Life grown small

Whoa.

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.

The notebook

EDIT: Just noticed the title. I dearly apologise.

I thank Mother Elder for being so kind as to update the blog during the recent internet deadness! And, um, sorry if my contribution to the whole Fear thing hasn’t been the greatest – but again, I’d hate to rush in against the will of people who actually know what they’re doing.

For the sake of completeness, I also ought to add a few more things: first, to prevent confusion with other bookstores we have agreed to codename this particular place. I’m… well, not good with names, as you might have guessed from early posts, so I let them pick. The bookstore is now Sarie Marais. That’s not as short as I’d expected and I have no idea what the hell it means, but okay. >_> (do I sound different?)

And secondly, they gave me an old block notebook. Bought from someone who bought it from the bookstore a long time ago, they said. Plain blue worn-out cover, some torn-out pages and lots of messy but readable enough writing inside. Neat. Inside the front cover there also lays in (what I assume to be) thin crimson ink the scrawling:

2 seT MEN fri

Still looking on the insides now. We’re onto something at last… I don’t know whether to be excited or terrified, but let’s do hope that a question or two will be answered quite soon.

And here I am, once again an uninteresting old person

First of all, I really must apologise for having so rudely put things together to my own liking, but I and old Father Willow, bless his tweed hat, believe that poor Journeyman would have some problem conveying recent events in the light of present conditions, namely the internet problems that so love to spring back and forth between us. In light of this, we decided to save our young man the trouble of easily bored readers wandering off while the problems are being sorted out. ^_^

So, to recap:

• ·      Kiddo saw a body inside the bookstore and a suspicious-looking dark shape in the shadows nearby.
• No one else was around to see it, and no one has commented on it to my knowledge.
• The bookstore has been closed since.
• Communicating has been a bugger, but it is in our favour that little Journeyman has refrained from going after possible eldritch happenings by himself – I can’t bear to imagine where would we be with him gone, he’s been just the loveliest young lad. ;~;

The sun was going down fast when we met a few hours ago, yet in our fortune the time available was, in fact, more than enough to set things straight! Our friend dearest, in all his loveliness, asks questions as one would throw discus. At a discus.

Which is, of course, should by no mean be taken as overly inflated opinion of our own usefulness, lest we be seen as marginalising Journeyman’s imminent role in the escapades that no doubt are shaping up, but nonetheless we are quite honoured to have taken part, however small it might have been.

And to get things going, a rough transcript:

“Where have you been? What was it?” “Oh, nothing fancy, just staying home and hoping you won’t run off so quickly after the next chai latte.“ “That, and inquiring a tiny bit on the bookstore.”
 “Really? What have you found then? And, um, how are you?” “Fine as always, sweetie.” “And as you might’ve noticed, we indeed have done quite a good amount of research on the dreadful place, which you indeed might have noticed from the earlier clipping.”

Writing down my own rather peculiar speech from memory is awfully strange. As is expositing through a transcript, but shush, not everyone is a good writer. >_>

“The rather inconvenient fact is that the either the Child or the Blind Man has at long last established their grip round the bookstore we are presently discussing” 

“Well, yes, I sort of noticed, but how does it relate exactly?” 

“Ah, dearie, that’s precisely where things ought to get interesting. Public knowledge on the bookstore’s origins has been quite scarce indeed, and yet we try to persevere nonetheless. You see that the Child brings forth obsession, that she fancies a home or two or a hundred thousand and now it’s all towering mounds of dusty books all over her land. You know how little kids can be. Especially after it’s gone on for twenty years.”

 “Okaaay… and the Blind Man? I hope that no one here has ongoing deals with him?”

 “If our good man had indeed played much of a role in the past, then I’m quite afraid that all those knowledgeable have most likely… forgotten.” “But you know how mean forgetfulness can be, sweetie. Don’t worry, we all know.”

 “Ah, okay, thank you, thank you. And the sun’s going down, so I guess I must get home?”

 “That you do, sonny boy.” “And don’t worry about misquoting, we’re quite fine by everything.”

 “Okay… and I’m really, really sorry for not having written well in the past, oh my god I hope I didn’t make you guys look bad, I really do.”

 “Don’t worry about misquoting, we’re quite fine by everything.”

 “Ah, yes! And thank you!” (scurries off to be good company to others) 

On that note, has anyone out there noticed the Child’s escapades before the last few months? I really haven’t, but then again old people are not generally taken as the most observant members of the society, so eh.

Hope I didn’t disappoint. Nighty night everyone~

Tea with Mother Elder and Father Willow

Just maybe a couple of hours ago, and with an abundance of chewy sugary stuff. Both of our houses mostly lack good internet for time being, but discussing the blogs proved to be quite a bit of fun. Why would old people follow anything on the internet? Well, why wouldn't they now?

Also discussed the time I got upset by some sods who pelted me with rocks near the school and spent an hour writing "convocation" with the second syllable repeated ad nauseam until I started giggling.

... It is a funny word. >_> Also my dad had his past stolen by an eldritch being and I have more or less ceased to exist.

On that note, "the Convocation" - just about everything, in fact - seems to be somewhat silly in the face of what we all have seen in recent times. I mean, it looks like a flock of bird, yes, but I for one doubt that categorisation would be the wisest. More precisely, it is a thing from fuck knows where existing in a way the human mind is most likely not meant to understand yet that happens to be perceived as similar to birds for most parts - for all we know it probably lives in a giant polka dot spork a thousand leagues tall, but that still would just be a mere corner within what would be a vast, complex definition, most likely conflicting with the vast majority of things that mankind as a whole accepts.

Think of it this way: the earthquake in Japan last year killed thousands, brought down millions of dollars of property and triggered an environmental disaster, and yet do we have in our mind a rogue tremor interested in the discomfort of the human society? Noooo. More likely it was simply rocks moving not a few metres at the bottom of the world, scarcely caring for what the world up there would think. Why would anything quite as supposedly capable as them care more for us in particular, then? For all we know, the tall faceless man in business suit might simply desire a mere $20 and wants little to do with the curious Anglophones with video cameras. This brings us to why everyone thinks that they too are obsessed with each other; why would they be the only ones out there? Why would they even be the most important ones?

This, of course, is not the most comforting of thoughts. O_o but I am rambling yet again.

Having people to discuss these matters in meatspace has proven itself quite nice, not to mention massively enlightening. ^_^ Haven't quite gotten around to telling the family yet, but they've known of Mother Elder and Father Willow (though not by those names) for quite a while now, which I suppose renders visits quite alright. And lastly on the point of writing - this is the first time I actually type the post down within the provided space instead of days of extended, hurried drafting in words and oh providence it feels good it feels good it feels good~

Well, maybe more comprehensible and more of an actual blog post than an ideological tract, but I'll probably resort to the previous technique for things that demand longer passages. Might be counterproductive of course, but ideas do get into my writing quite rapidly and I trust the reader with most of the interpretation.

Have to go again now. Cheers!

A little elaboration should not hurt

Well, I should think so for time being.                                  

I first met them in a nearby park on a walk, maybe on a morning, maybe on an evening. Not important for now either way. They were standing by the pond, feeding bread to the swans. Mother Elder – if that really is her name, which in any case is unlikely – wore an emerald green sweater, heeding the weather scarcely more than she would any other time. With her black boater she stood at roughly half a head below me. She smiled at the ground, smiled as she looked up, smiled at the vast space about her without a sign of wanting to cease. Something amusing, perhaps? Shadows moving through the trees? Interesting thought, and yet I have no idea. Father Willow – again, most likely a placeholder for now – was in the exact same outfit he wore at the lunch. He stood slightly taller at the same height as mine, and as he would always do, wore a bit of a smirk. Both wore rectangular glasses, the sorts that call the Industrial Revolution their home era.

Now, no one seems to notice me right away in recent times, and it was, well, a less than ideal time of life, so I decided to sit down on a nearby bench and lose myself in thoughts. Thoughts of more or less everything that would help me escape for once: maybe books, music, the swans, whatever. I sat down for maybe a minute, maybe five, maybe ten… then I saw an elderly woman sitting by me and wearing the nicest smile. The old man I’d presumed to be her husband stood nearby, smirking as usual.

I suppose that things would’ve gone far differently if someone under them had done the same to me earlier: weeks upon weeks of the strangest things had worn me and the family out, and I was alone, lost in fantasies, and more vulnerable than anyone else could be. Well, it didn’t. They said hi. We talked a bit about the weather and the little I knew of the news. Then I let slip that my family just moved due to some private matters. I realised what I’d said a moment later, but they were curious, and so I simply said what I thought wouldn’t hurt. They stayed. They listened. It was, well, nothing like what I’ve said here, long after I started to find out more about people with similar afflictions. But it was nice.

We said our farewells a bit after that, and met again there the next day. We talked about more mundane things – I think that I did try to get them to watch the Tintin movie a few times. Throughout it all I thought of how I’d tell mum and sis about people noticing me for once, but well, I’d talked about mundane things to strangers before, so I didn’t see that much of a problem. I can’t remember them giving their names before last Saturday, but they later gave me an address and told me to visit.

It wouldn’t have to be eldritch beings with ominous goals to do harm; just a sufficiently deranged person with an eye on teenagers. And yet I came. Nice place – bit dusty, but so is my own, so meh. Lots of novels lined up on a few cupboards, mostly from before the seventies. Furniture were as antiquated as anyone would expect them to be, with the inexplicable computer’s somewhat more inexplicable LCD screen being the sole exception. We had tea on every visit. I’m an adolescent male; why the buggery would I have tea with an old couple? But well, there weren’t anyone else, so I went along with everything, and it didn’t hurt that they, well, didn’t hurt.

There’s been too many times where the slightest bit of bad intention on their part would’ve done me a world of hurt, I suppose. I mean, we’ve all seen maybe dozens of people on the blogs engaging in what amount to horror movie clichés (thanks, spellchecker) and dying or maybe worse as the result. At any point throughout the past few months I would’ve presented far too easy a target. And yet they listened instead.

I’m not, of course, saying that blind trust has a trace of wisdom, but they’re here now, they know of what’s been after me, among others, and considering what’s happened so far, not in as convenient a manner as some would like to accuse.

Getting caught in the open after all of this would, of course, be unpleasant, but I think that I’d honestly like having some help on my side – on our side, even. Well, I do hope that that’s what’s happening.

Discovery

So: the sound system played this as I walked in. Would hardly claim to know anything of the field, so let us take a look at what the good Wikipedia has to say. Shall we?

"Lili Marleen" (a.k.a. "Lili Marlene", "Lily Marlene", "Lili Marlène" etc.) is a German love song which became popular during World War II.

Written in 1915 during World War I, the poem was published under the title "Das Lied eines jungen Soldaten auf der Wacht" (German for "The Song of a Young Soldier on Watch") in 1937, and was first recorded by Lale Andersen in 1939 under the title "Das Mädchen unter der Laterne" ("The Girl under the Lantern").

Following Nazi occupation of Yugoslavia, from 1941 Radio Belgrade became Soldatensender Belgrad to entertain German armed forces; the song was played frequently and became popular throughout Europe and the Mediterranean among both Axis and Allied troops.

Interesting thought, no? But of course, a good majority of visitors are more than likely here for reasons pertaining to otherworldly interferences, which I shall elaborate on shortly.

I suppose that there really is no way to express this without making myself appear thoroughly moronic, so I’ll just go ahead and say: they are the old couple. No, that was most definitely not a typo, and yes, I do mean that the elderly pair of neighbours I mentioned a few posts back were, in fact, waiting for me at the lunch place (which was reasonably crowded). And no, it is deeply unlikely that I am insane, at least not much more than I have always been.

                                                                                                                                               

But to reiterate: elderly couple took over my blog and went on to stalk me with regard to the Fears. What.

And yet this was the opportunity I had so long yearned for. It was all too likely to be a trap at first, yes, but also the very thing I’d wanted ever since Dad… well, you know. So I sat down. They’d ordered fish and chips.

I really haven’t practised enough at this, but I guess that I’m supposed to present some sort of transcript for the conversation, so:

“You’re the old couple I met the other day”, I exclaimed, quite reluctant to believe my senses. “We’re the old couple you met the other day”, said the elderly grandmother whom I presumed to be “E.”. She sat by a full plate, her hair tied up in a bun. She was wearing a violet sweater with white leaf pattern and an old nondescript skirt, I think. Her spouse, whom I immediately presumed to be "W.", was in an old leather jacket, tweed hat and worn-out pair of jeans. He had an unopened pack of cigarette by his person.

Scarcely able to remind myself of the implications, my curiosity took over, and soon enough, I was asking questions.

Q: Apology for being rude, but who are the two of you exactly?

E: [smiling] Your neighbours, dear.

W: [also smiling] That means we live near you.

E: That we do. [laughs]

Q: That certainly is quite obvious >_> *, but what do the two of you have to do with, well… them?

E: Well, to be frank, who doesn’t? And yet, it should without a doubt be intriguing that so many would know so much. All I can say for now is that we’re not what one would call terrific with all that Google thing, so no blog for us now.

W: She means that we are informed of them.

E: But then again… wait. [raises palm and sips tea**] lots of people know. For instance, there’s this lovely lady who was apparently an expert on Greek mythology until a few days ago, when… ah, not a useful sort of detail, I’m afraid.

W: We all know of the rest, though. Men and women of all sorts running around with knowledge, poetry, mysterious companions and shotguns, men and women of generally less pleasant sorts running around with symbols, masks, and fancy phrases with capitalised first letters, et cetera, et cetera. Lovely, isn’t it? Oh, hello there Amy. [smirks]

E: [stares] Now, now, people are dying out there.

[beat]                                                                                                                                                                         

W: Sorry. [edges away to nibble on fish and chips]

Q: So… what the two of you are trying to say is that you know quite a bit about the Fears…

W: Most correct.

Q: See, as you just said yourselves, lots of people do. What happens then?

E: [sighs] That’s where most of the problem lies, I’m afraid. You see, mankind occasionally finds it quite a bugger to embrace – no pun intended – the sheer degree of difference between what is known, clear and quantifiable and, well, certain things.

Q: I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure if I understand.

E: Well, don’t be! [pats back] Consider the common human being, maybe the common sufferer even. They grow through the weeks, months and years, they see with their eyes whatever the light shines on, their skin touches the tangible matter to their fore, they live with wants and needs, they came from something, they will probably become something else eventually, and we may assume that they are something at this very moment. Consider also the most ruthless rulers of mankind, and we may add a sizeable number of dead people into each bit.

W: Fortunately, in a manner of speaking, the Fears are hardly the most ruthless rulers of mankind.

Q: No?

E: Well, maybe just about a million times worse. More mustard dear?

Q: Okay… also something I need to discuss. About the clipping the other day…

E: Now, now, I believe that I’ve expressed our concern to you around the time. Lots of people in the know wouldn’t have quite cared, unfortunately – again, the problem lies with understanding. [stares emptily] You see, the current state of matters involves itself with these things from who knows where, going after who knows what by who knows how.

W: There’s been a few inside sources as you mentioned the other day, yes, but it’s not hugely likely that they should prove all that useful in figuring them out. Oh, and more ketchup? You do seem to be terribly fond of it.

E: Yes, yes, yes. *** And even then, all those folks still would not accept it – see, all things that man deals with has to be things that man can define. The distance is in miles, the weight has to be in stones, and the politician’s wealth in the number of oppressed working class men. Not them, you see. Some things are just there, and however hard we wish it sometimes is impossible to get them to do things this way or that way. It was probably a boy of eleven one day, so why should it be an infant on another? Because.

Q: And the exact reason we’ve had to cross paths is…?

E: [sighs] [Journeyman], [Journeyman], [Journeyman] – may I call you that, dear?

Q: Taking everything into account, I see no problem.

E: Well, we do believe that you’ve seen enough – more than enough, some might say. [takes off glasses and wipes on handkerchief]

W: Now, here’s not to say that no one had any idea what happened either back at your old suburb, but your family did move. And, well…

E: We’re here. We know you, you know us, and, well, there are those nice people on the blog that we’ll have to know better. [smiles] It doesn’t have to be an eternity of running, dear. No one would call it easy, but we did figure out that having a few people in the know around would be in everyone’s best interests.

Q: Thank you very much then! Um, what do the acronyms stand for again?

E: [laughs] More of a little joke, really. I, call me Mother Elder.

W: And you can call me Father Willow.

And that is all the important things I can remember for now, I should think.

Mother Elder. Father Willow.

“Under the Willow Tree”.

Strange, I know – hard to find anyone trustworthy enough when every other person is a possible servant. Not to mention taking over the blog – not something that people unfamiliar with Google do all that often, I think. But perhaps my own actions have, well, not quite been the wisest? I know that I’ve been rash and yet panicky and, dammit, far too much of a bloody whiner at times, but I really, really hate to imagine what would’ve probably happened if I’d taken another step into the bookstore without all the knowledge I have now.

I really haven’t been able to describe the whole affair the way I should – my deepest apology. Promise to update some time in the foreseeable future.

Thanks.

* Not a direct quote, IIRC.

** I think that it was a chai latte. This is an essential bit of information.

*** Not sure why this would bring my thought here, but I have so far been quite unable to place their accents.

The Reveal

Kept me waiting for quite a while, but I can honestly say that I am quite glad to announce that I found this in my inbox quite recently:

 

So: public meetup, where still no one is likely to express concern but hard evidence and testimony may be taken – and strange as they might have all too often been, there is always the minute chance that E. and W. are, in fact, not malevolent human beings in the service of the Fears.

I am here. I am ready. What I plan to do, I will do out of no will but mine.

Cheero.