Hello! Thanks for checking out "Gang Aft Agley"!
The story that you are hopefully about to read is told in two parts, intertwined. I could give a lengthy argument detailing precisely why I chose to tell it this way, but frankly I think the reasons come across fairly clearly in the text itself. However, this does bring the issue of reading it properly to the forefront.
This story is told in blog format because it was told over the length of time it occurs. If you are reading this, then you have the fortune of reading it all in one sitting, where it was told over the course of 10 weeks. The posts on this site, which was created for the purpose of telling the story in a serial fashion, are ordered in reverse - the first posts are the latest - as most blogs are.
If you are just coming into the story, please click on the archives to the right of this post, expand the arrow next to 2012, and then next to November, and start reading with the post "Jeff Jones, Week 1". Then, move on to "Jack, Week 1", and continue reading each week's post - Jeff Jones first, then Jack - by moving from the bottom of the archives to the top.
I thank you very much for showing an interest in "Gang Aft Agley", and really hope you enjoy it. I had a lot of fun writing the story, and the result is something I am fiercely proud of. Please, enjoy the story!
Gang Aft Agley
Friday, January 25, 2013
Epilogue: Jack
Jack was back in the city, and likely for good this
time. It offered a unique sort of protection that the wilderness couldn’t
provide. He had plenty of supplies, food that was unlikely to perish shortly,
and he had even found a greenhouse that was relatively intact, so he could
begin to grow things and make his own food.
The nights were still marked by paranoia. One
night, Jack heard noises from a nearby building. He began to pack all his
things and started scanning the horizon for places to run – but halfway through
packing, thought differently, and unpacked. Running had gotten him nowhere but
back where he started and with a few horrifying memories to mark the journey.
Whatever was in the building across the street could come at him – he’d be
ready when it did.
Morning came. He walked around the city, taking in
the uniquely beautiful urban environments. Reaching into his pouch, he pulled
out an apple and took a large bite into the side of it. The sun was still high
in the sky. The noises from the nearby building resurfaced, and he turned to
try and find the source. Suddenly, climbing over the side of a fallen concrete
support beam, Jack saw a small child, no more than 6 or 7 years old. The child
dusted himself off and turned, jumped at the sight of Jack, and remained still,
with a slight tremble.
Jack smiled softly. “What’s your name, son?”
The child stared at Jack for a moment before
responding.
“…Roland.”
Jack grinned, and extended the apple to the child.
“We shall
not cease from exploration
And the end
of all our exploring
Will be to
arrive where we started
And know the
place for the first time.”
Shanti.
Shanti. Shanti.
Epilogue: Jeff Jones
When I came to this town, I said I wanted to work
on my next novel. I wanted to get away from the city and get back to the core
of the emotions I wanted to tackle in this novel. Isolation. Paranoia. Fear. I
found all of these things in this town, just not in the way I wanted to find
them. I was simply too preoccupied with what was happening to really notice
that.
I’m writing again, and for once my work is going
incredibly well. I’ve made incredible progress, and have worked out the issues
I was having regarding the lack of an antagonist. The only thing I’ve not yet
settled on is a character name. I’m thinking something with a J.
So yes. I’ve finally found what I came to this
town to find. But I found it in a terrifyingly intimate way. I can now write a
novel about isolation, paranoia, and fear – but only because my encounter with
the creature created those things within me. Is that why he came to me?
I’m not sure. But in the end, I’m not sure about
many things. There’s only one question that I am frustrated with my lack of an
answer for.
Was it worth it?
Jack, Week 10
It took Jack another five days of walking to reach
the end of the tunnel. The smooth walls and floor gave way to the empty but
manmade tunnel after one day, and abandoned cars appeared on the last day. He
emerged from the tunnel in the middle of a bright, clear day. In the light of
the day, he took an inventory of what he had remaining. He had very little food
left, but enough to last until he could find more. He hadn’t used his rifle in
the tunnel, so he had plenty of ammunition still. He still had the book, though
the cover had been singed by the blown embers while Jack was being chased. He
smiled and placed the book on the side of the tunnel. He didn’t care much for
it anyway.
Jack looked out at the horizon and saw a strangely
pleasant sight – the empty city he had spent several weeks in previously. There
was a strange sort of longing for the security that the city had offered for a
brief period before the paranoia set in within Jack; he decided he’d revisit
the city, and perhaps stay for a while longer.
The sun shone high in the sky every day that week,
as Jack made his way back to the empty city.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Jeff Jones, Week 10
“And my soul
from beneath that shadow
That lies
floating on the floor
Shall be
lifted – nevermore!”
Poe again. “The Raven” again. Not very creative
creature.
I’ve read every manuscript in this chest that I am
able to read. They’re written by significant individuals. T.S. Eliot. Poe.
Robert Frost. Shakespeare. Wilfred Owen. Bob Dylan. Then there are a bunch in
languages I do not know, but with names I recognize. Homer is one of them.
Charles Perrault, Dostoevsky, Sun Tzu, and a few others also have manuscripts
here. But they’re manuscripts by these people that were never published.
And the one thing they have in common is that they
were all about a creature that resembles a man in a suit (though few of them
described him with exactly those words, their descriptions match it) with
elongated arms and legs and no face.
This frustrates me. I wanted to find answers, and
all I’ve found out is that apparently this creature is a fan of my work, and
considers my pathetic excuse for a novel to be on the level of these great men,
and is having me read their descriptions of him. Did he think I’d enjoy this?
Why kill Roland? Why taunt other people before me? Why why why why why why why
why WHY DOES NONE OF THIS MAKE ANY SENSE
I am so tired of it all.
Just a few moments ago the creature appeared
inside my very bedroom. I didn’t even pretend to act startled. I just fell to
my knees and started pleading. Pleading for my life to be given back to me.
Pleading that he leave me alone. Pleading for answers. Some sort of explanation
of what I need to do, of what he will do to me if I don’t, of how I can get my
life back. But the creature is an unfeeling bastard and just stood there,
staring with that blank head of his.
I got angry and tossed all the manuscripts from
the chest at him, but they just passed straight through him. I shouted more and
started to destroy my room in a fit of rage. In a minute it started and then in
a minute it was over. The creature somehow calmed me and made me face him, at
which point I saw his hand was raised. A pen and a stack of lined paper
appeared at his feet, and I felt myself forced down to my knees so that my face
was practically pressed against the paper. I looked up, saw he had tilted his
head to look directly down at me, and watched as he touched his finger to my
forehead, and vanished in a flash of light.
All he left was the stack of papers, the pen, and
a shadow in the center of my bedroom, cast right over my head.
I think he wants me to write about him.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Jack, Week 9
The smoothed section of the tunnel lasted the bulk
of the week. The shadows were consistent throughout, never breaking so much as
a single shadow in sequence. Jack continued walking, but his pace slowed
considerably the further he went with no change in environs, the tensions
building inside of him becoming increasingly difficult to bear.
Eventually he reached something new, though it’s
not something he was pleased to see. He found, lying face down and sprawled
upon the floor of the tunnel, a human body, stripped of clothing and mutilated
almost beyond recognition. There was no pattern to the marks on their body – it
seemed to simply have been shredded by god knows what. Jack immediately clasped
his hand over his mouth and nose, as the smell was revolting. He sidestepped
the body, giving it a wide berth, and continued walking – only to encounter
another body about 15 minutes later.
The bodies began to appear with increasing
frequency, until eventually he came to the sight at the end of the tunnel – he
hoped – and nearly vomited upon seeing it: a massive pile of the bodies, all
naked and mutilated, stacked up on top each other, spilling down into a vaguely
pyramidal shape, and obstructing all but an incredibly thin passage through the
tunnel at the top of the pile.
That sight and smell was enough to make him
seriously consider actually turning back, eating the two weeks of time he had
spent walking down the tunnel (plus the two weeks he would spend walking back)
and trying to forget it ever happened. The only thing that gave him pause was
the faint glimmer of light from the other side of the pile of bodies. If it was
the light of day, he felt compelled to press on and see what lie on the other
side of the tunnel. If it was not, he did not want to imagine what horrors lie
beyond the pile of bodies.
He ultimately decided to turn back. He turned, and
began to walk, and did so for about half an hour before a sight far ahead in
the direction he had come from caught his eye. A faint orange glimmer. Fire.
Jack’s eyes widened. He ran ahead to confirm his
fears – and as he did, he saw a tall figure with elongated arms and legs
standing at the front of the blaze, gliding toward him with the flames
following rapidly in the creature’s wake. Jack immediately turned and ran. He
did not stop for even a second, but he did glance back from time to time, and
saw that the creature and the flames were advancing on him. The wind began to
howl, bringing embers of flame with it, as well as the smell of burning flesh.
Eventually Jack reached the pile of corpses. He
hesitated for a moment, but then gave in and began to climb the pile of
corpses. The flesh was almost rotting, and peeled back when Jack would grasp it
– he resorted to wrapping his hands around their skulls for support. The
creature was really close now. Jack was about halfway up the pile when the
orange glow of the flames completely illuminated the tunnel around him. Another
minute passed and Jack was almost at the top of the pile, when he felt a cold
hand wrap around his foot. He looked down and saw the creature climbing the
pile, with an elongated arm grasping his ankle. Jack climbed down slightly,
gave the creature a kick in the head, and climbed faster. The creature briefly
released his ankle, allowing Jack the time he needed to get to the top of the
pile. Much to his horror, the pile extended a great distance down the tunnel –
at least 20 meters. He began to crawl atop the corpses as fast as he could. The
flames were being held at bay as the creature struggled to fit through the
opening. Jack emerged through the other side, slid down the pile of corpses,
and ran as fast as he could.
Within 30 minutes the orange light of the flames
had completely faded into the distance, apparently having stopped advancing.
Jack allowed himself a moment to breathe.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Jeff Jones, Week 9
“You walk
into the room
With your
pencil in your hand
You see
somebody naked
And you say ‘Who
is that man?’
You try so
hard
But you don’t
understand
Do you?
Mister Jones…”
Bob Dylan. “Ballad of a Thin Man”. Horrendously
apropos. My monitor is constantly afflicted with these quotes, but nothing
about them seems to suggest some greater meaning. It appears to be further
taunting.
Only one thing of note happened this week, but it
was a substantial thing. Once again keeping to myself for the bulk of the week
and venturing out only for groceries, I did some work – poor work, but work –
and slept. But the trip for groceries ended up being much more.
As I was paying for my things, I glanced out the
store window and saw the creature across the street – just like I had before.
But rather than run from it, I just stared at it this time. It made a motion
with its head – as if to say, “this way”. My eyes widened, and the store clerk
seemed perturbed by my sudden fixation with the window. I paid him no attention
and ran out the store across the street, nearly being hit by two cars, but not
caring. Something was about to happen, and I dared to hope that it may lead to
the end of this all.
The creature had vanished, but I saw him down a
nearby alley, and walked that way. He sort of glided out of sight around a
corner. I rounded that corner and saw him again in the distance. He was leading
me. Eventually we came to an ostensibly abandoned office building. He led me up
the stairs to the third floor – the top floor, I think – and to a hallway.
Large windows covered the right side of the hallway, and a white wall the other
side. It was rather imposing, as the creature sat in a room at the end of the
hallway, unmoving this time. I walked slowly toward him, hoping he wouldn’t
glide away. As I did, I became aware that the white wall to my left was
populating with a familiar red scrawl – the quotes that have been appearing on
my monitor. The scrawl was far more frantic and unnerving here, hastily written
in a messy fashion – no neat line structure or order existed on this wall.
Everything was written haphazardly, crossing over other words and taking line
breaks at will. It was chaotic. The creature didn’t move, but it did tilt its
head. I finally reached the end of the hallway, and in a clap of thunder –
tacky, I thought – the creature vanished. In his place was an ornate box. I don’t
want to call it a chest, because that sounds tackier than the clap of thunder,
but that wouldn’t be an entirely inaccurate term. I opened it, and saw that it
was filled with large stacks of paper – manuscripts, it appeared. The papers
were of varying ages, and I didn’t have time to sort through them all right
there. I closed the box, and picked it up – it was surprisingly hefty – and brought
it back to my home.
That was twenty minutes ago. It is now night, and
the creature is not outside. The answer to all of this hopefully lies within
these manuscripts. I am going to begin reading them right away.
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