Seeking the Dark Tower

On the path that eventually leads to the clearing in the woods, the Charyou Tree. Fraught with danger, fear and loss, and yet, fulfillment. Welcome.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Shit Happens! ep 2

hows this for a classic "shit happens":

A half hour upon coming home we heard screams of "Robber! Robber!"
Me n dad ran out to investigate. It came from our new neighbours, and the 'robber' was no where in sight.

Appareantly they had just gotten home, and the little girl ran in home 1st, only to find their indon maid and this dark skinned neighbour in the living room when she turned on the lights.

this is what i heard from the 14ish yr old girl:

"I went in and saw them both with their pants off"
"He was behind her and bumping into her backside again and again"
"He saw me and then froze for a while, then put on his trousers and ran out"

The perky girl paused and added as an afterthought:

"This is not good lah. The maid will get pregnant one leh"

Ah the wonders of sex-ed theseadays.

The maid was positively catatonic, just standing there (dressed now, of course.) The neighbours had called the police initially as they thought it was rape. Dosent seem like it, does it? Gosh. the maid is screwed. In -ALL- senses of the word. alsa alas. Shit happens.

Heheh. All this on the eve of the CNY. Its going to be an interesting year indeed.

-YC out

Thursday, January 05, 2006

The draggy eating room

In almost any haunted story man invariably wins. Not that individual man/woman, but Man. Humanity. The protagonist may survive, unscathed save a harrowing experience. The protagonist may not survive and the haunt may win, but extrapolating the story yourself– down the road, say fifty years, civilization come creeping in the form of huge, ugly powerlines sectioning the sky arbitrarily, streetlight popping up like mushrooms overnight and cars that speed underneath them, like humanity’s lifeblood. Haunted house, haunted castle, haunted tree, haunted whatever - gets torn down, to make way for new brand new swanky high rises. And after a century you think any one would remember the old house? And after a millennia – even the ghost invariably gives up the ghost. Oh you have been dead here for a hundred years? So solly cholly, here’s your eviction letter and don’t bother fighting us unless you have a whole team of lawyers with you. Oh im sorry, cant find any ghost lawyers to represent you? Cant really blame you we all know lawyers go to hell so now will you kindly excuse us the bulldozer is coming this way. In the end humanity always wins.

I sit here with my sweater on even when the wall thermometer tells a balmy 28degrees. I cannot help but feel cold – Clearly I can feel my goosebumps brushing against the woolly interior. Either the thermometer is faulty or the room is genuinely cold. This place stinks of mothballs, dammit. I hate that smell.

The computer date/time function tells me it is 5th January 2006, a Thursday. Other than that I cannot remember how long I have been here. It feels like I have been here for days, yet only a while. I cannot recall how I got here. why am I here? what am I doing here?

Something is not right. Things feel crooked here. I just got up to straighten a Henri Matisse framed picture, goldfish I think. It felt so odd looking the way it was just now. A lot better now. The door had looked crooked too. Like it was out of line, the contractor must have done a shoddy job. The knob looked odd too. Square circled. Silly thing doesn’t know which shape it wanted. I came back to sit down though. I don’t think the door matters.
I feel itchy over the nape of my neck, over where the bit of plaster fell on just now. I have been scratching incessantly since I sat down. I’m sure that if I were able to see the itchy patch it would be a bleedy angry welt now, I can smell the copper taste on my nails. It dosent hurt though. I just know it should be.

There is something seriously wrong with this room. I don’t see any ventilation here, maybe I am suffocating. Like I have stumbled into another dimension, so much like those old B grade films or as Rod Serling says.. ‘you have entered another dimension, dededededededede... welcome to... dededededededededede... the twilight zone’. Seeing sights never meant for human eyes to comprehend. Oh what is going on in here? I cant express it well enough.

There is a drone in my head and it does not stop; it is getting mildly annoying. I doubt if I can stand up now. I know my muscles are up to the task of lifting my body, but I don’t think I can. Strangely though I still seem to be able to think and write clearly. If being in this state is clear. Output does not seem to be affected as input is. Something is wrong. I can feel it. Why am I still here? I should be scared shitless now, I know I should. But I am not. Deep down logically I think something might be screaming, hitting klaxons, get the hell out of here. I do not. Odd. I fell pleasantly content. Sated.

Oh my, the words suddenly turned into some funny greek letters. I blinked my eyes and it was here. Then back to English as I scrolled down.

Why am I here, why am I here

I think I know what is going on. I am being paralysed. It should be waiting for paralysis to be complete before moving in – after all its got all the time in the world. I wonder how long has it been, really? I didn’t draw the curtains – there was light enough that diffused through to see. And it has been light all the while – the longest day in the world.

I think it has been here for a long time, perhaps even longer than this room itself. Maybe even before this room existed it was something else. Maybe it was a tree then, or a hole in the ground. A rabbit hole. How deep does it go, ticktock ohdearohdear imlateimlate, haha. It would have worked the same way then. As creeping humanity came round and swallowed up this other patch of earth it just let itself be incorporated into the whole human design and appropriated itself as this room, waiting for its next meal to come in sit down on its comfy sofas, lie on the huge beds (see no depressions on the bed springy as ever) or even be lord and tyrant over all his toilet dominion sitting on the gold commode

Oh the door just rattled

Wait stop this is what it wants I know. I know now. First it draws me the room, then lulls me into this stupor. It does not want me to leave while I soak in its influence and slowly tenderize until it is happy and then eat me up. But I will not give it the pleasure. I will not stay. I need to get up and leave. I doubt the room is even locked and if I turn the knob it will turn like any finely oiled machinery and the door will open, allowing me to leave this room and return to the normal world I came from. Then I will buy myself an ice-cream, a MAGNUM drumstick because I am feeling so hot, it is so hot but my lord the temperature shows 28 degrees it must be the damn sweater STOP IT. I need to stop writing this, get up. It is making me write or I am being lulled into writing because it doesn’t want me to leave so I should get up. It should be a simple thing to do, just using my feet to push and flexing my butt muscles that is rather a fine piece of meat as one girl said, though a little on the lean side. Mostly muscle not so much fat as she cheekily spanked it once STOP WRITING GET UP GET UP YES I AM GOING TO GET UP I WILL PUSH MY FEET AGAINST THE FLOOR AGAINST GRAVITY PUSH THE CHAIR AWAY FROM THE BUREAU I AM GOING TO die. Oh I cannot get up.

The painting is crooked again. Some stupid poltergeist must have done it while I was tapping away must be peeves or jeeves you dirty ratbastard ghost go back to your harrypotter book and stop fucking around with my pictures.
I cannot smell anything now. Memory and logic tells me the room should smell musty and of mothballs because of all the drapes and fine linen in here wouldn’t want no moths to be chewing them up do we? No we don’t haha wait moths don’t chow on cloth – how can they when they have only a proboscis? What, poke the linen? It is the larvae of the moth that chews holes in such fine linen. But just you try chewing some naphthalene, stupid caterpillar. My. I can detect no smell. Not fresh air, or musty, just... air. Just breathing. And I have stopped itching too, at least. It was getting rather annoying.

Why am I still writing? Hello constant reader you have been with me so long now I trust you will carry on reading? I don’t think it will be much longer now. May I interest you in this curio of a room, splendidly bizarre I must say! I bet you it is the only place on earth where you can see an obtuse angle of an octagonal ashtray turn acute and still seem to be possible. Oh my I wish you were here with me; to share such curious colours and shapes. The weather is fine now; wish you were here.

This is the last I think. The room has gone all haywire. Angles and colours are gone. Swirling even. This laptop still seems like the only sane piece of equipment left. I can hardly see anything clearly now save this screen. The droning is starting to fade.
Thankfully there are no mirrors around. I do not know what I would see from the reflections.

I think