A world where damnation plays by day and tortured, captive souls dream by night. Read Grant Holden Wagner’s The Cosmic Damnation.

By: Grant Holden Wagner

Grant Holden Wagner is currently studying philosophy at Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington.

Click here for a PDF of The Cosmic Damnation.

The Cosmic Damnation

By: Grant Holden Wagner

Old friend, it is my sincerest wish that you are enjoying what abysmal comfort may be found in these times, and so it is with deepest regret that I put your sanity at risk by writing this letter. The maddening events of the previous autumn continue to haunt the dreams of those souls burdened with the enslavement of being alive. It is only by some divine mercy, I suppose, that we remain in control of our dreams. For wholly unknown reasons, I am the only soul left untouched by the grotesque defilement of humanity that has been worsening since last autumn. These last few months I became convinced of my status as the last human on the planet. If only it were true; that I alone remain tortured by the ungodly events which banished our souls into damnation. If I ever manage to get this letter to you, it is possible you may not remember what has taken place, and that the contents within may lead you to consider me mad. I only pray my guidance may somehow lead you to a method of freeing humanity from this hellish purgatory. Truly, I am thankful that the struggle is nearly over for me. That soon I will no longer suffer the last memory of truth in solitude, amongst the phantoms of those who were once men.

The nature of the loathsome malady that befell our species would be entirely fascinating, if it were not so malign. If you were still alive, old friend, I am sure that you would find it as fascinating as I do. With little else to occupy myself, I have long pondered the origins of our damnation. Could such an aberration be a natural phenomenon? Maybe the consequence of some unfathomable law of nature, evading our sight within the dark eons of time. Perhaps recurring for cycles incalculable, responsible for the fate of the dinosaurs and those other doomed inhabitants of ancient Earth.

Despite my initial reluctance, however, I find myself increasingly inclined to believe that our damnation lies far outside the governance of any natural laws. That surely the explanation is rooted in a machination of supernatural origin. Undoubtedly, some sort of grotesque blasphemy was thrust upon us from the depths of some hellish plane. A malicious, cosmic conspiracy, designed by an inhuman intelligence of immense power, fueled only by malevolence, and governed by laws horrifically opposed to the concept of decency. Or perhaps, God finally abandoned us, and all that has happened is simply a result of the absence of his presence. To dwell further on such horrors would certainly cost me the little sanity I have left.

I write to you only with the utmost sorrow, old friend, because your reading this means the safety of ignorance has been torn away, and you are now alone in facing the ghastly truth. It is easy to forget the paltry reasons for struggling, and often I wonder if my memories would better serve by dying in obscurity with the rest of the world. I long considered letting this cosmic farce march unimpeded, thinking it possible that our hell might simply burn out. Then, perhaps, after eons of healing, some semblance of wholesomeness could return. However, I shouldn’t wonder about the future, and neither should you. All I can do is remember the past, and I am the only one left who can; that is reason enough to try. My friend, I fear I am simply unable to continue, and lamentably it must be you who finishes this ungodly task. What little strength I have left is spent bearing the guilt of forcing this task upon you, a burden too immense for mortal shoulders to carry. I dreamed of you brazenly entertaining the chaotic dance of truth in the orderly stronghold of your mind, watched you endanger the fragile fortress of ignorance called sanity, and by this portent I place my hope that you will discover some solution I have failed to divine. A method, perhaps, to cease this unending madness.

Can you recall how the strangeness began? Try to remember the portents that trickled in through news reports in the media, and condensed in the rumors and hearsay of daily gossip. Perhaps you didn’t notice the stark contrast of dread in the atmosphere between the 8th and 9th of September, as very few seemed to. How blissfully ignorant we kept ourselves in the early days, and so adept we became, that even while staring into the face of madness we would deny its existence. For no stir was ever aroused over the countless reports of strange, inhuman tragedies around the world. Those few reporters sensitive enough to catch obscure glimpses were exceedingly vague in what little commentary they did make. Perhaps some infantile part of them futilely believed that, by ignoring the truth, they could delay the omnipotent dread from further perversion.

Think back, my friend, to the 9th of September, can you feel how thick and unpleasant the air was, and how difficult it was to breathe? Try to recall the dreadful clouds that distorted the sky – those lumpy abominations – grotesquely alien in proportion, and colored with so indescribable a blackness that a rational mind could hardly call them clouds at all. Remember how they billowed forth ominously from the east, desecrating the sky with all the presence and regiment of a disciplined funeral procession. And that miserable Sun, when it was to be glimpsed at all, appeared a withered husk, ravaged by time and mold. That abysmal Sun, once so vibrant, who feebly cast one final, sorrowful gaze upon the Earth.

The last time I saw you alive was the day when food became tasteless and devoid of sustenance. You remarked that eating had become superfluous, and showed me reports of people stuffing themselves to the point of death, desperate to feel the pleasures of gluttony once more. It wasn’t long before feelings of hunger and thirst disappeared altogether, along with other desires of the flesh. You vanished soon after, so you may not recall when laughter went extinct. Or when chatter grew hushed and forced, and all social interaction became a burdensome obligation. When close friends and family would visit each other only under a pall of intense loathing, as if they were acting out a kind of ritual deprived of camaraderie or enjoyment. Perhaps you escaped the potent feelings of anxious dread that corroded the hearts of every man, woman, and child, until finally, by some arcane method, all memories of the innocence prior to September 9th vanished forever. Replaced by caricatures of illusory quality, the tattered visions of a world without damnation seemed only a grotesque nightmare. And with our memories toppled, the dreariness that began on September 9th overtook the world.

By October, the curse had attached itself to nearly every facet of the world. All of humanity began to rot, and we helplessly watched our bodies decay while our souls remained trapped inside. Wallowing aimlessly, the ghoulish remnants of mankind despaired over their putrescence, and many were driven mad by the memories of pleasures they could no longer feel. Suicides were attempted frequently, but the soul would indignantly refuse to depart; as if Death himself was reluctant to risk his sanity by getting close to such horror. It was in December that I first saw the damnation spread to the souls of human beings. By February, nearly everyone had been replaced by the Damned; those automatons with oily, nightmarish eyes of a most horrid black saturation. Most disturbing was how the host bodies would rejuvenate under the stewardship of that loathsome evil, regaining the appearance of vitality and youth. The world became a grotesque stage; a playground for demonic parasites to try on human bodies like an actor would put on a costume, so they could parody the activities of human life in an obscene masquerade. Their presence was tremendously unnerving, and close proximity would send chills to the very depths of my core. Curiously, they never tried to harm me. Perhaps they assumed it was only a matter of time before I became one of their playthings, but I never did. My body is now an abhorrent conglomeration of fungal putrescence, but my soul remains my own. I do not know why I am immune, or how the corruption spreads, but it appears that immunity was the only reliable safeguard and only I was given it. By the beginning of Summer, I had not encountered another human soul in three months.

Yes, old friend, even you, bright and inquisitive as you once were, are now like all the rest – a shadow, imprisoned by an entity of unfathomable evil. How much simpler it would be, if only all traces of my fellow humanity were truly gone. I could at last accept the fate that befell the world, take my rest in solitude, and live my days pleading with Death to relieve me. But alas, it is there! Oh, ghastly recognition exists, brief and fitful as it might be! In dreams! Our dreams have remained untouched, though I fear this last vestige of our humanity will be corrupted in time. For while those demons drudge about their ungodly errands, within them lie the dreaming souls of those they have imprisoned. Awake, I am alone in a world of monsters; but in sleep I travel hand in hand with the souls of my fellow man, journey with them through the decaying abyss of dreams, that dimension littered with the broken memories of our forsaken species. For a brief time, humanity is liberated from the clutches of an insidious madness, and as one we traverse the merciless epiphany of our dreams.

Friend, I would not blame you if you come to doubt my assertions – for I often question the horrific implication that somewhere within those abominations are human souls. If your dreams do not convince you, wait until the late hours of the night when those devilish golems finally cease their abominable labors. Wait until the Damned, whose unblinking eyes stare eternally even in sleep, journey home to their cold chambers. Wait until the foundations of their psyche soften and erode, and within the vestigial eyes of that cosmic horror, the traces of a poor soul can be seen, helpless and trapped. For when the demon sleeps, the dreaming soul inside briefly awakens. The loathsome blackness recedes from the socket, and human eyes surface once more, brimming with an indescribable agony. In those eyes you will see the truth, my friend. You will observe their suffering; the wisps of old memories rising, the shudders of dormant thought reawakening, and the pains of stretching the mental muscle after months of atrophy. You will observe a brief relief; as the soul is bombarded once again with powerful sensations – lost memories of their past, felt with all the intensity of the present moment – and they bathe gratefully in the powerful warmth of conscious freedom that has returned to them. You will observe their confusion; how quickly the feelings of relief disappear, and anger and despair build within them. Watch how uncontrollably their thoughts buzz, vibrating fruitlessly to create only unintelligible ruckus. Watch the confused mind race faster and faster, until this mental frenzy embodies only the desperate and frantic desire to escape. Watch the desperation climb, until you become certain that this soul will surely climax into insanity, when suddenly: Behold! Their desecrated eyes betray a serene awareness of the past, and you will grieve with them, as the remembrance of what was lost brings tears they have long forgotten how to cry. For a brief moment, freedom encompasses these poor souls, until the remaining hope within them cries out in despair. This hope I have seen silenced countless times, unflinchingly, by that aberrant blackness that returns inevitably in conquest. Forever etched in my brain is the grotesque visage of that horrid phantasm, greedily devouring its prisoner’s echoed whispers of desperate pleading. I wonder if the blasphemous parasite is aware that its host can escape its clutches while it sleeps. Or perhaps, in its sinister ambitions, it allows the agonizing epiphany to further torture the poor soul, before cruelly locking them away once more in the sanitarium of the unconscious.

My friend, you see why I have no choice but to burden you with this responsibility. This hellish mockery of existence cannot continue, and where I failed only you can succeed. I believe it is possible to free you, however I will have only one opportunity to test this method, and the slightest blunder could result in the eternal suffering of us both. For while I dream, I often feel the gaze of the abysmal aberrant, sense its ungodly ambitions reaching out for me. Tonight I will locate your spirit within the dream, old friend. I will lure the phantasm that plagues you out of the confines of your psyche, invite its horror into my own, and perhaps at last you will be released from its unearthly machinations. I will occupy your place in hell, my friend, so that you may suffer mine. Truthfully, I don’t know which of us is more Damned.