A Horrid Tale

by **James** on Fri Aug 26, 2011 11:56 pm

(started on Facebook, carry it on!)

(Billy Taylor)

I often look back on those, now seemingly ancient days with mirth. Now I am a broken man, the truths I've discovered over those long years have driven lessen men to madness.

Now as I write this final words I beg to those who read them, do not follow me down the dark pathway I've traversed. Some things are better left unknown.

(James Ashbey)

Some may wonder why I opt to deliver this terminal message by the cold medium of a typewriter. It is because my pen hand, from which flowed so much hopeful poetry in happier times, has assumed a ceaseless tremour that no drugs will allay. Were I now to commit pen to paper an unlovely scrawl would be born, far removed from my once elegant cursive. The words would flit across the page like the erratic night-time jaunt of some leathery bat, and their tidings would be doubly shocking by result.

(Zurab Melua)

''These archaic pages clumsily translated governed my journey to an unspeakable place, hallucinations not even a mad man could envision dwell in the form of vermin on the cold ground. My curiosity is at war with my instincts and as I delve deeper into this sepulture I feel my body is becoming an alchemic mess.''

by **meluaz** on Sat Aug 27, 2011 12:42 am

''Ever since my dead grandmother gave me the amulet I have been having these horrible dreams that exist beyond the realms of mortal comprehension, each night the dreams become more horrifically vivid and each night I feel that they are less of dream. I try not to think of this reoccurrence but I have begun to suspect the mad ramblings of that queer gypsy woman may hold some plausibility. She would whisper manically of these cursed realms filled with terrifying beasts and opaque monoliths that those of the blasphemed family name would ascend to in ethereal vessels.''

by **phodg** on Mon Aug 29, 2011 3:43 pm

"I had chips for tea so I felt a bit better though".

by **Dian Wei** on Mon Aug 29, 2011 6:53 pm

Ban phodg.

by **James** on Thu Sep 01, 2011 11:38 pm

meluaz wrote:''Ever since my dead grandmother gave me the amulet I have been having these horrible dreams that exist beyond the realms of mortal comprehension, each night the dreams become more horrifically vivid and each night I feel that they are less of dream. I try not to think of this reoccurrence but I have begun to suspect the mad ramblings of that queer gypsy woman may hold some plausibility. She would whisper manically of these cursed realms filled with terrifying beasts and opaque monoliths that those of the blasphemed family name would ascend to in ethereal vessels.''

By the light of day the amulet seemed a pretty but impotent bauble. It consisted of a large ruby clasped between the gilt legs of a scarab, and thus possessed a distinctly Egyptian air, as though it came down to that raving gypsy through a long line of desert thieves. I spent many an idle moment conjecturing what pharaonic tomb might have yielded that jewel, and what regal embalmed breast it had once adorned. More likely, as I first thought, it was a market trinket tooled in some latter millenium in crude mimicry of lost splendours, but there was something in the ruby's crimson depths that spoke of an ancient, accursed origin.

It was at nightfall that the gem came into its true dominion. Every night a sonorous pulse seemed to emanate from its core in a throbbing rhythm that permeated my nightmares and coloured them ruby red. At the amulet's bidding I was transported to horrid pyramidal temples crowned with blood-blackened altars. I was plunged into mortuary complexes whose walls teemed with the hieroglyphs of the Underworld, and I was whisked across restless seas which harboured snapping things unmentioned in myth.

Finally, at the zenith of these delirious night terrors, the amulet granted me an audience with its long-dead master. It was an encounter that sealed my doom...

by **Dian Wei** on Fri Sep 02, 2011 6:01 am

A sense of abject terror permeated my very being as the figure's wraith like visage swallowed my sight. It's body seemed garbed in mouldering white linens, that despite their mottled appearance, bestowed an aura of power. Slowly the figure raised itself to it's full height, to the point where it towered over me like the fabled tower of Babel. My mind, still reeling from shock, urged by body to flee, to escape this accursed dream state and return to the normalcy of waking life. But try as I might, this relic of an age of man long passed now appeared to have me totally enslaved.

A shaft of light exploded suddenly from behind my ancient captor, filling the space around us and giving it form. I tried to force my eyes closed, but instead found myself surveying what had become my ethereal prison. Upon the white stone walls were ideograms of a language I had never seen in my extensive studies. Accompanying them were engravings accented with luscious colours, embossed with gold and the gleam of precious stones. Even now I barely comprehend what these aberrant and disturbing images were depicting, scenes of men and women writhing at the feet of a creature that defies description and always accompanied by the bright crimson of blood.

As my vision was forced ever upwards, towards a ceiling that seemed as far off as the heavens themselves, I was greeted by something I could comprehend. An astronomic cartouche that seemed to be made from the darkest obsidian and there, at the apex of the hieroglyphs was embedded the blood red jewel, that which had caused this nightmarish vision. My sight was drawn slowly back down to my immaterial overseer. A thousand questions swelled within my mind but all were abruptly cut short.

The figure was torn asunder as an innumerate amount of small beetles burrowed from it's desiccated flesh, fragmenting this symbol of my horror. With it's destruction the very ground upon what I stood began to erode, as if emulating it's master, the walls buckled under the strain. I looked up in time to see that great symbol above as it came crashing down, looming ever closer it burnt it's image into my waking mind where it remains every time I close my eyes.

In a bed saturated with sweat, my mind was returned to me. One thought prevailed over all overs, overriding terror, dismissing logic.

I knew what I hand to do. I needed to learn who's name that retched symbol of power contained...

by **MartinC** on Fri Sep 02, 2011 10:44 am

And then my tail popped out!

by **Immortalicide** on Sun Sep 04, 2011 8:39 pm

MartinC wrote:And then my tail popped out!

you are still a funny twat!!!!

by **Raging Paul** on Wed Sep 07, 2011 10:22 pm

Since last night's ethereal visitation, even the crisp shafts of morning light that pierced the windows in my flat refused to illuminate the amulet as the mere bauble it had once appeared to be. The flat was cold, as it always was in late Autumn. My breath whorled in clouds before me, my fingers and toes felt the sting of the chill. My shoulders were hunched and I held a reclusive posture; I told myself this was to keep in the warmth. If I were to be more honest with myself, it was most likely my reaction to the terror of the recollections of the shocking astral journey I had undertaken mere hours ago.

I have read many a dark and titillating story of hauntings and murder in my time. It seems to me that such unexpected and ill explained events, especially when occurring during the small hours, should be followed by a period of questioning whether they had merely been a lucid dream - perhaps the result of too much port and stilton. Alas, there was no such uncertainty in my mind that morning. A tremulous shiver ran down my spine with such force that my tepid cup of tea splashed all over my moth-bitten slippers. I resolved to cure myself of the memory of last night by wandering the populous streets of London. A haunted man does well to seek reassurance in the crowds of the uncaring.

I dressed myself and went about my morning ablutions, each moment more reassured by the returning normality that I was feeling. As I stepped through the door I felt an unnerving conviction that I was forgetting something of the utmost importance. My glance scanned the room for the source of this unease, until it rested guiltily on the accursed amulet. It certainly wouldn't do for such a powerful talisman to remain unguarded, all alone in my apartment...

by **meluaz** on Wed Sep 07, 2011 11:28 pm

James wrote:
meluaz wrote:''Ever since my dead grandmother gave me the amulet I have been having these horrible dreams that exist beyond the realms of mortal comprehension, each night the dreams become more horrifically vivid and each night I feel that they are less of dream. I try not to think of this reoccurrence but I have begun to suspect the mad ramblings of that queer gypsy woman may hold some plausibility. She would whisper manically of these cursed realms filled with terrifying beasts and opaque monoliths that those of the blasphemed family name would ascend to in ethereal vessels.''

By the light of day the amulet seemed a pretty but impotent bauble. It consisted of a large ruby clasped between the gilt legs of a scarab, and thus possessed a distinctly Egyptian air, as though it came down to that raving gypsy through a long line of desert thieves. I spent many an idle moment conjecturing what pharaonic tomb might have yielded that jewel, and what regal embalmed breast it had once adorned. More likely, as I first thought, it was a market trinket tooled in some latter millenium in crude mimicry of lost splendours, but there was something in the ruby's crimson depths that spoke of an ancient, accursed origin.

It was at nightfall that the gem came into its true dominion. Every night a sonorous pulse seemed to emanate from its core in a throbbing rhythm that permeated my nightmares and coloured them ruby red. At the amulet's bidding I was transported to horrid pyramidal temples crowned with blood-blackened altars. I was plunged into mortuary complexes whose walls teemed with the hieroglyphs of the Underworld, and I was whisked across restless seas which harboured snapping things unmentioned in myth.

Finally, at the zenith of these delirious night terrors, the amulet granted me an audience with its long-dead master. It was an encounter that sealed my doom...

by **James** on Thu Sep 08, 2011 6:22 pm

Your turn again Zurab!

by **meluaz** on Mon Sep 12, 2011 1:59 am

Well into the days of winter I spent my final weeks in my apartment as a useless leathery husk gazing without rest into the wretched thing that had brought my life such distain. I could not sleep for I knew what awaited me in that netherworld and somehow I felt that death would complete the transition into there. I was left with a situation that my mind was too withered to comprehend and find a solution to but one inhumanly cold night a full moon had emerged and my living quarters were overcome by its mystic lunar lights, it was of a colour I had never observed to emit from that sphere or any that I could recognise.

I would have been enraptured in its beauty had it not been for the way it started to unsettlingly become brighter like the light source was beaming from the middle of the room. As this phenomenon occurred I would hear whispers in a foreign tongue, slowly elevating into a terrifying demonic screech that filled me with dread and horror. This was too much to bear and I screamed and started pulling out my hair and then continued to flail my almost frost bitten limbs around like a rabid creature until the amulet had caught my eye. It was now pulsating wildly with a colour of its own in deep contrast to the the moons light and then spits of violet fire shot out of it outlining a large object that soon materialised into a gate. It appeared to be made of obsidian like stone and the edges were covered in strange hieroglyphics. Before I could contemplate its form anymore it started to open and as it did the screeching had gotten even louder and now it felt like my body was being incinerated by the flames of hell itself. Once it was open about half way I lost consciousness...

I did not know how much time had passed since my black out but I awoke in a cave of sorts and all I could hear was the steady dripping of water echoing from deep recesses of the cave. When I had come about a bit more after I had woken up I started to fear that the amulet transported me into that cursed realm that I would visit in my night mares and where I came across the indescribable monolithic entity. The walls were covered with a similar stone that the gate I vaguely remember was made out of and there wasn't much space to move around in. Then a sound vaguely resembling a voice emoted in a tritonal frequency not too dissimilar to the screeches I heard in my flat followed by heavy clattering foot steps...

by **MartinC** on Mon Sep 12, 2011 7:16 pm

by **James** on Mon Sep 12, 2011 8:03 pm

From the gloomy depths of the cave there came a detachment of soldiers, marching to the low voice of an unseen drum. Their vestments were unmistakably those of Egypt's bygone mastery, and their bronze shields were embossed with depictions of the black monolith from my nightmares.

As they approached I gasped in revulsion, for their un-helmeted heads were not clothed in the flesh of the living; dusty cerements clung to cheekbones long robbed of sinew, and evil fires smouldered in eye-sockets as hollow and desolate as the cave they surveyed. One of their number was marked out by a serpentine neckpiece of gold. Here was clearly the captain of the skeletal company, and with a sweep of his graven hand the march was halted. Perversely, his haughty self-righteousness reminded me of my old acquaintance Martin Crawford, though the dead captain was taller and altogether more substantial, for all his want of soft tissue. His jawbone swung on its time-worn hinges and loosed a funereal voice that I shall never forget:

"She guides the flow of the Nile,
The wisdom of the crocodile is hers.
Aligned are the stars at her whim,
Mighty is Anshepti, Queen of Death."

The ranks of dead soldiers parted, and there between them stood a lithe and regal form silhouetted against a light more brilliant than the desert sun. Presently the blaze faded to a dim aura which shimmered around the elegant body like clouds in moonlight. She spoke:

"Long have we waited in the lonely fields of death - age after age in joyless limbo, waiting, waiting for the Heart of Horus. Now a mortal breaches the veil of sleep to return our birthright to us. For that is why you come to our nighted domain, is it not, mortal?"

I looked slowly down at my chest; there hung the amulet, the Heart of Horus, glowing like a red coal plucked from the embers of a forgotten hell. It seemed to laugh a bloody laugh in answer to my despair.

Anshepti stepped forward with catlike confidence, her jeweled hand reaching out expectantly. Against all my better judgement I was fearfully aware that reuniting the amulet with the Queen of Death would be to unlock chasms of apocalyptic oblivion too old and dark for mankind to fathom.

I gripped the amulet in one terrified hand, turned, and fled from the cave. The chase had begun.....

by **radioactive rik** on Mon Sep 12, 2011 9:09 pm

A Horrid Tale

A Horrid Tale

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