The Many Morbid Tales of Spookinite Valley
Written by Benjamin Fouché
Every so often, our minds can perceive the intentions that others hold close to their hearts—whether benevolent or malevolent. These insights are often ignored and deemed as only morbid obsession. Well, I shall tell you through this narrative that these perceptions are not to be unheeded. Regrettably, many fools will disregard their insight. Perhaps they hear the mere wind whispering to them of a forthcoming peril. Yet shaking away what they know is only a trick of the weary mind, they continue their undertakings and travels—later to be confronted by whatever threat is impending. And sometimes these forewarnings manifest themselves in the form of plain intuition.
One illustration can be observed when one stumbles upon a stranger that causes apprehension. He feels it is wiser to avoid the individual causing the unexplained dread—and yes, although the dread is unexplained, he will easily leave the person invoking fearful emotions. Though the reasons this trepidation exist may be unclear, pondering upon the uncertainty should matter little—for he should value his life and wellbeing over engaging the peculiar stranger, simply because he cannot find a logical reason to be fearful of him. Yet, sadly, this is usually not how it unfolds.
There are many imbeciles who will ignore even the profoundest of these foresights. They would much rather use rationality as their weak excuse for going against their intuition. Of course! For all decisions made by these individuals are based upon what they deem sensible and sane. Now, I shall tell you very clearly that I refuse to engage in this kind of idiocy. Indeed, I trust my intelligence very well—and it has yet to fail me. Meanwhile, it is more than evident that the majority of those around me are naïve halfwits. Oh, surely you know these people! Trusting and especially meek. They fancy themselves morally supreme. Yet this is far from the truth. Now then, I am certain you are wondering what all of my incoherent babbling is about. Well, I shall get there very shortly, but before I do, I only ask for patience.
If indeed you, by some ounce of a miracle, possess a mind like my own, perhaps you will understand the horrid and unbelievable events that have befallen me. They all began when an elderly couple moved into the dwelling next to my own. In the beginning, I did not assume anything out of the ordinary about them; they were generous, kind, and held a reserved disposition. Or so I believed. Oh, how wrong I was—and how wrong you will see that I was to believe this! The first day they moved in, I helped them arrange their furnishings. They were very grateful and thanked me. But the final object brought up to their residence changed all sentiments that I held towards the couple. A finely-carved, stone gargoyle was placed upon their front porch, facing the garden bed. It stared upon me with utter contempt.
I must have lost focus on all around me, as the old woman asked if I was all right. As my consciousness returned, I excused myself and explained that there was something I needed to do. After hastening away from their house and back into my own home, I shut my door and locked it. Something was very wrong with that impish statue. But what was it? I thought for a few moments—listening to my own intuition. And lastly, I came to the conclusion that it was all a representation of the true wickedness that resided within the couples’ irredeemably corrupted souls! Peering through my draperies, so that they would not be able to see me watching them, I felt repulsion towards my neighbors. Why had they come into my life? There was something dark about them. And yet, what reasonable explanation was there for my disgust? It was only my sharp mind and perceptions that I could depend upon.
As the dray that carried their furniture departed and the twilight disintegrated, I knew I was in the presence of a malign force. And thus, I decided I would have to keep a close eye on the elderly couple (if that is truly what they were). The proceeding morning, I watched as they left for church. Yes, yes! How pious and reverent they appeared—and I knew everyone would believe this. What was someone supposed to think when they saw a seemingly-ordinary elderly couple attend church on a seemingly-ordinary Sunday morning? But I knew it was all an illusion. And I was no fool—I was no fool like the others living in my small township of Hemlock.
When the couple returned, I observed their every movement. Walking up the steps to the front door, the husband allowed his wife to enter first. This kind of insincere generosity sickened me. How could nobody else see that this was all an act—and in plain sight perched the gargoyle: this was all anyone needed to see in order to recognize the daemons dwelling in that house. Yet I was the only one who carried this burden—this tragic knowledge. But at least I was aware—and because of this, their trickery and deception would be ineffective against me. I chuckled to myself, knowing they were unaware of my unrivaled knowledge. As the following morning rose, I approached the old woman who was planting flowers in her garden. Seeing me, she said hello. In return, I greeted her and asked about her gardening. While she went on, telling me about the seeds she was planting, I again made eye contact with the gargoyle crouched on the porch. The stone sentinel held a shield within its thick, claw-like hands.
The thing only looked into my eyes more—as if daring me to initiate a battle. But all at once, my attention was seized by the elderly husband who came out and invited me into the home. Upon being asked this, I explained that I had various matters to tend to that day. Tilting my hat, I strode off, with an anxiety growing within my spirit. As I returned to the second story of my house, I parted the draperies to watch the couple—and the odious thing guarding their home. During that moment, I knew I had to bring an end to their worthless existences before they brought an end to mine—or anyone else’s life for that matter. But how was I to do this? Well, nothing was certain, but I would know by each night of the waning moon, for a Shadow in the corner of my bedchamber gave me his instructions. When the evening fell, and all of their lights no longer flickered, I prowled over to their home. In the light of the silver crescent, the gargoyle seemed to almost leer at me.
Within an instant, I took many backward strides. I could not carry forth my undertaking, knowing that terrible thing was watching me. Thus, I retreated back to my house, cursing the grotesque as I did. For the rest of the night, I turned over many times, lying awake in bed. How could a silly statue prevent me from ending the hideous lives of the elderly couple? Somehow, it held an influence over me, bringing all of my actions to a halt. How would I persevere? How would I allow righteousness to reign in the end? These were the thoughts that tortured my mind. Imagining the malicious couple continuing to live their lives brought me to the threshold of insanity—a madness—a sickness like none other. But perhaps the following night would unfold as I envisioned—and for this I yearned with such pain.
When the time came and the sun had been strangled by the night, I placed my hand upon the knob of my front door. But suddenly, I understood that the gargoyle would see me and alert the fiends. Thus, I exited my home through the door at the back of my home. I wanted to laugh, knowing how I was about to fool the ugly sentinel. Skulking within the shadows, I prepared myself to kill the elderly couple, when without warning, the gargoyle appeared before me. It now stands motionless—but I am no longer afraid. I must strangle the lives out of the two daemons! Watch as I move past this preposterous statue!
Disturbing Discovery in the Outskirts of Hemlock
We acknowledge today with shock, sorrow, and regret that the decapitated head of resident Malachi M. Taft was discovered this morning by a couple who recently purchased property near Hemlock: Henry and Lorelai Edison. Indeed, it is difficult for us to comprehend the many peculiar details regarding the location of Mr. Taft’s head. When Mrs. Edison was watering her garden, she says she gazed upon an ornamental gargoyle that they have kept with them over the past several decades. Within the hands of the statue rested Mr. Taft’s severed head. Mr. Edison explains at length that while he was watching his wife through the window, he saw her faint. When Mr. Edison rushed to his wife’s aid, his attention, too, was caught by the bodyless head grasped in the hands of the grotesque.
Upon closer inspection, Mr. Edison trembled in horror as he realized the head belonged to his acquainted neighbor. Even so, the most inexplicable fact regarding Mr. Taft’s death is that his skull was not crushed. It would have been quite impossible for the head to have been placed within the hands of the statue without breaking the skull or tearing the flesh. Mr. Edison remarks further, stating that the statue had hitherto clutched on to a shield, but this was a part of the same stone from which the rest of the grotesque was carved. Mrs. Edison adds that the gargoyle was given to them long ago as a wedding gift from her parents—especially “for protection”. Murder is presently suspected by police; however, they refuse to specify whether or not Mr. and Mrs. Edison could have any involvement in the terrible crime.
© Spookinite.com - All text, music and photographs by Benjamin A. Fouché