#henrohenry

TW: Caves, horror, cryptids 10/3/19

TW: VIOLENCE AND DEATH MENTIONED IN THIS STORY. The Mammoth cave system is one of the worlds longest cave systems, many of it's entrances are open to visit in various locations in Kentucky. Over the years, several cavers have gone missing, either due to their own negligence or some unforeseen force inside the caves. Sometimes these missing people are just unfortunate accidents. However, sometimes, cavers are lured in by something else. Whether it be the sounds of an animal trapped, in pain, or the sounds of a young child trapped.

Very few who see, what is called, a Bungaloo, live to tell the tale. There are some people who do. They dare not speak to anyone else except each other about it. What we've learned so far is that it lures people down to the caves, places where most veteran cavers would know better to go, by mimicking sounds. Normally this is the sound of a child crying out for help, or an animal in pain. It continues to do so until it lures someone to the edge of one of the cliffs in the dark. It keeps its spikes hidden until the person is leaning over the edge, its tail and body hidden underneath itself in case the person has a flashlight and shines it upon the creature. It lies in wait until the person gets to close to the edge and slips on the water from the caves natural wet stoned floor. Then, as they fall, it stands up on all fours, spikes coming out of its back to catch the victim once they hit the Bungaloo. A victim of the Bungaloo is often not ever found again. No remains, no body, not even bones. Nothing in wasted by the creature, once it has it killed everything will be eaten. Nothing left to waste.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Henry turned eight his father and mother gifted him with a drumstick and a cowbell. He loved the cowbell and carried it with him everywhere, often playing for his family and friends in attempt to impress them with his skills. To this day Henry carries the cowbell and drumstick as a reminder of who he is and where hes from. Also because he can make some sweet music on it.

Once he turned seventeen, he began working on a ship under a captian named Montgomery. While the captain was hard on him he was fair to Henry and tried to guide him as best as he could. By the age of nineteen, Henry had surpassed Captian Montgomery and was now captian of his own ship. They traveled far across the methane oceans and quickly gained a reputation as masterful theives.

This, however, changed when Henry met Ajax. He was handsome, cunning, and smart and Henry had fallen for him. Henry offered him a place on his  crew as his second mate. Ajax accepted of course, not hesitating to climb aboard the Midina. Ajax told them legends of a treasure so great they would need two boats to carry it all. Of course, Henry believed him and they set sails for the deep, hidden caves far from the coast of any islands.

It was all a set up. When they arrived and started to go into the caves the crew was captured by guards from islands they had stolen from. Henry alone escaped. After sneaking around Henry quickly tried to find his crew and Ajax, unaware that Ajax had set up the entire thing. Henry found his crew members lying dead on the ground, slaughtered like animals. He looked for Ajax only to see Ajax being paid for his bringing the pirate crew to them.

The Lost Writings #16

June 14th, 1845

Sometime ago, shortly after I began keeping this journal, I noticed I was not always feeling myself. Many days I would lie in bed wailing. Not in pain or sadness, but out of pure guttural instinct. It seemed like I couldn't figure out the words I wanted to form. The things I wanted to say.

It had only started a few weeks ago, but now I'm noticing more of a change. Now sometimes my cognitive functions stop quite completely. I turn into something I can't quite place... Even now as I write this out I find my mind starting to drift off... off into that... that thing... The monster I have yet to know or meet.. I find myself struggling to write now at this point... It has become increasingly difficult to put together my coherent thoughts. Despite having been fine only moments ago.

Perhaps I should rest and come back later. When I can piece together what is happening.

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The Lost Writings #5

April 23rd, 1845

She's been following me.

I do not know who, why or what she is, but she follows me everywhere. She appears to be some sort of spirit like entity. Anytime I try to draw her I suddenly can no longer remember what she looks like and get a searing pain shooting through the side of my skull. I truly believe that she may not want me or anyone else to know she is here. but I have seen her.

She watched me as I took a bath, unmoving in the corner of the room. Even now as I'm writing she is watching me. Standing totally still in front of my desk. I do not know how long she intends to watch me. Sometimes I wake up, feeling feverish only to see her standing in the darkness. Simply staring at me.

She frightens me... she feels so.. cold.. so heartless. Like an embrace from her might be the last embrace I ever receive from someone. I just need to keep my grip. It feels like I'm dancing with danger. I think she  may have followed me from my past or she may even be from the journal itself.

The more I study this journal and it's properties the more confused I become. Every time I draw a chart or a graph it mysteriously disappears. I've had to move everything I need to draw in charts in a separate notebook. Further more the journal burns any page not from it's own journal. I can not fathom why.

She's getting closer. her presence feels angrier now and I think it may be best that I stop writing for now. I do not think she likes that I wrote about her.

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The Lost Writings #20

July 14th, 1845

I can no longer sleep. She sits at the foot of my bed watching me while I sleep. For months she has been doing this, but now she makes sure the nightmares are so strong so powerful I feel myself slipping into territory I have yet to see.

What's worse is that ever since she started these hellish scapes in my unconscious mind I’ve started getting pains. In more than one part of my body the pain is almost unbearable at times. Just this morning when I felt my legs crumble and all of a sudden I was lying on the floor, screaming in pain as I desperately clung to my legs.

It felt as if someone was stabbing me in my legs, repeatedly, getting deeper and deeper with each strike of their dull knife. I even think I saw blood coming through my pant leg. Not a lot.... just enough for me to see it, but after my fit of pain and horror had subsided the blood was gone. Just like that. Gone as quick as it had appeared. I rolled my pant legs up and there was nothing. Not even a hint of what had happened.

I begin to grow tired... not only of these random fits of pain, but of this dreadful spell that seems to have befallen upon me. I am going to try and rest again. I just hope she’ll let me sleep.... 

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The Lost Writings #25

August 12th, 1845

The rest of my monstrous form has caught up to me. My back, which has now grown blood curdling spikes along my spine, aches, despite me having done nothing to hurt or injure myself. My hands are furry and my nails have grown dark and sharp, making it harder to write these changes in me. My legs have grown spurs and my face has become a gnarled mess of my former self.  I grow tired. fighting this.... this evil inside. This darkness that swallows me like water and causes me to drown slowly in it. 

 I fear no one may ever find this journal... I pray to god if they do, they read my tale and cast this journal away, burn it or tear it apart. I’m drowning... drowning in this dark and I can no longer hold back the monster that holds me.

To whoever finds this... my name is Daniel.... Daniel Scrout. These are my final words... if you find this throw it away. Burn it, cast it into a fire so no one may ever lay eyes upon the faceless woman and her dreaded curse. I wish for no man to become the monster that I have because of this awful book. I can not even think for myself past this point.... I can not  

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The page cuts off abruptly and appears tore at the bottom, This is the final entry in the journal. 

July 14th, 1845

I can no longer sleep. She sits at the foot of my bed watching me while I sleep. For months she has been doing this, but now she makes sure the nightmares are so strong so powerful I feel myself slipping into territory I have yet to see.

What's worse is that ever since she started these hellish scapes in my unconscious mind I’ve started getting pains. In more than one part of my body the pain is almost unbearable at times. Just this morning when I felt my legs crumble and all of a sudden I was lying on the floor, screaming in pain as I desperately clung to my legs. 

It felt as if someone was stabbing me in my legs, repeatedly, getting deeper and deeper with each strike of their dull knife. I even think I saw blood coming through my pant leg. Not a lot.... just enough for me to see it, but after my fit of pain and horror had subsided the blood was gone. Just like that. Gone as quick as it had appeared. I rolled my pant legs up and there was nothing. Not even a hint of what had happened. 

April 10th, 1845

In the past weeks I've felt a presence following me. I can not tell if it is good or evil. Often I do not even feel the presence till after it has already left me. Sometimes it stays for hours on end, making me paranoid enough to barricade my windows and doors. Sometimes it stays but a few minutes... I feel as though it is watching me now as I write my thoughts and feelings on this page. Like it wants to see what I am writing so it can judge me.

I do not know what purpose this spirit or thing may serve. The only thing I do know is that I have felt it following me ever since I found this journal...

Though the journal was filled to the brim with notes when I found it just over a month ago. When I picked it up just now it was totally blank. Like everything I had written had been totally erased. Tables, charts, and measurements all completely gone.  I do not know what is happening, but it doesn't feel safe, it doesn't feel as though it wishes to help me... but that it intends to harm me instead.

With all of my notes gone I suppose the better way to use this journal is to keep track of my thoughts and feelings as I try and figure out who or what has come to watch me.

Once, a long time ago, there was a boy. The boy was small and strong. He didn't know very much, but was incredibly resourceful. His name was Henry. Henry was often made fun of for how his face looked. The long mark across his left eye a constant reminder of the silly accident that made his life hell. One would think, something so small as a scar would cause no harm or malice to befall upon someone. In this case, one would be wrong.

Henry never thought in all his life he would see the end of the relentless torment and bullying he received from peers and family members. 'All of this?" he would often wonder. 'I deserve all of this for an accident with a chicken?' The answer often alluded him. That is, until he turned 20. On his 20th birthday Henry and his only friend Jake were out at the pub. Jake too, was an outcast, though the reasoning for his was more along the lines of him talking to Henry. Down at the very end of the bar they saw a man. He was.... a very strange man to say the least, he was holding his pint of beer with a red solo cup. Jake turned to watch as he leaned over to Henry. "What an odd fellow, do you think its hard to drink with cups on your hands?"

Henry stared longer at the man. He was wearing a dark cloak that covered up his face just enough so Henry couldn't make out his features. Sure enough when he looked at his hands the mysterious stranger appeared to have cups on over his hands. Wait. Were they over his hands? They didn't look as if he could pull them off at will. In fact they more or less looked fused to his hands. "Huh...." Henry trailed off and without even thinking he walked over and sat on the stool beside the cloaked figure. The man stopped and put his drink down. He gave a sidelong glance to Henry and sneered. "Any reason you chose that seat out of the rest of the empty bar." The figured grumbled. His voice was low and gravely, toned down so it almost came out as a whisper. Henry shook his head gently. "No," he replied softly. "you just looked like you could use a friend." He smiled. The man looked up at Henry and rose a brow. The man had short brown hair that framed his face in soft waves. He stared at Henry with bright red eyes and a sad face. Henry tilted his head and smiled. "So are the cups a costume?" He asked.

The man shook his head and grunted. "No." He stated, grumpily. Henry pursed his lips. "What's your name?" Henry asked, sensing that the cups were a sensitive topic for the tall, brown headed man. "My name is Henry!" He chirped. The man sighed. "Wow you really don't give up huh? listen Kid you don't want to talk to me do you understand?" He said staring at Henry with a fury Henry's only seen twice before. Henry simply smiled. "Well anyone who says that obviously could use a friend!" he grinned as Jake finally gained the courage to walk over. "Henry, maybe we should leave him alone." Jake pleaded tugging henry's shirt.

Jake was a small man, only a few months younger than Henry. He was a tiefling, shorter than most, but his long black hair and fair light blue skin made up for it. His eyes filled with worry and dread as Henry shook his head and rubbed his hand off. "Come on Jake, I'm sure it's fine!" Henry smiled at him carelessly. "What's the harm in the three of us miscreants being friends." He threw a wink towards the stranger sitting beside him. The man sighed deeply. "Fine, you can call me Jimmy, but don't say I didn't warn ya." He grunted and took another swig from his pint. "And no, you can't ask how my hands work or what happened." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CW: Violence, Abuse

There is a world in which hands are no longer used. 

Hands have become a distant memory. When a freak virus happened causing people to lose their hands the world simply adapted to fusing solo cups on their infected nubs to prevent the infection from spreading to others. However as time went by, most of the world simply lost it’s need for hands, children were born with cups instead of hands now. In this way society overcame its challenges and so began a class system based on cup color. Red and Yellow cups were the most common cups to be seen and were therefore lower in this system. Green cups were less common, but were still seen fairly often making them the middle class of society. The most rare cup type to be born with was blue. The higher class of society, blue solo cups took on the weight of only producing the best offspring they could manage. They were the ones to only marry and have children with others like them, which were harder to find and they often intermingled with the lower classes and simply lived happy lives. This however was not the case for two such people. Their names were Mia Tringo and Danny Talon, forced into an arranged marriage by their parents they produced a son. His name was Jimmy Talon. When he was born the rank of the talon family was brought down my tenfold. For he was born with red cups instead of blue. Outraged by this genetic mishap, Mia and Danny resented their son, calling him a freak of nature and neglecting him as he grew up.  Though Jimmy was only a child he was bullied and beaten up for his cup color, the children at the boarding school he went to often making fun of him and  torturing him endlessly. Only for him to go home and receive the same treatment there. One day, after saving up for months, Jimmy took his money to the craft store and bought a large can of blue paint. He rushed home to his room and dipped both of his hands into the bucket until they were coated in blue paint. He waited for them to dry and ran downstairs to his parents. “Mommy, Daddy look at my hands, they are blue like yours now!” He chirped out excitedly. Mia and Danny looked at their son in disgust and scoffed. “Go clean your hands. You will never be like us and until you die you’ll regret the way you were born.” Danny spit at him. After that day Jimmy decided he was never gonna be made fun of again for his cup color. He began to get stronger, working out past his body's limits. He began fighting anyone for bullying him, coming home bloody and beaten, only bringing his family's status lower. Once he had graduated from high school, Jimmy decided he had enough of his parents abuse. He could have simply left or even moved far far away. However, he instead chose to kill. Years of abuse and torment had turned him cold. One night, after everyone had fallen fast asleep, Jimmy snuck into his parents room and suffocated them both using a pillow...