|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Jun 11, 2006 8:12 pm
The
[Private Records]
of
AnkhWLThese are the private recordings carefully written by AnkhWL concerning her companions. Intrusion of posts or other disturbances within this file that have no permission of either the powers that be, or Ms. Ankh herself; will have you banned from this guild, and placed on the Master's ignored and celibate lists.Thank You for Your Time.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 13, 2006 4:16 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 13, 2006 4:20 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 13, 2006 4:21 pm
[13.6]
After spending several years attempting(I really mean attempting) to train the beasts of darkness, things that have never seen the light of day, with multiple limbs, eyes, organs, seeing things that no normal person is meant to see, you'd think I would be able to stand seeing a piece of paper float down seemingly from the sky, onto my dusty wooden floor. Apparently not.
This day started like any other normal day. Throw off this, hit that, find my clothes, wonder the ******** was on my walls, what did I do last night. The house was quiet, which was odd, because I lived in an old house, the kind of house you always see in horror movies that are really cheap because satanic murders occurred in them that no one wanted to talk about. It wasn't an huge manor, but more of a house that was meant to have a small family in, something that I don't think would ever happen for me. It was old, and mostly wooden. The walls had cheap, old wallpaper. Did I mind? No. Because I was willing to take what I could get that could give me an ounce of privacy. Somehow, you'd think having a raccoon tail and kitty ears would do that...
As I said, my day started off normally. I didn't have a job (right now) so I didn't have many other places to go. After grabbing a big bottle of bubbly body wash and a luffa, I stepped into the shower and stayed there for a good twenty minutes, enjoying the scalding hot water run over my body enough to shake the coldness of sleep out of me, not even causing me to gasp as the hot water slid down my stomach, over my hips and between my thighs; it was calming, welcoming. I closed my eyes and felt my whole body become almost numb. My lips suddenly turned hot and my throat began to buzz, causing my to panic. But the hot water had soothed me too much to open my eyes, until I slowly realized that I was humming and singing at the same time, the way someone does when they hear a good song on the radio and they can't understand the words. These words were smooth and thick, like chocolate on velvet in my mouth. It seemed they came out too fast that I couldn't follow them all, although I knew that it wasn't english I was speaking. English was a harsh language, not beautiful for the humming coming out of my mouth, the words that I didn't know.
The wondrous song began to become heavy as it turned into a deeper note, although I still felt just as high as I had before. As if it was ending. As much as I wanted it not to end, the panic returned, and thats when I realized that I wasn't breathing and that everything began to feel cold. I forced open my eyes, and the singing, the humming, the wonderful noises that came out of nowhere, stopped. The shock of cold water hit me like I hit a brick wall, causing me to shriek and clamber for the tap, shutting it off. I shivered violently and leaped out of the shower, grabbing the thickest towels my hands could reach and wrapping it around myself. Even with all my towels around me, I knew it wasn't a physical coldness.
I stood there, shivering for god knows how long in my bathroom, with my eyes closed tight, muttering whatever incantation I could to stop this dreaded shivering. When I could at last open my eyes, I almost stumbled backwards. My reflection was almost normal in the glass that was fogged from the hot water; my hair feel limply damp against my towels, my eyes were in the same place. Nose? Yup. Ears? Check. Mouth? Blue. I blinked. My lips were almost a frosty blue, as if I had spent too much time outside naked in the snow. Thats what I noticed my hair was now hanging with tiny snowflakes. I leaned in forward over the sink, and pressed my hand to the mirror. It was warm, moist. Hadn't the water been shockingly cold? I whipped around to stare at the old radio on the toilet cover. It was off, as it had been since the last time I used it.
For the next few hours, I can't really remember much. I know I must have gotten dressed at one point, in baggy, holey clothes that were too big for me, and ran up the stairs into my book room, which would have been a bedroom some long time ago. I curled up under old comforters and quilts and started to read, reading until my eyes at last ached from the poor light, and I dropped the book on the floor, rubbing my eyes and looking for the light switch to my lamp. I stumbled over a few books until I found it, and saw the mess around me. There must have been a dozen novels and graphic novels at my feet. Whenever I got nervous or I couldn't deal with something, I usually read. For me to have gone that long, back to as far as I could remember something about that morning, meant something had gone wrong. I remembered coldness, and a sweet, thick song coming from my mouth. I shivered, and suddenly the light flickered above me.
As I said, I had spent years taming those demons of the dark you don't want to see, although I was not even in my thirties yet (makes you wonder about our economy). But the last place I felt safe, in this big home that wasn't not meant for just one person, caused fear to begin prickling up my neck, making all the hairs on my body stand on end. I crossed my arms across my chest, and I felt my nipples stiff against me, and a little shock ran through me. I unwrapped my arms and whirled around, looking for any place someone would have to hide. I turned my back to the lamp and made a dash for the door, where the light was. Whatever it was, to hide so well in the dark it would either disappear or show itself in the light.
I didn't even make it. A ripped page fell from above, even if there was a roof above me, and landed squarely at my feet. If a piece of paper could show arrogance, this one did in doubles. It seemed to grab at me, wanting to be read. I knelt down slowly, my uncombed and unruly hair curling around my face as I held my hand over top the paper. It fluttered, as if reaching for me. I took a mini step back, but I knew I wouldn't get far if it intended bodily harm. And so, I took the only course possible. I picked up the piece of paper, which looked oh-so familiar to me, and read it. Two short sentences were high lighted on the page, an old yellowish colour which pulled me to it. If I had been in my right mind, I would have recognized it, but I wasn't.
The queen was putting on a show.
She wanted to be watched.
I couldn't bare to look at anything else other than those words. Anything else seemed meaningless, empty, devoid. And what was odd about it, even if it was odd already, was that the phrase was eerily familiar. I tried to look behind me, but I couldn't. Whatever the ******** it was, it wasn't about to let me take notice of anything else but it.
So I walked forward, taking one hand off, however painful it seemed, so that I could grab the handle to the door and open it. I began walking down the hall, with my eyes still on the highlighted words. I knew where the spare bedroom was by heart, so I didn't have to bump into anything to guide my way. It was extremely difficult to walk like this, but the page seemed pleased, as if an inanimate object could express emotions. I hadn't even been paying attention enough to know that my legs had hit a bed, and that I was now tumbling over onto my bed, which hadn't been my direction at all. But the page seemed to glow --- nay, radiate --- with happiness that I was now in my bed, and it rested comfortably on the pillow beside me.
The song returned again as I closed my eyes, this time from somewhere else but me. The words were more clearer this time, but I still could not tell you what they were. They were either to slow or two fast. Somewhere, in the middle of it all, I fell asleep there, my body curled up, the piece of paper that spoke of a queen who wanted your undivided attention, and a conscious that couldn't think for itself.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jun 18, 2006 2:33 pm
[18.6]
It's been a week since I first discovered the piece of paper in my book room, since the beautifully haunting sound first emerged from my lips and ran my blood cold. The page has rarely moves from my bedside, although whenever I spend more than half an hour away from my bedroom, it suddenly appears on the counter or a cushion next to me in the living room. Sometimes it has even made it to the bottom of the steps to my basement, although I rarely spend more than a few seconds retriving it before I leap up the stairs again
At first, I would shriek and jump, but now it is so common, I do not even flinch. The only eerie thing about it, though, is that I do not sense any magic from it now when it comes next to me. I have a feeling my comfortableness around it is my fault, not its, and I am not sure if that is a good thing, or a bad thing.
Yesterday was the first time I took a shower since last tuesday, and gratefully I did not start humming, or having my body turn icily cold. But that is the least of my worries. Wandering around the hallways of my house, the shadows have become almost alive, flickering, but there is no light. The whole of last week, they ran wild in my basement, but with the waning of the moon, they have calmed down. Sometimes my vision blurrs, and it becomes grainy like an old movie or television screen. Fear rings inside me, and I dash up to my room before I ever find out what it was.
A few letters on the paper have begun to become highlighted, other than the first phrase that had appeared when I first discovered it. The letters 'A', 'n', 'd' all in one paragraph, scattered, and then 'w' and 'a' in another paragraph. It seems to scream familiarily at me, but I still cannot place where this page has come from, or why it is so familiar. I have not talked to anyone about it, because I have no idea what to say. "Oh, by the way, do you know how to deal with a magical piece of paper that is intent on changing my house into a shadowy horror?" "Do pieces of paper make you sing ancient songs that makeyour blood run cold?" Yes, because that is going to help.
The page had started to rip more a few days ago, and I have begun to feel the faintest of old magic from it. The shadows are growing more, and most of my house I dare not enter, for the power of fear is too great. And even if I have battled ancient demons in the bellows of taverns stupid enough to keep them, something about this piece of paper is very powerful.
And very angry.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
