Tag: book

In my delusional state early this morning I heard it, at first, I thought it was in my head, just another voice added to the whispers that already inhabit my sleep deprived brain. But then I saw her, silhouetted against the couch, she wasn’t really there, I knew that straight away, but, it still didn’t seem any less real.

She was crying, I stood in the doorway for ages, half aware, half wishing for sleep, I knew who she was, but, I didn’t know how she could be here.

Finally, I called her name, softly at first, then loudly, the crying stopped  and she looked at me, white, piercing eyes, digging into my very being. Then she scream why, over and over again, I was pulled back into reality, well, whatever you call this anyway, as she leapt off the couch and came at me, I ran, screaming, the front door wouldn’t open, and she came at me, digging her cold, frozen fingers into my skin.

I screamed, as she continued to demand an answer, I don’t know how long we were locked there, but suddenly she was gone, and I was left whimpering on the floor. I convinced myself it was just my over active imagination, although the burn marks on my back, in the shape of hands say differently.

God, how long can I go without sleep, how long until I finally lose what’s left of my mind? Not to mention my body itself, everything hurts, teeth are falling out, my skin is drying out, breaking off, revealing something dark underneath, whatever’s going on inside, it’s effecting me in ways I never thought possible, I just need sleep, somehow, I just, needs sleep.

Sleep still did not come to me again, I wished for it, I begged it to come, but, it did not. It’s been 3 nights now, 3 long nights, 4 long days without sleep, my mind is beginning to betray me, I think, I’m not alone here.

strange things are happening, stranger than before, if it can be that. I saw him, standing in the doorway of my room, he looked at me, he seemed unhappy, he seemed disappointed in me. I asked him why, I asked him what I had done to disappoint him so. He came and sat on the side of my bed, his hulking form now wasted away, I could see bones protruding from his flesh, black, chalky bones, they glistened with mucus, he looked at me with soulless eyes and told me of our story, one that I must finish, for if not, we both would turn to dust, as he is, as I am.

I looked in the mirror and realized my own self was wasting away as well, my eyes sunken in my skull, dark, black rings run around them, like someone had taken a black marker and circled around my eyes. My teeth grey, gums rotten, blistered, and my tongue dry, broken, with crevices of black running through it like the aftermath of a earthquake.

He said to me if I was to survive this war, I felt the word was a strong one to use, but, but he assured me we are at war, with the one who watches in the shadows, the one who haunts both of us.

I asked him how we win, how we stop this darkness and he smiled, write he said, write his story, our story, without HIS changes, write to finish the story the way it was always meant to be, and, he will finish it all, and we will both walk away from this whole, complete, or, he will win and we, will both become nothing again.

like I said, things are getting weird, I don’t know if it really happened, I don’t know if he really came to me, but, I still see him, in the corner of my eyes, watching, salivating….

So tired, things are confusing enough, but now I can’t sleep, every time I close my eyes I see them, covered in blood, screaming, as I cut them, then, god… I need these images out of my head, I need, release.

This fucking blog is the cause of it all, before I heard of this place, I wasn’t this way, I wasn’t this fucked up, it all started once I took this blog over, it’s like somehow it infected me, made me, lose my shit, I need, I need to get away from this all, I need, I need, fuck I just need sleep.

I’m not thinking straight, I’m not, I’m not understanding things, I need sleep, I need rest, I need to get way from this house, this place, this blog, I need sleep.

I know, pointless post, but I can’t help it, it’s like, if I don’t write it down, if I don’t share it with you, it’s nothing, I’m nothing.

Am I really just a character in a story?

Or, is he the character, and I’m just confused, I’m lost, maybe if I can sleep, rest, regroup, I can sort this out myself, maybe, I can put him where he needs to be.

Maybe I can end his story, before, he ends me….

Time to break character, with nine days remaining for the 365 challenge to be completed many things have transpired over the last few weeks, namely the biggest one, Marty Towns, one of the main characters from my ‘The Roundhead’ story has, if you haven’t realised by now, somehow come to life and taken over the blog, confusing his, ‘made up’ back story to be real and believes I’ve stolen his stories, claimed them as my own and posted them on this blog. After Marty renamed the blog, (total jerk thing to do by the way) he set about rewriting many of the stories that this blog brought to you, in a misguided attempt to reclaim them (another total jerk thing to do, god this guy is a total wanker). Now, after losing his marbles, (can I clap, because he’s obviously nuts) he’s decided to rebirth the horror magazine that he originally wrote all these stories for, in the form of a web blog, this web blog, which is now (if you didn’t notice) titled Fear In Fear Magazine. Plus we also have some suspicious character calling himself ‘The First’ posting vague poems/prose about how it’s coming, and the end is near… Gosh, okay, have I missed anything?

Probably, at the best of times I over stretch myself, but this is, well, not entirely up there with my best ideas.

Anyway, why the break in character?

Excellent question.

Easy answer, after the challenge is over, and, hopefully poor Marty is back in his box, the blog will indeed remain Fear In Fear Magazine, where we will be showcasing madness, the likes of the twisted roads we currently venture on could only dream of, and the invitation is out there to anyone who wants to throw down and become part of the dastardly dealings Fear In Fear will bring forth.

Why tell you now? Well, I wanted, before  things went pear-shaped, to touch you all, not in a weird, sexually perverted way, but in a, hey, this part of the story is legit way (maybe I should’ve just written touch base with you all…) because the blog itself is staring in this, the final story Matthew Tonks’ Twisted Roads of Madness will bring you. While I’m here, I just wanted to say, thank you to everyone who’s stayed with me as the wheels have fallen off, and, hopefully, I’ll see you on the other side.

Although, I should mention, the next time I post, I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up Deadhead manure, oops I should’ve said spoiler alert!

Cheers,

 
Matt

As we move forward in this new age, this new headspace, I took the time to look back over some of the great writers who were part of Fear In Fear’s original run and realize, I cannot do this on my own.

So I’m calling out to you, writers, artists, creators, if you have something dark, something strange, or, something that’s just downright awesome, let me know and I’ll showcase it on Fear In Fear, and link back to to your blog.

Together, lets make the resurrection of Fear In Fear live up to the glory it once was.

Send all submissions to earth2165@yahoo.com.

Marty

Fear In Fear Magazine is reborn, my past is being used against me, twisted and turned into something it’s not by someone I once called friend.

Gareth, your demented journey will soon be at an end, by bringing Matthew into this world, by filling his shoes with flesh and bone you have only angered the one who whispered the stories.

I thought my mind was gone, I thought I was just a nightmare given form, but now I realize it was you all along, no more, NO MORE!

Today. I reclaim not only my stories but that which was the portal for them to venture into this world.

Fear me Gareth, for the beast is at my side, whispering me a new tale, new words, words I will spread.

10 days,

10 days and you’ll all meet,

The Deadhead!

Why?

Its the only real question I have left to ask.

Gareth, why have you done this to me?

Why have you tried to twist everything I am into this pale, unrecognizable face?

What did I do to you that made you so bitter?

We were friends, comrades in arms, why did you create this persona, why did you play with all the things I created, what good will it do?

Answer me!

I need to know I’m not the only one who hears it, I need to know I’m not losing my mind.

Images in my head, blood over everything, their dead eyes, looking at me, I can’t tell if it’s just my imagination or if it’s real, memories lost, now regained.

I need someone to hear me, I need to validate my existence.

Am I real?

Or am I a character within a story, playing out in a world where I never existed, where, my mirror self reigns over all I see, over all I am…

Or, is it the beast?

Can anyone hear me?

Can anyone save my soul?

I’ve woken up badly today, it seems my night, went longer than I anticipated it would. It was sometime around 7:00am that I finally closed my eyes to rest.

So much of the night is a blur, but what I do remember, what I can recall, make no sense.

I tried calling Clare today, after last night bizarre happenings I thought it was important, but it never answered, didn’t even go to a message bank, just rang out, so I’m going to try and arrange another flight, I need answers.

A word of warning, I might not post anything else today, don’t hold that against me, I’m sure it’s not the first time I’ve let someone down, it won’t be the last.

I’ll see you on the other side.

Marty

How do I start this post when all my thoughts are still not sure what they saw, what they heard. When my brain is telling me 1 thing and seconds later something else, I feel like everything I am is being pulled this way, and that way, as I constantly struggle against urges, visions of blood, of darkness, and, of it.

Then there’s the memories, memories that’re like snowflakes, falling down around me, and I wonder how I could’ve forgotten them, how I could’ve blocked them out, when they’re important memories I should’ve never forgotten.

The nightmares, the visions, the blood, I’ve had them before, when I wrote its story all those years ago, when I birthed it into this world, when, when they left me.

When it took them from me.

I know now why I’ve been able to become more than I was before, see, it needs me, it wants me, it needs us, to finish its story.

I’m drunk, but maybe for the first time I can see the world for what it is, a lie, and, I see the blood, rivers and rivers of blood.

Marty

I don’t want to start off another Daily Grind with another story of something unusual happening, but, its what seems to be the current trend at the moment.

Little sleep, and nightmares, that seem to be coming more from out there, than from inside my head.

I tried not to sleep last night, I truly did, after the events of the night before, I dare not sleep, but, eventually things seemed to overtake my senses, and I knew, I was sleeping.

At first, I noticed small, out of the corner of my eyes movements, mainly in the shadows of the room, but then, after I really became aware of what was happening, everything faded away into nothing, darkness.

I was trapped, fear held me tightly as I tried to breathe the damp air into my lungs, then, I felt the ground beneath me tremble as it made its way out of the darkness, to stand before me, its size was immense, I could see nothing else but it.

We stood there, staring into each other, then it spoke to me, it told me of the blood, the darkness, how soon it would be time for me, to play my role in its rebirth.

I challenged it, I spoke up, I called it my imagination, I called it my fears realized, as things of its kind do not exist in this world, then it marked me, and told me once more, soon my role, for which I was born to play, would be upon us.

I woke, drenched in sweat, terrified, and was even more, when I looked down at my arm, and saw, it’s mark.

I don’t know now, if it was a dream or something more, but I have a feeling I’m going to find out sooner, rather than later.

Marty

Don’t judge me, don’t criticize my choices, what I do, I do because I have to, not because I want to.

Right now, at this moment I should be aboard my flight, heading towards my past, heading to Sydney, but instead I’m still here, trying to deal with everything that happened last night, or this morning, really depends how you look at time I guess.

I was visited again last night, by the mysterious shadow that seems to haunt my dreams. It was sometime around 3:00am when I woke and felt its presence, like I have the few nights before. I laid there, watching it, watch me, I swallowed, didn’t make any sudden movements and told it, as calmly as I could to leave. It just stood there, watching, not moving, I repeated the words again, told it to leave, this was my home, and it was not wanted. Then, for the first time since it appeared, it moved. It was a slight movement, nothing grand or revealing, but enough to send my heart racing. Its head moved to the side, it wasn’t a fluid movement either, it was like an animated cartoon, missing several cells, it skipped images, and its head turned to the side, like how a dog looks at you when it’s trying to figure out what you’re saying. I felt the sweat bead on my forehead, my hands were instantly clammy, and I had the urge to piss as my stomach twisted like a washing machine on its final cycle.

For minutes we both stayed there, locked in this moment, and then I uttered the words again for it to leave, again it showed no indication of understanding me. I stammered, spluttered, and shook with fear as I forced myself up into a sitting position, I yelled this time, told it to leave, said it was unwanted, this was my home and I wanted it out. That’s when it lurched up like a cobra, it’s size grew until it filled the room with its shape and then it came at me, I tried to scream, but it was jamming itself down my throat, that’s when I heard it, 3 words, repeated over and over again, ‘WRITE MY STORY’ it said, then I opened my eyes and the room was empty, I leapt out of bed, alone as the clock flicked over to 6:00am.

I’m still trying to figure out if it was a dream or if it really happened, a month ago I would’ve told you it was a dream, now, I’m not sure, maybe it’s always been there but I’ve just been too fucked up to notice it until now, shit, I have no idea. Anyway, if that was all it was, I’d say it was a dream, but, there’s a rash, an itchy, dark, pus filled rash, that I think’s spreading up my left leg. I’ll go to my GP tomorrow and have him look at it, maybe it’s always been there too, maybe it’s nothing. I don’t know to be honest, all I know is I can’t leave, I can’t endanger anyone if it’s something more than my imagination playing tricks on me.

Marty

Tomorrow morning I fly across the strait, across a quarter of this great land, and face my past, face my mistakes, my greatest mistakes, head on.

To say that I’m not worried would be lying, I’m petrified, stressed, and on top of that, this house is giving me bad vibes.

Last night, when I finally managed to settle enough to sleep, I woke, no more than 5 minutes later, only to find myself sitting at the kitchen bench, a cigarette burning in the ashtray before me, a glass of  bourbon, neat, the way I like it, and blood, dripping from the bench, running across the floor, and into the pantry, I started shaking uncontrollably, broke out in a sweat, I-I-I, I downed the glass, I know I shouldn’t’ even, I’d been clean for 5 weeks, and it felt good, but as the liquid ran down my throat, I felt better. I slowly got to my feet and walked over to the pantry door, I need to work out the best way to explain the feeling I had, maybe, it was more a memory, maybe something more.

I gripped the handle and pulled it open, that’s when I woke up. This time back in bed, it was morning, and obviously, whatever that was, it wasn’t real. That’s before I saw the empty glass and an astray full of cigarette butts, I can tell you, I almost lost my shit, I almost ripped the party door off, my heart was in my mouth, but there was nothing unexpected in their.

Anyway, I don’t know how to explain any of what happened last night, all I can do is put it down to nerves about tomorrow, my subconscious trying to find an outlet that’s manifesting itself in my dreams, causing me to sleep walk maybe?

Who knows, all I know is tomorrow his happening, it has to, otherwise, what else is there?

Marty

Time and time again, I find myself asking the question, why?

Valid?

Of course it is, we ask ourselves why all the time, about every move we make, about every decision, citing it to ourselves at a later date, why the choice had to be made, why we, did what we did.

When Fear In Fear Magazine closed, and I had no creative output for my stories, I fell in to a holding pattern, one that involved drink, drug, and darkness. I don’t blame Clare for going back home, taking the girls, she tried talking to me, she yelled, clawed, screamed, cried, she did everything she could, but when she realized nothing would work, she left, one day, no warning, well, I guess that’s a lie, she gave me plenty of it.

But, one day, I woke from my stupor, and, they were gone.

8 years passed quickly, I binged, lost my soul more than  I care to admit, became this shell, this nothingness, until my words found me again, through this blog.

But, I lie, I never stopped writing, not really, not inside my head, and somehow, those words, that were inside, found their way out through him.

I’m losing myself.

After, for the first time waking up in this world, waking up, and finally, really becoming me, I’m not sure, I am, who I should be, when maybe, I should be…

It doesn’t matter, I guess its the nerves about this weekend, I want to call, I have a number, I want to say hello, but, is that enough?

When all the stars fall, when all the dreams end, what is left for us to pick up? What do we truly become? And, who’s eyes do we see through? Yours? Mine? Hers? His? Or, in the end do we all become its slave?

Marty

I’m nervously anticipating the weekend, it’s been almost 8 years since Clare left with the girls, 8 years of being lost in my own self pity, my own nightmare. I haven’t called, I can’t, if I lose my nerve before I’m even there I’ll never go, so I have to go in blind, and hope it all works out.

If you were to ask me what I hoped to achieve from the trip, I honestly couldn’t tell you an answer, I mean, I know it’s not going to be instant happy families, and the last 8 years will be forgotten, but maybe it could be a start towards something like that.

Anyway, I’ve packed and unpacked more times than I can count in the last 2 days, reshuffled everything more than once, played my own game of weakest link and dropped those chosen to the floor, sometimes to pick them back up again.

But the reason I’m writing today’s post has not so much to do with the packing and unpacking, than it has to do with another bizarre happening in this house.

14 times this morning I’ve found a copy of Fear In Fear Magazine issue 247 stuffed in my bag, and 14 times I’ve taken it out, throwing it out a window  3 time for it just to reappear back in my bad, 4 times I’ve locked it in a room, jammed it in a drawer once, burnt it 3 times, cut it up once and tore it in two twice, but, each time, it appears in my bag, whole and, for the most part, undamaged. I thought at first I was just losing my marbles, but I’m not, I swear.

I went down to Harvey Normans to look at digital cameras, I thought maybe if I set up a camera on the magazine I could see what happen. 4 hours I left it there, and for 4 hours nothing happened, but, once I turned the camera off, the magazine somehow ended back up in my bag. So I’ve left it in front of the camera again, this time, I’m just going to leave it running and see what happens, worst case scenario, it won’t happen again.

Has anyone out there had weird experiences like this, where something just keeps finding its way back no matter how many times you try to stop it?

Marty