Monday, February 9, 2015

"The Last of the Frost Fairs"

They bundled up in heavy coats and boots stuffed with socks. It was February and the air was cold and biting, but they were going outside anyway. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, the boy had said. You had to be there. The River Thames had frozen over; the Frost Fair had returned.

The last Frost Fair had been in 1789, twenty five years ago. They hadn’t been born back then; they hadn’t seen it. Everyone was telling them: come and see. The entire river, frozen over, boats stuck in the ice. There are tents for drinking and tents for selling meat and processions of entertainers, clowns and jugglers, and even an elephant, the boy had said.

A real elephant? George (the youngest) asked.

Yes, a real elephant, the boy said. It was big and gray and it didn’t even crack the ice as it walked across the river.

They wanted to see the elephant. They wanted to see the jugglers and, even though they had very little money, they brought it with them so they could buy meat and candy and they told each other they would take turns riding the elephant, hugging its back, because that’s what this was really about, that’s what brought them out of their cold house.

They didn't ask what the boy's name was. They didn't ask who his parents were. He just told them about the glories of the frozen river and the Frost Fair and they listened in rapt attention.

You have to see it, the boy had said. It's the last of the Frost Fairs.

The last? Eddie (the middle child) asked. Why is it the last?

Because it doesn't get as cold anymore, the boy said. Long ago, there was a great volcanic eruption and dirt was thrown into the air and it stopped the sun from warming everything. It got really cold and the river used to freeze all the time back then.

The children knew about the cold. It had been their father’s job to get wood for the furnace, but since he died, the furnace had stayed empty. They didn't know where their mother was -- she had walked away from the house one day and never come back.

Long ago, there were lots of Frost Fairs, the boy said with a smile. Long ago, it got really cold, but nobody cared, because there was always a Frost Fair to cheer you up. But the weather’s changing and things are getting warmer again. So this is the last time the river Thames will freeze. This is the last Frost Fair there will ever be. That’s why you must see it now. Before it all goes away.

Wesley (the eldest) was the most suspicious of the boy. He didn't know why he didn't trust him, just something in the way he spoke. The way the edges of his smile seemed to crack in the sunlight.

I’m not sure, Wesley said. It's dangerous out there. What if something happens to one of us?

There is always the possibility of danger, the boy said. That's what makes the Frost Fair so intriguing. Look. He handed Wesley a piece of paper with words printed on it, but Wesley couldn't read. I’ll read it for you:

Behold the Liquid Thames frozen o're,
That lately Ships of mighty Burthen bore
The Watermen for want of Rowing Boats
Make use of Booths to get their Pence & Groats
Here you may see beef roasted on the spit
And for your money you may taste a bit
There you may print your name, tho cannot write
Cause num'd with cold: tis done with great delight
And lay it by that ages yet to come
May see things upon the ice were done.

Wesley's mouth fell open at the words. When he listened to the boy say them, he could see the Frost Fair in his mind, the open tents filled with beef roasting, the fat glistening, the smell wafting for all. It wasn't the elephant that captured his fancy; it was the meat and how it made his mouth water.

So they bundled up in their warmest clothes and they let the boy lead them to Blackfriars Bridge, to the river frozen o're.

And they looked out upon the river and they saw an even greater spectacle then what they had imagined. George and Eddie didn't see one elephant, but rather a dozen of them walking in a circle, riders in magnificent coats upon their backs. And Wesley saw tents filled with every type of meat imaginable: pigs and chickens and lambs, their skins being roasted over pits of fire. The sight of it made his mouth water and all three children stepped out onto the river at the same time.

None noticed that the boy wasn't with them anymore.

None had a chance to see the water beneath their feet. Not ice, not anymore.

The last of the Frost Fairs had come and gone. It had lasted four days and then was over. There had been one elephant. That much was true.

But that was weeks ago. The river had gone back to being a river. The water churned. They stepped and fell and all three children found themselves in a place of coldness, a place where the water seeped into their clothes and their skin. It wasn't frozen, but it was cold enough.

It was cold enough.

When the children woke up, they found the river had frozen again. They didn't know how or why and they didn't ask. They saw the Frost Fair around them -- the white glittering tents, the marble elephants, the children running about with their wide smiles and dark eyes -- and they laughed and ran into the Frost Fair to do what they pleased. They would have such fun that they would never leave, they said.

The boy grinned as he stepped across Blackfriars Bridge. This was the last of the Frost Fairs, true enough, and the weather had changed. But the boy would never change. He would find another way to reach into their hearts. He would always find another way.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

"Mensana En Corpore Sano"

You can't find me. You can't catch me. You don't even know where to start looking. That's your whole problem: you are looking. You aren't listening.

I am walking across the country on the sounds of children laughing, of adults gossiping, of parents worrying, of babies crying and people screaming and everything in between. I am walking on waves.

I was like you once. I lived a normal life. I had a normal job. I woke up in the morning and I went to my normal job and I came home and I did everything I was supposed to do. I ate and I slept and I shit. I was like you all are, a biological machine, a thing made of flesh and water and electrical impulses.

And then they came to me. The Lords of Shouting, the Masters of Howling. They had no bodies, no need for food or sleep. Without bodies, they lived as vibrations in the air, a sound unlike anything I had heard before.

They offered to make me like them: to strip away the meat, to make my soul sing. How could I refuse them? How could I turn down their generous offer?

I can't tell you that it didn't hurt. Of course it hurt. It was like dying. My skin was stripped away, then my muscle, then every layer until I was only bones. And then my bones turned to dust and I was left with nothing. Nothing except myself.

I was finally free and for the first time, I could see what I had been missing. I had never known true freedom. I had always been encumbered by walls and floors and distance. To see something, I would need to open my eyes, to turn and hope my vision wasn't hindered (not to mention the fact that I wore glasses).

I have no eyes now, but I see much farther and much better. I can move at the speed of sound. I can hop and skip across cities and towns. I can see what people say. And if I feel in the mood, I can wrap myself around them and give them a show.

You've seen my work. The first few times, I hadn't meant to do it. It was involuntary – one moment they were alive and so delighted to hear my symphony, the next they were on the floor, blood pouring from their ears. Too much of a good thing.

And then I decided that I liked it. If people could not live like this – and the Lords of Shouting are very picky in choosing who to change – then I could at least show them what they were missing. Even if doing that makes them hemorrhage, even if they die, at least their last moments shall be filled with sound and fury.

And that's why you can't catch me. Because I am sound and fury and I am nothing. I was never there at all.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014


It started with the factories, but nobody took any notice. Of course nobody did, since people build factories everywhere. You drive past them every day, why should these new ones be any different from the rest? They just blend into the background, like grass or trees, or wallpaper. So there's new ones nearer to town, who cares? Nobody really cares who built them, or what they make, they're just...there.

So what if all the workers look weird, maybe they're foreign or something, right? With their dull, lifeless eyes, and their weird, oddly fluid movement, and the fact that they wear damp clothes even if there's been no rain for a month...just ignore it and move on.
And what does it matter that nobody knows what they make. They must make SOMETHING, right? It's not as if it's just there for no reason, right? Besides, it's hardly worth worrying about.

And that huge amount of smoke and steam they produce? Only natural. ALL factories produce that much. Even if it's one factory, clouding the entire sky with clouds of smog. It's just a side effect of the industrial process, nobody really notices, nobody really cares.
And so it went on. Unnoticed. Just another event in an uneventful town. I don't think people were even aware of it.
Until it started to rain.

But nobody noticed that, either. It always rains, it's England. Just a part of nature. Water coming out of the sky, getting into drinks, into ponds, into swimming pools. Into anything, really.
And then we drink it.
It was a day later when tragedy struck. People going into comas. Half the town. More! People noticed THEN, Didn't they? Something was obviously behind it. Something must be wrong, but what? Can't be the factories, of COURSE not, they're everywhere. They must be safe. Can't be the rain either, of course, it always rains, so rain must be fine.

And then the rain stopped, and people started waking up. They were... Odd, at first. Only spoke when spoken to, repeated the same phrasing, seeming to have lost all sense of self, but in a few weeks they were back to normal, living their lives, talking to their families and whatnot. No trace of what had happened but quickly forgotten memories. The police investigated, of course, but they couldn't find the cause and eventually just...gave up. It's not like anybody's dead. Not like anything is REALLY wrong, just a few people went to sleep for a while, that's all.

Things went back to normal pretty quickly. Most people forgot the incident entirely, minus the odd piece of gossip or speculation about what had really happened. The factories kept on going, the sun kept on shining and the wheel of life continued to turn. That was a year ago.
And then the rain came back.
They're slamming against my window now, the people who fell, the people who drank the water, who stood out in the rain. Their eyes are dull and lifeless, their movements strange, oddly fluid and yet... still utterly wrong. Human bones don't work like that, human BODIES don't work like that. Just like the men from the factories.

I haven't drank the water. I've been keeping a supply i bought the next town over. Supposed to be made from Emerson Lake, wherever that is. Can't leave the house though, or they'll do what they always do. What they did to those who wouldn't go out into the rain, who just sit inside and play video games, or read books or something. Hold them down and pour it down their throats.

So i've been stuck in here writing. Just... writing. Always writing, i guess i've nothing else to do. Besides, every time i try to stop, well... there's nothing else i can really be bothered to do. So i write this, and a million other pages of nonsense, as i try to think of a way out. Try to FOCUS. Which is getting harder and harder... so i just keep writing. Gotta keep writing...

Always writing.

"The Two Sides of Jack"

If the ages of Mrs. and Mr. Clarke corpses were any indication, the murder had only taken place a day prior. Detective Dawson's fellow police officers directed him towards the kitchen where the murder weapon, an extremely sharp meat cleaver, had been slammed into the kitchen table.

"Hey Dawson," Corporal Johnson called for him. "We searched the building top to bottom like you asked and we haven't found a single trace of the Clarke boy yet. The only area we haven't been able to check out yet is the attic, which has been blocked off from the inside."

"Then it's probably a safe bet that he's up there hiding. How long until you can break down the door?"

"Ten to twenty minutes."

"Fine." Dawson sighed. "Just make sure you don't scare the kid. He's been through enough already..."


"Hello Doctor Paxton." The man in the handcuffs greeted his interrogator. "How's the wife and family."

"They're um... They're fine. But that's not what I'm here to discuss today, Jack."

"Of course it isn't. We're here to talk about how good ole Jack of All managed to break into this facility of yours."

"We'll get to the bottom of that, don't you worry. However that isn't the reason for this interrogation. Tell me, why are you so interested in the entity known as Laughing Jack?"

"He was my roommate in college."

"Now, Jack," Paxton said as calmly as possible, "we all know you didn't break into the Project Evolution archives and almost destroyed all documents concerning the Laughing Jack entity, just to tell a few jokes! So for the sake of everyone's time, can you please tell me why."

"Fine, I'll humor you Doctor Paxton. But you'll have to remove these handcuffs first."


At long last the door fell apart and the boxes, old furniture, stored suitcases, and the various other objects that blocked it were moved. Dawson flipped the light switch multiple times but the lights came on. So instead he pulled out his flashlight and proceeded up the stairs. Judging by the cobwebs and the dust covering the wall, no one had entered this part of the house for ten years at the minimum.

As Dawson inspected the run down attic, he caught a glimpse of a rat scurrying away from the light and to a small nearby door, hidden by the mounds of junk surrounding it. Despite his better judgment, Dawson started to knock on the door.

"Jimmy? You in there?"


"So let me get this straight: you created that...thing as a quasi-servant designed to spread as much mayhem as possible?"

"Yes, Polly, that's exactly what I just said! Now, unless you want to be force feed crackers, you had better stop repeating whatever I say," Jack insulted him. "Anyway, Laughing Jack was only one of many entities I created as a means of insulting all those pesky organizations that want my head on a silver platter. While my 'children' distract them by spreading mayhem, I get to perform my deals in peace."

"But then one of your field agents somehow recovered the box I constructed as Laughing Jack's home. If I left you morons study it, there could be a possibility of you figuring out how it works and create your own little monster. If I wanted to continue my work uninterrupted, I had to destroy it and any information abo-"

"Bullshit!" Doctor Paxton exclaimed.

"Excuse me?" Jack asked.

"You heard me! Every single word of your explanation is bullshit!" Paxton screamed at the top of his lungs. "You're not nearly narcissistic or cliche enough to name all of your creations after yourself. And if this was true, why not send your creations to destroy the box for you? And furthermore, how would we have any information about it if we just managed to obtain it! There was literally no reason for you to do this"

As Paxton finally started to calm down, a large smile came upon Jack of All's face and he started to clap.

"Very good, Paxton, very good. But there's just one little problem with that idea of yours.... What if all those little holes in my story were planted there for the sole purpose of making you think my story was bullshit?"


Dawson put his ear up to the door and from within, the soft sound of moaning could be heard. Confused and worried about the fate of Jimmy, he kicked down the door and ran into the hidden room.


With a quick snap of his burnt, bright red hand, Jack's handcuffs came off and latched themselves onto Paxton's wrists. The security guards tried breaking down the door but it didn't move an inch, no matter how hard they banged on it. Paxton was trapped with Jack.

"You see, Paxton, while I applaud you for not trusting me, I also find you quite moronic. You see in our line of work we can never dismiss the possibility of a theory being real. That sort of shit can get you killed."

With another snap of the fingers, an old hand crafted Jack-in-the-box appeared in Jack's hands. As he turned the clank of the box, a very distorted and off-key version of Pop goes the weasel started to play. And as the song was about to end Jack sang along

"All around the mulberry bush,
The monkey chased the weasel;
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun,
Pop! goes the weasel..."

As the echo of the songs climax spread throughout the room, a pale skinned figure appeared out with no warning. At first glance it was an average clown with matted black hair that wore patchy, black and white outfit with striped sleeves and socks. It was only when it opened it's intense white eyes surrounded by dark black rings and it's mouth full of sharp jagged teeth, that it's true nature was obvious. With great speed, the creature lunged at Doctor Paxton and began strangling him to death.

When the good doctor finally stopped breathing, the clown went to the door kicked it open. Before the men on the other side had time to register what was happening, "the clown" extended it's arms and wrapped them around the men like anacondas. As they were slowly crushed to death, Laughing Jack and Jack of All laughed with one another.

"Hehe... Where the hell is my flask?" Jack wondered.


Dawson tried screaming, but nothing managed to come out. Incapable of doing anything, he vomited near the corpse of Jimmy Clarke whose empty eye sockets were stuffed with hard candy. And on the wall behind him was a message written in blood that said: From you best pal in the world, Laughing Jack


Alysson had no idea where she was. It was dark. She couldn't remember anything. Her mind was a churning whirlpool of emotions and images her consciousness simply could not parse. The blurry half-seen photographs left her with a disconcerting and sickening feeling every time she brought them up in her head. She started forward in the darkness, searching for something, anything, to bring her a sens of place, something to ground her and orient her. Her arms reached out in the darkness around her, feeling nothing. Her bare feet slid along the floor, but she encountered no bumps or cracks to trip over.

Alysson's stomach lurched as she fell to the ground. The floor was smooth under her fingers, free of any dust or grit that would indicate foot traffic or even a connection to the outside world. Alysson slid her fingers over the floor, searching for the slightest defect or impurity. She let out a whimper that was muffled and eaten by the darkness. The hard ground beneath her was fee of any scratches, joints, or other mundane faults. The perfection terrified Alysson. Crawling forward on her stomach, she journeyed for an end, a wall, an existence. As she continued to find nothing but hard and prefect floor, Alyson began to openly sob and weep. The wet trail left behind on her cheeks remained stagnant. There was no breeze in this empty realm to dry her tears.

Alysson slithered forward endlessly. She had no concept of time nor any landmarks to mark her progress. The constant slide of the perfectly smooth ground was the only assurance she had that she was moving at all. Her tears stopped flowing. She began to try to untangle the chaos of her mind. Blurry visions of unidentifiable places and happy faceless people were all she could conjure in her mind's eye. She concentrated and tried to clear the empty pictures with all the force of will she had left, but the longer she spent dwelling on her forgotten memories, the more they faded.

Alysson continued struggling forward in the black with a mind as perfectly dark as the shadows surrounding her.

The girl could not recall why she was crawling forward along her belly. She was sure there was some better way to travel, but she couldn't remember what it was. There as an instinctive urge for her to continue through the dark. Her subconscious pushed her forward, insisting that something important was out there in the unknown before her. She needed to find something. She didn't know what it was. It seemed like the perfect floor beneath her and the perfect night around her were the only things she'd ever known.

The girl hadn't moved for a while. She didn't try to move. She didn't think of moving. Her breathing was steady as she lay on her stomach, staring out into the inky black. She thought of nothing. She felt nothing. The floor seemed to fade from beneath her. In an endless void, the girl floated with nothing but flesh and bones inside her.

The darkness was complete.


I fucking hate cancer research/support groups.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a terrible disease and my heart goes out to the strong souls who have to live with it. I hate cancer, but I really hate all the fundraiser-based support groups. Why?

Crazy, ridiculous, and shitty public stunts as ‘Symbols of Support.’

For example, let’s talk about a particular organization in particular; Leap for Love. These guys have been in my area for the past five or something years, always doing the same thing annually. What “thing” you ask?

Rappelling off the third tallest building in my city. Fun, right?

Yeah. I don’t see why they have to add such a pointless public stunt to an already successful fundraiser, it’s just an added waste of time in my opinion. However, I associate myself with idiots. Every year my buddies donate over one-thousand dollars for the cause, and then throw themselves off of a building attached to a harness and several cables. Of course I’ve been sensible every year and just refuse to involve myself in their exploits.

Until this year, that is.

This year, unfortunately, my buddies pressured me into getting me up on that building to subsequently rappel down it. Joy. I really question why I’m friends with those assholes. They threaten, belittle, and abuse me just so I can do some stupid, life risking shit. This isn’t the first time they’ve controlled me into doing something for their amusement, either. I’m fucking weak.

We all arrived at the building where this was all going down, matching team T-Shirts and all, and checked ourselves in at the event desk. They took our group up to the third floor patio, suiting us up in our gear and ran through a safety/training crash course. One by one, we were led to the edge of the deck for a test rappel. They attached cables to our gear and had us rappel ourselves onto the street below. When it was my turn I made sure to move as slow as I could just to piss the volunteers off. Overall, that was the most amusing part of my day. I reached the street and the woman leading the test told me that I did, “Exceptionally good, dontcha’ know!”

I wanted to punch her in the throat.

So after a good three hour wait in the uncomfortable sun, wearing the most uncomfortable safety harness the world has ever seen, I was taken up to the rooftop for my trial. I want you to know that I am not even remotely joking why I say that the entire time I was up there, the instructors (GoPros and all) constantly told me to “Look at that view, brah!”

Fucking douches.

Once again, I was hooked up to the cables and briefed on what I should be doing during my descent. For the sake of time, and wanting to get things over with, I maintained obedience. Let me tell you, standing on the ledge of a 32 story building is pretty damn terrifying even when connected to hundreds of anchored cables. I advise you never experience it for yourself.

As you’d expect, I started rappelling down the building. For the most part, it didn’t suck! I kept my eyes locked ahead, eased the controls, and closed my eyes for half the trip.

It didn’t last much longer, though.

I thought I had finally touched down on the street below, as signaled by the sudden and nerve jolting snap I felt. With this in my mind, I opened my eyes and looked down.

I hadn’t even made it halfway down the fucking building!

I looked up and realized the jolt was caused by the automatic brakes, which lock in place if you start moving too fast. In order to unlock it, you need to tug on the cable and lift the device upwards. Almost as if it was destined to be, mine decided to be a piece of shit and jam itself. I kept tugging at the cable, getting increasingly frustrated, until one exceptionally hard yank released it.

That would be when I fell the rest of the way.

I broke it. I broke the fucking breaks. I was speeding down the side of a building with no way of stopping and/or slowing myself down. The ground below was getting closer and closer, and the thought hadn’t even occurred to me yet that I was going to be sidewalk jelly in mere seconds.

It was also at this moment that I blacked out.

Darkness, silence, dramatic effect… This is what I experienced in my state of mental shutdown. It was weird, even for a blackout-induced dream. There was nothing but void, and myself. I felt at absolute peace, but at the same time I felt tinges of panic and imprisonment. I couldn’t move; it was as if someone had locked my joints in a permanent Mister Roboto pose.

Like I said, it was weird.

Then it got even worse. Slowly, strand-by-strand, I found myself becoming entangled in a mass of ivory strings. They covered every inch of my body, binding my limbs together and cutting deep into my skin. I felt every tear, break, and rupture of my body as these strings spread themselves. They started to burrow deep into my muscle tissue, eating away at my tendons and replacing them with solid masses of string.

My eyes were violently pulled out of my head by some unseen force, and in the empty sockets were places to wooden orbs. Yeah, you heard that part right. Despite having my eyes ripped out of my head, I could still see everything that was happening to me. It’s an indescribable horror, honestly. Thankfully, I woke up soon after. Not before hearing some creepy ass laughter, though. Seriously, it sounded like a woman was cackling her lungs out all around me.

Hah, I’m fucked up.

By some divine or hellish miracle, I survived the fall. Apparently, according to what the volunteers say, my brakes locked back up right before I hit the ground. Normally this would have broken someone’s spine, but they told me that my blackout had made my entire body limp. Did you know that when someone is completely limp, their bones have less of a change of breaking?


They removed all of my gear, insisting that I needed to see a doctor (Which I didn’t), and got me to my feet. Other than a few aches and bruises, I was perfectly fine! The only thing that felt remotely weird was the way I walked. I guess falling at least 20 stories while blacked out makes you feel weird on your feet. After signing myself out at the front desk, I gave my buddies a kind-hearted ‘Fuck you’ and caught a bus back to my neighborhood.

It felt good settling back into my couch and doing nothing as per usual. The rest of my day was spent watching television before going to bed. I got up and headed for my bedroom. Again, the way I walked just felt off, although it was almost a full body feeling. My joints felt both relaxed and stiff, moving with strings attached.

Kinda like a puppet.


Within the depths of our imagination, we are willing to believe only what we want to believe. Centuries worth of conflict has been the result of this fact, and nothing good has ever come from it. We sit here, prisoners of our own minds, left to our own devices and eventually kick the bucket. Of course, we are complacent with our ends. After all, it fits into what we believe in right?

I regret to say that, as of this moment, humanity has never been more wrong.

The most horrifying truth exists only outside our barriers, a place we dare not believe in because it just doesn't seem plausible enough. This place has hundreds of names, and hundreds of interpretations. Heaven, Hell, Nothingness, Cosmic Eternity, whatever you want to call it. We fear the Dark, things outside of our comprehension, and blame it on others who share different yet similar ideas.

The Dark has a name.

That is, if you consider it a single being, which I do not. It's more of a collective; A collective of horror and impossible nightmares. They are eternal, or at least appear as such. They come in many different forms. One is a woman with wooden flesh and strings wrapped around her figure, another sits silently by your bed, and another stands in the dark. Waiting. Watching you with hidden eyes.

The last of which, unfortunately, is where I met my end.

He came to me through several dreams, speaking of the nothingness that was Him. Of course, at the time, I was just another Lamb. I saw him as nothing more than a chocolate pizza induced nightmare, one that a little nyquil and Pepto could deal with in the morning. I only wish that was my case.

From that day, I've seen Him everywhere. Standing at the end of hallways, at the end of an alley, even my closet.

I've seen Him.

He is the true definition of Nothing, and we are to embrace Him.

I did.

I entered His realm, through the doors he has taunted me with. I entered His being through my bathroom door, of all places.

A realm of pure Nothing. He has told me that there is another with a deeper Nothingness, but I refuse to believe that. This is what we are destined to face someday. We are to fade into the shadows of narrow corners and winding passages.

There's just us and Him, in reality.

Just Us, and our City.