The Forest

I

I remember the reason why I chose this job. I had always preferred the serenity of nature and being amongst the sounds of wildlife. For many years we have lived in the woodlands and creatures that dwell within. It is, or was, certainly favoured to the vapid concrete slabs of the modern city. However, what may come with escape from the banality of existence in the metropolis is the discovery of something greater or more horrifying and daunting than what one would experience through the inconvenience of the quotidian. Something that was not meant for any eyes upon this pale blue earth I once considered safe, in the blissful ignorance in which I bathed prior. I speak of formless primeval entities only hinted at in ancient arcane texts, that exist deep within the earth; deep within the collective consciousness of humankind expressed through a general and universal fear of the infernal abyss.

It was just me and my equally ignorant partner, Jim, out here in the green expanse of the Bleakacre Reserve. Food is delivered to us every week according to our needs or desires; however, if we were to forget to order as we have done before, we have enough reserves to last a year.

Up until recently, the woods proved uneventful and comforting, a stable tranquility that was to be shattered through the discovery of an unassuming tome seeming to have coalesced into existence within our collection of assorted literature collected over the years.

Daily life in this wooded landscape consisted of many tasks, of which the most important was the conservation and observation of wildlife, and to ensure that guests would not damage or otherwise harm the natural vista; we were there ensure the landscape was respected as it should be, as it was by our ancestors and natives of this strange and beautiful land. Seldom were there incidents, and if there were, they were dealt with promptly and efficiently lest the land was displeased. Jim and I took turns in patrolling the locality of our watchtower in order to catalogue any abnormalities, of which there were rarely any. Usually groups of youths engaging in innocent pleasantries around the gentle glow of a campfire; couples fleeing the traditions which bind their illicit relationships to express their forbidden love; and in the previous weeks, peculiar groups of religious practitioners paying their obeisances to ancient deep primordial avatars in the form of idolatry and ritual. While the latter at first unsettled my once burly disposition, I have come to accept their form of worship since they did not disturb the harmony of nature. In fact, their actions seemed in accordance with such a belief, and that is why I chose to leave their admittedly curious reverence for these elder gods and nature undisturbed; for I feared also that interrupting such ceremonies would be in direct opposition of the task I was primarily designated to carry out.

Generally, I would consider us disconnected from the real world; on an insignificant lighthouse in the middle of a vast green ocean, isolated from the majority of people with only each other and some books to keep us from descending into madness. We had access to newspapers, though the information contained within seemed inconsistent, with strange errors and omissions of sections. Maybe they felt it better to avoid us being preoccupied with irrelevant affairs to our current situation, either way it was clear that a complete image of outside this woodland was obscured. Why this was is still a mystery to me, as the events hitherto obscured by our seniors would in fact be very relevant to events in the near future.

It was this separated nature to our work that I preferred; there were no unnecessary pleasantries with colleagues who feigned respect but in fact would eagerly pull you down. I was actually permitted to ponder and spend a lot of doing exactly what I desired, while of course, upholding the integrity of the role. I have always had a thirst for knowledge, an unending passion to discover hidden truths where none had ever voyaged before; however, I now believe there is a limit to the scope of human knowledge, within our admittedly tiny frame of reference. I revelled in the historical and scientific literature that was provided by our seniors, at our request of course. Whilst Jim and I had little in common, what we did have was an open mind with regards to the history of the world and how it may have been distorted over many eons of war and natural disaster. Our literature sparked great discussions on the subject of the origins of mankind and our place in the universe. Sometimes we wouldn’t necessarily agree with each other, but we felt comfort in being able to discuss such odd topics.

Once, however, when perusing our seemingly expansive collection of literature, I happened across a peculiar piece of literature the likes of which I had never noticed or even thought to set eyes on. When I say the book looked wrong, what I mean to say is that it had the dimensions of a slightly thickset novel, though it seemed as if these dimensions were off, not quite parallel but there was something else to it for which I struggle to find the words.

Furthermore, the texture and colour of the book were what I would consider disturbing; almost flesh-like in it’s presentation and certainly bizarre to the touch; peculiarly there was no title, and no sign of any authorship. In hindsight, I realise that it was around the time of the discovery of this accursed tome that ritualistic practices began to take place around the woodlands, and I must note as well, that there seemed to be a concentration around the area of what Jim and I call the “Black Tree”, a strange and particularly ancient possibly wooden structure which lay to the South of our watchtower.

About a week ago, a group of youths set up camp in the vicinity of our watchtower, possibly 400m to the south. I saw a small amount of smoke clutching for the sky through the trees and thought it best to remind them of fire regulations and to be mindful of other camping parties that may be in the area. There was a group of 5 of them, probably late teens, exploring the freedom that comes with nature and releasing themselves from the shackles of modern society, at least for a short period of time. I approached their campsite and reassured them that if there were any issues, to come and find me at the nearby tower. I pointed in its general direction, but you couldn’t see it for the trees unfortunately. I told them I’d get my partner Jim to swing by just before sunset to check on them once again.

The trees felt imposing even in the day; Large wooden columns that dominated the landscape and made you feel as if you were always been watched. The cool breeze was a nice break from the searing heat of the summer afternoon.

When I got back, I let Jim know about the group, and told him it was near that Black Tree.

That Black Tree, as I mentioned in passing before, is quite strange to be frank; completely unlike any other growth, if you could even call it that, that I’ve seen in this area; much darker that the rest, almost as if it was charred by a great fire. Life itself seems to be absent from the surrounding area and it feels as if the material itself ripples but manages to be still. In perpetuity it lingers, watching, waiting, as it has since our fore-bearers first stepped on this land. In the native populations, this hauntingly picturesque landscape has attracted many legends, all of which mention in some form or another qualities of an object which could very well describe our silent silhouetted companion, and a strange formless entity known as the Pictor, records of whom are scarce except for in this nameless strangely formed text that has appeared in my possession in the past month or so.

The Black Tree is very peculiar object for sure, but it allows for the confirmation that I am near the tower, our blissful haven surrounded by vast congregations of wooden sentinels and profound chasms of which I would not even consider the contents. I shudder at the thought of the manner of beings that may live in such dank and decrepit depths. The metallic dins emitted in recent weeks from such are enough to raise the hair on my back, even the mere thought of the unnatural beckonings brings a hitherto unknown and disquieting sense of dread to my once calm mental state.

At first, I was only slightly concerned at the sight of that nameless book, though from the first days since it’s discovery, I kept finding it almost calling to me, appearing in my possession with no knowledge of ever picking it up. I wouldn’t necessarily hear anything, it was more like a magnetic pull, a force almost begging me to unearth the secrets that dwelt within. While at least slightly curious to begin with, I resisted as the mere vista of the book unnerved me; until I could no longer contain my excitement to delve into new depths, that it would seem even the most intrepid of intellectual voyagers would not dare even hint at.

II

It became clear to me from the outset that the information contained within this text is extremely ancient, whether it described real events or not, I’m uncertain but the language used is not too dissimilar to those found in translations of religious texts. It claims to describe a period of history long before man conquered the planet or even evolved from our ape-like cousins; a time of immeasurable turmoil and conflict amongst great entities ultimately resulting in the sealing of these “ancient ones”. One thing that did stand out to me though was the mention of a certain formless being, a spirit of such power and density which existed above the highest echelons of these primeval beings: the Pictor. An eldritch soul and being of such prowess that it is able to shape and deform reality at will; and with the account of such a being, a description of methods and means to conjure the essences of these ancient ones from the depths of the void; from the spaces outside of our perception of minute slither of reality. There are other beings also mentioned within the text, with each having a certain qualities attached to them. The Pictor for one seems to be a formidable creative force, whilst he has a destructive counterpart whose name I would struggle to pronounce or even reproduce in writing. Their constant discord was described as necessary for the creation of the fabric of our cosmos. Having heard many a story including such characters from natives of this area, it was uncanny to find a text which mentioned his actions or indeed his personality, or, I guess, lack thereof.

The writing as I said is archaic and it is unclear in what manner the Pictor is described. There are many contradicting statements. There was one statement in particular which could be described as unsettling at the very least, certainly in relation to the ritualistic practices that have occurred in recent weeks since the essence of this text has become tangible:

For when one dies, all that changes is frame of reference. There exist beings that have never lived or died as humans would understand; they wait impatiently in the timeless void to be called at their markers.

The very consideration of beings that exist outside of our perception of time and space, waiting for an unfortunately uninformed soul to utter the right collection of words or perform the correct ritual, sent a glacial shiver throughout the fibres of my being. I was relatively familiar with occult rituals and seances, but had not given them much more thought than I would any other piece of information I would stumble across in my studies. But this, this wretched tome, dealt with unspeakable ceremonies of which I refuse to replicate their description; some of which were deemed necessary for the continuation of our universe. I couldn’t bear any longer prying such information from that book, and tossed it aside with disdain.

When Jim returned from the campsite of youths later that day, I asked him if he had happened across that nameless book, as he was as avid a reader as myself so I was certain he must have at least glimpsed at its quasi-organic shape. However, he had no knowledge of such a book being in our collection. I reached for the area where I carelessly threw it but it was not there. Confused and somewhat dazed, I resolved it to have been some sort of daydream as I was prone to on occasion, and decided to retire as twilight descended upon our region.

I woke up late the next day. I remember not being able to sleep the night before, unable to shake off a feeling of unease that crept into my subconscious. When I eventually did manage to fall asleep, I was plagued by the most grotesque nightmare-scapes. Giant looming structures made from human remains, a deep abyss with frantic and hellish sounds that could be barely passed as living and a bright light that shone in a colour which I struggle to find the language to describe. The aftermath of this sudden unnatural brilliance horrified me. Charred flesh and bones stained my vision; but before I could truly comprehend what the harrowing depths of my mind had conjured, I was plummeted back to what I assumed was my thankfully placid existence.

Jim was gone when I woke up. I checked the clock.

10:05

This isn’t the first time I’ve had a longer sleep than I should have, but Jim and I have each others’ backs so I trust him not inform management, unlike my former partner.

I decided that getting up wasn’t worth it for the time being. I laid on my back staring at the ceiling of the watchtower. The morning sun tried to pry its way through the curtains. As I laid there, slowly drifting back into the perceived safety of waking reality, I felt the ominous pull; the preternatural desire to find and consume the knowledge in that enchiridion of the damned arts.

Just as I began to search for the book that called my attention so relentlessly, Jim had returned with haste from his patrol. The way he carried himself up the stairs and through our door suggested the utmost of emergencies. He informed me of an incident with the group of youths who were near the marker. I asked him what had happened and all he uttered through laboured breaths is that it would probably be better for me to see myself. He was quiet for the duration of the whole walk there.

At first, I thought it was an animal attack, judging by the amount of blood present at the scene, and, curiously, the lack of bodies. The tents were shredded as if they had burst from the inside out due to immense pressure; the camping equipment such as chairs and the stove were scattered about the environ, in some cases appearing in the trees or even protruding straight from a branch. The scene was horrific by any standards, and both Jim and I were speechless. After searching for a few moments for any evidence of foul play or even a clue as what might have even happened, we heard the familiar sound of human groans coming from one of the tents. We quickly hurried over to the only intact tent and opened it up to find one of the youths completely absent of clothing and covered in various bodily fluids of which the stench was repulsive. As I lifted up the cover to unearth such an ungodly spectacle, he lunged at us in a frenzy screaming of a being of indescribable terror that came in the twilight and took with it his peers; a presence of formless malice that seemed to leave this poor soul’s mind fragmented at the mere sight of it. We called emergency services as his demeanour was that of a rabid animal, unpredictable and dangerous. He was extremely violent not just to me and Jim, but himself too, scratching viciously at where his eyes used to sit and clawing clumps of hair out of his now ragged and bloody scalp, yearning to be released from his mortal coil in which he had the misfortune to experience such absurd horrors.

What horrors must exist in the mind’s eye of someone in order for them to desire such a violent exit from life? The sheer consideration of such abominable images mixed with the sight of this uncontrollable madness being carted off before me caused me to retch.

At first I questioned the use of narcotics or hallucinogenic substances, but as this damned youth was being restrained in order to be taken away he uttered two words amongst his demented ravings that up until that point had been nary a cause for concern but a morbid sense of wonder: “Marker” and “Pictor”.

III

Jim and I returned to the cabin to make sense of the events. I chose not to mention the strange ramblings of the youth, as it would not be as significant to my partner as it would be to me. It appeared as well that he had a history of mental illness which may have triggered such strange events to occur and unfortunately result in the accidental killing of his peers, but even the forensic teams were unsure of the intricacies of the matter at hand, despite their expertise in such matters. Though that strange utterance he made of that ancient entity and markers stuck in the recesses of my mind, gnawing at my will; nagging me to dig yet further into the mystery of forgotten legends and how it was linked to the events at the campsite. I did notice that I was certainly more shaken that such a scene than Jim, despite his initial concern and look of horror. He offered to do the patrols that day so that I could be given the time to compose myself. As I said before, serious events like this rarely happen and if they do it is usually the result of an ill-fated encounter with defensive wildlife. This was different, there’s not usually encounters like that that near our watchtower, and the manner of ruination displayed at what was left of the campsite was unlike anything I had ever seen prior.

I walked up to the tap and filled up the kettle, put it on the stove and turned on the heat, hoping for the calming reassurance that comes with camomile tea, when I saw that nameless book, almost daring me to continue reading its wretched contents. Alas, I could not resist any longer, and waded unobstructed into decrepit memoirs of a much more ancient and chaotic world, one which I was dangerously close unleashing.

I continued from where I left off before, relatively close to the beginning. I saw strange symbols, seemingly associated with various ancient and primordial deities that were described among this unholy script’s decaying pages. I read of fantastical cities that existed in eons long gone, made of strange materials and using indescribable shapes. The illustrations provided are of little help, as even though they provide a visual context for the Pictor and his system of Markers, the images don’t make sense; as if 3-dimensional objects were viewed inverted from a mirror which is continuously undulating, as the waves of the ocean do, but on a piece of paper. The text continues as well with its descriptions of the doings of the Pictor and his influence on the fabric of reality and the minds of madmen throughout the ages.

For a period of time, I was engrossed in the eerie accounts of abyssal plains, inconceivable structures and unimaginably potent entities the likes of which I would hope to never experience; what I imagine to have been witnessed by our maniacal envoy of unholy lore earlier that day.

I looked up and darkness had fallen. I looked at the clock in confusion; 7 hours had passed. The stove was still roaring away and had caused all the water I placed within to evaporate confirming the fact that this terrible book had caused me to forget any aspect of time or urgency for any other matter. Jim was still nowhere to be seen. Surely, I would have heard his return, and it is even more curious that he would not return for 7 hours. Outside a storm raged, and I feared for my partners wellbeing in such dangerous conditions. The wind was so powerful that it almost caused the windows to break, and the sound of thunder was explosive.

I thought it best to try and reach Jim on our radio, which was met with the all too familiar sound of static and no resemblance of human activity. I pursued him through the eye of this unholy tempest; I had to find him otherwise our seniors would not be pleased that another of their employees had expired on my watch. I followed our standard patrol path until I happened upon an area relatively close to the black tree, which seemed to have calmer winds that the surrounding areas. From a distance it seemed like people gathered around the object were moving in unison and chanting unholy incantations reminiscent of screams and wails from only the deepest depths of hell. I assumed it was one of those rituals that I was far too comfortable with seeing nowadays. As I moved closer, the spectacle before me became clear.

Before my eyes was a hideous scene of unprecedented barbarism, that washed over me the most intense fearfulness for not only my life but my soul.

A group of a dozen or so people were gathered around the marker, smearing what looked to be blood all over their naked bodies, crying in deep raspy tones a language that was not familiar to myself, or indeed I believe any human ears. As my eyes turned to the centre of this hauntingly enchanting display, I saw the unmistakable remains of those youths who so innocently were camping in the vicinity. Their bodies were twisted and deformed, forced into unnatural positions to construct a despicable effigy of some sort of cow deity in front of the marker, and just by this terrible sight was my partner Jim, restrained to the ground in a small stone circle of sorts. A robed man, a leader figure perhaps, stood before Jim, dagger in hand, invoking the heavens and preparing himself for what would seem to be a climax of sorts. The lightning responded to his cries and the thunder seemed to almost compliment the rhythm of his incessant, incomprehensible ramblings. As the man in the middle continued his insane ravings to the skies, the movements of those encircling him became more erratic and violent. From spreading blood over their bodies which had flowed from the demonic effigy, they devolved into carnal desires; the likes of which were extremely repellent to even those who have seen the horrors of war and disease.

I rushed in to try and save my partner for I feared gravely for his safety, but at the mere sight of me, he begged me to leave. I couldn’t quite comprehend why he would want to go through with this; however, I felt the strong urge to intervene. This terrible form of worship before me was far too reminiscent of a ritual that was mentioned in that accursed tome, which I come to realise is what the man in the centre seemed to be reading from. I knew that this was not meant to happen like this, I needed to stop this from being carried out to the end.

The leader in the middle lunged at me with his dagger, raving of natural order and the continued sealing of the abyssal one. Before his dagger reached me I managed to wrestle with him and relieve him of it, and in one swift motion, I planted it into his chest. He shrieked in pain, and stared deep into my eyes crying obscenities which even the devil would disapprove of. As he fell to the ground, in his dying breath he uttered:

“You fool”.

Jim at this point was livid with my behaviour as I was trying to untie him from the unholy display. He rambled also about how this is how it should be, and that I have caused a great calamity to befall not only humankind but the fabric of reality. At which point the ground started rumbling gently. Those who remained standing at the perimeter of this display, almost in unison grabbed knives and slashed their throats. In the sheer bewilderment of this situation, I chose to run. I left Jim behind, he was beyond being saved. All I could ponder as I ran through the undergrowth of the woods is that he had some sort of role in the production of that book that I happened across in the past, a simple past that I wish I could return to now. As I ran, the winds and rain intensified, the lightning was blinding and the thunder deafening. I was delirious, desperate to escape such madness. Then the ground began to quiver violently, as one would do in the extreme cold. It did not feel stable any longer as I had been used to my entire life. I continued making my way through the trees in what I thought was the direction of the watchtower, until there was an unprecedented calmness that seemed to befall the area. I fell on the ground, exhausted and disoriented. The storm had relented and left a sense of unease in the pit of my stomach. I turned around to look at the event from which I had so desperately tried to escape, and gaped in shock.

There was no marker, no people, no trees, no ground even. A giant emptiness lie before me in the area around that marker. It was if it had been completely erased from reality. I peered over the edge and I only saw darkness. At which point, a being of unintelligible shape or colour rose from the depths slowly, and then darted to the stars in an instant.

At the mere sight of a such an alien concept of form, in which I saw beauty and horror, light and dark; and the revelation that in the disappearance of the area around the marker, my left foot had been claimed by the void, I fell back and allowed the darkness of unconsciousness to wash over me, as this waking reality was for too much for my feeble human mind to comprehend.

IV

I stirred the next day as the sun rose. I was still laying on the edge of that damned hole that was created by such an abominable display of ritual and savagery. As I sat up, I realised that the events of the night before were not created by my twisted imagination but had in fact taken place and as a result stained my memory. Hobbling back to the watchtower, I took a strong looking branch that had fallen in the storm and used it as a make-shift walking stick. Once I returned, I contacted my superiors immediately and resigned. They seemed unconcerned with my abruptness and desire to escape from this place.

What had once been a great repose from the monotony of city life repulsed me. I could no longer subsist in this forest, this area of forbidden legend and myth, which has remained for millennia upon millennia in shadows of civilisation and culture. I desired to leave this place, just as I once desired to leave the great stone cities of the modern world. I needed to discover more of these great ancient beings, but I could not do it here. They knew I interfered, and They will come for me soon enough. I can feel it. I cannot stay here, I must keep on moving.

In the past few days I have found other accounts of unfortunate gentlemen like myself who, in their everlasting quest for knowledge, ventured too deep into the black soul of what could be considered the true religion of our world. I have found scarce records of the nameless book. Only second-hand accounts of people knowing others who have read it, and have been gradually pushed to madness or suicide at the sheer extent and breadth of knowledge which seems to be presented. However, no-one else has actually seen the book; and the holes in the ground? There are curiously a few accounts into which I am eager to delve.

Yesterday, I managed to find a library of the occult variety in the town of Whitsnow, the citizens of which were a peculiar bunch. There I found many a text that would not be available elsewhere, and though I could not find a direct copy of that nameless book, I did find a summary of its contents, written possibly 3000 years ago by Egyptian Priest Ammon, entitled “The Zōh Codex”.

After reading this account, I have realised the extent of my error.

Not only was that ritual that took place necessary for the continued existence of our current universe, despite its hideous savagery, but as a result of my interruption a being of untold power has been released upon the universe in order to destroy and rebuild it.

In constant fear I live; on the run, escaping untold terrors from the void torn open by the gravest of mistakes. I must keep moving, I cannot rest anymore. Wherever I go I hear hushed tones taunting me, my mind is playing tricks on me; they’re coming for me.