Right, so Dr. Hollow's study on the Facelings left me feeling… well, blank. Not quite as hair-raising as reading about Smilers performing dentistry with their entire face, but deeply unsettling nonetheless. The conversation with the old genealogist chap afterwards, about traces and personhood, got me thinking. If leaving a trace, a history, is what separates us from the walking wallpaper, how do wanderers actually do that beyond scribbling panicked notes in a diary like poor Alistair Finch? How do we talk to each other in this sprawling, inconsistent madhouse? And, dare I even ask, does anything else talk back in a way that isn't just gurgling, screaming, or trying to wear your skin as a fetching new waistcoat?
The idea of Backrooms linguistics – the study of communication in a place actively hostile to coherence – tickled my fancy. It sounded like trying to translate whale song during a techno rave in an earthquake. Utterly bonkers, probably fruitless, but definitely intriguing. So, off I trotted towards the P section – Linguistics, Languages. It felt like a properly academic detour after all the existential dread and monster manuals.
Weaving past shelves dedicated to "Frontroom Languages I Barely Spoke Then, Let Alone Now" (like P381 .F8 G7 1988 - Advanced French Grammar: Mastering the Subjunctive Mood – honestly, the subjunctive felt less terrifying than a Smiler), I found the niche subsection: "Non-Standard & Anomalous Communication Systems." And there, squeezed between "Cryptophasia Among Conjoined Twins in Level 98" and "Interpreting the Gastric Rumbles of Sentient Puddings," was a volume that screamed 'headache-inducing academic rabbit hole.' Call Number: P99.5 .B3 S4 2028. Bound in a dull, institutional green cloth that reminded me vaguely of old NHS waiting rooms, the title was printed in stark white: "Semiotics of the Screaming Void: A Lexicon of Liminal Linguistics & Post-Euclidean Communication."
The author was credited simply as "The Vox Collective," suggesting either a group effort or someone deeply pretentious. Publisher: "Echo Chamber Press (Provisional Translations Inc.)" Another cracking Backrooms Book, promising jargon, frustration, and maybe, just maybe, a clue about how to ask directions without getting your vowels rearranged by a spatial anomaly. It smelled faintly of chalk dust, stale coffee, and the low hum of failing servers.
Back in my haven (the plant seemed particularly verdant today, perhaps photosynthesizing my anticipation), I cracked it open. The foreword, much like the history book's disclaimer, immediately set expectations firmly on the floor.
Preface: On Trying to Talk When the Walls Have Ears (And Occasionally Teeth)
"Communication in the Backrooms," began The Vox Collective, presumably in unison, "is fraught. Standard linguistic models collapse under the weight of unstable realities, cognitive hazards, entity interference, and the pervasive background noise of existential despair. This volume does not offer a universal translator or a comprehensive grammar. Such things are likely impossible. Instead, it catalogues observed patterns, persistent symbols, fragmented codes, and the desperate, often futile, attempts by wanderers (and perhaps other… intelligences?) to convey meaning across the static. Consider this less a dictionary, more a collection of linguistic driftwood washed ashore from an ocean of noise." Right then, manage expectations: achieved.
Part 1: Wanderer Vernacular (Slang, Shouts & Survival Speak)
This section delved into the evolving slang used by wanderers, much like Barnaby Button's brief guide, but far more extensive and, frankly, grimier.
Lexicon of Loss: Terms born from shared trauma: "Yellow Madness" (Level 0 psychosis), "Clipping Out/In" (transitioning Levels), "Static Blindness" (temporary disorientation after Level shift), "Entity Chow" (obvious, grimly humorous), "Reality Bleed" (areas where Levels unstable merge), "Frontroom Fading" (losing memories of Earth).
Warning Shorthand: Common shouts or brief warnings analysed for efficiency: "Hound!" (Self-explanatory), "Eyes!" (Usually Smiler), "Blank!" (Faceling), "Skinny!" (Skin-Stealer), "Shift!" (Spatial anomaly imminent), "RUN!" (Universally understood, requires no translation). The Collective noted the subtle tonal variations indicating level of panic, a crucial but hard-to-quantify element.
Barter Banter: The language of trade. Analysis of common terms for Almond Water quality ("Pure," "Cloudy," "Bit dodgy," "Emergency only"), battery life ("Full charge," "Half-empty," "Praying"), and general item value ("Shiny," "Useful," "Heavy junk"). Included amusing anecdotes of misunderstandings leading to terrible trades (swapping a working compass for three faintly glowing, inedible mushrooms).
Regional Dialects?: The Collective tentatively explored whether distinct 'dialects' were emerging in long-term settlements like Level 11 or isolated Level communities, noting variations in slang and warning calls. Evidence was patchy, attributed to high population flux and the tendency for settlements to get abruptly eaten by the scenery.
Part 2: The Writing on the Wall (Graffiti, Glyphs & Non-Verbal Warnings)
This chapter tackled visual communication, vital when shouting attracts unwanted attention.
Graffiti Grammar: Analysis of common symbols scrawled on walls: Arrows (often unreliable, sometimes deliberately misleading), crude entity sketches (Smiler grins, Hound outlines), safe zone markers (M.E.G. insignia, various unofficial symbols – some blessedly simple, others looking like attempts to summon Cthulhu with a spray can), danger signs (crossed bones, jagged lines, spirals indicating spatial instability). The book meticulously catalogued variations, noting how the meaning of even simple arrows could change drastically depending on the Level or who drew them. "Rule of Thumb," they advised, "Trust graffiti about as much as you'd trust a politician's promise, but ignore it completely at your peril."
The Great Symbol Debate (Wikidot vs. Fandom Glyphs): Here, the timeline divergence became explicit. The Collective presented charts comparing recurring symbols documented in predominantly Wikidot-aligned databases versus those common in Fandom-centric reports. While some overlap existed (basic danger markers), many were unique or carried subtly different meanings. For example, a certain spiral pattern might signify 'Safe Water Source Nearby' in one lore stream, and 'Impending Reality Collapse - Evacuate Immediately' in the other. "Navigating using conflicting symbol sets," the book noted with heroic understatement, "has led to… unfortunate outcomes. Recommend cross-referencing with M.E.G. standard glyphs where possible, assuming the local M.E.G. outpost hasn't gone rogue and started using interpretive dance for warnings."
Object Arrangements: Discussed the practice of leaving objects arranged in specific ways as warnings or messages: piles of stones, knotted rags, specific arrangements of debris. Highly localised and ephemeral, often misinterpreted. Included a tragicomic account of one group mistaking a carefully arranged 'Entity Nest Ahead' warning (made of discarded shoes) for a free footwear giveaway.
Part 3: Whispers in the Static (Entity Communication - Mostly Failure)
This was the truly bizarre section, documenting attempts to understand or communicate with non-human entities. Predictably, success was rare.
Hound Howls & Growls: Attempts to catalogue and interpret Hound vocalizations. Conclusion: mostly variations on "I am going to eat you," "I am currently eating someone else," and "I smell you." Some researchers claimed to detect subtle pack communication signals, but admitted these could just be random snarling. Applying Frontroom dog behaviour analysis was deemed "spectacularly unhelpful."
Skin-Stealer Speech: Analysis of the unsettling mimicry. Do they understand what they're saying? Or just replaying audio recordings like fleshy parrots? Evidence suggested the latter, though some reports spoke of unnervingly coherent threats or lures, possibly indicating developing intelligence or accessing host memories. Communication attempts usually ended with the researcher needing a new skin. Literally.
Smiler Silence & [REDACTED]: Confirmed Smilers don't communicate verbally. Addressed the Fandom reports of potential auditory hallucinations/mimicry as a psychological weapon (cross-referencing the M.E.G. Smiler file), but couldn't offer linguistic analysis beyond "Assume it's trying to kill you." The [REDACTED] likely referred to cognitohazardous elements of any 'communication'.
Faceling Feedback Loop: Referenced Dr. Hollow's work, confirming the general unresponsiveness but noting experiments where Facelings seemed to react subtly to complex visual patterns or musical tones, though results were inconsistent and possibly just advanced mimicry. "Communicating with a Faceling," one researcher was quoted, "is like yelling at a mirror that occasionally swaps your reflection's shirt."
Other Intelligences?: Briefly touched on attempts to communicate with more esoteric entities – sentient architecture, geometric anomalies, beings reportedly existing within the Backrooms' data streams. Results ranged from "no response" to "researcher experienced irreversible psychic waveform collapse." The Collective advised extreme caution.
Conclusion: Lost in Translation
The Vox Collective concluded, much like the historians and anthropologists before them, with a profound sense of weary bafflement. "The Backrooms actively resist clear communication," they summarised. "Language fragments, symbols contradict, and the silence is often filled with predatory intent. Survival necessitates deciphering the bare minimum – immediate warnings, basic resource indicators – while accepting that deeper meaning or interspecies dialogue remains largely aspirational, possibly suicidal. Our advice: speak softly, carry a big dictionary (and a weapon), and learn to read the silences. They often say more than the screams." The final appendix was a 'Glossary of Unconfirmed Neologisms,' filled with bizarre terms allegedly overheard near reality distortions, like "chronosynclastic infundibulum" and "spaghettification blues." Proper nonsense.
I closed the dense green volume. My head swam slightly with glyphs, growls, and grim warnings. It seemed communication here was less about understanding each other and more about collectively misunderstanding the universe slightly less fatally. The conflicting symbols between Wikidot and Fandom realities painted a terrifying picture of someone following a 'safe path' sign directly into a nest of something awful because they were using the wrong mental map. Yikes.
Transition time. Essential decompression. Almond Water – the universal constant, thankfully requiring no translation. Protein bar – 'Caramel Nut Cluster,' which tasted mostly of 'nut dust held together with disappointment,' but fuel is fuel. As I consumed my rations, I thought about the Library itself as a form of communication. The orderly shelves, the silence, the helpful (if taciturn) Librarians – it all conveyed safety, order, knowledge. A clear message in a universe drowning in static.
My tidying ritual took me back to the P section. I reshelved the "Semiotics of the Screaming Void" carefully. It felt heavier now, laden with the weight of failed understanding. Its neighbours came into focus: "Esperanto: Universal Language or Historical Footnote?" (Frontroom) and "Introduction to Programming Languages: C++ for Beginners" (Also Frontroom). The contrast was stark. Humans strive so hard to create clear, logical systems of communication, while the Backrooms seemed dedicated to shredding them. Perhaps the closest thing to a universal language here wasn't words or symbols, but that shared, gut-level recognition of wrongness, of danger, conveyed by a flickering light or a shadow moving against the grain.
As I finished tidying, I overheard a snippet of conversation between two wanderers near the entrance, likely newcomers arguing about directions based on graffiti they'd seen. "No, the triple-slash meant turn back, not safe passage ahead!" one insisted, exasperated. "That's only if the slash is wavy! A straight slash means..." Their voices faded as they moved deeper into the aisles, a perfect illustration of The Vox Collective's point about the perils of interpretation.
All this talk of language, symbols, and traces... it made me think about the creators. Not just the wanderers leaving graffiti, but the entities themselves. M.E.G. classifies them, Dr. Hollow studies their behaviour, The Vox Collective tries to parse their 'speech.' But what about their individual stories? Do entities have biographies? Could there be a Backrooms Book focusing not on a type of entity, but on one specific, legendary Hound? Or a notorious Skin-Stealer with a known modus operandi? An 'entity biography'? Now that sounded like a properly weird and potentially terrifying rabbit hole to dive down. Time to check the CTs (Biography) again, or maybe back to QL (Zoology), looking for something unusually specific...