The Writing Desk

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
They say that something lies beneath the sea, dark and mysterious, known for leaving the strongest of wills shattered in its wake.

Submitted: November 25, 2016

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Submitted: November 25, 2016

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I cannot seem to recall a time where my mind was fully intact, yet I know that a mere few hours ago I was clear of thought and consciousness. Now my mind lays shattered, discarded and distraught. I am aware that by the end of this story, the final shred of my sanity shall dissolve, and I shall succumb to the darkness that has permeated my mind. I write not for an attempt to save my sanity, but as an attempt to save yours.

Since childhood, I have been fascinated by the unknown. I wanted to know the great secrets this malignant world had in store for its oblivious inhabitants. It was due to this that I found my adult life consumed by the grotesque, the weird and inexplicable. This, in turn, led me deep within the Xiangshawan deserts of Inner Mongolia, where I heard tales from prophets that spoke of a creature devoid of life, yet still it prowled the earth with a relentless fervor, a lust that could be sated only through dark and weird arts, strange rituals meant not for mankind. They said it lay beneath the sea, and shattered those who dared cross it.

With hands trembling I made my way around the globe, finally stopping after three long years, when I was well into my thirties. I had soon after forgotten about the mythical sea-beast, and gave my life to normality, and to society. I took a job in manufacturing, and began to grow old there. I felt my spirit die there. I found a spouse, raised children, and took up writing as a hobby. I suppose that is the only reason that this passage exists in the first place.

With the time I poured into my labor came promotion, and with the promotion came more frequent sabbaticals from the vicious schedules of work that threatened my mental stability far more than any mythological creature. On said leaves I daydreamed of days long past, and let my mind wander to the beast of legend that I had once heard of some odd years ago. It was during my reveries that I felt alive again, and found myself stealing away one summer night, nothing on my person but the clothes on my back and a pocketful of spare change.

I began once more traveling around the world, this time stopping at a remote island off the cost of South America. I knew not what brought me here, yet I knew it was where I must go. The island was small and presumably deserted, covered in thick brush and topography resembling a scaled down Amazonian jungle. A stark cliff jutted out from the northern coast of the island, resulting in a small outcropping casting a shadow on the waves below. I laid on the fringe of said cliff, allowing a lone leg to dangle over the side, swaying to and fro like bait in open water.

A queer urge suddenly overtook me, and before I could control myself, I flung my body into the expanse below me. My eyes turned skyward, I felt the rush of air beneath me tear at my skin and pull at my hair as I plummeted towards the ocean below me. The sun directly above me burned my eyes, but just as I moved to shield them, there was a deafening crash as my vision was engulfed by azure waves, ebbing and flowing overhead. My eyes stung from the salinity of the water around me, yet I held them open, watching the sun grow darker and darker as I plunged deeper into the depths below. I felt my mind scream and shriek in terror, and yet my body disobeyed its every command, and I watched helplessly as I spun around and kicked myself further towards the murky seabed.

An odd tide seemed to course its way around me, pushing me deeper and deeper until I saw with bloodshot eyes the ocean floor, littered with oceanic flora and carapaces of various seafaring crustaceans. The current then held me there as I regained control of my body, thrashing to and fro aimlessly, my lungs screaming in desperation. The sides of my vision began to tint themselves, and I felt my hold on consciousness slipping, and I prayed to any god that would listen. As I felt the last of my cognizance slip away, my prayers turned from those of desperation to those of atonement. Just at the brink of my death, I saw a shadow loom closer, and recalled the creature the prophets spoke of. Before I passed out, I remember seeing it. Its grotesqueness knows no description, for I could not begin to put into words its horror. The shape of its body alone was a shape unbeknownst to mankind, the only thing that could come close to describing it would be vaguely reptilian. Even now, as I think back, I cannot recall its appearance. Except for its eyes. God, those eyes. They burned with a hatred so immense, I shudder at the very thought of them. They burn in my head still, and when I retire for the night they are waiting for me again in my dreams. Ever staring, ever vigilant, they observe with a blood-lust unlike any other organism I have ever encountered.

Suddenly I awoke, washed up on the shore of the island. The moon loomed threateningly over me, and seemed to absorb the night sky. Every fiber of my being ached, and I couldn't help but let a mad howl escape my lips as I curled into myself, shivering under the cold gaze of moonlight. I laid there for hours, until the peak of the sun arose over the crests of the waves behind me. I staggered to my knees, and began to laugh despite myself. It was a cruel, desperate laugh, and soon tears of madness flowed down my salt encrusted cheeks, pooling below me. Rising, I stumbled into the jungle of the island aimlessly.

After meandering around for a while, I managed to compose myself slightly, yet I still felt insanity scratching at my doorstep, begging to consume my mind. It was at this time I happened across a small wooden hut with a thatched roof. I observed the sky above me, and noticed that dark clouds had begun to move in. Wanting to seek cover from the shelter, I made my way inside the abode, closing the makeshift door behind me. After letting my eyes adjust to the sudden change, I walked around the single room, studying the contents. It lay mostly bare, save for a small fire pit on one side of the room, and what appeared to be a writing desk, adorned with a small notebook, feather, and an inkwell. I began to write. I am still writing, for I find that no matter how hard I try, and how much I want to, I cannot stop.

The storm rages on, and yet I know now why. To the rest of humanity this tempest is just like any other, but they don't get it. They don't see that this storm is for me. The creature of legend had come once again to me. The wind is its breath, the rain its tears. I feel insanity consume me once again, and as I write I scream, beg, and cry for this to finally end. The gales dance cool patterns on my back, begging me to look over my shoulder so that it can end my anguish. Yet no matter how many times I turn to accept my fate, it waits; it simply taunts me with its soundless voice. I know deep inside that it shall wait until my mind holds on no more, and only then will it find me, cowering, pleading for it to relieve me from this garish hellscape.

All at once the storm ceases, and I hold my breath, looking down at the words I am currently writing and watching as they are mottled by tears I didn't know were even falling. I hear the door open slowly and deliberately behind me, and I feel the last shred of my sanity waver. I know what lurks behind me. I know what now hangs above me. I feel the last shred of sanity shatter.


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