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[Ian]

The following collection contains works of horror. You can expect to find graphic depictions of violence, *self-harm, behavior disorders, cannibalism, and more. Read at your own risk.

*not in relation to depression or suicidal thoughts




Your feeble attempts only delay the inevitable

Deluge of Fear

Evil Within - Tier I

Rites of Judgement

...

[Ian]

The Onryō

Blood. So much blood. She is red now instead of white. She does not know how this came to be. The static fills her head again, and her brain rattles in her skull. She opens her mouth to say something–anything–but only an agonizing wail escapes. She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her forehead into the damp soil. The blood is in her mouth now, and it takes her a moment to realize she is biting her tongue. It is better than screaming. If she bites her tongue off, then she will never scream again. And oh, isn’t that a thought! It would be so easy. She just has to bite a little harder–

STOP IT. I DON’T WANT THIS. MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKEI TSTO PMAK EITST OPMAK EI TSTOP.

She sucks in a breath of air, a rattling cough exiting a moment later. When had she stopped breathing? Pushing herself to her paws, she stands with trembling legs. The static is gone for now, and as her senses return, she stumbles back with a gasp. There is so much red. The ground is wet, and it hasn’t rained. It is their blood she is seeing and she is not equipped to deal with this. Her stomach churns, and she averts her gaze as the bile rises, burning her throat as the mouse she ate earlier refuses to stay in her stomach. She staggers again, away from the blood and her mess and their bodies. Oh, stars… their bodies. They will think she did this even though she didn’t do it. She is incapable of such a feat, but They will not believe her, and she must leave now. Nownownow before They come for her, and They blame her and kill her. She spins on her paws and flees, nearly slipping on the blood-soaked ground in her haste. She runs and runs until her legs no longer support her, and she crashes into the ground with a thump. The collision with the earth knocks the breath out of her, and she lays there wheezing with the scent of blood filling her nostrils and drying on her pelt.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep because the sun shines brightly in the sky when she opens her eyes. The static is back, her head pounding, but she pushes through it and stands again on trembling legs. She cannot stop now; she has to keep moving, or They will find her. Eventually, she comes to a stream, and when she sees her reflection, she retches again, her stomach rebelling as it tries to force out contents that are no longer there. She is red and brown, the blood crusted to her pelt, and when her mouth opens to dry-heave she notices the tip of her tongue is gone. The static is getting louder, but she cannot give in. Not now. She wades into the stream, the cold water a sharp contrast to the greenleaf heat against her pelt. She washes until her fur is white again, stopping only when the pain registers from licking at the same spot too vigorously. Exiting the stream, she continues her journey away from Them on weary legs. The static is building, and her brain is rattling again. Her cheeks are wet, and she doesn’t know if she is crying tears or blood. The static is louder, the rattling faster, the pain in her head too great, and she needs it to stop, but it won’t, and her head is going to explode. She is going to die. Die from her head exploding and it will hurt and she is going to diediediediediediedie–

STOP.

STOP IT.

She doesn’t know where she is or how she got here. All she knows is that the moon is bright above her, and she is too far down. She is hungry and weak, and her mouth is hot with an infected tongue. Had she fallen, or had They found her? She spins, searching for a way out, but finds nothing. Smooth stone surrounds her on all sides except for up, where the moon shines down. It lights her pelt in eerie tones like a ghost, and a pain-filled yowl tears its way from her maw. The sound is as much physical as it is emotional. She is broken. The static is back, and They have won because she will die here in the hole made of smooth stone. She rages and weeps and screams, throwing herself at the circular walls keeping her imprisoned. Her body hurts. Her brain hurts. The static hurts the most as it rattles her brain. This time, she gives in to the pain because They have taken everything from her, and she will kill Them somehow. She will find Them and tear Them and rip Them apart and feast on their bones. She howls her promise to the sky, claws broken and paws bloody from scrabbling at her stone prison.

KILL THEM. RIP THEM. TEAR THEM. FEAST ON THEIR BONES.

The hole is circular, and the stone smooth, but there are grooves and it is enough. She does not need her claws or her teeth. They can stay in her stone prison, for they have served their purpose, and she is out. Her forelegs and jaw ache from pulling herself up, and her hind paws burn in fiery pain where her claws are lost to the grooves. She can only hear and feel static now, but it does not matter. The static is her friend now. It helped her get out and now she will take her revenge. She will torment Them and kill Them just as they did to her and other innocents. Pain is temporary. Death is forever.

⟟ ⍲⍓ ⍧⌾⍓⟟☊⅁.

[Ian]

The Shape

He knows something is wrong with his head. Everyone else knows, too. It’s why they tried to keep him hidden away in a den made of thorns. His parents thought they could fix him. He shows them that it is impossible when he kills his sister. Still, they do not kill him in return and instead lock him away. It is their mistake. There is an evil within him that cannot be contained. Will not be contained. He accepts it, and it accepts him. And when they forget about him, he will make his move. He will escape, and the world will know terror.

He doesn’t now how long he waits, but eventually they leave an opening. He seizes it, squeezing past the thorns and ignoring the way they tear at his pelt. When they return to check on him the only thing left is bloody tufts of fur and his fading scent. Of course they try to track him, but he knows how to hide. They don’t realize that he is the one hunting them. He relishes the way their eyes dart around and the fur on their spine stands on end. They can sense him watching, but they never see him. Eventually they give up, returning to where they came from while he remains free. Unfortunately for them, he knows how it feels to be the hunter. And the prey he hungers for now isn’t something as mundane as mice.