This is an experimental story originally done completely in Substack notes and comments from my friends. I am trying to gather it all into a readable post form. Hopefully you enjoy it.
Written for a prompt for Wendy Cockcroft’s Spooky Season week 3: The Forbidden Ritual.
Substack Note 1:
Dear Substack Algorithm.
Bring me the eldritch scribes, the midnight diarists, the doom-mongers.
Bring me the tentacled, the unspeakable, the pleasantly unknowable.
Bring me Cthulhu at brunch, Nyarlathotep in a cardigan, and Yog-Sothoth’s travel blog.
Bring me the people who stare into the abyss and have the decency to post about it.
Note 2:
I asked, and Substack delivered. You wouldn’t believe the stories that have been popping up in my feed lately. Here is just a sampling for your viewing pleasure:
“How to Build a Substack Cult Following (Literally).”
“Time Management for the Timeless Ones.”
“Farm-to-Table-to-Abyss: Fresh Offerings for Old Gods.”
And my personal favorite,
“Why Humanity Deserves the Void (and That’s Okay).”
Bravo, Substackians. You never cease to entertain me.
Note 3:
Okay, you guys and gals are hilarious.
I’m loving the prank comments. The constant fish emojis? Not annoying at all. Pretty sure those are from Happy Nielsen, it stinks of cyber bullying.
The creepy cultist comments? Atmospheric. Well done. Definitely Wendy Cockcroft’s work.
And whoever took the time to draw this incredible ASCII Chthulu, bravo. Really, that is beyond stupendous. I have a feeling that was you, The Circus Dragon.
But the comments that disappear anytime I try to take a screenshot are simply chef’s kiss. Not sure how you all managed to pull that off. Way to take advantage of my utter lack of tech skills.
Really, you guys just get me. I appreciate your commitment to the bit.
Note 4:
Alright, I’ll admit it. You creeped me out a little bit this time.
I was editing my draft this morning, and when I came back after grabbing coffee, half my sentences had been replaced by the same word over and over. It just said,
“Publish. Publish. Publish.”
You really had me going for a hot minute, before I realized KJ Harlow must have texted my wife and put her up to it. You’re both lucky I always back up my work, otherwise I would be mildly irritated.
So… bravo again, I guess? You’re really leaning into the immersive theater angle here. Starting to feel like I should be paying admission.
Note 5:
It feels like weeks since my last post, sorry about that. The wife just didn’t come home one night. None of her family is answering my calls. In fact, no one is... It’s a whole thing.
But the weird part is the timestamp on my Substack page says I posted… five minutes ago? Either Substack is broken, or I’ve fallen into some kind of productivity wormhole.
I’m probably just tired. Or maybe this is what it feels like to finally achieve that elusive “writer’s flow state.” Guess there’s something to be said for writing with no interruptions.
Note 6:
The wife still hasn’t come home. I’ve stopped leaving the house, if I’m honest. What would be the point? There’s no one out there. No one at all.
Instead, I sit here, and watch the subscriber list. I swear it grows when I’m not looking. Names appear, then multiply, then repeat. One of them is my name. Over and over. Whole pages of me, subscribing to myself.
Usually I’d say Substack’s bugs have bugs, but I don’t know.
I just don’t know anymore.
Note 7:
I don’t really cook anymore. Just the same cold fish every day, straight from the fridge. You’d think the sink would be full of dishes, but it’s not. Sometimes, I think she comes over and cleans up while I’m sleeping. I hope so. It’s either that or I’m losing my mind.
I wear the same clothes every day. I sleep on the couch now. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to the glow of the laptop on the coffee table and realize I haven’t moved in hours. Maybe days.
The only sounds I hear are the notifications now. They never stop.
Note 8:
I tried to unsubscribe from some of these joke accounts today. It’s not funny anymore. Enough is enough.
But the button doesn’t say “Unsubscribe” anymore. It just says Publish. Every menu option says Publish. Even the help link. Publish, publish, publish.
And last night I swear I heard the laptop typing by itself. Keys clicking in the dark. But when I looked, the screen was empty. Just the cursor, blinking. Waiting. Always waiting.
Apparently Substack has a post data limit. Who knew? The story will continue in part two, found here.
Subscribe to Whimsy and Woe: Side effects may include inappropriate laughter, mild to moderate existential dread, and goose-chase nightmares.
Do not consume Whimsy and Woe if you are allergic to joy, warm-fuzzies, or kumquats.
Ask your doctor if Whimsy and Woe is right for you.
It feels almost like performance art more than writing. I thought it was so well coordinated and brilliant.
So that's what you were doing. Well, it's interesting. And very novel. Right, I'm clicking the Part Two button now.