Pulse Ledger
Dark Memoirs - Chapter 3
Many are the paths the destitute and desperate can follow to reach me. Some whisper my name like a prayer; others barely dare acknowledge I exist. In ancient texts, you may find my name murmured beside Anubis and Hermes, though I was never simply a guide. Their devotion to peace is unbecoming. My interests are entirely self-serving, a hunger dressed in the robes of ritual. I eat the insincere, the spineless who parade their postulation before neighbours, playing priest to their own hollow lives. I drink the essence of a life the way men drink wine — blood drawn warm, direct from source.
Phillip Matthews was a short kid, a bit tubby for his age — always the last picked for teams. You know the kind. If the others were drafting his obituary in the schoolyard, they’d cast him on a show called My 600lb Deathbed Life without blinking. He carried the standard emotional excess of fifteen without distinction. Kids added itching powder to his clothes while he dragged himself around the track, whining about an itching world, until one day he stopped. The gossip said his father left; others said his mother broke down instead. Schoolyard scripture, recited by insensitive little pricks.
I know the truth. Plot twist — or did you see that coming? Legacy. Heritage. Life. Death. The burden of fifteen. All of it snapped the moment his synapses finally surrendered to shadow. Two lunges were enough to crush his bravado, then his pulse, then the small spirit beneath. His mother watched; his father fell on steel.
It was Phillip who unknowingly baptised my vocation. He sought refuge from a life of guilt and suffering, heavy by default, never by distinction. He wondered if it would hurt. I didn’t have the heart to dress the truth in mercy — that I would maximise his suffering until the last glimmer of light in his eyes dulled to black.
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Thanks for reading!
Author's Notes: Still enjoying developing this into whatever it may turn into. I already know where it's going, and I'm excited.
About the Creator
Paul Stewart
Award-Winning Writer, Poet, Scottish-Italian, Subversive.
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Comments (14)
Makes me so sad for Phillip :(
"Two lunges were enough to crush his bravado, then his pulse, then the small spirit beneath." This is one of those lines that's going to stick with me for a long time. It feels so real. Absolutely haunting in its honesty.
"...a hunger dressed in the robes of ritual." I like that. Liking the series, as well.
When you have time (I know you’re reading some brilliance), lmk what you think about my creepy dude shifting gears into his everyday life: https://shopping-feedback.today/horror/back-to-work-part-5%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/a%3E Not sure if it works/ is interesting enough to hold attention, all the self-doubt yadayadayada.
The schoolyard stuff is fantastically gritty. Love.
It seems that you are working and learning about death from a philosophical standpoint, I think. Good job.
I love that your first piece begins with a reference to praying to "God, Santa, or the guy that took your mum to bed at night," the second piece begins with Socrates and Alcibiades, and this starts off with Anubis and Hermes. It really highlights how much your MC believes his importance spans all forms of history, religion, and philosophy. Everything about your opening paragraph was absolutely masterful. It begins quiet and pensive then ends in vile horror. It was a perfect reminder if the monster we have been getting to know. Philip Matthew's story is terribly tragic. That his short and tortured life would baptize the vocation of this monster. Leaves more questions than answers. You promise another installment, but it's been 24 days and I don't see anything. I know you don't do the holiday thing, but if you're wondering what I want for Christmas, the next chapter would do nicely.
This be is a great follow up to your first two You may have found your niche in horror. Each one leaves us wonder and ha wing more questions that need answers.
This is true, real life horror. You could write a novel about Phillip Matthew and win the fuckin’ Booker Prize. Pure pathos.
My throat tightened as I read the final lines. I’m hooked and fearful at the same time!
Here we are with another creepy bit of madness….
That opening paragraph instantly sets such a menacing, ancient tone. And the way you pivot from the mythology to the heartbreakingly grounded story of Phillip is just masterful. You've created a truly terrifying character here. I'm hooked and need to know more about this "vocation."
Hahahahahahaha I freaking loved this!
This sounds like my kind of story. Paul.