The Diary

[Struff Bunstridge]

Largely inspired by Masterkraft's excellent Ghost, I started writing my first horror story in about four years. It's been a long time since I've had a crack at this kind of thing, and it's likely to be a bit suspect in terms of cohesion, but I thought I'd chuck it out there for people to read. As of around four in the afternoon on Saturday 24th May 2008, I'm sitting at around 2500 words. I've no idea yet how long it's going to be, or how regularly I'll update it. I'm also not entirely comfortable with it as yet, but having seen the support that's offered to writers in WD, I figured this would be as good a place as any to get constructive feedback. Also, if I start a thread about it, I hope it'll spur me to keep going, and not lose interest or pussy out! Please feel free to comment however you wish, but be gentle; I'm still a bit nervous about showcasing my efforts.

 

I'm largely influenced by Stephen King and his slightly rambling, tangential tendencies. I also much prefer writing in the first person, as I find it easier to articulate thoughts and feelings that way. I'd welcome any discussion about people's thoughts on this or any other aspect of the writing process within this topic, as there doesn't seem to be a dedicated thread offering this already.

 

I'll post the introduction first, and follow with installments when I've edited and formatted them properly.

 

*deep breath*

 

The following is a reproduction of a diary found in an abandoned warehouse just outside London. The author appears to have forcibly and rather haphazardly removed all but the last few pages. What remains, however, is a remarkable amount of seemingly uninterrupted prose. The diary itself is stained with a dark red substance, identified as various types of blood, only some of which are human in origin. There are also several bite marks around the spine of the diary; again, some are human, some are as yet unidentified, although teeth marks caused by incisors comparable to those of a great white shark are present.

It was discovered by a homeless man seeking shelter, who was arrested later that same day for attempted arson; he was found next some train tracks nearby, trying to set fire to a signal box. He was covered in petrol, having been less than careful in his dousing of the signal box, and had police officers not intervened, surely would have been killed in the blaze resulting from the matches he was feverishly trying to strike. He was taken into custody screaming and babbling unintelligibly, a wild, hunted look in his eyes. The only phrase that could be understood by attending officers was one he uttered in a hushed, almost awed voice, some fifty or sixty times in the final few minutes of his life: “They’re here”.

Cause of death has been recorded as a massive brain haemorrhage, which coincided with a total electrical failure at the police station. His identity is still unknown, but it is thought he is not the author of the diary entries.

The coroner’s report indicates that the deceased was missing all ten fingers, hence his inability to strike any of the matches. The wounds on the stumps were fresh, no older than ten hours or so prior to death. All ten digits were recovered from the deceased’s stomach cavity. This time, all the teeth marks were identified as human.

 

More to follow at some point in the near future. Thanks for reading.

 

[Rhoda]

This looks great already, I felt really uneasy about the links to animal blood and bite marks, and that's not an easy thing to do. The lack of fingers is also chilling, I can't wait to read more.

 

And thanks for the mention.

[Struff Bunstridge]

Thanks mate. Much appreciated.

 

OK, this is the first part of the diary proper. It's designed as one long entry; hopefully I'll be able to split it up quite neatly.

 

Tuesday 25th March 2008

Scratch that, there’s no point recording the date, or the time for that matter. My watch started playing up this morning earlier, and I may as well be in outer space for all the light I’ve seen in that time. My body clock hints that it’s mid afternoon, but I can see stars through the one small window, high above and to the left. I could swear I’ve seen more than one moon as well, but maybe that’s just the early onset of cabin fever.

 

Although it’s useless, I’ve managed to get some faint light from my watch so I can write this, just because it seemed like something to do. I just thought of another reason not to write down the date – it makes me feel like I need to keep track of what day it is, as though I’ve resigned myself to being here for a long period of time. I don’t want to be here for that long, although I may not have a choice, but it’s probably best if I come to that later.

 

The smell is getting worse.

 

I’m writing this, as I said, for something to do. I tried shouting, singing to myself, whistling, even faking an orgasm, but I couldn’t hear anything. I don’t know whether I’ve gone deaf or not, but there seems to be no sound in here. Stamping my feet doesn’t work, either. I’m vaguely aware of sensations in the parts of my body that are touching something else; the floor, or my clothes. I awoke standing with my back to a wall, in what I thought was total darkness, but over time my eyes have adjusted. And there’s an almost impossibly faint light source coming from somewhere, some sort of phosphorescence, perhaps. Sometimes, my mind will drift, and I’ll suddenly realise I’m sitting down, but I have no conscious memory of moving at all.

 

I’m also writing this, well, in case somebody finds it. I don’t want to think about somebody finding it and not me, but it feels like contact with the world, as though I’m comforted by the idea that there might be someone else around to find it in the first place. I’m not sure there’s anyone else here, or anywhere. I already said there’s no sound, and it’s almost completely dark, but my eyes have adjusted, and there are faint outlines here and there. I think some of them move sometimes, but only on the spot, and I don’t think any of them are getting closer.

 

Anyway, it doesn’t feel like there’s anyone else here. Like when you get home, and there’s someone else in, and you can feel their presence. It’s not like that here. It’s more like being in a boat out at sea, and looking over the side, into the water. Sometimes you can’t see anything, if the water’s too murky. Sometimes you don’t want to look for too long, in case you catch sight of movement in the depths, the suggestion of something much larger than you or your boat, moving quicker than you’d reasonably expect something to be able to move underwater, or perhaps just the vague outline of one big eye, gazing unblinkingly back at you, the owner of which is bunching itself underwater, getting ready to propel itself up towards you, and emerge, roaring from the ocean…

Jesus, I’m scaring myself here.

Edited May 25, 2008 by Struff Bunstridge

[Rhoda]

Woah, now this is what I should've done with Ghost. Very well written, and if I didn't know otherwise I'd have actually called you derranged! Spewing tangents, beautiful metaphors and itching psychotic behaviour. I love it. Keep going!

[Vercetti21]

An excellent introduction to WD. To be honest, you've got the best vocabulary of anyone else on here, which really makes the reader feel sympathy for the protagonist; although he is psychotic, he is brilliant, and thus he is respected. With the exception of one minor grammar mistake, I haven't spotted any major flaws. Within the horror genre, I myself prefer the short, choppy, suspenseful sentences as opposed to long, rambling statements ala Stephen King. However, this style seems to suit the story well. Nice work, man, I'll do my best to follow this to the end.

[Struff Bunstridge]

Aw, shucks, you guys. I've been writing feverishly this evening and I've got maybe five or six installments almost ready to post; I'm at about 3,700 words now. Just need to edit stuff. Out of interest, Vercetti21, where was the grammar error you mentioned? I'm a little OCD with thse things, and like to know where the mistakes are

 

I'm going out now, so here's some more. Thanks for the responses guys.

 

I need to tell you what I remember of my arrival here. Maybe if I write it down it’ll make some sense to me too. I remember leaving for work, saying goodbye to my wife Lucy, and descending the stairs to the Tube station. I’ve always loved the smell of the Tube, ever since I was a little kid. I love the sound as well, standing as close to the edge of the platform as you dare, and then watching the train emerge from the tunnel like an angry snake, screaming and roaring at you before allowing you on its back to ride away, deeper underground. They say the existing network hardly uses any of the tunnels that stretch under the length and breadth of London. I bet there are miles and miles of tunnels that no one’s been in for decades. God knows what’s in them.

 

So my train arrived. I remember checking my watch, sure I was going to be late, but I was pleasantly surprised to see I was making excellent time; I’d only left the flat five minutes ago, and it usually takes at least ten to get down here. One less thing for the boss to bitch about, I suppose. Oddly, the train wasn’t too busy either, so I managed to get a seat. There was a guy opposite with his head down, garish rap music blaring from his headphones. He had a hood obscuring most of his face, so that all I could see was his chin, covered with a straggly little beard. Normally the music wouldn’t have bothered me, but a headache was beginning to thump away at my skull, so I leaned across and asked him to turn it down. The guy didn’t move, so I figured he hadn’t heard. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he jerked upright so I could see his face for the first time.

 

The first thing I remember noticing was that he was missing an eye, leaving nothing but a gory, weeping socket oozing blood down his cheek, which had been sliced open to the bone, showing a handful of rotten teeth. His nose was missing, and what I could see of his pale skin was covered in vicious pockmarks or boils. As I watched, a single fat maggot wriggled lazily from a particularly prominent one between his eyebrows and fell onto his lap. I recoiled in horror, a yelp of shock and revulsion escaping me. He reached out a hand, missing all its fingers, and screeched gutturally, before diving off his seat towards me. I could smell his foul breath on me, and I remember screaming, and feeling warmth spread across my groin as my bladder let go. When I opened my eyes, there was nobody sitting there. I looked around, bewildered, seeing that none of my fellow commuters had seen or heard a thing. I looked back at the empty seat, then at my watch. I just had time to notice that my watch had stopped before the train stopped suddenly enough to send people flying, and the lights went out.

 

White noise filling the carriage, louder and louder, first uncomfortable, then painful, until it fills the world. An indefinable buzzing, as though a plague of locusts had been unleashed upon the populace, gaining numbers and strength, feeding, feeding, until nothing is left, no people, no houses or buildings, no cars, not even hope. Only emptiness…and nothing.

 

Which, as I’ve already explained, is pretty much all that’s here. Nothing. I can’t hear, I can’t really see anything other than those hulking masses, looming ominously in the almost-perfect dark. There are maybe twelve of them, and they look kind of shaggy in the gloom, like their edges aren’t very well defined. I know they move every so often, but I don’t know how often; I thought of timing it, but something odd has happened to my watch.

 

On the train, before I got here, I was looking at the time, and I remember thinking what good time I was making on my commute. Now I realise that I wasn’t making any sort of time; from the moment I woke up, assuming today is the same day, my watch has been running backwards all day. Now I come to think about it, I suppose that explains why the train I got on was so thinly populated; it must have been no more than about 5.30am. I’m confused. I don’t know how long I’ve been awake. Every time I try and work it out, my brain just goes numb. I never was much good at maths.

 

Edited May 25, 2008 by Struff Bunstridge

[Damo.]

Amazing. You're a great writer.

 

I'll be following this.

[Eminence]

Truly gripping. The plot has yet to become justly so - it's leading up to the point where I'm becoming entranced by the narrative content - although at present there's nothing making me want to read on other than the narrative style itself. It's intelligibly written, and it reads similarly to King at times, although the more I read on the less it seems so; it appears as though you've worked to make it similar as you began, but failed to keep up with the style and trailed off into a more generic structure. Nonetheless, it's still gripping and fantastically written, and as I say, if the plot develops along with it, it'll be a truly engaging piece.

 

One thing I don't understand comes from the introduction. One question surrounds the toothmarks on the diary itself - comparable to a great white shark? How big of a diary are we talking here - would something of that nature not rip it to shreds? Secondly, it's claimed that the author forcibly ripped all but the last few pages out. Answer, then, why the diary narrative itself seems to be a perfectly crafted introduction? Sure, it's not specifically started from 'the beginning', but it's certainly not mid-narrative, and it doesn't really give off a sense of other things having already happened - it's describing them from scratch.

 

I think the diary format is very engaging, and I'm extremely interested. I'm looking forward to you posting more to see how you develop it.

Edited May 25, 2008 by Eminence

[radicell]

This is great stuff, Struff. Glad that you came to WD. I will be following this, as I can see it developing into one of WD's legends if done right.

[Struff Bunstridge]

radicell, as ever, your support means an awful lot. Thank you.

 

To answer Eminence's points: the introduction is meant to be something akin to a police report, documenting what has been recovered, ie, the diary. With regards to the teeth, a forthcoming post should explain the apparent discrepancies between tooth size and diary damage. The idea is that what is presented of the narrative is all that is left of the diary, and the reader should draw his or her own conclusion as to why the reproduction of the diary's remaining pages is all that is left. The most recent post would indeed move away from King's influence, as it's definitely more conversational and informal; I'm trying to get an even split between quality narrative and the type of stuff your average chap would write in a diary - harder than I imagined it'd be. I'm simultaneously flattered and disappointed that you feel the narrative is overwhelming the plot; I hope the rest of the story will rectify this. I'm a little worried that this installment may lose people's interest. It's fairly fantastical (not gay hobbits, and no magic swords) and it's the first passage of this kind that I've ever written. Anyways...

 

MOAR!

 

Anyway, I digress. I was talking about the things. I think I fell asleep earlier, although it’s hard to tell with no external stimuli at all. I woke up, and I’m certain one of them was right next to me, almost on top of me. It towered over me, at once humanoid and impossibly huge, almost Lovecraftian in its dimensions, looming over the whole world, preparing to devour it. I could feel something like breath on my face, rancid and yet strangely compelling, as though it awakened something from my childhood, something intangible but still infinitely desirable. I tried to scream, and I was struck dumb by a voice in my head. No, not a voice; more like as though someone had crawled into my ear and written what it said in huge, vibrant red letters on my optic nerve: “They’re coming.” I didn’t hear the words; I saw them. As I watched it, the thing sort of swirled away, like smoke. I could see it the whole time, but it ended up where I think it started from, about twenty yards away. It settled into its spot, and some of the others acknowledged it in some way, I can’t even describe how. A sort of…shifting position, like a mating dance.

 

Update: my watch says midday, or thereabouts, so I guess that means it’s actually somewhere around 1am, if my maths is holding up. There are still only stars through the window, but now there are definitely two moons. One is ours, as we know it; the other is smaller, and slightly yellowed, as though much older and more careworn, eroded by the universe’s loving touch. It’s sitting slightly below and to the right of the one I expected to see. What is going on here? Where the hell am I?

The reason I’m writing an update is this: for the first time since I’ve been…wherever the hell I am, I’ve been able to move around. I don’t know why I couldn’t before, maybe fear or just my leg muscles slowly coming out of some sort of catatonic shock, but no matter. I’m able to do it.

 

Earlier, I started to feel my way along a wall. I know I’m inside a building, I can sense that much, but just out of paranoia, I took off my jacket and left it on the floor by the wall, so at least I’d know when I got back to where I started. I must have walked for two or three miles along the wall before I came to a door. What kind of building has those kinds of internal dimensions, for Christ’s sake? I sat down for a rest; my watch said I’d been walking for about three hours. As I sank to the floor, panting and breathing heavily, my hand came to rest on something soft. Terrified, I pulled my hand away, overbalancing and hitting my head quite hard in the process. I’m still bleeding a little, and I’ve got some on this page. I lay on the cold, dusty floor for what felt like hours, staring at the mound of whatever it was I had touched. Finally I pulled myself to my knees, and shuffled over to it.

 

This is the point where I’m sure I started to lose it. I picked up the item I’d laid my hand on, and felt cotton, and silk lining, and my wallet in the inside pocket… I’d walked for three hours, and barely moved! I was holding my f*cking jacket! I looked up, and the door was still there, a faint outline against the unforgiving wall, the handle glinting dully in the minimal light.

I put my jacket back on; the temperature seemed to have dropped quite a lot since I’d taken it off, and I felt gooseflesh crawling up and down my arms and shoulders, although I think that was more to do with fear than anything else. I sat for some time, as the hulking figures in the darkness rumbled softly in the depths of whatever passed for their slumber, gently vibrating the floor beneath me. I thought of my wife Lucy, and how worried she must be, and then dismissed that thought, remembering my watch going backwards. Was that just a mechanical thing, as though wherever and whatever this place is exudes some kind of aura that prevents things working properly, or was time actually moving in reverse? Was that happening just here and nowhere else, or was Lucy at our dining table right now, regurgitating her dinner onto a plate as she watched people on the TV laughing at jokes that hadn’t been told yet? Would she scrape the food into pans and cool it down, before returning it to packets in the fridge? Would she go to sleep, refreshed and alone, before waking up the previous night, exhausted from work she hadn’t done, sex we hadn’t had yet? Was I there, or was she doing all this without me? Oh, Lucy!

 

I think I cried for a while, as the futility of the situation took hold of me. I sobbed silently into the darkness, with nobody to react but the brooding, anonymous forms, the responses of whom I’m glad were not forthcoming, at any rate. After a while, I began to get a hold of myself and got to my feet. My head was pounding from the collision with the floor earlier, but at least the blood flow had stopped; a serious head wound is the last thing I need in here. I reasoned that, since I seemed to be back where I started anyway, I may as well try the door, and see where it led.

 

My actions seemed to slow to an infinitesimal crawl as I watched my hand stretch out towards the handle. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could barely catch my breath at the thought of escape, of release and blessed sunlight, of seeing my Lucy and holding her in my arms and never leaving the house again. With a sudden speed, my arm spasmed towards the door, and I gripped the handle. I took a moment to calm myself, before twisting the handle, and yanking the surprisingly heavy door towards me.

 

My eyes widened in shock, and I began to scream maniacally as a sudden bitterly cold wind, powerful as any hurricane, threatened to pluck me from the doorway and cast me effortlessly into the abyss before me. I flailed my arms wildly, teetering on the brink, and just as I thought I was about to fall, my trailing fingers caught the doorframe. I gripped it with all my strength, and gazed down in horror at the seemingly endless stretch of nothingness, dwindling down, down, towards a floating globe far below, a rich oceanic blue speckled with thin white streaks. The earth spun lazily below me, barely a speck in the vastness of the cosmos, which lay before me like God’s own tablecloth. Almost catatonic with fear and despair, I struggled wildly against the colossal winds, pulling myself back into the room I was so desperate to leave just a few seconds before, and throwing my weight against the door, shoving it closed inch by gradual inch. The howling of the wind stopped the instant I got the door closed, and then it was as though nothing had happened. I was back in dead silence, the silence of the grave. I sank to the floor, weeping hysterically, crying out anything that came into my head without being able to hear a single word. The things in the room had shifted, clearly disturbed by the opening of the portal, and were slowly settling themselves back into place, issuing grunts that I could feel through the floor. That was the point I began writing this entry. I don’t know what’s going on, but I feel scared, childlike. I’m thinking of monsters under the bed, and the bogeyman, and why I was so afraid of the dark as a child. It’s something primal to me, and something I never thought I’d revisit; a theory I've managed to disprove following these recent events.

Edited May 25, 2008 by Struff Bunstridge

[Eminence]

You're correct, it is becoming a little fantastical. Nothing wrong with that; it's equally intriguing, and your description is holding up as well as ever. I can't really see any faults in the piece itself thus far - it's just a case of you now continuing on with it and managing to maintain the interest of the reader as the plot develops. I wouldn't say this passage would lose anyone's interest, at all - it's still got engaging description and, while fantastical, it's fitting into the entire atmosphere of the piece perfectly, so it's not as though the style of the piece has completely changed out of the blue.

 

I'm still, however, at a loss regarding the opening of the entire thing. Fair enough with the discrepancy; forgive my eagerness as it's something to be revealed later on. Still, though, my point was that the report describes the narrative to follow as the remainders of the diary, and yet this diary is telling a perfectly crafted story, starting from the beginning. It doesn't seem to be happening mid-flow; it's the start, as opposed to the remaining last few pages. That is, unless the pages remaining are when it all began and before that the diary contained normal everyday events? Maybe that's the whole point, I'm not sure!

 

Couple things regarding grammar. I noticed one or two little mistakes - tiny - but since you've previously requested that they're pointed out, I figured I'd do so for you. They're more typos than anything, so nothing untoward at all:

 

 

woke up, and I’m certain one of them was right next to me, almost on top of me. I towered over me, at once humanoid and impossibly huge, almost Lovecraftian in its dimensions, looming over the whole world, preparing to devour it.

 

 

With a sudden speed, my arm spasm towards the door, and I gripped the handle. I took a moment to calm myself, before twisting the handle, and yanking the surprisingly heavy door towards me.

 

Also, I'm assuming the intention was for indentations to exist between each of the later paragraphs? In any case, the fact that there are none makes it all a little hard to read; spacing out in the same manner as the gap between the first and second paragraphs helps a lot. I can understand if there's supposed to be no gap to suit the diary structure, but it just makes things that touch harder to follow - perhaps double spacing the first paragraphs and then single spacing for the later ones to still show there's a size difference?

 

Looking forward to the next installment, as always.

[Struff Bunstridge]

Spellings corrected, paragraphs re-formatted. Thanks, Eminence.

 

 

before that the diary contained normal everyday events

 

This was what I was aiming for. It's the idea that, for an as yet unknown reason, the pages prior to the events within the story are missing, and it looks as though the protagonist removed them. Just a device to try and show that what went before is no longer important, and it's a little bit spooky as well.

[Eminence]

Yeah, fair enough then. The way I interpreted it was that key information may be withheld from the beginning as it is the end of the character's story that is told through the diary, as opposed to irrelevant information. Good stuff, then, not a problem!

[Struff Bunstridge]

OK, here goes with the next installment. This is as far as I've got, and I won't be able to post any more for a few days, but I'll do my best to keep it going with minimal delays.

 

Update: no idea of the time. Beyond caring. I just tried the door again, just to feel something, hear something, even the endless, soul-destroying noise of the emptiness I saw earlier. When I opened the door, there were just bricks. Nothing but bricks. I tried kicking them – solid as you like. I punched them till my hands bled, but nothing. As I slammed the door shut, with a bang that seemed to echo round the entirety of this hellhole I’m stuck in, I barely had a second to realise that I’d heard the sound of the slam, before another sound overwhelmed it completely.

 

A guttural roar, the loudest thing I’ve ever heard, snarling and epic, like some insane Cerberus, and the sound of enormous padded feet pounding the floor. One of the things had awoken, and was running at me, but I couldn’t see it, had no idea which direction it was coming from, or how close it was. Something made me duck to one side, and I heard claws whistling through the air where my face had been. The creature’s arm smashed into the wall, throwing up masonry dust, filling my eyes and lungs with its mouldy, damp smell. I smelled fetid breath as it roared again, leaving a ringing in my ears, and then it opened its eyes.

 

Red light spilled across the scene, illuminating the whole room to an extent. It looked like a warehouse of some kind, with a ceiling about forty or fifty feet above me. The single window I’d seen was barely big enough for child to wriggle through, even if it had somehow managed to ascend to those lofty heights, and the walls… I couldn’t even see the walls; they were distant, hazy images, barely there at all, beyond the extent of the light exuding from the creature’s eyes like some hellish torch. My initial head count of the things was correct; including the one coming at me, there were twelve or so, arranged spatially as though waiting to migrate. They defied all description as far as I could tell; my eyes began to water while trying to concentrate on their forms. They were covered in matted dark fur, oozing some odious liquid. It was difficult to gauge size as they were curled up, and appeared to be sleeping. As I looked at one, it stirred, and I saw scales, and rippling, jelly-like skin, and feathers, and smoke, and nothing at all… It opened its mouth in a perverse sort of yawn and I saw multiple rows of impossible teeth, too big to fit in its head…

 

I had barely a second to take all this in in the light of the thing’s eyes, when it closed them again, plunging us both into darkness once more. It didn’t seem to need its sight to navigate as it charged me again, jaws snapping furiously on thin air as I tried to dodge and weave away from it. Once, it caught my jacket, and tore half of it away, mashing its huge teeth into the spine of this diary before pulling away and snarling. Backing away, I tripped and fell hard, just at the moment it pounced at me. I sensed the thing soar above me, and again it felt as though it was enormous, the size of worlds. I got the impression of something of dinosaur proportions before it landed what seemed like twenty or thirty yards behind me. There was a liquid squelching sound, and an anguished roar from the beast, before a final, tortured inhalation and silence, and it opened its eyes a final time.

 

In the rapidly dimming crimson glow, I saw that it had impaled itself on a piece of decrepit machinery left to rot disused by the wall, a rusty spike of some kind jutting from its breast. I watched it die as it flitted from form to form, shapeshifting as it sought in vain to find a guise that would offer an escape, some last attempt at salvation. I saw an eagle with the wingspan of a jet plane, a squat furry animal with horns, and something it would drive me insane to try and describe in print; something without shape somehow, as though not bound by our laws of physics, but transported to this plane from some new circle of Hell, somewhere Dante himself did not dare to wander. I bent quickly, and felt hot fluid course its way up my throat, and I vomited loudly. I fell to my knees, as the beast’s eyes closed slowly, and I was in darkness once more.

 

Update: They’re awake again, and moving. I can hear their thoughts. They know one of them is not amongst them. God help me when they find it.

Edited May 27, 2008 by Struff Bunstridge

[Chickstick]

I started to read this not long after you posted the first chapter but got side tracked and never quite got round to continuing with it. I'be just read through the comments posted and it appears to be a good read, I'll have to catch up with it.

 

Not now though, I'm off to bed, haha. Expect an edit in the morning.

 

EDIT: Fully caught up now, and I can do no more than echo other's comments. All issues have already been brought up by Eminence so it would be pointless to go through them again. Great.

Edited May 27, 2008 by Chickstick

[Rhoda]

I really can't fault it Struff, it's good stuff. Very good stuff. It's the sort of description and imagery I wish I'd have added to Ghost's backstory. Compared to this, Ghost must be feeling quite hollow!

[Eminence]

The description within this piece is truly top-notch. It's of the highest quality; there's some excellent imagery, and when all's said and done it provokes such an intense and excellently crafted atmosphere - it makes for an extremely engaging read, especially when the reader really acknowledges that it's a diary they're reading. It seems unique and interesting, and I'm enjoying the read so far; again, however, I just need to see the true development of the plot before I can cast judgment over the entire thing. The quality, though, is there. It's evident everywhere; great, vivid description.

 

One tiny flaw I found was a little bit of repetition at a couple points within this description. I guess, in truth, it could be forgiven due to the narrative style - it's a diary, not the works of an author; in the context of the piece, that is. However, from the perspective of prose and with a crafted narrative in mind, they do pop out as being detractive from the flow of the piece:

 

 

They defied all description as far as I could tell; my eyes began to water while trying to concentrate on their forms. They were covered in matted dark fur, oozing some odious liquid. It was difficult to gauge size as they were curled up, and appeared to be sleeping. As I looked at one, it stirred, and I saw scales, and rippling, oozing, jelly-like skin, and feathers, and smoke, and nothing at all… It opened its mouth in a perverse sort of yawn and I saw multiple rows of impossible teeth, too big to fit in its head…

 

 

I had barely a second to take all this in in the light of the thing’s eyes, when it closed them again, plunging us both into darkness again.

 

All in all, though, it's the description that's really making this piece worthwhile at the moment. It's so vivid, imaginative and, at times, intense - it's very entertaining to read. With a real development and structure to the plot, I can see it being enjoyable to the very end - I'm just interested to see how you're going to introduce and develop the plot a little more.

[Struff Bunstridge]

Thanks Eminence. Corrected both points you mentioned. As to plot development, I know where it's going, but I think I need to sit back and plan more before I start writing the next part, as I feel I'm in danger of descending into waffle and not having enough substance. It'll be a few days, but the next part is forthcoming. Thanks for all the input, everyone.

[Eminence]

Then that's good to hear. I was sincerely hoping you had a plan on things, because it'd be a shame to let such an idea go to waste!

 

It's really just a case now, then, of implementing what you're thinking into the piece. It needs that little bit of extra direction to really make it shine - as of now, all that's happening is this character is sat here describing and encountering various things, but there's no real direction to the piece. If you know what's coming next, then all the better. I look forward to it!

[mark-2007]

Wow, another great story has popped up on WD. Between this, Ghost and SFS I really like the new influx of writers here (all three BUYGers ). You have incredible description in it and it allows me to really imagine the events.

 

By the way, his watch is going backwards when he got up so then he got on the train. The train stopped after a while and went dark. Does that mean he's moved from the train to the warehouse thing but doesn't know how?

 

Keep up the good work

[Struff Bunstridge]

By the way, his watch is going backwards when he got up so then he got on the train. The train stopped after a while and went dark. Does that mean he's moved from the train to the warehouse thing but doesn't know how?

 

Spot on. Again, once I've put more thought into how to develop the plot devices I have in my head, instead of just thrashing blindly at my keyboard, this should become clearer.

[Vercetti21]

I've been meaning to catch up on this, and now I have. Apologies for the delay and any future delays, as you'll understand this is updated pretty frequently, which doesn't work well with my busy work schedule.

 

Both diction and imagery stand out from the writing. As I said before, you have an intelligent vocabulary, and it shows! The protagonist is extremely appealing to me, but I have yet to fully attach myself to the plot. From the beginning it was engaging and interesting, but now the story seems... for lack of a better word, empty. Perhaps this is just a personal opinion, or perhaps that was the desired effect. I wouldn't worry about it, though, as the beautiful writing itself is enough to keep me entranced in this piece, at least until I can begin to relate with what's going on. Overall, I like it a lot, and the positives outweigh the negatives by a long shot. I know I can be stubborn, and this may just be one of those times, so for that, I'll hold criticism on the plot for now to allow more time for story to flow.

 

Fascinating stuff.

[Struff Bunstridge]

Thanks for the feedback Vercetti. The plot does need work; I know what's coming up, it's just bringing it to life properly that I'm struggling with. Give me a few days

[Struff Bunstridge]

Apologies for the double post.

 

This has been a while coming, and I pretty much had to drag this installment out of myself with a tractor. I did lose interest in this for a week or so, and I've been so busy and not in the zone that I wasn't sure if I'd come back to this, but here I am, and it's not far now. One thing I do know is that my next WD contribution will be more light-hearted than this one...

 

A dull, insistent banging woke me from whatever fitful sleep I’d managed to drift into. I opened my eyes and peered into murky darkness. I could see immediately that something was amiss; something had changed from the night before, that horrifying encounter with one of the beasts, its eventual demise on that piece of machinery. I got up, my back a brilliant flare of agony, and shuffled clumsily over to the scene of its death. I could see, even in the half gloom, the razor sharp edge of the severed strut of metal it had impaled itself on, and the pool of dark blood on the floor, like an oil spill on the concrete. The cadaver itself had gone.

 

Movement behind me, little more than a faint scraping on concrete, a displacement of air in the stifling, dead surroundings of the building. I whirled round, my breath catching in my throat, a strangled sob escaping me. I clapped my hands over my mouth to choke off the sound as I gazed upon the figure standing before me. It gave off a dull blue light, as though someone had switched a TV on and turned the screen away from me. It was around my height, excruciatingly thin and standing very still, like a man who realises the people sleeping around him are actually tigers. It looked nervous, and my first thought was of the wolf-creatures, but I could see they too had disappeared along with their fallen associate. The banging continued, however, in some far corner of the building, and sounded like someone pounding against sheet metal; the sound was hollow, like the dead pounding on crypt doors begging for release, the vast booming slicing through the silence of the grave like a scalpel.

 

The figure before me moaned, swaying slightly, and it raised it arms towards me. I could see its face now, or rather, its lack of face, for the thing had no eyes, nose or mouth, like a shop window mannequin. It began to speak as it came forward, and as before, it was as if the words bypassed my ears and became imprinted directly on my brain.

 

“Do not be afraid,” and here it addressed me by name in a childlike, dreamy voice, “for I am not one of those you fear. I am come to warn you of your plight, and that of the world and humans that you hold so dear. The creatures you have been sharing this realm with are weary of their incarceration, and are attempting to leave as I speak. Your arrival here is the first intrusion of a human for several hundred years. The last time a human came here and forced a portal between this world and yours, the creatures became corporeal, and their disease and plague swept all before them. Then, only the faith of God and his followers was sufficient to cast the creatures from whence they came and vanquish the black death they unleashed, but now… Now I fear your race has insufficient faith to conquer such an adversary. Your death may well be the first of many millions. By virtue of you coming here, all that you love may be carried away.”

 

I listened as my new narrator’s words, punctuated by the powerful-sounding blows from the middle distance, swirled lazily within my head. My death? Was I dead? Did that explain where I was, why I was here, why these creatures were accompanying me on whatever journey I was on?

 

“What are these creatures? Why are they here? Who put them here?” Three questions tumbled rapidly over one another as I stuttered in shock, turning back to the figure. It had gone, and I was alone once more. Seven final words blazed across my field of vision before fading to a weak glow, and then nothing.

 

“They’re almost here. You must stop them.”

Edited June 25, 2008 by Struff Bunstridge

[Rhoda]

Getting a bit more structured now, which is great, the last line suggested a real sense of urgency. I'm glad you're back Struff.

 

 

The figure before me moaned, swaying slightly, and it raised it arms towards me. I could see its face now, or rather, its lack of face, for the thing had no eyes, nose or mouth, like a shop window mannequin. It began to speak as it came forward, and as before, it was as if the words bypassed my ears and became imprinted directly on my brain.

 

Awesome.

[Struff Bunstridge]

Ta. I was beginning to worry this would sink without trace, to be honest. Next installment should be up this week.

[Chickstick]

Finally caught up, and it's as entertaining as I remember it. I hope you continue with this.

 

Oh, and under Interests on your profile, would The Library Policeman be the Stephen King story from Four Past Midnight?

[Struff Bunstridge]

Finally caught up, and it's as entertaining as I remember it. I hope you continue with this.

 

Oh, and under Interests on your profile, would The Library Policeman be the Stephen King story from Four Past Midnight?

Yup. I've been reading it since Saturday afternoon, on and off. I finished it before bed last night, and then slept with the light on

 

Those interest things all get edited every week or so. I find quite therapeutic to try and sum up the week in just a few points.

[Chickstick]

 

Yup. I've been reading it since Saturday afternoon, on and off. I finished it before bed last night, and then slept with the light on 

Haha. Can't say that happened with me, but I thought the idea was brilliant- and the way the Library Policeman's identity was revealed was brilliantly written.

[Eminence]

 

Movement behind me, little more than a faint scraping on concrete, a displacement of air in the stifling, dead surroundings of the building. I whirled round, my breath catching in my throat, a strangled sob escaping me. I clapped my hands over my mouth to stifle the sound as I gazed upon the figure standing before me.

 

Just a little repetition.

 

And, in conclusion, that's the only little mistake I could see on the surface. This seems to be the turning point so far, the crux chapter whereby the real momentum of the piece has shifted, and the direction has been implemented. Things are finally starting to take shape and be revealed, engrossing me even more - the dialogue is well incorporated, especially in a piece that, so far, has been without forms of dialogue. The description is, as ever, extremely engaging, and I love the ending of the chapter.

 

Good Struff.

 

 

See what I did there? I meant good 'stuff'. Hehehehe.