I’ve been having a really hard time writing lately so bare with me here. In the past, while I never considered my stories to be anything groundbreaking or best seller worthy, I’ve always been able to create. That’s not to say that I’ve never had writer’s block or drawn a blank at the worst possible time. But even then, I could always sit down and jot down some sort of idea, or come up with interesting stories to tell. This time however… well it’s been different.
Any time I put pen to paper or sat down at my laptop, my mind would go completely and utterly blank. Even if a potential idea crossed my mind that I was excited about, the moment I would try to write it down or flesh it out, it would wither within my brain and I’d lose interest a few sentences in.
As a creative person, this consistent lack of inspiration began to leave me feeling empty and useless. It was like I had lost my ability to escape into a world of my own design and I was stuck in boring, dreary reality. When I looked into it, I came to a rather troubling conclusion.
I realized that about the same time that I started having this problem, I had just begun taking antidepressants to manage my mental health. As it turns out, a common side effect of SSRIs involves making it more difficult for the brain to access its creative flow. Something about the mood stabilization and the leveling out of serotonin and other chemicals disrupted this imaginative process, making it much harder for inspiration to come or stick around.
It’s funny to think about. As a society, we have made great strides in doing away with the notion that suffering is some kind of requirement or prerequisite for real art to be born. Yet, after being on medication designed to take away my mental suffering, the ability to create seemingly went with it.
Now I don’t want to sound like I’m anti medication. I’ve been doing so much better in life and as a person mentally since being on something and I have no intention of stopping unless I feel comfortable doing so. But, learning to reconnect with my creative side has been a new challenge of its own to overcome.
I tried just about everything from taking long walks and meditation, to dream journaling and stream of consciousness free writing. All with little to no results. That is, until my friend Kate told me about her creative mantra.
“Now it’s going to sound a little weird, I know. But ever since I started doing it, I haven’t had any writer’s block.” Kate said.
“Bullshit. None at all?” I asked skeptically. She raised an eyebrow at me and nodded.
“None at all. Any time I feel stuck, I do my little ritual and say the mantra and boom, the next morning I’m right back to writing.” She assured me.
“How long have you been doing it?” I asked her. Kate bit at her lip, mulling the thought over.
“Probably about a month now.” She said. “Maybe more, I don’t know.”
“Well crap.” I sighed, burying my face in my hands.
“You wanna give it a shot?” Kate asked with a cheeky smile. I rubbed at the back of my neck and looked at her sheepishly before nodding slowly.
“If it’s as effective as you’re saying, then I can do weird. I just want to get my creative juices flowing. It doesn’t have to be good. I just want to be able to write.” I said. Kate eyed me for a moment before placing a hand on my shoulder.
“You will. Trust me.” She said, taking up a piece of paper and a pen. “Here, I’ll write it down for you.” Kate began scribbling something down as she spoke. “So this is what I do. Just before bed, light a single stick of incense. Close your eyes and repeat this mantra.” She jabbed me with her elbow, passing me the page. I looked down at her immaculate handwriting with a frown. She gave me an urging look as I stared at her so I began reading the words she’d written.
“I am all. All is me. Aid my journey to clarity. I say your name so that I might. Gain your knowledge and your sight. When spoken aloud you come to dine. Then what I long for will be mine.” I grimaced at the strange chant, pausing at the name. Kate had broken it down into each syllable so I could pronounce it. “Ah–Wah–Tah–Rock.” I sounded out slowly, looking up at Kate as I finished, and she nodded at me enthusiastically.
“Say that full mantra until the incense burns down completely. Then go right to bed.” She instructed. I watched her with a smirk.
“That’s it?” I questioned.
“That’s it.” She said, “Oh! And have a notebook by your bed. Trust me, you’ll need it.” She winked at me. I shook my head in confusion, leaning back on my couch.
“Where did you even hear about this?” I asked.
“Online, duh.” Kate scolded humorously. “I was looking around on some writing forums and someone brought it up as a suggestion. So I headed to the library, did a little research and gave it a try.”
“And who exactly is Awataarok?” I asked with a raised brow.
“It’s hard to say. All the books and myths I was reading about them say it’s like a deity of unknown origin. Stories about it pop up everywhere from the Romans to the Aztecs. That spelling is the only one I could figure out how to say confidently.” She laughed.
“So I’d basically be selling my soul to some demon.” I said jokingly. Kate punched me in the arm.
“Shut uuuup. It’s not a demon, dummy. Think of them like a Muse. Ya know, like the Greeks? It’s like a being of inspiration. Don’t think too hard about it. Focus on the mantra. Think of it like a special meditation.” She told me.
“Hmmm.” I muttered.
“You’re the one who said you’d be willing to do weird.” She told me with a nudge. I nodded at her. I was still skeptical, but I didn’t raise any more questions. It had been months since I had written anything at all and I was desperate to rekindle that creative spark.
So that night, before bed, I lit a single stick of incense, closed my eyes and repeated the mantra as it burned down.
“I am all. All is me. Aid my journey to clarity. I say your name so that I might. Gain your knowledge and your sight. When spoken aloud you come to dine. Then what I long for will be mine…Awataarok.” Each time I said it, I felt my head getting lighter and my mind fell into a thick fog. The only words that mattered were that of the Mantra. Awataarok. The name echoed through my thoughts over and over. Awataarok.
When I was done, I placed a notebook and pen by my bed and I laid down to sleep. I closed my eyes. I can’t remember when exactly I fell asleep, but that night, I had the most vivid nightmare I had ever experienced:
:::::::
I opened my eyes, finding myself in a darkened hallway. The walls around me were a faded tan with little white flowers decoratively painted up and down every six inches or so. The carpet was a cream color, seemingly untouched by anything harsher than a bare or socked foot. Picture frames covered the walls around me, all full of silhouettes of family members too dark to make out any faces or features. I looked down to my hands.
In the left hand I held a flashlight, casting a shimmering beam down the hall. In the right, what looked like a lock picking kit of some kind.
“Come on, what’s taking so long?” A voice said from behind me. I spun around to see a man staring at me. He was dressed from head to toe in black attire, his face was covered with a ski mask. In his hands he held a 9mm handgun of some kind, his finger placed at the ready on the trigger. Although by all accounts, the sight should have frightened me, but here in this dream, I looked at him with annoyance.
“Give me a damn minute.” I heard myself say. “I thought I heard something.” The two of us walked in tandem as we made our way down the hall, hanging a right turn into what was clearly a master bedroom.
An enormous king sized bed sat at the center of the room. The sheets appeared lush and soft, gleaming a vibrant emerald in the moonlight which spilled in through the nearby bay windows. There were nightstands on either side of the bed, elegantly carved with floral designs and painted a shade of eggshell white with gold leaf trim. On a matching dresser sat jewelry of various kinds and cuts all nestled in silver or gold trinkets. I whistled as I entered the room.
“Well they certainly aren’t penny pinchers.”
The man behind me laughed, wasting no time pulling out a backpack and tossing in every ring, bracelet, or necklace. I made my way over to the bed, throwing back the mattress to reveal a large, black steel safe. Upon which was a digital keypad.
“You sure you can get that thing open?” The man asked.
“If you shut up and let me work I can.” I looked to the right of the digital keypad on the safe, where a small metal plate, stamped with the maker’s logo, was screwed into place. I pulled out a small screwdriver, taking the time to carefully remove it to reveal a small keyhole. I grinned down at it, taking up my tools to get to work.
“I got it.” I called back.
“Dude.” A whisper came from my partner.
“Shush. Let me do this.” I snapped.
“D-dude…” He said more urgently. This time I heard the fear as it entered his voice. I took a pause, turning around to look at him.
“What?” I asked. He just stared with wide eyes out of the bedroom door, his breath coming in shaking rasps.
“Who is that?” He asked, pointing with his gun. I followed his line of sight until I saw a dark figure, standing in the doorway.
It looked like some sort of woman. However, everything about her was…wrong. Her left foot stood normal, but her right was twisted the other way around, the ankle bone crooked at a painful angle. Her left arm sat longer than her right and the fingers distended down, curving at the end into gnarled, sharp claws. Her right arm shifted and twitched unnaturally as though it were some kind of tentacle with no visible fingers. I couldn’t see her face, but where the eyes should’ve been were two white pin pricks of light which stared at us with piercing focus.
Once again, I should have been scared. Instead I felt an overwhelming sense of calm. I couldn’t explain, but the name came to me, filling my head with a pressured echo.
“Awataarok.” I whispered.
All at once the womanly figure blurred forward, its long spindly left arm slashing out in a wide sweep. Blood flew in black spurts like ink, flashing a brilliant crimson as it struck the light from the window. The man with the gun screamed in agony, pulling the trigger wildly in an attempt to shoot the figure. But the woman was too fast. Its tentacle-like right arm wrapped around the barrel, throwing the gun away effortlessly.
“Holy shit!” He screamed.
The figure hacked at him again, this time slicing open his torso from groin to sternum. I gagged as I watched intestines, stomach, and other guts spilled out onto the floor with a sickening plop! The figure’s pin prick eyes stared down at the gore hungrily and I watched in horror as it unhinged its jaw, opening a wide maw full of needle sharp teeth. The figure bit down again and again. Its mouth gaped open like a snake devouring a mouse as it crunched through bone and cartilage.
I could do nothing but stare as it ate him. Every last piece. My heart thundered in my chest as those white eyes peered up at me. Our gazes locked as I watched those tiny orbs of light grow into vast, endless expanses of bright white. My head spun as I stared into the nothingness…and then I woke up.
::::::::
I shot straight up in bed, my face plastered with sweat and my sheets completely soaked. My heart was still pounding and my breathing was heavy. Every image of the nightmare replayed in my mind like a movie, burned into my vision as I rubbed at my eyes. I couldn’t grab my notebook fast enough.
I sat in bed for the next several hours, writing down every detail with mad determination, ignoring the pain in my wrist as I went. I couldn’t stop until the final period was on the page. I put the pen down and breathed a heavy sigh.
It worked. A smile spread across my face and I wiped some sweat from my brow with a laugh. It had been the most real and horrifying nightmare I’d ever had. But I’d written a story. For the first time in months, I was inspired and not only wrote, but finished something. I took up my phone to call Kate.
“Hello?” Her voice crackled into my ear.
“Hey! I just wanted to thank you for that mantra thing. I spent the entire morning writing. It was amazing.” I said.
“Oh good! I’m so happy to hear that. Good job.” Her voice was dry and raspy and she spoke with dull energy.
“You ok?” I asked. She let out an exasperated sigh.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m coming down with something. I woke up with a stomach ache this morning and it’s been bugging me all day. I might be getting sick.
“Oh man. I’m so sorry. You want me to bring you some soup or anything?” I offered.
“That’s really sweet of you to offer, but I think I’m alright. I think I’m just going to get some rest. Thank you though. I appreciate you, friend.” She said with a smile in her voice.
“No problem. I’ll let you get some rest, don’t want to bother you while you’re trying to fight off death.” I laughed.
“Thanks dummy. Happy writing.” Kate said.
“Get well soon.” We said our goodbyes and then I was left with my thoughts and my notebook. And for me it was right back to writing.
Thanks to the mantra of Awataarok, I found myself writing more than ever before. Once a week I would perform the full ritual. And each night I did, I was met with vivid dreams of wonder and fantasy.
One evening I dreamed of pirates on the hunt for the route to an ancient city of riches. Another, I was on a spaceship in a far off galaxy, learning that humans were an endangered species being poached by alien hunters. In another still, I went on a grand quest with wizards and elves in search of a blade believed to bring peace to the Realm.
Each dream was more realistic than the last. All of them were in different genres and styles. And in the space of two months, I had accumulated enough ideas to fill multiple novels and collections of anthology short stories. I was writing better and more interesting tales than I ever had before my antidepressant induced writer’s block.
But one thing always remained constant.
At some point in the dream, I would see the same disturbing woman with the pin prick eyes and needle teeth. She would then proceed to devour every character surrounding me. Chunk by bloody chunk. And then, we would lock eyes. Her brilliant white gaze would pour over me in a dazzling shower of light.
And then I would wake up.
I tried talking to Kate about it, but every time I called her, she wasn’t in the mood to talk. She normally oscillated between two different excuses. It was always either:
“I’m sorry. I’m just really busy right now. I’ve been dealing with shit at work, and then I’ve been doing a lot of research.”
Or.
“I really wish I could talk, but I’m just not feeling good. My stomach ache keeps getting worse. This flu refuses to go away.”
After a couple weeks of trying, I left Kate alone for a while. I figured it was smarter to just wait for her to get better or have some free time. We’d catch up eventually.
So I went back to writing, avoiding the use of the mantra for the time being just to be on the safe side. And to my own surprise, it wasn’t long before I was putting together the first draft of a manuscript and I was in the process of looking for literary agents to send it to all on my own. No additional help required.
It wasn’t until I got a phone call from Kate’s mom that I knew something was actually wrong.
“Hello?”
“Hi Martin. It’s Nora…” She spoke with a tired, raspy tone. “Kate’s mom.” She clarified awkwardly as if she hadn’t known me most of my life.
“Oh, hi Mrs. Burton. What’s up?” I asked. There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. It almost sounded like she was stifling a sob.
“Yeah so…I wanted to call you because Kate is in the hospital.” When she said the words, my heart sank to the floor.
“Oh my god. When? What happened?” I asked. There was another, even longer pause from Nora then. Each passing second, raising my blood pressure.
“It’s kind of a long story. She’s been there for a week now. Her temperature has been going up and she’s been vomiting up blood. The doctors have been running all kinds of tests. They say she’s on the verge of multiple organ failure.” Nora rambled.
“Oh my god.” I stuttered. I could barely get a breath. No words would come to me. Had it really been that long since I had spoken with Kate? I knew she hadn’t been feeling well, I couldn’t believe this. How did I not know that she was in the hospital?
“I’m so sorry. I would’ve called you sooner, but it’s all just been so much and I’ve been all over the place.”
“No, no, don’t apologize. I can’t even imagine. Jesus. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” I offered.
“Well…she did ask me to email you a couple of her writing projects she had been working on in the hospital. Maybe you can read them? I’m sure that would make her happy. Otherwise, please keep her in your thoughts. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.”
“Oh of course. I’ll read them right now. If she’s able to have visitors at any point, please let me know. I’d love to come see her. Tell her what I think of her writing and stuff.”
“I will. Thank you so much, Martin.”
“No problem Mrs. Burton. Thank you for letting me know.”
No sooner had I hung up the phone, did I get an email notification for my laptop. I rolled over in bed and snatched it up. Sure enough there was a single message sent to me from Kate’s account with several attachments. Along with it came a message:
“Hey, I’ve been doing more research on our little ‘writing partner.’ I needed to show you what I found before it was too late. I’m so sorry, Martin.”
I began going through the files one by one, each one only causing my confusion to grow. Several of the files were photocopied images from old library books with sections circled and highlighted. One of them read:
“Awataarok may fill the space of a Muse for desperate artists, providing a sense of inspiration for those in need. But this is merely a transactional arrangement, not a gift. It is believed that the spark of creation functions more akin to that of a lure or a toxin, lulling a victim into a state of complacency so that it might feed.”
My heart began to pick up in pace as I clicked to the next photocopied image:
“When the Awataarok feeds on its prey, it gazes into their eyes, burrowing into their bodies while putting them in a trance-like state. The deity proceeds to feed on the victim’s organs, drawing nutrients mostly from the Liver and Kidneys…Once within a victim, it will continue to feed until it’s had its fill, regardless of having been called upon.”
What the hell was this? I continued to go through page after page of information. Each one brought with it more disturbing revelations than the last.
But the worst of it…was the final photos. It was two different X-Rays of Kate’s chest. From what I could make out, it looked like she was suffering from extreme internal bleeding. At first, it looked like they had simply shrunk. But I knew better. What I was looking at were bite marks…Which covered her insides. Mostly the Liver and her Kidneys. Bite marks which had been made by rows of needle sharp teeth that had been slowly eating her from the inside.
A stabbing pain shifted in my stomach and I bent over clutching at my side, suddenly short of breath. My eyes widened.
“Awataarok.” I whispered. The image of the woman with the pin prick eyes flashed through my mind. Awataarok stared at me with a twisted grin on its face, revealing a gaping maw of needle sharp teeth, stained with thick oozing blood and viscera. The same needle sharp teeth… that were now eating me from the inside.