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Whistler
November 10th, 2010, 11:14 PM
It should be fairly apparent that this is a horror story. Nothing complicated or deep about it, just a fun little thing I threw together a while ago. Critique if you'd like, but regardless, I hope you enjoy.


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Through the dark, he hears the clattering of sticks. Their hollow tones echo softly around the walls and off the floor, filling the room and leaking out of the cracked window. The moonlight coming in gives the green walls a ghostly look. Over the course of the night, he knows, the sticks will sound less of wood and more of bone. By the time he falls asleep, the poster over his bed will cease to resemble a shark; it will be a ball of orange light, softly pulsing against the midnight sky beyond. This is the way it always happens.

Tonight, however, something is different. The sounds are not as they usually are; they are beyond description, and make him think of a thousand wolves howling as they close in on an injured rabbit. A jumble of winds and whispers emanate from everything, and the sparse colors in this reality run together like paint dripping down a canvas. Though he is shaken by what his senses tell him is happening, there is also excitement; this is new, and this is interesting. He watches as his the room around him unravels to show a cracked surface of pale rock and ice stretching on for miles. When he blinks, he catches glimpses of the room he left behind, so he keeps his eyes open until they dry. The cries of the wind are loud here, and they intensify at a rapid pace; soon they reach a level beyond the capacity of human ears to discern them. Though he cannot decipher any meaning in the whirlwind of noise, he knows that something is speaking to him.

Without warning, the scene fades and he is back in his room. Blinking confusedly, he rubs his ears as the monotonous howling continues. He feels something warm and wet on his fingertips and jumps slightly; when he brings his fingers into the moonlight from the window, there is a dark liquid smelling lightly of iron. As he stares in wonder at his blood, his eyelids grow heavy; he realizes how tired he is. Without removing his clothes, he flops onto his bed and closes his eyes, falling into a deep sleep within seconds.

He notices at once that he is moving not of his own volition. He floats through a gas as thick as mud comprised of swirling colors he can barely identify. Something brushes by his leg, its touch light but unnerving. As time passes, the frequency with which unseen things make contact with him increases, and he begins to understand that these things do not have shapes as he knows. The angles are strange, the curves impossibly steep and yet somehow flat, and everything feels sharp like a point. He fights the pull on his body and looks down at himself; he sees blood pouring from his chest and feels a flare of burning agony. He frantically tries to stop the bleeding, to apply pressure to the wound, but he sees the futility upon the revelation that the blood is actually coming out of his pores. When he acknowledges this, the pain stops, though the bleeding does not. Feeling a sudden sense of helplessness, he gives up and stares ahead in time to catch sight of the first actual thing he can see.

He sees a star of massive proportions, burning black against the swirling gas. Its heat is like nothing he's ever felt, and he's sure it will incinerate him just as a tendril of flame a galaxy in length reaches out and touches his chest. In one swift, infinite moment, the full magnitude of the star is implanted in his brain, causing him to tremble and scream in his head, “Oh my God, it's PREGNANT!”

He wakes up in a pool of sweat, his hands flying to his chest to feel the blood. There isn't any.

The days pass in a blur; he is unable to concentrate, and the slightest movement in furtive shadows chills his spine. Every night, he drinks coffee and attempts to prevent himself from falling asleep, and every night he fails. His dreams are confusing, with little to distinguish in them beyond primordial sounds and unrecognizable sights; the gas and the star do not return. He wakes often in the night. Despite these terrible visions in dream, he recovers slowly over time. The shock fades; he'll be fine, other than serious problems with sleeping.

As he sits by a campfire several weeks after the first dream, he feels it at last. He was waiting for something to happen, though he was unaware of it. Now something like an iron fist grabs the base of his skull and pulls it upwards. At first he tries to convince himself that this must be a recurrence of his dream, that he has accidentally fallen asleep again, but he realizes that he is still on Earth, his girlfriend sitting next to him drinking a beer. He knows that this is real.

The world moves around the sun; he knows this, but he has never felt it, for he has always moved with its gravity. Now, however, the ground slips away. Panic sets in at once, and he opens his mouth to scream as he collides with a tree branch ten feet off the ground. The people around the fire look up, startled, and panic themselves. His girlfriend screams hysterically and runs around, smacking into a tree. One man tries to find something to pull him back down, but he is already floating up and away, gaining speed as he goes.

In minutes, the air becomes noticeably thinner and colder as he flies higher into the atmosphere. As he starts to suffocate, the fear pressing inwards on him intensifies beyond any emotion he's ever felt in his life. The knowledge of inexorable death leaves him at a complete loss for rational thought, and it destroys what little is left of his sanity as the cold dark grips him.

Through corpse-eyes, he still somehow sees his progress through the cosmos. His mind registers the fact that his life is depleted, yet he is not gone. Rather, he can experience the universe though a detached sense of vision and time; he is now merely an observer within a lifeless shell.

Unlike his first dream, he sees many different things as he floats on, most being entirely beyond conjecture or description. Thousands of comets pass him, one colliding with his body. Galaxies pass in and out of sight, their innumerable stars twinkling across the span of the void. Still he travels on.

It takes an eternity to reach his destination, but at last the massive cloud of gas comes into view, and at its edge he can see many balls of black flame, smaller than the original. Into the cloud, floating... The massive star at its center is just as he saw in the dream. His detached consciousness notes that, even though he could not feel at all for the entirety of his journey here, the star's heat is exactly as it was that first time, so intense that he feels as if he is dying again.

He floats into the heart of the behemoth star, his corpse serving as fuel for its fire.