Creepy - Day 2 - Raking Fingers

Episode Date: October 2, 2019

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Day 2. Raking fingers. Written by the user of Dark Water Diary on Reddit Creepy Pod. If a healthy soil is full of death, it is also full of life. Worms, fungi, microorganisms of all kinds. given only the heath of the soil Nothing that dies is dead for very long Wendell Berry

The Unsettling of America 1977 I have a new appreciation for gardening My family never was the type to cultivate green thumbs within our bloodline But alas Here I am I've been told that the progression of a man's life often leads to a

escaping hole, it is sad that the strength and vitality youth delivers and so quickly snatches back leaves a large impression on largely impressionable men. Spoiled creatures unable to cope with graying hairs and dull complexions following such a vibrant previous existence. Men try to compensate in their own way. The black hole grows and demands to be. be filled. I've been told that I should pick up a hobby as to not lose myself in the humdrum life of a retiree. Something to fill the long hours of the ever-stretching days they've told me. You've been through a lot, Adam, they say. It's not realistic to assume this will be easy. Over the past few months, I've thrown myself headfirst into several hobbies upon

good friends' advice, but something is still off. The black hole grows and demands to be filled. Out of all the new additions I've tried, I must admit, gardening wasn't so bad. I've been told it can be quite an aggravating hobby, not designed for the impatient of character. Mother nature can be a fickle bitch, so to speak, demanding sweat and toil in exchange for the promise of life, only to leave the laborer empty-handed and barren after a trivial frost. Such is life, I suppose. The black hole grows and demands to be filled.

I am blessed to have found that I received a sort of immediate gratification from the hobby. No need to wait around for the highly coveted green sprout seedlings to make an appearance. No, no. I'm just as content to wade through in the dirt a while, to be honest. The calm I find from simply sticking my hands down into the solid, cold soil and feeling to break apart willingly as I wickle my fingers fills me with a momentary yet powerful sense of serenity. I feel rooted to the earth My whole life is stirred to feel like such a whirlwind And day to day

It's taken everything I have stored away Just to lift my feet and tired body out of bed Needless to say Feeling such peace is a welcomed relief But I was so damn short-lived The feeling seems to fade with each experience The black hole grows and demands to be filled. I'm currently sitting Indian-style in the garden with my new diary.

It's a bit mud-speckled at this point, but still a fine leather-bone specimen. My daughter recently bought it for me after the passing of my wife and suggests that I use it to expel grief and any feelings I found troubling. Honest question. but when does the need technically tip to the left side of troubling when one is dealing with such a new void especially after living a generally full life i have to say it is interesting how as we age our children become what we were once to them i'll never get used to the idea of mine needing my children to survive need to try. My daughter is worried about me. This has become more apparent. She comes around weekly

to perform checkups. I have what some will call a bit of a history when it comes to my psychological well-being. Nothing serious. My wife knew the darkest parts of me and kept me in the light as best she could. My daughter has been in the dark about my psychological past. until this point. My wife was gifted at keeping my troubles between ourselves and off the worry list of our daughter. I feel myself losing light a bit without my wife to hold my head above water, but nothing too serious. My daughter notices, however, sometimes it is easy to slip into the dark. the black hole grows and demands to be filled.

I'm sitting Indian style in the garden right now. Did I mention that? Oh yes, maybe I did. I'm losing track of my focus a bit, so please forgive me. It rained last night and the earth is wet and soft. I've brought with me a bin of bulbs to push into the ground and a few scattered seeds to sow, but they sit beside me in a small pile along with my trusty gardening companion.

He's a beautiful little beagle that's been in the family for years, and by my side from the start. It's been a relief to have a companion through this experience. I've never been one to try new things alone. My friend seems to sense this and is always eager to join me for gardening duties, tail wagging and feet prancing at the side of my shovel. I've decided to take a short break after sliding into what my daughter might define as a troubling experience. This feels like something I'm supposed to document. It happened about 15 minutes ago.

It was two in the afternoon when I came out here. How can it be dark? Maybe it's later. That's irrelevant. Not important. What is important is that I've just had an incident. a loss of time and memory replaced by a dark dream. I've had these before in some darker times of my life,

but this was vivid, incredibly vivid. I'm fearing what I saw has worked its way into my mind like embossed letters in gravestone, permanent, unrelenting. I tend to have trouble letting ideas go. My wife told me that. She said, obsessing Adam. That's what it's called.

Though I thought of it as passion. It wasn't worth the argument when she was still around. The dark lets you see the light. Maybe I'll let myself slip a little deeper into the dark. I need to figure out what I've just seen. There's some meaning here that I need to decipher. It's been exhilarating. The black hole grows and demands.

Filled up the ground in a panic. My hands coated in mud is gray as ash and sludge. I'm covering his snout in years now and crying because I can't remember why the deed was done, but now no more stronger than ever that it needs to finish. It needs to be finished and buried and hidden. It doesn't feel complete with my best friend's body resting below ground and his whimper silence forever while I remain panting and full of life. life six feet above. Maybe next I'll try the black. It grows as I dig further and further into the

twin rectangle next to my first. My hands are tired and sore. All the more reason I have to finally take a break. I let my body fall backward under the grass, which is wet with morning dew and sends a chill at my spine. After such a long night toiling in the dark, the morning sun slips into my eyes like needles. It's too much. I lift my body up squinting with a hand to my brow and lean forward to peer down into the depths, almost much deeper than I imagined it would be. I crawl down, testing the size and sturdiness. The dark closes in as I lower my head under the grass line and I am overcome by an immediate sense of calm. The four dirt walls are elbow with then I find that I must pull my feet in under my knees.

However, the depth is six feet under and, to the pains of the word above, I feel sweetly numb. I close my eyes and let the darkness take over. The black hole grows, and I woke up to the fall of soft rain, wishing I could just sleep without an eruption. But I've been down here for three days now, and my body is beginning to protest. my stomach rumbles with the growl that seems to creep to my eardrums it's physically painful to my surprise the emptiness is a feral animal clawing at my insides and panic to bring anything to its center leaning my head against the side of the earth and while i push my eyes closed hard as pain washes over in a wave then resides in a spasm without conscious thought my hands moved to the sides of the walls and rakes its fingers downward against the ashy wall

The soil gathers and falls off between my fingers. I take a small clump between two cold fingers, feeling my jaw unhinged as my hand moves to my mouse. I take two fingers and roll the clump over my tongue to the back of my throat. My eye feels wide and my hands unsure, but I continue. I don't swallow quickly, instead letting the muddy clump fall back into my mouth. my throat and into oblivion. Fistful of soil shoved against my mouth now, hand first covering my lips and all five fingers pushing inside, jaw unhinging again to let the soil stack and fall over

the back of my tongue. This feels warm and right. I cough reflexively at the small piece of rock scraping along, but soon my throat gives in and adopts the numbness of my mind. I feel feel full of the earth and the earth is full of me. I sit in my little black hole and let the dirt sit in me. It is a wonderful trade and my hands again began to rake the earth down from the cold wall to my right. Soil sprinkles around my legs softly at first and in a large crescendo as clumps tumble down in heaps, my legs become less and less visible, the tightness covering them and bringing about

that feeling again. euphoric. I'm disappearing, and it is everything from inside out and the outside in. I pinch a bit more dirt and push it into my ear canal. There, the auditor reminders of the world above are no more. I pinch a bit more and push it in further in with my middle finger. There's pain, but then I succumb to the familiar number. this one's more. I don't know what I'm doing. This dance is unfamiliar to me,

but the voice in my head knows the steps and soothes my mind. Keep going. Keep digging. Down, down, black hole to my left, where I last scraped up a scoop full and it demand. Filling my mouth to the brim, jaw wide, pushing in both ears now, I am crying, but it is okay. No big deal.

It will be over soon. I can feel it. Actually, I feel paralyzed with fear, but the voice knows it will be over soon and whispers on repeat. Hands grabbed at the dirt and shove more into my nostrils no longer connected with the air of the earth. only with the dirt, only with the ground, I am never to be found, never to be empty and alone without light, adopting the dark refusal to fight in with the earth, out with my life. I find solace in the earth, filled my cup to the brim. I am no longer Adam.

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