File C909-2

File C909-2-3 The Iceborn Clock

File C-909-2-1

Security requirement: Level 10 or above security clearance, level 5 or above clearance in the event of a situation red ice.

File Subject: The Iceborn Clock

Current File Residence: Safe in area 57 located in Alaska

Subject Location: [Higher Clearance Required]

Begin Log:

Alaska. The cold bare bleak underside of hell. They say the fires burn hot in the underworld, though now I know that the ice and accursed snow are what truly exist in the depths below. The bitter, biting, ever pervading wind pulls at your soul, a persistent howl that sets your innards a trembling and your mind to an edge. There was not a second, not a moment even, during which I was not aware of the wind, and yet I almost didn't notice when it stopped. We pitched our tents after a long day of climbing. Not for the first time we unsuccessfully attempted a fire. It failed, as always, nothing could save its warming tongues of life giving flames from the tearing winds of the north. Miserable, we sat, packed like sardines in a too small tent. We had lost the second one a few weeks ago to an icy gray gorge leading down to oblivion's gullet. We had lost a man as well.. We barely remembered his name after a week without his presence. Darkness fell early. There was barely any difference without the sun, its light was poor solace for biting chill. And as if pausing on a brink before the end of existence, time came to a halt. There was no wind, no sound, only the rasping noise of our breathing. Even the cold seemed to have stopped still in its tracks. There was no feeling. I attempted to speak but no voice would come. Through a series of vague guessers and extreme facial expressions, we managed to come to an agreement to leave the tent. Where we stood there was a pale white glow, with no apparent source, casting no shadows, as if from directly above, though the moon was obstructed by the unmoving clouds and the blanket of inert flakes of snow shining in the sky. Around us and our halo of bleached light was nothing but shadow. Then we saw what appeared to be a hunched man cloaked in rags holding a lantern full of white lashes of flame, obscured by the edges of the shadows. We hesitated and called out with our silenced voices. He glanced up to us, as if not having noticed us before. His eyes radiated the same blanched white as the ground around us. Shaking his head he put a finger to his lips and turned around slowly, walking off into the darkness. Then the howls began. At first they sounded like the lamenting cry of a wolf though soon they grew sharper in pitch, like the edge of a shard of ice cutting into our ears. We fell to the ground in agony, our knees slamming into the inert earth without raising a flake of snow. We covered our ears to little avail. No matter how fearsome the howl, I wished it had ended at that, I wish it could've continued throughout the night and perhaps for years to come, if it would've spared me what followed. A figure emerged from the shadows, like an emaciated man of albino skin with eyes like dark orbs of ink, hunched to the ground as it skittered towards us on thin, sharp claws. One of my companions opened his mouth in a silent bellow of defiance and threw forth one of his climbing spikes like a throwing knife, one end spinning over the other until the spiked end landed in the creature's skull with a sickening thud. The wretched horror clad in white fell to the ground before us, sliding into the inert snow, pale puss oozing from its wound, black tar dripping out of its hellish eyes. Then came the rest. First three then seven then ten, then over a score. An unholy army sent forth from the depths of tartarus to be our eternal punishment in this frozen, wind scathed land where time seemed to have lost its meaning. Normal men might have ran, but we'd lost all fear for our lives in our constant dance with death against the perilous mountains. Besides, where was there to go? Into the darkness? Perhaps to the man with the lantern? No, we stood and fought against this devil's brigand. They were like rabid dogs, sitting still then suddenly lunging with a shriek. At first they were experimental, having found us stoic in our defense, batting them away with our climbing gear. Eventually, one landed a blow, drawing blood. My injured companion screeched silently. The wound steamed black and emitted a sickening stench. I kicked the offending beast off down the steep incline leading to the back of our camp. Then came the rest. Like sharks in bloodstained water the beasts circled us as best they could. We were forced between a rock and a hard place, a drop off to the bottom of the ridge, or the emaciated horrors before us. The bitten man before us turned to the side and retched, puking out a stream of blackened blood as of the water of a bitter swamp. When he looked up to us his eyes were milky black, the pupils dilated to take up the full front. With a scream like a demon with god at its heels he threw himself into the mass of writhing white bodies, quickly being ripped to shreds of blackened flesh. We recoiled in horrified disgust, our resolve faltering only momentarily, though it was enough. The beasts lunged and took my final friend, ripping out his throat. It was just as they attacked that I became aware of the pounding ticking sound in my ears. I have no idea when it began, and my memory of its exact volume and pitch is blurry. It was, to be sure, loud, like a gong going of in my ear with each thump of my heart. And then It all stopped. The beasts, and me remained frozen in place, only the ticking remained. My sight blurred and spun out of reality. There was blackness, then white. A pure blanket of snow under my hands. There was no sign of the previous carnage, my companions were gone. The ticking had stopped. I pulled myself up. I had returned to time as we know it, moving forwards once again from the jolting standstill that had unnaturally frozen me. I was sick into the snow and looked around. I was alive. I was unsure what had just happened. Certainly the exploration would have to continue.

End log