I think this is excellent background music for the Dreamlands.
I think this is excellent background music for the Dreamlands.
I wish to escape
I have shot you in the leg
I see a Dark Young,
Oh, I thought it was a tree,
It took effect that’s for sure. Next week, this awful lookin’ little bastard showed up. Followed me everywhere, mumbling a bunch of crap nobody could understand. Even when I ditched him, he’d just show back up. My gambling luck went to hell, I’d slip and fall, and getting a date? Shit. People around me too. Lock their keys in the car, burn themselves lightin’ a cigarette, cut themselves cooking. One time I took my shotgun and blasted its arm off, thank God mine stayed on. Next day, there he was.
Finally, we went to see the witch. We’d done business with her once before when we was desperate, the worst and only time you’d try such a thing. She wasn’t no wrinkled old hag livin’ in a swamp neither, had a real fancy apartment in the city. She looked damn fine, too; don’t know if that was real or not and I don’t much give a damn.
She did her thing and the little asshole was just gone, never seen him since. She didn’t ask for nothing, up front, but we knew she’d call in the favor. Based on the first time, we knew whatever that was, it wasn’t gonna be good.
–Earl West, shotgun man for the Society of The Oath-Bound.
“A couple of us had already felt the impact of magic, like simultaneously being punched with a thousand needles and electrocuted, so we were pretty worried when the dying sorcerer laid that curse on Tom. At least we managed to kill the bastard: turns out wizards burn just fine when doused with gasoline.
After several months passed, we thought maybe it had failed. One day, we’re walking in the woods and Tom convulses, clutches his head and screams ‘Curse! The curse!’ About twenty feet in front of us it looks like heat distortion and this thing comes running out of it. It looked like a naked man, but all shriveled and dirty and it was screaming bloody murder.
I shot it with my .45 and felt a terrible pain in my gut. Next thing I know, my friends are waking me up and this thing is a stinking, bubbling mass and evaporating.”
–Excerpt from the memoirs of Franklin Meiers, investigator of unusual phenomena.
“I can’t remember what I saw, only running through the woods in terror, trying to escape it. I emerged from the forest and collapsed in a field, exhausted. My arm burned with unimaginable pain and blisters were forming so fast I could watch them swell.
Once in town, I had to be restrained in order to prevent me from tearing open my arm to ease the itch. Surprisingly, the blisters dried only a few days later. The skin is still dry and itchy, but nothing like on that day. I have since found other places to hike.” — Julie Everest, Field Biologist. Continue reading
My shattered mind shrieks
Echos in the empty halls
No more asylum
“We got a call that some kids didn’t come home after being out late. Turns out they’d been going down County 12, near the old Fletcher place. I hadn’t really thought much about it after the raid all those years ago when he disappeared under, undisclosed circumstances.
When we got there, the land was overgrown, the plants were all too big, bloated. It stank like hell too, rotten and kind of like old sweat. I walked over to an apple hanging by the side of the road. It was huge, dark and it look like something was squirming under the skin.
I reached out and held it, gave it a little squeeze with my thumb. It just popped open and blood came gushing out. I yelled like hell, Jake pulled his pistol, and that’s when the bad shit started happening.”–Excerpt from intake interview of Henry Thompson, Sheriff of Benner County Louisiana: performed by Gregory Reynolds, Chief Alienist, Benner County Hospital.
“Ever since Ana got tangled up in that giant rose bush, she would scratch at that arm. When Spring came and she began to wear short-sleeved blouses, we were shocked to see the bruise was still visible.
Then the nightmares began. She would moan and cry out in her sleep. Soon, she was barely sleeping at all; her eyes were puffy and dark and she would flinch at the slightest sound.
She told us she would dream of walking in a thickly wooded area, among plants that grew either too large or small and twisted, bearing fruit that was bloated or shriveled. This image was all too familiar. She would hear a strangled scream, a wet tearing sound, then see a duplicate of herself stride from the foliage, chewing at a hank of flesh it held in its hand. This creature would look into Ana’s eyes, smile and say ‘You and Me.’
The clipping service we employed to provide us with ‘unusual’ articles began to send more and more stories about murders and cannibalism in rural areas, committed by a woman. The locations of these, though initially nearly two-thousand miles away, were slowly moving in our direction. Early eyewitness reports stated she was nude and said only ‘You and Me.’
Soon, the articles indicated this woman was wearing clothing and was screaming disjointed information. This made no sense to witnesses, but we recognized this was information that the previous victims would know-details about farming, automotive mechanics, etc.
Then this mystery woman killed someone on the street in a small town. A police officer managed to shoot her twice, and a local reporter snapped a picture while she was tearing a man apart. The woman in the photo was clearly Ana. Despite the gunshot wounds, she escaped. The article went on to mention that this woman subsequently stole a truck from a nearby farm. The next murder, the following day, was very near us. She had travelled over fifteen hundred miles in a little over one day.
Knowing a confrontation was imminent, we drove out of town that evening, setting a blockade with our cars, about one hundred feet off the road and with a clear field of fire. Soon, a well-used, rusted, blue pickup came barreling along the road. Identical to Ana, the entity lept from the speeding truck and rolled upright, charging without breaking stride.
It was fast. As it closed distance its back hunched, the lower jaw unhinged and distended and the thing’s face split, making the mouth an enormous, toothy cavern. Sprouting vines and root tendrils trailed behind the thing and its nails and teeth curled out in the shape of huge thorns. It leapt our barricade, screaming at Ana ‘We shall be stronger you and me!’
Ana, always level-headed in a crisis, calmly raised her shotgun, said ‘You are not me,’ fired, cocked the weapon and fired again.
The next day, I retired and she took command of the squad.” — Journal entry of Captain Carol Younger, forty years retired, in the care of the Project Catalyst Retirement Facility, location undisclosed.