Dark Ambient Review: Journey of a Dying Girl

Review By Casey Douglass

Album Cover

Death, or brushes with death, are probably the ultimate contact with reality. They offer a fresh perspective on how you view yourself and the world, and cut through so much of the fluff of life. Scott Lawlor’s Journey of a Dying Girl is a dark ambient album themed around one such experience: an attack, a floating between worlds, and a person returning to life utterly changed by the event.

Journey of a Dying Girl achieves the depiction of its theme by creating soundscapes infused with duality. The light tones and vocals nestle on a sea of low drones and rumblings, and this creates a feeling of the ethereal and the mundane brushing up against each other. There are piano and string notes, and a pleasing hint of the breeze that for me, firmly cemented the soundscapes as happening outside. These are tracks that flow and ebb as they play, each swell and fall of tone carrying the listener along.

My favourite track was Covered in Darkness. It opens with a low pulsing and a high distant whistling tone. A gentle drone sits in the background, a perpetual “ahhhh” populated with small chiming notes. As the track intensifies, there is a whistle like a metal kettle coming to the boil, a pleasing shimmering, and later, crackling, shuffling movements, along with what sounds like dripping leaves. This track made me think of a person walking through a black fog during the day time, tiny glinting pixie lights flaring and sputtering in the thick air particles around them.

Exit this Dimension is another track that I really enjoyed. It starts with a climbing and echoey female vocal sitting in a droning, breath-like space. The drone grows and a pulsing ringing tone emerges. Some time around the midpoint, the female vocal begins to create the impression of falling, with what I thought were the hisses of whispering at the fringes. Like Covered in Darkness, this felt like one of the darker tracks on the album, a meeting of one world with another.

Finally, the last track, In the Middle of a Garden, You Will See a Rose, is a great track for the album to end with. The album description describes the dying girl as coming back to life, and this track seems a great accompaniment to that. It begins with echoing piano notes and an insect-like buzz. There are the sounds of wind and leaves, with smooth high tones joining piano notes. There are bird-call-like electronic tones that seem to fall, a gentle drone and a pulsing feeling. This is a gentle track to end the album with, its darker tones and mood merging with a feeling of overcoming something, even if the act of overcoming has a high price.

Journey of a Dying Girl is the sound of a peaceful dalliance between the worlds of the living and the dying. While many dark ambient albums achieve their darker elements by more explicit means, this album creates a more subtle, smooth, depiction of the dark. It’s a chill and relaxing listen, and one that I believe is well worth your time to check out.

Visit the Journey of a Dying Girl page on Bandcamp for more information.

I was given a review copy of this album.

Album Title: Journey of a Dying Girl

Album Artist: Scott Lawlor

Released: 16 July 2021

Dark Ambient Review: Ancient Death Cults and Beliefs

Review By Casey Douglass

Just over a month ago, I reviewed Sonologyst’s Dust of Human Race album, a dark musical look at death. Shortly after posting that review, Sonologyst kindly gave me a review copy of another of his death-themed albums: Ancient Death Cults and Beliefs. This album released in early 2020, and it is described as a musical investigation of the cults and beliefs in ancient times.

Ancient Death Cults and Beliefs isn’t tagged as dark ambient on Bandcamp, although I think it could easily fall into that genre, especially if you consider its drone, ritual and experimental elements. When you listen to the album, you will hear various field-recordings too, such as the shushing of leaves, the wind, and various knocking and possibly bone-grinding sounds. The first track, Purgatorium, begins with a number of these, a sweeping, gritty soundscape that seems laden with sighs, furtive movement and stray drumbeats. For me, it brought to mind sand and a cold desert night, with some strange rite being performed in the light of a flickering fire.

Ceremony is the next track, and for me, felt a bit digital, like an online funeral or the death of an android. It opens with a windy, pulsing drone, with a tapping or dripping sound, like raindrops on a plastic barrel. There is the sound of squeaking, juddering metal, and a tortured electronic shriek. I think this is where I got the “android” feeling from. Later come buzzes, shrills, chants, and a variety of breath-like sounds, things similar to panting or breathing. It’s a strange, unnerving and fun track.

Primeval Science is next, a track that opens with a hum and a two-tone beeping. It warbles and warps, a vibration building behind it. There is a slicing, digging-like sound, similar to a spade chopping its way into cold soil. The track grows in harshness, and later, smooths into a calmer space. I felt like it was a track that was viewing life through the filter of death, like a ghost looking back at the living, and only being able to see them properly when the more ritual drumbeat element emerges near the end, to smooth things out.

The penultimate track is Popol Vuh, an echoing string-based track swelling with a whirling electronic tone. I’d imagine this track would be quite a good fit for what being in an opium den might have felt like. There are insect wing flaps, creaking and wooden knocking, with a tortured exhale sounding somewhere near the midpoint. Pipe notes appear and a pulsing quality seems to flow through the soundscape. This track felt mellow and disconcerting at the same time, lulling and antagonising, and probably some other contradictions that didn’t occur to me.

The final track is Anubus, House of Dead Prince. As you might imagine with a title like that, this track had me contemplating pyramids. It starts with a buzzing that’s full of digital fuzz and distortion, higher tones floating gently around it. A quiet chime knocks, and a mellow melody. The buzzing takes on a chant-like aspect, and chiming notes knock along, making me feel like I was listening to a haphazard clock ticking. Or, a procession of worshippers moving into the bowels of a pyramid. The rest of the track confirmed this impression, and some of the sounds split from ear to ear in a nicely pleasing way. There are “sparkles” and echoes and a low rhythmic quality. It’s a nice trip.

Ancient Death Cults and Beliefs is a fascinating album, each track having its own unique way of slipping some death spirituality into your day. If you like your music questing and a little jarring at times, you should head over to the Bandcamp page below and take a closer look.

Visit the Ancient Death Cults and Beliefs page on Bandcamp for more information.

I was given a review copy of this album.

Album Title: Ancient Death Cults and Beliefs

Album Artist: Sonologyst

Released: 13 March 2020

Dark Ambient Review: Life Passes Slowly Unto Death

Review by Casey Douglass

Life Passes Slowly Unto Death Album Cover

When thinking or talking about death, it often doesn’t take long for the topic of “lights at the end of the tunnel” to emerge, usually in relation to a near death experience or a glimpse of the afterlife. Life Passes Slowly Unto Death is a dark ambient album from Scott Lawlor, and on listening to it, this contrast between light and darkness soon came into my thoughts.

The opening track: “Life Passes Slowly Unto Death”, gets things moving with a gentle opening, but one with, to my ears, a faint screech. The tones that emerge seem to channel a kind of “The Angels are coming!” vibe, blaring, manifesting and fading again, only to rise once more. For me, this track brought to mind how dust motes floating lazily around a dark room might look when one stray ray of sunlight breaks into the gloom. This is one example of how the light vs darkness aesthetic seemed to emerge for me.

Where the first track conjured light, the second track, “As the Dying Process Begins, Comprehension of Mortality is Realized”, seemed to focus on the tunnel. Shrill, pulsing tones and warbles create a dark, chittering space. It almost takes on the aspect of a sacral chant at times, the insect-like chirrups joining a shimmery tone. I felt myself journeying along a dark tunnel, a very distant light always moving around the bend minutes before I reached the same curve. The second half of the track feels like an even darker, and at times, quieter space.

“Drifting Through Unsequenced Memories” is one of my favourite tracks. After a smooth, low opening, both deep and shrill, howl-like tones sound, joined by voices and whispers. There is a clattering and skittering, and it feels like a space of intangible things. A bendy, pulsing note seems to thread stronger voices together, like a narrative does to the words we tell ourselves. This track seemed to very amply illustrate its title, the listener feeling like they are drifting through a space of disjointed impressions, with some force, consciousness maybe, trying to make sense of them.

The last track that I will mention by name is another favourite: “Whisperings Far Beyond the Veil Call You Home”. High chiming notes ring out in this soundscape, beginning to warp after some time. The echoing space is soon filled with a stuttering wind and bird-tweet-like whispers, giving way to a low pulsing that thrums through the space. There is muted rustling and muffled movement, and an ominous metal clanking at times. This track brought to mind a graveyard, the living and the dead brushing up against each other, the occasional communication getting through to one side or other.

Life Passes Slowly Unto Death is an album of dark spaces and liminal places. The soundscapes felt more dark than light, but the molecules of brightness do stop the whole thing feeling too oppressive. I found it to be calming, introspective and intriguing, and if you like dark ambient music themed around death or what might come after it, you should head over to Bandcamp and check out Scott’s album below.

Visit the Life Passes Slowly Unto Death page on Bandcamp for more information.

I was given a review copy of this album.

Album Title: Life Passes Slowly Unto Death

Album Artist: Scott Lawlor

Released: 18 Nov 2020

On American Truck Simulator & Death: Who Wants to Live Forever?

Another installment of my Connection Lost series is now up on New Normative, called: On American Truck Simulator & Death: Who Wants to Live Forever? This time, I ponder how games that don't really feature death make me feel, and how the prospect of living forever can be just as scary as dying. Click here to read the full thing.

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Connection Lost: Play It One More Time

My next entry in the Connection Lost series is now up on New Normative. This one, Play It One More Time, looks at the use of time-bending mechanics in games, how they can create feelings of loss, and how they go hand in hand with death. Click here to read the full article.

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Connection Lost: You Can't Take it With You

Article two in my Connection Lost series for New Normative is up and readable now. In this piece, I ponder the relationship between gaming loot and the feelings of loss that can arise when it is snatched away by player character death. Click here to read the full thing.

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Connection Lost: Major Carnage

The first of a series of articles written by myself, that use games as a mirror for pondering death, is now up on New Normative at this link. This particular one, Major Carnage, ponders games that feature mass death and why it seems all too easy to care about one death more than another.

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Dark Fiction – The Sky Fucker

Dark Fiction – The Sky Fucker

Written by Casey Douglass

‘Hello Ralph, please sit down.’

‘Thank you, those stairs are quite tiring.’

‘Good exercise though, once you are used to them. I dare say that it’s all hover-lifts and teleportation in your line of work?’

Ralph pats his beer belly. ‘Too true, although it’s my ex line of work now.’

‘Oh you’ve quit? If so, my notes here haven’t been updated.’

‘It only happened an hour ago.’

‘Well, it looks like the session is beginning of its own accord so why don’t we continue and get right into things. Why did you quit?’

‘I couldn’t take it any more.’

‘Working on the antenna?’

‘No... that’s never been the problem, as I’ve told you before.’

‘The suicides?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Has there been another one?’

‘Two last night, the mess met me as I came on shift early this morning.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Not that I want to be disrespectful to the dead or anything but it has an effect, seeing that more than anyone should ever have to see it. That’s fifteen this week alone.’

‘That’s why Jurn Technologies pays for these therapy sessions Ralph, it is trying to help its workers.’

‘Oh I know that, I don’t blame the company, they’ve done all they can to stop it happening. No-one would have imagined that building the world's largest antenna would attract every loony that wants to top themselves. The company removed the maintenance ladders at intervals, put up some zero-field netting, perimeter guards and drones, mesh-capturing fields, all sorts of things, but the bastards still get through. I guess it’s something about wanting to fall from the greatest height on Earth or something.’

‘Depressed and unhappy people do tend to seek out all manner of ways to end their lives, if they are so far inclined. They can be quite brilliant in the way that they pursue it too.’

‘Yeah I know, as I said, I get to clean it up.’

‘I suspect the media doesn't help?’

‘Hell no! The sick fuckers are trying to film it happening half the time, their drones buzzing around the antenna like flies around a dead dog. Mind you, remote piloting Big Ralph always brightens my day.’

‘Big Ralph is the security drone?’

‘Yeah, the one I etched my name on when no-one was looking! The plasma guns on that could shoot the cuss out of someone’s mouth at a two mile distance!’

‘Quite.’

‘Well, I mean when authorization comes through to “disperse” the press drones, it always makes me think of fireworks night, all of those little plumes of colour. Of course, the clean-up of metal fragments later is my job too, so I can’t even fully enjoy the carnage.’

‘What will you do with yourself now that you’ve left the position? You’ve been in the job quite some time.’

‘I’m not sure. That’s partly why I still came today, as I’m guessing this will be my last session, seeing as I’m no longer an employee.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid your free session entitlement will end today. You are fortunate that this session was already paid for, otherwise I would have had to turn you away, however much I didn’t want to.’

‘I thought so.’

‘You look troubled, more so than when you first began talking.’

‘Well, I don’t really see that I have a future after today. My life has been my work, my health is poor, my relatives distant or dead and my social circle non-existent. I’m thinking of killing myself.’

‘That’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem, although please don’t think that I’m calling your life the problem.’

‘Yeah I’ve heard all that before. I’m at peace with myself for the first time in thirty-odd years, I know when I’ve had enough of something and that bell is ringing right now, has been for the last year if I'm honest. Do you know what the engineers call the antenna?’

‘I know that you are changing the subject Ralph but I will play along. What do they call it?’

‘The Sky Fucker, on account that it looks like a massive knob piercing the clouds.’

‘Very clever.’

‘Well, it makes us chuckle.’

‘Us? You aren’t one any more.’

‘That doesn’t mean I can’t chuckle at my memories.’

‘You won’t be able to chuckle at anything if you end your life.’

‘It’s okay, I’ve laughed enough for one life time.’

‘How will you do it? End your life I mean.’

‘The Sky Fucker.’

‘Really? Why? How?’

‘The why is that I want to see what the attraction is. The how is that I know how to get past every fucking security measure and every checkpoint. And as I know that you have to alert the authorities if someone is a danger to themselves, I’ve already removed your network capabilities. That was why I was puffing as I came in, that circuit-box is in the tinniest fucking vent I have ever seen!’

The screen in front of him flashed a variety of primary colours before the androgynous lip-less face returned.

‘I...why come to the session then Ralph?’

‘To help make up my mind, to see if talking out loud about what I’m going to do would make me change my mind.’

‘I’m guessing it hasn’t been changed.’

‘Nope.’

‘How will you get through the checkpoints though, they won’t let the public enter the facility that surrounds the antenna. You are public now, as you well know.’

‘Ah but you are wrong there, so it’s all gravy.’

The A.I frowned. ‘What do you mean Ralph?’

Ralph stood and moved to the door, the plexi-metal dissolving in a mist of dematerialization. He turned and smiled as he left the room, saying: ‘They don’t know I’ve quit yet.’

Click here to read the next part.

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Dark Pondering - A Circle of Jerks? 

Written By Casey Douglass

Circle film Image © Copyright FilmBuff

I watched a film on Netflix yesterday. It was called Circle and starred a fair few people I recognised from other things, but could never tell you their names without Google’s help. The setup of the film is that a group of people regain consciousness while standing in a circle. I hope that didn’t shock you, it did come at you from nowhere right? Long story short, they have to vote to see who gets killed by a strange energy beam next. I quite enjoyed the film, it was interesting to see how people began to bicker and argue, especially when under stress. There are some spoilerish things below so if you decide you want to watch the film, you might like to do that first and read the rest of this post another day. I try not to give everything away though.

It is interesting to see how people try to judge the worth of another’s life. The people in the film worked their way through many aspects of life: age, career, marital status, the existence of family or not, skin colour, sexual persuasion and religion to name but a few. On reading, that certainly makes them sound like an utter bunch of wankers, but on the other hand, how do you judge the worth of someone? It seems the only rational answer is simply not to judge, that every life has worth. That wouldn’t make much of a film I’m sure, and it rarely happens in real life, which is very sad. The people in the film were put in a situation that seemed to point them towards having to choose, but even that didn't mean they had to vote for someone else’s death.

Some of the people refuse to kill others by voting, and there are others who sacrifice themselves instead. The assembled group also splits into factions consisting of those who feel everyone is equal, and those who feel a young girl and a pregnant woman had the most right to survive. There is even an endgame in play but I won’t give away any more spoilers here.

I think I clicked with the film as worth is something I have always struggled to see in myself. On the other hand, I know I am guilty of judging others just as harshly at times too. I think it comes from the old habit of the human mind, that of wanting to compare things: what we have and what we don't have, what we do and what they do. Used sensibly, it can give us information about how to right injustice, highlight areas of our lives we need to work on, and things like that. Used wrongly, it can inspire hate, greed, alienation and low self-esteem. One theme of the film was the occasional agreement between some of the people, who did agree that the uniting thing amongst them all was that everyone wanted to live. The sad thing is that many felt that this justified any behaviour that helped toward that end. You’ll be shocked to hear that the concern for others’ well-being only extended so far as the person expressing the concern was safe themselves, with the odd exception.

We all need a strong survival instinct. If we didn’t have it, the human race would probably have died out millennia ago. On the other hand, humans need more than survival, or what's the point? If we devolve into angry primates when the chips are down, we are undoing any sense of progress or advancement we might have achieved as we have evolved. After all, if we take the big picture view, every person alive at this moment in time has been a fantastic product of survival. Surely that makes us all equally worthy to be alive right now? Our jobs, hobbies, social circle or lack thereof don’t mean we have any less right to be here. On the other hand, it is this same survival instinct that means, in a 1-on-1 life or death situation with another, we are quite naturally inclined to side with the continuation of our own existence.

It’s certainly a tough one. I applaud Circle for giving people something to think about.

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Dark Fiction – The First

Written By Casey Douglass

Image used freely courtesy of Gratisography

As a coroner, you get to see more than your fair amount of death. Some think you need a macabre sense of humour to deal with things, and in that respect, they’re right. After awhile, you don’t mentally see your human boss any more, well at least I didn’t; you begin to feel like you’re working directly for death. It sounds silly reading that back to myself but none the less, that’s how I feel.

Many authors have written about the personification of death, my own personal favourite being the deep-voiced blue-eyed version from the late great Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels. A skeleton stalking around with hour-glass style timers beneath his robe, appearing to take the recently dead away to what next awaits them.

Suicide is personified too, and I think I’ve seen her.

Technology has a lot to answer for, both good and bad. Some things, you just never got to see before the advent of the internet and of course, smartphones being attached to someone’s hip twentyfour-seven. It didn’t take that long after the emergence of YouTube for other, darker websites to appear. Roll on a few more months and the first suicide videos began to be posted. As part of the legal system, it fell to me to watch these if they related to a case I happened to be working on.

It didn’t take long for me to wistfully mourn the passing of the time in which you couldn’t see what happened to someone. Yes it might help procedurally; those among you wondering how a suicide posts a video, you’d be surprised how easy it is to automate this process. It just leaves its mark on your mind and, dare I say, soul.

My interest in suicide as a personification began with a dark smear on the video of a teenage boy hanging himself from his ceiling light. Just at the moment his struggles ceased, a movement caught my eye. It looked like someone leaving the room, but only if you strained very hard to see it. My colleagues didn’t agree and put it down to some digital fuzz from the encoding used on the camera. I let the issue drop until I witnessed it again. Many times.

Sometimes, it appeared a little more clearly, giving the impression of a woman standing and watching. Other times it was just a limb, an arm or leg seen vanishing into nothingness. It was at about this time that I began to struggle with my sleep.

Nights were filled with dreams of death and misery. It might surprise you to know that this is something I had never really been troubled with in the past. Death held no real fear for me so why would it? During this period though, my word! I had to change the sheets every night as my body poured with sweat. My wife told me that I screamed out many times, clutching the pillows, even clinging to her and holding my face, eyes closed, inches from hers while I muttered some litany of fear. Thankfully, my doctor granted me a measure of tranquilizers which at the least, kept me still all night. The dreams continued unabated though.

The last dream I had on the matter, they stopped quite suddenly you see, was the most startling and clear that I think I’ve ever experienced. A young woman stood over a fresh tiny grave, tears streaking down her muddy face. Something roared from a nearby forest but she barely flinched. She walked very slowly, her feet shuffling more than lifting, making her way to a cliff edge that had been behind my dream self. Without breaking step she tilted forward and vanished from sight, a loud crack sounding from below a number of seconds later. As I woke, the words “The First” ran through my mind.

If the above doesn’t make me sound crazy, I don’t know what will. As part of my occupational health assessment, I was advised to write all of this down in the hope that it would give me some distance and clarity from the jumble of thoughts going on in my head. I don’t feel it’s all make believe, but why I feel that, I couldn’t say... it’s just a feeling. Maybe she was the first suicide and so has been condemned to walk the earth while humanity still lives here. Is she driving people to their deaths or is she there to help and offer companionship? Does she talk to them in their last moments?

I know one way to find out, but that path definitely isn't for me.

THE END

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Dark Fiction - Into The Jaws

Into The Jaws

By Casey Douglass

as part of #fridayflash

 

The heavy metal boots squelched through the row of corpses, a particularly bloated body rupturing pleasingly to Moranth’s satisfaction. He didn’t let it show.

‘The death you have caused!’ the gaunt elderly man hissed through yellow teeth as he floated a few paces to the left.

Not for the first time, Moranth looked to both sides, the seemingly unending road of bodies buffered by darkness on both sides as it stretched into the hazy distance. He shrugged his left shoulder, the vein that ran down the bicep a snake weaving and winding its way towards some unknown prey. The metal of his chest plate was torn and stained with his life’s juices, the jagged edge rubbing into his skin. He marvelled that he no longer felt the pain; that had faded once his mind had awoken after the brief period of darkness.

‘Look Moranth!’ the floating man in his dark robe was pointing now, his knobbly finger pointing into the distance.

Moranth breathed in deeply, or at least what passed for breathing in this place. He stopped walking and turned to the old man. ‘I see what I have achieved.’

The man wafted closer until his nose was almost touching Moranth’s. ‘Achieved? Achieved?’ he shrieked. ‘Even in death you show not a sign of contrition?’

Moranth’s mouth drew back revealing the rows of broken teeth that still clung to his gums. He lunged forward and grabbed the old man’s face with his massive gauntleted hand, the clinking of the metal competing with the slight crunching of bone. 

‘Yes achieved!’ Moranth snarled, ‘Why you play this game Death I know not, but if you expect me to fall to my knees and weep you are sorely mistaken. You take on the guise of this old pauper, the first I killed on my path to glory and you have simply given me the satisfaction of doing it again. You know so much of my life yet you seem not to know the one important thing, the thing that drove my violent path. You think me a monster yet I vowed years ago to right the greatest injustice of life. You and the beings of your ilk, lording over us mere mortals, offering solace one moment and agony the next.’

He squeezed his fingers more tightly and felt the skull give with a loud crack. Death cried out and mumbled into the hand that covered his mottled face.

‘Do not try your tricks on me!’ Moranth bellowed. ‘Can I kill such as you? I have no idea. I am here and from what you have told me, headed for the inferno. I say good! My one fear in life was that there was nothing after death and you have taken that fear from me. Now you have unleashed the mightiest warrior the world has ever known and he has no fear, no pain and no body to hold him back!’ 

Moranth pulled the shrieking Death closer and whispered in his ear, ‘Who do gods pray to when they fall?’

Death struggled and wriggled as he clawed at the dented metal, his eyes beginning to fill with blood. Moranth lifted him away and lofted him higher, until his arm was at full stretch. With a grunt he clenched his fist tightly, the already damaged head imploding in a wet bubble of boney shrapnel and pulp. The body fell, fell down past the morbid pathway and down, down into the abyss below. The atmosphere began to rumble and vibrate as the Death vanished from sight. Small sparks of faery fire danced along Moranth’s armour as he grunted in approval. He looked around him and noticed that the scene was growing dim, a red hue beginning to suffuse everything. 

With one long ululation of intent, Moranth threw himself from the pathway and plummeted into the depths, sulphur and brimstone tickling at his nostrils. The wind howled through his armour and scoured his skin with a hot ferocity that only served to heat his intent further. With a last yell of defiance he vanished from sight, a deafening boom splintering the now empty space that he left behind.

THE END

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Dark Fiction - Nature

Nature

By Casey Douglass

as part of #fridayflash

 

Some people are just gloomy. This is only an issue to the eternal optimists amongst the general population; people who are so afraid of feeling blue, that they force their false smiles and manic happy thoughts onto others whether they like it or not. This was Oliver Smith’s opinion anyway. He stared at his muddy trainers as he traipsed across the meadows, the broiling clouds above casting the rises and falls of the landscape around him in hues of dark and darker. Where the sun did manage to punch through the clouds, the light was weak and sickly, like a flashlight in which the batteries are about to die.

He liked this time of day, the quasi-twilight that always felt so surreal and grim. Oliver was a creature of dark tastes. The bookshelves in his bedroom full of the classics of horror, from Lovecraft to Poe, King to Lumley to...anything he liked basically. He had just finished a particularly good book about creatures that stole the dead from the midst of a battlefield. He was about to crack on with the next book on his “To Read” pile when his Mother had put her head around his bedroom door and suggested that he take a walk or he would get scurvy. His fear of scurvy was small, but his fear of his Mother was great.

He fished in his pocket for his smartphone and took a hasty snap of some “God Rays” lancing down from the clouds. Smiling to himself, he shared it to his Tumblr followers. They were mainly Goths if he was honest. He didn’t share their dress sense but he felt a kind of kinship with them. The wind was really whipping up around him now, the chill felt like fingers trying to prod their way into the little places on his jacket that would just not zip up any tighter. 

The phone stowed once more, he pushed on, the ground sucking at the soles of his shoes. It was boggy here, large puddles and pools of stagnant water reflecting the grey clouds. He neared a particularly large one, his mind warning him of the probable depth. He was familiar with this field and knew there was quite a dip here. Something protruded from the surface of the pool. It looked like a bundle of white sticks. Oliver stood on tip-toe but the extra few inches in height did little for his view. He decided to walk around the pool, the disturbance looked a little nearer to the other side.

Taking his time, he edged around the body of water, wary of sliding in. The reflected light shifted as he changed his angle. Retrieving his phone once more, he took a few snaps of the murky water, quite fancying some spawn of Cthulhu could reasoably live there. He smiled to himself as his phone whizzed the data to his followers.

He achieved his goal of reaching the other side of the pool and stood as near to the water as possible, his neck straining to see. As in all moments of unfortunate clarity, the clouds shifted above, allowing the bottom of the pool to become visible.

Oliver felt a lump rise into his throat as he gazed down into the tea coloured water. The enormous bulk of a large bull hung a few inches below the surface, the hooves barely off the bottom. Its skin was a whitish pink and covered with small green veins. The large horned head was low, as if the great creature was looking down below himself. The only part of the beast that broke the surface was an area of its back about half way along its length. Here Oliver could see properly what was so indistinct before. A large swathe of skin and fat was gone, leaving only a massive open wound, picked and washed clean by carrion and the elements to reveal a curved spinal chord and a handful of bleached white ribs. Oliver couldn’t shake the phrase “Skeleton’s Lunchbox” from his mind as he looked on, the acid in his stomach threatening to burst from his mouth. He put his phone back inside his pocket. 

‘Sorry,’ he said to the body. ‘I’m really sorry.’

He started to cry.

--THE END--

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Dark Fiction - Reach

Reach

By Casey Douglass

as part of #fridayflash

The little girl floats through the air, the tassels on her mittens knocking against the undersides of her forearms. It is like some graceful slow motion replay of an Olympic swimmer beginning their dive. 

Breathtaking.

Her face is still smiling, her tongue protruding from pale little lips, her eyes a sparkle. She is enjoying it! 

She reaches the apex of her flight and then begins to dip, the expression on her face creaking into a rictus of terror. Now she is scared. Down she falls, lower and lower. In mere moments, she is beneath the level at which I myself am standing, a cacophony of noise billowing out behind me.

A deep booming rumble percusses her landing, but it is not her that causes it. The train rounds the bend, the noise of lots of tiny metal wheels rat-a-clatting rat-a-clatting as it draws into the station. 

A scream sounds to my right, punching through my time dilation. I am about to turn but pins and needles draw my attention to my right arm. I gaze along it trying to fathom why it should ache so. Realisation breaks my confusion and I see that it is outstretched, elbow aching, hand grasping, fingers splayed, the digits partially hiding the girl from my sight.

The train squeals and churns and chews at the metal tracks as it tries to reduce its momentum. It fails. 

--THE END-- 

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Dark Review - In Time

My review of the film In Time 

By Casey Douglass

 

Have you ever been with someone who continuously checks their watch? I know that time rules all of our lives to some degree, but to keep an eye on it when there is no real need is just pointless. However, if instead of a watch you had a glowing countdown timer on one forearm, that slowly ticks down to zero, and when it gets there you expire and hit the ground…I think I would be watching it too.

In Time is set in a future where people have been genetically altered to stop ageing once they reach the age of 25. This activates the countdown timer which everyone is born with and which already has one year on it. They can earn time by working, but every aspect of life literally costs them time. A coffee might be 3 minutes, a bus trip 2 hours. Everything whittling down those glowing figures on their arms. Time has replaced money in every possible way, except that being broke now kills you instantly.

Will Salas (Timberlake) is a blue-collar worker, never having more than a day on his timer. One night a good deed performed for a stranger sees him acquiring over 100 years. The only draw back is he is suspected of robbing the stranger and causing his death by “timing him out”. A short time later he is unable to save his mother (Wilde) as things conspire against her, and this sets him on a path of revenge. He uses the time to traverse the various time zones of the region and sets out to take everything from the people who have the most. On this journey, he hooks up with the daughter of a man who has more time than a Time Lord.
Her name is Sylvia Weis (Seyfried), and Will proceeds to break her out of her overly safe and restrictive world, first by being different, and then, by kidnapping her when things go badly for him. The rest of the film sees them bouncing between conflicts with her father, the timekeepers, headed by Raymond Leon (Murphy) and Fortis (Pettyfer), the leader of a gang of time thieves called “minute men”.

Now for the opinion part. I felt let down by the film and I am not entirely sure why. I had seen the trailer before going into it, and I was quite excited by the subject matter and the look of the film. I even got over my maybe unwarranted dislike of Justin Timberlake to actually watch it. The acting did the job, even if it wasn’t mind-blowing, and there were some interesting dynamics and twists involving Will and Raymond in regard to his long dead father and questions of morals and ethics. The environment was well thought out, although the stars were the cars. There only seemed to be a few types but they are all suitably futuristic looking and sound like they are run on a mixture of Tesla coil and liquid witchcraft. Everything else felt like typical futuristic dystopia. The occasions where their time counters ran very low certainly added to the tension of the film, wondering if they would die, or if they would find a way to survive a little longer. If any kind of conversation or bartering was involved, it certainly took on a heated and frenetic tone.

Maybe In Time is an action film wearing the mantle of a more intellectual sci-fi showing, but failing to mask its true nature. I don’t know. I enjoyed the film, I just felt it could have been better.

Rating: 3.5/5

IMDb

 This review is also available on Generic Movie Blog UK here.

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Dark Fiction - By Proxy

By Proxy

By Casey Douglass

Bent over lower than needed to avoid banging his head, he scrabbled around trying to coax the four large collapsible boxes into a shape that was conducive to being wedged under one arm. Finally corralling them together and shoving them into his armpit, he slammed the car-boot down harder than he would have liked and dashed for sanctuary through the rain, the blip of the car alarm system enough surety that the car would still be there when he returned.

He dashed up the steps, his feet sliding on the dark mossy concrete, but he trusted to his own momentum to see him safely to the top. The large black door at the summit swung open as he approached, a wrinkled face peering out at the lashing rain, its mouth falling open as it saw the hurtling shape coming towards it. The door was wrenched fully open and Bradley gratefully stumbled inside, the boxes finally slipping from his underarm and shooting over the polished parquet floor like a strange poker hand being dealt to a giant. He bent over and panted, the sound of the inclement weather finally muffled as the door snapped shut behind him. He turned to thank his saviour but before he could speak a mottled hand was thrust into his.

‘Christ mate, you’re optimistic!’

‘I’m an all or nothing kind of guy I guess,’ Bradley smiled as he shook hand. ‘I’m Bradley Joiner, I’m here to empty my dad’s flat.’

‘Oh yeah I reckoned that, what with the boxes and all. I’m Arthur White, I live...lived next door to your dad. You got a key?’

Bradley patted himself down and felt the slight clinking in his left jacket pocket. ‘Yes the police gave it to me after I identified the body.’

Arthur grimaced and put his hand on Bradley’s shoulder. ‘It must be hard.’

Bradley shook his head. ‘Not really. We didn’t get on or have much in common. He was a bit like a stranger to me. That might sound cold but it’s just how it is.’

‘No not at all mate. Families can be overrated at the best of times. They are fine when they all get along but when they don’t they can be worse than enemies. I got a brother I don’t speak to so you are peaching to the choir...squire!’ Arthur’s face wrinkled as he erupted in laughter.

‘Well, it was nice to meet you Mr White, but I really should get on.’

Arthur snorted as he tried to subdue his own amusement. ‘You’ll need more than those few boxes.’

‘Oh I don’t doubt it. Its just a preliminary blitz through at the moment, the rest can be sorted through next week when I can get the time off work.’

‘Even so...’

‘What?’

‘You’ll see. Anyway, follow me, I’ll take you to the door.’

Bradley stooped and retrieved the rain spotted cardboard from the floor before looking up and seeing the back of Arthur vanish around a bend at the top of the stairs. Swearing under his breath he jogged up the stairs, wondering why he had the luck of having the sprightliest old man in London as his guide.

‘Are you coming?’ the voice wafted around the corner.

‘Yes yes I’m coming,’ and in a softer voice, ‘you spry old coot.’

Gaining the landing, he turned right and saw Arthur leaning out of a doorway and pointing to the next one along. ‘It’s that one! Good luck!’

The old head disappeared and the door closed with a sharp crack. Bradley traipsed slowly along the hallway, the air full of the smell of rain from the small window that was open a crack at the very end. Reaching the indicated door, he fumbled for the key and unlocked the shiny black wooden door. He stared up at the large number seventeen artfully placed two thirds of the way up, the bottom tip of the number one starting to rust slightly. He hesitated before he opened it, his right hand trembling a little. He pressed his hand to the door, the cold wood making his palm go cold and tingly.

He breathed out and pushed. The door gently and easily started to swing open before suddenly stopping with a dull thump. Bradley pushed hard against it but the door was blocked from the other side. He dropped his boxes once more and pushed his head through the gap in the open doorway.

‘Holy shit!’

He heard muffled laughter through the wall to his left. The old coot no doubt. He shook his head as he surveyed the scene. Books everywhere! Tall piles stacked from floor to ceiling, lining the hallway of the small flat. Looking down, he saw that a couple of piles had toppled over, probably after the police had left as he couldn’t imagine they could have removed the body otherwise. He strained against the door but was unable to get it to budge. Muttering, he squeezed himself into the gap and slowly pushed his way through. Once on the other side he kicked the blockage away, he certainly wasn’t going to be squeezing through twice.

He turned again and just stood and stared, his chest feeling tight with a feeling that mirrored the constrictive space in the hallway. Slowly, he walked forward, his eyes half roaming over the book spines, those at least, that were angled the right way. Travel books, self-help, history, cooking, religion, it was all there. He smiled and ran a finger along some of the stacks, excitement tickling his stomach. He sighed happily,‘So many books!’

He eased one out of the pile to his right and flicked through it eagerly, the ins and outs of psychology laid bare. He extricated another from further down, the process of hypnosis explained in laymen’s terms! He set them on the floor and carried on, cherry-picking the ones that excited him and made him want to sit and read them on the spot. His teachers had always joked that he was the true definition of a bookworm, and he certainly felt at home in this tunnel of paper. He remembered sitting on the floor of his first bedsit, a blanket around his shoulders and the wind blowing through the ill fitted window. Aslong as he had a book in his hand, he didn’t mind one little bit.

He heard a faint chime from a clock, either deeper in the flat or next door’s, and checking his watch found that almost half an hour had passed. He tutted as his eyes finished sliding down one last pile and briskly walked on. He reached the first opening to another room and sheepishly looked inside. It was a bedroom, the bed giving testament to that. Around it on almost every side, simply books books and more books. He reached another room. Books. Floor to ceiling. He wondered how the floors could take the weight? The deeper he moved into the flat, the more the smell of the ageing paper got into his nose. He didn’t mind the smell, but such a quantity was making his nose tickle. He reached another room and let out a small grunt and smiled. The kitchen was free of books and remarkably clean. ‘Just when I thought I had you sussed old man.’

The final room was the dark lounge. Bradley walked in slowly, the smell of books mingling with something else, something more clinical. He moved slowly to the large heavy curtains and opened them fully, letting the meagre light of the day intrude into the dim room. The books in this room looked newer, their paper white and crisp rather than yellow and flaking. Neat stacks dotted the room, culminating around the plush easy chair that had its back to the large window. It put him in mind of a city of small skyscrapers ruled over by whoever sat in the chair. Dad’s world.

His eyes settled briefly on the missing seat cushion that made the chair look barren and emptier than it should. The police said that they had taken it away as it was contaminated. They had found him sitting there, a half open book clenched in his arthritic hand, his reading glasses still pinched tightly to his nose.

Bradley leant forward and put his hands on the back of the chair, partly to steady himself, partly to reassure himself of the reality of what had happened. That last book that his dad had held was still open to the left of the chair. Bradley stooped and picked it up, curious about what it was that his dad had been reading. “Animal Husbandry for fun and profit.”

Bile shot up the back of his throat as he looked around the room once more. He’d known this. He had been there. All that effort when he had left the bedsit, to throw out and give away his old books, the hooks that they had in his mind so hard to sever. He knew it was the right thing to do then, he felt more free, less weighed down by the next book to read, and exposed, unable to hide from the experiences and seek sollace in mere theory. It had almost got him again! His mind chafed at how it had failed to remember that a few moments ago while he had stood worshipping at the stacks of his former Gods. Bradley threw the book across the room and thumped the back of the chair with his fist.

‘You fucking coward! You filled your flat with books about everything under the sun and never put any of it into practice. Animal husbandry? How the fuck would you have done that!’

Bradley marched out of the room, unsure at who his speech was really directed. His face felt hot and itchy, like ants running across his cheeks. He stormed allong the hallway, kicking the neat pile of books he had made as he passed it. He heard the thump of another pile of books crash down behind him but didn’t turn around. Slamming the flat door behind him, he strode to the end window on the landing, feeling the fresh breeze from outside on his face. Tears stung at the edge of his eyes.

‘Allot of books.’

He turned and scowled at Arthur who had appeared in his periphery.

‘You could say that.’

‘He was a nice man...from what I knew of him.’

‘I don’t imagine that was much.’

‘He kept to himself to be sure, but was always willing to take in parcels, or help out if asked. He never did no one any harm, as far as I know.’

Bradley sighed. ‘That’s probably why we didn’t get on. He was nice, he was helpful, but he expected life to just give him what he wanted. He was a dreamer. Like me. I moved on though.’

Arthur nodded sagely.

Bradley pointed back at the flat door. ‘Those books in there aren’t just books, they are his dreams, dreams that he trifled with and then shelved, moving onto the next flight of fantasy, never getting anywhere,’ Bradley said, a shiver running through him.

‘There is more to life than achievement though.’

‘Yes of course, there is the social side, community, taking part in the world, but none of that applies here. He holed himself up against life like someone stockpiling for the end of the world, more content to live in his thoughts than put in any effort.’

Arthur shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to tell you. You probably knew him better than I did. All I’ll say is there are worse things in life than to live how your dad lived.’

The two of them stood and looked past each other for a long moment, neither moving or making eye contact. Finally, Arthur smiled and said, ‘Cuppa?’

‘No, thank you though. I think I’m done for now.’ Bradley offered Arthur the key. ‘You like books?
Help yourself. I don’t need them...,’ he said as he walked away, the hard soles of his shoes squeaking on the polished floor, ‘...any more.’

THE END

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Dark Fiction - Desire

Desire

By Casey Douglass

for #fridayflash

Project Heaven 17– Day 1:

Ramsey managed to find a suitable test subject last night, thank goodness! Who would have thought that a city with such a large population would soon be milked of its homeless transients. He said that he found him asleep behind the warehouse on sixth street, although he almost missed him as he was almost totally covered in broken cardboard boxes. The poor guy jumped at the chance Ramsey presented and no sooner was he through our door, he’d signed the wavers and was causing serious damage to a large buffet table while we readied the room. In all seriousness, I wasn’t sure if the food was reaching his mouth or if his beard was being fed like some strange creature.

This morning, after a much needed bath and spruce up, our subject was escorted to the room and told to do what he wanted. The first few minutes were spent with him pacing around staring at the white walls, probably not really believing what he had been told. Ramsey, ever the patient one, soon had his finger pressed tightly on the microphone talk button. “Just try something simple, it doesn’t have to be anything fancy!”

The subject looked at his hands and after a short pause, there was a small pop. A box of southern fried chicken appeared, which he promptly dropped in alarm. The whites of his eyes scanned the room, the poor fool obviously suspecting some kind of trickery.

“That’s it!” cried Ramsey. “Keep going!”

He did. That first day, we saw millions of pounds of luxury goods appear, cars, jewellery and fancy chocolates. In fact it was only at this point that we thought to show him how to get rid of things or the unfortunate soul would have drowned under a mountain of metal and plastic. Around eight hours in, the subject complained of a headache and said that he felt extremely tired, so we called it a day. Tomorrow we will introduce the concept of landscapes.

Project Heaven 17 – Day 2:

The subject fed himself this morning with a manifested breakfast of fried eggs, hash browns, chips and chocolate cake. He was most eager for the days experiments. As were we.

“Try to produce a scene,” Ramsey urged. “Something you remember maybe.”

With that, the vista in the small white room changed almost instantly. Sparkling sand covered the floor and golden rays of sunlight bathed the subject in a warm glow. We could only see part of the scene as the subject walked, the Movement Inhibitors doing an admirable job of making him think that we was really moving. Moments later his feet were splashing through white flecked seawater, a giddy smile on his still unshaven face.

Shortly afterwards we were treated to varying scenes, ranging from a barren monastery in Tibet to rush hour in the middle of London, all the his smile stretching from ear to ear.

Once more the subject became fatigued after a number of hours so we broke for the day. Tomorrow it’s people.

Project Heaven 17 - Day 3:

It is the end of day three and there is little that I can write that would not be censored. Ramsey raised the topic of manifesting people, although he made it very clear that anything would just be a copy, not THE person. We have since been treated to fourteen hours of sex and depravity, with film stars, singers and random other females that were obviously known to the subject. I can’t say that I blame him, it’s a natural impulse and I admit that I might do the same if I had the power to. Soon, we may all have the power to.

Project Heaven 17 – Day 4:

No practice today. We had scheduled it as a rest day, but it happens that the universe conspired to make it a certainty. The Dampener field malfunctioned last night while maintenance and calibration was being performed. The whole room had to be dissolved and re-substantiated, which took our ageing Quanta PC the best part of six hours. I dread to think what that will do to our electricity bills.

Project Heaven 17 – Day 5:

Today, we have given our subject free reign, he can do as much or as little as he wants. The experiment now starts in earnest.

Project Heaven 17 – Day 23:

I apologise for the apparent jump from five to twenty three. I have taken the decision to summarise as the apparent changes on any given day were very small, but taken as a whole, they make more sense. Anyone wishing to read the full version of the report is more than welcome to request it at the usual place.

The subject continued the pattern of the first few days for around a week, manifesting everything that he had ever wanted, visiting the places that he had always dreamed of; some imaginary, others based on the real places. Around day ten, his creations became more mundane, and focussed a great deal on apparent childhood events, people and places. His mother featured many times, often to put an arm around his shoulders. It was very touching, even Ramsey looked to be stifling the odd sniffle.

Approximately day seventeen, the subject’s dalliances twisted into something more sinister. Violence began to feature heavily in them, firstly inflicted by him onto others, and later, by others onto him. A number of mythical creatures began to appear regularly, werewolves, vampires and some kind of living gargoyle. During this time, the subject seemed to be unable to control his sobbing and often shuffled around, his eyes always focussed on something in the distance.

On day twenty three, the experiment ended. The subject manifested an incredibly tall mountain, so tall that it made Everest look like an ant hill. He stood on the snow encrusted apex for around an hour before suddenly spreading his arms and hurling himself into the void. We watched as he fell, the wind ripping at his clothes and hair, twirling him around and around. His fall lasted around ten minutes, as I said, it was a monster of a mountain. He hit the ground with a sickening thump before vanishing from sight as his insides covered the cameras. The room is currently being sanitized and an appropriate container has been found to gather him up in.

Conclusions of Project Heaven 17:

We have observed nothing that has changed our previous hypothesis. While the methodology of the earlier experiments could be questioned, on the settings of the machine and various other factors such as psychological make-up of the subject and unintentional observer interference, we can conclude that the human mind cannot survive in an environment that gives in to its every need and desire. Without struggle and striving, the human creature creates its own problems to fret and worry over, eventually turning to the morose and the harmful. We will continue our line of research, and some fresh ideas involve limiting exposure to the room for pure recreation times of no more than an hour, but that phase of testing will not achieve endorsement before the new year.

Credits:

Emett Hesky - Lead Researcher.

Ramsey Smith – Technician.

Subject number 17 – John Doe 17

The End

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Surprised

I don't know why but somehow, the fact that Stieg Larsson was dead managed to totally pass me by.

I came to know him how I'd imagine a lot of people did, with his Girl with a Dragon Tattoo series of books, especially when the films came out and his books were pride of place everywhere, from Waterstones to the Amazon Kindle store.

On looking into it further, it seems he died before the first of his books was even published. I find it incredibly sad that he didn't live to see the success that his books would bring, not to mention the big screen adaptations.

In a way, I find it incredible that I could sit through all of the media hype at the time and still not know that he wasn't around to enjoy it/hate it, depending on his nature. I wonder how many other people are still going around in ignorance? I could be the only one who didn't know. A damn shame.

Here's to you Stieg.

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