12/8/1919. Pt. 1

A lovecraft styled nihlistic cosmic horror story. Not in the cosmic part yet

DISCLAIMER: This is fiction, not a suicide letter

12/8/19, an accursed day which I dare to remember. A day where my life changed beyond repair, oh god. if you are reading this. I am dead. As for I shall cast myself onto the unforgiving stones below after I recount this fateful day. First I have to speak of that dreadful day, you must first know the life I once led. I was a geographer sent by the Canadian military going through the rough yet beautiful terrain that is the Carlton Trail.

On the 31st of July 1919, a night which I from two thousand kilometers south of regiment 18, couldn’t fall asleep, for I couldn't shake the mysterious aura of dread and despair that loomed over me like a mist. On that night at about midnight, the radio at the radio room no. 5 crackled to life, according to reports the control boy at regiment 18 talked about a sudden change in the light, as if light was being sucked from the lamps and towards the north of the camp. The radioboy started babbling and yelling and screaming repeatedly “The darkness! The DARKNESSSSSS!” . After 5 minutes of complete unintelligible madness the radio stopped recording.
Albert, the man picking up the radio at the control room slid off his chair, excused himself politely. As he quickly walked outside he suddenly and violently threw up black, oily liquid that sprayed on the floor and seared through the floorboards. He was on his back covering his grotesquely melting face. Jaques, a young intern with an overt case of acne reading a book in the stool next door heard pleading for mercy, ran over and was greeted with an incomprehensible sight, after standing in a stunned shock he rushed over. Albert removed his hands from his face and tried in vain to stop vomiting.

A wave of terror went over the room, Albert's eyes were black pits now, as if they were sucked into his own body and turned into the blackness he was vomiting out. Jaques died of a seizure the next day, no autopsy was available as he was buried unusually rapidly, more out of fear. His other coworkers ran in vain to help the poor man, but there was nothing to do to help, he convulsed and folded up and suddenly died 2 minutes after the vomiting started. Autopsy showed him to be completely hollow aside from flesh and bones, which were stained black.



I was summoned north within the week. The disappearance of Regiment 18, and the strange and gruesome death of Albert Lancaster and the subsequent passing of young French Canadian Jacques Côrte had stirred localised but severe panic within Fort Qu’Appelle, the nearest military base, and the place we set forth. I was appointed to lead a detachment of eight: myself, a fellow scientist assigned to record atmospheric data, a wiry veteran who claimed to have visited the regiment’s camp before, three pack carriers for our provisions. Two officers from search and rescue and lastly, 8 husky’s They called it a reconnaissance mission, yet I doubted that as we had 2 search and rescue officers

We set forth from the base and to the wilderness with about 200 kilograms of food neatly loaded on the husky tray, which had little wheels to remove when we got farther up north. On the first night we set down a camp 50 kilometers north of the starting point. A subtle fog of unease crowded my stomach despite having mapped the trail hundreds of times. The other scientist, David, a short balding yet fit man with a mild stutter in his late 30’s or early 40’s. David came up to me “ Can you f-f-feel that, that metallic…that feeling, I… We… shouldn’t be here, I can feel it.”
The little man was right. I felt that we shouldn’t be here, and I knew something was off when I was being paid over 5,000$ to go on here. The fire burned strangely, it was orange but giving off no light around the fire, a subtle foreshadow for what was to come.