SOOOOOO I have returned once more to the keyboard. Well actually I'm quite often at the keyboard it's just I'm writing a blog this time not just typing swear words into Facebook about David Cameron.
So what marvelous thing do I have to talk about this time? Well I shall be talking about my recent discovery in a charity shop. Will that actually be interesting? You'll have to read on to find out.
I was casually perusing the bargain bin in Uff (attractive name right?), Finland's go-to second hand shop, when I came across something... out of place. Uff mostly deals in clothes but they do also have some bargain bins which contain all manner of crap and it was in one of these bargain bins that I found a wooden object that stood out from the plastic toys, old picture frames and assorted odds and ends. It was made from two thin pieces of wood attached together lengthways with various bindings around them. Red and yellow swirls and dots covered it but what really grabbed my attention was what was hanging from it. Teeth. Old, broken teeth were hung like beads from string tied around the wooden pieces. I turned the object in my hand and examined it but I couldn't find it's purpose. I looked at the teeth and couldn't be sure from what animal they had come from. They didn't appear to be human. At least most of them certainly weren't human. What was odd was that every one of them was broken or chipped. Whoever had been the original owner had obviously not thought to take much care of it.
I finally noticed (once I tore my attention away from the teeth) that one end of the object was open. The two pieces of wood were like the two pieces of bread of a sandwich. I could see through the open end that there was something between them. I tipped and jiggled the thing, free hanging teeth clacking against each other, until the object inside slid out halfway. It was a flat piece of metal. I was perplexed. I tipped it that bit further and pulled it free from the wood. It was long and slender and tapered to a vicious point. It appeared to be a 9-inch-long spear head. It was the only way to describe it. It seemed that the attachment point, the neck, for the blade had been snapped off leaving just the teardrop-shaped end. My earlier confusion had by now been mixed with a healthy dose of fear and concern. This spearhead (though rather blunted and without a handle) was a dangerous weapon. What could it possibly be doing in a charity shop bargain bin surrounded by various pieces of garish but harmless tat?
I felt I needed to bring this potentially lethal object to the attention of the staff. Perhaps they hadn't noticed the deadly blade hidden inside the odd but harmless sheath. I took it upstairs to the till and told the woman stood behind the register of my concerns.
"Do you know that there is THIS inside?"
"Yes. That is meant to be there."
"Right..."
"It is a very strange thing isn't it."
I could tell that the woman wasn't really getting my point. I wasn't questioning whether the blade belonged in the sheath. What I was concerned with was whether the blade in the sheath belonged in a charity shop bargain bin!
I went back downstairs and returned the sheath and blade to the bin. What else was I to do? I left the shop and returned home but trying to forget about it was impossible it was just such an odd object. Truly I tried to forget it but I couldn't help it. I had to have it.
I waited one whole day before I went back to it. Excitement rose up in me as I got closer to the shop, as I stepped through the door, as I went down the stairs. It was still there. I lifted it up and held it. Where I found it, it's poor, unloved condition, it's unknown original purpose all raised large, unanswerable questions. I felt drawn to it. I could feel a connection between us. Perhaps I could recognize myself in it. A stranger in a foreign land. A strange object in such an unnatural setting. I couldn't just leave it there... It only cost me 50 cents. I was in awe. I would have paid ten times that for this piece of art.
As soon as I got home I opened my bag and stared at it. I took it carefully out, making sure not to catch the dangling teeth on the bag's zip, and carefully placed it on the the table. It felt heavier now. I can't explain why but it did. I shook free the blade. I held it between my first finger and thumb, like a child holding a leaf. The metal was so thin yet so strong. What kind of a history did it have to tell? Was it a mere tourist item, brought back from a more exotic place by some red-faced tourist? Was it a spoil of conquest in some far off, ancient battle? An artifact taken for preservation destined for some museum or private collection but lost along the way? I had no way of knowing. I slipped the blade back into place and placed the wooden sheath on the shelf in my room.
That night I had a strange dream. It wasn't directly about the spearhead. Not exactly anyway. I dreamt I was standing and holding something in my hand but I couldn't see what it was. It was black, blacker than anything that could be imagined in the waking day, but somehow it still gave off light. I was illuminated by the blackness of it. I started to walk with the object held in front of me. It was like it was guiding me forwards but it became harder to hold. It felt heavy but not in the conventional way. It was using up my strength, siphoning it. I started to run. I was chasing something. The black thing got heavier and heavier. At this point I woke up. I guess my dream had incorporated my sleeping reality as I woke up with a dead arm and I was sweating. It was quite hot in my room and I guessed I must have slept on my arm funny but still...
I tried to concentrate on my courses for the rest of the week but the sheath and the blade kept coming to mind. I obsessed over it's details. Each crack in each tooth, the patina on the blade, the weathering of the wood filled my mind. I took them into college and showed my friends. They were just as bemused as I was. It felt strange giving my blade and sheath over for them to hold. I almost felt jealous and wanted them back as soon as possible. It was my sheath and my blade now and I didn't want them going too far out of sight.
The fact that it was such a bizarre object almost made me question it's reality. When I didn't have it with me I would rush home just to be sure that it definitely was sat, waiting for me on the shelf. I would take it in my hands and run my fingers over the designs. I would take the blade and hold it. It was such an exquisite tear-drop.
I had more strange dreams and as the week progressed they become stranger and more vivid. I dreamt again of the impossibly black heavy object but also of other figures along with me. They moved through forests made of shadow. We stalked strange animals I couldn't give names to. They felt entirely real yet were completely without substance. Each morning it would get harder to shake off the previous night's dream. I remembered their details better with each passing day.
People started noticing a change in me. I looked paler than usual and couldn't focus for very long on conversations. I drifted into day-dreams of running through forests, chasing something. I ran home everyday and held the sheath in my hands. The teeth rattled against the wood whenever I moved it. At night I collapsed into my bed, exhausted beyond measure but I was always sure I wasn't gong to be able to sleep. I could feel the forest closing in on me as my eyelids drooped.
The final, most distressing dream came exactly a week after I brought my artifact home. I was again carrying the heavy black thing. Again I was joined by other figures and again we stalked indescribable beasts but this time we got close enough to one of the monsters to strike it. We leapt forward and sank our black objects through it's skin into it's flesh. Horrific noises like nothing of this Earth welled up inside our victim. It writhed and screamed and thrashed around. It finally turned and faced me, stared deep into my soul, my very being with eyes that could melt through concrete. The way it looked at me spanned the void of sleep and I truly felt it physically, with every part of me. It pulled back it's lips in a snarl to reveal it's crooked, broken, familiar looking teeth.
The next morning I took my prized possession to the nearby river. I walked halfway across the bridge that spanned it and dropped the sheath and the blade into the swirling waters. It was gone in an instant. The waters swallowed it up hungrily. People walked past me as I continued to stand on the bridge looking into the river but I paid no attention to them. I stared and stared to be sure that it had gone to the bottom. I hoped that it would be taken by the currents to the ocean, that great abyssal dumping ground that was almost deep enough to hide all of man's sins. There it would remain.
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So you are probably all wondering "WHAT IN JESUS' NAME WAS THAT?" and my answer to you would be that that was a little bit of creative writing. Yes that was actually a fictional story and not the usual hack philosophy/condescending life advice/random opinions that you who are familiar with my blog are used to. Why did I write said piece? Well for a few reasons:
Reason 1. The real star of this story, the wooden sheath and spear head in said sheath, are actually real things that I found in a charity shop here in delightful Finland and this story is actually true up until the 6th paragraph (with some embellishment...) and then in a few of the later ones there are a few truth sprinkles. I did wake up with a weird feeling arm but that was actually before I found my treasure. It was such a weird feeling I felt I had to add it in somewhere. I did actually take it in to show my friends and they did think it was weird. The way I've described my strange find is as accurate as I can produce with my meagre words but hopefully you've got the picture of it. With such an incredible and weird pair of objects I felt that I had to do more for it than just trot out a run down of it's appearance. Such a unique object needed some atmosphere, some ambiance. I came to the conclusion this could only be achieved with some creativity.
Reason 2. The first thing I thought when I saw that sheath was "H.P. Lovecraft would love the shit out of this". What could be a more fitting starting point for some weird horror fiction than a strange blade found in such an unassuming, normal place?
Reason 3. I actually really like making up stories. I have had, over numerous years, had more ideas for novels and novellas than I care to write here. Almost none of them I have actually brought to completion and those that were finished have only been seen by a very select group of people (although if this story goes down well then perhaps I shall share some that I did finish with you, my delightful audience, in the near future). Why do I usually leave them unfinished? Well a mixture of good old fashioned laziness and, that eternal inspiration and creativity killer, the opinions of other people.
That last reason is actually the most important. I started this blog because I wanted to say things. I wanted to express my thoughts in a public way that would really get me to think about who I am and what I am thinking even if no-one else was interested. It has now morphed somewhat from this simple starting point to actually inspire me to do and express things I wouldn't usually be able to do and express in "real life". Everyone has had that awful feeling just before they show their creation to another person. That feeling you get just before the other person expresses their opinion on the product of your imagination and hard work. That moment is a chasm filled with all sorts of darkness and it's more than enough to snuff out creativity. I know for certain it's snuffed out mine.
But now I've thrown caution to the wind thanks to this blog. I posted (a while ago now) about minimalism and I actually shared the fact that I attempted some crude wooden sculptures of Lovecraft's most famous creation, the octopus headed dragon Cthulhu but really I was being rather safe. I was very vague about what I had done and didn't post any pictures (I didn't know how to post pictures to be fair but on the other hand I didn't try very hard and was somewhat relieved no-one called me out on it). Now though, I'm trying not to hide the fact that I can make stuff and that I like making stuff and that I'm not (very) afraid of showing that stuff to other people. I'm always saying (and trying to project the image) that I don't care about people's opinions but really it's kind of impossible to ignore them.
Hopefully from now on I will be more open with my creative side and if this post inspires you, dear reader, to be more open to other's criticisms and also their praise, then even better.
Oh yeah and Merry Christmas.
P.S. If my story gives you nightmares then that's fantastic.
