In which I cease my wanderings

It's been a day since I last made a post here, hasn't it? I should probably update my progress in finding a place to stay within this city. An unlocked door, an open window, any invitation for me to stay put instead of wander.

So far, there has been nothing. All the doors have been locked, all the windows shut.

I wish I had my camera. Even broken, it would have helped calm me. Perhaps it was the only thing keeping me sane. My camera and my story.

I still have my story. Down the Labyrinthine Ways. Except it doesn't seem so important to write it now. Because I am living it now. All the wandering my character did, I am now doing. Shall I wander for forty days and forty nights before finding shelter?

I...I have looked back and what I wrote. It is gibberish. It wasn't gibberish when I wrote it. It turned to gibberish. Like the books in the library. It became unintelligible. Unreadable.

I have to stop. Even with no shelter, I have to sleep. I feels like I've been walking for weeks, instead of days.

This bench is as good a place as any to fall asleep.

And if I die before I wake, I pray

my soul

the city

take.

why did i write that

February 8, 1923

Today I saw very little outside my window. The scene remained the same one as yesterday, and nothing moved. However, when the sun began to disappear over the horizon, I saw a man limping down the street. He was dressed in a black suit, with a black tie, and was convulsing as if in great pain. I saw large growths all over his body, and his bones seemed twisted somehow. The result was that his overall shape seemed almost inhuman, to the point that I almost believed him to be a monster at first.

And then, before my horrified eyes, I saw the lumps recede, and I saw the man's skin turn pale. He fell to his knees and clutched at his stomach, and he vomited onto the cobblestone below. He vomited until nothing but bile came forth, and then he screamed and writhed in his agony. The color continued to recede from his skin until he was perfectly white, and then his golden hair began falling from him in clumps, and lumps formed over his facial features, obscuring them until they were completely invisible. The man stood, though he was still in a great deal of pain, and limped away, his limbs moving in a stiff manner.

Diary Entry: One of those days.

I woke up starving in the middle of the street about an hour ago. No idea how I got here or how long it's been. I have a camera with four nearly identical recordings made on a beach and now my glasses are gone.


I do at least have an idea what I was trying to do. I have no idea where to begin looking for this woman, but I did see a bookstore not too far from here. It usually worked when I was trying to find my dear husband (may God rest his soul) to start looking in the bookstore first.

February 10, 1923

The page I typed for my journal yesterday is gone. In its place, I have found a sheet of charred black paper, and upon was inscribed, in the most barely visible, barely legible letters: "Forever."

The world outside my window has changed four different times today. First it was a city made of glass, then it was a cabin built by a lake, then it was a cobblestone street surrounded by trees, and now it is a field with a single tree in the center, from which hangs a noose.

In each of these scenes I have seen the great black beast, always in the distance, always looking directly at me.

In which I lose my way

I am lost. I      nexplicably, inextricably l       ost. I don't recognize an      y of the buildings around m       e and even if I did, it woul                                        d not do any good, for they are      all locked. I tried to open       doors, but they would not op      en. The windows are dark an       d shuttered and I can't see inside anywhere, I can't tell where I am. Every side street branching off into darkness. I am lost. Lost in a mercurial city.

I ran from t                                        hat deformed person in the cathe      dral. I ran from them and didn't look back. Perhaps that was bad                               of me. Perhaps they did not wish me harm      at all. But I took one look at them at felt such revulsi on,                                        such vileness, I could not help but run. Why did I feel in th at way, like I did? I do not know. I just ran. I ran down corridors and hallways, rushing through doors, not looking where I was running, not looking at all.

And now I am      lost. I cannot find my room. Once, I would have been able to turn      the corner and see it; now, I can only see more empty buildings, m      ore flickering streetlights, more dark alleyways that seem to conv                                        ey danger. I don't know why, but this place, this city doesn't feel like it used to feel. It doesn't feel safe anymore. It doesn't feel right. It feels...

I cannot des      cribe how it is making me feel. This place, this city. Everyw      here I turn now, it seems like it is turning me away, pushing me a      way. I have seen no more department stores, no more Italian rest                                       aurants, no more movie theaters. No more life. Just dark buildings, their edges as sharp as blades, their windows opaque, their doors firmly shut and locked.

Is this my fault?                               Or did A do something? When they         killed their monster, did that         change the city some         how? Or does it simply respond         to my own emotions?         When I was hungry, it led me to         a restaurant. When I panicked,                                 it became a place of panic, a place of blind fear. If I calm my self down, will it turn back into a place that feels exciting? Will I find my room then? Or will I just wander this city forever, searching for something that no longer exists? What am I doing? What am I going to do? -- Sam Norton.

"Polar"

Of wistfulness and weather.

After getting away from the sight that I saw, I soon found myself walking through yet another deserted street; the paving stones a grey colour, one which almost matched the fog that surrounded me. I could scarcely see that pavement beneath my feet, and the black road covered in tarmac? Hah, wouldn't that be lovely.

With my vision so obscured, I could only place one foot before the other and continue to advance. The fog danced at my senses and put my teeth on edge; I felt as though the peace that had filled my heart had been chased out by phantoms and naught else.

Ah, wistfulness. Isn't it just such a wonderful feeling?

That aside, I began to feel the cold set in around my bones as I continued to walk through the fog. As I continued to walk, I felt something hit my face; I could not see it for the life of me, given the fog. However, as I walked, I saw the pavement filling with powdery white.

I found an alcove to type this. My body feels cold, but my heart feels warm. I will wait until the fog clears a little before moving on, I think.

In which A is A

I followed A from our meeting place, staying behind them just enough so that they couldn't see me (or perhaps they could and were just humoring me). Finally, they turned a corner and I glimpsed them talking to someone. A woman who looked like she was around middle age. I could barely hear the conversation, but the older woman knelt down and seemed to be staring up at A reverently. Perhaps A's tactics had worked on someone else.


After about ten minutes, A walked away from the older woman and through a doorway. I rushed past the woman (who was still kneeling) and pushed the doorway open again and went through.


I found myself inside a large cathedral. There were rows and rows of pews with ornate designs on the ends. I rushed past them and the large stained glass windows, not even bothering to look up at them. I could no longer see A, they had vanished. I rushed to the other end of the church where the large double doors were and pushed them open slightly.


Outside, I could see there was a wide street. I saw the back of a woman, but then I heard the loud crack of a gunshot and I looked beyond the woman to where A stood. At first I thought they had shot a mannequin, it looked so strange. But then the mannequin started to crumble, turning to ash, the ash falling on A like rain.


A raised their hands, as if making a grand speech. I could barely make out the words they were saying. "-dreams, come unto reality. Behold the slain beast..." There was a rustling behind me and I turned, but nothing was there. I looked back down at A. "Watch, as I wield the future," they were saying, "as a musician wields his instrument." The rustling returned and again I turned, but there was nothing. I looked back through the barely open door and heard the end of A's speech. "The new world is closer now then it ever has been. This is it. This is my victory." And then they descended into hysterical laughter.


There was a sound behind me, the sound of shuffling feet, so finally I turned, fully expecting it to be nothing at all. But there was someone. They crawled on the ground, their face and hands hideously deformed. They looked at me with shock and then malice and rasped, "Let me in."


I ran out of the double doors. A and the woman were gone. All that was left was a pile of ashes on the ground. I ran down the street, away from the church, as fast as I could.


Sam Norton