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April 10, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 10, 1930.

I have known fear in my life, and today I was frightened.

I discovered a path that curled around the eastern edge of Gods’ Hollow, leading into the morning sun as it rose and burned off the fog. For nearly an hour I walked at a steady pace, pausing to listen and to look, to seek out signs of the missing.

After nine, I stopped and heard my name.

A soft, beckoning recitation of my first, middle, and last names. Sweetly spoken, a fine, darting needle piercing my heart and taking control of my limbs. Hardly conscious of my own movements, I stumbled along the path, following the voice.

It was the voice of a woman, an elegant and cultured creature who’s tone and form was reminiscent of my youth, when the Indians still raided, and America had not broken away from her King.

The path dipped down and revealed a crypt, a great iron door sunken into it and clinging vines growing up and around the hewn granite. The name ‘Carter’ was emblazoned above the door, and here, her voice grew stronger.

My fingers itched, and my muscles jerked as she bade me to free her, to open the door and to let her out.

Did I not want her lips upon my throat? Did I not long for her breath against my flesh?

I did.

And when I realized what it was that I wanted, I broke free of her.

At that moment, her furious scream shook the Hollow in its entirety.

Birds took to the air, and in the distance, I heard sporadic gunfire from the militia.

I tore grass from the earth and clamped handfuls of the stuff to my ears as I fled her prison.#CrossMassachusetts #horror #house #nightmare #fear #alternatereality #supernatural #scary #skull #gods

April 9, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 9, 1930.

The stench of decay nearly overwhelmed me when I approached Gods’ Hollow this morning.

A strong wind carried it to me and set the militia members to vomiting.

For three hours, I followed the scent, until I came upon a great and decrepit structure. When I neared it, I found a battered sign proclaiming it to be the Church of the Living God, built in 1907.

Far more than 27 years had passed since the building’s birth, and the sight of its haggard appearance was a reminder of the curious way in which time moved through Gods’ Hollow.

The wind shifted as I stood before the Church, and I hoped that with the change of direction the stench would go with it.

I was not fortunate in that regard.

The smell neither decreased nor increased. It remained as it was, and I sought out the explanation for it.

When I approached the steps, the odor magnified and set my eyes to watering. It was there, at the first step, that I paused and cleared my vision.

And it was there that I saw what the building was constructed from.

Great blocks of rotting flesh.

A black ichor seeped from old wounds, and maggots writhed within them.

Bones peered through rent skin, and the windows were bereft of the eyes they had once housed.

The Living God was no more, and I took my leave of the rancid corpse.

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

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

April 7, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 7, 1930.

I came upon the ruins shortly after sunrise. A chill emanated from them and set my teeth to chattering.

I knew the sensation from old when the sepulchers would open in Old Cross Cemetery and spew forth the dead.

My Colts were cleaned and loaded, but I would have no need for them.

Someone had come before me and dispatched the dead with a firm, unyielding hand.

I found the bodies within the ruins, each corpse trussed up and hanged by the neck from the cornices of Corinthian pillars.

Men and women, children and dogs, all long dead and recently destroyed. Their heads were smashed and what little remained of their brains dripped in a nauseating rhythm to the mossy stones beneath their feet.

In the end, I counted forty-seven bodies, and when I reached the last – the corpse of a middle-aged woman with sickly yellow hair – I found a note.

Destroyed this day, April 6, 1930. Duncan Blood.

I did not know whether to be comforted or frightened by the knowledge that another version of myself was wandering Gods’ Hollow.

I put the question from my mind and made certain my pistols were loaded.

The weapons stayed in my hands.

I know how fast I am.

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

April 6, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 6, 1930.

I came upon the dugout late in the day, and I smelled the corpses far sooner than I saw them.

The air was tainted with decay and the burning sting of nearly spent gas.

War, it seems, had come to Cross, though not to my Cross.

They were Germans, these dead men, and they had died badly. A section of their trench had been destroyed, the high explosive artillery round destroying their dugout and throwing dirt around the bodies. I don’t know how long they were there, in the April sun, but none of the insects had found them, nor had any of the scavengers.

I recognized the uniforms and the weapons, and why wouldn’t I? I had fought the Germans for the better part of four years, throwing them first out of France and then from Belgium.

And here they were, having landed in some other when.

I sat down on the edge of the dugout and considered the corpses for some time. My mind followed the trail of how it might have occurred. Perhaps France had capitulated, or Britain had. Maybe Canada had turned against Mother England and allowed German troops passage down into New England.

The possibilities, like realities, were endless.

Finally, as the sun eased towards the horizon, I stood up and gazed down at the bodies. Beneath my feet, I could hear the sound of shoveling, and I wondered if any of the Germans buried alive below me would see the light of day again.

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

April 5, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 4, 1930.

Rarely have I seen something so terrifying as what I observed today.

I stumbled across the small pond shortly after ten this morning. The area in its entirety had been removed from the Wellington House only a year ago this coming August.

No one suffered from the disappearance of the pond, so I felt I could readily approach it.

This was a mistake which nearly cost me my life.

When I neared the water, the creatures which issued forth from its dark depths were far more hideous than any others I have encountered. A noxious odor surrounded them, and their breath was the stench of the grave. Their teeth were bore a disturbing resemblance to sharks, and their eyes were the same, flat black of those great fish.

Water rolled off their naked flesh, flesh which shimmered in the morning light. Their skin was dark green and oily to the touch, a fact I discovered as I fought for my life.

There was little time to reload my pistols after the first dozen shots, and I used the butts as clubs.

I tried to retreat, away from the water, but they were intelligent foes, turning me back toward it as I sought my escape.

In the end, it was the sun that saved me.

The approach of the noon sun was too much for them, and it drove them back into the water, leaving me wounded and furious on the forest floor.

I managed to return home, and when I visited pond again a little before dusk, I poured oil upon the water, and set it to burn.

It is burning still, and I can hear them screaming.

It is, quite simply, music to my ears.

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

April 4, 1930

From the Gods’ Hollow journal of Duncan Blood.

 

April 4, 1930. I have found Thornhill’s School, a private academy that vanished only twenty-three years ago.

I did not expect to find much when I entered the structure for when Cross took the building, no one was in it.

I should have known better.

Among the old desks and the tattered primers, the cracked slate on the walls and the ever-present stale scent of chalk, I found the withered corpse of an old man. His clothes were little more than rags, and his hair, what remained, was long and white. The remnants of a beard clung to his face, and the nails on his fingers and toes were jagged, yellowed things more akin to talons than anything human.

Yet he was human. His clothes, while oddly cut, were recognizable as pants and shirt. In the back pocket, I saw a wallet, and so I removed it, carrying the weathered leather out into the clear, crisp air of April.

The wallet reminded me of the peculiarities of Gods’ Hollow, and of how fickle fate could be.

Within the billfold was a driver’s license issued to one Allen James, age 23. His home address is listed as 18 Olive Street, Apartment D.

His date of birth, April 4, 1990.

I have replaced the wallet and left the body in the school.

It is the living I seek, not the dead.

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