"The only redeeming quality about this story is that the good die and the stupid suffer." ~ Anonymous
I like that you answer yourself
When you ask yourself
When I ask myself
All I hear is the howling of the wind
It’s so quiet here
So very
Very quiet
What?
I-
Um yes
I’m fine
Just busy fighting off the existential horror of my own existence
Haha yes
A joke
Of course
Of course
Of course I only laugh to keep from weeping
White tile gleams
Bone sheen white
Cotton mouth rasp
Head cloudy rattle
My chair creaks softly
Slowly I ease left to right
The glass is fogged and cracked
I smell the old and dying
That soft scent of illness
Who are they?
My head lolls to the side
I see a table
Upon stand armies
One shadow
One light
Already some of those little fools
Fallen by order of those above
No other chair sits there
I am alone
What brought me here?
Where is here?
So empty are these memories
I cannot remember knowing
Miles of stonework sprawled before him
The King’s Maze was king Azmodius’ masterpiece
Though for those few who found its center
They found the king had something to hide
Something so terrible it had to be contained within this structure
Our hero rested his hand on the arch of the entrance
A chill ran up his spine at the cool touch
Something in its simple stonework
Whispered terror into his soul
With a step he crossed the threshold
Left hand trailing along the wall
He would find what hid within
And expose Azmodius for the devil that he was
Our hero felt the air cool, breath fogging
The world twisted rolling onto its side
He lost all sense of up or down
And soon fell upon his knees
As he raised his head
Something had changed
The stone was different, alternating
Path inlaid with dull metal
He stood unsteadily and placed his right hand upon the wall
Slowly he began to walk again
Footsteps echoed in a rapid cascade beyond and behind him
Louder until they seemed not to be his
Something followed far behind him
Thunderous hooves stampeding
He cried in horror as he turned about
Arms raised across his face
The cry thundered in crashing resonance
But soon all fell silent
He lowered his arms
And found it changed again
The stones stacked in intricate swirls
The path, metal and wood shaped intricacies
All of which depicted a phantasmagoria
A crown enwrapped in hands and swirling smoke
People clutching faces, screams issued from twisted shock
He trembled as he wrapped his arms around himself
Seeking warmth of some kind
The air was so cold here
He walked awhile more, the cold slicing through him
Soon his eyes grew heavy as an unknown warmth encircled him
Collapsing against the wall
He lay for but a moment before his eyes flew open
Again it had changed
The stone a fantastical design inset with gems of all colors
Upon the floor the design had changed once more
The crown now was grasped by twirling tentacles of purple and black
Eldritch things tearing off the flesh of their own faces
But he was finally warm
So warm
Somewhere far ahead something began to beat
A thumping low and ponderous
He did not hesitate
This was what he had sought
He was sure of it
As he turned a corner something occurred to him
He had not turned a single corner before this
Only ever curving walls obliterating at the horizon
This thought was swept away as the center came into view
Red light flooded his senses
Cinnamon and blood
The sound shaking his bones
The sight of all that was hidden
The flesh
The words
The steel
Left him tasting something acrid
And fearful
There was no escaping
He knew this
The truth here would die with him
And that death would come swiftly
On wings of silk and skin
The thumping beating its sky-long span
The claws descended
He awoke with a groan
Eyes watery swimming roll
Unfocused blue of grey and glum
He sees a wall focus first
Brown and dusty
A leak has slipped through
Between beams down the wall
No something is wrong
The water is running up…
His head lolls to the side
Realizing he is upside down
Feet bound to a rope far above
He tilts his head back
Looking up… down
A hatch is open and looks down
Down into a briny churning mess
The water below, a roaring beast
The man curses softly
Behind him a voice scratches
Like cutlery on porcelain
“Fed. We gotta keep ’em…”
He clears his throat
“You understand I’m sure…”
A loud metallic snap and he is dropped
The water enwrapping him in a moment
As I ascended the basement stairs
I had but a moment of panic
My eyes met those of another
Crouching beneath those steps
What devil could this be
What malformed creation of-
Wait
Oh it’s just my neighbor
Luke Wolcroft
Chained
Naked
Cowering
As I had left him
Days before
We army crawled
Belly to ground
Elbows for leverage
“Yeah there’s all sortsa critters
What would live under houses.”
He grunts behind me
Dragging a bag of tools
“But most are gonna run
At just the sight of a person.”
I’m huffing and groaning
Stopping to wipe my face a moment
“Possums, cats, raccoons
Y’know the sort I’m sure.”
I freeze as I see something
Illuminated before me
“What do’y suppose that is?”
I whisper as I track its length
Beam showing foot after foot
Of white
Almost luminous
Sinewy flesh
Pulsing and gyrating
Slowly
Slowly
Here, half formed something
Unblinking stares up at me
From my mother’s soup
What’s worse?
To know
That someone was living in the walls
Or find
That someone is dying in your halls
To feel
Your skin crawling like a beast
Or see
Your flesh, alive and hungry for the feast
.
I feel so overwhelmed
Distracted
By all this hell I’ve created
But I can’t help but feel happy
No longer slow and sappy
.
What’s worse
To find
The bitter taste of copper in your mouth
Or See
Her blood is splattered all around
To hear
Your loved ones crying for your help
Or watch
Your legs walk away all by themselves
.
I feel such satisfaction
By all of my abstractions
Horror is made reality
These terrors in their nascency
I am wanderlust
Every traveler’s end
Heading southbound like a rollin’ cloud
Rattlesnakes and coyotes for company
My breath fetid brackish thing
The yanks felt my putrid grasp
I am every last gasp
Coasts and desert scorch
Carry me far and wide
See now how they scurry
Caught on quicker than their northern brothers
But far far too late
I ride upon their backs
In their lungs and in their blood
I am their final regret
Pestilence
The only rider
Who bothered to show
Yet in the end
More than enough
The loam gave to his grasping hands as something dragged him away.
No
This is not right
He’s sliding. The ground now a hill. Half dead saplings snap and splinter as he tumbles past, body a blur as he rolls over end.
Then air.
Free.
Flying.
Next, a splash. Icy talons sink into every inch of flesh. They wish to tear him apart. Rend this fool’s form. He gasps in a lungful of river before his head meets riverbed.
He swims in inky nothing. But soon is dragged, gagging, coughing, heaving, retching from the depths.
A man, dressed in buck skin and hay, leans over him. “Sir, y’allright?”
His head is still swimming, tumbling, flying. He turns over, onto hands and knees as he holds out a hand to stop this stranger. “Leave me…”
“Sir, yer bleedin’…” The stranger reached out with a gentle hand.
He pulled a blade from a latched case on his hip, swiping at the stranger vaguely. “Get the fuck away!” He barked, stumbling as he backed away.
The stranger held up his hands, stepped back, and then ran, disappearing between so many perfectly disorganized trees.
“Filthy…” He grunted as he found purchase on a low branch. “Backwards…” He hissed as he stepped up the embankment, snow kissing his ankles. “Heathens…”
An owl watched the man, head bleeding, leaving a crimson trail, blood current, from where he had been dragged from the river.
Something else watched too. Sinew and fang. Teeth, sharp and poised. Eyes shocking red and unblinking.
Angel of death. Spirit of vengeance. Serpent of Curses. Cormac.
This man reeked of sins and blood. All his folly had called forth this beast. As it struck out, venom singing violent violet through his veins, he knew what he had done. How it had been called, and why he would die that night.
Dried Ink Ribbon 