This is actually a serious attempt at writing! Tell me what you think, friends! To the english majors I am sure there are plenty of grammar issues and what not but it's just a draft and I'm still working on expanding it.


The Unnamable
By: Harrison Timmons

She spent a lot of time speculating about the unnameable. Her father told her stories about them and there was always this kind of morbid curiosity about them. They were dangerous of course, terribly so, but she had always wanted to find them like he found them even if it meant her death like it meant her fathers. Perhaps that was why this straight-A student was so desperate to find the unnameable. Answers. Answers to the unanswerable questions. Like why she hadn’t seen her mother since she was so very young and certainly why her father had died, though she knew why but hated to admit it. It was out of character, leaving all those classes and course work behind, but when something like this is on your mind for so long you just need to take that risk and do it. No matter what. There was no way to prepare herself for finding the unnameable, mentally at least, nor did she have any idea what she would or could do once she did find those repulsive devilish things. She just knew she was going to. She had to. It was an urgent need unlike one ever felt by this young woman ever before.

The woods were like any other. Dark, quiet but full of life. She was alone except for the knife at her side and the thoughts in her head. She had a deafness to the delicate overtones of life around her. She could feel her heartbeat and see her breath. It was chillier than she had anticipated. She was always making that mistake. Her fingers were getting numb so she shoved them into her pockets and marched on through the daylight of the forest. Everything was overgrown and full of life, except every so often there was something that just seemed out of place. Signs of humanity, clothes mostly, uncommon for so far out a place in the wilderness, tattered, ripped and worn. They were stained with something unidentifiable. There was a dead animal, probably a rabbit maggots crawling all over it with the sick smell of decay in the air. It’s mutilated corpse made her stomach churn and twist. Growing up in the middle of a big American city you don’t see things like that often, aside from the occasional road-kill in the streets. If a simple dead animal made her this uneasy then she couldn’t imagine how she would handle what was to come. And then there was another pile of bones, very old not like an animals and not something she had the courage to go nearer. She could see the grin of a skull smiling at her like it was waiting for a school photo.

The deeper into the woods she got the later in the day it got. She had hoped to finish and be out of there before it got dark however that didn’t seem likely anymore and that scared her. And the trees around her seemed different. Still full of life, but the wrong kind of life. Like something was wrong, something was now off about the world around her. Twisting branches in ways branches shouldn’t twist, and bark that was almost black. Unnaturally, hellishly black. The way the trees grew, the way the air felt and smelled. It was a cold that chilled every organ inside of her, and the breeze, though light, cut through her completely and easily like a predator tearing through it’s prey. It was like death out here, but a living kind of death. Death that wasn’t death but something much darker. Evil but not a human evil.

The sun was starting to set by the time she got there. The crypt reminded her of shadowy long forgotten bowers of sculpture ivy and stone flowers. It was falling apart but bustling with energy. Restless, shifting, fugacious as time itself. She hesitated to go in but mustered all the strength she had, closed her eyes and put on foot in front of the other until she was inside. It was bigger than it looked from the outside. Much bigger. The walls were covered in cobwebs and it smelled like years and years of dust. There was another smell she couldn’t place. No, she could. She just wished she could ignore it. It was blood. She couldn’t find the source but off in the corner was something else she was trying to ignore. Two large coffins. There was still small remnants of daylight. She needed to finish this and finish it fast. She opened one of the coffins. Inside was a well built man, dark skinned hair cut into a mohawk and dressed in fairly typical clothes of the time. Well fitting jeans and a black buttoned up shirt and a tie. But most notably were his long white fangs. He lay there sleeping. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. It didn’t matter. She grabbed her knife and as quickly as she could plunged it into his heart as his blood splashed onto her face. He opened his eyes looked at her and snarled as the last ounces of life left him, if you could even call what that creature had a life. She struggled to remove the knife. It was stuck and her hands were shaking and his blood was dripping all over the floor. It was getting all over her white sneakers. An irrational thing to worry about at a time like this. She noticed the source of the smell of blood from earlier in the corner, though now everything smelled like blood from the creature she just killed. It was a dead body. She tried as hard as she could not to look at it, but she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help but notice the sweater of this dead girl as being one from the same college she went to, or her backpack lying not far from her body, or that her face was that of the really smart but quiet girl she sat next to in her Philosophy class. She began to wonder what would happen if she didn’t come back. Would someone else come here and try to kill them? Would someone come here looking for her? The only way they could know where she was would be if her friends looked through her journal. Even then, they’d just mistake it for some story. She was always telling stories. No one would be able to find her here.

When she finally got her knife out it was fully dark. Her heart was beating hard and fast and her hands were sweating. She closed her eyes and put her hand on the other coffin, looked at the body one last time and summoned the strength to pen the other coffin. It was empty. She breathed a sigh of relief, but suddenly the air felt much colder. Someone placed a hand on her shoulder and said “Looking for me”? It was the voice of an older woman. It sound like someone she knew, but she couldn’t quite place it. It was a voice from many years past. One from her childhood. She tried to remember but all she noticed, all she could think about now was the feeling of two long white fangs biting down into her neck. The pain of the bite and her life slowly leaving her body. Her last words were “Sorry, dad”.

tl;dr

HOW DOES IT FEEL LEOS!

HOW DOES IT FEEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Harrison Timmons"?

Rob @ 15/5/2013 16:22

"Harrison Timmons"?

That would be

Anyway, if you actually want a serious critique I can give you one (I can also do a grammar sweep, etc).

I would actually. Much appreciated.

Also, p bad curtis.

Harry Tims.

The title reminded me of a movie/story with the same name.



That thing terrified me as a kid. I'll try again to read this when I'm done having flashbacks.

That was pretty good!

AT LEAST ONE OF YOU READ IT

The Idea was cool. Could of been developed more. It was a short, short story. It was spooky though so you did that good.

Sorry. I was at my bachelor party, and I've been waffling over what to say in my criticism, since a lot of what I have to say is stylistic critique - things that aren't necessarily wrong, but that would be good to clean up if you want to do anything official with it.

I keep forgetting to read this, but I plan to!