room they checked,all huddled in a corner.
At least they might be the people, they were coated in dust but a familiar pink flowery dress showed.
It was surrounded by grey sticks that emitted a thick smoke at the slightest whiff of a breeze.
There were no people, hadn't been for a good hundred or so years.
It remembered the ones that made it, the small ones named it Thomas.
Thomas had played with them at night, come off their pole and chased them about the corn.
How they had shrieked with laughter and had such fun, been such good friends.
Then one of the small ones stopped coming outside- sick the other one said.
A screaming white tractor came and took the small one away for good.
The other people stopped coming outside too, began to board up their windows.
Thomas saw the corn around them, the corn they were made to protect, rot and spread clouds.
Even the people's house had turned grey (if it was the people's still, they'd been gone so long now).
They wondered what the inside was like, they'd never been allowed in before.
And so the next night Thomas crept from his pole and drifted across the grey fields to the home.
There were no lights on, there had always been at least one light on from somewhere.
Not even the small ones' light was on and they were scared of pitch black nights.
Thomas gently pushed the door open and it crumpled to the floor in a shower of grey dust.
Stepping inside they saw that everything was either piles or coated in a thick layer of grey powder.
Each downstairs room was vacant, risking the crumbling stairs Thomas continued onwards.
They found the people in the first room they checked,all huddled in a corner.
At least they might be the people, they were coated in dust but a familiar pink flowery dress showed.
20151026
Day 539
They say that when wood is cut away from the tree it dies - at least it's supposed to.
As old timber houses creak and groan they are not settling like you're meant to believe.
They are restless, they are angry and they are very much alive.
In houses as old as the Tudor period, fresh leaves have been found growing from the beams.
You see, they never quite die as long as they meet at least two of these three conditions.
They must be above ground, they must see sunlight and they must be surrounded by other lives.
For the first the ground stifles their broken bark, suffocates the wood and rots it fast.
For the second as we all know plants need sunlight to survive, even when removed from their host.
Finally for the third it is rarely known that life depends on life to the point where an absence is death.
We are fed upon just as much as we feed, even from something as small as a wooden stool.
A leather chair, still looking as fresh as the day it was tanned.
A fur rug that shimmers in the light and twitches when it thinks nobody is watching.
As old timber houses creak and groan they are not settling like you're meant to believe.
They are restless, they are angry and they are very much alive.
In houses as old as the Tudor period, fresh leaves have been found growing from the beams.
You see, they never quite die as long as they meet at least two of these three conditions.
They must be above ground, they must see sunlight and they must be surrounded by other lives.
For the first the ground stifles their broken bark, suffocates the wood and rots it fast.
For the second as we all know plants need sunlight to survive, even when removed from their host.
Finally for the third it is rarely known that life depends on life to the point where an absence is death.
We are fed upon just as much as we feed, even from something as small as a wooden stool.
A leather chair, still looking as fresh as the day it was tanned.
A fur rug that shimmers in the light and twitches when it thinks nobody is watching.
20151025
Day 538
The telephone rang loudly throughout the empty garage.
There were no obvious signs of life, rust coated the tools and vehicles long left to rot.
Still someone was trying to get through, someone who'd been waiting for years.
They sat on the other end of the line, phone dangling loosely in their weary hand.
So long now, so long since they dialled and so much longer since it all ended.
An entire nation gone, all but them in their home.
Each day was spent desperately trying to reach another human, another living one at least.
Ghosts clung to certain lines like leeches to fish, speaking in soft static and harsh screeches.
From time to time they gave up calling new numbers and redialled the older ones.
The company was nice, though they only said a few words at a time.
Mostly their last words, sad as it was at least they had other voices to hear besides their own.
Though there's only so many times you can hear someone beg for death before you want to join them.
There were no obvious signs of life, rust coated the tools and vehicles long left to rot.
Still someone was trying to get through, someone who'd been waiting for years.
They sat on the other end of the line, phone dangling loosely in their weary hand.
So long now, so long since they dialled and so much longer since it all ended.
An entire nation gone, all but them in their home.
Each day was spent desperately trying to reach another human, another living one at least.
Ghosts clung to certain lines like leeches to fish, speaking in soft static and harsh screeches.
From time to time they gave up calling new numbers and redialled the older ones.
The company was nice, though they only said a few words at a time.
Mostly their last words, sad as it was at least they had other voices to hear besides their own.
Though there's only so many times you can hear someone beg for death before you want to join them.
20151023
Day 537
Kister Road hadn't been the same since the river started flowing through it.
It used to run right by house 11 at the end of the street under the bridge connecting to the woods.
When the old dam was built the river dried up, exposing the ruins of an old village.
Just underneath the bridge they found the remnants of an old well with human remains deep inside.
Seems it had been a popular place to throw infants, judging by the size and shape of the bones.
They were exhumed to a nearby church but the damage had already been done.
Since then the dam lost the funding that kept it maintained, the river had begun its return.
The well was slowly filling up with water - residents claimed they saw children's faces inside.
They looked so happy down there, reaching out with pudgy hands to come with them.
Kister Road is almost empty now despite the massive drop in house prices there.
The river is flowing stronger than ever, the ruined village all but forgotten again.
A little signpost just before the bridge has a photo of the well on it captioned:
"Once full, always full"
It used to run right by house 11 at the end of the street under the bridge connecting to the woods.
When the old dam was built the river dried up, exposing the ruins of an old village.
Just underneath the bridge they found the remnants of an old well with human remains deep inside.
Seems it had been a popular place to throw infants, judging by the size and shape of the bones.
They were exhumed to a nearby church but the damage had already been done.
Since then the dam lost the funding that kept it maintained, the river had begun its return.
The well was slowly filling up with water - residents claimed they saw children's faces inside.
They looked so happy down there, reaching out with pudgy hands to come with them.
Kister Road is almost empty now despite the massive drop in house prices there.
The river is flowing stronger than ever, the ruined village all but forgotten again.
A little signpost just before the bridge has a photo of the well on it captioned:
"Once full, always full"
Day 536
There is a monster in my neighbour's house and it's just killed them all.
I've seen glimpses of it when I've been round there but it's never fully come out.
They all knew it was there and considered it a fourth family member.
It gave them small gifts like coins it found or shiny metal objects.
I remember one time it brought them an old tobacco tin that turned out to be worth hundreds.
They thought it was a lucky creature, their little shadow man.
It always struck me as creepy, with its head poking out of the dark randomly, eyes as big as fists.
Anna (who was their daughter, about my age too) used to talk to it and claimed it talked back.
She tried to get it to talk to me too but I always ran out of the room, afraid to hear what it said.
Eventually she stopped trying to get me to speak to it.
One day when I was in her room and Anna was downstairs getting a drink it appeared.
As usual it was in her wardrobe, head peeping around the open door and staring.
It spoke to me and said it wanted a drink too, said to come closer, reached out to me.
I freaked out and ran straight out of the house, never went back in again.
None of them could convince me to go back - I knew it wanted blood and they didn't believe me.
It's stacking what's left of their heads along the window opposite mine.
Anna's room.
Through the blood splattered glassI can see it just sitting there, watching me watch it.
I've already called the police but I don't know what to tell them.
I can only hope that it can't leave the house.
I've seen glimpses of it when I've been round there but it's never fully come out.
They all knew it was there and considered it a fourth family member.
It gave them small gifts like coins it found or shiny metal objects.
I remember one time it brought them an old tobacco tin that turned out to be worth hundreds.
They thought it was a lucky creature, their little shadow man.
It always struck me as creepy, with its head poking out of the dark randomly, eyes as big as fists.
Anna (who was their daughter, about my age too) used to talk to it and claimed it talked back.
She tried to get it to talk to me too but I always ran out of the room, afraid to hear what it said.
Eventually she stopped trying to get me to speak to it.
One day when I was in her room and Anna was downstairs getting a drink it appeared.
As usual it was in her wardrobe, head peeping around the open door and staring.
It spoke to me and said it wanted a drink too, said to come closer, reached out to me.
I freaked out and ran straight out of the house, never went back in again.
None of them could convince me to go back - I knew it wanted blood and they didn't believe me.
It's stacking what's left of their heads along the window opposite mine.
Anna's room.
Through the blood splattered glassI can see it just sitting there, watching me watch it.
I've already called the police but I don't know what to tell them.
I can only hope that it can't leave the house.
20151022
Day 535
Whole towns are missing, left frozen in time with half-done things around every corner.
Even the wildlife was gone right down to the insects.
Strange how it only struck small towns and villages, never the cities.
It was all over the news and I had been just as clueless as everywhere else.
Quite a few villagers were choosing to move out until the whole thing was resolved.
They would still go missing themselves whenever the rest of their home-town did.
It took several years but eventually us village-folk just accepted that some day we would vanish.
Being born in a smaller area went from being a curse to just being.
In the more isolated areas cults formed around the disappearances, calling it god's work.
Our town (Kittle-Upon-Brook) was fortunately not the latter.
Places like that were full of stranger things than vanishings, I'll say that much.
It's quite surprising how rituals can form in less than a decade and cement themselves so deeply.
Kittle wasn't like that though, we all tried to live as normally as we could.
The cloud of uncertainty and the promise that we would all vanish too still hung around like smog.
It affected some worse than others, driving them to drastic measures.
We all knew it would come but we never knew how, didn't even realise when it came until too late.
I was at the farmer's market when it came.
The music that played over the loudspeakers abruptly stopped, replaced by a familiar voice.
Everyone now agrees that we don't know who it was but we all feel like we do.
It was a different person for everyone - for me it was my uncle.
He said that there was a special event going on at Hilly Fields - just outside of the town.
We were all in such pleasant spirits (though perhaps not our own ) we followed mindlessly.
Nobody seemed to notice that the voice floated above us the whole way, encouraging yet stern.
It gave us an exact route which we took without complaint until we reached some kind of trap door.
Right where the gatepost for Hilly Fields usually is, there it sat instead.
I remember it being a deep grey, the hinges were coated in some kind of moss and smelt like lilacs.
The door opened as we approached and we walked down the moss-drenched stairs.
A few older people slipped, their bones cracking as they slid down.
We didn't move to help them, didn't even feel pity for them - haven't seen them since either.
We haven't seen much of anything since we came down here to this bunker-like room.
Nobody seems to mind it yet, honestly it's bearable.
There are benches where we rest and burgers come through a conveyer belt every day to feed us all.
All-in-all we agree that it was silly to worry I mean we're perfectly fine down here.
Sometimes someone tries to walk back up the stairs, we hear crunching and never see them again.
The food comes and we feel nothing but content.
All is well down here, don't miss us - we don't miss you.
Even the wildlife was gone right down to the insects.
Strange how it only struck small towns and villages, never the cities.
It was all over the news and I had been just as clueless as everywhere else.
Quite a few villagers were choosing to move out until the whole thing was resolved.
They would still go missing themselves whenever the rest of their home-town did.
It took several years but eventually us village-folk just accepted that some day we would vanish.
Being born in a smaller area went from being a curse to just being.
In the more isolated areas cults formed around the disappearances, calling it god's work.
Our town (Kittle-Upon-Brook) was fortunately not the latter.
Places like that were full of stranger things than vanishings, I'll say that much.
It's quite surprising how rituals can form in less than a decade and cement themselves so deeply.
Kittle wasn't like that though, we all tried to live as normally as we could.
The cloud of uncertainty and the promise that we would all vanish too still hung around like smog.
It affected some worse than others, driving them to drastic measures.
We all knew it would come but we never knew how, didn't even realise when it came until too late.
I was at the farmer's market when it came.
The music that played over the loudspeakers abruptly stopped, replaced by a familiar voice.
Everyone now agrees that we don't know who it was but we all feel like we do.
It was a different person for everyone - for me it was my uncle.
He said that there was a special event going on at Hilly Fields - just outside of the town.
We were all in such pleasant spirits (though perhaps not our own ) we followed mindlessly.
Nobody seemed to notice that the voice floated above us the whole way, encouraging yet stern.
It gave us an exact route which we took without complaint until we reached some kind of trap door.
Right where the gatepost for Hilly Fields usually is, there it sat instead.
I remember it being a deep grey, the hinges were coated in some kind of moss and smelt like lilacs.
The door opened as we approached and we walked down the moss-drenched stairs.
A few older people slipped, their bones cracking as they slid down.
We didn't move to help them, didn't even feel pity for them - haven't seen them since either.
We haven't seen much of anything since we came down here to this bunker-like room.
Nobody seems to mind it yet, honestly it's bearable.
There are benches where we rest and burgers come through a conveyer belt every day to feed us all.
All-in-all we agree that it was silly to worry I mean we're perfectly fine down here.
Sometimes someone tries to walk back up the stairs, we hear crunching and never see them again.
The food comes and we feel nothing but content.
All is well down here, don't miss us - we don't miss you.
20151020
Day 534
Today we are busy, all of us.
We are painting the grass green again.
Covering the singed and stained ground in new turf where the damage is too clear.
We are washing the bark of the old oak tree and applying moss to its bark to cover the red.
The ropes have been burnt and buried among dirt, hidden deep beneath fresh turf as well.
New logs have been places around the old oak tree to remind us of its significance.
We are expecting guests soon and we need to maintain normality.
It would not do for them to see bloodied grass or sinners corpses tied to the old oak tree.
Everything will look fine when they arrive and everything will resume when they go.
We are painting the grass green again.
Covering the singed and stained ground in new turf where the damage is too clear.
We are washing the bark of the old oak tree and applying moss to its bark to cover the red.
The ropes have been burnt and buried among dirt, hidden deep beneath fresh turf as well.
New logs have been places around the old oak tree to remind us of its significance.
We are expecting guests soon and we need to maintain normality.
It would not do for them to see bloodied grass or sinners corpses tied to the old oak tree.
Everything will look fine when they arrive and everything will resume when they go.
20151019
Day 533
The elevator was supposed to take you to safety, away from the perdition of the ground floor.
By the time you managed to reach it both doors had been torn clean off.
Still anything was better than everything you'd escaped from so far - it was your best bet.
After taking a quick glance around you to make sure they hadn't followed, you ducked inside.
None of the buttons were lit up but still you frantically pushed the eighth floor and hoped for the best.
The sounds of metallic scraping came from down the hallway indicating that they were closing in.
As it drew closer you began blindly hitting any and every floor you could.
Just as the tip of its blood drenched claws poked out from the connecting door the elevator pinged.
With a sharp jolt that sent you flying to the floor it began moving haltingly upwards.
As the first floor passed you saw the creature that had been chasing you all this time sprinting
towards you, its arms outstretched and leaving a trail of blood as it hurtled to meet you.
It made it halfway through the moving elevator, torso jamming the mechanism.
Despite being partially crushed it still reached out for you, gargling out your name as it bled out.
Its claws managed to slice clean through your ankles, sending you sprawling to the floor.
As the lift finally broke free from the blockage the creature's severed torso crawled towards you.
By the time you managed to reach it both doors had been torn clean off.
Still anything was better than everything you'd escaped from so far - it was your best bet.
After taking a quick glance around you to make sure they hadn't followed, you ducked inside.
None of the buttons were lit up but still you frantically pushed the eighth floor and hoped for the best.
The sounds of metallic scraping came from down the hallway indicating that they were closing in.
As it drew closer you began blindly hitting any and every floor you could.
Just as the tip of its blood drenched claws poked out from the connecting door the elevator pinged.
With a sharp jolt that sent you flying to the floor it began moving haltingly upwards.
As the first floor passed you saw the creature that had been chasing you all this time sprinting
towards you, its arms outstretched and leaving a trail of blood as it hurtled to meet you.
It made it halfway through the moving elevator, torso jamming the mechanism.
Despite being partially crushed it still reached out for you, gargling out your name as it bled out.
Its claws managed to slice clean through your ankles, sending you sprawling to the floor.
As the lift finally broke free from the blockage the creature's severed torso crawled towards you.
Day 532
The house wasn't wired wrong it just wasn't really wired.
He could clearly see what looked to be pulsating cables made of meat rather than metal.
When he cut one the house around him shrieked and it bled profusely.
He caught a glimpse of bone at the wire's core before if withdrew sharply into the panel.
The floor beneath him quivered with every step he took as he backed away from the wall entirely.
A loud groaning noise sounded from all around him, like the house was crying.
Slowly walking out of the front door he saw water streaming from the base of the windows.
He gently placed one hand against the porch railing and whispered an apology.
Before his eyes the water stopped and the groaning ceased too.
Stepping back inside he saw a large puddle of blood below the panel he'd examined.
Grabbing duct tape he gently shushes the wails that sprung up as he taped the severed wire.
When he was done he screwed the panel shut and listened as the house quietly sighed.
He could clearly see what looked to be pulsating cables made of meat rather than metal.
When he cut one the house around him shrieked and it bled profusely.
He caught a glimpse of bone at the wire's core before if withdrew sharply into the panel.
The floor beneath him quivered with every step he took as he backed away from the wall entirely.
A loud groaning noise sounded from all around him, like the house was crying.
Slowly walking out of the front door he saw water streaming from the base of the windows.
He gently placed one hand against the porch railing and whispered an apology.
Before his eyes the water stopped and the groaning ceased too.
Stepping back inside he saw a large puddle of blood below the panel he'd examined.
Grabbing duct tape he gently shushes the wails that sprung up as he taped the severed wire.
When he was done he screwed the panel shut and listened as the house quietly sighed.
20151018
Day 531
I joke and call it my heart murmur like it'll make the actual issue less worrisome.
It's not far off from the truth though.
According to the last ultrasound it can and does move with every pulse.
Not quite like my actual mouth but it's getting there.
Nobody's quite sure how it developed but there have been mentions of a parasitic twin.
Funny though, mum's scans only ever showed me.
It must have gone very early on.
Only started causing me problems last year.
I felt something wrong in my chest, you see.
A tight feeling around my heart like it was being squeezed in a hand.
I was right about it being squeezed but it wasn't a hand at all.
It was a mouth partially formed in the muscles between lung and heart.
Apparently I have particularly dense muscles there (again, the leftovers of the suspected twin).
It hasn't formed teeth yet but the biopsy came away with part of a full formed lip.
I suppose teeth are just a matter of time.
It can certainly grab my heart better now - if it grows teeth I'm done for.
It's not far off from the truth though.
According to the last ultrasound it can and does move with every pulse.
Not quite like my actual mouth but it's getting there.
Nobody's quite sure how it developed but there have been mentions of a parasitic twin.
Funny though, mum's scans only ever showed me.
It must have gone very early on.
Only started causing me problems last year.
I felt something wrong in my chest, you see.
A tight feeling around my heart like it was being squeezed in a hand.
I was right about it being squeezed but it wasn't a hand at all.
It was a mouth partially formed in the muscles between lung and heart.
Apparently I have particularly dense muscles there (again, the leftovers of the suspected twin).
It hasn't formed teeth yet but the biopsy came away with part of a full formed lip.
I suppose teeth are just a matter of time.
It can certainly grab my heart better now - if it grows teeth I'm done for.
20151016
Day 530
There is still so much we don't know about the ocean, so many layers we can't yet reach.
Tonight we look at one such layer known as the Hadalpelagic zone.
Utterly untouched by human hand and barely imaginable it sits at around 11,000 meters down.
Exerting eight tons of pressure per square inch it is entirely uninhabitable to humankind.
But it is not uninhabited itself.
Their bodies like seaweed stretched too long over a frame of wire-line bones.
Teeth as large as a forearm and sharp like freshly cut steel had been found embedded in squid before
but none had ever found the creature they belonged to.
Until one washed up on a beach, bloated, grotesque and very much alive.
Its gaze roamed lazily about, digesting its surroundings with disinterest.
It had been on land before, admittedly before any of these bipedal things but it still remembered.
Walking would be difficult, the air was harder to breath now.
The bones in its fins protruded past the webbing enough for it to move for a short while.
Not enough to move too far from the sea but enough for it to hunt and feast.
With such an abundance of meat around it, it may never go back.
Or... it might go back.
Keeping such feasting to itself was inconsiderate and its kin hadn't seen so much meat for too long.
And so it lay there, still as death among the small creatures poking it curiously.
Waiting for them to come closer to its head.
All the while its tail beat deep below the ocean surface, signalling the others.
Deep, deep down, deeper than humans could ever hope to explore they slept.
Still as dead as they appeared they all rose slowly to the faint pulses sent by their kin.
Covered in the ashes of decades that had sunken to the depths with them they swam like clouds
constantly trailing the rotting debris behind them as they headed for land.
Just like the first they washed up like corpses and waited for us to come closer.
It is unknown how many of them remain down there,nesting for the next signal to come.
The massacre that occurred when the reached our beaches will never be forgotten.
The remains of those killed are still being discovered, almost forty years later.
Our sands are mostly bone fragments now, white as snow and sharp enough to cut through rubber.
People still visit them though they never last for long, their blood staining the ground crimson.
Deep, deep down, deeper than humans could ever hope to explore they slept.
Still as dead as they appeared they all rose slowly to the faint pulses sent by their kin.
Covered in the ashes of decades that had sunken to the depths with them they swam like clouds
constantly trailing the rotting debris behind them as they headed for land.
Just like the first they washed up like corpses and waited for us to come closer.
It is unknown how many of them remain down there,nesting for the next signal to come.
The massacre that occurred when the reached our beaches will never be forgotten.
The remains of those killed are still being discovered, almost forty years later.
Our sands are mostly bone fragments now, white as snow and sharp enough to cut through rubber.
People still visit them though they never last for long, their blood staining the ground crimson.
Day 529
The hospital I work at is forever ordering new ambulances as well as borrowing from other areas.
Nobody really bats an eyelid over it but there have been a few whispered tales in the breakroom.
The ambulances are always on call, always fetching emergency patients and never returning.
It was the norm until one returned only to be hidden away by steel construction fencing.
I made the mistake of getting too curious and heading in through the old department exit.
When it arrived I hadn't managed to get a decent look at it but I knew it wasn't our normal design.
As I stood in front of it I took multiple photos with my phone, aiming to search for a matching one.
Honestly it looked more like an army truck with a red cross sticker on it.
I was going to head back the way I came but I noticed the rear doors were wide open.
Yes it was a bad idea but in my defence I was concerned about someone stealing hospital property.
I certainly didn't expect to find a patient still inside, much less conjoined twins.
The look on their face was somewhere between fear and relief.
They spoke so softly, recognising me as a nurse and asking when they were going to be seen.
I asked for their names and they said they'd never been given one.
They didn't even have a name for each other, they just knew who they were addressing.
I saw they were hooked up to some kind of heart monitor.
They asked for it to be turned off, said they were tired and it kept them awake.
How was I supposed to know otherwise when there were no notes with them?
I'll never forget the sound they made as I turned the machine off, that gurgling sigh.
In the following silence I ran back to the breakroom and never spoke of what I had done.
After that I vowed to get into the next ambulance I saw and see where they were heading too.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into but at my next shift the on-call paramedics went off
with me waiting in the back, gazing out the windows as we left the city altogether.
It had taken a lot of bribery to get the two to agree with this but it was worth it to find out.
They eventually went through a long tunnel, under railway tracks.
The paramedics had stopped talking as soon as we reached the other side so I joined them in silence.
As I looked outside everything seemed to have a different tone, everything was tinged green.
Even the people had the hue, dressed from another century and all carrying large cloth sacks.
Our ambulance pulled up outside a school, one of the medics opened the back and led me inside.
There we all changed into different uniforms and headed to a gymnasium full of dying children.
All of them were conjoined to one or more siblings and all had been born that way.
Our mission is to separate them and restore this world to mirror our own, whether it's wanted or not.
Nobody really bats an eyelid over it but there have been a few whispered tales in the breakroom.
The ambulances are always on call, always fetching emergency patients and never returning.
It was the norm until one returned only to be hidden away by steel construction fencing.
I made the mistake of getting too curious and heading in through the old department exit.
When it arrived I hadn't managed to get a decent look at it but I knew it wasn't our normal design.
As I stood in front of it I took multiple photos with my phone, aiming to search for a matching one.
Honestly it looked more like an army truck with a red cross sticker on it.
I was going to head back the way I came but I noticed the rear doors were wide open.
Yes it was a bad idea but in my defence I was concerned about someone stealing hospital property.
I certainly didn't expect to find a patient still inside, much less conjoined twins.
The look on their face was somewhere between fear and relief.
They spoke so softly, recognising me as a nurse and asking when they were going to be seen.
I asked for their names and they said they'd never been given one.
They didn't even have a name for each other, they just knew who they were addressing.
I saw they were hooked up to some kind of heart monitor.
They asked for it to be turned off, said they were tired and it kept them awake.
How was I supposed to know otherwise when there were no notes with them?
I'll never forget the sound they made as I turned the machine off, that gurgling sigh.
In the following silence I ran back to the breakroom and never spoke of what I had done.
After that I vowed to get into the next ambulance I saw and see where they were heading too.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into but at my next shift the on-call paramedics went off
with me waiting in the back, gazing out the windows as we left the city altogether.
It had taken a lot of bribery to get the two to agree with this but it was worth it to find out.
They eventually went through a long tunnel, under railway tracks.
The paramedics had stopped talking as soon as we reached the other side so I joined them in silence.
As I looked outside everything seemed to have a different tone, everything was tinged green.
Even the people had the hue, dressed from another century and all carrying large cloth sacks.
Our ambulance pulled up outside a school, one of the medics opened the back and led me inside.
There we all changed into different uniforms and headed to a gymnasium full of dying children.
All of them were conjoined to one or more siblings and all had been born that way.
Our mission is to separate them and restore this world to mirror our own, whether it's wanted or not.
20151015
Day 528
Their new house had an old fireplace.
It was one of those tudor ones, original fronting and minimal structure change.
The renovations must have cost the former owners a fortune but they sold it so cheaply.
How could anyone say no to such a great deal?
The problems behind the house weren't obvious at first, they crept in.
Literally.
Tiny black footprints appeared on the white wooden floors overnight.
Sometimes just two standing beside the fireplace, other times they lead to the back door.
And then there was a voice that whispered to anyone who stayed in the living room after dark.
It asked for the fire to be put out though the only thing in the fireplace was a vase of plastic flowers.
As far as the new owners were concerned it was a quirk, nothing too serious.
Only a little quick steam-clean on the floors, some loud music and it was basically gone.
Then it began to spread.
The little voice followed them around if they weren't in the master bedroom at night.
Always asking for the damn fire to be put out.
Until last night when it said that it was too warm behind the wall and wanted to come out now.
From that night onwards the voice grew louder, came out longer and made footprints that left stains.
It almost yelled now though it sounded muffled like it was talking through a wall.
There was no record of who had lived there before the renovations, it had just been left to rot.
The former owner was of no help - turns out he hadn't been seen since the week after they moved in.
Unsure if it was coincidence or unfortunate circumstance the new owners continued to search.
Nothing was found at first, there was simply no information from that particular area.
As a last resort they sat down in the living room at night, let the lights flicker off and waited.
They didn't have to wait long before the voice came to them saying how warm it was behind the wall.
They asked it what had happened and it stopped mid sentence.
Very quietly, as quiet as it had been the first night they heard it, the voice finally told its story.
A house full of life, too full of life, a sickness spread like fire in a summer forest.
Superstition asking for sacrifice to keep the house strong a fireplace built with the freshest life inside.
The voice had been alive behind the wall for weeks, drinking rainwater that fell through the bricks.
It had cried out every day to be freed and was met by either silence or anger.
The living didn't want to be reminded.
And so the "dead" continued to cry out until they could cry no more.
Until they woke up and found themself able to move beyond the fireplace, out into their home.
They thought they were free until they looked back at the wall and saw their remains.
Now all they asked was to be let out and the new owners went to think.
their decision is unknown but it's believed that they kept the wall intact for good luck.
It was one of those tudor ones, original fronting and minimal structure change.
The renovations must have cost the former owners a fortune but they sold it so cheaply.
How could anyone say no to such a great deal?
The problems behind the house weren't obvious at first, they crept in.
Literally.
Tiny black footprints appeared on the white wooden floors overnight.
Sometimes just two standing beside the fireplace, other times they lead to the back door.
And then there was a voice that whispered to anyone who stayed in the living room after dark.
It asked for the fire to be put out though the only thing in the fireplace was a vase of plastic flowers.
As far as the new owners were concerned it was a quirk, nothing too serious.
Only a little quick steam-clean on the floors, some loud music and it was basically gone.
Then it began to spread.
The little voice followed them around if they weren't in the master bedroom at night.
Always asking for the damn fire to be put out.
Until last night when it said that it was too warm behind the wall and wanted to come out now.
From that night onwards the voice grew louder, came out longer and made footprints that left stains.
It almost yelled now though it sounded muffled like it was talking through a wall.
There was no record of who had lived there before the renovations, it had just been left to rot.
The former owner was of no help - turns out he hadn't been seen since the week after they moved in.
Unsure if it was coincidence or unfortunate circumstance the new owners continued to search.
Nothing was found at first, there was simply no information from that particular area.
As a last resort they sat down in the living room at night, let the lights flicker off and waited.
They didn't have to wait long before the voice came to them saying how warm it was behind the wall.
They asked it what had happened and it stopped mid sentence.
Very quietly, as quiet as it had been the first night they heard it, the voice finally told its story.
A house full of life, too full of life, a sickness spread like fire in a summer forest.
Superstition asking for sacrifice to keep the house strong a fireplace built with the freshest life inside.
The voice had been alive behind the wall for weeks, drinking rainwater that fell through the bricks.
It had cried out every day to be freed and was met by either silence or anger.
The living didn't want to be reminded.
And so the "dead" continued to cry out until they could cry no more.
Until they woke up and found themself able to move beyond the fireplace, out into their home.
They thought they were free until they looked back at the wall and saw their remains.
Now all they asked was to be let out and the new owners went to think.
their decision is unknown but it's believed that they kept the wall intact for good luck.
20151014
Day 527
As he slept he thought himself alone.
The doors were locked, windows barred and all potential weapons were laid out around the mattress.
He slept soundly for a good four hours as the doors slowly unlocked themselves.
He slept soundly until the door he slept behind clicked itself open.
Rolling over he squinted at the vague shape standing inside the door-frame before bolting upright.
He grabbed the nearest potential weapon - a hastily sharpened chair leg - and braced himself.
The figure by the door remained hazy, like looking through the bottom of a glass.
It swayed gently, moved back into the hallway and gently closed the door behind itself.
He stood stock-still for a few moments more before curiosity got the better of him and he went out.
His uncle used to call those shapes Smoke-Snares and tried to shoot one once.
It didn't end well.
What was left of him was found draped about his room like grotesque bunting.
Still he followed this Smoke-Snare back out into the house, thinking himself alone but for it.
Thinking himself still safe but for it and forgetting what "snare" had originally meant.
He heard the house's front door click, either open or closed, he couldn't see from upstairs.
Too busy padding down to the new noise, he never checked the rest of the upper doors.
All were slightly ajar with painfully slim fingers poking around the edges.
All opened further with each descending step he took until he took no more.
The doors were locked, windows barred and all potential weapons were laid out around the mattress.
He slept soundly for a good four hours as the doors slowly unlocked themselves.
He slept soundly until the door he slept behind clicked itself open.
Rolling over he squinted at the vague shape standing inside the door-frame before bolting upright.
He grabbed the nearest potential weapon - a hastily sharpened chair leg - and braced himself.
The figure by the door remained hazy, like looking through the bottom of a glass.
It swayed gently, moved back into the hallway and gently closed the door behind itself.
He stood stock-still for a few moments more before curiosity got the better of him and he went out.
His uncle used to call those shapes Smoke-Snares and tried to shoot one once.
It didn't end well.
What was left of him was found draped about his room like grotesque bunting.
Still he followed this Smoke-Snare back out into the house, thinking himself alone but for it.
Thinking himself still safe but for it and forgetting what "snare" had originally meant.
He heard the house's front door click, either open or closed, he couldn't see from upstairs.
Too busy padding down to the new noise, he never checked the rest of the upper doors.
All were slightly ajar with painfully slim fingers poking around the edges.
All opened further with each descending step he took until he took no more.
20151012
Day 526
My childhood dog came back to me last night.
The one my parents said had been stolen from our back yard.
He'd clearly been hit by a car at some point, his sides bore the tyre marks.
Still he looked as happy to see me as he always did.
The rotten stump of his tail flicked from side-to-side and he panted through his gaping jaw.
Most of his fur had fallen off but he was still my dog, my best friend.
I used to hide him whenever someone came around but it didn't last.
He smelt as bad as you'd expect from a rotting animal.
I tried to remove the rest of his flesh and fur by submerging him in vinegar but it didn't work.
A visiting friend found him in there and called the cops for "animal cruelty".
They don't believe that he's still alive, they say I killed him.
He's still out there though, waiting outside my front door just as happy as he was last time I saw him.
The one my parents said had been stolen from our back yard.
He'd clearly been hit by a car at some point, his sides bore the tyre marks.
Still he looked as happy to see me as he always did.
The rotten stump of his tail flicked from side-to-side and he panted through his gaping jaw.
Most of his fur had fallen off but he was still my dog, my best friend.
I used to hide him whenever someone came around but it didn't last.
He smelt as bad as you'd expect from a rotting animal.
I tried to remove the rest of his flesh and fur by submerging him in vinegar but it didn't work.
A visiting friend found him in there and called the cops for "animal cruelty".
They don't believe that he's still alive, they say I killed him.
He's still out there though, waiting outside my front door just as happy as he was last time I saw him.
20151011
Day 525
It was the kind of mould that clung to your every breath and was damned impossible to kill off.
Her grandmother's house had been coated in it.
The place she remembered clearest though was the downstairs bathroom.
Well, the basement en-suite rather but granny always called it downstairs instead.
She thought it would make us happier to stay there the night but it never did.
Not with the rate the mould grew.
Granny never went to the basement as her knees were too old.
Her parents never went down there either, refused to "pander" to their"overactive imaginations".
These were in the days when giving kids cheap cameras was unheard of.
Even disposable cameras were strictly a holiday treat so they never managed to document its growth.
Each time they visited for long weekends the mould stain was bigger than last time.
The first time the siblings were both old enough to go away by themselves was when it all changed.
They'd been planning it since childhood, since the mould first began to grow.
Instead of spending their nights anxiously watching the en-suite door for movement they'd stay home.
Their back-up plan was a friend's place in the next town which was where they ended up.
It left their parents visiting granny alone for the first time since before the siblings were born.
Their trip marked the last time both parents and grandparent were seen alive.
The siblings received a call from the hospital nearest to granny's house.
By the time they arrived their parents were comatose and granny was dead.
The hospital called it some kind of hyper-aggressive cancer and refused to let the sibling inside.
When they eventually did it took them a fair while to recognise the people who'd raised them.
Their skin was several shades paler than usual with bulbous black lumps practically bursting through,
They heard the nurses mutter that granny was far worse - no skin in sight.
When they took the road home past granny's house they saw the garden full of black mushrooms.
Her grandmother's house had been coated in it.
The place she remembered clearest though was the downstairs bathroom.
Well, the basement en-suite rather but granny always called it downstairs instead.
She thought it would make us happier to stay there the night but it never did.
Not with the rate the mould grew.
Granny never went to the basement as her knees were too old.
Her parents never went down there either, refused to "pander" to their"overactive imaginations".
These were in the days when giving kids cheap cameras was unheard of.
Even disposable cameras were strictly a holiday treat so they never managed to document its growth.
Each time they visited for long weekends the mould stain was bigger than last time.
The first time the siblings were both old enough to go away by themselves was when it all changed.
They'd been planning it since childhood, since the mould first began to grow.
Instead of spending their nights anxiously watching the en-suite door for movement they'd stay home.
Their back-up plan was a friend's place in the next town which was where they ended up.
It left their parents visiting granny alone for the first time since before the siblings were born.
Their trip marked the last time both parents and grandparent were seen alive.
The siblings received a call from the hospital nearest to granny's house.
By the time they arrived their parents were comatose and granny was dead.
The hospital called it some kind of hyper-aggressive cancer and refused to let the sibling inside.
When they eventually did it took them a fair while to recognise the people who'd raised them.
Their skin was several shades paler than usual with bulbous black lumps practically bursting through,
They heard the nurses mutter that granny was far worse - no skin in sight.
When they took the road home past granny's house they saw the garden full of black mushrooms.
Day 524
The patient moved in a way that humans shouldn't.
She'd been brought in from a six car pile-up, limbs absolutely shattered.
Pronounced dead on arrival and dropped off at the morgue for a proper autopsy.
And now she's up and about, or as much as she can be at least.
Every inch of her broken body cracks as the bone shards grind together.
She observes her surroundings as the morgue attendants cower behind their desks.
One makes a dart for the door and before he can so much as touch the handle she is upon him.
The sharp splinters of her limbs puncture his skin and he shrieks as she snaps his neck.
Glancing around once more she seems to return to her previous observations.
She crawled away from the newly made corpse and headed slowly towards the morgue drawers.
These housed the morgue's residents, carefully packed, sealed and waiting to be picked up.
Reaching for the lowest one, she curled her mangled arm around the handle and opened it.
She did so with every occupied drawer and when she was done she stepped back and waited.
The rest of the morgue staff had left as she was distracted, leaving their colleague's body behind.
They locked the door behind them and ran to security, praying she wouldn't notice anything.
Judging by the screeching and clawing against the metal door their prayers had gone unheard.
Not knowing how long the door would hold they fled as fast as they could.
They shoved each other into walls, taking the corridors as a slalom in order to escape the fastest.
It never occurred to them that she was heading not for them, but for the power room.
The rest of the hospital remained utterly unaware as all the doors sealed them into their new tomb.
She'd been brought in from a six car pile-up, limbs absolutely shattered.
Pronounced dead on arrival and dropped off at the morgue for a proper autopsy.
And now she's up and about, or as much as she can be at least.
Every inch of her broken body cracks as the bone shards grind together.
She observes her surroundings as the morgue attendants cower behind their desks.
One makes a dart for the door and before he can so much as touch the handle she is upon him.
The sharp splinters of her limbs puncture his skin and he shrieks as she snaps his neck.
Glancing around once more she seems to return to her previous observations.
She crawled away from the newly made corpse and headed slowly towards the morgue drawers.
These housed the morgue's residents, carefully packed, sealed and waiting to be picked up.
Reaching for the lowest one, she curled her mangled arm around the handle and opened it.
She did so with every occupied drawer and when she was done she stepped back and waited.
The rest of the morgue staff had left as she was distracted, leaving their colleague's body behind.
They locked the door behind them and ran to security, praying she wouldn't notice anything.
Judging by the screeching and clawing against the metal door their prayers had gone unheard.
Not knowing how long the door would hold they fled as fast as they could.
They shoved each other into walls, taking the corridors as a slalom in order to escape the fastest.
It never occurred to them that she was heading not for them, but for the power room.
The rest of the hospital remained utterly unaware as all the doors sealed them into their new tomb.
20151009
Day 523
Their candles flickered as they hung dangerously close to the water, praying that their movements wouldn't cause the small lights to die out.
The dark fins swarming all around them were only kept at bay by the flames they held precariously in their hands, in their mouths and balanced on their heads if possible.
They didn't like the lights you see, hated the warmth they brought just like they loathed the sun itself.
Sunlight makes them retreat down to the trenches they've dug in the midst of the lake, right towards the small island's edges and probably right underneath.
Candles will do in a pinch but torches are preferred, the brighter and bigger the better.
In this case they used candles on small iron holders specifically for a coming of age ritual.
Make it to the island and back after sunset as intact as possible though nobody had ever come back completely unharmed, most had scratches or missing toes.
For some reason the swimming folk rarely killed, only wounded enough to slow the young people down enough that they could raise their bulbous heads above the water and whisper to them.
You never forget their faces, not once you've heard them speak, not once you've seen them smile.
I remember the one that just floated in front of me, bit off three of my toes and blocked my path to the large wooden beams that we used for halfway points all along the lake.
It just bobbed there, face inches away from me, silent.
That was unusual for them, they loved to torment whoever came into their turf by describing how they'd kill and eat their loved ones, how they'd tunnelled under our village and were waiting.
Or worse - that they'd already struck, waving freshly cut toes and fingers, old bones or whatever human body parts they had with them at the time.
My one never said a word, didn't even smile, it just stared right at me.
I took a risk with it - it was the only way to get to warmth and safety - I lashed out at it with my candles and caught it right in the eye.
Then it made noise, shrieked like the devil himself and caused all the others to go into a frenzy the likes of which had never been seen before or since.
We lost eight young folk that night - the most we'd lost in one go in all our history.
Everyone assured me I'd done what was natural at the time but I felt their anger at my back every damn day since and I hardly blamed them, I blamed myself too.
Between their silent hate and the swimming folk's noisy patrols (they'd started hissing and jumping out at anyone near the lake since that night, snatching the odd child too), I chose the lesser pain.
Now you choose young'un, choose like I did.
You can't get past me, can't even hope to outswim me or my kin so choose.
Choose who dies - you or everyone else?
20151008
Day 522
A letter came to you from your estranged father, said he needed to talk to you desperately.
It gave you his address and a time, expecting you to go there.
Your only question was whose sick joke this was.
Bastard died eight years ago yet this was dated to three days earlier.
Out of anger you went along to the appointment, just to get at whoever set up this nonsense.
Probably some PPI bollocks or another relative trying to get the "money" he left behind.
You'd made it public knowledge that the old sod had died face down in a gutter.
Drunk his cash away in some city you'd never heard of.
As you approached the bus shelter in the middle of a B-road in the middle of some fields you
mentally prepared to yell at whichever relation or lawyer or whatever had done this.
But perhaps it was just the fresh grief talking.
You hoped you wouldn't have to wait for long.
The road was absolutely desolate apart from your car, nothing but fields for miles around.
According to your phone your "dad" was running late.
You were about to give up entirely after waiting for well over an hour until you heard movement.
Distinct shuffling noises were coming from behind you, within the barley fields.
You sat utterly still and waited, hoping and dreading it actually being your father.
A figure wearing his favourite sweatshirt sat down heavily next to you on the small wooden bench.
Their face was turned away from you but you still recognised the silhouette.
His face was as gaunt as it had been the day you identified him in the morgue.
A lot about him reminded you of that day.
You'd buried him in that same sweatshirt with that same bloodstain on the left sleeve.
Couldn't afford any new clothing as well as a funeral and he had nothing else either.
You had just enough for a burial plot and basic headstone, not even a coffin.
He wasn't coated in dirt - at least his clothes weren't - though his hands were caked in it.
Looked like his fingertips were torn off too.
He had yet to say a word, just reached out slowly and held your hand in silence.
Never even looked at you, just sat there with you until the sun went down.
You must have dozed off at some point, when you looked around for him you were alone again.
All he left behind was dirt on your hand and a faint earthy smell mixed with his favourite beer.
As you got back in your car, still somewhat in a daze you saw a letter on your windshield.
All it said, in his same sprawling writing was thank you.
It gave you his address and a time, expecting you to go there.
Your only question was whose sick joke this was.
Bastard died eight years ago yet this was dated to three days earlier.
Out of anger you went along to the appointment, just to get at whoever set up this nonsense.
Probably some PPI bollocks or another relative trying to get the "money" he left behind.
You'd made it public knowledge that the old sod had died face down in a gutter.
Drunk his cash away in some city you'd never heard of.
As you approached the bus shelter in the middle of a B-road in the middle of some fields you
mentally prepared to yell at whichever relation or lawyer or whatever had done this.
But perhaps it was just the fresh grief talking.
You hoped you wouldn't have to wait for long.
The road was absolutely desolate apart from your car, nothing but fields for miles around.
According to your phone your "dad" was running late.
You were about to give up entirely after waiting for well over an hour until you heard movement.
Distinct shuffling noises were coming from behind you, within the barley fields.
You sat utterly still and waited, hoping and dreading it actually being your father.
A figure wearing his favourite sweatshirt sat down heavily next to you on the small wooden bench.
Their face was turned away from you but you still recognised the silhouette.
His face was as gaunt as it had been the day you identified him in the morgue.
A lot about him reminded you of that day.
You'd buried him in that same sweatshirt with that same bloodstain on the left sleeve.
Couldn't afford any new clothing as well as a funeral and he had nothing else either.
You had just enough for a burial plot and basic headstone, not even a coffin.
He wasn't coated in dirt - at least his clothes weren't - though his hands were caked in it.
Looked like his fingertips were torn off too.
He had yet to say a word, just reached out slowly and held your hand in silence.
Never even looked at you, just sat there with you until the sun went down.
You must have dozed off at some point, when you looked around for him you were alone again.
All he left behind was dirt on your hand and a faint earthy smell mixed with his favourite beer.
As you got back in your car, still somewhat in a daze you saw a letter on your windshield.
All it said, in his same sprawling writing was thank you.
Day 521
The sirens outside your house had stopped after blaring away for over twenty minutes.
Peering through the curtains of your flat you saw that the ambulance had been left wide open.
The figures hunched around the accident nearby were just swaying.
Something was slowly slinking over to them, someone wearing an old plague doctor's mask?
It glanced around, head tilting unnaturally like an owl's.
As its head rotated to face your window you saw that it wasn't wearing a mask at all.
Its face was something like a crow's but its eyes were so much larger, so human.
After a few tense moments of eye contact it turned away and began to creep towards the accident.
It joined the swaying figures and sat crouching down beside them, beak opening and closing rapidly.
You felt curious and snuck out of your flat to investigate, moving quietly towards the front door.
Peeping through the letterbox you heard what sounded like a "phone busy" tone.
It was shockingly loud, echoing throughout the silent street.
Slowly opening the door you began to move even closer to the scene, sticking to the shadows.
All the while your eyes were fixed on the strange creature and its rapidly moving beak.
Just as you reached the nearest paramedic its head turned toward you sharply with a sickening crack.
It didn't seem to be able to see you though, as you waved your hands at it, just hear you.
It hadn't stopped muttering the whole time, now you began to make out what it was saying.
A conversation between two people on the phone.
One was complaining of a bad signal and how late they were getting home.
The other begged them to just get back safely, they'd been having bad dreams about this night.
One voice reassured them, saying the roads were dead but there were loads of crows around.
The other wailed on about their dream and all the crows it contained.
They argued and were distracted long enough for the one to crash into a lamppost.
You glanced left and saw his body half loaded onto the stretcher, phone still in hand.
Dead man's grip, you thought, they'll never get that out of his hands now.
The "busy" tone was still emanating from it loudly as someone called Monica tried to call in.
Something fluttered beside you and as you turned right the creature was inches from you.
Its hand slowly reached for the phone, dragging the corpse alongside it.
You both stood up slowly, exactly at the same time.
It began walking backwards, trailing the corpse beside it as was joined by hundreds of crows.
The shadows all around you rippled with them as they swarmed the body.
You could only watch as they lifted it into the air and away, phone ringing on all the way.
Peering through the curtains of your flat you saw that the ambulance had been left wide open.
The figures hunched around the accident nearby were just swaying.
Something was slowly slinking over to them, someone wearing an old plague doctor's mask?
It glanced around, head tilting unnaturally like an owl's.
As its head rotated to face your window you saw that it wasn't wearing a mask at all.
Its face was something like a crow's but its eyes were so much larger, so human.
After a few tense moments of eye contact it turned away and began to creep towards the accident.
It joined the swaying figures and sat crouching down beside them, beak opening and closing rapidly.
You felt curious and snuck out of your flat to investigate, moving quietly towards the front door.
Peeping through the letterbox you heard what sounded like a "phone busy" tone.
It was shockingly loud, echoing throughout the silent street.
Slowly opening the door you began to move even closer to the scene, sticking to the shadows.
All the while your eyes were fixed on the strange creature and its rapidly moving beak.
Just as you reached the nearest paramedic its head turned toward you sharply with a sickening crack.
It didn't seem to be able to see you though, as you waved your hands at it, just hear you.
It hadn't stopped muttering the whole time, now you began to make out what it was saying.
A conversation between two people on the phone.
One was complaining of a bad signal and how late they were getting home.
The other begged them to just get back safely, they'd been having bad dreams about this night.
One voice reassured them, saying the roads were dead but there were loads of crows around.
The other wailed on about their dream and all the crows it contained.
They argued and were distracted long enough for the one to crash into a lamppost.
You glanced left and saw his body half loaded onto the stretcher, phone still in hand.
Dead man's grip, you thought, they'll never get that out of his hands now.
The "busy" tone was still emanating from it loudly as someone called Monica tried to call in.
Something fluttered beside you and as you turned right the creature was inches from you.
Its hand slowly reached for the phone, dragging the corpse alongside it.
You both stood up slowly, exactly at the same time.
It began walking backwards, trailing the corpse beside it as was joined by hundreds of crows.
The shadows all around you rippled with them as they swarmed the body.
You could only watch as they lifted it into the air and away, phone ringing on all the way.
20151006
Day 520
The public baths were mainly used by tourists.
Us locals worked there, nothing more.
The water in our area has a certain effect on us, you see.
Makes us see what's really there, what people try to keep deep down.
They can't keep it from us though.
We see their pallid bloated forms drifting around from pool to pool.
Their skin wrinkled and sagging from all the water seeping into them, yet they are hollow.
When they fall over we've seen them crack like chocolate eggs.
It's not so bad for us to see in the lighter areas, where they just shine like glow-worms.
The ones that move to the darker pools are the worst.
The layout we've been gradually building is meant to deter them but it never does.
Starting with the well lit main pool to the shadier mini-pools all surrounded by high walls
that are decorated to resemble tall houses - even with fake rooms behind the tinted glass.
Not even the constant pleasant music and local cuisine on demand is enough for them.
They have to stray deeper inside where they don't come out.
My dad says some of them have been inside for years forgetting how to be human.
They just float and wade around the dimly lit pools, wallowing in their own filth.
We can't reason with them - we've tried and they can't understand us.
They just look back with their dark, vacant eyes and bulbous face so blank and unfeeling.
The most they let us do when they get like that is remove the dead bodies they become.
Yes, they remain there until they die, their distorted corpses blocking the water pumps.
One new person tried to unclog a fairly empty indoor pool only to find half a head.
We never saw him again, still not sure where he went but I swear one of them has his eyes.
Some fear that if we ever touch the water we'll become like them but I reckon we won't.
We won't because we were born them.
Us locals worked there, nothing more.
The water in our area has a certain effect on us, you see.
Makes us see what's really there, what people try to keep deep down.
They can't keep it from us though.
We see their pallid bloated forms drifting around from pool to pool.
Their skin wrinkled and sagging from all the water seeping into them, yet they are hollow.
When they fall over we've seen them crack like chocolate eggs.
It's not so bad for us to see in the lighter areas, where they just shine like glow-worms.
The ones that move to the darker pools are the worst.
The layout we've been gradually building is meant to deter them but it never does.
Starting with the well lit main pool to the shadier mini-pools all surrounded by high walls
that are decorated to resemble tall houses - even with fake rooms behind the tinted glass.
Not even the constant pleasant music and local cuisine on demand is enough for them.
They have to stray deeper inside where they don't come out.
My dad says some of them have been inside for years forgetting how to be human.
They just float and wade around the dimly lit pools, wallowing in their own filth.
We can't reason with them - we've tried and they can't understand us.
They just look back with their dark, vacant eyes and bulbous face so blank and unfeeling.
The most they let us do when they get like that is remove the dead bodies they become.
Yes, they remain there until they die, their distorted corpses blocking the water pumps.
One new person tried to unclog a fairly empty indoor pool only to find half a head.
We never saw him again, still not sure where he went but I swear one of them has his eyes.
Some fear that if we ever touch the water we'll become like them but I reckon we won't.
We won't because we were born them.
20151005
Day 519
The break room had been left as it was for the past seventy years yet still looked as fresh as it had the day they all died. Papers sat neatly stacked waiting for the meetings that never happened, half drunk cups of coffee were scattered about work desks like a careless child's toys.
Amidst this frozen normality lay what remained of the workers, clothes fused to the ground by a mix of dried blood and pus that looked startlingly fresh. Partially congealed, it was a stark reminder of the disease that had wiped out most if the isolated town. Its sickly sweet smell permeated the entire office block, sinking into the ground and coating everything inside with sticky yellow residue
Few lived through the plague and none remained within the town after. Most of the survivors were herded up the second the disease showed signs of recession and none have been seen since. It is thought that they are still infected, kept alive in an attempt to cure the incurable but only succeeding in prolonging the inevitable.
Smaller outbreaks of this sickness have occurred since within similar isolated communities, often ones that had societal connections to Area Zero, as the town was now known. The only difference between these cases and the first is that there were no deaths as such. However the townsfolk remain in an... altered state for the foreseeable future.
Their skin is full of cracks and their clothing fused to them - right to the very core. In all cases it seems to be that they are held together by pus and some kind of weblike material somehow spun from within the infected body. Tests show it to be made from bone yet it remains as flexible as human hair, twice as durable and in a constant state of growth. Infected report no pain from this.
Alongside the physical, mental alterations have been found as well. The brains within the original infected seems to have grown and shifted so that the tissue extends all along the spinal column in a thick, ropey chord so densely coated with the bone-webbing that getting a sample is impossible.
The infected patients seem happy though, reporting elevated levels of self satisfaction and positive body image. Only some of the younger ones are more able to vocalise this as the throat is often distended by the thickening and expansion of the brain tissue which renders speech unintelligible.
They all report feeling stronger despite their muscles being shredded by the bone-web and pus combination. One particular case (here to be known as patient 4692) insisted that they hadn't been changed in any way by the illness. 4692 claimed that they had been born like this alongside all the others and that the disease was just "a step up the evolutionary ladder".
Amidst this frozen normality lay what remained of the workers, clothes fused to the ground by a mix of dried blood and pus that looked startlingly fresh. Partially congealed, it was a stark reminder of the disease that had wiped out most if the isolated town. Its sickly sweet smell permeated the entire office block, sinking into the ground and coating everything inside with sticky yellow residue
Few lived through the plague and none remained within the town after. Most of the survivors were herded up the second the disease showed signs of recession and none have been seen since. It is thought that they are still infected, kept alive in an attempt to cure the incurable but only succeeding in prolonging the inevitable.
Smaller outbreaks of this sickness have occurred since within similar isolated communities, often ones that had societal connections to Area Zero, as the town was now known. The only difference between these cases and the first is that there were no deaths as such. However the townsfolk remain in an... altered state for the foreseeable future.
Their skin is full of cracks and their clothing fused to them - right to the very core. In all cases it seems to be that they are held together by pus and some kind of weblike material somehow spun from within the infected body. Tests show it to be made from bone yet it remains as flexible as human hair, twice as durable and in a constant state of growth. Infected report no pain from this.
Alongside the physical, mental alterations have been found as well. The brains within the original infected seems to have grown and shifted so that the tissue extends all along the spinal column in a thick, ropey chord so densely coated with the bone-webbing that getting a sample is impossible.
The infected patients seem happy though, reporting elevated levels of self satisfaction and positive body image. Only some of the younger ones are more able to vocalise this as the throat is often distended by the thickening and expansion of the brain tissue which renders speech unintelligible.
They all report feeling stronger despite their muscles being shredded by the bone-web and pus combination. One particular case (here to be known as patient 4692) insisted that they hadn't been changed in any way by the illness. 4692 claimed that they had been born like this alongside all the others and that the disease was just "a step up the evolutionary ladder".
Day 518
She'd recallibrated the rear sensor array for the fourth time that day. It still showed her the usual readings. The planet she was orbiting was still showing minimal signs of life. Great time to be bacterium she reckoned. So far nothing larger than microbes had been found by the remote controlled probes she'd sent down.
She was the only living being there, stuck monitoring the planet's surface in her little government funded observation craft. The only interesting occurrence was the regular seismic trembles the sensors picked up. So regular in fact that no matter how many times she recallibrated they remained exactly 4 hours apart. Nothing showed on the ship's viewing screen in spite of the sheer mass that seemed to be coming down upon the landscape. The last one came in at 8.7 on the richter scale and left no visible trace.
Lately the quakes had been getting closer and closer together yet their epicentres were spreading out further and further. Normally the quakes happened thousands of miles behind her craft but now they seemed to be drawing closer. It only got stranger when one of her remote probes was crushed by an unseen force of impact.
As she reviewed the recorded feed from the moments before it went offline she saw what had been causing these quakes all along. The screen showed a typical day on the planet though something was off about the scenery. A large black column seemed to be moving towards the probe at an incredibly fast rate.
At the last second the column rose up out of sight before the area around the probe became shadowed. There was a sickeningly loud crunch sound and the feed went dead. She had found life at last!
She had found life on a planet assumed to be dead and the life had found her too. Or lives as she saw similar scenes playing out across all of her probe's feeds until they all went down. The planet's surface was practically exploding with seismic activity that she wasn't even able to measure anymore.
All of the quakes were heading directly underneath her craft. where her small observation vessel shadowed the planet was now the epicentre of all seismic activity on the planet. Whatever life forms they were, they all seemed to be piling into one exact area, right below her as she floated just inside of the planet's atmosphere.
Her vessel began to pick up intense heat readings coming from the underside of the hull.
20151003
Day 517
These bones are dry.
These bones are cracking in the dusty desert air.
These bones are thirsty.
These bones are moving they are scraping their sand-worn edges towards something.
It is alive and warm and full of liquid.
It walks faster than they but begins to wear out just as they had before.
It stumbles and the liquid begins to dry up
These bones need to act fast to preserve the liquid to drink it all deep down.
These bones remember what it was like to be alive and how the alive think.
These bones separate, divide and conquer.
These bones have laid out a trap for the alive and it walks unaware.
It is still walking, still full of liquid though that is lessening by the minute.
It is heading right for them and they are eager.
It falls through their trap and into them and they are no longer thirsty.
These bones are full of liquid.
These bones are still not sated.
These bones have more to join them.
These bones are new and fresh and thirsty just like the others.
It wasn't alone before it became them.
It remembers where it was going and how full of liquid there will be.
It is leading them to a city and they are all so thirsty.
20151002
Day 516
I saw him every day outside of my shop, always signing the cross and mumbling blessings.
Apparently he did it all over town, rarely the same place twice.
Strange how he was always outside my shop first thing every morning.
It had been going on for at least thirty years too, according to the previous owner.
She'd said he was "a fixture" - a permanent part of the shop grounds really.
And then five weeks ago he stopped coming no obituary, no nothing just silence.
That's when the town began to slowly but surely fall apart.
It took me a fair while to notice how many small shops were closing down, how empty it got.
Eventually people just stopped coming by altogether and those of us who stayed did so in silence.
There are fewer of us each day and we still have no idea what the old man was keeping away.
Apparently he did it all over town, rarely the same place twice.
Strange how he was always outside my shop first thing every morning.
It had been going on for at least thirty years too, according to the previous owner.
She'd said he was "a fixture" - a permanent part of the shop grounds really.
And then five weeks ago he stopped coming no obituary, no nothing just silence.
That's when the town began to slowly but surely fall apart.
It took me a fair while to notice how many small shops were closing down, how empty it got.
Eventually people just stopped coming by altogether and those of us who stayed did so in silence.
There are fewer of us each day and we still have no idea what the old man was keeping away.
Day 515
We went on the train to get to a better place but found ourselves lost.
The destination was supposed to be the other side of the country, the warmer, sunnier side.
We drove straight through the more recognisable cities.
Their names came and went and faded into obscure memory as we kept on going.
There was seemingly no end in sight, no more stops came.
No more houses either save the villages we thought we saw through the grimy windows.
The whole train was grimy, coated in a layer of sticky grey residue.
If you didn't move for a while you became quite stuck and had to peel yourself off.
Happened to me once and I was left with a bloodied patch where skin had been.
Some fared worse, just stuck facing the windows, their skin turning as grey as their seats.
We left them well alone, not that they ever talked when they got like that.
Some managed to mumble but mostly smoke poured from their mouths.
The stewards on the train knew as little as we did.
Still they were constantly finding fresh food in their supply room that they handed out twice daily.
We were kept alive, all of us, even the ones who became lost to the train.
It's strange to think now of how far we've come since then.
After what we calculated to be two and a half years the train pulled into a town called Noltsby.
Everyone who could move fled as quickly as possible, leaving the lost behind.
We started our lives in the empty homes there, eaking out our existence and fearing the train's return.
Sometimes it comes and brings more survivors, sometimes it just sits full of the lost.
There seem to be more and more lost every year but never the same faces twice.
Somewhere along the line they are removed or perhaps they are warped with time.
Who knows how many have just faded into the fabric of the furnishings.
We are glad to not be among them yet we all dream we are.
The destination was supposed to be the other side of the country, the warmer, sunnier side.
We drove straight through the more recognisable cities.
Their names came and went and faded into obscure memory as we kept on going.
There was seemingly no end in sight, no more stops came.
No more houses either save the villages we thought we saw through the grimy windows.
The whole train was grimy, coated in a layer of sticky grey residue.
If you didn't move for a while you became quite stuck and had to peel yourself off.
Happened to me once and I was left with a bloodied patch where skin had been.
Some fared worse, just stuck facing the windows, their skin turning as grey as their seats.
We left them well alone, not that they ever talked when they got like that.
Some managed to mumble but mostly smoke poured from their mouths.
The stewards on the train knew as little as we did.
Still they were constantly finding fresh food in their supply room that they handed out twice daily.
We were kept alive, all of us, even the ones who became lost to the train.
It's strange to think now of how far we've come since then.
After what we calculated to be two and a half years the train pulled into a town called Noltsby.
Everyone who could move fled as quickly as possible, leaving the lost behind.
We started our lives in the empty homes there, eaking out our existence and fearing the train's return.
Sometimes it comes and brings more survivors, sometimes it just sits full of the lost.
There seem to be more and more lost every year but never the same faces twice.
Somewhere along the line they are removed or perhaps they are warped with time.
Who knows how many have just faded into the fabric of the furnishings.
We are glad to not be among them yet we all dream we are.
20151001
Day 514
The cinema trip was a long one for sure, felt like you'd been there for weeks just glued to your seat.
It was one of those marathon sessions - five films in one sitting and a very low entry fee.
You went with your friends as a joke, intending to leave whenever but you sat through them.
All five films with each around 2 hours long according to the cinema's website at least.
As you went to stand every joint in your body groaned and clicked loudly in the now quiet room.
It shouldn't have been that quiet, there should be talking unless somehow they'd all fallen asleep?
Looking around you saw that sure enough everyone else was slumped in some way.
Still you should have been able to hear them breathing.
They were utterly silent and in such a dimly lit room it was near impossible to tell if they were alive.
You tried your phone but it was refusing to turn on, only displaying one single line of text.
KEEP YOUR MOBILE PHONES OFF DURING YOUR STAY. THANK YOU.
Why did it say "stay" when you'd only been there a few hours?
You resorted to shaking your friends awake only for their bodies to crumble at your touch.
They literally began to dissolve as soon as you came into contact with their cold limbs.
Like a row of dominoes it spread and before you knew it everyone else in the cinema was gone.
Their former bodies now piles of clothing and sludge.
Trying not to tread on them (and failing as their corpses seeped through your trainers) you left.
The foyer was the same, people were slumped everywhere - even the stairs.
You tried to avoid touching as many of them as possible but accidents happened.
By the time you reached the door the floor behind you was a swamp of former-humans.
Someone was blocking the door, gripping the handle so hard their knuckles were white.
It was the only thing keeping them upright as you stared into their vacant grey eyes.
They hadn't been alive for quite a while judging by the flies that buzzed around them.
You spotted familiar yellow tape behind them, further sealing you in, and your strength left you.
It was one of those marathon sessions - five films in one sitting and a very low entry fee.
You went with your friends as a joke, intending to leave whenever but you sat through them.
All five films with each around 2 hours long according to the cinema's website at least.
As you went to stand every joint in your body groaned and clicked loudly in the now quiet room.
It shouldn't have been that quiet, there should be talking unless somehow they'd all fallen asleep?
Looking around you saw that sure enough everyone else was slumped in some way.
Still you should have been able to hear them breathing.
They were utterly silent and in such a dimly lit room it was near impossible to tell if they were alive.
You tried your phone but it was refusing to turn on, only displaying one single line of text.
KEEP YOUR MOBILE PHONES OFF DURING YOUR STAY. THANK YOU.
Why did it say "stay" when you'd only been there a few hours?
You resorted to shaking your friends awake only for their bodies to crumble at your touch.
They literally began to dissolve as soon as you came into contact with their cold limbs.
Like a row of dominoes it spread and before you knew it everyone else in the cinema was gone.
Their former bodies now piles of clothing and sludge.
Trying not to tread on them (and failing as their corpses seeped through your trainers) you left.
The foyer was the same, people were slumped everywhere - even the stairs.
You tried to avoid touching as many of them as possible but accidents happened.
By the time you reached the door the floor behind you was a swamp of former-humans.
Someone was blocking the door, gripping the handle so hard their knuckles were white.
It was the only thing keeping them upright as you stared into their vacant grey eyes.
They hadn't been alive for quite a while judging by the flies that buzzed around them.
You spotted familiar yellow tape behind them, further sealing you in, and your strength left you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)