The Mark

The ceilings were white.  There really was nothing extraordinary about them.  They were just a plain white color, like any other ceiling.  There may as well have been an unwritten rule that the ceilings must be white, or an occasional beige, since those were the only colors ever seen.  Walls could be any color, but the ceilings were always white.  Most anything could easily contrast and be seen against such a background, but how often do we look at our ceilings?

As I relaxed one day, a cursory glance upward revealed there to be a small gray splotch, as though there was a stain from the presence of water.  Interesting, I thought, since there existed no avenue for water to create such a stain in that particular spot.  Yet, there it was, an eyesore in a sea of white.  The lightly gray colored spot sat, in the center of the ceiling, as though taunting and challenging.  Lightly colored though it was, the mark was conspicuous, I thought, to all.

Yet for its size, I let it pass.  Such a small spot surely indicated nothing of any large consequence.  On the rare occasion in which I had visitors, nobody made any mention of it, so I was certain nobody else noticed, or cared.

After a time, I moved.  The ceilings of the new place were clear and clean.  After about a month, a spot again appeared on the ceiling.  It was the exact same size and shape of the spot on the ceiling in the building I had left.  Thinking it again to be nothing, or a ball of dust, I attempted to brush it away, but to no avail.  My efforts to clean it from the ceiling were just as fruitless.

Thus I bore with it for some time, until after some years I relocated again.  I was happy to be in a dwelling which once again had no blemish on its ceilings.  It was not long, however, before the mark again appeared.  First it was the same size as it had always appeared.  Within a short time, it grew and darkened.

What started as something that could have been (and was) easily ignored, grew into something with a more troubling appearance.  The spot darkened, and the edges became more rough, as though a piece of dark gray wool had been glued to the spot.

More disturbing, its removal seemed impossible.  My efforts at scrubbing were to no avail, and in fact this was a bit unnerving.  Not only was the effort for naught; as I scrubbed the spot, my hand felt as though it were passing over ice.  Painting over the mark seemed to have a temporary effect.  While the mark was seemingly covered as the paint was applied, the spot would appear again a day or so later.

Since the spot resisted removal so much, I thought to see it more closely.  Viewing it with a magnifying lens revealed it to have a seeming uncanny depth for its position.  From the outside, it appeared only very slightly convex, but looking into it was staring down an unimaginably long tunnel, deeper than what would have been allowed by the thickness of the ceiling.  This was disturbing enough; I then looked and realized the mark was not on the ceiling, as one might expect, and as what had first appeared.  Rather, as a spider's web will hang away from a wall, appearing attached while not being so; such was the position of the cursed mark, except infinitely closer, still without contact.

What could this mean?  This started as a small, nondescript dirty mark on the ceiling but was now an unearthly, unspeakable horror.  On realizing the nature of the spot, I stumbled back.  My breath left me, and a sinking tightness filled my chest.  As my throat went dry and mind went numb, I lost my footing trying to walk, and stumbled fearfully away from the omen.

Trembling, I sat.  Trying to calm my nerves, I drank some brandy.  Thankfully, I was in a different room than the mark.  I decided, post-haste, that I must be rid of the house, and away from the curse.

Within a couple of months, the house was sold, regrettably at a tremendous discount, for I was anxious and over eager to be out of the place, without delay.  So much was I horrified and unnerved, that I went to great lengths, during the remainder of my time there, to avoid the room occupied by the spot.

I was fortunate to obtain a new dwelling fairly quickly and easily.  I had taken great care to examine all the ceilings and assure myself that there were no blemishes anywhere.  Satisfied, I chose the home and made it mine.

Yet, not nearly two months after signing the papers tending the home to my name, I found another spot on the ceiling.  Not a little disturbed, I went to it with cleaner, and was able to remove it.  I sighed with relief.  After two more similar instances, I relaxed.  The ordeal was finally over.

Finally having rested spirits, I settled and became easy minded.  I was confident the mark would not manifest again.  I was free of the blight.

When I had the home for a period of time, and after a pleasant duration of calm, a new spot appeared.  I thought nothing of its presence at first; it appeared as a dark splotch, nearly black, as a stain.  Once again, I tried to clean it, to no avail.  When I painted over the spot, it reappeared days later.

Once again, closer examination revealed the spot to be similar to a piece of wool, and hovering away from the wall.  This time, I felt a chill on my hand as I passed it over the spot.

Once again, my blood ran cold with the unnatural encounter.  Once again, I stumbled back in shock as my head went numb on realizing this was no earthly, natural thing.  As fast as my legs would allow, I ran from the thing which, except for a brief respite, had haunted me for so long.

My head swam and I reached for the decanter of spirit which had calmed me before.  Once calmed and my faculties restored, I reflected.  None of the domiciles I had purchased, had any sort of blemish before I moved to them.  They had not shown evidence of decay that would delay a manifest, nor in such a manner.  In every case, I was sober minded on discovering the phenomena.  I say with confidence because the occasional drink I have is not sufficient in frequency or quantity to cause a habit, let alone a drunken mind.  Thus, these things had to be real.  After considering that, I came to the rather unsettling conclusion that the thing was following me.

Terror stricken, I poured another drink and quickly emptied my small glass.  I still did not know the nature of the dark appearances, and that provided sufficient fright.  But to consider that I had no escape from them was too much to consider, and words are not sufficient to describe the complete terror and utter horror of my feelings of the notion.

After another drink, a few deep breaths, and some reflection, I resigned myself to the fact the spot was inescapable.  What could be done?  The otherworldly manifestation terrified me, and I knew that no matter where I went, how many times I moved, or what I did, it would follow me.

Since my efforts at removal were to no avail, I tried to face it directly.  Lacking other ideas, I summoned some courage and spoke to it.  I politely informed the mark that it was not welcome in my abode.  When I did so, the response was silent, but as real as any form of verbal defense from an offended party.  The air chilled.  I tried again, this time more forcefully, but I must admit my effort was choked in an overwhelming sense of terror which overpowered me.

Trembling, and now with a strained breath, it took effort to give one last address to the thing.  "I ... I don't know what you are or what you mean, but I will leave you alone now.  If my attempts to remove you forcibly have been of offense, I am sorry.  Now that I will let you be, all I wish is to be left alone by you, as well."

The terrified feeling faded, and I began to breath more easily.  I relaxed, believing that there was a mutual understanding.  No sooner had I rested in that thought, then another one flooded my mind: if it did understand, was it sentient?  And if it were, what did it want, and what could it do?  Thus far it had followed me, but what would be next?

The answer came a few short months later.  The mark again grew in size.  This time, the main body was the size of a small plate, and its rough edges had extended into tendrils, which took on the appearance of webbed craquelure across the ceiling.  As it grew in size, its appearance became more sinister.

Not only was it larger in size, but it also took on an appearance of turning and pulsing.  My terror was renewed, placing the satisfaction I had with what I believed to be an understanding between myself and the spot.  Again despairing, I had a drink.

As the months passed, I noticed it grew more.  Though I avoided it whenever I could, its existence terrified me, and I found I could not approach it.  Indeed, I closed the room containing the foul presence.  Yet through closed doors it remained, and I shuddered involuntarily when passing.

Even so, I lived my life as normally as I could, while feeling as though some fiendish omen stayed at my residence, ever waiting for my return.  While it remained in the room, I could ignore it, even though I always knew, at the back of my mind, that the blight remained.  It was, at most, an uneasy peace.

The peace lasted a few years.  I had ignored the mark to the point at which it was all but forgotten.  In time, however, I was given a harsh reminder.

As I passed the door of the room in which the mark resided, I was inexplicably drawn to the room and opened the door.  I may have noticed some new craquelure on the ceiling and wall adjacent to, and issuing from the door, but I believe it was noticed after the fact.

Curious, I had opened the door.  I let out a yell as I beheld the fantastic horror now before me.  Over the years, and without my notice, the mark had grown to occupy most of the ceiling.  Winding snakelike tendrils reached across the ceilings and walls; no longer were they just cracks.  From them, more crack-like tendrils were erupting; so that the entire room was polluted by the apparition.

Yet to refer to the thing as an apparition would imply it to be a mere figment of imagination.  While it seemingly lacked any tactile property, it was as real as the chair in the dining room.  All the same, the mark had surreal qualities.  From inception, the spot had always been dark, almost like a shadow.  Now it was totally black, but not so much from color, as much as it were an infinite void.  It seemed to pulsate and emit a faint glow.  The entire room itself was overtaken by a deep chill.  At the same time, a gentle breeze seemed to blow toward the omen, while cold seemed to issue from it.

Then there were the voices.  From unseen mouths beyond the void, came whispers.  Indistinct, incomprehensible, but decidedly human whispers, almost sounding like a wind blowing softly through reeds on a calm summer day.  Yet they were definitively, and recognizably human.  They were eerily calm, as though they were chatting nonchalantly about the mundane.  The voices uttered incomprehensibly; so many that it was impossible to distinguish any one from another, and echoed within the void and the room.  Though quiet, the sound was unsettling; this uneasy feeling was enhanced by the soft speech.

I was utterly horrified and repulsed.  This darkness was now larger than I, and seemed to be all consuming.  Yet in spite of my fear, I found that I was somehow drawn to it.  The division was too great to bear and I tore myself away from the form's invisible grasp and shot the door soundly behind me.

Thoroughly frightened, I stumbled as I made a hurried retreat away from the blight.  When I arrived at the table, trembling, more than one glass of brandy was required to calm me.  Cold sweat ran down my forehead, and I gasped for air.  Finally I was able to bring myself to an acceptable level of calm, and turn in for the night.

Not long after discovering the horrific size of the abomination, it expanded again.  Within a very short time it over came the house, leaving me no retreat, no solace, no enclave, and no peace.  The monstrosity was not a respecter of bounds; soon after the first tendrils appeared through the door, they explored the house.

I tried everything I could think, physical, spiritual, metaphysical, and religious.  The mark kept growing.  Soon, following the vanguard tendrils, the mark itself expanded, swallowing the room in which it originated, and seeped into the hallway, leaving nothing but a dark, formless void in its wake.  Now, not only were the tendrils inescapable, but the thing itself proved expansive and unavoidable as well.

Soon, the blackness overtook my dwelling.  No light is emitted from it, just a soft breeze as before, leaving an eerie chill in its wake.  As it enveloped my abode, it seemed to leave nothing in its wake, nor any evidence of what it had devoured.  Where walls and doors once stood, was now occupied by blank, formless, darkness; it left no shape behind to indicate anything was or may have been present.  Nothing, not even evidence of what it has consumed, is left in its wake.

Now I sit in the last room of my house.  I am cornered in a spot with no windows or doors.  Some of the snakelike projections and tendrils have taken the shape of a hand.

Now, facing the void, my heart sinks and my head swims.  The quiet whispering voices, in their softness only enhance the terror I feel.  The cool that proceeds from it, while not actually freezing, causes me to shudder involuntarily.  I am trapped.  The unquiet whispering terrifies, yet calls to me.  I am offered no solace, no reprieve from the cold.  I am more frightened, more horrified of the void now than I ever was, yet I am drawn to it.  And the hand – the hand, it beckons to me.