April 8, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 8, 1930.

In nearly three centuries of life, I have learned how to listen.

This morning, as the sun rose above the eastern trees, the wind carried the sound of voices to me. They spoke in a language I was unfamiliar with, and that, in and of itself, is saying something. I know nearly all the tongues of this world, and more than a few of others.

This language, though, was secret and dark.

I followed the hidden speakers, traveled down into a valley that soon opened and spread out into a compacted town. Some of the buildings I recognized from Cross, others were far too bizarre in shape and design, their form obscuring any hint as to their function.

I kept to the outskirts of this town and realized that it was nothing less than a necropolis.

Each winding street was lined with homes transformed into crypts, and mausoleums and aboveground graves filled the allies and the yards.

The voices, I realized, weren’t issuing forth from anyone I would see.

Not above ground and in the light of day.

Instead, I could hear laughter and song, the sounds of daily life, escaping the confines of the multitude of graves.

I stood on the outskirts of a town of the dead, and I knew that if I was close by at dusk, I might find myself a permanent member of the town.

As fear rattled my heart, I withdrew from the town and sought out some safer place within Gods’ Hollow to seek out the missing of Cross.

#CrossMassachusetts #horror #house #nightmare #fear #alternatereality #supernatural #scary #skull #gods

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

3 thoughts on “April 8, 1930”

  1. The pedant and linguistics geek in me wants to point out that Duncan essentially claims to know most of roughly seven thousand languages. Add that to his list of peculiar qualities.

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