DEATH SONGS: TEN YEARS LATER

(Requiem for the First Cut)

by Walter Red

Before Walter Red was a name, it was an attempt.

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Ten years ago, I wrote to stay alive.
Now the vault opens again—not to mourn, but to remember.
What was once an exorcism has become a liturgy; what was once grief now hums like prayer.
If these words find you, let them. The song survived, and so did I.

Invocation

These poems are not aesthetic. They are cries, scratched into the void with trembling fingers. But their rawness is not a weakness — it is evidence. Proof that someone was there. Someone was trying. Someone was choosing to speak instead of disappear.

"A name spoken back to grief."

Recovered Typewritten Note

When The Sunflowers Bloom Again

i thought i buried everything that bloomed inside me.
the petals.
the scent.
the sun.

i salted the soil behind my ribs,
shoveled ash over the tender places,
told the bees to leave me be.

winter learned my name by heart.
it slept in my mouth and made my breath a fog.
i spoke in frost and splinters.

still—
some seed i could not kill
kept counting the days in the dark.

you came with dirt under your nails,
not a sermon, not a cure—
just a cup of water and a look that said: stay.

you pressed your thumb into my palm
and i felt a small heat wakening,
a green thought turning toward a rumor of light.

i swore i was done with gardens.
i swore the body could be all stone.
but promises made to fear are brittle.

first, a stalk through the gravel.
then, the stubborn yellow of a face
that would not stop looking at the sky.

the wind tried to rename me salt.
you read me as soil.
the petals understood.

now the ghosts keep handing me seeds.
now the bees return, gentle as memory.
now the sun stands at the threshold and knocks.

i thought i buried everything that bloomed inside me—
but the ground remembered what i forgot,
and kept it safe until i could come home.

so when the sunflowers bloom again,
do not ask how i deserved them.
ask only how they knew where to find me.

and if the light feels wrong on your skin,
if the old cold begs you back—
stand here with me a while.

the garden knows our names.
the flowers bend to hear them.
the sun keeps its vows at last.

unreleased poem from Death Songs: Ten Years Later

This book is not a funeral. It’s the scream you let out after you survive one.

Fragment from The Archivist's Notes

A Short Reflection on 10 Years of Death Songs

To think it’s been 10 years since I first released “Death Songs” still catches me off guard most days.

The pain and grief that carried from pen to paper to physical version when I first released it in 2017 still echoes deeply.

While reworking this 10 year anniversary edition, a lot of emotions were stirred while also navigating personal complications. There are sections that made even myself cry, wondering how I managed to make it through to the otherside.

This book is a testament of the strength of survival and the will to keep pushing on even when it seems all hope is lost.

Remember, there is hope, and you are cherished, love and wanted.

Let the ghosts that haunt you have their peace and sacred rest.

Forevermore,

Walter Red

Suicide Prevention Resources

If You're Hurting, Read This.

This book contains emotionally raw material, including reflections on grief, depression, self-blame, and inner collapse.

These words were written during moments of rupture. They are not diagnostic. They are not instructional. They are simply what was true at the time.

If you find yourself overwhelmed, or if you see yourself too clearly in these lines — please do not go through it alone.

There is help. There is breath. There is still time.

—

U.S. National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline:

📞 988 — Available 24/7, free and confidential.

https://988lifeline.org

About 988

People can call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org for themselves or if they are worried about a loved one who may need crisis support.

988 serves as a universal entry point so that no matter where you live in the United States, you can reach a caring, trained counselor who can help.

988 offers 24/7 access to trained crisis counselors who can help people experiencing mental health-related distress. That could be:

Need for 988

Too many people are experiencing suicidal crisis or mental health-related distress without the support and care they need, and sadly, the pandemic only made a bad situation worse when it comes to mental health and wellness in America.

There are urgent realities driving the need for crisis service transformation across our country.

In 2021 and 2022:

  • The U.S. had one death by suicide about every 11 minutes
  • For people aged 10–14 and 25–34 years, suicide was the second-leading cause of death
  • Suicide rates increased significantly among non-Hispanic Black & American Indian and Alaska Native people
  • More than 950,000 youth aged 12-17 and 1.6 million adults attempted suicide
  • About 107,000 people died from drug overdoses

Yet, there is hope. The 988 Lifeline helps thousands of people struggling to overcome suicidal crises or mental health-related distress every day.

https://www.samhsa.gov/mental-health/988

Press & Resources

Download Media Sheet (PDF)
Classroom Guide (PDF)

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© 2025 Walter Red Books LLC
A Ritual Production Release

#ghostskeepwriting

Return To The Cathedral

Suspicious Fog Event — Route 7

Date Filed: March 2, 2025
Status: Under Review
Division: Special Incidents

SUMMARY:
Patrol officers encountered an isolated region of dense fog with sharp wind-temperature deviation. No meteorological explanation confirmed. Incident logged for ongoing watch.

Further updates pending investigation.

Missing Juvenile — Whisper Creek Park

Date Filed: November 18, 2009
Status: Closed
Division: Missing Persons Unit

SUMMARY:
A juvenile was reported missing from Whisper Creek Park. Found safely several hours later. Notes retained due to pattern similarities with later cases.

No additional information available for public release.

Unusual Disturbance — North Lakeshore

Date Filed: April 29, 2011
Status: Closed — Unresolved
Division: Special Incidents

SUMMARY:
Deputies responded to multiple calls reporting a persistent low mechanical hum. Patrol units were unable to locate a source. Environmental readings were inconclusive. No further reports filed.

Certain details withheld pending internal review.

mattis, pulvinar dapibus leo.

A faded flyer drifts atop the water…

Do you reach for it?

Grab The Rubbish

Subject: The Window Does Not Stay Still

Hello & Welcome,

This is new—an event more than an archive. You will notice it does not behave like the others.

Guidance:

Begin anywhere, but expect interruption: sudden turns, blank spaces, fragments that slip.

The overview document is not a map, only a weather report.

The kit is designed to feel unstable, as if the window itself is breathing.

This is not a record to be studied—it is a rupture to be endured.

–––

KIT: Download Questionnaire Kit

PLEASE REVIEW README.txt & FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS

RED-WINDOW-1.2 RESEARCH GROUP
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THE BLACK BOOK

What Is “The Black Book”?

It is a toolkit to write the unspeakable, the unprintable, the part of grief that never asks for beauty.

Do not open unless you are ready to bury something alive.

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(DO NOT LOSE PASSWORD)

Mac/OS - DMG
Windows - ISO

[Note: All Files are Secure & Safe to Download]

The Cathedral of St. Alwyn — Keeper of Thresholds: A house of stone; a mouth of light.

Raised where the hills soften into prayer, the Cathedral of St. Alwyn was not only built—it was listened into being. Every arch repeats a silence the land already knew. The nave shelters breath. The transepts point like compass arms toward roads we have yet to travel. And the rose window—ember at the heart—reminds us that light is a circle we walk inside of, even when we think we’re outside in the dark.

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Public Notices & Documents

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Archival Records: Cathedral of St. Alwyn

Erected in the waning years of the Third Winter, the Cathedral of St. Alwyn rose upon the foundations
of a smaller stone chapel lost to fire. The first bell, cast from the salvaged iron of the town’s fallen gates,
rang only seven years before the great collapse of the western tower.

In local memory, St. Alwyn is less a saint of miracle than of burden — a keeper of watch during the long
famine, whose prayers were said to hold back the Hollow. When the famine lifted, the villagers carved
his likeness into the lintel above the nave, face weathered and eyes downcast, so that all who entered
would remember the cost of survival.

Even in ruin, the Cathedral stands as both sanctuary and sepulchre. The stones bear smoke-blackened scars,
and the nave floor is marked with the pale outlines where pews were once bolted. At vespers, when the wind
shifts just right, it is said the echo of that first bell can still be heard, carrying over the fields —
a reminder that some vigils are never truly ended.

Archival Blueprints

Architectural plan of the Cathedral of St. Alwyn, drafted in the late 18th century. This design reflects the officially recognized structure following the Basilica’s redaction from civic memory. Sections such as the nave, choir, and twin towers are recorded in meticulous symmetry, intended for public distribution and parish records.

Field Guide Summary:

Beyond the last wildflowers, the ground dips into a shadowed swale locals call the Hollow Verge.

Air currents here are erratic—sometimes warm, sometimes freezing, even in summer.

For those trained to notice, the Verge is less a boundary and more a membrane: step through, and the field behind you may not be the same field at all.

Explorer’s Note:

At the far edge of the field the soil thins, and a hollow gapes open to the dark.
The Verge is less a boundary and more a wound. The land folds downward into a hollow trench, where the grass recedes and bare carth shows through. The sound here is peculiar —
footsteps dull, voices swallowed, even birds fall silent when crossing.

Some call it the field’s “breathing seam.” It divides Yellowfield from the orchard beyond, though not neatly: the roots of both worlds tangle in the soil, locked together like clenched hands
Witnesses report shadows appearing longer than they should bending toward the hollow as though drawn into its silence.
Some say if you kneel close, you will hear a faint rhythm, not unlike a heartbeat – though whether it belongs to the carth or yourself remains unclear.

Field Guide Summary:

This crumbling shell of stone arches and fractured nave has been a point of fascination since the earliest 1973 notes.

On hot afternoons, a low resonance can be felt through the walls, as though a hidden swarm still nests within.

Traces of wax, char, and pollen collect in the cracks, defying any simple explanation.

If you put your hand against the stone at noon, you’ll feel the hum. It is not wind, nor insects, nor echo.

Some call it memory, others an after-swarm. I call it a heartbeat that refuses to die, even when the body is dust.

Field Guide Summary:

A fringe of wild fruit trees and unkempt hedgerows marks the unofficial border of Yellowfield.

Here, petals fall on packed earth, masking faint sigil impressions and shallow caches.

The orchard’s seasonal bloom is said to disguise entrances to smaller, forgotten paths—some leading back toward the Cathedral, others dissolving into the open plain.

Beneath the blossoms, something always waits. Not hostile, not kind — just waiting.

A sigil pressed into the soil loses meaning until the wind clears the petals away, and then you realize it was never meant for you in the first place.

Field Guide Summary:

Perched atop a gradual incline, the Mausoleum is a lone sentinel in stone, weathered by centuries of wind.

Inside, its alcoves hold empty reliquaries and deep-carved names, many struck through or re-chiseled.

Field records suggest its hilltop location was once used as a signal point—fires and lanterns flashing to unseen allies across the valley.

The hill remembers fire. Lanterns once flared here, and I swear sometimes a distant answering flame still flickers back across the valley.

No one speaks of who those signals were for — or whether the watchers ever came down from their post.