To New Readers

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Jack, Week 8

The nights in the tunnel were the worst.

Jack had walked far enough down the seemingly unending tunnel to have lost track of the day and night cycle; what kept time for him was the sound of the wind. It kicked up during the night, and howled through the tunnel. The sound was deafening at times, and absolutely horrifying. Jack managed to fall asleep relatively quickly each night, but the moments when the wind would keep him awake were trying on his resolve. Coupled with the paranoia of something – the thing that seemed to be causing fires – following him, night was a terrifying concept even in the total darkness of the tunnel.

At first the tunnel was just like the previous section with abandoned cars. The emptiness was unsettling and unnatural feeling, but nonetheless – it was nothing particularly out of the ordinary. After two days of that, however, the tunnel became unnaturally smooth. It was much smoother than the manmade portions that had preceded it, and the stone had a bit of a reflective sheen to it, making Jack’s flashlight shine brighter.

Most unsettling of all, however, was that beyond that point, there began to be strange marks on the floor. Specks of blood would appear, and sometimes a long stain as if something had been dragged across the floor (or, in one case, the wall). At times, a single crack would appear in the otherwise flawless floor and walls of the tunnel. It would spiral around for a brief period, and then just end.

Jack soldiered on, however, growing simultaneously intrigued and horrified by his mind’s wanderings. The mystery of what lie at the end of this tunnel continued to drive him, as well as the knowledge that near a week’s journey back to the front awaited him otherwise, and beyond that? He had no real purpose in the world at the moment; this gave him something to do, something to explore.

One day he found something on the side of the wall. It appeared to be a shadow of a person – but an unnaturally tall person, with elongated arms and legs. But it was permanent – there was no person in the beam of Jack’s flashlight, but the shadow was still projected on the wall. Jack touched the shadow with his fingers, but the material felt the same as the rest of the wall. He bashed it with the butt of his rifle to see if the material would crack, but it was very resistant to the shock. It puzzled him, and unnerved him, but he continued on.

The shadows became more frequent, and appeared on both sides of the wall after a time. Eventually, the entire wall was littered with the shadows, one after the other, arranged in a terrifying line on each side, lining the path. Jack was growing increasingly concerned with what lie ahead.

But where else was he going to go?

Jeff Jones, Week 8

“What brought the spider to that height,

Then steered the white moth thither in the night?

What but design of darkness to appall –

If design govern in a thing so small?”

Robert Frost. Part of a larger sonnet. Good for him.

Why. That’s been on my mind all week. I think it’s pretty clear that I’ve been a terrible person since all this started. I certainly feel that way. Alone is how I should be, now – nobody gets hurt that way, since the creature seems perfectly willing to enforce that I stay alone in its own way.

But why did this start? Did I do something to incur the wrath of this bastard? Did I NOT do something that I should have? Is this some sort of divine punishment for sins?

Why. I cannot fathom why.

My week has been solitary. I ventured into town for groceries once, and did not say a word to anyone, or make eye contact. I can’t afford to get friendly. Nobody else will die because of me. I’ve tried to bury myself in my work, in the hopes that doing so will provide some reason to continue living. But I am pessimistic. I am damned to this slice of hell for reasons I have not been blessed with understanding of.

Last night the creature finally reappeared outside my window. I walked over to the window and stared it in the face. I’m not even scared of it anymore. I think it’s just here to taunt me now. As I stared at it, it moved its head slightly. It looked even more inhuman up close than it did from afar. I was suddenly filled with an unbelievable rage, and ran out my front door into the yard, standing feet away from the creature, with nothing between us but air. I fumed and balled up my fist, my fingernails digging into the palm of my hand, and in an instant all of my thoughts erupted forth.

I shouted at the top of my lungs.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT!?” The creature stared, unmoving.

I inhaled sharply and continued. “I DON’T GET IT, WHAT DID I DO? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? WHAT EVEN ARE YOU!?” It did not move.

“JUST GIVE ME A SIGN, TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT, ANYTHING AND I’LL DO IT, JUST PLEASE, LEAVE ME ALONE! I – I DON’T – JUST – JUST GO AWAY!” At this, it tilted its head to the side slightly, and continued to stare.

I stood, angrier now than I was when I went out there. After another moment of staring the creature down, I walked forward with as much solemnity as I could muster, and plunged my fist into the creature’s gut.

It was completely unfazed, and my hand felt as though it had passed through air. What’s more, the creature – with horrifying rapidity – wrapped its long arms around me in a dark embrace, and I lost consciousness.

I awoke this morning on my bed. I jolted awake and collected myself after a moment, remembering the night’s events. I curled up into a ball, and began to sob quietly, repeating “Why?” over and over.

Why indeed.

Jack, Week 7

Something was off.

He had entered the tunnel that morning, as he planned to, and had seen, as he expected to, abandoned cars and decaying structure from a lack of maintenance over a long period of time. What he did not expect or plan for, however, is the tunnel being many miles long. He had walked for around eight hours and the tunnel showed no obvious signs of ending.

He began to think about turning back and finding a different route when suddenly the abandoned cars just stopped, and an empty road stretched ahead. The darkness of the tunnel seemed to deepen down that empty stretch, and Jack couldn’t see anything past a certain distance. He took the flashlight out of his pack and shone it down the expanse. While it lit up the sides of the tunnel, the beam vanished down the center, never illuminating anything but road and walls.

Jack turned back, determined to investigate the depths of the tunnel, but knowingly refusing to do so without ample supplies. The eight hour walk back put him back out front of the tunnel sometime after dark, so he quickly made his way to the guardtower to sleep.

The next morning, he ventured into the surrounding area to scavenge for supplies from both the abandoned cars and the lightly wooded areas. He found batteries, food, a few bullets (only a few of those for his rifle), and yet another book – this one a copy of David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas. Satisfied with his scavenging after a few days, Jack prepared for his trek into the tunnel.

He opted to wait for a new morning, mostly to assuage the paranoia that was still associated with nights. He killed the time by reading the book he had found. He fell asleep quickly that night.

He was awoken the next morning by a strange crackling sound. He stood up and looked out the guardtower to find the plains at the foot of the mountain set ablaze, with the fire creeping up the side of the mountain. He quickly gathered his things and took off down the tunnel, looking back and noticing the glimmer of the flames on the tunnel walls.

This did not help his paranoia.