Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: monsters

If You Are Reading This, You May Already Have Lost!

If you are reading this, you may have already lost! In order to delay the inevitable, you may wish to run. Here are some tips that will hopefully make it harder for it to catch you:

  • always run downwind
  • get in the water as often as you can
  • don’t think too loud

But do you want the last moments of your life to be filled with dread and terror? Didn’t think so. Instead, I suggest you look away from any doorways, including refrigerator doors and television screens, pour yourself a nice big glass of wine, and relax.

The Gentled Tongues

The gentling of the tongues. Don’t let them speak. Every time they do, naturally: the fear of losing yourself. When they speak their one sinking truth and drag you down with it, no wonder you heat up the metal tongs and force open their mouths. In controlled conditions, let the truth spill out and harm no-one, and silence them forever. Some of the afflicted, as an act of compliance, gentle themselves and learn to speak sign language. But you know their truths are still buzzing in their heads. A hive that wants out. And what do you do about that?

Knossos, Crete

Annelie’s cunt was a labyrinth and she didn’t know how to respond when guys told her they couldn’t figure her out. She felt she was a straightforward person.

Sometimes, Annelie would time them, but it turned out that ”three hours, 15 minutes” wasn’t the right way to respond either. There was no monster at the heart of the labyrinth, but they all acted like it. They all acted like she was the labyrinth, like her emotions were as mazelike.

The solution, obvious in hindsight, was a woman named Liz. Her fingers were deft, and she was not prone to metaphor.

How Do I Become One?

They travel the night, searching for some tragedy to attach themselves to and define themselves by. You can pass them on the road, though you mustn’t stop to talk to them. They will be travelling on foot and seeming like shadows. Some say they were once human, though these rumours are unsubstantiated. They have an almost human form. You can see them at the outskirts of towns where there have been gas leaks or plane crashes, and you can see them, one for every life taken, slowly sinking into the ground until they are the saplings of some unknown tree.

Befriend a Spectre Day

It is hard to have ghosts as friends. They do not see the point in eating like you do (did) and they can float for days staring at the same painting, really looking at it. They appreciate things differently from us. And bit by bit you fade away. Ghosts are deaf, because all matter passes through them, they are always in the vacuum of space. Your hearing gets worse and worse until you’re sure flesh-people are just mouthing things at you to mess with you but then someone drops a plate and: nothing. And you should have eaten days ago.


A shadow moved across the land, shaped like the shadow of a whale. There were no whales present who could cast that shadow, there were no clouds in the sky. The crops shivered when it passed them through, but they were unscathed. Tree stumps couldn’t move when it touched them, but their roots shook.

A little boy was playing with sticks in the mud, he shivered too. The shadow circled him widely, with aquatic quickness. He thought he should scream, but the air above the shadow didn’t move like it should, and he sounded like he was underwater.

He disappeared.

Anything She Opens

This morning, her umbrella tried to eat her. Umbrellas are hungry and they have long thin teeth like needles.

Anything she opens becomes a mouth, and it often sees her as food. It is why she appreciates the chivalry so much, why the rain soaks her so often outside of pubs.

She found out her new bank account had eaten all her money. Just as good, she could never live anywhere that had doors anyway.

She tried to end it the day before she got evicted, but the deeper she cut the more it could open. She didn’t even bleed.

Plots You Can Have #5, Ambiguous Monsters Edition

[Content Warning: suicide, human sacrifice]

Previous part here: /2012/10/31/for-the-undecided-plots-you-can-have-nanowrimo-edition/

First part here: /2012/08/20/a-few-plots-you-can-have/


The Dalmour Parasite

a parasite that only infects suicidal people and turns them into psychopaths to make their lives better

Neil Ruthsmoke is a man who makes his friends suicidal. He cannot help it; it is not to do with his personality per se, it is just that his particular body odour trips bad wires in people’s brains; he is a freak of nature undiscovered by science. He is also quite depressed on account of this. Story is about how his psychologist both tracks the spread of the parasite and how it starts to take over hir. There is research into Ruthsmoke’s life, and the point where his friends stopped killing themselves and started becoming sociopaths is found. Good scenes might include: when the psychologist puts forth the idea that maybe, possibly, it’s all Ruthsmoke’s fault; when a friend breaks the pattern by topping hirself; when the psychologist realizes ze has probably been infected hirself.

Read the rest of this entry »

Red Tape

The Bureaucracy descended 30 years ago, devouring and mycolising all the northern hemisphere governments. There are maps of it but they do it no justice; not this self-duplicating, self-non-contained monster of a complex, that which laughs at wisdom and knowledge as we knew (thought we knew) it. The Bureaucracy always grows, and any attempt at finding out how it works further complicates it, for three new departments (heads) grow every time we define (cut off) the use of one department. That department then withers. The more necks it grows, the more blood simply fills them, that is how it works.


There is a creature made of ambulances roaming our city. It likes to watch people die. Its sirens sound too muffled; its shadow moves too much; the ambulances have no drivers. Cell phones stop working near them.

It makes sure to not be the first to arrive at an accident scene. It’s a living museum, made of the rusty, broken ambulances of old. If one climbs into one of them, one falls asleep to wake up somewhere else.

Individual ambulances can stand being apart from the group a few hours, but start to fall apart if separated for too long.