So, I'm working on a slenderblog series, and one of the blogs has evolved into a fear blog. I'm writing up short stories from the character's backstories to get ideas flowing/see how I like the characters when they're actually on paper; this is one from the perspective from the Fear Blog character (David Williams.)
I thought I'd share this since this is my first Fear story, and I wanted to get some input on how I did.
I was going to link to a google doc of the story, but yay posting restrictions.
The Shattering ch 3
Of course she’s gone. He was her world, and he doesn’t even know who she is anymore.
I told her it was stupid to track him down after he left. The deal he made with that monster was for him to get out; why would he be left any connection to He That Is?
She broke. She had been strong, fighting against Him at every turn, but now she broke.
I woke up this morning, she’s gone. A lot of her stuff is missing, including that old camping backpack she loved so much. She didn’t even leave a note.
So now, I’m all alone. A 24 year old grad student, library sciences, left to try and fight off an ageless terror.
My research is set back. I have full access to the campus library, but she gave me so much more. Books from the science labs, med labs, access to cadavers, database access. There is so much work I can’t do anymore. Not without her.
I’m off to get some schoolwork done. If I do survive this, I want it to be as David Williams, Ph.D.
I open my eyes, and I’m in the forest. His forest. The leaves are black, corrupted. I sense His presence. Not near, not far - His being fills this place.
I panic, and I run. No idea where to or what from, but I run.
Then off in the distance, I see Alessa, just as I always knew her. Tactical pants; green tank; combat boots; long, blonde hair in a french braid down her back. She somehow looked as clean and beautiful as she was before Him, despite everything that this place was.
She looked at me, and I turned my head. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t look her in her eyes. Her beautiful, playful, pale blue eyes.
She’s here, in His world. Because of me. Because of my failures.
I awake with a start. I’m no longer in my bed, but in the stacks at the library. I look around - minimal lighting, no windows, environmental controls. Closed stacks, no way to tell what time it is.
I somehow manage to make it back to our house without setting off the library security. I would be in deep shit if I got caught. The closed stacks hold the most valuable books; some from before America was a known continent. We even had a treasured few books from the medieval eras.
It’s midnight. I woke up after two-and-a-half hours of sleep. Enough to keep me from getting back to sleep, not enough to last me through the day.
I walk around our house. My house now. One roommate has no memory of ever having lived here, the other…
I don’t want to think about that. She was on the path, His path.
His room is already clean. The bastard took care of that when he took him out of play.
Why did he do that? He was the strongest of us. He never fought the beast directly, but the amount of His that he put down could rival even the craziest fighter. And he always knew how to clean up afterwards, with his friend-of-a-friends.
Enough of that. I don’t want to know.
I’ve rambled long enough. I have just enough time to grab some shut-eye before cataloguing time.
I’m back on the path. The air feels slightly lighter. It doesn’t feel more right, just slightly less… wrong.
He is here. Not Him with a capital H, him. The bastard who started all of this. I want to strangle him with his stupid red jumper, until he looks at me.
It’s not him. I don’t know what it is. He’s at least human.
I run, once again, to a lighter place.
I see Her again. She’s still alive, in His realm.
She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t have to; she know’s it’s me. And now I know that I’m safe.
She’s reading. Never much her thing. Doesn’t have pictures, doesn’t look to be “how to shoot unending horrors dead.” Interested, I draw closer.
She shuts the book, and is gone.
I awake like usual. Surprising. I went to His realm in my dreams, and woke up in the same place I went to sleep, without any new wounds or headaches.
Cataloguing day. Time to go get books sorted, again. Feels like we just did that a week ago.
I get assigned the closed stacks, the antiquity section. Of course.
Some surprisingly good material going in here. It takes forever to arrange the stacks. Some of the books look familiar. Next time I’m running this section, I’ll have to get some reading time in on them.
Day passes uneventfully. Didn’t see Him, wasn’t attacked.
Out of instinct, went to my lab as soon as I walked in the door. The tables are strewn with notes and theories, and the stray symbol or two. I look over it all, wistfully. I’ll probably never make it back to working on this stuff. No discovering defenses, no finding escape routes.
Escape routes. He wanted one. It’s why I was researching. He brought her to me, that’s what he did. He connected people. Somehow, he got involved with us. He hated it.
If only I could have found one. He never would have made the deal, she never would have left.
But what’s past is past.
If I ever manage to make new friends who are also seen, I may resume. For now, though, I need to get ready for the long day at the desk.
Immediately upon waking up on the path, I realise that I am not alone. Still not Him, but there’s something here. It sees me, I feel it come after me.
I run, and I run. That’s how my nights are spent now, running. I run, and I run into her. Again.
She’s somehow managed to find a bench, and she’s sitting at it, reading that same book. I still can’t see what it is, but I can make out words. They’re shifting; changing. No letter remains the same for more than a few milliseconds. It’s like reading a slot machine,
She speaks. I can’t hear what she says. She turns to look at me.
I still can’t meet her eyes.
I’m awakened by a thump. He is standing outside my window, just staring in at me. Every once in a while He’ll lash out at the glass.
He’s not trying to get in. He knows I’m his. If he wanted me, He could come take me. He simply prefers to taunt me.
We have our staring contest, he’ll disappear now and then, but he’ll be back. He leaves in time for me to make it to classes today.
Nothing exciting, unless you consider explaining the nuances of literary fiction to hung-over 18-year-olds exciting.
Got to the library. I’m working the stacks, again. Sitting at a desk, fetching books when someone decides they need to read an 18th century manuscript for some reason.
Read through some of those books. Of course we have original 1st edition magazine prints of lovecraft stories. That’ll help with the sleep.
Wandered around the house for a while again. Went back to her room. I feel like I’m violating her, somehow, but I need to get it cleaned up before I go home for the summer. No-one to stay with here.
I wind up just sitting on her bed. It was difficult losing him. Losing her - I’m shattered. If it weren’t for the fact that I can visit her on the path when I sleep, I wouldn’t be able to take it.
I’ve never been more excited to go to sleep.
This… is not the path. It looks like the path, but it doesn’t feel wrong. I can even see sky, shifting constantly, but somehow never leaving the blues.
No proxies. No creatures. No Him. I walk around for a while, just enjoying it. This place is actually beautiful when He isn’t here.
I find her again, sitting on that same impossible bench. In the light, it looked like it was made from the trees on the path.
There’s a stream now, flowing beside the bench.
I approach the bench, and she looks up from her book. Even with the sunglasses, I still can’t make eye contact.
She reaches down, grabs a handful of water from the stream, and splashes it in my face.
When it hit me, I Saw.
I Saw, beneath our old library, a door. I Saw how to open it. I became the key. I saw secrets inside, dark and terrible secrets about Him, about creatures beyond Him, beyond our capability to imagine.
I saw Her book, sitting on a podium in the middle.
I look at Her. She smiles, knowing that I am thankful for Her gift without me having to say it. She’s looking down at Her book again.
Our conference is over. I leave Her, and step out of the path.
I awoke to a nightmare. He was outside again, banging frantically at the windows. His men were smashing up my yard.
None of them approached the house. They knew they had lost.
When they left, I went to the old library building. It’s supposed to be sealed, but She showed me the way in.
I find my way through, to the door She showed me. I open it according to Her instructions.
It is so wonderful inside.
Immediately I could smell the books. They were well-preserved, but old.
The shelves were lined with stacks of leather-bound books, in many different shades, some remaining constant, some shifting in size and color when I looked away.
In the center was Her book. Wrapped in a deep, rich, red leather, it stands apart from all of the others.
I do not open it. She has not told me I could.
I know which books to start with; She told me.
So I read.
After a few hours, I feel no more need for food. A few days, no need for sleep. A few weeks, no need for light. A year, no need to be.
After I finish reading all of the books on the shelves, I turn to Her book. I sense that it is time. I carefully remove it from it’s mount, and open it.
I cannot read Her book. It is ever shifting.
I try, and I try, and I try.
I sit there and try to catch the words before they change, to try and trap meaning in photographs.
I try for weeks before She comes to me. One moment, She’s there. Her hand is on my shoulder, as if to comfort me for my failures.
She slowly moves, and sits in my lap.
“You can’t read it, can you?” She asks simply. It is so wonderful to hear her voice after a year.
“You don’t have the sight to read it. David, since we first met on the path, you haven’t looked me in the eyes. I can give you the sight, I can give you the power, if you can look me in the eyes.”
I couldn’t. Some part of me was still ashamed of my failures, but another deeper, more base part of my being told me not to.
I looked at the book. I could tell it held knowledge. Knowledge of all, but most importantly of Him. I can feel the pull of the ever-shifting lore.
Before I can make the choice, She called me.
“David, LOOK AT ME!”
Startled, I looked straight into her eyes, and I feel Her.
I felt a small part of Her come into me, as my eyes were opened.
I could finally see Her. She was not Alessa. She was eerily beautiful - beauty like that does not come from the natural. Her red wings and her pointed fingers only served to enhance Her beauty, rather than detract from it.
She smiled. She had me, and She knew it oh-so-well.
She didn’t need to stay. We were connected, more than we had been before. She was gone, and I remained with the book.