It's hard to want to wake with the way his head is feeling. He screws his eyes shut and almost slips back into unconsciousness, but a voice, no, two voices bring him back to the surface.
It is an argument, a man and a woman, over what he hasn't the slightest inclination to care, he just wants to think without his whole head protesting. His head moves slightly back, into the wet moss on the tree. It is heaven, but the voices reach him again, still unintelligible, but too loud to ignore. He thinks, he dares, he opens his eyes. A man, no a goat, no that's probably a man, stands there, arms moving animatedly as he argues with a woman, no, THAT woman. La Diablesse, she's here again, and for the first time he notices the sturdy bamboo cane she carries.
With a final exclamation she looks over the goat-man at him, quickly feigning sleep, and leaves in a twirl of skirts and loud curses. Immediately the atmosphere changes. He is brought back to the small room with the dog in his mind. The man emanates danger, capriciousness and cruelty. Joseph wonders if he will be worse than the dog. He wonders why he associates the two so easily, he wonders why he can see the moss and worms growing from the old man's beard, oh, he's standing right there.
"Finally awake my boy" not a question, Joseph manages to gurgle and choke out a sound, it probably sounded like "Jablesse" what the uneducated kids called the Devil-Lady.
"No need to fear, I made it very clear that you are under my protection" he says, in a tone that could be almost fond, if any of his expressions had any human comparison.
"Who are you?" The words actually come this time and of course Joseph knows the answer already, "Papa Bois, Father of the Forest?"
"And many other names besides" he smiles, his teeth as gnarled and brown as the roots of a tree.
"But isn't the Lady your wife?" Stupid question again, he really loves pissing off gods doesn't he?
"I think you are smart enough to know that it is not so simple as that"
"Then, what did she want with me, what do you want with me?" A dangerous question, but finally the right one.
"You are having troubles, are you not? A large black dog, has a taste for human blood?"
"How did you know?" Of course he knows, he's a god. A god of animals no less.
"You are a very strange human, boy. The dog is none other than Dee Baba, the Ghostly Slaver, he is trapped in his animal form by your sedating him with blood, tell me, how did you know that blood would put him to sleep?" The old man is curious, but the edge under his words unsettles him.
"I don't know"
"Do not lie to me boy!" And there it was, the anger, literal crash of thunder, Joseph could relax now, Old Papa Bois had shown his hand.
He didn't take kindly to Joseph visibly exhaling, and then he was not there at all, just a thousand different assaults from all over. A Stag butted him, the breath forced out further, spitefully, a wild boar gored his leg, cloth, flesh, fat, and muscle all parting like water. And the birds, crows, ravens, all pecking and scratching will single minded intensity.
Joseph exhaled again and Papa Bois came back, smiling again, "You are indeed a very odd little boy, but a natural Obeah I think"
No more stupid questions, Joseph decided, Obeah was the medicine man, he knew that. Just the one,
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to be free of the Slave Dog" that wasn't all, but it was all he was going to get.
"And how do I become free of it?"
"You kill it" Dammit he was dragging out the questions longer and longer, and Joseph knew he had little consciousness left.
"And-and how do I kill it?"
"Hit it with a stick until it stops moving" and he could not hold on any longer, he was gone back to darkness.
He did not remember being moved, but the next time he awoke, the pain in his head was gone, and he was sitting in a pool of warm water, wait, no, he was sitting in the water filled coils of a giant snake.
"Hello young Obeah," hair like a silken sea breeze caressed his face, "I am Maman Dglo"
A/N: So now we have most of the main players at the table. Papa Bois is to me a fusion of the natural aspect of The Convocation, and the dark-self attributes of The Mother of Snakes. Maman Dglo on the other hand is the literal Mother Of Snakes and Water, but represents more to me healing, and duality of natures (the destructive/constructive capability of water). Finally La Diablesse will show a lot of the jealousy of The Unnamed Child. Hopefully you might start to see where I'm going with the tonal shifts, and once again, feedback would be the greatest!
Thursday, 11 April 2013
Second Impression - aka Chapter 1
As much as it is a truism, it should probably be said a story that details the giving of one's blood to appease a demon dog on a weekly basis doesn't leave the best first impression.
I am happy to report that as it would turn out, I am (probably) not as crazy as I previously thought.
I guess introductions are an order, I am Joseph Bayeux, born and raised in Blanchisseuse, Trinidad. Until recently, yes, I was donating my blood through probably not the most sanitary method to keep a giant black dog from wreaking havoc on my town. No, no one asked me to do this, yes the dog really did exist.
I'd say my life has gotten simpler since the dog or as I later came to know him, Dee Baba, was killed, but I would be lying. Since then I have become the prize of a three way battle between the local gods, and my current patron wants me to save the world. Well, he didn't put it in exactly those terms, but the total eradication of fear? That's like asking for world peace or something. Or so I thought.
Turns out, fear can be killed, no, not with hope or some other bullshit, with sticks actually, magic sticks, and lots of blunt force trauma.
First, the dog. Or Dee Baba, whatever you want to call him, it.
After a particularly taxing session, I was headed back to my house, limping really. I stopped to rest in the shade of a tree and soon fell asleep. I was woken by the sound of someone coming up the steep muddy road. It was an old lady, well, not actually old, but her clothes were right out of the portraits they hang in the summer houses they rent out to tourists at the end of my street. Frilly lace, long, layered skirts, and a hat so ridiculous I couldn't help but laugh.
Evidently she must have heard me, because as she passed I got the worst cut-eye known to man, and that's including my grandmother. She passed me by without a word, but then called over her shoulder, "Naughty boys who play with dogs will get bitten!" Needless to say, I didn't have an answer to that. I made to get up to follow, but she was already out of sight, on a straight road, that went by a harvested sugar cane patch. If I wasn't already creeped out by her words, her footprints would have done it, there lay in the fresh, untrodden mud, one human foot, one cloven hoof, one human foot, one cloven hoof, lather, rinse, repeat.
When I got home I would like to say I ran to my granny and told her what I saw, but really, I googled it. An hour later and I was reasonably certain I had been visited by La Diablesse, and she apparently knew about my dog problem.
Now any normal person would have rationalized the situation, and gone about their business, me? I went back out looking for more tracks. I found tracks, two cloven hoofs instead of one, and being in the most definitely clear state of mind that I was, I followed them.
There last thing I remember was the sound of a bamboo reed swishing through the air.
A/N: So this is going to be my big project! I have decided to take all the Trinidadian mythology I was exposed to as a child, morph them into Fears, and have my hero then hit them with a stick. Sorry if the tone is giving you whiplash from the previous story, but I kind of meant to do that? It may have plot significance later and prepare for more tonal whiplash later on.
I am happy to report that as it would turn out, I am (probably) not as crazy as I previously thought.
I guess introductions are an order, I am Joseph Bayeux, born and raised in Blanchisseuse, Trinidad. Until recently, yes, I was donating my blood through probably not the most sanitary method to keep a giant black dog from wreaking havoc on my town. No, no one asked me to do this, yes the dog really did exist.
I'd say my life has gotten simpler since the dog or as I later came to know him, Dee Baba, was killed, but I would be lying. Since then I have become the prize of a three way battle between the local gods, and my current patron wants me to save the world. Well, he didn't put it in exactly those terms, but the total eradication of fear? That's like asking for world peace or something. Or so I thought.
Turns out, fear can be killed, no, not with hope or some other bullshit, with sticks actually, magic sticks, and lots of blunt force trauma.
First, the dog. Or Dee Baba, whatever you want to call him, it.
After a particularly taxing session, I was headed back to my house, limping really. I stopped to rest in the shade of a tree and soon fell asleep. I was woken by the sound of someone coming up the steep muddy road. It was an old lady, well, not actually old, but her clothes were right out of the portraits they hang in the summer houses they rent out to tourists at the end of my street. Frilly lace, long, layered skirts, and a hat so ridiculous I couldn't help but laugh.
Evidently she must have heard me, because as she passed I got the worst cut-eye known to man, and that's including my grandmother. She passed me by without a word, but then called over her shoulder, "Naughty boys who play with dogs will get bitten!" Needless to say, I didn't have an answer to that. I made to get up to follow, but she was already out of sight, on a straight road, that went by a harvested sugar cane patch. If I wasn't already creeped out by her words, her footprints would have done it, there lay in the fresh, untrodden mud, one human foot, one cloven hoof, one human foot, one cloven hoof, lather, rinse, repeat.
When I got home I would like to say I ran to my granny and told her what I saw, but really, I googled it. An hour later and I was reasonably certain I had been visited by La Diablesse, and she apparently knew about my dog problem.
Now any normal person would have rationalized the situation, and gone about their business, me? I went back out looking for more tracks. I found tracks, two cloven hoofs instead of one, and being in the most definitely clear state of mind that I was, I followed them.
There last thing I remember was the sound of a bamboo reed swishing through the air.
A/N: So this is going to be my big project! I have decided to take all the Trinidadian mythology I was exposed to as a child, morph them into Fears, and have my hero then hit them with a stick. Sorry if the tone is giving you whiplash from the previous story, but I kind of meant to do that? It may have plot significance later and prepare for more tonal whiplash later on.
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
Don't forget to feed the dog - aka Prologue
Scars look pretty, he thought to himself, and it was a good thing he did, his arms, his chest, his legs, all riddled with lines of unidirectional tissue. Sometimes he goes over an old one, the sensation is different, little catches like bumps in the road, the blade skips and trips, the drips come unevenly.
He's beyond pain or pleasure in this ritual now, first pain, then pleasure, now, now what, why now? The growl jolts him back to close enough reality. Oh, yeah, that's why.
The old line reopened, but not enough flowing he adds another, and another, and-no, that should be enough. The drops hit the metal dish. Tang, it's the best descriptor, both in sound, taste, and smell. When the blood stops tang-ing and starts plopping, he lifts his arm. He makes to leave and another growl fills the air.
He stops, those kinds of scars, the ones its gives, aren't pretty, they're all jagged and uncontrolled, not smooth lines or artistic spirals. It wants more, how? He can't give much more, another growl, okay he can give a lot more. Ten pints more, or a half pint more, it's his choice. He sits back over the bowl, and reopens the triskele, his favourite, his work of art. It gives readily, and soon the dog's tongue is licking greedily at the bowl, making the liquid inside slosh back and forth.
He promptly goes unconscious. When he awakes the bleeding has stopped, he isn't so stupid as to cut deep enough to kill himself, and the dog has fallen asleep. He gets up, puts his clothes back on and exits the small room.
Back to everyday, he thinks. He has given up on trying to tell if the dog is real, if what he is doing is saving anyone else from harm. It doesn't matter really, every week the bowl is empty, licked clean, and he can hear the dog awaken and growl in his mind.
Whether the obsession is his or the dog's he doesn't know. But, he thinks as the scabs form to crackling perfection, he doesn't really mind either. Thinking he has to keep some demon dog appeased gives him a purpose. In the unlikely event that he isn't crazy, he's actually a hero, and that's kind of cool.
A/N: So I wrote this quickly just to generate something to post, umm I sort of took the idea of obsession behind EAT and the form of the black dog and crossed them into unholy matrimony? Love it hate it? I really would appreciate some feedback.
He's beyond pain or pleasure in this ritual now, first pain, then pleasure, now, now what, why now? The growl jolts him back to close enough reality. Oh, yeah, that's why.
The old line reopened, but not enough flowing he adds another, and another, and-no, that should be enough. The drops hit the metal dish. Tang, it's the best descriptor, both in sound, taste, and smell. When the blood stops tang-ing and starts plopping, he lifts his arm. He makes to leave and another growl fills the air.
He stops, those kinds of scars, the ones its gives, aren't pretty, they're all jagged and uncontrolled, not smooth lines or artistic spirals. It wants more, how? He can't give much more, another growl, okay he can give a lot more. Ten pints more, or a half pint more, it's his choice. He sits back over the bowl, and reopens the triskele, his favourite, his work of art. It gives readily, and soon the dog's tongue is licking greedily at the bowl, making the liquid inside slosh back and forth.
He promptly goes unconscious. When he awakes the bleeding has stopped, he isn't so stupid as to cut deep enough to kill himself, and the dog has fallen asleep. He gets up, puts his clothes back on and exits the small room.
Back to everyday, he thinks. He has given up on trying to tell if the dog is real, if what he is doing is saving anyone else from harm. It doesn't matter really, every week the bowl is empty, licked clean, and he can hear the dog awaken and growl in his mind.
Whether the obsession is his or the dog's he doesn't know. But, he thinks as the scabs form to crackling perfection, he doesn't really mind either. Thinking he has to keep some demon dog appeased gives him a purpose. In the unlikely event that he isn't crazy, he's actually a hero, and that's kind of cool.
A/N: So I wrote this quickly just to generate something to post, umm I sort of took the idea of obsession behind EAT and the form of the black dog and crossed them into unholy matrimony? Love it hate it? I really would appreciate some feedback.
While you wait
While I'm figuring out exactly what to write using the veritable universe that the Fear Mythos has given me, for your amusement I will list as many bones in the human body as I can off of the top of my head
-Cranium
-Parietal (l&r)
-Frontal
-Occipital
-Sphenoid
I just realized I could copy a list of these things and you would never know.
I'm going to stop talking until I come up with a story, for both our sakes.
-Cranium
-Parietal (l&r)
-Frontal
-Occipital
-Sphenoid
I just realized I could copy a list of these things and you would never know.
I'm going to stop talking until I come up with a story, for both our sakes.
Oh, Warning
I do poetry, and it is really bad, and sometimes when I am not in my right mind, I post it. Fair warning, there will be bad poetry on this blog
Welcome!
Welcome! (again) This is the blog I will be using for all of my Fear Mythos Stories, until my life and writing get inevitably too complicated and I am forced to create new ones. But, yeah, stories, things like that, may appear, soonish?
Lagahoo
Lagahoo
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