sinisterscribbles

[sinisterscribbles]

The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.

[sinisterscribbles]

Cruelty lingers not just on earth, but on every surface, desolate or fueled by the fibers that make up all living things. The breath all things take some day shorten, and we're left in a state of immobile existence, our brains then empty, our eyes dim and shielding what we once processed. Such existence, while short, is only a temporary end for the Mortuus Astronauts; who stir in their own mangled filth and bodily waste of organs and flesh, awaiting their next and eternal resurrection, their skin shedding, their souls colder yet persistence always prevails. They took everything I had, and with every smash they make against those panels, I feel my patience, my mental state, my will to live, all thinning, like a drain that's trickling faintly until it's inevitable clog.

[sinisterscribbles]

DINNER_TIME_WILL

[sinisterscribbles]

We sat at the edge of that glass, our hands pressed to it like it was our first time. It was ice to the touch, a freezing surface that behind it housed the life of the sea itself; creatures of all shapes, sizes and colors swam past without a care for who or what saw them. Expressionless eyes and moving fins, I’d remember the way you always would rest your head on my shoulder, pulling me closer with an embrace of warmth and comfort. It was our choice to go there again for our final time. There was nobody to charge us, no person to hold us away from what we grew up with, the bond we always shared keeping us in a bubble where only we mattered. Our company shielded the sounds of the outside, the destruction, the fate and end of all life at the infinite maw possessed by the old gods who tore away at everything from around them. We’d watch them reawaken from the depths and hear them fly the skies from above, their rising motions and limbs swishing and twitching past the glass from which we stared at with ease, your eyes looking back at mine when it rained true that they would too take us. In those moments, I understood it all. I understood our fate. And with that glass beginning to crack, th only thing on my mind was being able to experience that final end with you.

[sinisterscribbles]

This was the only recovered still from an alleged eight hour recording recovered from Burlington Vermont in February of 2009. While it’s shaky at best on where the film had come from specifically, there were up to four possible sources as that same year a group of college students had disappeared days after intending to have shot a documentary on deforestation. With the footage almost 99% lost, nothing remains to show any evidence of it being tied to the students, though the camera while severely damaged, had been found only two weeks after the initial report of the students being filed missing only five miles from where they had intended to shoot their project. Their case was never solved, and the families for these four students claim that individuals with a sick sense of humor, often using untraceable profiles and emails, have sent them the image on the anniversary of their disappearance every year since the incident, with no additional context.

[sinisterscribbles]

A bottomless grave.

Remains of all things from earth, brought to the deepest it can go.

On sleepless nights I toss and grow weary, forgetting the position of where sit in my state of eternal, haunted existence. I live in a constant cycle perpetuated by my dreams, by my fears and from what hides just beyond the murky illness the planet is contaminated by. I imagine a fate worse than that of death, one that even for the most damned would find undesirable, a life granted immortality, but at the cost of reliving the touch of drowning on loop through a cycle for endless minutes. The gasping, gurgling of my own lone body, charged and soon brought to the breaking point of suffering not truly known. I fear not just the suffocation, but of such things that reside beyond my vision that continue to drag me further and harsher down into a loop I cannot escape from. A loop with no oxygen. A loop in which the waves will never let me go.

[sinisterscribbles]

Having moved only two weeks prior, Eliza would go to a corner of her room every other night before bed, listening, an ear pressed to the wall that divided her apartment from the next. The neighbor one room over always sung songs that caught her attention, a beautiful voice that would speak of grassy hills and waving trees, an elegance that one day made her ask for his name. In a moment of deafening silence, she could hear him getting closer, his smooth words whispering to her as if he knew exactly where to talk the closest. “Dan”, the voice said peacefully. She smiled. The following morning Eliza had attempted to knock on his door, looking to meet him, only to be stopped by a janitor who looked at her sideways. Confused, she had asked the man when or if he was home, only for the janitor to clarify that the room had vacant for years. That night, the room was investigated by police, who found no man, but rather a room full of tattered sheets, smeared walls, a hole in the ceiling and human teeth aligning the ground. Despite confirmation that nobody was there, at least anymore, Eliza still heard his voice every night, though it no longer brought her comfort. And unlike before, where the songs were distant and soft, they were closer now, pressed right up to where she would have listened days prior.

[sinisterscribbles]

It was Eric’s first day of band class after school and he was very nervous. There was a flyer he got ahold of the day prior, the thought alone made him beyond stoked to give it a try, making him the first to sign up in his class. Having road there himself, he would chain his bike up and walk inside, the air feeling... colder than normal. The halls were darker than his memory would serve him, and no staff were around for as far as his eyes could see, to say it was creepy was an understatement. Shuffling through empty halls that were almost always crowded, he finally reached his classroom, though the door was closed and seemed to have been locked. Peering around into the room from where his teacher was supposed to be, there was just blackness, though his curiosity was cut short but the thud of a stack of paper hitting the floor. Jumping from the sound, he noticed that it had been the flyers of his class, and looking up at the ceiling to see what had made such things fall, he was met with the rotted, eyeless face of an elongated, gangly creature staring back at him.

“You’re late” it croaked.

Eric would get out of there, screaming bloody murder, all the while chased by not just the creature which would soon disappear into one of the storage closets, but by officers who would stop to question the boy of his business being there, their voices stern and harsh. In a panicked state, Eric had explained everything, only for him to be escorted home, his story unbelieved. He was told there was no band practice that day.

[sinisterscribbles]

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[sinisterscribbles]

I couldn’t tell if I was dead or dreaming. I fell. Further and further, I found myself surrounded by nothing, my breathing swallowed whole, my oxygen gone and yet I could survive; at least enough for my brain to take in. Unfiltered blackness observed me, I could feel watched, I felt noticed, taken in by something unforeseen. It was strange, a peaceful yet unnerving anomaly of feelings stitched together, flowing through my veins, cold blood pumping just enough for my heart to thrive. I’d open my eyes to see it floating in front of me. A mass of scaled arms, fins, a shape almost human but distorted but the world it ascended to. Glassy eyes, teeth stained yet white, a spine trialed into a tail of jagged bone and foreign structure.

[sinisterscribbles]

They issued a local emergency that had told us to stay inside and lock our doors early that morning. We weren’t necessarily secluded but we were far out enough to where things like this weren’t at all common, and for hours we had no idea what the hell was going on until we were told by a broadcast that some sort of leak had occurred just off the road about four miles into town that had contaminated the roads and possibly even the water supply. We had barricaded as it had become apparent that the occupants that had been infected were on par with wild animals, deranged enough to bash open doors and scream to seemingly no limitation to their vocals; acts of cannibalism were being reported left and right. It was a covered up case, so the most detail we got after the initial outbreak was that an unidentified craft had been seized by the FBI and before they were able to take it out of the environment something had drained out of it and into the soil, infecting the locals with signs of something possibly having inhabited the craft escaping. As to where such a creature is, we were never sure, but the roads seemed a hell of a lot more dangerous after that, and we’re not sure if we’ll ever recover or properly hide what horrible shit had gone down in such a small period of time.

[sinisterscribbles]

The dark sky phenomenon

[sinisterscribbles]

It started with blind panic. We never knew what it was, frankly I don’t think we ever will. We figured that in numbers we were able to take it on, but we couldn’t have been any more wrong. Twelve bodies were recovered that night, with three more the following morning.

[sinisterscribbles]

It tormented nature like it would our homes. It’d laugh, smearing blood on our walls and windows, dancing and breaking our glass with no regard but it’s morbid entertainment. It’d ask us irrelevant questions of the weather and our moods, poking us, scratching at our mental state to the edge of management. It’d crawl on two legs, sometimes six or more, it’s face a combination of a blank slate with empty eyes to fangs and gums overlapping the next. We’ve shot it, we’ve shouted at it, we’ve pleaded and even prayed. All the same, it picked us off, reminding us that we weren’t in the midst of a normal, controllable situation, but rather the work of something so inherently ingrained in inflicting pain by every viable meaning of the word.

[sinisterscribbles]

I now reside in a different plain of existence entirely, marked by plain walls and cold, endless floors.

There are no doors, windows, an entrance or an exit. There is no beginning, and there is no end. Endless halls, smudged textures and dirty scapes of a world once inhabited either by man or something else entirely. I long to be saved and yet I always seem to end up right where I started, cycling between my vivid dreams and realization that this is a part of me.

[sinisterscribbles]

I held onto him with every breath I had left in me. My eyes, blurry from the tears and surrounding waves, shrouded in messy blobs of color and unfocus, my lungs taking advantage of me, holding me at bay, pleading for me to reach the surface. Air was all I had craved, feeling it’s tightening, suffocating embrace posses me, break me. My brother. I couldn’t save him, I couldn’t hold onto him anymore, I had mustered with all the might I could, a fight that was a losing battle and yet I struggled against all odds. He was gone. My paddles, my boat, my dad, my brother, all brought to the darkness beneath us, unforeseen appendages with clicking teeth and blind eyes having surrounding where we had drifted, their cries seeming to echo so close yet so distant, bubbles, red pooling around my feet, I had every intention of giving up and yet I persisted with doubt, I heaved and swam, my muscles losing strength my spirit breaking confidence; this was it, the end of everything I once knew. Clinging onto what little remained of any viable surface I could touch, all I could realize in that moment was how valuable what I lost truly was. Something so important, so ingrained in my day to day, taken in an instant by the unforgiving laws of the unknown.

[sinisterscribbles]

Every time somebody went missing those barn walls would turn redder. Days, weeks, months would go by and it seemed like hourly there was at least one person in the area to have disappeared, and it all ties back to a vacant farm house at the end of town. We live isolated in the outskirts of most normal civilization, and even with the continual happenings nothing has been able to come of it. While no proof could be withheld on who or what the culprit was, all we could infer was that the paint on the buildings would grow lighter, the red fresh and the scent pungent, radiating with the burning stench of iron. Locals once took action into their own hands to try and burn the place down but there aren’t any locals left to even do so. We’re dwindling in numbers and I fear that I too will be a victim to whatever found itself inside that wooden barrier, crawling and shifting in between our safety and whatever black pit it brought itself fourth from.