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

I was planning on doing a video today for the Daily Grind, but this new lap top and me are just not meshing well, so, videos will have to wait until I work it out. I guess it’s a throw back to when I was writing full time for Fear In Fear Magazine as it helped me keep all my ideas in check, and just made to whole creative process work so much easier.

Anyway, that’s not what I want to talk to you about today, it’s last night that’s on my mind right now. It was about 3, 3:30 when I woke up with the feeling someone was in my room, I of course quickly turned on the light, and found none was there, I put it down to being half asleep and rolled back over.

Now, that in itself is not really worth mentioning I know, because really, it was nothing, just on its own that is, it’s what happened a little while later that makes it so important.

After I eventually drifted back off to sleep, 20 or so minutes later, I woke with the same feeling, this time however I didn’t turn the light on straight away, I just laid there, and that’s when I saw it, a figure standing at the foot of my bed, I almost shat myself, but when I turned on the light there was no one there. I searched the house, checked all the doors and windows, nothing was out of place, nothing unlocked, it was just impossible. 

I don’t know what it was, I don’t know how to explain it, but if things keep happening, I’ll let you know more. Has anyone else had similar experiences?

Marty

Back when I was really hitting my stride while writing for Fear In Fear Magazine, I was introduced to an artist who had contacted the magazine due to being inspired by a few of my stories, his name was Gareth Wilkinson, we struck up a friendship instantly, and from that point on every story I wrote, he created visual interpretations that accompanied them, even taking cover credits for some of the issues, the last 5 where his best, they actually gave me cold shivers, still do to this day.

Now I’m guess you’re wondering why I’m telling you this, there must be a reason, right? and of course, you’re correct.

Earlier when I returned home from my expedition to purchase a new lap top, I didn’t notice at the time, but after losing my patience with this new computer, I mean seriously, Microsoft, the juggernaut that it is, should be able to make an operating system that does what it believes it can, right?

Anyway, I noticed the flashing light coming from my answering machine while I was in the middle of my fourth fucking mother-fuckers. I honestly can’t tell you the last time I was away from home received a call, with trepidation, I pressed play.

I was surprised by the voice I instantly recognized as Gareth’s, we hadn’t talked in almost seven years, he tried, but I was so self involved, I just cut him, like the rest of the world, out of my life. He didn’t have much to say, only that he was drawing , painting something, a large piece that spans several canvases, and that he needed to see me, he needed to show me.

I called him back almost immediately, the conversation was short, but we arranged to met when I was in Sydney, he assured me by the time we sit down, his paintings should be complete. I of course asked what it was, but he just said I need to see it for myself.

Anyway, it now looks like Saturday is going to be a lot busier than I anticipated, I will, as always, keep you in the loop.

Marty

My lack of human company has created a black void around my life, one that seems to suck many things into it, and, every once in a while, strange things occur around the house. I know, this sounds like the start of a story, but as this seems an outlet for my life at the moment, I thought I’d share it with you all.

Last night, or more like this morning, I awoke in the lounge room of my home, the lights were on, I was sitting in an upright position on the couch, the laptop on my lap, and, a burning cigarette in my hand. I haven’t smoked in eighteen years, haven’t brought a packet for just as long, but somehow, there it was, in my hand, the filter was wet, and I could taste the vile flavors dancing around in my mouth. I sat there staring at the bloody thing for way too long, trying to piece together what happened last night, I wrote, read, and then went to bed, all this before midnight, but now here I was at 4  in the morning, obviously delving into sins of the past.

My mind must have wandered far longer than I realized, as I felt a sharp pain, my fingers screamed at me, and I knew then and there the cigarette had burnt down to the filter, and now was licking my fingers with it hot tongue. I jumped up, my lap top launched off my lap, and crashed to the ground, bloody thing soaked, the screen flickered, rolled, fizzed and then turned to black, not before displaying something stranger than me waking up with a cigarette hand, it was a twisted, distorted face, he was talking, screaming, no sounds came from the laptop unfortunately, and then it was gone.

The computer is toast, hopefully the hard drive can be saved, the guy who sold me this over expensive typewriter at JB Hi-Fi asked me about whether I had a one drive account or something called an eye cloud, neither I’ve heard of, so I’m assuming not. He said if I was lucky maybe someone could help me out, but after he took my money he didn’t care.  I’ll let you know how I go, although I need to mention this new windows is totally ridiculous, I much prefer XP.

Marty

I remember the day we were told Fear In Fear Magazine was mo more, I was sitting in a Sydney coffee shop with good friend and fellow writer Sam Melton. We were both more than surprised, we were shattered. Three days later, after a phone conversation I still to this day can’t remember, Sam took his own life, I recall thinking that lucky bastard, how did he have the gall to do such a thing when I was unable to even place a blunt knife against my wrists without chickening out.

After Clare, my wife, had left with the girls, I was alone, looking back, I don’t blame her for leaving, Fear In Fear Magazine had some sort of hold on me, and all the spare time I had was devoted to writing new exciting stories for each issue. During that time Sam became the closet thing I had to family, so when he decided things were bad enough that he wanted out, he bailed, which, to be honest was Sam through and through. After Sam’s funeral I tried to reestablish some sort of communication between myself and Clare, but she never returned any of my calls, and try as I might, I could never track her, or the girls down.

To be honest here with you today, I never really tried, I wanted to, really I did, but I was so beat up, so down, so depressed, I couldn’t face life, I wouldn’t face another disappointment. So I hid in darkness, and that’s where I stayed until I received a call from an old colleague who worked on Fear In Fear Magazine with me, and encouraged me too look up this blog you now read, fuck, up until that day I didn’t even know what a blog fucking meant, now of course I do.

Why am I telling you all this, I don’t know, maybe because this morning, I picked up the phone and arranged to fly back to Sydney, as an old friend who is long gone supplied me with an address, and tomorrow, I will face my past. You see, some people concentrate on tomorrow, others on today, I’ve been concentrating on things that mean nothing, when I need to fix yesterday, I need to make amend for the lives I’ve lost being part of, for our future is always lost somewhere in our past.

Marty

Yesterday I talked about dreams, and how they inspire the stories that slip out of ones mind and onto the paper in front of you.

Today, I want to touch a little on how another’s work can inspire. I know I mentioned fan fiction the other day, but this is deeper than mer fan fiction, this has to do with one of the surprising things I’ve found since going over the different ways Matthew presented my work to you, is that of the 50 word stories, and how they insipired some people to expand upon the stories themselves.

It’s humbling to think words I wrote somehow inspired others to build a world separate from where the original story dwelled in, and, in some instances, the stories were far superior than the original the words were taken from.

That being said, I’d love to see others try their hands at reshaping each of the 50 word stories, so if over the course of the next few weeks, as I write new original stories that utilize the original 50 word stories, you find a story that inspires you to write, please write, write your bloody arse off, then, let me know, because I’d love to showcase your story on the blog.

Marty

Do your dreams have a way of weaving  their way into your stories?

It’s a silly question I know, as an author I know a lot of my dreams turn up in some form in my stories, In fact some even push through so powerfully that the dreams force the story to be created.

Where am I going with this one, everywhere really. To be even more precise, I have a question, can a simple idea, a simple dream, spawn more than just a story, can it spawn a whole world into existence?

I know many of you are shaking your head with disagreement, but how many times has your mind run wild when reading a story, created the world inside your head, inspired you to, as some do, write fan fiction?

For name, I know in the early days being heavily influenced by comics, the world they created, living, breathing worlds that spanned well across this small universe.

Did something inspire you to pick up the pen, was it a dream, or was it someone else’s words written on a page that inspired you?

I’d love to know what makes you, you.

Marty

Hello dear readers, Marty here, it’s been almost 24 hours since I took control of the blog, and as you can see, I have changed the name, but kept the posts running as they were when Matthew had control.

I know you’re asking why, I myself asked that same question, but the reason is a simple one. I want to prove not only to myself, but to you all that everything he stole, everything he posted on here, was mine.

The easiest way for me to do that, is to continue his sordid stories in the same pathetic structure he has already in place. Over time, I’ll change it to suit my needs, things like Wrapped In Words would work better for me as Whispers, but for now it’ll stay as it is, with a new coat of pain of course.

I’ll revert back to the days, as I dislike the blah blah until the end title and feel the day number give each post strength, and it’ll help new readers realize how long the blog has been going for.

The serials will return with more updated stories, the last Bad Day story that was posted here, I actually wrote 7 years ago and have improved since then. So you can look froward to more stories of Maxwell Sevenson, although the way he posted them leads some thought into what he was thinking. I say this because the first few he posted were written 3 years ago, so as you can see there was no structure in place for what he was doing, but I’ll fix that.

Dark Stars, as convoluted as it became when I wrote it 12 years ago, I never returned to finish the story, maybe now that will change.

The YouChallenge is a joke, he partnered with another blogger and they deceived you, picking themes from some of my already written stories and making it look like they had been written for the supposed challenges. I’ll show them and you how challenges should be handled by meeting all previous challenges with a NEW, ORIGINAL STORY!

That brings me to the 50 word stories, these things are another slight of hand joke, pieces pulled from my stories, made to look like they were written first and then written into an expanded story. What trash, he lied again, so to show you all how better I am than he was, I’ll also take each of the former 50 word stories, and expand them into NEW, ORIGINAL STORIES!

There is more I plan to do, but the last thing I want to mention for today, is my prized work. The one that I’ve held most dear to my heart, my Roundhead. I can’t believe what he did to it, massacred so much of it, cutting pieces here and there to make it fit, then to have the gall to replace the writer with ME? I take it as some deluded, idiotic way of trying to wipe me from existence, to make me seem like the crazy one, but who is the crazy one now?

Who has all the power and who has none?

Marty