Ensorcelled in the Earth | CreepCast

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Welcome back to Creepcast.

Today we are reading in source

in source.

Take your time.

It's okay.

Sound it out.

One step.

We went over this.

It's okay.

And sourceled.

Ensorceled in the earth.

Sorry.

Sorry about that.

I even said it out loud properly before this.

I don't know why I had such a hard time.

Ensorceled in the earth, which is from the author of the previous episode that we've done or previous story we've covered called It Breathes, It Bleeds, It Breeds.

And what makes this so unique and so fun is that this story was actually posted on our subreddit, the R slash Creepcast subreddit, which is kind of cool where, you know, it would be really neat if

the Reddit could be a place kind of like R slash No Sleep where people can post stuff.

And I do see, we've seen other fans post stories in here as well.

So I think that it's probably going to be more common that we start reading stuff from actually our viewers or authors that come here and post stories as well, which is really cool.

Yeah, so the author of this story, his name is Travis Coleman.

He goes by Imperial Incentive on Creepypasta and here on Reddit.

He posted the story to Creepypasta and he posted it to our subreddit once again.

He posts a ton on the Creepypasta wiki.

He has his own profile page he keeps up that talks about new stories he's writing.

And we talked about it before when we covered It Breathes, It Bleeds, that he has a huge body of work.

Like this guy writes about a ton of different stories, ton of different horror concepts.

Which of course will have linked to his description, his page and everything.

So you feel free to check him out there.

But I also didn't realize then how influential this guy was in the creepypasta space.

Like, this guy wrote Fleshgate, which was a story that I heard passed around vocally.

That I don't even think I've ever read the original story, but this is the guy who wrote it.

And he also wrote some other famous ones I've heard of, like A Small Piece of Lead, Abraham's Dagger, Ad Nauseum, Ad Mortem, Ad Infinum.

Like, this guy has a lot of big stories under his belt, and he writes a ton.

So, him,

like, an author that we already know we like and is that prolific, posting his story to our subreddit is really cool.

We appreciate it.

I'm stoked.

And from the comments and stuff, too, it seems like

he hasn't written anything in a while.

So this is just something new that apparently he's been wanting to write.

So it's really cool that, you know,

getting the influence to come in and just be like, fuck it, I'm going to write a new story.

It's just a lot of fun.

It's going to be cool to dive into this new story.

Yep.

Yeah, I'm excited.

Do you want to read his author's note too?

Yeah, we'll read the author's note.

He says, hey, fam.

Just so fine to start out like a super tenth.

Sorry, fam.

Hey, fam.

This is going to be a weird one.

I've been meaning to write an abstract story about this topic for a long time.

I want to thank Junji Ito for the Enigma of Amegara Fault, banger, by the way.

Such a good one.

Cardboard computer for Kentucky Route Zero, another banger, by the way.

Blind Descent by James M.

Tabor, not familiar, and the late and great David Lynch.

I hope you enjoy it.

And then he puts content warning: claustrophobia, body degradation, and self-harm.

Seriously, please stop whatever this makes you uncomfortable, enjoy, which is

exactly what we want to die.

So that's awesome.

This has to be some kind.

I mean, as if we talked to, he says, let's go spelunking as well.

So, I mean, this has got to be a fun cave diving story, which you know me.

I love, I love a nice claustrophobic nightmare.

I have claustrophobic as high hell.

The cave stuff's fun, and then the

Enigma of Omegara Fault and Kentucky Route Zero are both like, you know, cave earth related.

Right.

So I imagine that's where he's drawing off of.

This is dope.

I'm very excited for this.

We've seen a lot of fan-made stories before, and there's kind of like

it's a weird place because we really want to cover him.

We really want to talk about him.

But also, if someone we know is going to be watching the show, I really don't want to be mean to him.

Hunter doesn't care to be mean to him, but I don't want to be mean to him.

So it's kind of like, you know, we want to wait for something special to come along to kick it off.

And now we have an author who we know we like posting, and this seems like a perfect opportunity to start with creepcast based story so i am very excited to get into it a creepcast original but not really creepcast it's his

only we had nothing to do with it absolutely not ours but nothing to do just a page on the internet creepcast original creepcast original 100 let's get it let's let's get it Let's get into it.

Be sure to continue to show us love on audio platforms.

Thank you guys for letting us crush Ben Shapiro and other political podcasters.

I don't even have specific beef with any of them.

I just need to kill everyone who is also on the leaderboard.

So thank you all for the support to show up over there.

Spotify.

Spotify.

Apple Podcast.

And even YouTube has a way of charting it now, too.

So we just appreciate the love and support there, guys.

Thank you so much.

And how about you get nice and cozy and let's get into the story?

Let's go.

In Sorceled in the Earth.

It speaks to me at night sometimes.

Most nights I lay bathed in the empty glow of light light from my phone, waiting for a message or comment to invalidate the sense of loneliness that has infused every aspect of my life since I got the news.

I've lost whatever spark was there that brought light into my life.

I don't feel at home in this world anymore.

Sometimes the voice is the only time I hear someone talk some days.

The voice is patient.

It never speaks out of turn.

It always waits for that precise threshold between the waking world and a fitful night of sleep to speak those honeyed words to me.

I wake up and rush to the bathroom.

I manage to make it to the toilet before the sickness spews out of me.

It's small victories like this that make the days worth living for.

The first few times I had to wash the bed sheets and steam clean the floor because I wasn't prepared.

But now I've mastered that ritual.

Get to the bathroom as soon as you wake up, flush the contents without looking at them, try to ignore the growing fear that something else is terribly wrong.

No fuss, no muss.

There's no need for doctors.

I already know how sick I am.

I've perfected the systems.

Vomit in the morning, wait two hours before eating unless you want to lose it minutes later, go to work and wait for something to change.

Wait for it to eventually get better.

I know nothing's going to change, so that's why I decided to seek out the source of the voice.

Like a magnet to a lodestone, I find myself drawn to it.

I find the epicenter far away from the civilized world.

It takes days to reach the location traveling through the desert by car, but the voice beckons me closer every night now, and I never stray from the path.

I sleep in the cabin of my car.

It's easier than a motel.

In the morning, I simply open the door and spill bilus and red-flecked vomit onto the dry sand and cracked earth and drive away.

No pesky cleanup.

No one to worry over it.

At the end of the third day, I reach my destination.

I know what this place is the instant I see it.

It's an oasis after days of sand and sun being my only companion.

I look at my phone, seven texts, five miss calls, one voicemail message that is three minutes long, and a 26% charge left on my battery.

I don't bother to check any of them.

I turn off my cell to conserve those last precious minutes.

It's too late to turn back.

That door is shut to me now, but another one is opening up.

This place is a message.

This place is part of a system of messages that want me to listen to what it has to say.

It demands my attention, and I give it freely.

It is hidden away from the rest of the world like a pearl peeking out from the silt of the sea.

Only I can see it amongst the floatsums and jetsam.

The only barrier preventing me from delving deeper is a single chain draped across the entrance to a mind with a warning sign.

I trespass it easily and step away from the light of the day into the darkness of the earth.

As I cross that threshold between the waking world and my final destination, I can hear that the voice is sending me a message.

This is the first time I've heard it, heard her clearly.

The message is important, but it feels like it's only being transmitted to me.

She says, I'm here, waiting for you.

So

he lost something.

At the beginning, it says, since I've had the news, the lights left for my life.

I don't feel at home in this world anymore.

And then he begins to vomit after the voice is heard.

I also like that the voice is capitalized every time it shows up, like it's a proper noun.

And now he's personified it as a her.

So I could be off, but it sounds like he lost a loved one, right?

Because he says, waiting for a message to invalidate the sense of loneliness since I got the news.

So perhaps like a loved one side and now like a woman or like a romantic figure is being personified at the bottom of this cave that he's traveling to.

Yeah, I mean, it seems almost, I mean, I could be wrong as well, but there was a couple pieces there that that was interesting.

Like when he's like, he throws up in the morning, he doesn't look at the contents, goes on, you know, he's basically being sick, but then he starts going to more details about like red, flaky.

It almost sounds like he's...

afflicted by something, you know?

Like, I don't know if you read it the same way, but it's almost like if he looks at the contents in the bowl, it'll fuck him up or something.

Not even the fact that it's gross, but there's something like

abnormal about even the throw-up.

It doesn't even seem that he's like throwing up a human amount or like it's just his bile coming up.

It's like there's a thing in it.

Like there's extra.

Yeah.

There's something about like the red flex and now he can't look at it.

He has it down to a science.

Stuff like that.

It's like, it's like he's physically sick, but in a supernatural sense, if he doesn't do what the voice wants him to.

Right.

I linger at the threshold between the sun and the dark for a moment longer than a standard blink.

I lie and tell myself that there's nothing left for me here.

I feel the magnetic pull calling me deeper.

But still, I hesitate.

Should I check my messages and see who is trying to reach me?

No, I want to conserve the batteries.

It looks dark in the mines, and I always have had a fear of the dark.

The thought stirs up a memory from my childhood.

When I was six, every few weeks I would creep into my parents' room in the dark of the night and stand by my mom's side of the bed.

I was too scared to sleep in the dark of my own room and too terrified to wake her and disappoint her by telling her that I'm afraid falling asleep.

As a result, I would stand by her side of the bed and hope that she wakes up on her own and asks me what's wrong so I don't have to feel like I'm bothering her.

Sometimes I would stand there for what felt like hours, waiting for her to save me from my paralysis of that indecision.

That sounds like, that immediately sounds like something you did as a kid.

I did do that, actually.

I'm not even joking.

I would get freaked out of my room.

I would stand my, I would stand my mom or I'd like go really close to her.

I'd be like,

and she'd like fucking freak out.

I'd be like, what?

Because I'd be so close to her face.

Or I would go into her room and I would sleep on the floor next to her bed in the morning.

She would like step on me and I'd be like,

and she'd be like, oh my God, I'm suck.

But the biggest thing was, I was like, I'd be freaked out.

I'd go and I'd whisper to my mom, but I didn't want to wake up my dad because I knew if my dad woke up, he'd be like, what the hell?

Oh, dude.

Yeah, like

raise hell for sure.

Yeah, I did that all the fucking time when I was younger.

You got to strategize how you.

You really do.

You have to strategize how you're like, I'm going to die of a heart attack.

I'm so afraid of my room of whatever.

You know, it could have been a dream or who knows what it is.

But yeah, going into the room, really, like, slowly turning the fucking, the door so there's no sound of that.

My dad also had like this industrial fan that would be blaring in there.

So it'd be like this huge like wind tunnel in the room.

And And yeah, I'd just be out to my mom,

mom,

mom.

Yeah, she would freak the fuck out.

It always felt terrible.

And the funniest part is you curling up on the floor like a dog.

I did.

Like a shihhtzu or something like that.

I literally curled up at a ball.

My mom would wake up in the morning.

And, you know, you're...

You're small.

You're just a kid.

You don't think...

No one like looks at the floor before they get out of bed or whatever.

So yeah, she would step on me.

I'd be like, ah!

Or my dad would get pissed because my dad would wake up really early for construction work and he'd be like, What the hell are you doing here?

What do you think you're doing?

What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?

That's probably why your grandfather tried to shoot you.

Yeah, that's probably why your grandfather accidentally shot the dog because, you know, you two look so much alike.

I bet you that wouldn't surprise me at all.

If you were like, yeah, it turns out I was one of the kids.

I wore like the ears and the tail.

Like, I would bark at people at school.

I wish I had the courage.

I wish I had an emblance of courage like that, dude.

I'm not of a coward.

Maybe your grandpa was trying to save us.

Maybe fucking maybe, dude.

Maybe.

Just go to God.

Just go to God.

I'm not gonna go.

Come on.

Maybe if I can kill him before he becomes a sinner, I can save him.

I can save all of them.

I've given him four bars of chocolate, but he hasn't died yet.

Oh my god.

Yeah, your grandpa kept leaving the door open and stuff like that, hoping he'd run away.

Yeah.

Hold on.

Get.

I should get lost in the woods.

I really shouldn't have left.

I don't stand at the entrance of that mine for hours, paralyzed by indecision.

It takes seconds to make up my mind.

Without any more hesitation, I tuck my phone into my jeans and venture into the darkness without checking my notifications or listening to that message.

It's an obvious choice.

It's clearly August and the air to the mine is welcoming, cool in comparison to the stale heat of my shipbox car whose AC broke down years ago that I never got around to repairing.

I begin walking into the darkness and I leave the world behind.

The air is thick with particulates and motes of light flitting amongst the darkness that plays off the sun.

The light behind me illuminates my path downwards, but with each step forward, forward, my world grows darker.

The mine looks like it has been abandoned with dust, building on equipment and spider webs occasionally acting as an ethereal barrier to entry that catch in my hair and make my skin crawl.

Each step takes me slightly downwards along the sand and shifting earth.

I feel my feet slip out from me and I catch myself before I can roll my ankle.

If I'm not careful, I can easily injure myself here.

But it just isn't my environment that is a danger.

It isn't just difficult terrain.

Something is wrong with my ear.

Tilt my head to the side and I feel something dripping out, staining my shirt.

Ataxia washes over me like a wave and mixes with the cochlear fluid.

This could be enough to make me turn back, but what will I be returning to?

Who is waiting for me after what I did?

Why didn't I go?

No one's going to miss me.

I continue my descent.

I walk in a drunken zigzag further into the darkness, deeper into the depths.

The world sways back and forth.

No matter how hard I try to focus and swallow down the nausea, it rises back up in my throat.

I'm dizzy but determined.

I've come too far to turn back now.

I have to go further into the mine.

That's a, I used to get really bad earaches when I was a kid, and I remember like, I don't think I was ever to the point where like my ears would be dripping fluid, but I remember feeling like they were full of something and like the overwhelming pain.

It was like it was like a debilitating headache also going further and further into a claustrophobic nightmare where your equilibrium is fucked up and you're nauseous would be not a vibe

would not recommend

it's almost like he was throwing up and now he gets closer and now his ear is dripping and he hears the voice louder it's almost like he's changing as he gets closer and closer to what the source is it's reminiscent of

well i mean i may be a little biased because it also involves a cave, but it reminds me of, like, in Greylock, those workers who went into the mountain, you know, and became those beasts down there.

But it's also very reminiscent because it is like,

I'll say it for you, Lovecraftian.

Treat me like one beast, you know, don't get me dirty.

That there's a there's a voice in the mountain that's calling them, and they like feel the need to like long after it.

Um, it feels very, what's the word cosmic.

It feels like some greater entity beneath.

Cool.

As I wobble deeper into the growing darkness, I notice that the walls, which I couldn't reach with both my arms outstretched, are slowly starting to close in on me.

An unnerving sense of being underground is growing while the tunnel ahead is narrowing.

After a few hundred feet, I can touch the sides.

I turn back and look at the entrance one last time before continuing on.

The opening is a pinprick of light amongst a sea of dark.

I am so so far from home.

The light of my phone screen illuminates my path forward.

I keep scanning the darkness, expecting the light to catch the reflective tapidum.

The reflective tapidum

lucidum of a coyote?

Oh, like their reflective eyes.

I see what it's saying.

Okay.

But there's no animals here.

Even they avoid this place.

The only creatures that seem to be thriving here are the spiders, as I bumble into another web and I can feel it crawling through my hair.

I brush it free and prepare myself for the dark.

My battery won't last forever.

Turn my phone back off 22% and swallow down the fear of the darkness.

Claims my surroundings.

And that

just to keep walking.

This is going to get rough.

I can already feel it.

I just, I'm already

the more Eddie gets the worst.

I'm starting to get like a lump in my throat.

I keep like swallowing.

I'm like, oh, God.

I'm just picturing the also too, the idea of having like a low battery, and it's like, that's my flashlight.

I'm like, bro.

The only way I can see is this.

Didn't charge it up.

Didn't think think about even a five dollar one at the gas station out front well you know what that also kind of shows is that he doesn't plan on coming out is what it seems like to me well it seems that he's depressed because he's like who would miss me back there like he's giving himself to whatever he's walking into surely and also like

it

him talking about what i did I still think he's talking about like a loved one, but he associates some personal guilt to it.

So it's almost like, it's almost like a suicide in a way, the way he's describing it.

Like, no one will miss me.

I just have my phone.

I'll walk into the corner.

I mean, it reads like a suicide note for sure.

Yeah.

But I can already tell it's going to get rough because he's like, I'm throwing up.

My ears are dripping.

I feel spiders in my hair.

And we're like five feet into the cave.

The cave continues to shrink.

Further on and deeper still, I bang my head on the stalactites above and I realize that the tunnel is not only narrowing, it is shrinking in diameter.

Oh no.

Oh no.

This is going to be some Ted Decaver stuff.

I didn't even see the stalactite before I hit it.

It's too dark in this place.

I pause in the darkness to try and still my heart.

I try to distract myself from the rising panic attack by focusing on the air current.

If a cave is deep enough, it has its own pressure system of shifting air currents as they flow from high to low pressure.

If a cave is large enough, those currents can almost be mistaken for breathing.

That thought makes the fear worse and when I realize that my panic isn't subsiding, I hang my head and continue further.

Yeah, like that.

The way it's,

I feel like I'm in a breathing thing.

And then he's like, my fear is worse.

And I'm about to have a panic attack.

I push forward.

Yeah.

I mean, it's like a punishment.

Yeah, it's like a punishment.

And like, he's almost being compelled against his own will to be, to keep walking into it.

Yeah.

I know as I hunch my shoulders to prevent the stone from scraping into my skin that this place is not a place of honor.

Ooh, I like that.

That felt that felt right.

That made me all tingly inside.

Wow.

This is the only way forward and the path to my destination is not going to be made easy for me.

Soon I'll have to crawl on my hands and knees if I want to progress deeper.

This place is trying to prevent me from reaching the voice.

Everything in my body tells me that no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here in this place.

Nothing of value is here.

So why do I keep delving deeper?

Why do I keep on going?

It's a question that I've asked myself far too much.

The only difference between asking myself back then and asking myself now is the answer.

Now I don't have an answer.

I feel something dig into my knee and I use my phone to look at the misshapen rock.

I'll have to be careful or I'll shred my hands and knees crawling forward.

I'm my phone down the depths, hoping to see an alcove or opening, but the path only constricts down like a blood vessel.

I am drawn to the depths like a magnet to a lodestone.

I am summoned to to it like a sheep to the slaughter.

Oh, oh, this guy.

This guy.

You remember those closing lines of it, breathe, it bleeds, where it's like in my final moments, I'll say I love him or whatever.

Like, just such a good cap.

This guy,

he hit me with like that saxophone, but it's a pin.

I feel it.

He's getting me good.

I like it.

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Now, back to our episode.

I have to put my phone back in my pocket as I can't drag myself on my belly and shift through the narrow gap ahead of me.

Trapped in this tight space, I can feel one of the many spiders I displace by walking into their webs, exploring in my environs, my hair.

I can't brush it free in this claustrophobic crawl space, so I have to endure.

I can't raise my head to look down deeper into the darkness without hitting my head on the cave ceiling.

I have to lie prone and crane my neck if I want to see what lies ahead of me.

Not that the darkness shows me much.

I try not to think of the tons of rock above me that could crush me should the earth will it.

Why do I keep moving forward?

I had friends.

I had family.

I had.

A thought breaks through the darkness.

Who called me and left that three-minute voicemail?

I try to reach back to retrieve my phone and check, but a horrified realization makes its home in my head like a spider setting up a new nest in my hair.

I can't check.

My phone is in my pocket and there isn't enough space to maneuver my arm to reach it now, and I can't back up.

Was it my brother?

Did he want to know why the hell I wasn't at the funeral?

Maybe it was my sister.

Did she just want to tell me that everyone grieves differently, but I had to open up to them that they loved me?

Is it a voicemail from the last time I ever missed a call from my mom?

That thought is stripped away from me by the panic when I realize that the space is so tight that I can't expand my chest fully to draw in air.

I try to calm myself, but the darkness and claustrophobia of this place makes it difficult.

If I panic, I might do something stupid.

Stupider, that is.

I need to calm myself by controlling my breathing.

I have to steal away oxygen from the moist, oppressive air through shallow breaths.

I push my feet off the ground for leverage and I wriggle my body further into the ever-tightening depths ahead.

I try to ignore the fact that I have to inhale to move forward and every time I exhale, I let out a little more dead space for my lungs.

I pretend that I can't feel my heart beating in my chest, scraping up against my ribs.

The stone and the earth around me needle my stomach like tiny deciduous teeth.

They chew tiny holes in my shirt and pants.

They nip at my heels and usher me forward and deeper.

A dark thought worms its way into my brain and won't subside until I acknowledge it.

It feels like I'm being consumed.

I have entered the mouth of this horrible place and am now being chewed by the rocks and stone of this place.

If I keep going onwards, am I going to drop into the vast dark of this cave's belly?

How far have I come?

A quarter a mile?

A half a mile down?

I am become like one of the eight spiders that Americans eat in their sleep.

I know that's a myth, an untruth, misinformation that insists itself into our deepest fears and now can't be excised from our minds no matter how hard we try.

There's a horrifying power in belief.

A tiny little lie about eating spiders in your sleep from PC professional blossomed into an incontrovertible fact.

It was people's acknowledgement of this fear that gave it life, gave it presence, gave it purchase to crawl its way into our world, and now it's an accepted part of reality.

And even though it's not true, belief can make something real, give something form,

give her power.

Okay, gosh, bro.

Like comparing

the way he's thinking about how he's being digested and comparing it to the myth, you know, the whole Americans eat eight spiders in their sleep or whatever.

And talking about how it gets to a point where simply the belief of it makes it legitimate.

And then he's like, it gives her power and he's tying that back to the voice that's been mentioned a couple times before and now that's like a myth that's stuck in his head it can't get out and now we see also in that quick mention that he didn't go to his mom's funeral it seems that the death he missed a call from his mom that maybe would have saved her life so he feels responsible for her death and that's why he's here it's just this is yeah i'm a fan i'm like yeah i mean the

so claustrophobic so uncomfortable even the way that he even the way that he gives the cave or the mine i should say a a uh

a living soul like i mean talking about how the it's contracting and going down or tightening like a blood vessel the cave's breathing the tiny teeth the uh the the belly of the cave like it's it's giving it to be like he's basically being consumed by a monster right now it's just yeah it's so uncomfortable it's it's i i the entire time you're reading that i just found myself i was like kind of like

like clenching my chest like oh god like i really feeling like i'm trapped in there too almost like whenever someone's telling you about something horrible like is he's like i can't even take breaths like it felt like my chest was pressed up against those rocks too

yeah it's brutal it's like um

the direct tie especially with the consumed part reminds me of uh final prayer right oh 100 yeah

it it directly goes but it also like reminds me that there's this youtuber named jacob geller makes these great youtube videos talking about like different horror scenarios but he made one called fear of the depths where he talks about like the horror of cave diving or like the worst stories with caves.

And he has this one section in it that I has always stuck out in my mind.

He talks about how like caves have a natural waste system where like, you know, things that die in the cave or whatever are excreted like through the channels or through waterways.

If we view the cave as a superstructure, it brings in like nutrients through like the minerals and the rocks.

Right.

It has like these microbes that live in it that act as an immune system.

Effectively, it's as if the cave itself is one giant living thing that simply isn't made up of cells.

And I think about that a lot when I think about these horror stories with caves and him talking about being digested reminded me of that.

There's such a horror to it.

It's so alien.

It really is.

I mean, cave diving is

considerable to me as like fucking diving deep into the ocean.

It's just like the unknown of something.

Also, two caves are people.

Caves are so oddly intimate, almost like a home.

You know what I mean?

It's like you're kind of like breaking into a house almost.

Yeah, yeah.

There's this feeling of like you're not supposed supposed to be there yeah

what do you think of people who water dive in caves have you seen that oh my god when they're moving the tanks along isn't that insane care like pushing your oxygen tank through there

god man how the fuck do you get into those hobbies it's crazy

I like, have you seen all those memes on like TikTok and stuff where it's like a man with four children and a loving wife at home?

And it's like he decided to go down the lava death tube

after this.

He had two paths.

One that led to his backyard where his wife was waiting with dinner ready.

The other that led to Satan's anus.

He goes down Satan's anus.

I catch myself and shake myself free of that thought.

Even if there isn't enough space to actually shake, I'm just tired.

If I don't manage to get some rest, I'm going to fully break down.

I realize sleep is coming for me and I cannot deny it any longer.

I can't crawl back out to more comfortable space.

I'll have to sleep here and pray that this crawl space has an exit.

Just before I pass out, entombed in the earth, I hear her.

I'm here, waiting for you.

I've been trapped here ever since.

I wake up in the pitch black and for one glorious moment, I think I'm back in my bed and prepare for my morning ritual.

I jerk awake and try to move, but the earth has embraced me, pinioned me, imprisoned me.

Wants me to face what is happening to me.

There's nowhere to go, but the sickness still comes to me.

The sick seeps out of me in explosive wretches that scrape my spine into the surrounding stone and drive my face repeatedly into the ejected ingestia.

I can't ignore the bright red clots in the yellow bile now that they're right in front of my face, on my face.

What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us, but it calls out to me and I sway forward to its siren song because I've already come so far.

I drag myself forward through my own mess and let it smear over my shirt and jeans.

As I leave it behind me, I numbly think.

No fuss, no muss.

Make it a few yards before my other morning ritual comes calling.

I can't turn to let gravity expel it away from me.

I can't shimmy down my pants.

It has waited in GI stasis for hours, but it will be denied no further.

I am going to shit myself.

My body ejects

so gross.

Oh, God.

My body ejects it out, and I feel bits of me escaping in the deluge of diarrhea.

There's something solid and elongated, like strips of cloth in the movement.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,

there's no need for doctors.

I know how sick I am.

He is, okay.

A dark laugh bubbles up within me, but is smothered by the enroaching earth.

So the only thought that comes out is: I'm shitting out rope worms.

Oh my god.

Oh, oh,

I don't like this hunter.

Jesus fuck.

My god, dude.

For a second, I thought he said he was like, he was crapping out like intestinal lining, but no, it's worms.

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COVID was stealing his breath from us and we had to watch as he desperately clawed it back with gasps and and wheezes that never seemed to give him any relief.

He didn't need quacks.

He could take care of himself.

Silver bullet from the sickness was MMS.

Miracle Mineral Supplement was what the snake oil salesman called it.

Chlorine dioxide was what the rest of us called it.

Industrial grade bleach.

He's going to cure himself of the sickness, purge himself of this impurity.

God, man.

My dad.

Drinking, basically, drinking, basically,

basically, God, can you imagine actually having like a bleach concentrate thing that you're drinking?

Like,

dissolving himself in the inside.

Oh,

uh,

and like, there's a lot of these people who like get a lot of flack for taking like supplements, but if you're dying and you don't think there's any other option, uh, sure, I don't really blame sick people for being desperate.

It's just, it's, it's, it's the, it's the faith.

It's trying to get uh, yeah, some kind of ounce of like being able to sleep with, you know, having something to believe in in this time or something to

latch on to, you know?

Like, I mean,

how can you blame someone?

I just want to be fucking better, you know?

I probably shouldn't tell this story.

He'd be, I don't want to embarrass him.

He had the right intentions, but my dad, one time,

we had,

growing up, we had a neighbor.

They were a good friend of ours who had cancer.

So my dad, God love him, was trying to like find all these remedies and like things to help her, to make her feel better.

But he was afraid of like giving her anything.

So anything that he found online, he would try himself first before he recommended to her, which is kind of like if you're going to recommend something to a sick patient,

making yourself try it first is kind of sweet.

Yeah.

And I

don't know what rabbit hole he got into online, but he read a bunch of stuff about you need to oxygenate your blood.

Like the more oxygen you put into your blood, the better.

So he read something that said, like, it's really good if you take hydrogen peroxide, like if you take drops.

God.

So one day, I didn't know about this.

One day, I'm like eight, maybe.

I walk outside on the back porch, and dad's doing yard work.

They're like, hey, dad, can my friend come over?

And he looks up at me.

There's just foam running down his face.

Oh my God.

Did you think he was a fucking zombie or something?

What the fuck?

What would you think?

Like, Dad, are you okay?

And he's like, yeah, I'm just, I'm just, my mouth is kind of dry a little bit.

Glass of Sprite.

Don't worry about it.

And it quits.

And then at the same time, we had company over already.

And one of dad's friends walks out.

He's like, oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

Hey, Jerry.

Beautiful day we're having.

Just like tons of foam just like gushing out of his mouth.

So wait, does he still do that?

Or no?

No, no.

No, that was what, I think that was the day he tried it.

And he did.

Oh, my God.

How did you, how do you even swallow that shit?

Well, he didn't try enough.

I don't even think he swallowed it.

I think he like dropped it on his tongue.

And that's what caused his like mouth to

that's what caused his mouth to foam up.

I feel like now when I see your dad, he's going to have like a purple tongue or his tongue's going to be permanently green.

He's like, so about peroxide.

Let me tell you.

The funniest thing is dad

did this like years ago and I'd kind of erased it from my memory.

And then like a year ago, we were talking about it and my mom brings it up and I'm like laughing at him.

And my dad, and my mom's like, well, it's not, it's not like he,

you know, took anything he wasn't supposed to.

It was like an herbal supplement.

Like it was a label he he found online.

And then

from the next room, my dad goes, pure pool grade hydrogen peroxide.

What a Chad.

I love that.

He's like, no, I got it at Lowe's.

He's like, no, I died.

Yeah, I didn't even go to a pharmacy.

I got it at Lowe's or Home Depot.

I love your mom being like, I mean, you know, it was...

It was a kind of a weird mistake, but he's just like, I got the good shit.

I got it.

I got the best stuff they ever see.

They give hydrogen peroxide to dogs in vet clinics to make them throw up.

Yeah.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I love that.

And my dad's like, two drops in your tongue, and you'll see angels.

The funny thing is that.

He looks at the dog.

You're not getting none.

The funniest thing was

he took two drops and he's like, time to go dig in the yard.

Yeah, exactly.

All right, I better start digging those holes.

Daddy?

daddy could you stop digging your holes we have company

forget about it leave me be

the idea of going out though and actually seeing your dad like foaming is such a haunting like that would

that had to have had a lasting like a lasting impact

probably but my dad like it was not uncommon for me to be in the house and then I'd walk outside and dad would be like hanging out of a tree and he's like I'm putting a swing setup like I'm a monkey there

There was always some bit going on.

I would come out some days and he'd just have like weird animals that is like, the guy at the hardware store gave me this and it's like a squirrel that's biting him or something and then runs off.

His name's Chim Chim.

He's a beautiful squirrel.

He knows how to write skateboards.

Yeah, that would be.

Your dad to your dad sounds like he rules.

You would like him.

He's absolutely chaotic all the time.

Anyway,

back to the story.

I didn't mean to get sidetracked.

My dad made it into teas and tinctures to treat the burgeoning tragedy building up inside him.

He'd add water to it, saying, Dilution is the solution to my pollution.

That's 100% something, Dad was.

I was going to say, like, I had to read that in your dad's voice.

I was doing.

That's so eyes, eyes completely glazed over, like acid yellow, foaming from the mouth.

Dilution is dissolution division hey isaiah

you're just screaming crying in a corner you have like a little uh you have like a hawaiian shirt on too in the corner curled up in a ball come on

let's play catch

one of the funniest a couple years ago me and my dad were out skeet shooting And I know we're getting sidetracked, but we were out skeet shooting.

And we had one of those automatic throwers you hook up to a battery to like you know watch your ski doubt yeah and it jammed up so dad goes over to mess with it and he frees it but it flies out and like the metal inch hits him in the forearm

and it dugs it like dug a trench out of his skin oh sure and it was cut so bad that when you looked into it it like once it quit bleeding you looked into it and it was darkness and you could see like his tendons and stuff down there it was like an open gap in the skin so the rest of the day, he's walking around holding his forearm in front of him, just looking straight into it.

And like, someone would say something, be like, yeah, yeah, sure, whatever.

And he's just staring.

And every now and then, he would flex his hand.

And we were driving.

I was driving somewhere, and I'm like, what are you doing?

He's like, I can see stuff moving.

And then he does that for a few minutes.

And then he puts his arm down and he looks at me, goes, Isaiah, I think I'm sick.

it's like we quit doing that what do you want you have an open womb never went and got it taken care of now that it just says

of course not yeah of course of course not

surprising to drop hydrogen peroxide on it it's going to oxygenate it make it feel better i got to put it on my tongue it'll heal my arm

exactly yeah make me stronger anyway like some looped morning matins and vexing vesper every 12 hours for weeks a discredited facebook doctor inundated his audience with rhymes and catchphrases cooked my father's brain, and convinced him that he could cure himself with one simple solution.

Doctors during gastrotomies and enterotomies often lavage and suction out the area with lactated ringer saline, saline.

They do it to dilute and remove ingestion that can cause infection in the body cavity, which is their solution for the pollution of stomach contents contaminating the area.

My father didn't lavage the sickness out of him.

He scalded his stomach.

He chemically seared his intestines and scoured away his rugia and mucosa.

He called what he was passing out of him rope worms.

Oh, so it is pieces of your intestines.

He thinks it's rope worms, but yeah, I see.

Because he's like, he's effectively like killing the intestinal lining in his gut and it's coming out of him.

Yeah.

Gross.

He told us it was the parasites leaving his body.

It wasn't.

It was his damned intestines sloughing out of him, and he was too blind to accept it.

Please believe me when I tell you that I tried to convince him to stop.

Please, I tried.

By the time we dragged him into the hospital, he was feverish and ranting.

The doctor told us what was happening as clinically as possible.

Commensal bacteria that normally exist in the stomach took advantage of his ulcered stomach and began to proliferate.

It nested inside him, and his body was too weak to fight off the infection.

Why did I let this happen?

It took seven days for him to die from sepsis.

A dark thought worms its way out up from the memory of my father's flush and feverish form on that hospital bed as he begs for more MMS.

Do I look like someone who's dying?

He'd snap.

Just a little bit more and I'll be as right as rain.

It was the last lie he told me as he asked for one more tincture.

To my great guilt, I relented.

He was being eaten from the inside out by bleach he repeatedly drank.

In the end, he barely had the strength to talk and the fever robbed him of any coherency.

I was being consumed from the outside in by this place.

How long would it take for me to die?

Seven days, seven hours?

Ugh,

I won't let that thought eat away at me.

I squeeze and scrape myself deeper into this crevice and leave the macabre memories behind.

I feel the thoughts get caught on the sharp, stony smiles around me and unspool like yarn as they are pulled from me with tireless traction.

This place scrapes away these scabbed and painful events and allows the rot beneath to be exposed.

The guilt of being a terrible son is torn away and replaced by dull hurt.

I don't know if that last bleach concoction is what shuffled him off this mortal coil, but sure shit didn't help him.

My memories of my father slowly slip away with the last one behind my earliest recollection of him.

Dad was taking away my night light and telling me that I was too old for this and that I had to be a man.

I was four.

I guess that's why I always sought out comfort on my mom's side of the bed when the voice first began to whisper to me and scared me from my sleep.

Drag the memory of my mother forward as the immense pressure of this place cracks my phone and it sounds exactly like a heart breaking.

I remember the sound my heart made in my mind when I got the call about my mom.

The voice is ahead of me.

I just have to keep pushing forward.

As I claw my way forward into the cloistering darkness, I know that I am approaching the sound of the voice.

My nails chip in fracture as I pull myself further into the abyss.

She is down there.

The matronly voice is in a particular location.

The voice increases the closer I get to the center.

It sounds so much like my mom, but she's not her.

She's a mother to a different sort.

My way back out has been barred to me.

If I even try to back up, the perpendicular rocks jab into me and hold me in place.

They are chthonic, koanal, papilliae, like the maw of a predatory bird of prey that prevents me from wriggling away from this place's gluttonous gulch.

All that wording.

Chthonic is in reference to Cthulhu, right?

Like darkness, depths, the CH.

Yeah, yeah, definitely.

That door is shut to me now, but another one is opening up before me.

I know that I don't have much longer in me, but I know I have to go deeper.

I will find her at the bottom of the world.

I love that line.

Poof.

Man, this story is intense.

I begin my final descent, my final expedition towards the bottom.

I know full well what this place is going to do to me.

The danger here is still present.

It was present in ours, and this danger will exist here far into the future.

The danger is to the body, and it can kill.

I just have a little further to go, and I will be there.

Did I always want to punish myself?

For what?

For being a bad friend, being a bad brother, being a bad son.

enveloping darkness whispers to me.

I mark my progress in hours and over feet.

Each foot is a hard-won victory as I press myself down into the earth, deeper and deeper.

Foot by foot, I crawl downwards into the depths and feel my path constrict around me.

A sharp stone catches my shoe and I shuck it loose and leave it behind.

I shimmy loose as fabric is shorn away and my clothes are nibbled away by the rocks into nothingness.

The path constricts tighter and tighter as I feel hundreds of tiny needles slide into my scalp and carve swaths of my hair off on the surrounding stone and earth as I push onwards.

I hazily wonder if the blood from the shorn scalp will help lubricate my path forward.

It doesn't.

It clots on my skin and the scabs are torn away by the gravelly ground.

I leave the scalp behind as I continue my descent towards the origin of the voice.

I move forward against the resistance and feel the pressure of this place bearing down on me like the acknowledgement of a being too massive for me to even comprehend.

Man.

I continue crawling forward, inch by inch, into a time that is stretched interminable by the claustrophobic surroundings.

The diameter decreases even further, and the stones press indents onto my flesh, leaving tiny little white lines on my skin that soon transition into red streaks, which send searing signals to my central nervous system.

The surrounding earth steals my voice from me because I can't expand my lungs enough to scream.

What comes out is a reminiscent rasp.

Hurts.

Those were my father's last words, and now they belong to me as well.

It is the only inheritance I deserve from him.

Oh gosh, I'd like, ugh.

It's the only inheritance I deserve from him.

Ugh, baby.

That's a great line.

The smothering soil closes in on me and squeezes into my nose, ears, and eyes.

I breathe this place into me.

I take them with me as I drag myself deeper.

Centimeters later, eternities pass by and I spiral lower.

I feel the earth scrape against my eyelids.

Oh, God, please no.

The point of a pebble pressures into my pupil and my compulsion to push on does the rest of the work.

It ruptures like a great release of pressure.

Oh,

vitreous and lacrimal fluid leave tiny little rivelets from my enunculated eyes down my flint's flesh and sting my exposed muscle.

Oh,

oh,

she calls to me.

I yearn to meet her form like a spark being cast off a campfire towards the sun.

That spark will never join the sun, but they are ascending and I am descending.

I will find my shining sun in the darkness of this place.

Does it almost read a bit too, Isaiah?

Just curious, does it read a bit almost like a guy being reborn?

Does it almost not seem like him being stripped away of like his humanity here, like being stripped away of like like his hair and stuff?

It's almost going into like an infantile state and he's like hearing this maternal voice calling to him almost like he's like pushing through like a birth canal.

Doesn't it feel like that a little bit?

I think that's a good call with the birth canal and the mother thing and stuff.

To me, I also see that the digestion thing seems more, it's like the walls of the cave are doing like a mechanical digestion, like ripping his skin apart, ripping his eyes across and stuff like that.

Like it's like a more, like you were saying, physical way of breaking down the body or whatever.

Yeah, yeah, mechanical.

Yeah, yeah.

It's more literal.

But I think what you're saying was like his hair is being taken off.

His clothes are being removed from him.

Even just like puncturing his eyes, like no eyesight.

It's like being in a womb, whatever, going through like a birth canal kind of thing.

Well, it may be from Job in the Bible, but the quote,

naked came I into the world, naked I shall return.

Or there may not be Job, maybe somewhere else.

But yeah, it's very similar to that like

a birth canal being passed through.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Well

also the sense of time not really being established here really makes you think this it's almost like an eternity like this moment, this

fleeting moment.

It kind of, you know, it reminds me of too, not to get too derailed as well, but it's almost like when it's like, when you die, you live like, you live like an eternity.

Like whatever, like your brain or something like that.

Like flashes before your eyes.

Exactly.

Like that kind of thing.

It almost feels like being in this place is like the eternity is squeezing through this tunnel inch by inch inch whatever foot by foot and it's just like there's no perception of time anymore it's like it's it's all irrelevant to the experience the guy's going through right now it's just it's very torturous you know like it's like uh yeah yeah

in the even like thinking even about like a birth canal like a baby being pushed through a birth canal is like such a claustrophobic kind of like probably torturous experience not only for the like mother but then even like the child being like pushed through and pulled out.

It's just, I don't know.

I really, it's just grotesque and it's haunting but at the same time so many like great lines here so many great lines be like oh god like i almost want it like to be a fucking back tattoo on your or you know what i mean something like just like a really motivational kind of weird lines yeah yeah i agree i think it's um

it's it's an interesting point like the the brutality of like the beginning of life now there's a brutality in the end of it

it's also like There's something about choosing to remove your eyes that feels like a point of no return.

You You know, it's like I don't need them down here, so to speak.

Well, it's just completely stripping away like the things that give you the human experience, you know?

Yeah, like, I mean, the scalp is an intense thing, but to get rid of your sight, your

voice, he can't even scream.

He has no voice.

It's just the only thing he can do is hear the things going around him, like, hear his body kind of scrape against these things, which I'm guessing that's going to be affected too soon.

Yeah.

She calls to me.

I yearn to meet her form like a spark being cast off a campfire towards the sun.

That spark will never join the sun, but they are ascending, and I am descending.

I read that line a second ago, but I thought I hadn't.

That line about the spark being cast towards the sun is great.

Millimeters scour away the flesh from my bones.

How am I still alive?

Shock should have set in by now.

Without muscles, how do I drag myself forward?

Tendons tear away like...

Tendons tear away like overstrung cello cords.

I don't know how I persist and I don't care.

My teeth are twisted and torn from me.

I crawl over them and allow them to join the constantly chewing choir that is waiting for more supplicants.

Oh man, what a bit of a fucking line.

That's so good.

That's such a good one.

Constantly chewing choir, waiting for more supplicants.

Every bit of me that catches on the entombing earth is scraped away and left behind.

Dad was inside out, and I am outside in.

Just a little bit more.

It's so close.

What a banger line there, too.

They keep dropping.

Dad was inside out and I'm outside in.

Motherfucker came out with just hitting home runs left and right.

He's like, yeah, I haven't written in a while.

And he's just like, let me dust off some gold.

Jesus, isn't that crazy?

Man.

Just having these ready to go.

It's like, I don't know.

I guess I could dust off these giant gold bars I have and see if what I can make of it.

Like LeBron James stepping back onto the court.

Yeah, exactly.

I guess I couldn't weekly.

Yeah.

Nanometers onwards, and my marrow and nerves trail behind me.

I hollowly wonder how I can still go deeper.

How can I lose even more of me?

One thought screams through the agony.

This was a mistake.

I didn't see what I was leaving behind.

Everything I was leaving behind.

Everyone I was leaving behind.

Deeper and deeper, still.

I realize that I've delved too deep.

I passed from the light into the dark, and now I can't ever go back.

It's too late.

My shreds are summoned forward.

They surge against the surrounding stone and are stripped clean.

I am inexorably drawn downwards.

I never should have left my family without telling them that I loved them.

They loved me and I never told them.

I've gone too far.

I'm too deep.

Please, I want to go back.

I don't want to do this.

I don't want to go deeper.

No, please help me lower I am pulled Mom save me.

I love that cutoff also for people that like don't read the The formatting here is you have to scroll down almost like in like it's a fun way of participating in him falling like a fall.

Yeah, it's like a fall down.

Yeah, I become aware of my surroundings after what feels like an eternity Whatever bits and baubles left in my being shimmer amongst the unfathomable abyss like sunlight glimmers playing off the waters of a vast and unending ocean.

My existence has been rendered ephemeral and oddly incandescent.

I slowly feel myself sinking down deeper into this pelagic and pernicious place towards the ocean bed.

I am at the deepest depths.

She rests among the ocean bed, waiting for me.

I don't need to wait by her bedside for her to rescue me from this waking nightmare.

I don't need to stand by Mother Knight for hours waiting for her to wake up and notice me.

She embraces me willingly and readily.

I stay wrapped in her yawning void as I feel whatever last bits of me that I could truly call my own slough off and disassociate till I have been rendered down to the very smallest atom that is waiting to be cleaved.

Swaddled in the absolute darkness of that place, I feel her hand caress the very core of my being and I shudder, knowing that I am home.

I am a seed planted in the furrow, waiting to bloom into a magnificent mushroom cloud.

I am a spark seeking immolation.

She whispers to me in our embrace, the full message that I've been hearing my entire life as she wraps around me like a gnarled witch's fingers.

I'm here, waiting for you.

I've been trapped here ever since your ilk beat your swords to plowshares.

Once they called to me, They worshiped me.

They sacrificed cattle in my name.

They shrouded it under the guise of science and crept onto ranches in the dark of the night to perform field necropsies of their sacrifices.

They studied my influence on their lymph nodes.

I have seeded them with something beautiful that was bound to blossom.

They were horrified by my light.

They mutilated my creations and tore me out of them.

They cast me away into dark, but I decay far too slowly for them to ever forget about me.

I will never fully rot away.

You answered my call.

We're going to show show the world something beautiful, something blindingly bright.

But love is going to radiate out of us and bathe the world in its glow.

Soon, my child.

The entirety of my being has been scoured away and reduced to naught but a cinder of humanity.

That is not inconsequential because even the tiniest ember can trigger a devastating inferno if her hands pluck it away and place it amongst the right kindling.

I yearn to burn.

I am incandescent.

No need for doctors.

I already know how sick I am.

Soon I'll show my light to the world in a violet chain reaction that ignites the oxygen in the atmosphere, and we will all finally know the light of Mother Night.

I love you, Mother.

And that is the end.

Man.

Man, what a bro.

Okay,

that last sentence was great.

Okay.

I have been trapped here since your ilk beat your swords to plowshares, which, for one, great.

Oh, man.

So saying that, like, the people that came before you, like,

I was trapped ever since you chose the sword over harvesting, over help, right?

Ever since you chose to fight.

And it says, once they called me, they worshipped me, sacrificed cattle, shrouded it under the guise of science, and crept onto ranches in the dark of night to perform field net crops on their sacrifices.

So it's like

the science, it's not just the essence of like some ancient god.

It's equating some ancient god or the way we would talk about them to like science or understanding, which similarly harkens back to his father and his father like using like evils of science or like

basically.

Yeah, in the name of like healing himself or discovery and then denying it.

It's like this is this is the bad side of discovery.

The Pandora's box we keep looking over says they studied my influence on their lymph nose i had seeded them with something beautiful that was bound to blossom and they were horrified by my light they mutilated my creations and tore me out of them it sounds like he's talking about like the atom right

yeah or like the the essence the smallest the smallest thing that you can work your way down to right because he's talking about like it had influence on their lymph nose horrified by my light mutilate it's it's like it's like the thing at the base of everything like the the fabric of science, right?

Yeah, well, I mean, it just feels like, it almost feels like faith or something, does it not?

I mean, it almost reads like a spiritual essence of like taking, taking that, taking that element out of the equation, but it's something that like, you know, is so ingrained in us that it can't just like immediately be forgotten about.

It's something that kind of like is slowly fading, but is still around.

You know what I mean?

Does that make sense?

Yeah, it makes sense.

I think there is some literal connection to like radiation or atoms because when he says they cast me away, because he says she's in the darkness, he says they cast me away, but I decay far too slowly for them to forget about me.

Nuclear waste is thrown in the ocean and like nuclear capsules have been sealed and dropped down there with messages on them saying not to open them until dates hundreds of years in the future.

And that I decay far too slowly for them to get about me sounds like literal radioactive decay.

of like, you know, the, how long until the atoms become safe to be around.

They were horrified of my light.

I will never fully run away.

You answered my call.

And then he talks about how it will create a fire, a devastating inferno.

It's almost like in discovery of science and in discovery of looking for things, we have awakened these beasts that used to be peaceful, but as soon as we traded swords for plowshares, we brought it into the world.

It's kind of like the idea with figures like Oppenheimer and stuff like that.

Like they opened Pandora's box.

They found the unspeakable, like something we were never meant to discover, you know, like the dangers of radiation science.

And now it's become manifested.

He's been around it his entire life with things like his father, and now that is the essence that cries out to him that calls for him to come back.

I mean, the idea of too often incandescent.

I mean, it does read like fucking radiation, doesn't it?

No doubt for doctors, I know how sick I am.

I mean, uh,

at the very least, at the very least, oh, that would explain why he,

oh,

oh my gosh, that's also why he's throwing up.

whole thing is the whole thing all of that's radiation

radiation poisoning yeah well not just maybe not just radiation therapy but i mean like radiation burn yeah like experiencing it all that stuff about if he had cancer or something

the eyes rotting off the the skin sloughing off stuff yeah those are all symptoms of like severe radiation poisoning yeah i imagine i imagine that he's like i he probably has cancer he's getting radiation uh treatment i know how sick i am exactly no i'm sick i don't need doctors I know I'm going to die.

That kind of thing.

Very interesting.

Way.

It also seems like something maybe hereditary that was passed down from his family.

Like, it's been something that's kind of trickled through.

He didn't call his mother back.

Yeah.

None of that.

Yeah.

It was like all the also, too, it's like the thing of like leaving people before you want to.

Like he should have stayed and tried to maybe get treatment or something

to get better.

That kind of vibe.

The suicide note aspect of it is him basically not wanting to to participate in that,

I guess, that kind of regiment anymore.

It's him basically just being like, I'm going to go down this path and there's no coming back,

is kind of what it feels like.

But that's, I love that if that is the case, I love that it isn't like, uh,

I don't know, it isn't spelled out.

Like, to me, like, it like forms that larger picture right at the end.

You know what I mean?

I wonder what, too, I wonder what the, I wonder what the mother of the night is, then

or mother.

I think that's

it may be a term from somewhere else the way he says

mother night

i think it goes back to the light like the fire that appears at night

or like the darkness of the abyss he's going into

mother night

um

takes

story as a novel

Well, there's there's a book called Mother Knight, but I don't think it has any issue.

I don't think it has any connection to what he's talking about here.

It's about a spy.

I don't know.

Maybe Mother Knight's talking about like the fire at night, or maybe just like the, because he refers to it as a maternal figure because he lost his and he feels guilty over it.

Just like the darkness he's seeping his way into.

Back to the Mother Knight, which also...

Having a maternal figure he sinks comfort for in the night is a callback to when he was a child and sat

by his mother's bedside.

Right.

I don't know.

Man, the story just feels so deep.

I feel like I need to.

What's to say, it feels like something you need to sit on, but it also feels like something

in a good way of being able to revisit it with that knowledge now and being able to pick things up again.

There's a lot of things with reading things for the first time that I feel like kind of go over your head whenever you're going because it's like the signs aren't there.

But now being able to go back through as a more informed reader, the signs along the way are going to be more prevalent.

They're going to be much brighter to where

it'll keep forming a bigger, cohesive picture as you get to

re-ingest it into your system.

He's very funny, too, because he's going through the author, he's going through the replies on Creepcast, and

he said, Joke, y'all are ungrateful.

You can't even appreciate the Domi Eldritch mommy I gave you in this story.

God.

This is good.

This is good.

Like the way he wrote, some of those lines were great.

The only inheritance I deserve, or like a spark seeking to rejoin the sun.

Oh, oh, that's great.

I think it's multilayered.

I think you can view it as literally someone grinding himself as he goes down into the earth.

I think you can think of it as like a metaphor for like discovery and science as it applies to like radiation, stuff like that, or just like someone joining an ancient entity that he reveres as his mother at the center of the earth.

It's one of those things where every once in a while you get one of these stories where it's a really tight,

like no-fat story that just is like a huge punch in the gut and then leaves.

With some of these stories, you know, I love, I think that the majority of our viewers too and listeners want these like long, long stories, but I always do have such a huge appreciation for somebody who can just do a whole picture.

in just such a digestible time.

I feel like that's a very hard thing to do.

Also, too, there's not a lot of beating around the bush.

It's just being like extremely straightforward.

To me, it shows like intention and it shows like

a person had a plan and they stuck through it versus like kind of lollygagging around through stuff, you know?

Yeah.

But it was awesome.

I think that was dope.

And it's the first thing that we've read from like the actual creepy or from R slash Creepcast story.

This makes me nothing.

It makes me want to just read more.

I mean, it makes me just want.

I hope this inspires people to just be like, fuck it.

You know, because at least from what I know, I don't think that we don't really run the

server or whatever,

the room.

But

I think that it's much more lax in terms of like

it doesn't have to be a figure posting the story.

Yeah, you don't have to.

I guess I want to say, sorry, I'm brain farting.

But yeah, basically, it's just like, I hope this encourages people to just be like, if I've ever wanted to write something, then you should just fucking do it, dude.

And the whole thing, too, is allow people to read things, be constructive of it, and also just be creative and get out there and just write something that you're stoked on, you know?

I mean, this to me is, I love that this guy was like, you know, I haven't written it in a while, but fuck it, I'm going to write.

Something inspired him to be like, I'm going to put it on here.

And I think that's so sick.

I think it's,

you know, obviously R slash No Sleep does this too, but, you know, we have a bunch of people who have come to the subreddit lately who are interested in telling short horror stories and like talking about them.

So I think it's a good place for people to talk about, you know, know, and post their own work.

Now, I don't think that we're going to be able to get to all of them, of course, and we may not see all of them, but there's a lot of people in the subreddit who like short horror stories and like talking about them.

Oh, yeah.

You certainly have an audience there.

Yeah, exactly.

I mean,

I think it's just a matter of enjoying the process, enjoying that kind of creative outlet, you know, and doing it for yourself and not for like the attention of other people and all that kind of stuff.

So I think it's just a great thing.

This is awesome.

What a great fucking read, man.

The last couple reads we've had, it's been kind of a bit of a, you know, it's nice having one where the entire time I feel like I was just clutching my, I feel like I was clutching my hands.

My hands got all sweaty and the claustrophobic aspect of it, but then it's just so beautiful.

The eyes and then the scalp coming off of the scab.

But the dialogue or the lines are so beautiful.

I mean, it was like almost fucking poetic at the end, but not enough to just like really take away all of the journey.

It was just this nice little cherry on top.

You know, I really, I really, really enjoyed this one.

This was, this, I had a great one.

I had a great time reading this one.

Man, my fucking brain sucks.

But thank you all so much.

Thank you all so much for listening to Creepcast today.

We appreciate you.

Please do click the links, support the author, check out the other stories.

And also, like I said, check out the It Breaths, It Bleeds, It Breaths.

If you haven't listened to it yet, we read that one as well, and it was awesome.

So we do have that episode up as well.

And also, thank you to everyone who's listening on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, all the places where you can listen to podcasts.

We appreciate you.

And until next time, everyone, stay creeped.

Stay creeped.

Be sure to check out the author in the description.

He deserves it.

In which case, of course, you didn't like this story, which means you're dumb and don't click on his link.

Instead, call the police.

Bye.