Archive for September, 2010

#160. The White Room

Posted in Uncategorized on September 20, 2010 by armaneaux

[The note at the top of the page describes this as a transcript of a botched induction tape]
ED: Close your eyes and let your mind wander. Let your body wander too. Slowly relax to the sound of my voice and follow my words through the city. You are standing in the +15’s, and you are walking slowly, slowly, nowhere in particular. Your eyes feel heavy, and the more you close them, the more certain you are that you’re walking through the walkways. Turn left, then right, then left again. The more you walk, the heavier your body feels. The further and further away the place you want to go becomes and the more aimless you feel. It’s so warm here, and there’s nothing but the walkway in front of you and the sound of my voice. Now, I’m going to count backwards from ten, and when I get to zero, you’ll see a door in front of you. Do you understand?
NM: I understand…
ED: Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero.
SA: The Fuck? Where the fuck did he go?
ED: He’s in the white room, Sandy. Would you like to go there too?


#153. The Radio Station

Posted in Uncategorized on September 20, 2010 by armaneaux

Phenomena #153 requires a digital car radio. Satellite radio will not work, even if it gets local stations.
When driving along the river at night, a normally unused FM radio frequency will crackle to life. The frequency is 104.6. The DJ’s name is never mentioned, and the voice sounds different to whoever listens. The station plays swing music and, ten minutes after every hour, dedicates five minutes to news. If you listen on your birthday, the news will change. Instead of being the past day’s headlines, the news segment will be made up of events that have happened or will happen to you. Before midnight, the events will be those of the past year. After midnight, the events will be from the year to come.
The station identification message mentions the station’s address, but the address belongs to a defunct arcade whose only remaining machine is a fortune telling scale.

#152. The India Ink

Posted in Uncategorized on September 20, 2010 by armaneaux

There are three bottles of unmarked India ink amongst the other art supplies at Sir John A. Macdonald High School. Students occasionally use this ink for projects, but for the most part these three bottles have remained untouched since the late seventies. The ink is thicker and darker than normal ink and has a special quality: Whatever is drawn in it will prove prophetic. A line drawing of a person will always depict their current location and situation, even after death.
Acquiring a bottle of the ink is difficult, and only once has it ever been accomplished. Should the ink feel threatened, the art projects displayed in the room will come to life and pull you back into them, trapping you for eternity within canvas or clay. To retrieve the ink, come by night and come alone. Instead of breaking into the school, hide in a closet or classroom until everyone has left. Then enter the art room. Approach the cabinet where the supplies are kept slowly, and if you start to see any stirring or movement in the dark, leave.
Open the cabinet slowly using either The Key or more conventional means of lock-picking, and search for the ink. It sits near the back, and in the dark you can tell the jars apart from the others because they will feel very, very cold to the touch. Only take one jar, leave the other two for other seekers. Under no circumstances should you ever use the ink to draw an image that includes yourself. Doing so will create your nemesis, and the picture will show you his journey to reach you which will end in your death

#151. Heritage Park

Posted in Uncategorized on September 20, 2010 by armaneaux

Heritage Park screams wrong to the psyche. It is a town that is not a town, built from the remains of others. Buildings that should have passed into the city’s reflections remain here, stuffed, their innards taxidermied and displayed. Perhaps this is why people report ghosts and odd feelings. The place cries out to the mind. However, if you know the secret of the place, you can turn this wrong to your advantage. Like an open sore, the world’s immune system floods it. Steal something from the park, something that’s actually as old as the place. A bit of brick from the wall of the Wainwright, a piece of antique crockery from one of the houses, anything of sufficient age will do.
Never touch this with your bare hands. Instead, whatever it is, grind it down until it becomes a fine powder or dust. Store this powder someplace warm and dry, and wait until the day you need it. When you have the need to kill someone quietly and subtly, dissolve the powder into water and ensure that they drink or bathe in the resulting gritty mixture. Within a week, they will be dead of old age and be drawn into a reflection, forever.
And you will have to kill subtly and quietly. If you cannot smile and murder while you smile, your days are numbered.

#150. The Gas Station Maps

Posted in Uncategorized on September 20, 2010 by armaneaux

There’s a chain of gas stations in Calgary, mostly dingy little places, called Fast Gas. For the most part there’s nothing exceptional about them beyond that the decor hasn’t been upgraded since the early eighties. But one station right on the highway that is a little different. There’s a pile of yellow roadmaps next to the cash register. If you try to purchase one, the clerk will say “Oh, you don’t want those. They don’t have the new construction.” Verbatim, to the word.
If you want to own one of the maps, you must reply “I’m lost, I’ll take anything right now.” He’ll nod and ring one of them up. The roadmaps depict Calgary as it was in 1978, with one major exception: it shows about a half dozen roads that you’ll never have heard of. If you track one of these side-streets down and drive down it, you’ll find yourself in one of the other Calgarys. The streets don’t seem bound to any one of our city’s reflections in particular, although most often they lead to the city made from all the buildings we’ve demolished.