Saturday, 7 April 2012

Life grown small


It’s four months since I started the blog, maybe more since my life turned interesting, and what have I put up here? Nameless, faceless people, a nameless locale, and a probably much less than presentable narrator with no clue on where he’s going.

So: another introduction.

Hello all. I started this blog on December 2011 with the name From St Martin’s Land (not sure why now). I post here under the screen name Journeyman Shoemaker, which shares initials with my real name. I am a male high school (equivalent) student and currently live with my mother and my older sister, who happens to be a year above me. I enjoy the occasional speculative fiction, upbeat music, excitement and yoghurt. I used to have friends, good friends even. I took long walks on evenings and blurry pictures on family outings, I tried to talk classmates into liking my favourite bands, I collected cheap hats and not that long before this all began I worked on a study guide assignment for my English class.

Just a few weeks before it started, there would honestly be little reason for me to start a blog, but, well… I sort of like to write about myself a lot. Long story short, my dad disappeared, and signs would indicate that these things some call the Fears are involved. Since then the family’s tried to move on (bar some hindrances), and to be honest I’d intended to write about more mundane things here back when I began. Heh.
Circumstances took more interesting turns and strange things started coming in, this time usually related to a nearby bookstore, now to be referred to as Sarie Marais for the sake of convenience. Which brings us to Mother Elder and Father Willow, an old couple living nearby but as of late exceedingly hard to reach. This couple, who have also gained access to the blog (for what I can only hope are savoury purposes), are as far as I know quite knowledgeable on the subject of the Fears, though I don’t know how much. They’ve been quite enigmatic figures themselves, meaning that for the time being I hope that my trust lies where it ought to.

So far they’ve been the foremost source of clues and information, most of which looks a tad suspicious. But I don’t exactly have anyone else on my side, so… yeah.

Hope that cleared a few things up. Have music.


As a matter of fact, if it weren’t for the fate-tempting aspect, I would’ve been quite tempted to remark on the recent lack of activity. As for the “I hate the world and I’m writing this because fuck you” display unfortunately kept up by so many lonely… what to call them… people stalked by Fears (henceforth to be referred to as PSBFs for brevity), I like to consider myself grown past that. Readers of course would like to differ, but eh.

But on to the point. With internet access being the vengeful deity that it is for the past couple of weeks, I found some time to read through the journal/block note thing. And fail my assignments too, but hey, nonsense Fear material.


she comes here she comes sHe comes

...more nonsensical than I’d hoped, but okay.



Curious and curiouser. I’d honestly appreciate more clues, but I guess I’ll just have to be patient and smile if it does help eventually.

First two pages are reasonably legible and written in blue felt-tip pen. The next one, just a little bit less due to being unreasonably small. Sharp pencil this time.


‘Tis the last week before Christmas of 1988, and here I sit in [blacked out], fearing for my life. Fine bit of struggle this has been. There surely were more sensible ways to warn the staff, but [blacked out] had to be a hero, yes he had to! Now the girl’s gone and people who looked after orphans are now going after me with machetes. Was it a girl? Pretty sure it was a baby boy or girl or beluga whale or whatever last month. Come to think of it, being the more informed part, taking evidence would’ve been wiser too. And not getting drunk for days while running from people with machetes. All things considered it could’ve been avoided, but Lili Marlene. And then lili mareln lili Marlens, because Lili marnlen. Fuck it, I’m slipping

I didn’t read well enough before I said that the rest was readable, because they’re not. Torn-up and stained pages are quite abundant too. Everything in the house either died or leaked like the Titanic throughout the fortnight and I had this bloody headache (now mostly gone fortunately), so the investigation had to wait. All we may know for now is that someone knew then. Or recently – haven’t really thought much about it, but I’m entrusting my safety to an old couple I don’t know all that much after all. But then again, if it does turn out to be genuine, then I suppose I’ll have to wait for a meeting. Not that we ought to be optimists here.