Welcome

This blog has been created to allow people to read a short story I have written called White Beach. In this first introductory post I'll explain a little bit about the story and how I've written it and what sort of things can be expected from it. I do really hope you all like it.

So a brief summary (spoiler free): White Beach is set on an island in an undisclosed location and begins with the anonymous main character waking up, having been ship wrecked in the previous night's storm. He meets another castaway who he doesn't quite get on with at first but he isn't the only other inhabitant that he has to contend with...

The main influences for this story are the late 19th century adventure stories (The Lost World, Treasure Island etc.) and "Weird fiction" stories such as the novels of H.P. Lovecraft, William Hope Hodgeson and Robert W. Chambers. The main reason for these influences? Recently they have been all I have been reading. For all of these stories, because of their age, they have fallen out of copyright and so it's possible to download and read them for free on my Kindle. I've been really enjoying them and I found them really quite inspiring. So over the last 2 or 3 years (I have been procrastinating a bit) I put together a plot, characters and, well, invented an entire species. That will be explained in greater detail in the story itself but suffice to say that I've put a lot of thought into this story. I think I could write even more about the process of writing the story than I wrote for the story itself, luckily for everyone (including myself) I won't be doing that but I thought I would put down a few interesting points which I hope will help explain some of the reasoning behind some things that crop up in the story.

First most notable thing will be the language style. It's all over place. There are actually some good reasons for this and it's not just because I'm a bad writer. Mostly. The main reason is that I wanted to make it very difficult to work out when this story is taking place. The main character is looking back at his experiences and doesn't anyone to find out about the island and so as part of the cover-up he never says when it all took place. The way I've tried to add in this ambiguity is to introduce turns of phrase and language from different time periods which was made a lot easier thanks to all the books I've been reading that are old enough to fall out of copyright. A lot of language used is rather archaic and very rarely used nowadays so adds a layer of disorientation to it. Another reason for these stylistic changes is because it is told from the castaway's point of view and I wanted the reader to perhaps, in some areas, question the narrator. Did it really happen as he described? Is he reliable? The final reason for the strange language is just because it was quite fun to write in a rather "old-fashioned" way.

The plot of White Beach is really quite stylistically similar to a lot of H.P. Lovecraft's stories with a seemingly normal protagonist discovering or being exposed to something very strange and bizarre that changes his view of the universe and the natural order of things and may even lead to him losing his mind. This wasn't a completely conscious decision and came up quite naturally as I was planning; bare in mind, I had recently completed the collected works of H.P. Lovecraft before the first ideas started to come together and form the basic outline of the story, so it isn't really all that surprising that it ended up the way it did.

The setting of an undiscovered island mostly came about because of how much I enjoyed Treasure Island which I only started reading about halfway through the planning stage. The island setting also helped with the set-up for this new species I've been hinting at but that will become more obvious if you stick around to read the story for yourself. This species, without revealing too much, I've been doing a hell of a lot of research for to really try and make them as authentic and believable as possible. The only other thing I'll say about them is that it required a lot of research into whether fish are capable of making noises. Just so you know, yes certain species of fish can make noises.

I could write another hundred paragraphs about the long slow process this has gone through for this fun little distraction of mine to make it up to this point but I promised I wouldn't do that and I don't think I could say much more without spoiling it so I shall now leave the discovering up to you. I should be posting up parts of this fairly regularly and without too much of a gap between them so it'll be easy to follow and you 'll remember what's happened so far.

And with that, my final word will be: Enjoy!

White Beach Part 1

I’m not writing this to prove anything or to convince anyone that what happened on the island really happened, I’m writing this to get it straight in my own head. It’s not for anything but my own sanity. This will be a full account but I can’t allow anyone to retrace my footsteps and find the island or those creatures so I’m withholding key information to prevent the island ever being found. My name, my career or my reasons for being at sea that night a storm cast me away on that hell-hole, cannot be given, so my account begins with me waking up on the beach the morning after the storm.

I woke up and looked around me. I was halfway up the beach from the sea, around 200 meters from woodland growing on the shoreline. To left and right, the beach stretched off into the distance. I was alone. I dragged myself up to the shade of the trees as the Sun was already beating down. I didn’t yet know if I was on an island or the shoreline of some larger landmass, the storm could have transported me hundreds of miles, if I had washed up in an inhabited area then I might have some hope of rescue. To find out I had to get high up. There was a stream near to where I awoke that ran down into the sea, and by looking upstream I could see it lead up to a high ridge that overlooked the surrounding woodland. It wasn’t quite a mountain but it seemed high enough to gain a good vantage point. I cupped some water from the stream in my hands and drank. It was the sweetest, purest water I have ever tasted. It revitalized me to begin my climb.

I walked up to the ridge along the bank as the vegetation wasn’t as thick as it was further into the woods. The rocks were slippery and I fell numerous times but eventually made it to the top where the forest thinned out and parted. I could see blue expanse in every direction from the pinnacle. I was on an island. And an almost perfectly circular island at that. The side of the island that I had climbed up was lush and verdant, being covered in trees, bushes and shrubs. The other side of the island had trees as well but they were sparser and in the gaps between the trees tall grasses sprouted up. The island seemed split down the side by the ridge I was now straddling. The sparser side ran down to a long, wide beach that was glistening white. The beach bordered a large deep blue, almost black, lake that lay in the centre of the island. It was obviously unfathomably deep and hemmed in from the sea by a band of rock and coral on the opposing side to the beach. The beach unnerved me. It was strange as all the other beaches fringing the island were a dusty yellow colour but this one was blindingly white to the point I almost had to shield my eyes despite the distance. Whilst scanning around from the top of the ridge, I happened to spot what appeared to be a ship, wrecked on the beach to the North (what I took to be North) of where I landed. It didn’t appear to be the vessel I had been on. I thought it might well be the means of my escape and even if this wasn’t the case, I supposed that there might be supplies on board or even a radio I could use to contact the outside world. The undergrowth was so tangled that I reasoned the best path to take to the ship would be back down the stream and along the beach.

I’ve included a simple map of the island. I feel drawing the map and following my own path across it keeps the experience real for me. Whether this is actually a positive or negative thing… Well I cannot decide. Perhaps in the telling of my story I will find out.

The black X indicates where I awoke on the beach.
The red X indicates the summit of the ridge I climbed and from where I surveyed the land and the blue X the position of the wrecked boat.

I retraced my steps along the stream. The woods on either side were repressive and I felt lucky to have found the stream which made the journey so much easier. There was bird song all around and I started to think about what other animals called the island home. Just as I was thinking this something rustled in the leaves to my right and burst out directly at me. I slipped and fell hard but luckily was only left with a few grazes. My attacker sprinted off and it was then I realized it was a small species of deer and not a tiger or leopard as my mind had begun to conjure up. At least there was some source of food if I found nothing in the boat though I had no idea of how I would go about catching such a swift meal. I picked myself up and once I had made it back to the beach, walked along the sand to the wrecked ship. Once I got closer I saw it was some form of yacht but I confess I’m not an expert when it comes to boats. It was rolling and listing with every wave that sped up the beach. I thought for a second it might still be sea-worthy and my escape route off the island but these hopes were dashed as I saw the gash ripped up the side of the boat like a crooked smile. It was high up enough that small waves couldn’t reach it but I knew that as soon as it hit open water the smallest swell would swamp it and it would be rolling around at the bottom of the ocean in the mud.

I got to its side and jumped up, grabbing onto the railing. As I hung on, my weight caused the boat to shift and for a nauseating second I thought it was going to tip and crush me into the sand but I hoisted myself up and it settled out. The whole boat was trashed. Various pieces of equipment, lifejackets and personal effects littered the deck. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Over everything hung the smell of rotting wood and corrosion from the sea spray. The boat had obviously been stranded for a while, going by the condition of the sofas down below that were crumbling apart and the general state of decay. I fished around in the cupboards and boxes but it seemed most of the contents of the ship had been emptied onto the floor by, I presumed, the action of the previous night’s storm. I guessed the storm was also responsible for dislodging it from wherever it had become stuck and lifting it up the beach. It couldn’t have originally been stuck on the beach as I was sure the high tide would have cast it adrift. The tide was still out at this point but it was slowly coming in, ready to take the ship out and into its depths.

Continuing to search, I came across an inflatable dingey that didn’t seem to have any holes but wouldn’t have been much use out on the open ocean, some cans that didn’t have any labels but seemed to have survived intact and un-rusted, some old clothes (two salt encrusted shirts and a pair of trousers that looked too large but were otherwise in good condition), a fairly sharp 3 inch knife and a flare gun with 4 rounds in an airtight metal box. The flare gun was in excellent condition and I thought about maybe firing off a shot right then and there but changed my mind; I had to conserve the rounds for if I actually saw a boat or ship nearby. I was in the middle of nowhere and even if the flare went up 300 or 400 feet no one was likely to see it. I found the radio in the wheel house, unfortunately it had not fared nearly as well as the flare gun. It was weeping salt water and the front was hanging on only by its own wires. Dead.

I inflated the dingey and dropped it over the side, then threw my new supplies onto it before following suit and landing in the hot sand. Using the dingey as a sled I dragged my new supplies up to the tree line and sat in the shade. The clothes I had gotten from the yacht were soaked through so I laid them out on the sand to dry. It was exceedingly hot and after the day’s exertions, I found myself nodding off. I must have slept for an hour and a half as when I finally groggily awoke the Sun was rapidly sinking. I looked around and saw the dingey still under the shade of the tree but the drying clothes were gone. I was perplexed. I got up and looked down the length of the beach in both directions thinking the wind had taken them but there was no sign of them anywhere. Then I noticed the footprint. It was the right foot, long and thin and was missing the second smallest toe. The other footprints had been filled in by the wind but this one had remained sheltered by some driftwood. I wasn’t sure what to think. On the one hand this footprint showed I wasn’t alone on the island and help could be nearby, but on the other it showed I was not alone on the island and a dangerous individual could be nearby. I hadn’t seen any villages or any signs of habitation from the ridge so it was likely they were on their own. Were they a castaway like myself? How long had they been here? It was starting to get dark so I thought it best to try and construct some sort of shelter and then try and find my neighbour in the morning. I found some large, leafy branches which seemed to be further casualties of the storm and propped them up against a low, wide tree branch. My “shelter” was complete. I dragged the dingey closer and took out the knife and flare gun before covering it in branches to hide it. I sat in my shelter with the knife laid on my left side. I loaded the flare gun and laid it out on my right. Just in case. I watched the Sun set and the tide come in and again my eyes grew heavy, my head sagged and I fell asleep.

White Beach Part 2

The rustling of leaves woke me. I looked around and saw in the moonlight, what looked like a pile of rags over by the dingey. I carefully picked up the flare gun and the knife, stood up and moved closer. The pile heard me and turned. It turned out it wasn’t a pile of rags but a small, wrinkled old man. His skin was browned and tough and his eyes were wide. He reminded me of a bushbaby or some other nocturnal creature. He held one of the cans in his left hand which had dark almost black nails which more resembled claws. His other hand was a scarred nub. He gazed at, through and all around me at the same time. His clothes were hanging on to his malnourished frame seemingly by force of habit alone. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I breathed out at which point the stench of him invaded my nostrils. He seemed not to notice my repressed gagging. He continued to stare at me and through me and then suddenly began talking. He talked in a continuous stream and didn’t trip over or hesitate on a single word. The way he spoke gave me the feeling that he was reading from a script. He must have been practicing what he would say to the first human he came across.

He said “They have lived in the lake for hundreds of millions of years and they have wandered this island for almost as long. Certainly for millions of years before we even existed. Before our ancestors could crawl they had been running, YES, running and hunting and eating. And worshipping. They seem as monsters to us but their GOD is something we could not even begin to understand or comprehend. Though they appear strange to us but they OF THIS WORLD. They were born from the same primordial soup that our ancestors were birthed in. But their god was not born here, if she was even born AT ALL. She did not come from that same soup. She lives so far away but she feels so close here. It could be to do with the position of the stars and constellations. Gravity. Worm holes. Or perhaps it is beyond our comprehension entirely. I do not think they understand it any more than we could. They try their best. They try to draw her here. They have tried for so long. They give half, she devours half but one day she will devour whole. She is old. She is vast. She is Yag-Ropth. She is the God of Terror.”

I just stood in stunned silence. The intensity emanating from this man was incredible. His eyes shone in the dark. He had paused for around 30 seconds but he suddenly continued as if there had been no pause. “Their efforts are plain to see on the beach. So many MILLIONS of years have they hunted and sacrificed. They have always given their half. It’s why I’m still here. They hunt their game in multiples of two. They have to so as to ensure she gets half. They cannot catch three or five because they cannot be halved easily. For the same reason they cannot hunt just ONE so they have left me to my own devices. Now though… there are two.”

Again I was dumbfounded. I still held the flare gun and knife absentmindedly, vaguely pointing them in the direction of this obviously crazy man but I almost forgot I was holding them so deeply fascinated I was to hear what this person was saying. He related these things so earnestly that my mind was entirely preoccupied trying to understand his ramblings. He seemed to recognise my utterly confused state and without changing his expression or breaking eye contact he swiftly brought the can in his hand sweeping into my temple. My ears rang and as I lost consciousness I still had his musty stench within my nostrils.My mind became buoyant and floated. I felt it rise up through the layers of tissue and bone and skin and up through the air. It passed through the clouds and out of the Earth’s atmosphere into the coldness of space. It sluggishly floated past the planets of the solar system. Mars’s dusky red surface, the immensity of Jupitar, the pale yellow of Saturn surrounded by its icy ring. I saw them all as I floated past. Past the cyan atmosphere of Uranus and the deep blue of Neptune. Out and further out, I floated. Past asteroids and comets and new stars and old stars and dead stars and voids. It was all so beautiful. The eternity of space passed me. You know when you are sat on a train and there is a train on the next track and for a second you can’t tell if it’s the train you are on that’s moving or it’s the neighbouring one? It was much like that. Was I moving through space or was space re-positioning itself around me? I couldn’t be sure. The movement continued for an age it felt like. Every wonder in the galaxy and of other galaxies floated past. And then I saw it. It was a long way off for a long time. A tiny blip of deep blue in the nothing. It grew and grew until it was enormous. It was awe-inspiring. It filled my view and then I saw the dark shadow crossing in front of it. Blocking its light. It was a tiny spit of rock compared to this gigantic blue sun but there was something in it that drew me away from the blue light. My mind (or was it my soul?) was drawn down to the rock. It skirted the cracked and scarred surface. It navigated the ravaged and eroded mountains that were mere nubs now but were still twice the size of anything the Earth has ever produced. Deep canyons and craters littered the black surface. I saw shapes moving and other shapes not moving in the perpetual night of the dark side of the planet. I saw giants and creatures that can only be described as like the pagan gods of thousands of years ago. I saw watchers and hunters and great tangled masses and other things that I couldn’t see but that I could feel as chills that ran through the heart of me. I descended lower against my will. I floated through the deeper canyons and the beings I saw living in that hellish blackness could not be described by any living thing. There were things that defied human language or comprehension. I flew down into an even deeper void of one of the canyons. The rock’s crust itself was rent in two. I fell down into the blackness. I noticed that the black was blacker straight ahead, where I was heading. The massive chasm engulfed me and still I fell. It felt like the dark was eating me whole. A great seam ran across the void. The seam parted. A yellow eye of colossal proportions, lit the dark. The pupil was staring directly at me. The eyes are the windows to the soul but this eye… There was no soul.

It’s now been two weeks since I last wrote about the island. Reliving that hellish vision I had… The blue sun. The rock. That which lived inside that rock. I still have nightmares. I think I always shall. But now I shall return to my story. Again I begin with myself waking up on the beach after my vision.

I was screaming and crying into the night for a long time. My head was bleeding and I wandered through the forest and screamed. My memory of that night is patchy. I think I gained and lost consciousness more than once. Eventually I came back to myself in the early morning. I was shivering although it was already warm. I picked my way back through the forest and came to the shelter and the dingey which had been emptied of cans. The knife was gone but somehow I still had the flare gun in my hand. I didn’t notice it was there until I started looking for it. The metal box with the flare gun rounds had been thrown into a bush nearby. I sat and tried to think. First off I had to get away to somewhere the crazy bastard that had tried to smash my skull in wouldn’t be able to find me. Secondly I had to get water and food. The water would be easy to get as I already knew the stream nearby was purer than silk. Food would be a problem. The jungle was just too thick to see, hunt or even simply move around in. I guessed I would have greater luck on the other side of the island in the tall grasses. I reasoned the deer would be easier to track. The third thing I had to do was to try and get rescued. If I could make a fire big enough on the top of the ridge, the smoke column could reach a thousand feet up. I looked out across the beach. The tide had taken the yacht.

I quickly made my way to the stream and gorged myself and cleaned the dry blood from my tender temple. Again I made the climb up to the ridge and again I was hit with the glare of the white beach. As I picked my way down the rocks and boulders on the other side, I couldn’t shake that beach from my mind. It was like the glare had been so bright it had been burnt into my brain. The ridge on the other side was much clearer of vegetation but what it lacked in greenery it more than made up for in hard, sharp rock. After hours of carefully picking my way down the slope I got down and pushed my way through the grass. It was dry and yellow and almost as tall as I was. After ripping my arms up and down with cuts, I stumbled onto a beaten track. It was wide and obviously oft used I assumed by the deer that inhabited the island and that I had already met. The earth had been pounded down, almost to rock and the seedlings on either side kept a respectful distance from its centre. What was puzzling to me at the time was how much wider it was than the deer I had seen. I started to wonder whether I had seen only a juvenile or whether they travelled in a single herd on this side of the island.

The trek to the grass fields had taken much longer than I had expected and it was getting dark. I decided to follow the track and hopefully come to some more open space to set up a camp. I felt stupid for even thinking it as soon as I said it. A camp? I had the clothes on my back (which were ripped and torn and blood soaked), the flare gun in my waistband and the three flare rounds in my pocket. That was it. What I really meant by “camp” was “somewhere I could lie down”. I hadn’t eaten for the entire day so was feeling fairly weak but the water I had drunk from the stream was so refreshing, I managed to push on. I was passing along the track when I noticed the grasses were thinner on my left side. I pushed them aside and saw that a clearing had been stamped out. In the centre rose a thick tree trunk. The very top resembled a great fish’s head, mouth open to the heavens, eyes bulging out on either side. The scales had been delicately cut into the trunk but the bottom end was covered in scratches and symbols crudely hacked out of the wood. The delicate carved head was old and weathered but the lower scratches were fresher and… violent. All around the clearing wooden stakes had been driven into the soil. Some were old to the point of crumbling whilst others looked like they had been planted the night before. They varied in height from 30cm to two meters. They had no discernible order, being placed randomly hither and thither. What was most unnerving were the stains. Deep brown stains around the tree trunk. The place unnerved me but it seemed it was the only clear area other than the track so, not wanting to be trampled by a herd of deer on the track, I gathered some grass around me and lay down at the far edge of the clearing to sleep.

I slept badly. What did it all mean? Clearings in the grassland? Carved statues surrounded by stakes? Dark stains? Was this all the work of the castaway? How long had he been on the island? What had happened to him? These questions swirled in my head and robbed me of rest. It was whilst I was lying there that I remembered the castaway’s words. He had spoken of monsters from the lake that worshipped a strange god. The Yag-Ropth. The “God of Terror”. I remembered my dream or vision or hallucination or whatever it was. The great eye in the void of the rock that orbited a vast blue star. I finally fell into a fitful rest. The stars shone so clearly, the sky was almost white with them.

White Beach Part 3

In the morning I awoke and went to look more closely at the tree trunk at the centre of the clearing. It towered above me and its fish eye stared blankly at me. The symbols carved into it were strange. I hadn’t and still haven’t seen anything like them despite my later research into ancient languages and writing systems. They were entirely alien looking. Squiggles and lines and curves. One symbol did seem to stand out at me though and was oft repeated on its scarred surface. It finally dawned on me what it was. As soon as I recognised it I felt bile rise in my gullet and retched. I’ve included a sketch of it.


It was clearly an eye. An eye that had come to me in a dream. An eye that orbited a far off blue star. It was all too much. It was all so strange and terrible I had to get away from it. I stumbled away from the clearing and through a partial break in the grass. I stumbled and pushed my way through until the grasses started to peter out. They opened and I was confronted by the White Beach. I had fled from one terror to another and it felt as though it was a far greater terror that I now had before me. The beach was white with bones. Deer bones, fish bones, bird bones, turtle bones, shells, other bones, strange bones, broken bones, bleached old bones, pink new bones. The beach was made of millions upon millions of bones. Dark birds that could have been a species of crow, hopped from skull, to rib cage, to hip bone, pecking at dried, mummified flesh and congealed pools of what looked to be fat and fur. I fell to my knees and the words of the castaway washed through my head.

“They try to draw it here. They have tried for so long.”
“Their efforts are plain to see on the beach. So many millions of years have they hunted and sacrificed.”

What monsters could have created such a place? What dark souls had birthed such a landscape? A landscape of death, fringing a lake of such depth the water was like midnight even in the morning sunlight. I looked out across it and felt the burn of my throat. I hadn’t drank anything since the climb yesterday and my retching had scalded me. I knew I had to go to the lake which meant crossing that field of decay. I retched again but nothing was produced. I began to walk. I tripped on femurs and my boots slipped off of smoothed craniums. I snapped delicate ribs and crushed vertebrae. I came to the lake and scooped water up with my hands. Like the stream the water was pure and had a taste utterly sublime.

What happened next was very disturbing to me. I continued to drink as the sun rose to midday and… I’ve been checked now by medical professionals and therapists and I don’t believe I suffered lasting damage but I began to… fade… in and out as I sat on the beach. I could feel my reason coming and going. I didn’t lose consciousness I seemed to lose… some part of me. Like older parts of my brain rose to the surface, those animal parts, parts repressed and dragged down by civilization and our evolution. I’ve tried to think what the cause could be, whether it was the stress of my situation making me lose my mind, poisoning from the water which must have been contaminated by the bones or perhaps something… I have no definite answers. What I remember was that for something around 3 or 4 hours I drank from the lake and, my hunger now at such a fever pitch I was ravenous, hunted the dark birds that stalked the beach. I used bones. I threw them and knocked the birds senseless. I would grab them and then in those moments I felt most out of control I would grip their wings in each of my hands and tear them in half. I would tear and watch as their innards fell to my feet and then I would gnaw on their bodies. A great hunger had awoken and I had to quell that ache inside me. I don’t know how many birds I killed this way. I remember holding aloft a skull and taking aim at one of those dumb birds that had no fear of humans and had idled up to feast on one of its compatriots when I happened to look at the skull in my hand.

My blood was ice. It was a human skull. The eye sockets were locked with mine. The lower jaw was missing giving it a half-finished look. It stared dumbly at me and I felt the… poison of that place leave me as I regained my reason. The poison was replaced by fear. There were monsters in the lake. They made sacrifices to a god other-worldly. These ideas seemed cemented fact in my mind. No human being could have created such a place. This was not the work of one wrinkled castaway. A place where death stretched a mile or more in every direction and who knows how deep. It was beginning to get dark and I was on the White Beach. The true danger of my situation came and hit me like a runaway train. I had to hide. I had to hide from them. I ran from the beach and back to the clearing. I was no safer there. It was obviously where they worshipped their god, Yag-Ropth. Their holy site. I had to find somewhere where I wouldn’t be spotted and my salvation came in a large tree out of the clearing by around 10 meters. I climbed up it as the Sun set and lashed myself to a tree branch using my belt. I would have to try and rest there and pray that, whatever the creatures were, they wouldn’t find me high up in the tree.

As I sat panting in the tree, watching the night unfold around me, I managed to somewhat pull myself together. I took deep breaths and tried to shake the fogginess and fear from my mind. I took stock of my surroundings. I was around half-way up the tree, a good 6 meters. I still had the flare gun and rounds. I had a pretty good view of the surrounding grasses and the clearing was just to the left of me, the beach to my right, with my back against the trunk. These ideas of strange monsters and strange gods were losing their reality. I looked up at the night sky and didn’t see any gigantic blue suns. I almost laughed. I had only been on the island for three days and two nights and I had already started to lose it. It seems strange to think that now as well. I was so quick to lose myself. It wasn’t surprising the other castaway was talking of gods and monsters; he must have been alone for so long. Then again, I don’t think it was just the time and the isolation. I still think there is something about that place that… does things to a person’s mind. Perhaps the epicentre is that beach of bones; where it’s strongest, but I can’t help but feel that that whole island is cursed to some degree. I cannot allow it to be found, not because of me at any rate.

But to return again to what happened. I began to doze but again I slept restlessly. I woke up, sometime in the night, to the sound of splashing coming from the lake. Clouds had rolled over so there wasn’t even moonlight to see by. The splashing seemed to come from along the whole edge of the lake. It sounded to my ears, too irregular to be waves. Next I heard the faint crunch and rattle of things moving on the bone beach. Ideas of ancient monsters started to flood back to me. The crunching got closer and then was replaced by the swish of grass and a soft padding along the bare earth of the track. My heart was leaping out of my chest as they passed just under the branch I was strapped to. It was that dark that I couldn’t see what was moving beneath me but I could see that they were large shapes. They were moving towards the clearing.

White Beach Part 4

I think of my life as being made up of two parts. First there was my life (an ordinary life) before the clouds parted that night and revealed what stood mere meters from me, and then there is the second part of my life after that moment. What I saw shook me to the very core of my beliefs. I am not a religious man but I was brought up amongst religion and what that religion stressed was that although God was master of all, man had dominion over the world and all that walked, or flew or… swam… upon it. At the moment the clouds parted and the moonlight flooded the scene, all of those hard truths were turned to dust. No mere man could have held dominion over those things. Their existence spat in the face of all of those teachings of man’s superiority over the animals. In that moment, for me, humanity was cast down among the brutes and savages of this world. No better than the sea scum we crawled out of.

When the moonlight broke though I saw the creatures of the lake, the architects of the White Beach. Seven stood around the great tree trunk, twenty or so more crowded around in the spaces between the stakes. The first thing I noticed was their heads. Thick armoured scales covered their heads. It was as if they wore helmets but I could tell it was a part of them. It was grown from them. Their eyes were large and round, staring, lidless. Their teeth were sharp plates jutting from their mouths, the top and bottom like bone scissors. Where the armour ended on their shoulders, I saw they had dull, shiny skin. It seemed to be scaled from what I could see. They flashed in the half-light as they moved around in the clearing. Yes… the way they moved. They walked and hopped on two legs. Bi-pedal. They had the rough form of humans but the way they walked and moved was… wrong. It was so different despite the similarities. I guess if frogs could walk on their back legs it would be how they moved. They had short tails in an elongated crescent moon shape, obviously used when they swam and thick powerful arms ending in hideous claws. I had this insane notion that I recognised them and then I realised how this was possible. I had visited a natural history museum some months before and on remembering this, I knew what they were. These were the descendants of the armoured fish of more than 300 million years ago. Since finding them on the island I’ve done more research on these ancient fish species and there is no doubt in my mind that they are related.

My hypothesis is that these creatures did die out millions of years ago EXCEPT for in this one area. It seems that the monstrous variety on the island are freshwater based and perhaps developed in the isolated lake of the island. The sheer depth of the lake may well indicate the presence of caves and these caves may well have saved the species from extinction. In the intervening millennia they grew and thrived, evolved and dragged themselves onto land. Their brains developed, their primitive society arose and then their beliefs in that dragon living out in the depths of space… It was all so horrible and grotesque. Before the monkeys had descended from the trees they had been living here. Before we had learned to walk they had language. Yes, it’s true, they had language. A grunting, bellowing, coughing language but the intelligence in the cacophony was plain.

They were shifting around in the darkness obviously agitated. The 7 around the trunk seemed to be elders, huge, their flesh almost entirely white with scar tissue. It was then I saw there was an 8^th elder. It was low to the ground and had his back towards me. It appeared that it was sitting and then I realized why. It was only half there. It’s entire lower half was missing. It had elaborate hanging beads that seemed to be attached to its armour by nails or pegs and it dragged itself around by its arms. I found the thing entirely repellent but the creatures held it in highest regard and quit their grunting as soon as it raised its bent clawed hand.

This chieftain or shaman looked out at the attended mass from beneath its beaded headdress and spoke (or more accurately coughed) one syllable and the whole assembly responded in kind. It then carefully turned itself around to face the central statue. It raised its hand and with one swipe left scratches in the old wood. At the exact moment of contact the entire congregation, barring the elders, disappeared in all directions into the grasses. I heard them pounding along the tracks every which way. The elders sat down in their circle and rocked slowly back and forth, emitting a nauseating hum for what seemed like an age until the others returned carrying 6 of the small deer. Obviously I was witness to some hunting ritual. They had asked for good luck in the hunt and it appeared that it had been granted them. I was to learn though that this favour came with a price.

Those carrying the deer laid them down in front of the chief and the elders ceased their humming and rocking (much to my relief as I had felt the entire time that the humming had vibrated up the tree I was sat in and near enough shaken loose my joints). They stood and inspected the bodies. They appeared to approve and even from the distance I was away, I could see the abhorrent hunger in their yellow eyes. One much smaller specimen in the hunting party seemed particularly excited and began suddenly to retch. He brought up a ball of slime and bones which splattered down between his feet. Adults to the left and right of him coughed and head butted him. He, seemingly sheepishly, gathered up the piles of bones he had regurgitated and ran through the crowd towards the beach, knocked and pushed by his fellows as he ran. I was repelled but my mind was once more drawn to my visit to the museum. When I saw the remains of these creature’s ancient ancestors, it was explained that they could not digest the hard shells and bones of their prey so they simply regurgitated them in a bolus much like owls. The origin of the beach of bones was now perfectly clear as was the congealed pools I had seen. The fear surging through me was so great I felt liable to faint but I managed to focus as the young one returned and re-joined the ranks, to the coughs and rumbles of its elders.

Once order was restored, the chief raised its hand and brought it down in the middle of the 6 deer, sweeping it to its left. Instantly the elders and massed group descended upon the 3 deer to the chief’s right. They were torn and sheared into pieces in a horrific rush of bloodlust and gore. I heard the bones crack and the splat of falling entrails which were swiftly scooped up into the creature’s gullets as they scratched and butted each other for the choicer morsels. I sickened and had to hold back the rising tide of vomit. The only thing that helped me get myself back under control was the raw naked fear of being discovered by those monsters. To fall into their clutches…

Once the 3 deer had been entirely consumed, the elders brought some order to the ranks with more grunting and head butting. Once they were calm, the chief pointed to the remaining 3 deer which were held aloft by the elders. They presented them to the statue and then ripped the bodies to shreds. This was different from the feeding frenzy though. They ate none of it and proceeded to carry the flesh from the circle, blood and gore drenching them. The chief slowly lead the way on the stump of his torso, the rest following reverently behind. They passed through the grass and I heard once again the cracking of bone being stepped on then the splashes of them returning to their lake.

I could no longer hold back the vomit and raw bird meat splattered the grass below me. I thanked whatever power that was watching over me that the monsters were too far away to hear.

I think that I slept not at all that night but I was numb to the passing of time. My mind was lost in fog. All of my notions of what humanity represents were turned to dust in a night. I had to escape. I had to leave the island and return to civilization. Human civilization. I weighed up my options as the Sun rose. I didn’t have the tools to make a boat or raft and it would take too long. I had been lucky that last night that they hadn’t found me. I wished to be free from that island’s evil, I wished never to see the creatures again but I had no way to escape. I could perhaps kill one or maybe, at a stretch, two of the monsters with the flare gun but I would be instantly ripped to pieces by their brethren. I was trapped and butchery seemed to be my fate. Hopelessness washed over me.

I descended from the tree and walked out to the circle. I saw the goo left behind by the young one’s bolus. I saw the blood and the viscera. I saw the freshly trodden earth. I so wished, and still wish, that they were mere phantoms or hallucinations but it seemed all too clear they were real. I wandered from the circle into the grasses. My skin and clothes were again scratched and torn. I stumbled and tripped but cared not, how could I care for anything? I walked deeper into the country away from that poisonous beach. I walked in the sunshine till I was fainting with hunger and dehydration. I collapsed finally under a tree, still surrounded by yellowing grass. I wondered how long it would take to die of exposure and prayed to every deity imaginable that I would die before the creatures found me. I considered using the flare gun on myself but squeamishness stayed my hand. I had burnt myself once as a child and the smell had never left my memory. I could feel myself weakening in the hot Sun. I hadn’t eaten or drank in hours, I had barely slept for days and the shock of my discoveries were taking a heavy toll. As darkness crowded into my vision I started to feel more peaceful. That is until a horrid stench violated my nostrils. I fell into the blackness.

My mind once again drifted through the void of space. I once more descended down to the surface of that blackened hell. Demons and giants ruled its surface and nightmares ruled its cracks and crevices. The canyon I feared most reared up to engulf me for a second time. I resisted and silently screamed but down I fell. At least, I thought I fell. I soon realised though that I was not falling into the darkness, the darkness was rising up to meet me. Great clawed hands gripped the sides of the canyon, wrenching aside rocks and cutting the sand, and pulled forth a great head. It was scarred and pitted, wounds innumerable. Great twisted horns sprouted out behind, long and slender like an antelopes, while two more curved in from the side towards its mouth, like the horns of a demonic bull. Its mouth… Its mouth was full of razor sharp teeth, like needles but of a size too great to comprehend.  Its eyes burned yellow as it came closer to me. It was repulsive but awe-inspiring. Its body was scaled and twisted off into the darkness of the chasm. It stared at me. My soul felt like falling glass, any moment I would be dashed from existence. It saw my fear and a great echoing sound reverberated the entire planet. The creatures of the dark responded in kind and a great cacophony echoed through me. The great beast, this dragon of unbearable horror, was laughing.

White Beach Part 5

I woke screaming once again. Through weakness, I quickly fell back on the improvised bed I had been placed on. It seemed to be made of sailcloth. I appeared to be in some sort of homemade wooden hovel. There was a half-filled metal canteen next to me that I quickly chugged down. It was again that utterly pure water. Everything was half-swimming and once the ripples in my vision had died away, I saw the pile of rags, the madman, stood over in a corner. He was flicking through a crusty magazine or thin book. I tried to quietly get up and sneak away but my body betrayed me. Pain spasmed through me and I didn’t have the strength to suppress the groan. The rag pile turned and again those moon-like eyes stared right through me. He threw the thin book behind him and shuffled closer towards me. A torrent of words erupted from him again.

“I am so very sorry for hitting you with the can it’s just I was sure that they would come for us and I would have liked more time to prepare. Lucky really that they haven’t noticed you yet because as soon as they do… well we shall both be in for an interesting time. Have you seen the hunt yet? It was a good one last night, very successful. They grab the prey and then they go to the pole and then they decide which one goes to whom and then they complete it and it’s done and ol’ Nail-head and his boys go back triumphant to their city and they rejoice and dance in the waters. I’ve seen it you know. They ignore me because I am only one and they think me too damaged with this hand of mine to bother giving to her so they have left me to do as I please. They must know of humans and know that we pose no threat to them, at least in the small numbers we have currently come to the island in, for I’ve seen some of our cousins down on that beach before HA HA HA! Yes they know of us but they do not care if one is wandering around. Although, I’m very bored of wandering I must say…”

He walked over to a bubbling blackened pot that was suspended above a fire and stirred it with a large wooden spoon. Lifting it up, I could see there were the black feathers of the crows, wet and flopping, stuck to the spoon’s bowl. If I had the strength I would have thrown up.

“Good, good soup yes, perfect to get you back in tip top condition. Have to have you nice and strong now. So much to do so much to prepare. I must go and fetch my things. Can’t leave them waiting now that would be very rude and as my grandmother always said “The rude will go to Hell!” Well I can tell you I have no intention of going to such a place as Hell. I already have my destination booked. Then again, don’t we all? HA! Yes, it is an inevitable fact of life. We shall all go marching into that open maw one day. Yes… Right into eternity…”

He continued to gibber away and rubbed at his stump as he had done before but tailed off as he shuffled into an adjoining room that was separated by hanging beads. I looked around desperately for some sort of weapon in case he came back with another can or something worse. The blackened pot was heavy and could well have been lethal but it was too far away and probably too heavy for me to wield. The knife and flare gun were gone now and there was nothing in reach. I could barely move but the pain wasn’t quite so debilitating and I could at least hold myself up. I saw on a small table a bandage and a pair of scissors which must have been used to cover up some of the larger scratches and cuts on my arms, just off to the side and behind me. As I tried reaching across for the scissors, the pile of rags burst into the room suddenly and screamed out “I NEVER TOLD YOU MY NAME! A thousand pardons Sir, I am so forgetful these days. I don’t know if it’s my age or my time spent here that has so riddled my brain with holes but again I must apologise because you see my name is… Um… Well you can call me John, yes. John is a good name, a strong name, a name of kings and royalty. Not of course that I am royalty although I do remember talk of an aunt that had spent some time at the palace. I can’t remember which palace or what she was doing there but it WAS a palace. For all I know she could have just been some dirty scullery maid! Still though I truly feel that even being close to royalty can rub off on a person. Just the… essence… of… perfection… can… leave… marks…” He lapsed into silence and his eyes seemed even starrier than they had before. He stared forwards at a point just above my head. I turned and screamed.

For the whole time I had been there, behind my head had been, drawn onto the wall with charcoal, ash, mud and other substances I dread to recall, a giant portrait of that hellish dragon face. It stared down at me with those demon eyes and chilled me to my core. I turned away from it and saw that ‘John’ was still staring at it with, well, I can only say with a look of absolute adoration and love. I felt sick to my stomach. The fear and loathing gave me new strength and I rocked to my feet and grabbed the scissors. I stuck them out in front of me at that enraptured old crackpot and backed away through the beads into the adjoining room. The floor was stained brown. There were shelves lining every wall and they were groaning under the weight of bones. A pile of skulls was grinning at me from one corner.

“They aren’t the only ones that must pay up.” I heard the old man say over my shoulder. “When she comes we will all burn and be consumed not just them. We must share our abundance with her. We must give half then she will come and devour whole. We will all be one with her for eternity.”  In the centre of the far wall was an altar made of bones. A blunt hatchet and a black metal bowl sat on top of it. In the bowl was the fresh head of a deer, split in half, brains oozing out. I fell back. Weakness overcame me and darkness closed in on all sides. The last thing I heard was “Yes, now we must prepare for them…”

Cold water was thrown over me and instantly my ears were filled with the babbling of the rag man. “Come now you can’t be asleep for when our guests arrive. It’s rude to sleep when you are supposed to be entertaining. Now, it’s just getting dark so they should be heading out to hunt soon. They’ll see my message, they should be able to understand it. They’ll see that I’m ready now to go to her. With two they can now complete the ritual. I’m so excited! Isn’t it exciting? I shall join her in eternity. Sadly you shall go to them and I shall be taken into the lake, but fear not because one day she will come and devour whole. Then we shall all be one. But yes you shall have to go to them. Your bones will bleach on the beach. Oh! That rhymed didn’t it? I can’t believe I haven’t said that before. I must have said it but then forgotten. Oh I do forget so much. I mean these days my brain is so full of holes!” I was tied down by the wrists with old frayed rope to a ring that was screwed into the floor. The old man was shuffling around, picking bits and pieces up and putting them back down very precisely. I had this strange flashback to my mother preparing for a dinner party. He floated about happily, sorting and resorting the junk, rubbish and sea-detritus that he had accumulated over the years of his abandonment. He stirred the blackened pot which was still bubbling and stuck another log onto the fire. I pulled and tore at the rope but it held firm. I looked around and saw in a box on a shelf, the glints of the flare gun, flare cartridges and the knife. I tried reaching for them but my hands were just out of reach, which was really part of an oar. 

“Do you know,” the man turned and looked at me now “I once wanted to escape from this island? I truly did. I wanted to sail away and forget everything. Forget HER even! I had a boat on the Northern side over the ridge. A little bay up there. Took me forever to fix it up. Had to make my own tools and fix it up. The day it was ready, I was drawn to the beach. I guess it must have been Her that led me there. I reached down for a drink and one of them came and took my hand. A little one. Only a baby. Didn’t know the rules of the hunt. They were so angry. It wasn’t that I had been hurt, they don’t care for me like that, no, that little one had broken their laws. Hunted out of season, so to say. Dared not to give half to Her. Nailed to a tree upside down. It hollered for days. I managed to patch my arm up but I couldn’t take the boat out.” I stroked his stump absentmindedly “No I couldn’t take it now. It might even still be there. It was a stout little boat. I haven’t been over there for years though. Been far too busy!” With that he turned back to his collection and shifted and sorted through it.

Suddenly there was a coughing roar from far off across the island. “Aha!” he said “Now we begin!” He went into the back room through the beads and I began to tear manically at the rope. I had to get away before those fish beasts came for me. Obviously, the castaway wished to be torn apart by them but I didn’t fancy the same fate. I tore and pulled and gnashed my teeth on it and finally it started to come loose. I kept at it and a sudden snap brought a rush of relief and joy like I’ve never known before.

That warmth though was suddenly extinguished by the sound of a thump at the door. I ran to the box and snatched up the knife, the flare gun and the cartridges. “Those won’t help you now I’m afraid. Far too late. They are here now and they will do what they have always done.” The castaway was dressed in a grotesque robe, bones sewn onto it in strange patterns and designs. Some of the designs seemed reminiscent of the ones on the great carved tree stump. His eyes shone in the darkness. “Yes. Now they are here!” The door splintered inward from the force of a battering ram. The whole shack shook. The castaway laughed as his collection jumped from their resting places and were thrown around the room. The thumps kept coming. I knew in that moment that, whatever my actions, I was a dead man. Sudden courage leapt up within me, though it may well have been suicidal recklessness, and I jumped forward as the creature that I could see gleaming through the cracks leaned back to smash it’s great armoured head through the door. One split was large enough to stick the flare gun muzzle into and I fired a round off. A great red light, sparks, fire and screaming erupted behind the door. The screams died off to a gurgle but the sizzle of burning flesh continued on as the light sputtered out. There was silence and nothing moved for a moment. Even the castaway looked puzzled for a second. Then another roar that shook the very ground. I reloaded the flare gun just as the door and the whole wall caved in. Three or four armoured heads battered their way through. The falling wood knocked me back but I managed to keep hold of the flare gun, shoving it into my waistband. I got up, ready to run, but in that moment the wet, shining monsters closed the distance and one head-butted be to the ground. The world span and I had to sit back on my heels. 

White Beach Part 6

Once I had regained my composure, I saw that the elders were crouched just outside the ruined door and wall, more of the creatures were stood behind in the darkness.  One was lying on the floor, smoke coiling from its body, and was quickly dragged off by its compatriots. In front of me was the chief. He was that close that I could smell his breath. The castaway was kneeled down next to me on my left, looking excited and expectant. Behind me I saw two of the monsters, our guards. The chief looked me over and then looked over the castaway. His beads clacked together as he coughed and gurgled. The group outside answered the chief in kind. He raised his hand. The castaway was shaking with excitement. He brought it down and swept it to his left over me. The castaway’s face turned white. “No. No, I am meant for Her not for you. I am to be taken beneath the waves… no.” He was pleading. They descended upon him, they ran in from outside and crowded the tiny room. They tore at his flesh and crunched down through his bones. He screamed and I saw his face in the scrum. Blood frothed at his mouth and his head was torn away from his neck by a scaled, clawed hand. I was numb.

Once the castaway, that pile of rags and only other human for potentially hundreds of miles was gone and entirely devoured, I was alone with them. I would not be their sacrifice. I would not kneel and give myself up to these blasphemous, pagan monsters. I stood, pulled the flare gun from my waistband and fired a shot directly at the chief’s soft, unarmoured mid-riff. His eyes bulged and he clawed at his stomach in a panicked, vain attempt to remove the burning round. All of the creatures fell back in shock and fear. One knocked the pot of soup flying and its scalding contents were flung onto those nearby who screamed out. I took my chance. I darted through the torn apart hole and dived into the grass.

I ran and ran till my heart was bursting. I fumbled blindly in the dark and tripped on roots and slipped on leaves, but I kept running. I could hear them in the dark behind me, crashing through the undergrowth, furious bellows racing along behind me. I had to keep running. There was a desperation in the sounds they made. They were almost as panicked as I was. The ritual had not been completed. Yag-Ropth needed her sacrifice.

I managed to break through the grasses and came up against the central ridge. I scrambled up, cutting and tearing my skin. Rocks tumbled from my hands as I clawed at them, being dashed to a million pieces on the ground below. My nails were bleeding but I made it to the top of the ridge and pulled myself up. I needed some sort of distraction to help buy myself some time. I looked down from the ridge at the dry yellow grasses stretching out below me all the way up to that hellish beach. I reloaded the flare gun and fired a round directly into a particularly thick clump of grass below me. The fire grew up like a red flower and spread out quickly. They realised what I had done and their angry bellows grew in their fury. I had one round left and I could see shapes pushing through the grass towards me, the fire not spreading quick enough yet to cut them off from me. I daren’t not waste my last round trying to spread the fire so I hurried down the forested side of the ridge.

Tripping and stumbling, I made it into the forest which I suddenly realized was my salvation. Those monstrous fish-men had to use tracks to get around even in the grassland side of the island. With their large frames and heavy, armoured heads, they had no chance of moving around in the dense jungle. I turned to see if they were still following and saw with horror multiple silhouettes framed against the reddened sky. The fire was obviously growing fast, lighting the whole ridge. The shadows quickly descended and were heading straight for me. I tore my way through the trees, beating back vines and branches. My arms and legs were numb from exertion but I seemed to be having a better time of it than my pursuers. Great crashing sounds and frustrated grunts wove their way through the trees behind me. So far I had been trying to escape from immediate danger but I knew I couldn’t run forever. They would never forget, and surely would never forgive, what I had done to their leader and of course Yag-Ropth was still calling out for what was due to Her. Now going at a slower pace through the trees, I could think up a plan. I remembered what the castaway had said, that he had a boat ready to leave just to the North and I knew that it was my only (very, very slim) chance to escape the island. My only chance to survive.

It took a while for me to notice that the Sun was rising as its weak rays were drowned out by the orange/red glow of the fire which must have spread throughout the whole grassland side of the island. I now could better orient myself and started heading to the North. The crashes were further away now but they still pursued so I daren’t slacken my pace.

The trees started to thin out and I finally crashed through the low hanging branches and shrubs and found myself in a small cove. By some miracle or divine intervention I had made it to my salvation. The boat was pulled up onto the sand covered in plant growth but, as far as I could see, it was perfectly intact. I found a pair of oars in the bottom as well as two metal tanks of gasoline. The motor was rusted entirely and useless so I hefted it off the end onto the sand and quickly started dragging the boat down to the shore. It was painfully slow progress and the crashes and bellowing in the trees was getting ever closer. Sweat was pouring off of me from the chase and the dragging. My muscles were burning. Just as it hit the tide line I heard the clunk and slosh of one of the petrol tanks. I knew what I had to do.Once the boat was out on the waves, I heard the final crashes as the monsters tore through the tree line. They looked out at me, adrift on the waves and roared with such fury and hatred I could almost feel it through the air. They couldn’t follow me into the salt water. I was safe. Safety wasn’t enough for me though. Victory wasn’t enough. I wanted… I’m not sure what I wanted. I think perhaps vengeance. The rage they felt was echoed in myself. I had emptied the two petrol tanks onto the sand before I had pushed off. I stood in the boat, I raised the flare gun and loaded the final cartridge. I saw that some of them had realised my plan and had turned to run back into the woods. The flare arced through the air and the beach exploded into flame. They squealed and screamed as their flesh melted. I saw one dive into the sea to escape the flames but the salt water burned just as much in its fresh wounds. Spray and sand were kicked up as it writhed. I watched as they burned, as they ran flaming back through the trees. I felt cold. The sky was red with flame and death. The island burned and the air was choked with ash, smoke and screams.
Everything was re…
Red.

The rest of my story is a blur. I was picked up a number of days later, starved, dehydrated, delirious and screaming by a passing fishing boat. A fog had descended and the fishing boat itself was lost. The crew hadn’t slept for days because they said they heard ghosts in the fog, weeping, sobbing and calling out. I was the ghost and when they finally dragged me on board I might as well have been dead, only a spirit, so thin and hollow I was. The fog lifted and they managed to take me back to the nearest large port. I stayed for 3 months in hospital entirely mute. Eventually I escaped the hospital and returned home. I isolated myself entirely. Those closest to me have faded from my life. I have consumed my time with research; of those creatures, the island and of my visions. I have explained my theories concerning those creature’s origins already. The island does not exist on any map from any time period from any country. My visions however… I haven’t found any specific accounts of the same vision but I have found accounts of SIMILAR visions. Ancient texts that speak of snake gods and demon serpents, beings from Heaven living on a blackened Hell. I now believe those pagan snake gods all have their common root in the Yag-Ropth. The island, as the castaway said, is somehow perfectly positioned, perfectly aligned. It gets a clear signal and the visions show the Yag-Ropth truly how She is. Other cultures have had glimpses. The Aztecs saw Quetzalcoatl, the Nordic Vikings saw the World Snake Jörmungandr. All over the world, stories of dragons have been passed down from generation to generation. She is real though. She sits waiting deep within the black planet haunted by giants and demons that passes the giant blue star. She will come one day and devour everything. She will devour whole. We will all be as one with her.

Going back through these experiences now, it all just seems too coincidental. The boat with the flare gun that saved my life. The castaway, there to explain it all to me. The boat he had left safe in the cove for me to escape. Am I to believe mere chance and luck were the only forces at work? She wanted me to go to the island. She wanted me to discover them and witness those ancient rituals and then she allowed me to escape so that I may continue their work and perfect it. Mere beasts are unworthy to worship such a god. Was I the only one that pulled the trigger of the flare gun and burned those ancient abominations? At any rate, the island has been burnt, cleansed, and now I am to begin again. I shall call Her here. She will come and devour us and we shall all be as one. The God of Terror shall come!