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.
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