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humble-wayside-flower · 4 years

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Right Side Wrong (X)

Songs for Marin and Matthias Magwood // City With No Sky Pt. 2 (Marin on the left, Matthias on the right)

*~*~*

I’ll Be Your Mirror - Lowland Hum (A song for parallel universes and for someone who is so different but also very much the same)

When you think the night has seen your mind That inside you’re twisted and unkind Let me stand to show that you are blind Please put down your hands ‘Cause I see you

Secret for the Mad - Dodie (Sort of my song for Marin <3 You have to go through the hard stuff to get to the better stuff, but someday this will all make sense)

I’ve got a secret for the mad In a little bit of time it won’t hurt so bad And I get that I don’t get it But you will burn right now, but then you won’t regret it

Close to Home - Vienna Teng (Home, Home, Home. It’s important to them both, but especially so to Marin. Learning to let go of the physical home, but also maybe the ideological home, and trying to build a new one, while stumbling upon the way.)

Lay your head where they hold Hide the demarcations of your soul And play your silent scream role Harmonize your own worth to what you show Normalized and nowhere close to home

O Magnum Mysterium - Morten Lauridsen (”The singing is slightly discordant, not quite right, unsettling to listen to. Through the making of music that sounds as pained as they feel inside do the priestexes of the Silent One grieve their dead… The dissonance resolves into a more traditional chord; the voices finish in something still sad, but more at peace.” --This is the song I’ve imagined in this spot from the moment that session ended. While it isn’t really a mournful song, there was never going to be another one that fit this part better in my head.)

Latin Choral Piece

Can’t Go Back - The Crane Wives (The ever present mantra, it’s not fair. It’s not fair because this was my home too, and my friend too, and no you don’t get to kick me out of my own home, I won’t leave. Except you do, and you do.)

Cause you can’t go back, darling The time has come for moving on You can’t be always trying to dig up What you’ve already buried You’ve got to carry carry carry on

Prelude - Tessa Violet (A song for Nora. For two people with walls they haven’t fully broken down. A song for wanting to know more about who a person is behind the things a person does. A song for offering friendship, and a song for hesitance that is hard to get past.)

I’m insecure Of that I’m sure Don’t need a counselor or seminar to see And even when it’s only you and me There seems to be Somethin’ that you keep behind your teeth

The Loneliness Waltz - The Ballroom Thieves (A song for Raye. For two people in the same boat, even when the oceans are different. A song for wanting other people to want you so badly that you never quite learn to stop giving yourself to people who are not paying attention. A song for picking yourself up again and again anyways.)

We are frivolous with our hearts Watch them bend till they break Then we pick up the parts Yeah, we give, we take We save and condemn And we live just to love again

We’re Not Different - Lo-Fang (A song for Yani Shae. For the weird sensation of looking at a person, and feeling like you’re looking at a distorted mirror. The same but different. Different but the same. I have a lot of thoughts about Yani and Marin and the act of having faith in a deity that is all about random chance, but that’s a whole other post.)

You look at me but don’t see what I see I’m different But we’re not different Take this plant To feel how I feel Now we’re different But we’re not different Not so different

Leviathan - Dirt Poor Robins (World Eater Vibes- Adara Style. Tbh, the song I wanted to put here wasn’t on spotify, so this was the next best choice. A song for an entity that is threatening all of reality, but no one has ever seen it, and also you only really know it exists because your parallel universe selves told you it did. A song for world destruction as a ticking time bomb with a broken read out.)

Here I lie in the dark and deep For a thousand years I’ve been asleep Far removed from the walls that rage Undisturbed by the earthquakes And I wait, I wait

Saint Bernard - Lincoln (A song about faith, and about losing it, and finding it, and losing it, and keeping it, and knowing that you’ll never really be able to extract it from yourself without cutting out a vital part of yourself. Marin is struggling with the loss of her home, but even more so with this loss of purpose. She’s just pushing forward and hoping for something to grab onto again.)

I said “Make me love myself, so that I might love you” Don’t make me a liar, ‘cause I swear to God When I said it, I thought it was true

In Darkness - Lowland Hum (A song for parallel universes, for someone who is very much the same, but also so different)

Forest of my mind Calm and slow and know comfort of the darkness Knowing you I am more myself but not a self I know; One from somewhere else

Guiltless - Dodie (I have a lot of thoughts about Mattie and their family, and the worries that come with growing up in an environment that is not affirming of who you are and that upholds the status quo to a fault. How do you figure out what parts of you are really you, and what parts are the ones you need to let go or outgrow?)

Oh but I’m not bitter, I’m just tired No use getting angry at the way that you’re wired And I could never let you know (Ooh, you’d never get it) And now I’m the one who can’t let go (Ooh don’t say it’s genetic)

The Hymn of Acxiom - Vienna Teng (A song for being cursed, and the ever present inkling that you are not quite alone in your own head. A song for being cursed, and abruptly understanding in the most gut wrenching way that you are absolutely not alone in your own head, not one bit.)

Somebody hears you. You know that. You know that. Somebody hears you. You know that inside. Someone is learning the colors of all your moods, to (Say the right thing and) show that you’re understood

Nox Aurumque - Eric Whitacre (I cheated a little bit on this one and used a different composer, albeit still a Latin choral piece. I liked that this piece had an eeriness to it that contrasted with the lighter nature of O Magnum Mysterium. Also the title translates to Night and Gold, which seemed fitting.)

Latin Choral Piece

Curses - The Crane Wives (The world eater is the one that burns, but their walls are still unstable. Will their friends still be here when the walls burn down? They hope so.)

Every word I say is kindling But the smoke clears when you’re around Won’t you stay with me, my darling When my walls start burning down, down, down?

Honest - Tessa Violet (A song for Sheridan. A song for two people who just want to be wanted, who have problems with self sacrifice, and who are learning that you need to lean on other people. It’s okay, their shoulder is here.)

Here’s the truth My strength ain’t bein’ honest I mostly work from wanting to be wanted And if there’s somethin’ else, well I don’t know if I got it, got it And come the night, I’m never really solid

Trouble - The Ballroom Thieves (A song for Raleigh. For two people who can’t stop getting into trouble with each other. In many ways the two are complete opposites, but in another life they might not have been so different. For the boy who welcomes trouble with the smile of an old friend.)

I’m terrified of my heart Its hunger for whatever it may want The way it stops and starts Yeah it may saunter into war Trouble doesn’t keep a civil score

Silver Peak - Lo-Fang (A song for Lukas. It took me ages to decide on one for him, and I’m still not totally happy with this choice. I feel like it captures the danger that his helping our party has put him in though, and the frenetic energy of everything that went down during the cult ceremony. I am so sorry that you got sucked into this world eater and blood hunter stuff. You’re a cool dude, and thank you again for the fork.)

Instrumental

But Never a Key - Dirt Poor Robins (World Eater Vibes- Aillgate Style. It’s all about the fire imagery baby. And the imagery of someone slowly coming undone at the seams. A song for the slow ascent of a burning god that could unravel all of reality. A song for not being sure how to stop this yet. A song for being afraid of losing control of your body and mind again. Also that good good warlock shit.)

You’re wound up too tightly So frayed and unsightly Pulling on your own strings You’re unraveling How can a cure now be found? With no outside threat Just a fire in your chest And you’re melting All over everything

How I Survived Bobby Mackey’s Personal Hell - Lincoln (This song isn’t quite perfect, but the frenetic energy of it feels really right, especially in the aftermath of the cult ceremony. Mattie is looking for answers, but they’re also just looking for distraction. And control. Some control over these magic powers they suddenly have access too would be great too. A song for anxious waiting.)

Nothing says I miss you quite like “I’m running out of time” Nothing says I hate you now like Getting sweat stains on a knife I am killing time with a razor blade

#city with no sky #cwns playlist #my playlists #music #going to press post on this #before I can overthink it any more than I already have #anyways I know only three other people are going to care about this #but I cannot fucking wait to play dnd with this group again #<3

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sir-moss · 5 years

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Nox atra renouet mysterium Quo curas remouet silentium.

Shaved the sides of my jaw, but it’s already growing back. I guess I can just keep trying new styles, considering how fast it grows back.

#.img #(my art #.selfie

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noxmysterium · 6 years

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April's first flash fiction post is available for patrons over on Patreon.

A shut-in has an unusual companion, and he doesn't intend to change that fact any time soon.

Go check it out!

#patreon #horror #creepy #nightmare #monster #death by proxy #nox mysterium #flash fiction

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freenewstoday · 3 years

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New Post has been published on https://freenews.today/2020/12/25/kanye-west-releases-surprise-album-on-christmas-an-ep-called-emmanuel/

Kanye West Releases Surprise Album On Christmas, An EP Called ‘Emmanuel’

As is his wont, Kanye West again dropped a surprise record on Christmas Day. Written and exec produced by West, the 5-track Emmanuel is “ancient and Latin inspired new music.” Performed by West’s Sunday Service Choir, Emmanuel certainly has a choral feel. As with last winter’s Jesus Is Born, the release is said to be a “celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ.”

Jesus Is Born debuted at No. 2 on Billboard’s Top Gospel Albums chart and also featured the Sunday Service Group. Its predecessor, Jesus Is King, debuted in October 2019.

West’s Sunday Service events began in early 2019 when West began hosting semi-regular Sunday gatherings featuring music. The first public Sunday Service performance happened at Coachella on Easter Sunday, 2019.

Emmanuel means “God is with us.” It is a name which is conferred upon Jesus in Isaiah 7:14: “Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; behold, a virgin shall conceive in the womb, and shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Emmanuel…”

The 12-minute EP is available on Spotify and Apple Music. Its 5 tracks are:

1. Requiem Aeternam

2. O Mira Nox

3. O Magnum Mysterium

4. Puer

5. Gloria

See below for video of Sunday Service from the official Coachella account.

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host-of-chthon · 6 years

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I got tagged by the wonderful @pinhead-in-stilettos rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 people nicknames: Lord Cyan, the library ghost gender: male sign: Pisces height: 189cm birthday: February 20

favourite bands: Ah, so many... Trans Siberian Orchestra, Screaming Trees, Mark Lanegan Band, Metallica, Slayer, Megadeth, Black Sabbath, Phidel, Stoa, Elend, Nox Arcana, Die Verbannten Kinder Evas, Dark sanctuary, Dead Can Dance, Il Divo, Alice In Chains, Kamelot, Wardruna, Florence and the Machine, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Ghost, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Bauhaus, Amber Asylum, Pink Floyd, Autumn Tears, Omnia, Heilung, Cocteau Twins, Goblin, Rotting Christ, Joy Division, Le’Rue Delashay and so so so many more. favourite solo artists: Beethoven, Vivaldi, Max Ablitzer, Leonard Cohen, Jo Blackenburg, Carl Orff, Adam Hurst, David Garrett, Gunnar Madsen, Jill Tracy right from the top of my head. song stuck in my head: Led Zeppelin - Kashmir last movie I watched: Um...good question. Must be “Orlac’s Hände” for the 100th time last show I watched: Vikings when did I create this blog: Late June 2017 what do I post: morbid and gotchic aesthetics, literature, occult, mythology, and roleplays featuring my OC. other blogs: none what did I last google: “collage maker” do I get asks: yes, I do sometimes and I deeply thank my followers for it. why did I choose this URL: It is a mash of two music piece titles, actually; Leonard Cohen’s “I’m your man” -reflecting Mysterio’s old-fashioned gentleman’s ways- and the music piece “Mysterium” by Scriabin, which inspired my muse’s name. The particular music piece was supposed to have duration seven whole days, to be played in mystical locations and also to bring Armageddon; so I figured it was befitting. following: 221 followers: 278 average hours of sleep: mostly 4, but it varies. lucky number: I don’t have one. instrument: violin, piano, electric and classic guitar what I’m wearing right now: wool sweater, scarf, pajama bottoms and socks favourite food: um... does coffee count? last book I read: “The Lucifer Effect” by Philip Zimbardo 3 favourite fandoms: I am not very fond of fandoms in general, so I will just go ahead and say gothic literature fandom and supernatural horror fandom, although I am currently taking an interest in Tolkien’s works -mainly because of the aesthetics and the mythology- and Castlevania fandom

Tagging: @thestrangedoctorisin @askmarietheapprentice @heedthemountain @3brosangel @lucian-tate @xxdarthvaderofmiddle-earthxx and whoever else wants to take the challenge

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noxmysterium · 6 years

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If you ever have the opportunity to sing karaoke at the Merlin Moose Lodge … DON’T.

I went with my parents to karaoke tonight. It was in a tiny wayside town called Merlin. It’s the kind of place you know exists because it’s in the same valley you live in, but you never have any reason to visit so you usually don’t think about it.

And I’m never coming back.

It looked like every other horse-trough town in the Pacific Northwest; a little overgrown at the edges and a lot of old buildings that look like they hadn’t seen a good renovation since the Kennedy administration. The Moose Lodge there was no exception.

(I’ve learned through a quick search that the building hasn’t been the Lodge all that long, but I can’t find any records on the building’s history. At all. And maybe I’m just bad at Google, but I feel like that’s not normal.)

The walls of the Lodge’s main hall (if you could call it that) were untreated planks of … I don’t know. It was too dark to be pine, and looked too washed out to be oak. I don’t know what to call that shade of wood. I know it was rough and untreated, though, and snagged at the elbow of my shirt every time I moved to cut through a stringy steak that had been given a good peek at the grill before being served. (I asked for medium well, for the record.)

I was pinched between the wall and an older gentleman from my town. The whole table was full of people from my town. Some of them were there to compete in the second round of the Moose-wide karaoke competition. Every Lodge competes, and sends their best on to the next round in the next town.

We were at round two, my mom and me there to support my dad (a karaoke DJ, himself) who had competed back home — after being volun-told by the other members he was too good not to compete — and, obviously, scored high enough to move on. The rest of the table was populated by the friends and family of the few who also progressed with him.

Dinner was edible, if slightly raw, and seemed to drag on as we crawled toward 7:00 and the start of the competition.

When 7:18 rolled around, there was no sign of the competition starting.

The room was loud, voices overlapping and blending into other voices, disembodied laugher crackling off the walls and high ceiling to rattle around in the exposed tin ductwork.

Above the crush of voices came one booming voice, shouting for quiet and attention.

“Anyone not eating needs to leave the room so we can clear the floor!”

Like most of the room, we got up and slowly shuffled out. There weren’t many places to go, so we ended up milling around the cramped foyer while volunteers folded away the tables that had occupied the middle of the performance-hall-turned-dining-room.

BANG!

A sharp sound, like a gunshot, exploded from the dining hall.

As one we jumped, turning to the doors sealing the hall from the foyer. In our collective silence, we heard nothing from the hall. No conversation from those diners who stayed behind, no movement, nothing. We existed in a bubble of complete isolation.

The lack of sound pressed against us as we pressed against each other, tingling in my ears as I strained to hear anything over our combined breathing.

When the doors finally opened it was like a seal being broken, and sound slowly returned to the room as we filtered back inside. Like turning the volume up on reality, the cacophony of pre-competition increased with every step I took back into the performance hall.

After the chaos cleared and we had taken our seats again (our table hadn’t moved so I was still against the wall with my mom across the table from me), the MC took the mic.

“Hey, everyone,” he called, silencing the room. “When someone is up here singing, DO NOT sing along with them! This stuff is serious. People are competing to win some actual money. We had someone from here get all the way to finals last year, and maybe this year we’ll go all the way. I cannot emphasize this enough: Do not sing along with them.”

There was a lot of chatter after that, especially when it was announced that the competition would, in fact, be starting at 8:00. To fill the space between (it was now 7:30), it was proposed that everyone participate in the (traditionally) 9 o’clock prayer to Mooseheart.

Mooseheart is a charitable foundation associated with the Moose. It collects funds to help people in the community in need, often children. This was something I remembered from my own childhood, when I’d attended karaoke with my dad back in our own town, so I knew the routine: Stand up, face Mooseheart (in this case, a light-up star with a Norman Rockwell-style picture of a boy praying by his bed on the wall facing the direction Mooseheart would be), bow your head, fold your arms, and stand in silence for nine chimes.

The the room became as suffocatingly silent as the foyer had been before. I felt its pressure on my skin, and a wild thought sent a shiver down my spine and goosebumps up my arms; what if I was the only person in the room? I wanted to look, to have some visual confirmation that everything and everyone was still where they should be, but something primal, buried deep inside me, set off alarm bells telling me not to look up, no matter what.

The chimes began.

One.

Two.

Three.

Don’t look up.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Why is it still so quiet?

The back of my neck was tingling.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Sound returned again. I let my breath out in a rush, unaware I’d even been holding it. I could feel the people around me again, as well, as the MC led us all in the prayer of Mooseheart.

“Repeat after me…”

And we did.

Let the little children come to me.

“Let the little children come to me.”

Do not keep them away.

“Do not keep them away.”

For they are like the kingdom of Heaven.

“For they are like the kingdom of Heaven.”

GOD BLESS Mooseheart!

“God bless Mooseheart.”

I shuddered at the end, unexpectedly filled with revulsion.

Somehow, this prayer I had known since childhood, which had lived vaguely in the back of my mind since then, felt strange and sinister when spoken in this remote podunk town, surrounded by these dark, rough-panneled walls, and voiced by a monotonous cabal of strangers.

I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it, though, this weird disquiet growing in me, because, despite it being a little before 8:00 still, the competition was starting.

Cheers filled the room as the first singer got up. A younger guy, probably in his twenties and wearing a black cowboy hat, white button-up shirt, and dark jeans (rural finary at its best). He made his way to the front of the room, smiling and bobbing his head as everyone applauded for him. He gave his name (which I don’t remember), the Lodge he was from(Gold Hill), and the song he was going to sing (… I have no idea what it was), as all the singers would.

As the music started, I realized he’d chosen some slow country number, which was unsurprising given the area we were in and the size of his hat. He looked like a short Garth Brooks … if a little walleyed, and the recently dimmed lighting did him wonders.

The song started much as you’d expect of a country karaoke track — bluesy piano, plodding bass, and synthesized strings — but his performance was … not what you’d expect. Of anyone.

When he opened his mouth to sing, nothing came out.

He just opened his mouth, tipped his head back, and stood there with the mic in front of his face for the whole performance while the instrumental played behind him.

About a minute into the song, I glanced around to see if anyone was reacting.

They were … in a way, but not as I was expecting.

Everyone was watching the show, or chatting quietly to each other, same as you would during any passably enjoyable karaoke performance. Not a single person frowned in confusion, or murmured to others about the weird guy just breathing at the mic.

They looked like they enjoyed it.

I twisted in my seat to look at my mom for some kind of confirmation that this was as bizarre as I thought, but she was staring at the front of the room like everyone else, nodding along with the music and occasionally mouthing the words on the karaoke display facing the room.

Uncomfortable, but apparently alone in my discomfort, I kept quiet and waited for the song to end, hoping that the next singer would bring reality back to the room.

Applause — whistling, screaming applause followed the silent singer as he took a bow and returned to his seat.

I clapped politely, because it’s what you do when someone has the bravery to stand in front of a room full of strangers to perform. Even if you don’t get the performance, itself, which I very much did not.

When the second singer went up, I was certain we’d be back on track. It was a woman I knew from our local Lodge who I’d heard sing before. She’d chosen Desperado as her first song.

A pretty okay choice for her.

As with the first one, the music started the way you’d expect for a digital facsimile of a once popular (but still very copyrighted song). This time, though, when she brought the mic close to her lips, she started whispering instead of singing.

The KJ fiddled with the various knobs on his soundboard to raise the gain and lower the background volume, bringing the singer’s voice up over the music same as you would any singer with a quiet voice. He nodded his head to the tune, one ear turned toward a hidden monitor to make sure the mix was balanced, and went back to his various KJ things when he was satisfied.

She was unintelligible.

I don’t think she was actually using real words, and it was nonstop. She never seemed to pause for breath; just held the mic in a death grip with both hands and whispered endless incomprehensible syllables into it while staring, dead-eyed, at a spot in the middle of the floor until the music finally ended.

By that point, my skin was crawling.

Once again the room broke into loud, sustained applause until the singer returned to her seat and the next was announced.

I glanced at my mom again, but she was still absorbed in the event. I felt like everyone else was behind this invisible barrier and I was the only one sitting outside of it.

What did they hear? What did they see? Was I really the only one experiencing this? Or was everyone else under some kind of … I don’t know. Group hallucination?

I didn’t hear the next singer’s name, or his song, but the room went crazy for him. I didn’t recognize the tune — an uptempo country thing — or the words when they came up on the screen. It turns out the words didn’t really matter, anyway, because this time instead of singing, the performer peeled back his lips and started screaming through his teeth.

Panic finally exploded through my veins, but I couldn’t will my body to leave. I shook with the jittery tremors of unused adrenaline, and sat frozen in my seat, unable to break away from the horror.

The man’s eyes were wide and rolling back in his head as he screamed again and again. The kind of sound you’d expect from someone having their bones slowly crushed by an unstoppable force with their jaw wired shut.

You can’t imagine what physical suffering actually sounds like until you hear it, and I was surrounded by it then. Amplified through the speakers around the room, it sounded like he was screaming inside my own head. I covered my ears as tears shimmered in my eyes and threatened to fall, cold, down my cheeks.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see my mom. She was rocking to the music, really getting her shoulders involved, and frowned at me while shaking her head; I was being rude.

I wanted to cry.

How the hell wasn’t she hearing this?? How was I the only one terrified by a man clearly screaming himself mute??

When the torture finally ended, the room erupted into applause. People rose from their seats to furiously clap and whistle and hoot for the man who had spent three solid minutes screaming in ragged agony. If I hadn’t been deafened by his screaming, I would have been deafened by theirs.

I couldn’t take any more.

This was supposed to go on another hour, at least. Under the cover of the standing ovation, I made my escape, outside, to the gravel parking lot.

That’s where I am now, writing this and posting it to the only place I can think might believe me.

But I’m stuck.

We all came here together, in the same car.

I’m standing outside in the cold, waiting for this nightmare to end, while my parents are still inside “enjoying” the event.

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know how long I have before someone notices I’m gone and drags me back inside …

Can anyone give me a ride home?

#creepypasta nosleep karaoke death by proxy nox mysterium horror creepy story wtf #nosleep #karaoke #death by proxy #nox mysterium #horror #creepy #short story #wtf #creepypasta

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noxmysterium · 6 years

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There were too many doors in the upstairs hall. Sarah told her parents, but they couldn’t see it. They told her not to worry. They told her there was nothing there. But there was an extra door at the end of the upstairs hall. An extra yellow door, and it didn’t belong.

It was the color of disease, jaundiced and infected, with spidery black veins across its face. One perfect silver knob gleamed in its center above a shadowy keyhole, and it didn’t look right. The doorknob shone with a mirror’s finish, and caught the light from any angle, begging for Sarah to look its way. Sarah did her best to ignore it, but the door knew her name, and it whispered it when she drew near.

“Saraaaahh . . . ” the door would rasp with a voice like dried leaves as tiny claws scraped against the other side. Tears would well in Sarah’s eyes as she’d hurry past, her arms laden with everything she’d need to get ready for the day.

“Saraaaahh . . .” it would call again before she’d shuffled out of range and closed the bathroom door, cutting off its paper-thin wails. When she’d creep from the bathroom to head downstairs, the door’s voice would follow her with a furious flurry of scraping claws and tormented howls. They lingered and gnawed in the back of her mind as she’d rush through breakfast so she could leave the house a few minutes sooner.

School became a blessing, an excuse to be someone somewhere else. At school she could forget the door. At school she could pretend her house was like everyone else’s, with the right number of doors and no eerie whispers. But at the end of the day it was still waiting for her at the end of the upstairs hall, with its mirror-ball knob and yellow face. She hated coming home and knowing it was there, but even more than that, she hated going to sleep, because in her dreams, she opened the door.

Every night, she stood before it, fighting the urge to reach out. Dread knotted her belly in anticipation of pain when her hand rose anyway to grasp the silver knob. Some nights it burned her like the driest ice. Other nights it seared like a red hot coal. Very occasionally, it did neither, instead turning and turning without ever opening the door, and she couldn’t stop turning it until she woke up.

When the door did open, it revealed a swirling vortex of shadow and sound, with a thousand voices crying in the darkness. The voices curled around her, crawling through her hair like spiders. She thrashed and swatted at their skittering whispers, but the words still tingled across her skin.

She never should have listened.

“He sees . . . ” they said. “He hears . . .” they moaned. “He hungers . . .” they wept, and burrowed in her mind like worms. “The Hollow Man, the Hollow Man,” they echoed in her mind and screamed to her from the gaping vortex. “The Hollow Man . . . he hunts!“

Sarah shot up with a scream that night, gasping and sweating, but alone in her bed. The clock’s crimson face said midnight had passed, but not by much. Darkness enveloped her room, except where a vestigial nightlight illumined the corner by her desk; it wasn’t much, but she felt better when she saw it.

She pulled the bedsheets over her head and pushed away the echoing voices. I’m fine, she swore, hugging her knees and rocking. It’s just a dream. They’re always dreams. The dreams will go away like they always do.

She started humming a song her mother used to sing when Sarah was smaller, small enough to need the nightlight, and the panic faded little by little with every note.

Just a dream. She repeated. Just a dream. Just a —

“Sarah?” Someone whispered from the hall.

Sarah froze.

“Sarah? Are you Sarah?” It was the voice of a girl not much younger than Sarah, and not at all like the voice she usually heard from the door at the end of the hall.

“Who . . . who are you?” Sarah whispered back from beneath the sheets.

“My name is Lizzie. Are you Sarah?”

Sarah didn’t move; she was terrified of leaving the safety of her cocoon. As the moments ticked past, however, an anxious curiosity emboldened her enough to peek out from the covers. What if it was another girl, she thought. She sounded just as scared as Sarah felt.

Sarah crawled from her bed clutching the sweat-damp night shirt she’d worn to sleep, and waited. When nothing happened, she stood up and tip-toed toward her bedroom door; toward the waiting yellow door, with the mirror-ball knob, on the wall at the end of the upstairs hall. When she stood before it, her stomach lurched, and for a moment she couldn’t tell if she was going to vomit, or faint.

“Please,” the door said in the young girl’s voice when Sarah got close. “Please, are you Sarah?”

Sarah opened her mouth to answer, but her voice was a tiny squeak of nothing. She pressed her palms to her cheeks and smeared away the tears before trying again.

“Yes,” she finally managed. “. . . I’m Sarah.”

“Please, let me in!” The door’s silvery knob shook violently, rattling as if locked and jostled by someone on the other side. Sarah stumbled back with a gasp, staring at the shuddering, alien knob.

“Let me in, Sarah, please! I can’t stay in here! Please help me! Let me in!”

Sarah dropped to her knees when her legs gave out, and she screamed when she looked at the door.

Level with the shadowy keyhole, below the rattling knob, she stared directly into a very human eye. Tears shimmered in the other eye, as they shimmered in Sarah’s. It darted around, wide and white with fear, as if searching through the hall. And then, without warning, the keyhole became shadow, and the silver knob stilled, and the girl on the other side of the door began to cry.

“Please, Sarah,” she pleaded. “He’s almost here.”

“The Hollow Man?” Sarah whispered as a chill slithered up her spine. Lizzie sobbed quietly. Sarah scooted closer to the door, her fear growing colder when the girl from the other side didn’t answer. “Lizzie?”

Silence fell, as if it had always been there. She couldn’t hear Lizzie crying anymore, and even the house was too quiet behind her.

Sarah put her ear near the door, and held her breath.

She waited. Minutes passed — but it couldn’t have been minutes.

Nothing moved. Nothing whispered. Nothing cried. Nothing stirred. She couldn’t hear anything but her own racing heart. Was she gone?

“Lizzie?” She tried again, afraid the Hollow Man had taken her.

“He’s here . . .” Lizzie whispered at last, almost in her ear, as though Lizzie’s lips pressed tight against the keyhole. “Please, let me in . . . .“

Sarah’s head ached. The world was a little fuzzy around the edges, and it was harder to focus than before. She had to stand up. She didn’t dare touch the sickly door, but her legs felt too wobbly and weak to support her. She reached for the knob with a trembling hand.

“Please, Sarah . . . .” Lizzie’s voice was getting smaller. “Please . . . .“

Grasping the mirror-ball knob, she pulled herself up from the floor. It moved noiselessly beneath her hand, gliding without resistance, and opened the yellow door.

A lonely expanse of normal wall inched into view, and she felt sick. She worried at her thumb in confusion, and extended a trembling hand to touch the wall behind the door. It was solid. As solid and as normal as the wall at the end of the upstairs hall should be, but her stomach churned.

She gently closed the door, which issued a soft click as the latch sprang into place, and waited. She hardly dared to move or breathe as she listened to the night, waiting for the door to speak again.

Hours passed in oppressive silence — even though it couldn’t have been hours–, and the door had nothing to say. Sarah grew sleepy — too sleepy to keep standing. Too sleepy to remember why she was standing so still at the end of the upstairs hall. It was time to go to bed.

It’s just a dream, she remembered, turning away and rubbing at her eyes. They’re always dreams.

Shuffling to her bed was like swimming through Jell-O, and most of the way there she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Luckily, she knew the way.

The dreams will go away like they always do.

The crimson clock was broken when she rolled herself back in bed, its face declaring 12:16 AM to a room that only vaguely felt familiar, but she couldn’t bring herself to care when her eyes and body felt so heavy.

Sarah . . . , Lizzie whispered. But it couldn’t be a whisper.

Sarah, Lizzie whispered. Sarah, don’t wake up.

Sarah groaned a little.

Don’t wake up, Lizzie said, her voice echoing in Sarah’s mind.

Sarah frowned, and rolled on her back. She didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to stay asleep. Lizzie didn’t need to tell her not to wake, because not being awake was the whole point of being asleep.

For a long time, all was silence. Sarah’s mind drifted, and she felt herself grow lighter, as if getting ready to float up through the blackness that surrounded her. She could feel the cool sheets beneath her then, and for a moment she thought she heard the papery-thin rustle of leaves in her room.

He’s here . . . , Lizzie whispered at last. Please, don’t wake up . . . .

Who’s here? Sarah wondered as she steadily rose.

His hollow face, an eerie mask. With hollow voice at doors will ask. To be invited in to bask. Above his favored midnight task.

A strange tingling worked its way up Sarah’s body as Lizzie recited the haunting rhyme in a disconcerting monotone. Clarity inched its way toward her slowly, melting away the fog of sleep. Hadn’t she been dreaming? Was she still dreaming?

Something was wrong.

He’s waiting inches from your face. To be the first thing your eyes grace. But keep them shut, or else embrace. A hollow shell to take your place.

Cold dread seized Sarah’s heart with each new stanza, and she trembled with the weight of her mistake. For a moment, she swore she could feel the air stir above her, stale and strangely warm against her cheeks. Leaves rustled above her bed.

The yellow door, you always keep. He follows you to where you sleep. Into your room he then will creep. Your life and dreams for him to reap.

Lizzie’s voice became little more than a breath within Sarah’s mind, and the air cooled around her when a pressure lifted from her chest.

The leaves were in the hall.

The Hollow Man, above your bed. With hollow eyes, deep slumber fed. His hollow dreams may fill your head. But never peek, or you’ll be dead.

Everything was wrong.

Distantly, Sarah registered the sound of her parents screaming in their room, and felt tears sliding down her cheeks. No longer dream tears, she could feel the wet warmth as each one fell.

“. . . Mommy,” Sarah whispered, the sound paper-thin. “Daddy,” she rasped with a voice like dried leaves.

Lizzie? She thought, but Lizzie did not respond.

Silence fell over the house and Sarah knew nothing would ever be right again.

From the hall outside her bedroom door, Sarah heard the soft click as a latch sprang into place, and waited.

Silence filled the house again. The leaves were gone.

Sunlight peeked through the curtains, and the crimson clock said it was 7:45 AM before she felt it was safe enough to open her eyes and leave her room. The yellow door, with its mirror-ball knob, stared at her from the wall at the end of the upstairs hall, and the house was still too quiet. It was a different quiet than before, though, a different quiet than from her dream.

It was the quiet of a tomb.

Except, of course, for the occasional tapping, as if from tiny claws, from the other side of the yellow door.

#creepypasta #creepy #nightmare #potm #pasta of the month #why sarah never sleeps #death by proxy #nox mysterium #horror #short story

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