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11

Writings / Timeline

« Last post by bahgheera on May 24, 2013, 01:58:17 AM »

Day 1: Woke up, everyone was dead. Checked neighborhood, no one. Panic. No one answers phone. Drove to police station. Drove to fire dept. Cars full of dead people everywhere, still idling. Returned home, power was out. May have heard xformers exploding earlier.

Day 2: Stayed inside. Haven't heard from anyone since yesterday morning. Don't know what to do except keep the door locked.

Day 3: Exhaustion catches up with me. Sleep.

Day 4: Venture outside. Getting control of myself. Turn off the few cars that I find still idling. Visit grocery store, can't even approach the door because of the strong odor of decay. Go to hardware store, get respirator and return to grocery store. Scavenge canned goods. Set for a few weeks now.

Day 5: Stay inside, panic returns.

Day 6: Feeling better, go outside again. This time I visit the local pawnshop and arm myself.

Day 7: At this point, I realize that no one is alive anymore and no one is going to ever be alive again. It no longer matters what I do; whatever I want to take, is mine. I set myself up in a house a few blocks away that is more suitable for defense, if the need arises. The trailer I was living in can be easily entered by someone who is determined to get in. This house has a strong front door, good solid construction. The only problem is the sliding glass door on the back, I will have to board that up when I get a chance. Twice today I saw something strange - I saw what looked like a column of smoke descending from the sky. On taking a closer look, I saw what appeared to be red strings floating down from very high up. I couldn't see where they were landing, but this was so unsettling that I didn't go looking for them.

Day 8: Spent the day scavenging for weapons and ammo, and bringing them back to the house. I found quite a few rifles and shotguns at the pawn shop, but not much ammo. I went to Walmart and found a few boxes of ammo, but nothing that fits the guns that I have. I wish I knew more about guns. I saw the red strings again, two more times. At about 12:45 pm, then again around 5pm. This is probably not a good thing. About six, I came across a car that was still idling. There were some guys inside that were covered with the red strings. The guys looked like they hadn't been dead very long, and the red strings were all over their faces, like in their mouths and noses and ears. I got out of there quick.

Day 9: I don't know where this day went. I know the day occurred, but I don't remember anything about it. This is extremely upsetting.

Day 10: Power came on. Internet connected, I am online! Found out about R-virus, reddit users are alive!  The guys in the car with the red strings are gone, but the car is still there.

Day 11: Went across the bridge into Wilmington. Didn't see anything, no survivors. Disappointed. Checked out some more pawn shops, struck a gold mine for ammo. I now have hundreds of rounds for the twelve gauge, and thousands of rounds for a rifle that says "7.62 x 54". The rifle rounds are metal jacketed, so I think that means they are pretty stout as far as rifle rounds go. Anyway, I have more of them than I'll probably ever be able to use.

12

Writings / The R-virus

« Last post by bahgheera on May 24, 2013, 01:32:46 AM »

Thank God there are people out there! I have been wandering since the day everyone died. I am in southeastern North Carolina, somewhere in Brunswick county. I thought I was the last man alive. I haven't seen anyone, alive that is, in at least a week.

When I woke up the first morning, everyone was dead. I ran from house to house banging on doors, tried calling 911, drove to the police station, etc. No one was moving, anywhere. There were wrecked cars in the street, cars everywhere, buses, scooters, vehicles everywhere. I didn't understand what was going on. When I got back to my house, it occurred to me to check reddit and see if my local subreddit knew anything, but by the time I got back to my house the power had gone out. I had heard some explosion type sounds earlier in the day, so it must have been transformers blowing for some reason. I saw a couple of houses on fire as well, and no firetrucks anywhere to be found.

I have moved passed the initial panic that I felt on that first day, and after a few days of staying locked inside my house, I finally decided to venture out and see if anything had changed. The first place I went was to the grocery store down the street from my place. I couldn't even get near the front door of the place, the smell was unbelievable. There was no one there, of course. No one alive, that is. I managed to get to the hardware store a few blocks away and snag a respirator, then I went back to the store and got inside and got what canned goods I needed. I definitely will have food for quite some time. It was a chore though, because inside the store, in the dark, with corpses all around, I could only think about the Walking Dead and other zombie flicks. So you can imagine how difficult it was to steel myself and enter the place. But at this point I've gotten used to doing stuff like that.

So today, the power came on. It is on right now. I almost reverted to full blown panic when the lights suddenly came on, but I controlled myself and flew to the computer. I watched the lights on the cable modem, and surprisingly it connected, and now here I am. I am amazed that there are other people out there! I thought I was the last man alive!

And now I know that it is the R-virus, that it only affected non-redditors. I know there is a small contingent of reddit users across the bridge in Wilmington, so I may venture over there tomorrow and try to seek them out. But for now I am just relieved to know that there are still other humans out there.

Now that I have gotten that out of the way, I have a question - has anyone else noticed the red strings? I've seen them floating down from the sky four times now. I never see where they go, but yesterday while scouting around I found a car with three men in it that were covered in these red strings. The strings are one to two feet long, about 0.1 inch diameter and they seem... fuzzy. I can't think of a better word to describe them. Just fuzzy. Anyway, the strings were all over these three guys, especially around their faces. It looked as if the strings had crawled right into their nostrils and mouths and ears. It was really disgusting. I am getting used to seeing death and decay now, but this was worse than usual. And here's the thing about this - the car was still idling, and these three guys didn't look like everyone else - they seemed "fresh", as if they had died much more recently then the rest of the corpses. I went back today and the car is still there but the bodies and the strings are gone. Every time I see these strings floating down, there are thousands of them and they form a column that goes up hundreds of feet, so high I can't see where they are coming from and I also can't find where they are going. If anyone knows about this, please tell me. For now I am going to stay as far away from them as I can if I see them.

After this post I am going to go next door and "scavenge" a television, on the off-chance that there are any broadcasts, news or just anything at all on the air. If there are any other North Carolina survivors out there, speak up! We need to band together!

13

Writings / Songs

« Last post by bahgheera on May 09, 2013, 06:40:23 PM »

You write your songs and sing them to me
You make your music easy on the ears
But I'm still there day after day
Driving my car home from work
Facing the same fears
Still the same, no matter what you say
So what good did that do?
Now I'm right in front of you
Trying to get through
You think you're watching television
Or walking down the sidewalk
All the while I've got you by the shoulders
Shaking you
Screaming the truth
And you don't even know
It's because I see everything
For what it truly is
And you've been blinded by your selfishness.

14

Writings / Re: Mr. Mostly-Dead

« Last post by bahgheera on May 08, 2013, 12:32:06 AM »

Well, good evening sir,
I am Mr. Mostly-Dead,
And I'll be your nightmare tonight.
Welcome to the House of Dust,
I hope you will find something dreadful
That we can serve you.
Can I start you with something simple,
Maybe the inability to run
While being pursued by
An invisible horror,
Or an angry, jibbering nun?
Or maybe murdered by a loved one
Is more your taste.
We also have a lovely Hag
Who will sit on your chest,
And prevent you from breathing
Until it is almost too late,
Startling you awake to a vision
Of her dashing from your room.
What's that? None of those?
Well let me show you our menu.
It is packed with superb
Visions and terrors
Created by chef, just for you.
Now you may notice,
Our chef is a bit
Of a nightmare himself,
He is quite the ghastly fellow.
But he does his job well,
He's the best in the land,
We're proud to have him
Here in Limbo.
Now, back to the menu,
You simply must order something,
Ah, you say you've found something to your taste?
What's this? Flying,
Alone in the clouds,
Is the order you'd like to place?
Oh no sir,
You do not understand.
That one is not for you.
That is the childrens menu you're looking at,
Flying simply will not suffice.
Turn the page,
And gaze upon
The delights we have in store.
Gryphons that chase
And gnaw, and chew,
And hands that come up
Through the floor.
Floating ladies that chase,
And disturb the soul,
People you don't see
Who aren't really there,
But nevertheless, pursue.
I'd recommend
Starting out small,
Maybe a goblin to battle.
Then an appetizer
Of bone-men who laugh,
And cackle and shriek and rattle.
Then on to the main course,
We offer the finest,
In unpleasant psyche disruption.
Things with no faces
Devils and warlocks,
All sorts of agents of darkness.
Lastly, dessert.
Something special, I think.
You'll find this
Nowhere but here.
A special torment
We've made just for you,
An extremely tall man
Who smells of mothballs and moldy earth,
With the face of a bird,
With eyes the size of dinner plates,
A cowled cloak is his garb,
He stands in the shadows
While slowly rocking back and forth,
Claws extended,
Waiting for you to scream.
He can run so fast
You can't see him move,
He'll be on you quicker
Than you can blink.
And when he catches you
(Because catch you, he will)
He wraps you up in the shadows
That he's pulled along with him,
Wraps you up like a spider's dinner,
So tight you can't see anything.
Perhaps you'll wake up,
Or maybe you never will - difficult to say, really.
Ah, that will do you? Alright, so,
Come again, sir,
We would love to have you back
As soon as you can.
Say tomorrow night?
We'll be waiting for you!

15

Writings / Mr. Mostly-Dead

« Last post by bahgheera on April 09, 2013, 12:09:13 AM »

Well, good evening sir,
I am Mr. Mostly-Dead,
And I'll be your nightmare tonight.
Welcome to the House of Dust,
I hope we can give you a fright.

Can I start you with something simple,
Maybe the inability to run
While being pursued by
An invisible horror,
Or an angry, jibbering nun?

Or maybe murdered by a loved one
Is more your taste.
We also have a lovely Hag
Who will sit on your chest,
And prevent you from breathing
Until it is almost too late,
And you wake with a start and a gag.

What's that? None of those?
Well let me show you our menu.
It is packed with superb
Visions and terrors
Created by chef, just for you.

Now you may notice,
Our chef is a bit
Of a nightmare himself,
He is quite the ghastly fellow.
But he does his job well,
He's the best in the land,
We're proud to have him in Limbo.

Now, back to the menu,
You simply must order something,
Ah, you say you've found something to your taste?
What's this? Flying,
Alone in the clouds,
Is the order you'd like to place?
Oh no sir,
You do not understand.
That one is not for you.
That is the childrens menu
You're looking at,
Flying will simply not do.

Turn the page,
And gaze upon
The delights we have in store.
Gryphons that chase
And gnaw, and chew,
And hands that come up
Through the floor.

Floating ladies that chase,
And disturb the soul,
And a phantasm or two.
People you don't see
Who aren't really there,
But nevertheless, pursue.

I'd recommend
Starting out small,
Maybe a goblin to battle.
Then an appetizer
Of bone-men who laugh,
And cackle and shriek and rattle.

Then on to the main course,
We offer the finest,
In unpleasant psyche disruption.
Things with no faces
Devils and warlocks,
All agents of dark corruption.

Lastly, desert.
Something special, I think.
You'll find this
Nowhere but here.
A special torment
We've made just for you,

16

Writings / Shadow People

« Last post by bahgheera on March 23, 2013, 09:01:08 PM »

There is a thing,
A dark creature,
A shadowy being
Filled with hate and evil.
It's been alive
Since Vlad put his victims
To the stake.
When Ivan took Siberia,
The thing was there
Whispering hazardous thoughts
Into his mind.
It's up to no good,
Never has been
And it is very hard to see,
Never allowing itself,
To be in my direct line of sight.
It comes to my room
At night
It stands in the corner
Waiting, watching,
I can feel it,
And I can see it
As long as I'm not looking.
Sometimes, I can see it
Go by a doorway,
Or a window,
Or around the corner of the house.
Rarely in the daylight,
Almost always in the dark,
Lurking in the dusk,
Standing on the edge of sunlit sanity.
It's always there,
Just out of range.
It wants me
For some purpose,
Something that is not good,
And I don't know how much longer
I can resist.
I heard him tonight,
He was in my room again,
While I was trying to sleep.
He told me something.
He said that tomorrow
He is bringing his friends.

17

Writings / Cornfield

« Last post by bahgheera on March 23, 2013, 08:16:26 PM »

Where am I?
I'm walking down the street, on the sidewalk,
A normal, everyday scenario.
There are people here with me,
Walking up and down, hurrying here and there
Carrying out the tasks relevant to their daily lives.
There is something odd here,
I can't put my finger on it,
But all of these people going to and fro,
I can't see their faces.
Each one is obscured
By a kind of cloud, a darkness,
An unsettling mist that distorts features,
Obscures identity, minimizes recognition.
It occurs to me that they want to get me.
I can't see it, but I know
They are staring at me as they pass,
Glaring with malevolence and animosity,
Wishing me harm, intending injury,
Plotting the murder of myself.
Suddenly, I am struck by the terror of this,
And I duck into a building only to find
More of the same.
Now there is nowhere to go
But back out into the street.
As I head for the door, there is a mirror
I must pass.
Don't look.
Back in the street, everyone is gone.
All is silence.
I look behind, and ahead, up and down,
And there is no one.
I did this.

18

Writings / Resurrection Man

« Last post by bahgheera on January 13, 2013, 01:31:33 AM »

A man,
In the middle of the night,
Alone, he knows exactly what he is doing.
On his knees, before a stone,
Digging, bare handed,
Digging down, down to what he doesn't want to find.
It is raining, pouring,
Massive, bulging drops of water
Bleeding from a terrible wound in the clouds,
The man wails as the lightning flashes,
He howls with an unsettling laughter,
As the thunder claps,
All the while, pulling colossal heaps of muck
From the disturbed ground underneath him.
Behind him is a tree,
Hundreds, maybe thousands of years old,
A towering oak timber that was just a sapling
When Charlemagne first laid siege to Eastphalia,
A spreading veil of leaves between earth and sky,
A vast arboreal estate,
That has seen it's share of sorrow and grief and anguish,
And the terrors created by humans,
Absorbing it all,
Budding each spring,
Leaves saturated with fright and dread and affliction.
And the man continues digging.
He howls and he scrapes,
He wails and cries and gouges,
And the rain pours down,
While around the tree
Stands a crowd of onlookers.
A gathering of those best unseen,
Hundreds of bone-men,
With their ghastly expressions
A ghoulish light in each eye socket.
They look on at the man,
Murmuring and chuckling and chittering
At his dire condition,
Their bones clinking together
Making a horrid sound,
As though the tree was hung
With a thousand abhorrent wind chimes.
And the man still digs.
What is this? The man pauses,
Something is found in the mire,
His fingers scrabble across a hard surface,
He quickens his pace,
Flinging the dripping sod
Out of his gruesome excavation,
And reveals the wooden surface,
Of what you have probably guessed,
Is a coffin.
An unceremonious casket,
A simple pine box,
With a mysterious script
Inscribed on the top.
The man is now very close
To the end of his task.
Flinging open the lid,
He discovers it empty,
He knew this would be the case.
So he climbs inside,
Lays himself down,
And closes the lid,
Sealing himself inside,
With a curious feeling of satisfaction.
And the bone-men above
Take over the task,
Roaring with a hideous laughter,
Tossing the damp grime
Back into the horrifying breach in the earth.
And the man now knows,
He is right where he belongs.

19

Writings / I saw you today.

« Last post by bahgheera on September 24, 2012, 07:17:14 PM »

I saw you today.
Walking up the sidewalk, coming towards me,
with a look on your face as though you had somewhere
important to go to. Really.
I said 'Hello',
you replied the same,
and went on by me, our
polite exchange now over.
I rolled my eyes in disgust,
now that you can't see me.
That's what I really think of you,
you random person.

20

Writings / Tales From The Negaverse, Vol. III Chapter 19.

« Last post by bahgheera on September 20, 2012, 08:37:52 PM »

In the House of Shadows,
There we were.
Seventeen of us,
A meeting, of sorts,
A coming together, a merging,
Of all our special talents.
Some of us able to think odd thoughts,
Some able to see between
The wind and the air,
Some of us with no particular talent at all,
Just there to even the number.
Around midnight,
There came a shout,
From outside, in the yard.
We poured to the window,
We drained through the doorway,
Splashed into the yard,
To see what it was.
Here is what it was,
One of our number,
Had ventured outside (knowing better),
And strolled into the cornfield,
Across the dirt road.
A vast field of ears,
Listening to the earth
Telling it's somber, grim story.
Into this cornfield, our member had strayed,
And had found something.
Here is what he found,
A dog, a hideous malformed canine travesty,
Relieved of it's being,
No longer an entity,
Mangled, struck through
With a sort of spear,
An ancient weapon,
Not used for war,
But for the doing of dark deeds.
Lanced through the heart,
The tip embedded in the ground,
It was clearly dead,
As dead as anything ever was.
And as I viewed the mongrel,
Filled with sadness at his horrible end,
The world seemed to turn just a little faster.
As a matter of fact,
I suddenly perceived the spin
That brings us light, darkness, winter, fall.
I became dazed with the sensation,
And stumbled nearer the hound of death,
When, in the midst of my confusion,
One thing became clear:
The hound was no longer dead.
I, having come too close,
It raised its head,
Lurched with its neck,
And sank fetid fangs into my shin.
It was in an instant, that nothing mattered any longer,
Something passed into me,
Immediately,
Something that had a need,
Something that needed me,
To fulfill the horrible need,
I turned and began to run,
Looking, hunting, the need so great,
My former life cloudy, distant,
No longer relevant,
Some sort of dream I once had.
There are people,
Back at the house,
Go get them.
Come closer, just a little closer to me,
Let me bite you.