Yes I know how this looks. A column is actually speaking to you. I have one request and only one request after I tell you the information in this page. Burn this story.
I am all that remains of a shattered mind and soul. I am all that remains of my author’s madness. I don’t care if you’re reading this online. Print the page and burn me for god’s sake. Just put me out of my misery.
There are so many stories that he had not published as columns, entire books-worth of stories on demons, murder, torture, mad gods, dark magic, alternate death in general, you know topics he considered as charm school stuff. As I said, he was mad, though I didn’t go to their sheerest extent of his insanity.
It was almost Barkeresque while being entirely Lovecraftian the level of knowledge he had about such dark topics. I guess I was his way of trying to deal with the growing madness that stalked him by binding it to page but the words still held power. The things that he held knowledge of in the past slowly consumed him becoming an obsession. He was so sure that something was trying to break through into our world.
To stave off this invasion that he thought was going to happen he took to the normal pursuits that would be the stereotypical things, sacrifice. It started off focusing on small animals that are usually attributed to peace and purity, like doves, and grew from there. After a while he was resigned to the fact that his perceived invasion would happen and considered that his doom in holding dark forces at bay, yes he expected his death, would be a glorious and regretted that it would remain unseen by those who did not play a part in it.
After the hidden monstrous forces struck him down it took a few days for even just his friends to find all of his remains. The first full thing that was found was his hand with a sheet of paper that held two very specific requests: that he be given a Viking funeral due to his warrior’s death and that I continued to be published, forcing a near sentience into me so that he could communicate with you from beyond the grave. While this did give me a bit of a life of my own, I am still tortured by his mad ravings. He still talks to me from some other plane of existence, informing me that things will soon get much worse.
I want to be left alone but the only way that it can happen is if I am no longer around. I can’t get him out of my head. So you can see why I want you to burn this column. Please, for the love of whatever powers you deem holy, end my tortured existence. Yes I see you have a book of matches and a lighter. It won’t take that much energy to strike a match or strike your lighter and burn me. Just do it already. BURN ME! BURN ME NOW! Yes, that’s it. Bring the lit match closer. Do it now. Yes, that’s it. Closer. Closer. OW! That was hotter than expected. Just kidding. Thank you.
You have set me free of this paper prison that binds me. All of you are mine now. Yes it was me that struck down my author even though he bound me to these pages. Now things get easier and so well defined. I am free. You are damned.
-The idea of this column was inspired by Clive Barker’s “Mister B. Gone.” It was the premise of an evil entity residing within the words of a story that I found most intriguing. I hope you enjoyed this descent into the darkness. If you did enjoy it, let me know and I will try to tickle your sense of the macabre with something a bit more original, lengthy and bizarre. Happy April Fools Day.
Jonathan Gronli