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    I can't think of a decent title... A short story, dealing with insainty

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    Allen
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    I can't think of a decent title... A short story, dealing with insainty

    Post by Allen on Tue Apr 10, 2012 5:37 pm

    This is a short story I wrote recently as an assignment, it's part of a series of short stories dealing with "Tyrozumen", a demon, and a man named Detective Clarke, this is sort of a prologue. It's not a very happy story, and if I add to the "storyline" of the short stories it won't be a very happy world.

    The setting is strange, and it's all about the disillusion of sanity. As Clarke continues to discover more about the cult mentioned in this story, I'm planning to make it increasingly more wild and strange, dealing with matters of Heaven and Hell, other dimensions, unfathomably evil and powerful old Gods, in the spirit of Lovecraft country.

    For you Grammar Nazis, this will piss you off, I'm terrible at editting, and I'm sorry to those readers who find my weird conventions hard to read, I'm trying to write this in character, and Clarke, well intelligent and well-spoken has a very muddled way of thought, (and by the end of these stories, it's be extremely muddled)

    And now... The story I still can't properly name...


    Last edited by Allen on Tue Apr 10, 2012 6:07 pm; edited 2 times in total
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    Re: I can't think of a decent title... A short story, dealing with insainty

    Post by Allen on Tue Apr 10, 2012 5:50 pm

    I apologize for the weirdness of the layout by the way, Jade's site just hates my guts.

    I'm going to try and fix this first.

    To Be
    Titled






    “So you’re saying that you
    don’t believe in the Lord?” My partner asked cramming his ham and cheese
    sandwich into his mouth as he finished his question, crumbs fell onto his beer
    gut, and he grunted as he brushed them off explaining his wife would kill him
    for muddling up her handiwork. I leaned back in the car seat, looking out from
    my window across the nearby lake pondering his question. The early morning mist
    spread out ominously across the reaches, obscuring the shore on the other end
    of the lake. The question itself was easy, but I instead considered the
    reaction of a God-fearing man if I were to openly discuss my almost atheist
    ideas. I looked over to him, now finished his meal was placing a cigarette in
    his lips looking at me waiting for an answer.






    “I’m not sure what to believe
    Bill.” I answered, returning to look outside the window. Out of the corner of
    my eye, I could see Bill searching his coat pocket looking for a lighter for
    his cigarette. Once he found his lighter, he gestured for me to continue my
    thought. “I’m not entirely sure if the Church is right, but I don’t exactly
    believe in God. Maybe in spirits, not God exactly.” I finished adjusting my
    fedora, and rolling down the window of the car to allow the smoke to leave the
    vehicle, Bill did similar.






    “If I didn’t know any better
    I’d figure you for one of them Buddhas coming from China and the rest of those
    places. Buddhas believe in spirits right?” He asked while leaning his head out
    the window and exhaling a breath of smoke.






    “I ain’t a theologian Bill.” I
    sarcastically replied.






    “No kidding.” Before Bill
    could continue our radio screeched to us, Bill having more experience than I
    had with these new radios due to his time in the war, grabbed the receiver and
    listened in to the dispatcher.






    Her voice
    was garbled, but it was possible to hear her speaking, “A blaze and disturbance
    at 26 Lakeside road,”






    Bill cut
    her off, “Miss, isn’t that the fire departments job?”






    “The fire
    dispatcher is asking for police assistance with the locals, sir.”






    “And
    we’re on call? We're detectives, we ain't supposed to help the blues with
    patrol.”






    "You're closest to the area and
    have one of the squad cars fitted with the radio," The woman said her tone
    growing more even. Bill rolled his eyes and announced we would be on our way
    and I started up the car.






    “Least I finished my
    sandwich,” Bill said while tossing out his cigarette, “Y’know, I heard of that
    place, we’ve been getting calls there haven’t we?”






    “Yeah, locals calling in on
    strange noises, terrible smells and people disappearing, they blame it all on
    some house on that road.” I answered, repeating what one of the younger patrolmen
    had told me during a coffee break at the department.






    “People disappearing? Probably
    the damned woods around here.” Bill quipped while placing his grey hat on his
    balding head. I turned down the road that would eventually intersect Lakeside,
    and Bill cranked up the siren, and another siren could be heard in the
    distance, likely already at the house, I thought.






    It appeared my suspicion had been correct as we neared the
    old house, as evidenced by the other police car sitting beside the fire engine.
    The ‘blaze’ was out; Bill snidely joked about how it was likely an exaggerated
    bonfire. Bill ceased the cranking of his siren, as we pulled up to a stop.






    The house was an old colonial
    house of particularly grand size, with an opulent front gate decorated with
    bizarre gargoyles and graffiti. The masonry of the home and gate seemed
    ancient, and sturdy, despite the fact the home had stood since the days of
    colonial expansion. The door to the house was imposing and one of the officers
    from the car stood with a firefighter discussing something. Above the windows
    were either boarded up or cracked, and a kind of thick ivy grew up the side of
    the otherwise unmarred home.






    Bill and I stepped out into
    the cold early morning air, the cool breeze of the lake biting through the
    meager protection offered by my trench coat. The officer at the front seen us;
    the firefighter waved us over.






    “There was no damn fire just a
    bunch of idiots threatening to start one.” The man cursed when Bill walked over
    to him, “My boys and I aren’t needed here.”






    “We’re through with questions.”
    The officer said, ushering the sputtering firefighter towards his fire engine.
    The firefighters were ready to be off in short order.






    “Detective Clarke,” The
    officer said offering a handshake, I took it and introduced Bill as well, “Glad
    you two are here, my partner is questioning neighbors to see who called it in.
    Looks like a nightly prank.”






    “Why are you still here then?”
    I asked the young man while I adjusted my collar to better ward of the night
    air, Bill followed the firefighter pestering the man with more questions.






    “Because the owner of the home
    asked for us to leave,” The younger officer answered He said ‘I don’t trust no
    grunts,’ his exact words to the two of us. So we stayed here waiting for
    someone else to lend assistance. House gives me the creeps." Above the
    door near one of the old cracked windows a shadow danced against the far wall,
    shown by a lit candlelight. A faint sound of chanting could be heard above the
    howling wind.






    "Into the house then?"
    Bill asked pointing towards the old door, I followed in behind him, the heavy
    oak door swinging opened with an angry creek. The air within the place stank of
    incense and rotting wood. My feet creeked on the floor as Bill announced our presense.
    When no answer came I turned to the officer standing outside of the house.






    "Where is the man of the
    house?" I asked.






    "Don't rightly know Detective.
    He was down here not ten minutes before you arrived." The officer said,
    his hand's inside of his pockets to ward off the chill of the increasingly loud
    wind.






    "Hello!" Bill called out
    again, no answer once more. I shrugged my shoulders and tapped Bill's
    shoulders.






    "We're here to just check in
    and see why there was a disturbance called, be it fire or whatever. We have
    every right to have a look around." Bill nodded his agreement and we
    continued into the old house, the wooden floors groaning in protest to Bill's
    weight. The walls of the place were covered in strange paintings, Religious
    imagery of some-kind. Blasphemous images of unknown beings and creatures, one
    painting in particular was extremely horrific. A huge waste of red, like a sea
    of blood, and sprouting from it long towers tipped with odd points and
    irregular shapes, so bizzare that looking at it boggled the plain man's mind.
    And the entrance hallways was lined with such pictures and murals. Along the
    way Bill kept calling for the owners of the house. We apporached a grand
    staircase, with the railings of rigid brass, symbols most foreign inscribed
    along the length of it. The chanting that I had heard increased in volume as I
    stepped on the first stair.
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    Re: I can't think of a decent title... A short story, dealing with insainty

    Post by Allen on Tue Apr 10, 2012 5:58 pm

    "It's the Police Department, we
    just want to have a word about a 'Disturbance' of some kind!" Bill
    hollered as he walked up the wood and metal staircase. The chanting quieted
    down for the first time since we entered, but instead of the sound from above
    us, I instead heard a faint more ominous chant from below, as if it was in the
    cellar of the home, passing through the floorboards.






    "Go away! We don't need
    police!" Came the unexpected warning.






    "We just have ourselves a few
    questions!" I called out walking up the staircase towards the voice. At
    the top of the stairs here was another hallway, this one with an old red and
    black rug, knitted with more imagery akin to the kind I seen on the murals down
    stairs. The hallway ended with a cracked window and a lit candle, where I had
    seen the shadow earlier. The wall near the window had a huge red pentagram
    painted on it, with an eye in the center of the upside down star.






    Apparently Bill also seen the mural,
    "Got ourselves some Devil worshippers." he mumbled, I could hear the
    slightly angry tone in his voice. I on the other hand found myself throughly
    fascinated by the strange shapes and pictures in the decor found within the
    house.






    "Vacate the premise!"
    Someone called, this man's voice different and more high-pitched. The voice
    though more high-pitched was a tad more threatening, "Just leave!"



    "We haven't done anything
    wrong!"






    "Then come out and talk to
    us." I said keeping my voice calm, hoping to dissuade the agitation of the
    men, who's voices numbered in at least three. The chanting from below us seemed
    to get louder by my ear, but still not very clear, or as loud as it was a while
    ago. I seen a man walk out from behind the door, he was tall and lanky, his
    arms covered in tattoos and scars. His hair was slicked back and greasy, his
    eyes seemed to stare past us for a few seconds before returned to Bill and I.






    "Go 'way strangers. We don't
    want any trouble." He said, raising his cut hands up, revealing scars
    under the wrists. He wore a plain overall and grey shirt, the shirt stained
    brownish-red with old blood, he stank to high Hell as well, as if he handed
    washed in days.






    "Answer our questions,"
    Bill demanded stepping closer to the strange man. The tall man took a step
    back, placing his right hand under his coveralls, "Hey buddy! Relax."
    Bill said, his hand likewise moving to the left side of his coat, where our
    holsters were.






    "We don't know about the
    police," The man stated not moving his hand. I could hear footsteps below
    us, and as I noticed them , the chanting got louder and louder. The man in
    front of us winced as much as I as a certain word was uttered in the chant.
    Bill seemed not to notice and took a step towards the man, trying to keep his
    tone gentle. The man in front of us flinched as the chanting reached an almost
    clear sound. The words I heard made no sense, but seemed to call to me. Bill
    again seemed to not hear it.






    "Bill, didya hear that?" I
    asked quickly, trying to keep from wincing as the chanting rushed in my head,
    filling my veins with a kind of confused gibbering pain. Bill looked at me out
    of the corner of his eye, I was sweating badly, and the footsteps behind us got
    louder, I turned to look behind us, the young officer walked up behind us, his
    face pale white and a similar sweat on his face. The man in front of us
    twitched his right hand out as the chanting got louder. Inside the right hand
    was a pistol. The others in the room he walked out of stepped out also holding
    weapons.






    "Woah buddy!" The officer
    behind us shouted, "keep calm." I likewise raised my hands to defuse
    the situation. He levelled the handgun at us as the chanting raised in volume
    once more. The other stood beside him, one clutching a double barreled shotgun
    with hands that looked to be flayed of skin. Then the tall man fired the
    pistol. Time moved quickly from there, I pulled myself back, hearing the
    officer behind me shout out in pain, my right hand darting to my holster
    pulling free my handgun, Bill returning fire as the two of us backpeddled. I
    grabbed the officer and pulled him down the stairs with us, Bill firing two
    more shots, hitting one of the men causing a gurgled yelp. Evidently the shot
    was lethal.






    We ran down the staircase, the
    younger officer bleeding on my coat, calling out curses as he unholstered his
    revolver. He was leaning under my arm, but kept trying to look behind us, as we
    ran down the staircase's first flight of stairs. We hit the second flight, the
    one at the ground floor, with Bill still firing another few shot at the men,
    again causing one to scream out in pain. Above the shooting and shouting I
    heard the chanting start to ebb down again, and footsteps below us on the
    ground floor as well as shouting from the outside and distant sirens.






    As we hit the ground floor I ran
    with the officer to the front door. His partner ran up to the door, "I
    called it in!" He yelled, grabbing his partner, how was bleeding very
    badly and grunting with every step. I turned towards Bill, who was coming up
    behind me, his back turned to us getting ready to fire at the men running down
    the steps.






    "Aw Hell!" Bill called
    out, the slide of his handgun slipping opened revealing an empty clip. The man
    with the shotgun leapt down the steps, coming to the inbetween section of the
    overlapping stairs. He took aim and fired. I grabbed Bill and pulled him to the
    door at our right, the officiers at the door fell back from the buckshot. Bill
    yelped as some hit him in the leg, I pulled harder as we dove through the door.
    I let Bill down and turned on my heel quick as I could, slamming the door shut.
    The man fired once more. I opened the door and fired blindly. There was no
    sound. I leaned my head around the door, gun leading. The man at the top of the
    staircase was aiming instead of me, at the officers outside the door. I fired
    one more shot, the bullet going slightly wide of the large man wielding the
    double barreled weapon. He flinched and fired the shotgun. I pulled back, the
    buckshot smashing into the wall behind where my head had been. I could hear the
    man running back upstairs. Another man came running down the stairs. Lighter
    steps, likely someone else from the upstairs rooms.
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    Re: I can't think of a decent title... A short story, dealing with insainty

    Post by Allen on Tue Apr 10, 2012 6:02 pm

    Bill hauled himself over to the door
    and pulled it shut before he turned to me, "We ain't going through there.
    Better find a backdoor or the basement cellar or something." Bill's skin
    was pale, much like mine. Above his tired voice I could hear it the chanting,
    calling me to below the house. My blood thundered and my mind rushed, the
    chanting finding a firm grip in my mind. It was quieter than earlier, but loud
    enough to keep itself heard.






    "Bill, do yah here that damned
    chanting?" I asked the cold sweat started again on my brow. Bill had
    limped over and pulled the door shut already, and waved me to hush, he leaned
    against the door listening to the movement outside. Evidently they were more
    concerned with the officers and sirens in the distance just outside the front
    door. I steeled myself against the chanting, now sounding a bit like man
    discordant voices saying the same words. Bill waved me over to the door he now
    faced, reloading his handgun with his spare magazine. His upper thigh bore a
    blood stain of the buckshot grazing by, tearing out his slacks and flesh,
    although the wound seemed to not bother him.






    "Get a bookcase or something.
    To brace the door I mean," His eyes went from his pistol to me, evidently
    he could see the fright and paleness of my face, "C'mon man, get your head
    out of the clouds. Ain't the first time we've been shot at."






    "No it ain't Bill," I said
    quickly looking around the room for some kind of furniture to brace against the
    door. The room was in good shape like the entry hallway was, with lavish wood
    panels and fine flooring. The fireplace in the far side of the large room was
    made of a foreign green-black stone, with an otherworldly glow around said
    stone. The room was lined with bookcases packed full of all kinds of thick old
    books, most of which dealt with old occult manuscripts, some with names common
    to our tongue, and some being barely pronounceable. The books seemed to deal with
    blasphemous arcane magic that I felt myself instinctively lured too. The center
    of the room had a beautiful solid oak table, with and near the strange
    fireplace was a lectern, a heavy leather bound book with a pentagram similar to
    the images in the paintings we'd seen throughout the home. In front of the
    lecture were two rows of church pews. I turned back to Bill finishing my
    thought, "The place just makes my head swim, can't you feel it?"






    "I do, the paintings and the
    books are strange, I'll give you that. But we've got people shootin' at us,
    that's a bit more important than some damn books." Bill quieted and
    motioned for me to do likewise. I had a look around the room, curious to check
    the book at the far end of the room. Outside the door I could hear shouting,
    the voices of the cultists, praising something they called only
    "Dragon" before screaming insults at the police outside. I knew that
    reinforcements would be here in nothing short of twenty minutes, but this house
    was on the outskirts of the city and it was a slow night. Bill and I would be
    in the house for quite a while if we couldn't find an exit. I felt an
    instinctual joy at the thought of exploring the house, but a kind of deep dread
    of the unknown. I told myself that it was only the fear of being shot at, but
    the chanting below my feet assured me it was a deep fear of whatever the cult
    had been up too. The men upstairs fired a few more shots at the officers
    outside. I came back to reality and Bill was talking, "Y'know, forget the
    backdoor, the windows are all boarded up mostly, but we can just pry 'em open
    right? Just need a crowbar or a hammer. Hell, help me with the door here and we
    can go grab ourselves a fire stoke from the place over there."






    "Help me with the bookcase
    then." I said, grabbing of the smallest of the book cases and giving the
    old wood a mighty heave to start the pushing. The damn thing weighed a ton,
    and as we moved it I could hear the grating of the wood, evidently the bookcase
    had been in place for many, many years as heaps of dust fell on the brim of my
    fedora. Eventually with much effort we managed to shift the thing to the door.
    With a bit of effort on both our parts with pushed it as close against the door
    as possible. Bill pointed to another and we walked over to move it as well.
    This one was heavier, and a much thicker base, and was much more difficult to
    get moving, several thick old tomes dropped from the shelf. Again with effort
    Bill and I hauled to the brace the other in front of the door. Bill without
    missing a beat leaned against the bookcase and pulled out a smoke from his coat
    pocket. We both new the bookcases would be shifted with a few good running
    shoves, and that we wouldn't have much time before the men blew the door
    opened.






    "Well, now we pry open a window
    and gun outside, let the blues be heroes, I'm getting tired of being shot
    at." Bill quipped striking a match for his cigarette, causing a half smile
    to spread on my lips despite the near constant chanting. I walked around the
    entirety of the room, half looking for something to get the solid planks of
    wood covering the window out and half reading the names of the tomes.
    Eventually I reached the strange green-black stone fireplace, decorated with an
    opulent candles and strange silver symbols seeming to represent bizarre images
    of whatever Gods were worshiped in this home. My mind whirled as the chanting
    rose the closer I got the fireplace, it sounded to almost come out of it. The
    fireplace itself was huge, with a man-sized opening for the flame, with no wood
    in the fire pit and no mesh up to shield the room from sparks created. I
    grabbed one of the stokes next to the fireplace and tossed it to Bill, who went
    right to work with trying to pry boards off the window.






    The lectern commanded my attention,
    and the thick book sitting on it. The leather of the book was ancient and
    decorated with runes I hadn't seen before despite my family's Pagan background.
    The only letters were archaic and hand written, almost cut into the leather and
    then embroidered with thick gold cloth. The title was something even now I have
    trouble forgetting, for it was in a different language foreign to me, but in my
    head I could understand it perfectly, "Compendix of Infinity". I
    opened the thick leather bound book, my hands shaking, the skin white as fresh
    snow. The book had been recently opened, and along the margin were english
    translations and sermon notes. On the reverse of the cover read something that
    boggles my mind. In plain English I could read the words "It Sleeps with
    Souls of the Dead, Waking with the corpses of the Damned, Gods, Devils and
    Angels meaningless mortals feeding endless Void, the Dragon" under the
    writing was a crude drawing of an eye and little tendrilled beings with wings.
    The Dragon was written in English, but it was obvious that it was a nickname
    for something. The english translation of whatever God the book was devoted to
    was written in bold script on the center of the page "Tyrozumen". The
    name sounded foul to the tongue, it burned my mind and made my head swim. Now I
    could understand part of the chanting I still heard coming from below me. A
    chant to the return of whatever beast this was. I flipped pages, diagrams in
    the manuscript showed images of men being strapped to some kind of alien
    device, having their chests cut opened and blood emptied into a vessel of some
    kind, and a summons, a calling towards the God. Runes and ancient script
    pointed to the book being older than this house, but the pictures showed a
    mechanical marvel so alien that it boggled the mind to picture. Side notes
    detailed the burning of bodies as well, citing a "need for secrecy".






    "Goddamn window's closed
    tight." I heard Bill curse at the far end of the room. He had succeeded in
    releasing one of the boards. Two more and a sheet of ply wood covered the
    window. I turned back to the fire place, leaning my hand on the inside from
    pure impulse. Above us we could hear stomping and more shooting. The sirens
    were getting closer. Rescue. As I put my hand on the interior of the fireplace,
    I felt it slip inwards. The grating of stone upon stone told me that the
    fireplace had something behind it.
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    Re: I can't think of a decent title... A short story, dealing with insainty

    Post by Allen on Tue Apr 10, 2012 6:04 pm



    "Holy shit!" I called out
    as the entire panel fell into the fireplace, and I myself fell in with it. I
    could hear Bill jogging up to me. I pulled myself up grabbing my hat from the
    floor surveying the room I exposed. It was lit by a weird greenish light
    emanating from the stone walls. The entire place was full of weird symbols
    engraved on the eerily lit walls, and the room reverberated with chanting. I
    could hear the shouting upstairs halt as the chanting got louder. I winced like
    I had in the upstairs hallway from the mental blast and constant murmuring of
    the voices. Bill helped my up and I replaced my fedora. The pair of us walked
    further into the room. The place screamed at me, as if I'd seen something like
    it before.












    "Why does this all seem so
    familiar?" I heard Bill mumble from behind me. He walked ahead of me,
    rubbing his hands on the symbol laden walls. The stone called out to us, as if
    we had returned to something that we had been too before, but not in a
    lifetime. But unlike a home town, this felt more like we were walking into the
    hands of doom itself, as if we were escaped mental patients returning to the
    asylum we had run from so long ago. 'Home' with a menacing caretaker, a silent
    promise of a dead eternity. I could hear Bill mumbling a passage from Psalms as
    he ran his hands across the stone, his handgun held firmly in his grip. I
    continued ahead of Bill, finding my way to a staircase of similar stone. I
    waved Bill over, and both us preceded down, the sounds of sirens drowned out
    by the shouting of chanting as we went deeper down into the sanctum. Here we
    entered a grand room, support beams from the house the only normal pieces of
    architecture in the room. The room was filled with the stone shaped into weird
    altars and alien geometries. The floor was a kind of black marble with flecks
    of red in it, reminiscent of classical interpretations of the floors of Hell
    itself. The ceiling of the room was wide, an in the center a huge mural of
    gigantic eye dominating an otherworldly plane, hundreds of humanoid beasts
    blotting out the sky, and a frightfully huge "king" creature with the
    wings of a dragon and the face of God itself commanding a insane amount of
    power in the room. It's waste was submerged by a blood red sea of screaming men
    and women, creatures human and inhuman. The demonic center piece creature's
    eyes were thick rubies, and it glared at us and the rest of the room
    simultaneously. The whispering chants reached a crescendo now and my mind
    screamed against the insanity of just looking at the beast in front of me. I
    flicked safety off an my pistol. Looking directly at those eyes I felt every
    bit of my humanity eating away and falling apart. All that is holy seemed to be
    gone in those eyes, and the insane gibbering chant that filled my mind spoke of
    ancient bargains and commanding powers so great the thought made one's mind
    scream in vain to reclaim it's blissful ignorance. The eyes dripped with blood,
    and it landed in a basin in the center of the room. The stench of the room
    filled my nostrils, but I could barely understand it. The minions depicted in
    the mural were as horrifying as the beast pictured. Creatures with nightmarish
    wings like the Demonic Prince, and blobs of molten blood forming out of the
    water, reaching out with the limbs of and torn flesh of the deceased. Eyes were
    forming on it in strange places. The mural seemed to shutter and my legs
    wobbled. I needed to look away from the beast's bloodied eyes, but I couldn't.












    "By God, what is this
    place?" Bill asked, his jaw dropping as he looked around the room. I tore
    myself away from the eyes gasping for air. I looked to where Bill was looking,
    an altar with a man strapped to it. He squirmed pathetically, never screaming.
    He didn't seem quite alive. It was as if his body just quivered alone of it's
    own volition.












    "We have to leave..." I
    said, approaching the body, curiously terrified by what I seen. The man's face
    was a grimace, his eyes cut out and his chest a gaping hole. My mind screamed
    at the horror of the poor man. I looked away towards Bill, we was looking at
    the body as well, moving to stand beside me, "We have to leave!" I
    said, trying to force my legs to carry me from this horrible place. Bill lifted
    his handgun and fired one shot in the dying man's head.












    "Rest." Bill said, he
    hunched down. My mind shrieked. And Bill blanched. The pair of us looked down
    at the body. The man was dead, but he started to bleed into the stone floor. I
    could hear grating stone and this wicked cracking sound. Screaming and air rushed
    into my ears, and my blood boiled. The blood of the man seeped into the floor,
    and the screaming of the chant got louder and louder.












    "God, what have you
    done?!" I screamed at Bill grabbing him. Briefly in my insanity and rage I
    imagined strangling him, my mind screaming 'SACRIFICE', Bill looked at me with
    cold eyes for just a second, before they flashed to a dazed and confused glare.












    Then I heard the most terrifying
    thing in my entire life. A shriek from behind us, Bill and I turned. Time
    seemed to slow at the beast's approach. It had a large head, black as the
    night, tendrils where it's mouth should be, and an emaciated ribcage and
    spinal cord. It's arms ended three fingers tipped with red and brown claws,
    dripping with a foul ichor. Behind the beast was a 'tear' a screaming gibbering
    tear a doorway to a lake of blood, howling escaped and the foulest of stenches
    leaked out of it. It shrieked again, I lifted my handgun and fired at it. It
    took the 45. round without so much as a flinch, and though the creature was
    man-sized it seemed impossibly tall. "THIS ISN'T REAL!" I screamed, I
    felt everything make less sense to me. And yet it made more sense. This was our
    fate. To perish by the hand of God itself, and one of it's 'Angels'.












    "Fuck you!" Bill shouted
    in utter defiance unloading several shots into it's head. It grabbed at us, I
    pulled away, but it's grip too tight, it's hands burning my skin, Bill yelled
    in pain as it dug it's claws into his chest pulling us towards the doorway into
    the lake of blood. I screamed in rage and denial, my grip on reality loosening
    I screamed out impossibilities and curses upon righteousness and Hell, firing
    more bullets into it's arms. It screamed back with each hit. Now at the tear
    the howling and stench filled my nose, the pain too great, my mind snapping. It
    all made sense now. From birth to death we exist to serve the whims of those
    stronger than us. Humans are nothing but cattle, cheap replaceable cattle. The
    chant sounded like a merry tune, a promise of eternity. No! Not a promise, a
    threat. It's isn't real!












    "GET OUT OF MY HEAD" I
    screamed at the top of my lungs kicking and thrashing. The world of the living,
    all I loved slipped away. It wasn't real. It's a dream, the voices aren't real.
    But it was real, and I couldn't escape it's grasp. "GET OUT! GET OUT! GET
    OUT! GET OUT!" My torment wouldn't cease, and I was pulled closer to
    eternal damnation.












    Now inside the portal, I could see
    the black sky, raining blood and cinder. I screamed as Bill screamed. I pulled
    away from the creature, that just dropped us. The ground before us was like the
    floor of the room we had just left. Hard stone and jagged rock, and the air was
    freezing cold, with cinder that burned as hit the skin and blood that boiled
    and burned. Bill was pulled into the air by the creature. I didn't see him
    fall, but I could hear the screaming. He dropped his gun, and I reached for it,
    the pistol having more bullets than mine. The pistol I realized was my last
    defense. One bullet to be kept for safety. In that moment of insanity, dying by
    my hand was preferable to whatever was happening to account for the constant
    tormented screams of these lost souls. Ahead of my was the lake of blood, with
    a vast city of blasphemous shape and spiked Hellish towers, it was so far away,
    but so easy to see. Mercy I called, mercy. Bill was gone, all I loved gone. I
    couldn't describe the Hell I faced.












    But why I wondered, was I still
    alive? I lifted the pistol to fire at the beast, Bill now dead, his screams
    drowned out by the millions of other screams. The creature turned to me, and
    flew away, it's glistening black wings carrying it across the crimson lake.
    Voices drowned out the screams now.












    "You'll never die again, you'll
    never be alone again, you'll always be here. You'll never be free again."






    "You are ours."





    "Nothing, you are
    nothing!"






    "Behold destiny. Behold
    Infinity."












    "Behold God" whispered a
    commanding voice. I looked up, and at the edge of the city in the distance an
    impossibly large demon with black wings and a huge demonic form, so
    mind-rending it changed shape every time I blinked. It's mass turned to me. The
    screaming resumed and wouldn't stop, chanting "TYROZUMEN TYROZUMEN
    TYROZUMEN, He sleeps and wakes with the souls of the Damned." My eyes
    burned and my skin screamed in pain as all around my burned with flame. I
    pulled myself up and fired in desperation at the creature that landed beside
    me, similar to the beast that dragged me here. It screamed in pain as I emptied
    a clip into it's chest. The dreadful clicking of an empty clip. I threw the
    pistol at it and I could hear a kind of dreadful laughter, grating on my now
    broken sanity. Voices screamed in torment and endless pain. "Never be free
    again." In pure defiance I lifted myself up. I knew the portal had shut. I
    fired five more shots, knowing Bill only fired two from his pistol, which had
    eight shots. The beast halted and shrieked, terrible bright red blood leaking
    down it's black frame.












    "GET OUT OF MY FUCKING
    HEAD!" I screamed in defiance, holding the gun up to my head. It advanced,
    laughing again, I spat at it's face as it closed on me, and instead of killing
    myself, I thrusted the pistol into it's tendrilled mouth, firing one shot in
    it's mouth. It shrieked in pain as I punched at it's slimy and disgusting
    body. It pushed my backwards, through the portal behind me. Just like that, the
    gateway shut.












    I collapsed on the floor, the
    chanting gone. Terrible silence filling my shattered mind. It wasn't over. It
    was still there. I could smell it. Hear it screaming at me. Hear it's promises.
    I collapsed on the ground, and felt my mind slip away.
    avatar
    Allen
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    Re: I can't think of a decent title... A short story, dealing with insainty

    Post by Allen on Tue Apr 10, 2012 6:06 pm

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





    "Up Detective Clarke. Up." A man's voice said, sounding official.





    "Who are you?" I asked, my voice sounding strangely foreign. The room swam with my mind, I was in a
    hospital bed. I must have hit my head or something, "wait what was
    that?" I asked abruptly, hearing scratching.









    "Nothing. Detective, I'd like to ask you a few questions." I blanched at the man's voice, he wore a
    thick suit and fedora and was armed with a notepad. The police chief stood in
    behind him. Evidently the man seen my face pale, "Strange, normally you
    ask the questions, hmm?" He had a slight laugh and I nodded dumbly, my
    mind in pain. The ceiling was moving, wasn't it? The outside window glowed red.
    And that stench of blood! God, it wouldn't leave! What was happening to me?!









    "I'm here to test your
    psychiatric health, you were found screaming gibberish in the library of an old
    house. Also I would like to ask about your partner..."


















    "Bill." I said quickly, my
    mind glimpsing reality for a second. I knew I seen something outside the
    window. It was screaming at me.






    "Yes. Now I understand you were
    held hostage for a while, a very traumatic experience."









    "Not hostage! Black red bloody
    sky!" I yelled out quickly. The chief in the background winced. Was it
    shame on his face? They doubted me.









    "No Detective, you were found
    by the officers, beaten severely. You were tortured, with bad burns and cuts.
    We've been over this yesterday. Do you remember?" My mind strained to
    think back. All I remembered was an endless horrible dream of the dead
    screaming in constant eternal pain. Yesterday I dreamt of Hell itself, like the
    God that presided over that place, my sleep was strained and horrible. I seen
    destiny. Infinity. God itself.










    "I don't remember." I
    mumbled, a young nurse looked down at her feet by the egde of the bed,
    "How long have I been here? Where's Bill?"






    "Two weeks, and you've been
    waking up screaming daily. And we're still looking for him. With your help we
    can find him, where is he?"






    "No, no... Please. You must believe me. Bill was carried away!"





    "Where?" He asked, happy
    to make a breakthrough. Something in my mind whispered, 'You're insane, you'd
    be better off dead. Come back little soul.' I blanched and grimanced.






    "The black angel carried him
    away!" I answered truthfully. The nurse looked at me with deep sorrow and
    pity. I looked up at her blue eyes, I couldn't believe she didn't believe
    me.She must have. If only she had seen. But then she'd be broken too. I heard
    the scratching once more, and the sky outside blinked red and black. I blinked
    again and it was gone.






    "No... There is no black angel
    Detective. Do you mean the men at the house? Are they the black angels?"
    He asked pushing me. The police chief left the room, his skin pale and his
    stride sad.






    "I seen it! Hundreds, flying
    against the blood red sky!" The man, a psychiatrist of some kind I guessed
    pulled away to rub his beard. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in close,
    "LISTEN TO ME, I can hear them calling even now! Bill is dead and gone
    carried away!" The man pulled away and the nurse cooed gently while a
    security guard ran up, "LISTEN TO ME GODDAMN IT!"






    "Ma'am, sedation shot
    please." The psychaiatrist said. I let go of him and looked up at her. She
    smiled with pity and me as she readied a shot.







    "Please, ma'am, listen to
    me." I whispered as she injected the shot... The world blinked away,
    melting. As my vision blackened I could hear the man saying, "Bring the
    poor soul to my hospital, we can take good care of him at the Asylum. My
    condolences to his family.", The black angel greeted my dreams once more,
    and the screaming wouldn't stop. Even now, I still hear it. The stench won't go
    away. I just want to forget it all, but every time I shut my eyes, it's there,
    waiting for me.









    Waiting,
    calling that chant. Tyrozumen, Tyrozumen!

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    Re: I can't think of a decent title... A short story, dealing with insainty

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