June 9th, 2011

House of Filth

This is a short and sarcastically-lighthearted set I wish to share while I am at work on a much larger piece.
Some of you may remember the "profane poet", whom we have been tracking for roughly a year now.
For those who don't, below are links to the two previous locations which have fallen victim to this "artist" and his/her "work":

The Houses of the Winter Forest

Profanity Junction

Now, onto the story...

The sun is hot, the air is thick with humidity, and the ticks are crawling up our pant legs as we tread through yet another overgrown field
on our never-ending quest to track down and document the work of the “profane poet”. This third canvas is in the form of a small, and
long disused farmhouse. What color it once was, or if it were ever even painted in the first place, has been lost to the annals of history.
What sits now, crookedly greeting us as we trek across the property, is a collection of weathered and buckled wood.
It's decrepit form held together by rusted nails and likely the many droppings of various woodland animals.

The only entrance to this humble abode is a partially-detached sheet of plywood which once sealed shut the side door.
Pulling it back you are immediately struck by two things as you squeeze past into the darkness of the interior.
One: It is very dark in there, surprisingly so considering how bright the sun is outside.
And two: For being such a small house, it packs a very large and horrid stink. The closest to which I can relate the stench is to suggest
that one imagine the smell of a petting zoo... then imagine rubbing your face in the soiled bedding on the floor of said zoo.
That will place you at a rough approximation of what this house smells like.

After a few seconds our vision began to adjust to the interior lighting, and we are able to focus our eyes upon the familiar scrawl of the
poet who we have come here to document. The handwriting has become a trademark at this point, and this home is certainly an original
work of theirs, and not that of a copy-cat “artist” or similarly disturbed person. As we step foot from (what was probably) the kitchen into
the living-room of the house, we are stopped in our tracks by a sound both strange and frightening. A kind of intense hissing came
emanating from somewhere within the pitch black of the room. We had unintentionally cornered some type of animal, and its only exit lie behind us.

As any sane group of seasoned explorers would do, we then proceeded to stumble over ourselves as we ran out of the house in a panic
muttering obscenities as we went. Once in the open air and sun, we assessed the situation to the best of our ability. It was somehow
decided, likely as a result of of dehydration mixed with the intense heat of the day, that the best solution would be to “shoo” the mystery
animal out using a tripod. Heading back into the smelly darkness we felt sure in our course of action. That is, until we heard the animal
begin to shriek once again. Funny the effect an unknown, screaming animal has on ones confidence. We stood our ground though.
We had come here to film this house, and we planned to do just that. Angry mysterious beast screaming from the dearness or not.
Once again forming a plan, we decided to just go in and face whatever horrors dwell in the living-room. Tripods and flashlights clenched
tightly in our hands, we crossed the threshold into the creatures realm.

The hissing grew in intensity, yet we could not decipher from where it was coming. The various debit that scattered the floor was a
legitimate concern to us now, as the animal (or possibly hell-spawn) could be hiding under or behind any of it, waiting to pounce.
The flashlight beam moved across the walls and floor, the clutter of the room casting shadows that grew and changed as it went.
It wasn't until the light was held steady that we were able to notice a shadow moving independently of all the others, just outside the
area of the flashlight's beam, in the far corner of the room. Noting the movement, the flashlight was repositioned, focusing upon the
corner and whatever horrors dwell there. Even after being illuminated by the light, we could not make out what the creature was, though
we did learn that it didn't take favorably to having lights shined upon it. Whatever it was, it was not leaving its corner anytime soon.
So, once again doing what any seasoned explorers would, we decided to approach the distressed and cornered animal, not having any
idea what it was. As we closed in features began to take definition out of the shadows. It was standing upon two legs, hunched over,
and was covered in a ratty coat of brown fur or short hair.

It's hard to properly explain what it feels like to be looking directly at something right in front of you, and still not understanding what it
is that you are seeing. It's a kind of humbling experience, and reminds you that no matter how much you see or do there will always be
situations in life that will come as a surprise. In this instance it came as a pissed off and screaming surprise in the corner of a dark and smelly house.

At any rate, as we grew closer even more features presented themselves, and before long we realized that this creature was not that of
fables of legends, but simply a very frightened and alone fledgling turkey vulture. Upon realizing what it is that frightened us so, it
was understood that the animal in front of us was frightened far worse than us by this ordeal. Giving the animal plenty of space, it eventually calmed down
and thankfully gave up with its unearthly hissing. The remainder of our time there it kept a very vigilant eye upon us all, glaring from its corner until we finished filming, packed up, and were gone.


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