#Thanku

George Halcroft was simply going to take a look at some film written by a writer that had contacted him through Twitter only a few short weeks ago. This film promised to be packed full of blood, gore, and of course plot twists that had never been seen before. Being a producer, Halcroft had heard it all before, but there was different about @Theabomination that made him want to meet. Usually writers and directors went through a certain chain of command in order to get Him to meet with them. However, the letters, video clips, and clever sonnets that this mysterious writer was sending to him had sparked enough interest that there was no need for the interference of others.

The day of the meeting, George received a tweet from @Theabomination, and it read: 

We #thanku1 4 meeting with us. We #thanku2 for letting us into your mind. Most of all we #thanku3 for letting us in your home.

George clicked on the first # and as it loaded he noticed it was a picture taken of the front of his house.  He clicked the second # and it was an image of his living room. He then clicked the third and final #. It was an image of him sitting in his chair looking at his iPad. His heart sank, his head beaded with sweat, his eyes wide and aware. Then his front door opened and closed and the music began. A new tweet chimed from the iPad in his shaking hand. It read:

The circus is here. The abominations in our troop will b known 2day. #thanku 4 helping!

George clicked the # once again and it took him to a live webcam site that was broadcasting, live from his study. He looked closely, as his heart raced uncontrollably, and watched himself, sitting there as a group of hideous looking men and woman walked slowly towards him.

The last words he heard was: Call me Merrick.

A (Rob) Zombie Nation: Scream of the Month Edition

Peter Benchely and Steven Spielberg warned us not to go into the water. Sean S. Cunningham made you rethink your next out door getaway. Wes Craven begged us not to fall asleep.  John Carpenter reminded us that the bogie man was real, and Kevin Williamson made sure everyone had caller I.D. Now, one man has done something new; he's made us afraid of the dark. Not shadows or that moment when the sky has turned its blackest. It's the dark that could only come from a mind that is not only twisted and horrific, but brilliant and visionary as well.  

With his new movie "31"coming out Rob Zombie is paving his way as an horrific force in the film industry. Though not much has been revealed about this film, Zombie has made one thing crystal; it's going to be brutal. He is currently on the home stretch of his campaign to the raise money to make the movie his fans want through Fanbacked.com; a way for artists to raise the money for their personal projects to get off the ground. 

Every film that Zombie has created has been nothing less than living art. Colorful and dismal, claustrophobic and other-worldly; films such as House of 1000 Corpses and the Haunted World of El Superbeasto shows just how vast and limitless Zombie's creativity flows. If anyone would have ever asked me if I felt a remake of Halloween should be done I would have laughed in their face. Yet, Rob Zombie took me to a place in Haddonfield I never thought I'd go. I've walked the streets of Salem and imagined myself running into Heidi, or driving cross country secretly wishing to run into the Fireflys, if only to pick their brains for a bit.

There are not many things his characters won't say or do, and honestly I believe, for reasons other than his talents, Rob Zombie has worked with such icons in the film industry because of that. From Margo Kidder, Karen Black, Leslie Easterbrook, Bill Moseley and Sid Haig to practically the entire cast of The Lords of Salem; the amount of seasoned actors that have lent their great talent to his films is mind blowing. Of course the younger generation of amazing talent such as Scout-Taylor Compton and Scream Queen Danielle Harris have truly made their marks. But there is one woman who's taken her love of Zombie one step further, she married him.

Sheri-Moon Zombie, the living dead girl in the flesh, has absolutely left an impression on not only her husband but horror fans all around the world!  She could be walking around in Dr. Caligari, cabinet, killing cheerleaders, running from the law, nurturing a psychopath, hosting a radio show, or hunting nazis...we would still love her.  Mrs. Zombie is as much of a force as her husband. Let's keep our fingers crosses that she will appear in 31.

Though I'm not sure exactly who will be in the movie, or many details on the plot, there are two things I know for sure at this moment. The first being, I can not wait for this movie.  It's going to be one of those gritty horror films that kicks your ass so hard you start to beg for more.  The second is I just received my collectors copy of the Fangoria Rob Zombie edition. I carefully open the envelope I found at my doorstep only a few short hours ago. Taking the proper precautions, I ease the envelope open as not to damage the goods. I finally pull out the magazine with the grace of a century old vampire moving in to seduce his prey. I smile.  The artwork itself is so beautifully horrific I don't even want to take it out of the flimsy, plastic bag it was perfectly placed in.

Fangoria Cover Art

But I do.

My Girl: Killcast Edition

He was hungry for something more than the rare steak that sat, untouched, on the gold-lined plate in front of him. The look of the steak, though normally would have made him salivate uncontrollably, was repulsive. Even the smell that rose from the slab of meat made his stomach turn as if he'd eaten rotten fruit.  He took his pointer finger and placed it on the gold-lined plate and began to slowly push it until it dropped off of the table and onto the marble floor. It shattered into pieces, splattering cows blood by his feet.

Mr. Harrison, as he liked to be called, was not usually this fickle when trying to tame his urHe was hungry for something more than the rare steak that sat, untouched, on the gold lined plate in front of him. The look of the steak, though normally would have made him salivate uncontrollably, was repulsive. Even the smell that else from the slab of meat made his stomach turn as if he'd eaten rotten fruit.  He took his pointer finger and placed it on the hold line plate and began to slowly push it until it topped off on the table and onto the concrete floor. It shattered into pieces, splattering cows blood by his feet.

Mr. Harrison, as he liked to be called, was not usually this fickle when trying to tame his urges to eat. A rare steak was usually just right, of course only if that steak be of the highest quality meat around. Still, for some reason, tonight was different. Maybe it was the rain or the smell of wet leaves lingering in the air from the open windows in the house. Maybe it was the soft cries of the woman, caged and bound, in the corner of the dining room. 

She'd been there for three weeks to the day. Mr. Harrison usually kept his girls for five days, six days maximum, but Sherry, that's what he called her, Sherry was special and she smelled delicious to boot.  Sherry was like no other girl that had ever crossed over his threshold and into his heart. Over the past few days he contemplated keeping her, but his urges grew minute by minute, second by growling second. He was hungry and the cold meat on the floor wasn't going to suffice. 

He cleaned the area of the table where he sat and then abruptly stood up, tightly pushed his chair against the table, walked over to the cage and knelt down. "Don't scream and I won't hurt you." He said, knowing that she would, and knowing he was going to, but loved offering the option. Where would the world be without manners?  None the less, Mr. Harrison unlocked the cage, gently caressed  his hand across the woman's face, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the bars, knocking her unconscious.

When she woke she was naked, tied to the table by her ankles and wrists. She was unable to move her limbs, and when she tried to  mover her head she realized she couldn't move her neck.  
"It's all normal, a reaction to the chemicals I gave you," Mr. Harrison said as he loomed over her body. "You were so specially Sherry, so special and I must apologize for taking a liking to you. If I hadn't you wouldn't have been locked up for so long." He stopped speaking. "I digress." Mr. Harrison smiled down at her and then left the dinning room.

The sounds of a knife sharpening echoed through the dinning room, if she hadn't been aware of her future before, Sherry was well aware of it now. He walked back in the room with a grin on his face and a fork and knife in the other. His stomach growled with delight and his eyes widened as tears began to pour from her sockets. He walked to her side and caressed her stomach with the tip if his fork and then with his index finger. Her skin was warm and wet, the temperate and texture Mr. Harrison preferred when starting his meals. 

The first cut began at her navel and ended right above her breast. He could see her heart through her skin as he watched the blood flow out of her. She cried harder, but not because of the pain, she couldn't feel anything anyway, she cried because he was going to make her watchin him eat.  Sherry prayed for death, and with every bite he took it couldn't come sooner.  He cut the pieces of flesh from 
her body as if he was making love. Sensually chewing, he moan with absolute pleasure, taking his time swallowing every morsel in his mouth.

Sherry,  soon after Mr. Harrison began to make his next cut, died quietly, he had never even noticed. Yet, though she may have died, he was far from being finished with her.  There was so much more to eat, and so any please yet unventured.  He was going to take his time with her,ges to eat. A rare steak was usually just right, of course only if that steak was of the highest quality of meat around. Still, for some reason, tonight was different. Maybe it was the rain or the smell of wet leaves lingering in the air from the open windows in the house. Maybe it was the soft cries of the woman, caged and bound, in the corner of the dining room.

She'd been there for  two weeks  to the day. Mr. Harrison usually kept his girls for five days, six days maximum, but.Sherry,  that's what he called her, Sherry was special and she smelled delicious to boot.  Sherry was like no other girl that had ever crossed over his threshold and into his heart and over the past few days he's contemplated keeping her, but  his urges grew minute by minute, second by growling second. He was hungry and the cold meat on the floor wasn't going to suffice.

He cleaned the area of the table where he sat and then abruptly stood up, tightly pushed his chair against the table, walked over to the cage and knelt down. "Don't scream and I won't hurt you. He said, knowing that she would, and knowing he was going to, but loved offering the option. Where would the world be without manners?  None the less, Mr. Harrison unlocked the cage, gently caressed  his hand across the woman's face, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the bars, knocking her unconscious.

When she woke she was naked, tied to the table by her ankles and wrists. She was unable to move her limbs, and when she tried to  mover her head she realized she couldn't move her neck. "It's all normal, a reaction to the chemicals I gave you," Mr. Harrison said as he loomed over her body. "You are so specially Sherry, was so special and I must apologize for taking a liking to you. If I hadn't you wouldn't have been locked up for so long." He stopped speaking. "I digress." Mr. Harrison smiled down at her and then left the dinning room.

The sounds of a knife sharpening echoed through the dinning room, if she hadn't been aware of her future before, Sherry was well aware of it now. Mr. Harrison walked back in the room with a grin on his face and a fork and knife in his hands. His stomach growled with delight and his eyes widened as tears began to pour from her sockets. He walked to her side and caressed her stomach with the tip if his fork and then with his index finger. Her skin was warm and wet, the temperate and texture Mr. Harrison preferred when starting his meals.

The first cut began at her navel and ended right above her breast. He could see her heart pump through her skin as he watched the blood flow out of her. She cried harder, but not because of the pain, she couldn't feel anything anyway, she cried because he was going to make her watch him eat.  Sherry prayed for death, and with every bite he took it couldn't come sooner.  He cut the pieces of flesh from her body as if he was making love. Sensually chewing, he moaned with absolute pleasure, taking his time swallowing every morsel in his mouth.

Sherry,  soon after Mr. Harrison began to make his next cut, died, he had never even noticed. Yet, though she was dead, he was far from being finished with her.  There was so much more to eat, and so many places on her body yet unexplored. He was going to take his time with her, and tonight his hunger would be fulfilled, until next time.

And She Ran: Killcast Edition

After overhearing a man, with a disturbingly haunting voice, give orders to bring her to the chair, Laney knew instantly what bringing her to the chair meant. In fact, anyone who had seen the website knew exactly what that meant;  they were going to kill her. Laney kept her calm and directed all of her fear and strength into breaking free from the ropes that bound her; there was no other option but survival. It only took a minute or so before the rope came undone around her writs. Within moments she was free.

Laney burst through the metal doors and continued to run as fast as she could and as far as she could. She ran down the wet-leaf covered sidewalk looking for any safe place to hide or any sign of help. Though she wanted to scream for help, she knew it was only a matter of time before someone from in that building would notice she was gone and come after her.  Screaming would only give them something to follow.

The rain was coming down pretty heavily and her mascara was running down the front and sides of her face.  If the rain hadn't ruined her make-up, her tears would have. Her heart raced as she ran, only turning her head twice to make sure she wasn't being followed. It was October 22, she thought she had more time; more time to figure a way out of this mess, to figure out where she was and how the hell she was going to get out of the abandoned warehouse where she was being held captive. She was supposed to have five more days. Why was this happening now?

There was no where to go, no where to hide.  She had no idea where she was and though she was free she still felt like a caged animal. Unfortunately, she hadn't made it very far. Though it may have looked as if she had left the confides of the building from which she ran, Laney was still very much on the compound and far from ever leaving its gates.

Out of breath and tired, Laney stopped for a moment to re-group and try and focus on finding help, when she heard it. The sound that every child loved, the sound that announced the arrival of fun, and games, cotton candy, peanuts, and of course, clowns. It was the sound of the circus and as Laney looked over her shoulder, she noticed in the distance a group of people walking towards her as the music played. Some jumped with excitement while others juggled knifes and performed as they walked, yet, the one thing they all had in common was that they were following one man. One man who Laney knew had to be him; the man that took her, the man that set this whole thing up, and the man that was going to try and kill her.

She screamed as loud as she but the only good it did was excite the group of insane circus performers ingo a frenzie. Laney realized then that she was never getting away, but why now? Why not in 5 days like the website said? Then it hit her; there were more that were going to die and whatever was happening to her, at that moment, was nothing compared to what was planed for the 27th.

Laneys' screams slowly faded behind the music and the laughter of the psychopaths that swarmed around her from every angle.

Bad Company

We all go a little crazy sometimes... A short film about what we think of and what we actually do. Take a journey into the mind of Mike in Bad Company

The Invisible

Know your surroundings, pay attention to those you may otherwise not, and most importantly...never underestimate the power of insanity. This story is told through video through my short film  The Invisible

Killcast or Silver Shamrock?

The website is up. The countdown has begun, and in only a few short days Killcast goes live. Where will you be when the circus comes to town? Come one, come all! Something insane this was comes. Prepare yourself for the ultimate in reality terror. A ring leader, of an insane circus, has received the attention of horror magazines, blogs, (including this one), and fans of the macabre through recent weeks.  Bloody-Disgusting.com has even dedicated an article on their blog to the mystery of KILLCAST.COM

Joseph Merrick (operator of Killcast.com, possibly...), and his (or maybe even  her) troop of deranged circus folk promise to deliver a unique package on October 27th.  What kind of package?  A live murder in front of every person tuning in to their live webcast. The circus is coming to town Ringling Bros. has left the building. Make way for the new show.

Pop your popcorn. Eat your peanuts. Have your cotton candy. Joseph Merrick is about to start the show.

Countdown with me and follow along as we track Merrick and the The Circus De Los Muertos
Come one come all to the greatest show in the world; death rattle.

Let's take it home with a little theme song ( in the key of Halloween 3's commercial hit, Silver Shamrock ):
Six more days till Joseph kills, Joseph kills, Joseph kills.
Six more days till Joseph kills, KILLCAST DOT COM.

A

What is KILLCAST?

I just found a website that has me so intrigued I just had to write a post about it! I am in no way getting paid for this nor do I even know who's site this is; other than he goes by the name Joseph Merrick. On his website (assuming, indeed Joseph is a man), is a single chair that is placed in the middle of what seems to be a warehouse, or abandoned building, and a count down to something that promises to be horrific! Who knows what kind of gimmick this is, all I know is that it is brilliant!

Now, it being October, the month that is saved for all things scary, and horror-centric, though I find the month is December to be more terrifying, I am constantly on a search for the next big scary experience. From haunted house, hayrides, and zombie runs to movies, blogs, music, and books, I look everywhere! Well as it was, I was sitting on my balcony last night and my partner, who's love of serial killers attracts me the most, is sitting inside and found this website called KILLCAST and when I saw this I instantly signed up for updates.

Oh, did I mention the site hints towards a live killing on the website? Did I mention the creepy clown with the balloons? Did I mention it's possibly a murderous circus?

Do I believe that someone will actually die? NO! Do I want to see someone actually die? NO! Do I LOVE killer clowns???? YES! With that being said....bring on the crazy-clown led carnival! Even if this is just a ploy to get more twitter followers or hits to his website... I don't care! It's fun and interactive and hell...it's HALLOWEEN!!! Everyone deserves a scare or two!  So, hopefully you will click the links I've posted in this post or the link on my side bar and join the fun! And don't forget... Comment and let's talk about this, especially after whatever happens happens!

Talk to you soon...
A

T356

Some names have been changed to protect the innocent:

Troop 356 were winners in every definition of the word; the alpha troop where ever they went. Their Scout Master, Kent Struthers, standing 6'4, 42 years old, and physically fit, was someone that was as intimidating as he looked. He took his scouts very seriously. Kent was not only a leader to a group of talents boys, his most prized scout was his son, Jesse.
It was a particularly rough year for Kent, Jesse and the rest of the troop.  They had lost a few scouts and though they were stronger than ever, the loss of their brothers was still fresh in their minds. However, their annual, week long camping trip was only a few short hours away. Soon the outside world wouldn't mean a thing and T356 would be surrounded by troops from all around the east coast to keep them occupied. It was the one week out of the year that all of their hard work and training was truly put to the test. All of the nonsense was left back home. This was the boys' time to band together as brothers and not only work and think and live like a team but learn how to be closer as a family.
They marched out of the white van as if they had already started marching before then even parked. Each scout in perfect formation, perfect uniform, perfect green socks with a row of read that only reached a half inch below the knee, and as each scout marched out of the van, they stood there silent waiting for their leader.
Kent, and his right hand brigade of leaders; Neil, his Assistant, and the lovely female leaders Lois, and Sunny, all walked out of the van and stood in a perfect line facing their scouts. It was then that the sound off began:
"Chis, Eagle Scout. Sir!"
"Anthony, Eagle Scout. Sir."
"Kenny, Eagle Scout. Sir."
"Jesse, First Class.Sir."
"Steve, First Class, Sir."
"Eric, First Class. Sir."
Ten more boys sounded off, each either an Eagle Scout or the ranking right below it, First Class. Those that had not yet achieved the ranking of the Eagle Scout will have what they need by weeks end in order to do so. As they stood there silent, Kent took this opportunity to walk up and down the line of boys making sure they were perfect. Then Kent began to shout.
"1,2,3,4!" The sound that emerged from his body was animalistic, like the roar of a tiger making his presence know to a heard of zebra.
"We're the men outside your door." They respond, with the same resonance.
"5,6,7,8"
"Kill them all don't hesitate."
Kent smiled, taking great pride in his boys. Each year he would stand there like that, and each year he would play the same song. It hyped him up as well as the rest of the troop for the week ahead. It was theirs.
"The war song." Kent said, as he turned to his head to look at his Assistant Scout Master.
Neil raised the volume to the stereo system in the van. The Devil Went Down To Georgia" blasted throughout the eight speakers that were professionally installed by Kent and his boys.  It was now time for the boys to grab their gear and get their heads in the game.

THE FOLLOWING SUNDAY...

T356 stood side by side as they watched the last embers of the last campfire of the week fall to
the ground, only to burn out in a pool of blood by Kent's hiking boots. They then began to sing an old campfire song Kent once taught them. "Oh, it was sad, so sad, it was sad when the great ship went down to the bottom of the," they paused for a moment, as if waiting for everyone behind them to sing along, and then after no responses they continued, "husbands and wives, little children lost their lives...it was sad when the great ship went down."
They laughed and clapped and celebrated as lifeless bodies, of those working and scouting at camp that week, lay spread around the perimeter of the troop.


Kent stood there, once again very proud, and said, "Let's pack it up boys. Neil is waiting by the van, so grab your bags and weapons and move on. And watch your step, there were a lot of people this year."
Kent put his arm around Jesse and watched on as the troop walked over the horde of dead scouts and into the forest, back toward the campsite.
"I'm proud of you son, my Eagle Scout."
"Thanks Dad."

ONE YEAR LATER...

The only thing the other scouts could hear as they marched toward the dinning hall was Troop 356 shouting;
"1,2,3,4!"
"We're the men outside your door.
"5,6,7,8"
"Kill them all don't hesitate."

Patience

Its in my blood, the thoughts and such,

like milk on my skin, so soothing to the touch.

It's a sickness I know, the lengths I shall take,

skipping stones down at rivers break.

The calm of the water and smell of dirt,

too many have come, so many I've hurt.

It's there we are joined, it's here we are one,

cutting our losses and racing the sun.

For no one counts the thorns on new flowers,

weeping children drown in vengeful hours.

It's in my blood, to feel this way,

a toll for which I'll never pay.

I lurk and hide from those that see,

turning pages of deaths misery.

Stop I shall not, my drive stays true,

waiting with patience till I come for you.

Scream Queens

"What are we doing here?" The young girl said as she looked around the room, waiting for a response. She wasn't alone.  There were four other girls with her, each chained to the wall by either their legs or arms.

The girl standing to get right was wearing blue jean bell bottoms, a dark blue v-neck sweater with a light blue, buttoned, high collard shirt underneath. Her hair was frizzy and brown and she looked as if she'd been running and crying all night. She had a sign around her neck reading: Lori.

Next to her was a fully naked woman with hair the color of red fruit punch.  The only thing she had on were some grey leggings and a sticker covering her left nipple with the saying "hello my name is" on it and underneath the name Trash was written in red. In a corner of the room sat a shivering woman holding a box and crying. Written in black ink on her forehead was the name Kirsty. And pacing back and forth, in the small area she can move, is a young girl in her pajamas with a note stuck to her back with the name Nancy written in blood.

"What are we doing here?" She asked again.
"I don't know, " the naked girl said as she turned to the girl and glanced at her name tag, "I don't know Sydney, but you seem to be the only one with a phone." Sydney looked down at her feet and there it was, a cell phone.  As she slowly bent down to reach for it, it began to ring.  She looked at the other girls and then back at the phone. It rang again and there was some thing about that phone that she couldn't resist.  Quickly, Sydney picked up the phone and answered it; "Hello?"

The girl in the corner continued to cry as she held the box, tightly.  Her hands shook so savagely that it seemed as if she was trying not to move them rather than holding onto the box. It was too much to control and her hands began to touch the box and interchange pieces of it, slowly and sensually. She began to scream but the sounds that came out of her mouth were more like a whisper compared to the screams coming from the box.

"Don't fall asleep. Stay up. C'mon, stay awake!" She said as she clung to her pajama top. She had stopped pacing and placed her hand on the wall. Her breathing grew slow and steady.  The words she was just chanting no longer came out of her mouth. She was asleep as she stood there, so overly tired she could not even wait to sit down. For a few moments she was still and silent, but that silence was broken as she dropped to the floor, kicking and screaming and clawing at something that was not even present in the room.

Suddenly, Trash, the naked red head, jolted from the floor. Her body began to twist and shift. She dropped to her knees and let out a thunderous roar of pain. It was as if the devil himself was yelling through her. She screamed and screamed some more, and then she was silent. Her body collapsed on the floor. She was dead.

Lori began screaming as she watched Trash die.  She wasn't sure if there was something in the air or she was already sick, all she knew is that she was terrified. The only reason she could imagine being here is that he had finally gotten her. He'd tied her up and now she was waiting, with these other woman until he was ready for her. She wasn't ready to die though and she wasn't giving up the easily. All she had to do was come up with a plan. For a moment Lori was calm, then from the corner of her eye she noticed, the once dead, Trash begin to move slowly.

"Braaaaaaaains!" Moaned the newly revived corpse. "Braaaaaaaains." Trash moved and jerked as she stood up. Since she was attached to the wall by a smaller chain around her ankle she wasn't able to walk far and as far as touching the other girls; they were out of the zombies' reach.  Still, she reached and clawed at the other girls, moving her jaw as if she already had their flesh in her mouth.

Each girl was kept there, captive, doomed to relive their fates over and over again. This was all they knew and all they would ever know. Locked away until the day they are all set free by that which has collected them.

This Magic Moment

It was the fall of 61, and Traviln Man sung by Ricky Nelson was blasting in the small soda shoppe. Everyone was laughing and having a great time until the music stopped, the lights turned off and it began to rain. The cook behind the counter stopped flipping burgers. The waitress stopped serving food and ran into the staff area.  The customers just sat there in silence as thunder echoed through the building and lightning illuminated the black sky outside.

"Chip, what's going on?" A young girl said to her date.
"It's the beginning of the end of the world." Chip replied.
"Oh stop that silly. The bible says that," she said as Chip put his hands around her neck and snapped it.

Her head crashed into the ice cream soda she was once drinking, breaking the glass and cutting open her cheek. Her head laid in a pool of vanilla and chocolate, with a swirl of blood running through it.

Every girl began to scream as the men stood up and walked towards the front of the counter.  The cook stood behind them with a knife in his hand and black haze over his once green eyes. In fact, all the men had the same black haze over their eyes, except Chip.  His blue eyes stayed the same, the only difference was the whites of his eyes were now a deep, garnet red. Chip slowly walked over to the front door of the soda shoppe and locked it.  He then walked over to the jukebox and somehow turned on This Magic Moment by Jay and the Americans.

The screaming girls began to calm down, the waitresses from the back slowly came out and took a seat at any open table. They all sat there with their arms still on their laps, their heads tilted slightly to the left or the right, and some even had a smile on their face. It was as if the music were soothing them, putting them into a hypnotized-like state. As all the woman sat there calmly,  the men began to disrobe until they were all nude.

The cook slowly walked to the other side of the counter and stood in front of the rest of the men and began to disrobe. Chip took off his Letterman Jacket and then his white button-up, Argyle shirt. He stood there, watching, as the other men walked next to the silent women listening to the music.  Chip smiled as he nodded to each man, from left to right, giving them the signal to begin. Each man grabbed a woman and took her to the back of the shoppe. Chip stood there with a grin on his face that literally stretched from ear to ear.

Within five minutes of each other, the men returned with their women and one by one formed a line in front of the still naked, cook. The first man in line pushed his woman down to her knees as the cook cut himself on his arm and let his blood flow down upon the woman. He repeated this until each woman had been bled on, all while Chip overlooked, continuously hitting play so that This Magic Moment played over the entire ritual.

The men began to put their clothes back on and sit back down where they were originally seated. As for Chip, he stood at the table where he had killed the woman he was with. He signaled for the cook, who was now dressed and cleaning off his bloody arm, to come take her away. The cook hurried over and drug the woman's body into the back of the kitchen. Chip then cleaned his table and sat back down.

Without any notice, the lights came on. The rain, thunder, and lightening had gone as quickly as it had arrived. The music turned back on and this time it was not This Magic Moment. The cook returned from the back with a huge bowl of ground meat. He placed the bowl on the counter by the flat grill and began taking the meat and pounding it into burgers.As soon as the first burger hit the grill the women snapped out of their comatose state. Everything was as it was before and the evening continued as if nothing happened.

9 Months Later...

It was a beautiful summer day as Chip walked down the street waving to all the women in town. Some were holding babies and some where pushing strollers. He held his head up high as he entered the soda shoppe with a grin across his face, literally stretching from ear to ear

Overwhelmed: Halloween Blog Carnival Edition

October 1, 2014 Entry 1
I wrote my first blog post today.  It was a lot of fun to write and I actually got the idea when I was walking into my apartment and saw a few boxes at my neighbors door.  I knew he was home and surprised that he hadn't brought them in.  I thought it would be fun to write a story about those packages, hence The Package came to be.  I would love to write a more fleshed out story after this semester is over.
It's been crazy juggling real life, school, and blogging, but I know I can do this.  Ok, I have a paper to write, a test to study for, and a presentation to go over.

October 2, 2014 Entry 2
Soooooo, I wrote This Town and it was funny how I thought of it.  I was actually listening to the Nashville Soundtrack and the song This Town was so haunting that I got inspired.  Though it has nothing to do with the lyrics to the song, it just triggered something in me; well that and the fact that I almost lost it on a professor today.  He was coming at me with questions that I had the answers for but he said "they were not the answers I'm looking for," so I said, "well what answers to do you want?"  If I wasn't close to his age he probably would have kicked me out. I just feel like there is so much pressure on me and lately I just feel like I'm not myself.
Ok, well, I have to get going...a ton of school work, I need a few drinks, and I need to get some sleep.  I've been having such crazy nightmares lately and they are keeping me up.  Dreams of killing and death and, well, just craziness.

October 3, 2014 Entry 3
The days are getting longer and I'm having a hard time waking up in the morning.  I'm still doing well in school and I'm trying so hard to keep all of my grades where I want them.  I'm also trying to get some blogging in as well.  I'm really trying to...I'm really trying...I'm really trying...Jesus!!!!!!!!  That's all I keep saying is I'm really trying...I sound like a fucking broken record, a pathetic broken record.
I had a problem with that teacher again today.  This time through email.  He said that the paper I handed in could have been better!  BETTER???  That fucking thing was perfect!  I checked and rewrote that fucking thing like four times!  He's a fucking douche bag.  Whatever.  I have an idea for a post today about a news reporter that has had enough of her competition so she kills them.  I'm going to go write that now so that way I can let this aggression out on a character and not my fucking teacher.

October 4, 2014 Entry 4
I'm not blogging today.  I'm not going to work today.  I don't have classes and I really need a rest.  I went out and bought a bottle of vodka and I intend on sitting alone, at home all day and drinking the entire bottle.  I want to forget about yesterday all together; it got worse.
I was walking down the hall and I could have sword that I heard these fucking 18 year old saying shit behind my back!  Ok, I get it!  I'm 34 and in college but you don't know my story, you don't know who I am.  I'd like to take a metal bat and bash their fucking heads in.  Ignorant sons of bitches.  Yeah, bash their heads in and then write a little letter on their half-conscious bodies:  This is what happens to douche bags.
I'm going to start drinking now.  Maybe I'll get some sleep, without those fucking nightmares, which are getting worse, thanks for asking...

October 5, 2014
I am hung over.
I am tired.
I'll kill anyone that starts with me.
I have home work to do that I don't want to do.  I have a paper that I don't want to write, and I have a blog entry that I'd like to write but i don't know how good it will be.  Maybe I'll have another drink and then start to write.
People at school today looked at me as if I were crazy. I don't know why.  Maybe it was the smell of booze on me.  Maybe it was my blood shot eyes, my messy hair, or my run down clothes.  Maybe it was the fact I haven't showered in three days, or did laundry, or changed my underwear or socks.
I'll write that blog now.  I'll dedicate it to the assholes at school.

October 6, 2014
Did you ever wonder what the insides of a person look like while they are still alive?  While the heart is still beating?  I have.  I'm going to blog about that.
I'm tired though.
I'm confused.  I'm not sleeping. My school work is getting harder and it's difficult to focus on what my teachers keep saying because all I hear come out of their mouths is: "Kill us Adam, kill us. 
We want it.  We want you to do it."  That's all i hear.


I've haven't posted in a few days. My school work has driven me to the point of murder. I stare at the students that walk past me in the quad. I look at them as they laugh and walk without an sort of care in the world.  They have no clue what it's like to be 34, in college, handling a job and a blog and homework and a social life and and and and and and and and and......
They make me want to kill.

I haven't posted in a while. I've have begun to exit my body. I am no longer the driver of my mind, there is someone else behind the wheel now, and he's telling me to kill.
I don't know when I will post again, or if I will post at all.  I do know that the blood on my hands is not my own and I don't know where it came from.
Someone help me.

CHECK OUT THESE OTHERE GREAT BLOGS...

Fiery Pen: The Horror Writing of Christina Bergling

https://chrstnaberglingfierypen.wordpress.com/2014/10/20/hbg-halloween-blog-carnival-10-best-things-about-halloween/

Poetic Zombie

http://www.poeticzombie.com/hbg-halloween-blog-carnival/#more-927

Interrogating Ideology With A Chainsaw

http://www.interrogatingideologywithachainsaw.blogspot.com/2014/10/hbg-halloween-blog-carnival-great.html

I Want to Suck Your Blog

http://lockyourdoor.blogspot.com/2014/10/overwhelmed.html?m=1

http://lockyourdoor.blogspot.com/2014/10/a-grim-fairytale.html

http://lockyourdoor.blogspot.com/2014/09/the-package.html

Amanthatwriteswrites.blogspot.com

http://youtu.be/dhr9u1Q6PDM

Poetic Zombie

http://www.poeticzombie.com/pre-halloween-prep/#more-904

The Nightmare Nook Horror Blog

http://nightmarenookhorrorblog.blogspot.com/2014/07/monster-mash.html

Two By Two

"She doesn't get many visitors you know." The woman at the front desk said in a hush. "So when she does I like to personally walk them over to her room." The short, stumpy, white woman said as she stood from her desk and adjusted her mandated, colorful scrubs. She smiled with such a sweetness that it almost seemed as if her lips were made out of pure sugar. Even the way they glistened from the the light hitting the red lip moisturizer she used. "Come with me, she's only around the bend."
She walked quick with excitement. How she loved connecting two people that haven't seen each other in many years. What a lovely day this was turning out to be.

She and the young man stood at the doorway of  suite 917, both looking at each other and then back to the woman sitting alone, by the window. The sun Illuminated her in the most peaceful of ways; there almost seemed to be a golden, majestic-like haze surrounding her face.

"You have a guest Mrs. Pritz. An old friend is here to see you. Though he looks like a young one to me." She giggled to herself." Please, go in and enjoy your time together. Just push that blue bottom there if you need anything."

The young man sat down on a chair next to the old woman as the attendant gently shut the door.

"Hi there Mrs. Pritz. It's been a long time.  Do you remember me?"

"I remember all of my children, even the ones that grew up to be doctors." She said as she turned to look at her young visitor. "I remember when you were just a little boy, you were so chubby, and your sister, what a little beauty.  Oh, those were the days." She smiled and clasped her hands tightly.
"You know who I remember, little Derrick. He was so special, my first. Now, in those days, as you must remember, life was more carefree and everyone was so trusting." She laughed "There's no trust today.  People like me could have never served nowadays.  I truly am a dying breed."

She turned to the young man and just looked at him, and once again, smiled. "Do you remember that poem I used to teach all my children? Oh, your sister loved it.  The way she would react was just delicious." She paused for a moment to basque in her memory and thoughts. " I remember how it went:

Two by two the children came,
Twice per day to play a game.
One would sit and one would look,
As Mrs. Pritz cleaned her hook.
She would cry and he would scream,
While Mrs. Pritz would pick them clean.
Two by two more children followed,
Always waiting to be swallowed.

The young man never took his face off of the old, decrepit woman.

"You're sister truly loved that poem. I remember how she would scream. And you Danny, you would just cry and cry and cry."

"Why didn't you ever come after me?"

"My dear, who would have believed you? I was a highly regarded member of the community.  I was you're English teacher for goodness sake. I wasn't going to risk coming after you and getting caught. Now that's just silly Danny.  I will, however say, I was very sad when you escaped that afternoon.  You looked so delicious, all round and plump. I have to admit, I do have a little secret." She paused for a moment, almost waiting to see if he would respond. "I saved some of your sister since I couldn't have you; for special occasions and holidays and such. Of course, fresh is better than frozen but what's a girl to do?"

The room was silent.

"I can only imagine that you've come for some sort of retribution. Well Danny, I've been in this nursing home for years. I'm starving, and they force me to eat food that makes me sick. I'm an old woman now.  Killing me would be a blessing."

She looked deep into his eyes and she realized, at that moment, Danny wasn't there for revenge. His eyes were soft and kind.  They were the eyes she remembered wanting so deeply to taste. They smiled at each other and sat in silence. It was then that Danny pulled a knife out. He held it close to his arm and began to cut away at his flesh.

Mrs. Pritz began to tremble with excitement, her stomach turning. As the blood dripped from his arm Danny brought it close to the old woman's mouth. She moved quickly, pulling his arm Closer to her and began to chew, swallow, and eat. A few moments later, as Mrs. Pritz gnawed away, Danny slid his hand down to the side of the bed and pushed the blue button.

At first the attendant was silent. Then she screamed. Then she ran over to Mrs. Pritz to pry her off of the young mans arm. There was blood everywhere and Danny just sat there quiet. To most he looked like he was in shock when truly he was happy and very well aware of what was happening.

Nurses, followed by security guards came into the room with sedatives and bed straps. They picked the blood soaked woman up off the chair and threw her on the bed. She was like a rabid animal. The blood curdling sounds of Mrs. Pritz laughing and screaming filled the halls of the nursing home. it was a sound no one would ever forget.

A Grim Fairy Tale: Halloween Blog Carnival Edition 2014

I recently found a fairy tale ripped from the pages of an old German children’s book, folded in an envelope, and placed in the back of the book.   I know the book belonged to my Great Grandfather because my father told me.  Grandad gave it to my dad when he died and I guess my father will give it to me one day, I don’t know.  I was actually surprised to find it under some boxes in our attic. I was supposed to be grapping my mothers fall decorations but it was way more fun to dig through old boxes. I’m sure you know how that one goes.

My old man and his old man didn't get along too well. I'm actually surprised he left my father anything at all. They got into some fight about our families heritage and our not so perfect past. Pretty much after that they only saw each other during holidays.  I wasn’t really that close to Grandad but he gave me money on my birthday and Christmas.  My father never told me what our family was into back then and honestly I didn’t really want to know. 

Anyway, I took the pages back to my room and figured I ‘d try and translate, well googleate the German to English. My fingers began to type and a few hours later I had pieced together the story and this is how it translated. 

"Once upon a time, in a forest as green as an emerald, as quiet as dusk, and as peculiar as two madmen in conversation. This forest was unlike any other forest in Germany; it held secrets and a home to mythical creatures, sprites and fairies, trolls and giants, and of course man and woman. In this forest children ran free and the rules of barbaric societies past the forest line did not apply there.

In this forest lived a little girl, a very beautiful and special little girl. She was able to speak to other, less human, inhabitants of the land; but more importantly, trolls. Trolls were a very big part of the human existence for it was trolls that created man and woman. However, no one has ever spoken to one, they simply did not understand their language.

Every morning Lucy would go down to the flower patch and play with the fallen petals from the beautiful flowers surrounding her. She sometime imagined that it was raining flowers and as she through a bunch in the air and let them fall on her head.  The flower patch was her favorite place in the forest. 

One morning, hidden amongst the flowers was a baby troll. He was very small and cute in an odd sort of way.  Lucy gently picked him up and held him in her hands. She looked down and said, "I'll help you." The troll smiled, though Lucy was not sure if he understood her. However, she realized that she could not take a troll home so she found a large rock for him to hide under until the morning. 

Two weeks went by and Lucy and the troll became good friends. The troll grew quickly and was now talking in his native language, something inherited to trolls and not learned. The troll taught Lucy a phrase that they sang all day long; “Met Zetog un Setra Eta Vrog”. Over and over again they would chant those words. Even when Lucky would skip through town she would sing their little song. The town’s people looked as if she was crazy but smiled and laughed, believing she had created her own language. 

Almost a year later, on the day after her 10th birthday, Lucy went down to meet with her friend who, by now, had fully matured and was almost as tall as Lucy. They stood there in silence with the only thing between them but the large rock Lucy once placed him under as a baby.

She smiled at him but he just looked at her with an emotionless face she had never seen him make before.  It was almost as if he was not even looking at her as his friend but as something completely different. The silence broke as the troll began to laugh and sing “Met Zetog un Setra Eta Vrog”, over and over and over again. He began to skip and dance around Lucy. Realizing something was different about the troll she stood there, frozen, and scared.

The chanting grew louder and louder, “MET ZETOG UN SETRA ETA VROG”. His eyes grew dark and empty and his body pulsated with veins that seem to have appeared out of nowhere. His teeth grew larger and sharp, as did his nails on his hands and feet.  He'd transformed into something horrific. 

“MET ZETOG UN SETRA ETA VROG”, he sang again.

The troll then picked up the large rock, drew his arms swiftly to the sky and with great force brought the rock crashing down onto Lucy's head. Blood poured from her fractured skull. The troll lifted his harms again and began crushing her head, over and over and over again with the rock. When he was finally fished his body was dripping with her blood.

Slowly he put the rock down and stepped over the corpse of the little girl. He then arched his body down and with his sharp fingernails slit her stomach open and spread her flesh wide open. Everything that was inside was now outside. With delight he began to eat. He laughed and, once again started to sing:

“MET ZETOG UN SETRA ETA VROG”, and for the first time he spoke English and began to sing again, “WHEN I GROW UP I'M GOING TO EAT YOUR GUTS.”

THE HORROR DOESNT END HERE...

Fiery Pen: The Horror Writing of Christina Bergling

https://chrstnaberglingfierypen.wordpress.com/2014/10/20/hbg-halloween-blog-carnival-10-best-things-about-halloween/

Poetic Zombie

http://www.poeticzombie.com/hbg-halloween-blog-carnival/#more-927

Interrogating Ideology With A Chainsaw

http://www.interrogatingideologywithachainsaw.blogspot.com/2014/10/hbg-halloween-blog-carnival-great.html

I Want to Suck Your Blog

http://lockyourdoor.blogspot.com/2014/10/overwhelmed.html?m=1

http://lockyourdoor.blogspot.com/2014/09/the-package.html 

http://lockyourdoor.blogspot.com/2014/10/a-grim-fairytale.html

Amanthatwriteswrites.blogspot.com

http://youtu.be/dhr9u1Q6PDM

Poetic Zombie

http://www.poeticzombie.com/pre-halloween-prep/#more-904

The Nightmare Nook Horror Blog

http://nightmarenookhorrorblog.blogspot.com/2014/07/monster-mash.html

Till Next Time

September 3, 2014

It's been a long time since I've sat at a bar, alone. 

I talk to the bartender for a minute, order my beer and shot and then send him away.  Drinking is like that old friend that never goes away; he's always there when you need him and you can pick up right where you left off.  Pumpkin injected beers and ciders are ripe for the picking.  It's my favorite flavor and amongst other things, it's what I wait for all year long. I take that fist sip and it feels like Halloween and Thanksgiving wrapped it a glass bow, slowly going down my throat.

The bar was open and hippyish; a decoupaged bar top, trees with lights around them (some real and some fake), Darwinian paintings all around, and the customers; 30 something artists, sports freaks, and me.

I don't know if I stuck out, or I didn't fit in, or if I gave off that I'm better than all of you vibe and that's why some of them were looking at me like a pariah.  Maybe it was because I was sitting at a bar typing on an iPhone, writing an email to myself, inadvertently disconnecting me from the rest of the bar. All I knew was I wasn't going anywhere.  It had been a long time since I had a drink and it was equally as long since I'd carved.

I don't like to rehash the past but whenever I wait a long enough time between carvings, I tend to remember those groups of people I've made my impression on.  I have two rules when choosing my groups; One, they have to make no sense to the public, and all the sence to me. Two, they have to deserve the carving, they have to need the carving, and they have to be a part of the carving. I guess that seems to be more than two, but it makes sence in my head.p

A few years ago, around the same time, beginning of September, I started my search for my latest group. I always like to watch for a month and then persue. I'd follow one for a while, then another, and another, depending on how many people were in the group. If I wanted to challenge myself I went bigger, if I wanted to take it easy I'd only do two or three; that year I felt particularly naughty.

No need to go into details, like I've said the past is the past. 

I'm still at the bar, I order another shot and another beer. The crowd has changed, again. Now, it is filled with young nurses and med students with limited funds and endless possibilities. A few catch my eye instantly, men and women, gender never mattered to me. Sexual pleasure was not my drive, there was nothing sexual about what I've done and what I do, though some have reported that it is.

I glance around the bar and there he is. I'd seen him there a few times before, usually with some nurses and doctors, but I  wasn't interested in the group he was with at the bar; I wanted to know who he lived with, I wanted to know his life outside of this sickening and popular bar. I wanted to know where he lived and who lived with or near him. 

He pays his tabe, says goodbye to his friends and leaves. I quickly pay my tab and tip the bartender. I don't leave a bad tip, nor do I leave a great one.  I find it better to tip in the middle so that bartenders never remember me.  

He's about a block ahead of me. I stay far enough behind for obvious reasons. Even if he did turn around he'd simply see me texting away on my phone.  I keep my eyes focused on where he is headed. As he turns the block I notice him unlocking his car and getting in.  It's pretty beat up, so it will be easy to follow next time. 

I watch him drive away and all I can think is, "you've got no idea what's in store for you."

Till next time,

A 

Sent from my iPhone

Breaking News

"This is Monica Maryweather and I'm on location outside of the Riverside Condominiums. We are not currently sure how many people have died but when this news team arrived the count was at four" She paused for a moment, looked around, then glanced back at the camera. "Cut. This isn't working.  I need a better lead in."

The camera man already had a cigarette lit before Monica could even finish her sentence.

"Hey, let's try that one again before that bitch from Channel 9 gets here. Her and her fake, fucking tits get more ratings than the fucking stories she reports."

"Maybe you should get a..." The cameraman began to say as he exhaled a cloud of smoke that drifted passed Monica and toward the crowd of police and ambulances that were behind them.

"I"m not getting a god damn tit job buddy!"  She composed herself quickly, nodded her head, and brought the microphone back to her mouth.  He quickly flicked his cigarette and within seconds he was ready to shoot.

"This is Monica Maryweather, and behind me is the aftermath of what police are saying to be the most disturbing act of violence they have ever seen in this town.  Four people are dead and it seems that more bodies are being taken out of this small culdesac, as we report this story.  I am told that there are currently no leads or suspects."

"Fuck, she's here."  Monica said loud enough for only the cameraman to hear.  "She'll be the damn death of me, that bitch."

The cameraman paid no attention, starting to smoke another cigarette with the hopes that he would be able to finish this one. Meanwhile, the Channel 9 News stormed out of their news van like a S.W.A.T. team.  Their efficiency was intense, and within moments they were set up and ready to go. Their news reporter rushed towards the police officers with her camera crew steadily behind her. Monica watched, and there was nothing she could do.

Within moments, Channel 9 news was not only covering the story live, but witnesses had started to gather around them to try and get their 15 seconds of fame.  Monica had had enough.  Something triggered in her that was uncontrollable.

She placed her microphone on the wet asphalt and adjusted her creme colored pant suit.  Nodding to her cameraman, she excused herself and walked away.

"This is Monica Maryweather. "  She said with this hateful undertone, "Monica fucking Maryweather!  Monica Louise, what's wrong with Monica Louise?"  She began to walk faster.  "You work your whole life treating all of the people around you with nothing but the up-most respect.  You get knocked down because you're a woman and then told the only way you'll make it is as a Weather Girl.  A fucking Weather Girl!  I've covered stories in war-stricken, third fucking world countries for fucks sake!"

She stops at the Channel 9 News van.  "Weather Girl." Monica says under her breath.  She walks around to the front door but it is locked.  She tries the passengers side door but that is locked as well.  "Where do they think we live?  This is the burbs of fucking Jersey!"  She walked around to the side of the van and pulled on the door handle..  "Bingo was his name-o." Quickly, Monica slide the door open, got in, and shut the door behind her.

"It's a mess in here, and it smells like tuna fish and mediocrity" She said as she hunched over,
clinging to anything that she could hold on to as to not fall and dirty her outfit. "Hose, hose, c'mon there's gotta be hose or tube, or one of those god damn hollow, rubber things her drug addicted boom guy uses."

She slid her blond hair out of her eyes and then opened a small compartment under neath the row of televisions that were attached to the inside of the van.  "Perfect"  She grabbed the hose, flew out of the the van and shut the door.  She didn't even care how much noise she made; not one person was paying attention to her, not even her camera man.

As she placed the hose into the gas tank, Monica watched as more bodies were taken out of the small
condominium building.  "Fuck, did they all die?  And what the hell is up with all the cardboard boxes?  I guess I'll have to wait for the late night edition of the Channel 9 News."  She then held the hose to her mouth and took a deep breath in.  Quickly, Monica spit the contents of her mouth onto the ground and wiped the last drip of gas from the side of her mouth with her index finger.

Adjusting her pants and suit jacket, Monica made her way back to her cameraman.

"I'd like to set up camera over there."  She pointed to a position close to the Channel 9 news van.  The cameraman opened his mouth to speak but he was abruptly cut off. "Don't ask questions, just do what I need, please." He shut his mouth and followed blindly.

The last police car drive away. The blue and red lights disappeared in the late night, October sky. "Why are we setting up? Everyone's leaving?"  Monica just kept smiling and then opened her mouth to speak as the new crew walked towards her.

"Fantastic coverage over there.  I mean if I hadn't already gotten what I needed I would ask to borrow
some of your footage." Monica laughed, and waited for a replay but the entire crew from Channel 9 just smiled and walked to the van "Ok then! You all have a great rest of the night!" She smiled and waved as they all got in the car.

The fake smile was gone. Monica turned to her cameraman and said, "Two things you need to do for me, right now." Monica walked closer to her he beloved cameraman and put her arm him. " I need you to give me a cigarette and a lighter, and then I need you to get ready to shoot." He hands her a cigarette and lights it for her.  She takes a satisfying drag and then slowly exhales. "Follow my lead."

Monica took one last drag, exhaled, and then flicked her cigarette towards the van.

It was instantaneous. The fire spread quickly and directly towards the van.  Monica watched and smiled as the opening of the gas tank ignitghted. With in moments the back of the van exploded.  Monica quickly composed herself and yelled, "Action!"  The cameraman was ready.

"This is Monica-Louise live on the scene of a tragic accident.  A news crew and reportor for Channel 9 have perished in a freak explosion after covering , what is now being called, The Jack-In-The Box Murders. Police have been called but sadly there seems to be no survivors in this deadly explosion."

This Town

This is not a diary, this is not a love letter, and this is not a suicide letter.  This, my friend, is a promise on paper.

I want you to know that I have spent countless months thinking about this moment; this act of vengeance. I've been mourning and feeding, not off of man or animal but off of anger. The longer I hold back on my natural, or unnatural urges, the more my hate grows. Believe me when I say this; when I come after you, I will be hungry.

And dear friend, I won't come after you or even your family right away.  I"ll start with this town first. A town that has been harborring a demon right under their noses, hell, I've even become friends with some of them. Rest assure, however, their blood will be spilled. Each and every one of them.  I will make it quick however, I wouldn't want to get overzealous and ruin my appetite. 

I will then move onto the following town, and the town after that and the one after that; never once taking a bite.  The bodies of every man, woman, and child will fill the air with thier decay. And the moment that stench of death breaches your borders, it will be too late. 

You're family and friends will worry, because they remember. They will look to you for guidance, because they are week. You will preach, as you do best, and you will give them all a false sense protection and hope, because you, dear sir,are hopeless yourself.

Though my hours are limited, as you well know, there are more hours of darkness then there ever will be of light. And when darkness does arrive, you and your town will know what it is like to truly die alone.

To take away life can often be a gift.  In my case, and that of Lilith, our death was a gift.  It was a rebirth, it was the moment in our lives that we joined hands and walked into the obscurity and beauty of oblivion.  We were brother and sister, we were lovers, we were soul mates.  We were.

You, and your town took away hundreds of years of pleasure, pain, rage, and love in a few simple seconds. Much like myself you and I have made decisions that can never be revoked.  We have become people, if you can truly call either of us by that word, that reached the point of no return.

I do wish you good luck and a goodnight.  And please, as you tuck your children into bed this evening I want you to do me a favor, one of which you owe; walk outside of your warm home and breath deeply. Let in the fresh, October air and tell me how it smells.  

Then check on your children again.

All The Best, 

Renard

The Package: Halloween Blog Carnival Edition

After living in Bridgewater, NJ at the Riverside Condominiums for a little over 7 years, Greg pretty much knew everyone in his building.   And though he wasn't a gossiper or one to get into his neighbors business; he did enjoy striking up pleasant conversations whenever he would run into one of them.

Six apartments, including Greg in C-1, make up the only building in the small cul-de-sac: Judith, a 34 year old widow and mother of two; Joe and Lizzy, a couple on the verge of marriage; Patrick, a twenty-something basketball coach at a local high school; George and Ruth Horowitz, an elderly couple that live next door to Greg; and in apartment A-2, Chuck, a nurse at Bridgewater Memorial Hospital.

It was late afternoon on September 30th when Greg noticed a package outside of Chuck’s apartment.  The box was made of sturdy cardboard and was almost big enough to touch the doorknob of the front door and by no means was this box small.  Due to Chuck’s late hours and online shopping obsession, there was always mail outside of the door.

The next morning, October 1st, Greg was in a rush. He hurried out of his apartment, locked the door behind him, double checking it, as he does every morning, and walked down stairs toward the front door.  Before leaving the building Greg turned around to check and see if the package was still there; it was.  Greg thought nothing of this.  As he headed towards his car, he passed by Chucks beat up Camaro. This struck him as odd.  After contemplating going back inside to knock on his door, he realized what time it was and he had to get to work. Besides, Chuck had probably just worked the late shift and didn't feel like bringing the box inside.

Later that evening the sky was dark blue, almost black with a haze over it.  The wind was chilling and the air smelled of rain.  It was the perfect weather for the first night of October. Greg pulled into his parking spot and collected his phone and satchel before opening his car door and getting out.  He quickly walked to the front door of the building, trying to forget how badly he had to pee.  He swung the door open and the first thing he noticed was the package. Greg hadn't seen Chuck’s car in the parking lot but then again, he wasn't looking.  Hesitating for a moment, Greg decided to be a good neighbor and grab the box and bring it upstairs.

The box was surprisingly heavy.  Greg, who was ill prepared to lift something that heavy, tripped and fell into his neighbor’s front door. He was annoyed now.  He knocked on and then walked in.

"I hope you know I almost pissed my pants!" Greg said as he waited for a reply.

Greg looked down at the box and took a deep breath and as he was about to lift the package, he noticed a note on the floor. It had his name on it so he unfolded the torn piece of notebook paper and began to read it.

"Hey Greg...do be a solid and bring this upstairs...I'll stop by tomorrow to grab it. Thanks man."

 He shrugged a bit, crumbled the letter, put it in his pocket, picked up the box and then proceeded to his upstairs apartment.

As he reached the door, he lifted his left leg, moved the box into his left arm and the rested the box on his knee. With his right hand he turned the doorknob and opened the unlocked door.  Greg slowly put the box down and ran to his bedroom; he hadn't even turned the lights on.  The flushing of the toilet was the only sound in the quiet condominium.

Greg came from around the corner, shut the front door he'd left opened and then turned on a small lamp. He pushed the box over to the couch with his leg and then plopped down next to it. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed his phone and quickly typed, and sent a text message to Chuck. Within seconds he heard chime.  A few moments later he heard it again.  Greg looked at the box. Praying that what he heard, and where he heard it come from was a mistake, he sent Chuck another text.  Seconds later he heard the chime again, followed by the same sound moments later. It was now obvious to him as to where the sound was coming from, and though Greg knew he probably shouldn't open the package, his curiosity took over. Slowly he opened the large package.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could say.  He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.  He couldn't keep his eyes off of the contents that were shoved into the package; body parts and the head of his neighbor Chuck from apartment A-2.  After the initial shock of seeing the bloody mess in the box, Greg noticed a note placed between two fingers on Chuck’s left hand that had not been dismembered. It had Greg’s name on it. He quickly reached for the folded piece of paper. His hands began to shiver as he read the letter out loud.

"When did you realize the door was unlocked?"

Greg’s eyes widened. His heart sank. Instantly he made the clear realization that his front door had been unlocked, knowing he had locked it this morning before leaving the house.  Standing there frozen he could hear footsteps behind him. Whoever was coming from behind him was moving quickly and before he could even move to run, a hand pounded against his shoulder with a brutal force.  All Greg could do was shut his eyes and prey to not suffer the same fate as his neighbors.

The next morning Ruth Horowitz slowly opened her front door to go down to the first floor to get the morning paper.  She turned her body to shut the door when she noticed a package.  It was placed up against Greg’s front door.  Being the nosey neighbor that she was, she bent down to glance at a note placed on the package.  To her surprise the note was addressed to her.  

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