Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25945479-20150102012649

Since my childhood I can remember being infatuated with death, not really in the way that you'd think. I never had homicidal intentions or wanted to kill myself, but something about death and decay had always intrigued me. Maybe my fascination lay more in the the reaper himself. Death, Grim, Angel of Death, they have uttered many names throughout history that bare the same significance of the character. In most stories and mythology he was either a worker of the gods or an angel sent out to deliver those to the after life when their time had come.

One particular story I had come across interested me more than most. It was a tale rumored to be ancient lore, and it portrayed him as both a god and an instrument of death. An omnipotent being who had been around since before the beginnings of man. In this story they hinted at him interacting with mortals and instigating many of the wars that we know today. I delved further into the story, trying to find more articles on the internet. There was none there so to speak, though it did bring me to a list of names.

Scrolling down the page I finally located it ,'Singultus: Omnipotent being in mythology who holds no tangible form, known for interacting in mortal affairs. Manifestation of Death'. I decided to put my research on hold for a day or two, go see some friends and get out on the town. Oh yeah, you're probably wondering why I am researching such an occult subject in the first place. Well, with my particular interest in demons, death, reapers and the lot of it I found myself writing horror stories and sci-fi novels. I didn't make much of a living off of it, but I made ends meet. Most people considered me to be rather bland, but this book, I knew there was something about it. My readers would be dying to read it.

Going out that night I discussed the novel was writing and the creature I had decided to base it off of. They seemed well interested an offer was even made by Chris, my best friend to draw up some art. He was known around the Memphis underground for making a few horror comics back in the day, and he was able to draw up some sick creatures. I had definitely become stoked now that he decided to provide the art I would need for this novel. This would be more or less a written documentary based off of the creature known as Singultus, giving every last detail we could about him. Occult fans from all over would be drawn to it.

Later that week, I'd say it was Friday I awoke to a knock on my door. Reluctantly opening up my eyes, I had fell asleep at my writers desk. Covered in wads of paper they slid off the surface as I lifted my head. Slowly getting to my feet I trudged along my hallway until I had arrived at my door, he was now repetitively knocking. Rushing in he already had with him sketches he made of the demon throughout the week, a smile came to face, it seemed he had already gotten to work. Rest assured with the both of us working on this, it'd be a best seller.

"Alright...I've got here a few sketches I made of Singultus, from the information I found on him I made a few different depictions. Also, there was this sigil I found, it looks sick bro!", the symbol had seemed familiar. Like I had seen it somewhere before but I knew that I'd never heard of this demon before. A week prior to this was when I read my first miniscule detail on the subject. For the first month everything had went smooth but after that everything seemed to go downhill. Especially now..

At first it was Chris, he seemed to be obsessed with the project. He hadn't slept in days the last time I saw him, he was paranoid, body trembling. While rambling about the sketches he'd mumble words under his breath I couldn't hear. Even while perfecting the sketches you could hear him constantly rambling aloud to himself. When I'd try to get a response from him, he wouldn't even look towards me. Instead he'd just keep going about his business until about ten o'clock every night. Then he'd leave and the cycle would repeat. One night he just stopped showing up though, no one saw or heard from him in some weeks.

A full three months had passed before I saw him again, by this time I had already finished writing the book. Now all I was waiting for was another artist to finish the submissions. Figuring Chris had disappeared or was dead, I never expected to see him again. Especially not at this point in time, I hoped he wouldn't of questioned about his share of the money that he was going to make. Not seeming pleased he nodded, closing his eyes because as all things I had to break it to him. A friend wouldn't lie to a friend, so I came clean explaining that I never received or used his work. He definitely seemed like he was healthy again there was nothing apparently wrong with him. Without a word he turned and exited the door, that was the last we ever saw of him.

-Video Entry #1:

"It's now been a month prior to my books release, I've just now got the first official copy in the mail. It's a hard back too! If only you knew how stoked I am to see my book in front of me. Hold on, I'll finish this entry after I open it..

So, it's definitely not what I expected as far as what I thought it was going to look like. These are nothing like the sketches that the new artist had showed me, in fact they're really similar to Chris's works. Let me check out the sigil, that will definitely..well, that's odd. This one looks exactly like the sigil that he drew."

I shut the camera off shortly after that, it certainly disturbed me but there were no complaints. I certainly favored my friends art work but I wondered how they got ahold of it. It was the next day that everything started falling apart for me. I remember the night before dreaming all during the night of people asking for autograph at it's release. It was entitled Demon History Vol. 1 Signultus, and I didn't plan on it to be the last of my series.

Sadly enough, now in my final hours it seems much different. It started as I said, a few nights ago I awoke to an excruciating pain in my chest. It was as if I was having a stroke or heart attack, my chest was tight and my I couldn't breathe. I strained for about two minutes before whatever was wrong seemed to loosen it's hold on me.

It wasn't until the following night though that I first came into contact with the demon. It approached me through means of a dream, some would call it a nightmare yet I was in awe of his presence. Yes, I was still scared but at the same time I couldn't help but admire it. It was a solid white figure with glowing orange orbs sitting it's hollow sockets. It seemed to shift and twist shape, indicating this was not it's true form.

"So you wish to know of me mortal? I can't tell you, but I can certainly show you for a price. I assure you fame through your last works". I can't lie, I was frozen and terror yet my lips uttered out a mere yes in agreement. It was at that moment I awoke to the sun blinding me through my curtains once again. This time though I felt rather sick, immediately running to the bathroom as I rose to my feet. Hours seemed to take place as I hurled, bent over in the toilet. Not too long after passing out in my own puke.

I awoke again, screaming as I opened my eyes to a gruesome scene. It was Chris once again standing in my room, though not at all how any of us would of wanted to see him. His body was bare, lacking any clothing and he laid dead in my chair. Pigmentation had already become pale and his eyes devoid of any color. I felt sick again, immediately hurling I turned to the side of the bed. I released my nasty fluids all over the carpet, not even paying any mind. I didn't care about my floors I cared about my best friend being dead.

Looking around I noticed his sketches had been hung up all over the wall. What may you ask am I doing now readers? Well, I hope someone is reading this now so my story has been heard. I'm writing what seems like is going to be my last entry. Maybe I stumbled upon some information that I wasn't supposed to? Chris's carcass lay on the ground next to me, it's been stinking for a few hours now.

It's gotten cold and my body temperatures dropped significantly. I can hear laughter, but everything around me seems grey. There's a slight warping and distortion taking place before in my peripherials. I'm paying no mind, playing it off as a part of my imagination. Though...what...? This is odd it's seeming to ripple across my pages and my hands. I can't feel my cluipdop.

Nothing was eligible past that point, though this was an article found at the author's house. This was the last entry of a infamous occult writer known as J.D. Gigas, and it's often been revered as true. Though his true name was never revealed and no copies have been found of his book, this document was written and released in a book of short stories. To this day his story attracts the attention of occult enthusiasts and critics alike.

We have no real knowing of his intentions behind writing this small excerpt, perhaps it was meant to be a warning. Maybe he wished of people to know not to delve into the unknown, for somethings are better left unspoken. Perhaps it was just a fluke story and a way to attract build-up for a book that was never released. There are many rumors in circulation but we'll never really know what happened. 