Day 2,888

The air felt stale, as if nobody else had opened the door for decades, yet people were behaving as they would in any normal café that didn't smell and feel like a crypt.

Day 2,887

He peered over the edge of the bridge, expecting to see the body still caught and floating between the rocks. He didn't expect it to be facing him, mouth contorted in a rigor mortis stretched smile, eyes rolled back to the whites, one hand outstretched towards him.

Day 2,886

The statuette sat atop a pile of corpses that were somehow still fresh enough to be smouldering, though the tomb had been sealed for at least three thousand years. 

Day 2,885

When the old camera was given back to her and she was finally able to see the video he'd recorded just before he went missing, she could only focus on the thin spider-like arms that were loosely hanging around his neck.

Day 2,884

The harvest maidens are stirring in the caves out by the river, the gills on the underside of their jaws and around their skeletal ribs fluttering in the wind as they prepare to spread their spores to the next generation of harvest maidens, their armoured scythe-like finger growing in a staggered and serrated line to better reap as much meat as plant.

Day 2,883

My dreams are always the same - a church bell rings while in trying to free myself from deep mud and as I look around to find it, my eyes meet the cloudy bloodshot eyes of my long departed uncle. He smiles and puts his hands on my shoulders which I mistake for comfort til he starts pushing me deeper into the mud.

Day 2,882

The walls pulsed and writhed with starving insects as millions of chitainous eyes followed them.