The Haunted Hotel Project-Gloucester- 27 November 2018

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Tell me, what is it you fear?

A hand under the bed?

A corpse sewn into the mattress, maybe?

What about waking up in the middle of the night, a figure standing at the foot of the bed, head cocked to one side, eyes glowing white and burning their ghastly intent into you?

That is what this place is- a breeding ground for fear.

All that terrifies you will manifest whilst your sleeping mind conjures it up from the dark depths.

They did the rituals on the site of this place. Evil, blood sacrifices right into the foundations. They wanted this place to be a doorway.

They misunderstood why.

Do       Not      Sleep. 

-Hidden in the bible

Haunted Hotel Project- Weston Super Mare

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There are many doors in this place. 

The man with the many faces wants mine. 

He wants to wear me outside. 

He can’t leave this place and now neither can I. 

He has pets that wait until you are asleep. 

So they can slip into you whilst you dream. 

 

This morning, I woke up outside. 

I don’t know how I got there or what is happening. 

I dream of lopsided night skies, that are green, and slick with blood. 

 

I’m back in the room again. 

The man is coming. 

I think he sees me. 

-Hidden in the bible.

The Haunted Hotel Project- Malta

 

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You can feel her, right?

She wants to come through.

She wants to leave this room.

You can hear her when the borders between this world and her’s weaken.

Sometimes it’ll be a laugh- a chuckle in the dead of night.

Knocking on the walls just as you are falling to sleep.

White eyes glowering at you in the dark from the corner of the room.

I’ve made it so she can’t leave.

I knew her when she was only madness and hatred, but she’s so much worse now.

Don’t leave personal objects around- phones, jewellery, photos- anything she can use to escape.

Surround them with a ring of salt.

 

Don’t let her into them.  

 

-Hidden on top of the wardrobe.

The Haunted Hotel Project- Manchester

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There is something wrong in the bones of this place.

The meat of the plaster is retched with flies.

I am fragmented.

There are two versions of me that exist here.

I wake at night when the pity man comes.

He shakes his little tin box filled with teeth.

The nurses say he is harmless, but I see his children.

They boil the air.

Their shapes flicker across the walls, like ghost birds.

In my other me, this place is just a hotel.

Somewhere mundane, safe.

I pray that this a dream.

I pray that this note will be gone in the morning.

-Hidden in the bible.

Audioshorts- The Lighthouse

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I am pleased to present the audio version of my story, The Lighthouse.

I was really captivated by the idea of woman dealing with the death of her husband, who was once a lighthouse keeper.

There were a couple of lines that just hit me out of the blue and made me sit up and take notice of the voice in my head telling me to write.

The one about the smell of the mouthwash, and how, when we are grieving we assign value to meaningless objects that are associated to the person who is gone. I love the idea of how a piece of us somehow lives on in the bills that we continue to receive.

I guess I was channelling my inner Amy Hempel for this one. Short, grief packed and full of sly metaphors and symbolism. If you haven’t read her work, I would absolutely recommend it.

Once again the music has been taken from http://www.bensounds.com

Anyway, I hope you like it.

Joe