Sunday, October 30, 2005

Just a dream

Back at home it is not easy to imagine myself back at that house. I left in something of a panic, after that horrible night when I found myself naked on the lawn just before dawn. Getting home was easy, in the end; but I had beeen worried that it would somehow follow me. Nothing, so far, suggests that it has. I had to abandon this blog for a while for personal reasons, but I have just time to mention that, despite everything, I may be forced to return to that house in the woods later in the year, towards Christmas.
One thing; I have not heard from any of the others since I left. Once again I am concerned that they may - still - be at the house, staring from the windows at the skeletal trees threshing in the wind. I told them that it was imperative that they left, as agreed, on Friday afternoon, and that on no account should they remain on those malevolent premises any longer than 5.45pm. However, I admit to a degree of concern.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Second time trying to post this. Bastard geist.

It is becoming increasingly diffilcult to function, in even the most rudimentary way, now that I have been back here two, three, five...? days. Nothing works normally. The weather, last week so ordinary, has taken a decided turn for the bad. Today, at lunch, we ate wordlessly, fixated as we were on the stormy skies, dark with intent, that clouded around the windows.
I cannot remember when I got here. The other guests seem as if permanent fixtures. Did they return to their homes, as agreed, at the weekend? Or did they surreptitiously remain here, absorbing and being absorbed by the PRESCENCE? Am I alone, surrounded by phantoms? By spectres, by ghouls? Or am I, on the other hand, consumed with a burgeoning paranoia which knows no limits, fed, as it is, by the dark woodlands which continually oppress the small clearing in which this decrepit manor house is situated?
I am unsure. I have never been less sure.
Until this afternoon I was I the grip of a feverish panic, a fervidly felt anguish that manifested itself as an unwavering certainty that I could vanquish the PRESCENCE. But it is not so.
I may write more later. I may not. The choice, alas, is no longer in my hands.

PS I tried to post this earlier, but the PRESCENCE has put it in the blog as if I wrote thisdays ago. It is the22nd October.

Defeated. Leaving today.

Last night was intolerable.
The PRESCENCE is using the electrical wiring system to get around the house; unsurprising, really, given the troubles that we have had with appliances. I was awoken at approximately 3am, finding myself suddenly wide awake, staring into the dark. "Is - is anyone there?" I whispered, praying that there would be no answer. However, the answer came, low and barely audible, sounding to me like a rasping wail, or a husky threat uttered as a monstrous ullulation. It was the word 'down'.
Just that. Nothing more. But the icy sweat poured from my brow as I sat up in bed, fumbled for the switch on my bedside lamp and grabbed for my gun.
(I don't know if I have mentioned this before, but I came equipped with a paintball gun loaded with phosphorescent paintballs. This was expressly to try to hit the ghost, and thus track its progress through the unhallowed halls of this ghastly woodland mansion.)
But my hand hesitated as it searched for the gun as, with a terrible, hollow shock I saw the room illuminated by the light. It was not my bedroom. I had awoken in the Brown Room, the room that was now locked from the outside, the room where the PRESCENCE gathered his infernal power.
Shrieking with fear, I leapt from the clammy winding sheets that tried to keep me pinned to the worm-riddled four-poster and made for the window. The rasping word "down...down" repeated again and again behind me, and after unlatching the window I scrambled out into the freezing wet autumn ivy which clambers over this dreadful place. Thankfully I got to the ground unharmed, and stood, naked, on the moonlit lawn gazing back up at the window of the Brown Room. There, in the moonlight, I saw the hooded figure, the lipless grin reflecting the lunar glare, the raised, cloaked arm, the pointing skeletal finger...

No more.

Doomed. Doomed, I tell you, doomed!

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Date/time continuum problems with blog. Rain.

This is my second blog today, and knowing the effect of the PRESCENCE on machinery, you can be almost sure that this entry will appear as if it had been written days ago. Not so! Today is19th October. It is dark, it is late, and it is raining.
I have spent the entire day working on my most elaborate hex so far. Things have gone well, and i feel as if I can sign off here tonight and be relatively assured of a peaceful night. The hex involved the drawing, in perspective, of a typically box-like suburban house, decorated on the gable end with a large painting consisting of a emblematic symbol. I then multipled the dwelling until I had an entire suburban housing estate.
After applying the requisite hurtling metors, positioned just at the point before impact, I felt the hex was complete.
I will write more tomorrow, if it works. Perhaps even if it does not.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

Relief to be away. Determined to return.

Leaving the house was not as simple as I expected. Late on Thursday night myself and one of the other guests attempted to photograph the PRESCENCE; this was an error. Problems started in the dining room, which is below the Brown Room (where the PRESCENCE was first noticed). After the truly bizarre discovery that my trusty Pentax K1000 would not function whilst my companion's Canon Powershot S70 did, we realised that it is only digital technology that is not affected by the PRESCENCE.
Emboldened by this discovery, we returned after fetching the video camera.
Something happened. We do not know what. But it was as if the continuity of the evening had been tampered with. When we returned, the dining room was... different. Chairs had been moved, the table had been cleared, and the heavy velvet drapes pulled in front of the dark windows. Candles guttered in an unfelt draught.
Heedless, we photographed and filmed, then retreated to the safer part of the buildings, where we looked at our footage. It was truly chilling. On film, the chairs had NOT been moved, the table reamined laden with the remains of our earlier repast, and the windows loomed blackly, uncovered by curtains. Most horrifyingly, however, were the two figures on film in that room: photographing, filming, whispering to each other.
We had somehow filmed and photographed our own (alternate) futures. We decided to get very, very drunk.
I cannot write any more at the moment.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Phones not working. Strange noises.

Things have taken a turn for the worse today. Last night passed without incident, but dawn did not bring the usual level of daylight. All day we have been existing morosely beneath a shifting blanket of dark cloud. It reminds me of the weird reflected light which one experiences during a solar eclipse. A fitful wind, seemingly wearied and distressed by the strange climatic conditions, tugs at the flowering shrubs and whips through the unkempt lawns of this misbegotten manor house.
We have kept all the lights burning in the house, and even so the gloom is palpable. The other guests took a break from their schedule and attempted to watch the television. However, no picture appeared, just a fuzzed mirage of indefinable figures and a horrible sound that was reminiscent of tortured screaming. Shortly afterwards we discovered that our telephones, both landline and portable, had ceased to function.
I had intended to return to my home tomorrow, as my bicycle is unaffected by the misfortunes which have now been visited upon almost every mechanical contraption here. The cars will not start, the washing machine and tumbledryer have packed up, and the cooker will not cook.
The monk has not been seen again.
One of the lower rooms is now host to strange aural phenomena; snatches of commentary, bleeps, repetitive thuds and a mournful wailing.
We will attempt to leave tomorrow, and intend to return on Monday, rested. I will try to write more later, as the icy temperature in here makes typing difficult.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Mind failing. Constant rain.

It is becoming increasingly diffilcult to function, in even the most rudimentary way, now that I have been back here two, three, five...? days. Nothing works normally. The weather, last week so ordinary, has taken a decided turn for the bad. Today, at lunch, we ate wordlessly, fixated as we were on the stormy skies, dark with intent, that clouded around the windows.
I cannot remember when I got here. The other guests seem as if permanent fixtures. Did they return to their homes, as agreed, at the weekend? Or did they surreptitiously remain here, absorbing and being absorbed by the PRESCENCE? Am I alone, surrounded by phantoms? By spectres, by ghouls? Or am I, on the other hand, consumed with a burgeoning paranoia which knows no limits, fed, as it is, by the dark woodlands which continually oppress the small clearing in which this decrepit manor house is situated?
I am unsure. I have never been less sure.
Until this afternoon I was I the grip of a feverish panic, a fervidly felt anguish that manifested itself as an unwavering certainty that I could vanquish the PRESCENCE. But it is not so.
I may write more later. I may not. The choice, alas, is no longer in my hands.

Mind failing. Constant rain.

It is becoming increasingly diffilcult to function, in even the most rudimentary way, now that I have been back here two, three, five...? days. Nothing works normally. The weather, last week so ordinary, has taken a decided turn for the bad. Today, at lunch, we ate wordlessly, fixated as we were on the stormy skies, dark with intent, that clouded around the windows.
I cannot remember when I got here. The other guests seem as if permanent fixtures. Did they return to their homes, as agreed, at the weekend? Or did they surreptitiously remain here, absorbing and being absorbed by the PRESCENCE? Am I alone, surrounded by phantoms? By spectres, by ghouls? Or am I, on the other hand, consumed with a burgeoning paranoia which knows no limits, fed, as it is, by the dark woodlands which continually oppress the small clearing in which this decrepit manor house is situated?
I am unsure. I have never been less sure.
Until this afternoon I was I the grip of a feverish panic, a fervidly felt anguish that manifested itself as an unwavering certainty that I could vanquish the PRESCENCE. But it is not so.
I may write more later. I may not. The choice, alas, is no longer in my hands.

Back again. Misty.

I tried to find a way to get here on my bike that didn't involve a seven mile hill. I found another route, but it involved a ten mile hill. Almost immediately upon arriving I fell asleep. The problem was that I lay in the Brown Room at the time, having checked it on my arrival for any continuity issues.
I awoke at 7pm, panicked, having endured an unusually vivid dream involving faceless hooded figures armed with semi-automatic weapons, determinedly chasing me across a golf-course studded with pylons, strung with high-voltage wires. Shaking the nightmare from my mind, I made my way downstairs, hoping I had not made myself late for dinner by my impromptu forty winks.
So far, everything seems calm. We are rested, and I hope fortified by our time away. Night has fallen, and the cold creeps in through the cracks in the windowframes. I hope for a quiet night tonight, as I am utterly exhausted by the extravagant gradients of these regions.
One observation; I wanted to check the videotape we shot last week, but somehow it has been erased. I asked if anyone had used the camera, but no. It is most mysterious.

Later. Very confused. Own fault.

I have spent the last few hours constructing an incredibly complex hexagram to placate the PRESCENCE. Unfortunately, I have been drinking red wine and the complexity of the hex has got beyond me. I hope that what I have constructed so far will do the trick adequately.
Rain has set in. The sentimental thought that it is the tears of the damned persists in my mind with the tenacity of 'Agadoo' by Black Lace.
About the gun, and the shooting of the unquiet monk:
I have requisitioned a paintball gun, and am extracting the glutinous pink dye in the balls and replacing it with ultra-violet ink. When the monk appears, the idea is that he/it will be pelted with ultra-violet ink from this semi-automatic compressed-air propelled weapon.
I do not know if this plan will work, and in any event I am too frightened to face the monk, and will have to persuade another of the guests to complete the task.
The night draws on.

In the woods. Twilight.

It has been made known to me that the PRESCENCE is, very possibly, the unquiet spirit of a monk, as it manifests itself at 3am, or None (the "ninth hour") in the nocturnal prayer cycle of the monastic community. The PRESCENCE apparently appears at the foot of the bed in the 'Brown Room' here. If the bed is occupied, the PRESCENCE will seize the sleeper and pin them down to the bed.
All this is very well, but the question remains; why?
I have been pondering these matters in the woods this evening, the drizzle trickling down my neck. I have come to the eventual conclusion that I will have to shoot this ghost, with a gun.
More later.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Late. Quiet.

I'm not used to this silence. It's impossible to tell what sounds are real and which aren't. I confess, I'm only here at the computer to take my mind off the fragmentary and fleeting fears that confound my attempts at sleep.
The more information I glean about these premises the more I think that there is something real but intangible behind these impressions. The night grows long.
I had stopped typing for some time, but I recommence to note that something in the air has changed. I cannot define it. It is as if hot air had been exchanged fot cold, or lavender-scented air exchanged for the smell of pines; but it is neither of those, and nothing that I can pinpoint.

At haunted house. Not scared.

After a long and mostly uphill cycle ride I have arrived at the house. Admittedly it looks as if it could be used in films etc. as a setting for a horror film, but the decor within belies this first impression. I was shown to the room which is believed to be the centre of the haunting, and it was offered to me as a sleeping quarter. I think not.
Some of the illicit pleasures here certainly seem conducive to sensitising the faculties, but personally I prefer to remain thoroughly alert. Although I confess that a draught of red wine seems very attractive now, in this icy domain.
I have not been here for long enough to be able to determine the nature of the haunting, but these facts are now clear:
1) The supernatural activity INCREASES as the local climate becomes COLDER.
2) The activity occurs between 2am and 3am.
3) It jumps on your chest.
4) I am not sleeping in that room.
In deference to my calling as a psychic investigator I am sleeping almost above the haunted room and will attempt to remain awake all night. I am entirely in the dark about the PRESENCE so far, but as far as I can ascertain the bulk of the house was constructed in the 1920s, although the original core dates back to the 1500s. Dark has fallen quickly here, but I am convinced that the epicentre of the haunting is in the older part of the house.
More tomorrow.

Lexden

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Just a dream

Back at home it is not easy to imagine myself back at that house. I left in something of a panic, after that horrible night when I found myself naked on the lawn just before dawn. Getting home was easy, in the end; but I had beeen worried that it would somehow follow me. Nothing, so far, suggests that it has. I had to abandon this blog for a while for personal reasons, but I have just time to mention that, despite everything, I may be forced to return to that house in the woods later in the year, towards Christmas.
One thing; I have not heard from any of the others since I left. Once again I am concerned that they may - still - be at the house, staring from the windows at the skeletal trees threshing in the wind. I told them that it was imperative that they left, as agreed, on Friday afternoon, and that on no account should they remain on those malevolent premises any longer than 5.45pm. However, I admit to a degree of concern.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Haunted

I'm just about to go to work in a haunted house. Apparently the paranormal activity increases as the weather gets colder; it's now 5th October, and this high pressure won't last forever. I'm not keen, but I have to go. The house is in the woods, surrounded by hills, and I'll be stuck there because I can't drive. Of course, I can walk away, or get on my bike, but I looked on the map and there doesn't seem to be anywhere to go. I'm going on the 10th. Five days from now. The best thing to do is spend some time working on my bike, to make sure I can get away if I need to. My bike's a bit broken at the moment; bad brakes, slow puncture, that kind of thing. Nothing I can't fix.