Saturday, October 30, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
The House of Shadows
Into the darkness they fly
These shadows that filter and fray
Those who die are they
And all are grounded as they begin to decay
Her gown glistens in moonlight splendor
As the withered hands, they reach beneath her
From the ground so soft and shallow
The fragrant breeze leaves her pale and hollow
Into a house she walks up creaking steps
Inside hollow walls, these evils are kept
Up stairs in a room so dark
The moon so still, the sound of the dog bark
The door to the attic, locked
With laughs within corridors, she is mocked
The twist of a wrist, open with a skeleton key
The sounds of the night, these rustling leaves upon a tree
Outside the window, lurks the dead
All is not so right in her head
Her hallucinations, within her scream
Hoping it all is just a bad dream
But yet the room is pale and damp
Smell of mildew, as she lights the lamp
The shadows leave at the mention of the light
These shadows of hers, they scream, run with fright
There is peace, but a peace most unsettling
Like a fire that burns out, the ambers relenting
She locks the door behind her as she walks down the stairs
The shadows call, answers them she dares
They call her name and lead her away
And soon the moon gives way to another day
She lies within her grave once more
Until the night falls, bleeding flesh, fantastic gore
She rises again when the moon settles
She is the witch, in her tomb of metal
She scratches the ground, crawls out and devours
Flies through the night in the wee small hours........
These shadows that filter and fray
Those who die are they
And all are grounded as they begin to decay
Her gown glistens in moonlight splendor
As the withered hands, they reach beneath her
From the ground so soft and shallow
The fragrant breeze leaves her pale and hollow
Into a house she walks up creaking steps
Inside hollow walls, these evils are kept
Up stairs in a room so dark
The moon so still, the sound of the dog bark
The door to the attic, locked
With laughs within corridors, she is mocked
The twist of a wrist, open with a skeleton key
The sounds of the night, these rustling leaves upon a tree
Outside the window, lurks the dead
All is not so right in her head
Her hallucinations, within her scream
Hoping it all is just a bad dream
But yet the room is pale and damp
Smell of mildew, as she lights the lamp
The shadows leave at the mention of the light
These shadows of hers, they scream, run with fright
There is peace, but a peace most unsettling
Like a fire that burns out, the ambers relenting
She locks the door behind her as she walks down the stairs
The shadows call, answers them she dares
They call her name and lead her away
And soon the moon gives way to another day
She lies within her grave once more
Until the night falls, bleeding flesh, fantastic gore
She rises again when the moon settles
She is the witch, in her tomb of metal
She scratches the ground, crawls out and devours
Flies through the night in the wee small hours........
The Elder's Maze
The blossom of youth's flower
Gives way to death this very hour
When bombs fall and time ticks away
Your eyes turn dim, your hair turns gray
You are older now and no one seems to care
Your desire is to run away
But everyone just stares
These grotesque features
Make you shiver and shake
And all the while the
Fuel your hate
Into the mirror you gaze
Trying to find a way out
Of the Elder's Maze
Hurry, quicken your steps,
They are not far behind
Death, Hades and old father time
They chase and chase until they catch you
You resist all you can
But in the end, they take what is due
Now upon your deathbed you lie
Giving way to anger, as the angels, they cry
Holding out your hand so old
Withering, decrepit and cold
You watch as your own demise takes hold
And within this Elder's maze, enters the soul
Originally Written 3/26/2004
Gives way to death this very hour
When bombs fall and time ticks away
Your eyes turn dim, your hair turns gray
You are older now and no one seems to care
Your desire is to run away
But everyone just stares
These grotesque features
Make you shiver and shake
And all the while the
Fuel your hate
Into the mirror you gaze
Trying to find a way out
Of the Elder's Maze
Hurry, quicken your steps,
They are not far behind
Death, Hades and old father time
They chase and chase until they catch you
You resist all you can
But in the end, they take what is due
Now upon your deathbed you lie
Giving way to anger, as the angels, they cry
Holding out your hand so old
Withering, decrepit and cold
You watch as your own demise takes hold
And within this Elder's maze, enters the soul
Originally Written 3/26/2004
The Night She Came Home
He stares out of his window
Waiting for her to come home
All the time is fading now
He has to face this time alone
She walks from the distance
He sees her figure and he hears her steps
And alone she is walking
And her eyes, wide, as though she is stalking
The door is open, she goes inside
The terror embraces him
You can see it in his eyes
She looks up toward the hallway black
little feet tread up the stairs
and through his heart, the pounding in the chest
White is now the color of his hair
floating through the door
to the room he has locked himself in
her footsteps are bloody upon the floor
as she looks at him with a menacing grin
backing up to the window, his feet shuffle
taking him close, his scream is muffled
she walks toward him like a banshee from hell
his eyes pierce the clock, it is now a quarter to twelve
He falls from the window, she stares down below
the iron fence runs him in, the blood starts to flow
She is laughing now, with her eyes aglow
what she is thinking inside her mind
no one will ever know.........
Waiting for her to come home
All the time is fading now
He has to face this time alone
She walks from the distance
He sees her figure and he hears her steps
And alone she is walking
And her eyes, wide, as though she is stalking
The door is open, she goes inside
The terror embraces him
You can see it in his eyes
She looks up toward the hallway black
little feet tread up the stairs
and through his heart, the pounding in the chest
White is now the color of his hair
floating through the door
to the room he has locked himself in
her footsteps are bloody upon the floor
as she looks at him with a menacing grin
backing up to the window, his feet shuffle
taking him close, his scream is muffled
she walks toward him like a banshee from hell
his eyes pierce the clock, it is now a quarter to twelve
He falls from the window, she stares down below
the iron fence runs him in, the blood starts to flow
She is laughing now, with her eyes aglow
what she is thinking inside her mind
no one will ever know.........
The Grinning Gayle
Over those horror hills they walk
Into burning ears they talk
With eyes so black they pierce and stalk
Old grows the tree as they pass by
And the prettiest of flowers wither and die
Ode to the darkness so elegant and frail
Upon bleeding gallows hang bodies stale
Laughing, smiling as others wail
So walks the Grinning Gayle
To those who pass its haunting ways
The shrieking of its deadly play
The laughter still piercing the night
And the cries of all who sleep tonight
Their eyes forced open, to behold its fright
The conjuring evil wakes
It's time it will take
To all who pass this dreadful place
Upon this night there shall be no grace
So you are thrown into your shallow grave
Laughing as it sees the doom within your face
These stories of old forgotten ones
The Grinning Gayle seeks only fun
For the torture of the soul it reaps rewards
And in its contempt for you
As you make it your lord
It's hold upon you so sudden and dealing
It erases all hope, it destroys all feeling
Into the house, the evil is dwelling
Behind every wall, behind every door
It's laughter is swelling
The heart grieving to the beat of the death drum
Not knowing the lurking
Not knowing the darkness, where it comes from
The engrossing splendor of youth so tender
The innocence stripped, bodies thrown into the blender
The blood stains the sides of its walls
The Grinning Gayle, oh how the skin crawls
Its grinning like nails upon the board
The gayle, it's teeth rotten, its eyes sunken
Its nose elongated, its hatred so sudden
The falling off of the flesh
As it tears into you
Razors upon fingers
Licking the red so fresh
The laughter continuous and evil
as the darkness and evil, together they mesh
Into burning ears they talk
With eyes so black they pierce and stalk
Old grows the tree as they pass by
And the prettiest of flowers wither and die
Ode to the darkness so elegant and frail
Upon bleeding gallows hang bodies stale
Laughing, smiling as others wail
So walks the Grinning Gayle
To those who pass its haunting ways
The shrieking of its deadly play
The laughter still piercing the night
And the cries of all who sleep tonight
Their eyes forced open, to behold its fright
The conjuring evil wakes
It's time it will take
To all who pass this dreadful place
Upon this night there shall be no grace
So you are thrown into your shallow grave
Laughing as it sees the doom within your face
These stories of old forgotten ones
The Grinning Gayle seeks only fun
For the torture of the soul it reaps rewards
And in its contempt for you
As you make it your lord
It's hold upon you so sudden and dealing
It erases all hope, it destroys all feeling
Into the house, the evil is dwelling
Behind every wall, behind every door
It's laughter is swelling
The heart grieving to the beat of the death drum
Not knowing the lurking
Not knowing the darkness, where it comes from
The engrossing splendor of youth so tender
The innocence stripped, bodies thrown into the blender
The blood stains the sides of its walls
The Grinning Gayle, oh how the skin crawls
Its grinning like nails upon the board
The gayle, it's teeth rotten, its eyes sunken
Its nose elongated, its hatred so sudden
The falling off of the flesh
As it tears into you
Razors upon fingers
Licking the red so fresh
The laughter continuous and evil
as the darkness and evil, together they mesh
Times Of The Fainted Heart
I sit here
Within paradise lost
Feeling the shame
Suffering the loss
Fingers numb
One by one falling
Off from the frost
The cold inside hides
This warm within
A blanket of love
And a chill in my skin
Evil replace my ego
A hatred for everything
A constant reminder to bring
All the anguish I know
Several reasons bring me to you
While all this time
The hatred grew
But not for you this hatred be
My skin is scraped and bleeds
When I walked by the yonder tree
The blood is now dripping
While my mind keeps skipping
Out to the green
My love is no more
And all the hatred is seen
Leaving desolate, cold and mean
Winter's warm embrace now leaving
All the while my love is grieving
Into your grave you go believing
Death's cold grip, so deceiving
Yet you are still alive and dreaming
Originally Written 7/17/2005
Within paradise lost
Feeling the shame
Suffering the loss
Fingers numb
One by one falling
Off from the frost
The cold inside hides
This warm within
A blanket of love
And a chill in my skin
Evil replace my ego
A hatred for everything
A constant reminder to bring
All the anguish I know
Several reasons bring me to you
While all this time
The hatred grew
But not for you this hatred be
My skin is scraped and bleeds
When I walked by the yonder tree
The blood is now dripping
While my mind keeps skipping
Out to the green
My love is no more
And all the hatred is seen
Leaving desolate, cold and mean
Winter's warm embrace now leaving
All the while my love is grieving
Into your grave you go believing
Death's cold grip, so deceiving
Yet you are still alive and dreaming
Originally Written 7/17/2005
And Now The Time Ends
What is this that stands before me
An abomination that stands the test of time
Into madness I step off the edge
Detestable images savagely rape my mind
Through a looking glass I appear naked
Through rose colored glasses I appear blind
I try so hard to buy it and fake it
The chewing of the metal, upon the teeth I grind
Now where is this stain that doesn't wash away
Onto the blackness go, the day is a pale shade of gray
You feed on this and that and though, your mind is mush
Your belligerent stand upon the silver tray
Your sanity keeps it at bay
Now the time has come for this to end
In time the evil will come and it will descend
Upon hanging trees the neck does break
The tiredness leaves a bad taste in your wake
None of this makes sense now but it will
Its like a harmless maggot or a fruit flavored pill
Your 9 to 5 life is about to go away
And what takes over, takes over the rest of your days.
An abomination that stands the test of time
Into madness I step off the edge
Detestable images savagely rape my mind
Through a looking glass I appear naked
Through rose colored glasses I appear blind
I try so hard to buy it and fake it
The chewing of the metal, upon the teeth I grind
Now where is this stain that doesn't wash away
Onto the blackness go, the day is a pale shade of gray
You feed on this and that and though, your mind is mush
Your belligerent stand upon the silver tray
Your sanity keeps it at bay
Now the time has come for this to end
In time the evil will come and it will descend
Upon hanging trees the neck does break
The tiredness leaves a bad taste in your wake
None of this makes sense now but it will
Its like a harmless maggot or a fruit flavored pill
Your 9 to 5 life is about to go away
And what takes over, takes over the rest of your days.
THE MONAHAN DEMON
He was now trapped.
Never in his life did Jeremy Morrison think that he would be part of something fulfilling and meaningful, at least in his mind anyway. He would now follow Monahan to the ends of the earth, proclaiming this message that he was now a slave to. But he still clung to the past…wife, and child…parents, brothers and sisters. There would be so much he would have to give up. This was Monahan’s way. He wondered if it would be worth it in the end. He remembered the first time he heard Monahan speak. Monahan’s words spoke truth into the soul and Jeremy was in the front row when the Organization came to his town that autumn day back in ’83 when he was at that age where the questions spewed out of him like rusty water out of a fire hydrant. But he still would have the questions…even now as he traveled with the Organization and with Monahan.
After finally ridding himself of his old ways, Jeremy felt alive, brimming with anticipation at what lay ahead of him. The Organization called for the total demise of all that he held dear. This meant the ultimate sacrifice which happened on November 12th 1983.
“All that you have must be given to the Organization; this is the word of the Lord.” An excited Monahan declared. “You must purge all that is evil in your lives, get rid of it and be completely transformed in his likeness.” Monahan’s breathing was heavy. Sweat poured out of his brow, the white handkerchief soiled in his own bodily fluids.
“I know that this may be hard to digest right now.” He continued to wipe his forehead.
“You feel like there is a burden on your chest that needs to be lifted…I know…I felt it once myself.” Monahan said lifting his Bible up in the air.
“He understands your pain, your suffering. Give it up to Him now.” Monahan’s voice was the voice that seemed to calm the waters in the spirit.
Jeremy needed this. He craved it. But what was it that he was craving. He still had the questions that fueled within his head. What was the Organization? How could one institution bring life and the answers that he so desperately needed to know? It was now time to meet with the mysterious Monahan for those answers.
“Mr. Monahan, Sir?” Jeremy’s eyes were wide.
“Yes.” Monahan’s grin nearly scared Jeremy to death.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Certainly, what do you desire to know?”
“I need to know more about your Organization.” Now Jeremy was drawn in by Monahan’s charisma.
Monahan bared the likeness of a man ready for action. He was tall, lengthy, his hair jet black as was the hair upon his face. He was prepared to face the demons and fight for the poor and destitute. He always wore grey…Jeremy remembered that…and his demeanor was that of the most heinous of salesmen. Jeremy was sold, though, to that one thing.
“To be part of this fold means to give up all that is within you, around you and finally know the peace that He offers.” Monahan’s delivery was quick and Jeremy held onto every word. “You cannot serve two masters, it says so right in this very book.” He held his Bible in front of Jeremy’s face.
“This is the ultimate authority, Jeremy.” Monahan continued. “There is no other that we live by.”
“Are you willing to become like Him?” Monahan said in a gentle tone.
“Yes, very much so.” Jeremy said.
“You must prove yourself to the Organization.”
“How?”
Monahan pulled out a picture that he used as a bookmark in his bible. It was a picture of Jeremy’s wife and child.
“How did you―
“Never mind.” Monahan’s voice was stern now. “You must not worry about this lovely woman and this innocent child.” He snarled. “You will have given them a new life in Him; this is the entrance fee, so to speak.”
“What do you mean?” Jeremy was puzzled.
“Kill them.” Monahan said his smile was wide and menacing now. “You cannot enter freely without a sacrifice.” He said. “Everything must be given away, these are not my words, Jeremy, they are the words of Him who gives and takes away.” Monahan was frightening now.
November 12th 1983
The start of the winter season began early. There was that chill in the air that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Along Morgan Street, the trees were bare; their limbs seem to resemble the long, scraggly fingers that reached for the heavens in some sort of dismal, hideous display of futility. Jeremy was poised to do the Lord’s work. The purging would be today. The Morrison household sat back in a wooded area just west of town. It was the perfect place because it was secluded and out of the prying eye of the public. Jeremy started a fire in his upstairs bedroom which eventually engulfed the entire place. He stood back a far distance and watched the home go up in flames. The life that he had created with his wife, Emma and his daughter, Sarah was now charred and black. Billows of smoke plunged out of the ashes like a bat out of hell. He knew there would be no turning back now. He waited for Emma and Sarah to come home.
Emma came down the winding road off of route 212 where she could see smoke from one hundred yards away. Her eyes became wide and her heart started to race. She pushed harder on the accelerator. Jeremy stood in front of the black clouds that surrounded him, his back facing her as she came up the drive. Stopping the car, Emma threw open the door and ran up to Jeremy, leaving Sarah inside the vehicle.
“Oh…My God!” Emma screamed. She fell to her knees and began to weep.
“Don’t cry, Emma.” Jeremy said. “It will soon be over.”
“What do you mean? She cried. “Jeremy... Jeremy!! Emma stared as he walked toward the car. He opened the trunk and fumbled around in it, finally pulling out something big and foreboding.
MY GOD, WHY DOES HE HAVE THAT AXE?
Emma’s eyes looked in horror as he came towards her wielding the monstrosity.
“What are you going to do, Jeremy?” Emma said in between sobs. “Please…please…Jeremy…don’t…DON’T― her pleas were silenced and Jeremy proceeded to the car where Sarah was.
Jeremy told Monahan everything that he had done. But he was not completely done, at least not according to Monahan.
“Like I said before, this is only an entrance fee.” Monahan said. “You have other things that will cloud your mind and alter your future judgments.” He continued. “You still have Lucas and Mary, don’t you?”
“Yes, but why can’t they just be left alone?” Jeremy was apologetic.
“It’s not my will, but the will of Him.” Monahan said dryly.
How does he know their names?
Monahan was a mysterious man. Nothing was known about him; at least Jeremy didn’t know anything. There were others in the Organization that knew very little about him. Still others said that he just came out of nowhere, automatically taking possession of some twelve individuals. They were stripped of everything and commanded to honor Monahan and obey his statutes. Jeremy was blind and mute to the entire thing. Only wanting to serve in any way, shape or form.
“After Lucas and Mary, there will be others.” Monahan put his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.
“But they are only children.” Jeremy said. “They can’t do any harm; they can’t stand in our way of making a better tomorrow.”
“They are preventing you from exercising your right to an eternal life.” Monahan was indignant. “He is the one who must be appeased, not me.”
“I can’t do this.”
“You can and you will.”
“After they are gone, you will kill the ones who gave you birth as well.” Monahan said with delight. “Won’t you?”
“I will do as you ask of me.”
The killing spree had begun. Monahan and his disciples raged a savage war upon the citizens of New Castle. Jeremy was second in command and after the deaths of Lucas and Sarah came the slaughter of his parents which only fueled his fire and bloodlust. He couldn’t stop it now. Monahan was a juggernaut and he slammed through town like a boulder, killing everyone in its wake. Soon many of the town’s women and children were like lambs to the slaughter. The men were dragged out into the streets and crucified on metal crossbeams, telephone poles used as makeshift center pieces. Through all of this, Monahan’s appearance seemed to change. No longer was the gentle façade of a man in the grey suit. There was only the evil now. His human attributes took on a demonic glow. He now crouched on all fours, eyes yellow and large. His hands were now claws that elongated every time he took a life. He was the one who was fed. He was the answer to their problems. Jeremy knew that he was part of something meaningful and fulfilling. He sighed and a smile rose upon his face. But he was trapped, the Monahan demon beckoned Jeremy and his other followers to the center of town.
“I am He who answers your prayers.” Monahan growled.
“I have slaughtered the inhabitants in this town to appease myself.” Monahan continued. “You are mine and no one else, follow me to the next feeding ground, for I must continue to feed.” Monahan’s voice gurgled and dragged.
“Look upon all of this destruction.” Monahan commanded.
“We see the destruction, Lord.” His followers said in unison.
“We must bring this message to all towns and cities and country sides.” Monahan’s eyes brought forth a haunting, yellowish hue.
“We must obey you, Lord.”
Monahan turned and started toward the edge of town. It was now time for another place, another people. Jeremy followed right behind him. Into the night they walked, feeling as though they were meant for something more…something more.
Never in his life did Jeremy Morrison think that he would be part of something fulfilling and meaningful, at least in his mind anyway. He would now follow Monahan to the ends of the earth, proclaiming this message that he was now a slave to. But he still clung to the past…wife, and child…parents, brothers and sisters. There would be so much he would have to give up. This was Monahan’s way. He wondered if it would be worth it in the end. He remembered the first time he heard Monahan speak. Monahan’s words spoke truth into the soul and Jeremy was in the front row when the Organization came to his town that autumn day back in ’83 when he was at that age where the questions spewed out of him like rusty water out of a fire hydrant. But he still would have the questions…even now as he traveled with the Organization and with Monahan.
After finally ridding himself of his old ways, Jeremy felt alive, brimming with anticipation at what lay ahead of him. The Organization called for the total demise of all that he held dear. This meant the ultimate sacrifice which happened on November 12th 1983.
“All that you have must be given to the Organization; this is the word of the Lord.” An excited Monahan declared. “You must purge all that is evil in your lives, get rid of it and be completely transformed in his likeness.” Monahan’s breathing was heavy. Sweat poured out of his brow, the white handkerchief soiled in his own bodily fluids.
“I know that this may be hard to digest right now.” He continued to wipe his forehead.
“You feel like there is a burden on your chest that needs to be lifted…I know…I felt it once myself.” Monahan said lifting his Bible up in the air.
“He understands your pain, your suffering. Give it up to Him now.” Monahan’s voice was the voice that seemed to calm the waters in the spirit.
Jeremy needed this. He craved it. But what was it that he was craving. He still had the questions that fueled within his head. What was the Organization? How could one institution bring life and the answers that he so desperately needed to know? It was now time to meet with the mysterious Monahan for those answers.
“Mr. Monahan, Sir?” Jeremy’s eyes were wide.
“Yes.” Monahan’s grin nearly scared Jeremy to death.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Certainly, what do you desire to know?”
“I need to know more about your Organization.” Now Jeremy was drawn in by Monahan’s charisma.
Monahan bared the likeness of a man ready for action. He was tall, lengthy, his hair jet black as was the hair upon his face. He was prepared to face the demons and fight for the poor and destitute. He always wore grey…Jeremy remembered that…and his demeanor was that of the most heinous of salesmen. Jeremy was sold, though, to that one thing.
“To be part of this fold means to give up all that is within you, around you and finally know the peace that He offers.” Monahan’s delivery was quick and Jeremy held onto every word. “You cannot serve two masters, it says so right in this very book.” He held his Bible in front of Jeremy’s face.
“This is the ultimate authority, Jeremy.” Monahan continued. “There is no other that we live by.”
“Are you willing to become like Him?” Monahan said in a gentle tone.
“Yes, very much so.” Jeremy said.
“You must prove yourself to the Organization.”
“How?”
Monahan pulled out a picture that he used as a bookmark in his bible. It was a picture of Jeremy’s wife and child.
“How did you―
“Never mind.” Monahan’s voice was stern now. “You must not worry about this lovely woman and this innocent child.” He snarled. “You will have given them a new life in Him; this is the entrance fee, so to speak.”
“What do you mean?” Jeremy was puzzled.
“Kill them.” Monahan said his smile was wide and menacing now. “You cannot enter freely without a sacrifice.” He said. “Everything must be given away, these are not my words, Jeremy, they are the words of Him who gives and takes away.” Monahan was frightening now.
November 12th 1983
The start of the winter season began early. There was that chill in the air that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Along Morgan Street, the trees were bare; their limbs seem to resemble the long, scraggly fingers that reached for the heavens in some sort of dismal, hideous display of futility. Jeremy was poised to do the Lord’s work. The purging would be today. The Morrison household sat back in a wooded area just west of town. It was the perfect place because it was secluded and out of the prying eye of the public. Jeremy started a fire in his upstairs bedroom which eventually engulfed the entire place. He stood back a far distance and watched the home go up in flames. The life that he had created with his wife, Emma and his daughter, Sarah was now charred and black. Billows of smoke plunged out of the ashes like a bat out of hell. He knew there would be no turning back now. He waited for Emma and Sarah to come home.
Emma came down the winding road off of route 212 where she could see smoke from one hundred yards away. Her eyes became wide and her heart started to race. She pushed harder on the accelerator. Jeremy stood in front of the black clouds that surrounded him, his back facing her as she came up the drive. Stopping the car, Emma threw open the door and ran up to Jeremy, leaving Sarah inside the vehicle.
“Oh…My God!” Emma screamed. She fell to her knees and began to weep.
“Don’t cry, Emma.” Jeremy said. “It will soon be over.”
“What do you mean? She cried. “Jeremy... Jeremy!! Emma stared as he walked toward the car. He opened the trunk and fumbled around in it, finally pulling out something big and foreboding.
MY GOD, WHY DOES HE HAVE THAT AXE?
Emma’s eyes looked in horror as he came towards her wielding the monstrosity.
“What are you going to do, Jeremy?” Emma said in between sobs. “Please…please…Jeremy…don’t…DON’T― her pleas were silenced and Jeremy proceeded to the car where Sarah was.
Jeremy told Monahan everything that he had done. But he was not completely done, at least not according to Monahan.
“Like I said before, this is only an entrance fee.” Monahan said. “You have other things that will cloud your mind and alter your future judgments.” He continued. “You still have Lucas and Mary, don’t you?”
“Yes, but why can’t they just be left alone?” Jeremy was apologetic.
“It’s not my will, but the will of Him.” Monahan said dryly.
How does he know their names?
Monahan was a mysterious man. Nothing was known about him; at least Jeremy didn’t know anything. There were others in the Organization that knew very little about him. Still others said that he just came out of nowhere, automatically taking possession of some twelve individuals. They were stripped of everything and commanded to honor Monahan and obey his statutes. Jeremy was blind and mute to the entire thing. Only wanting to serve in any way, shape or form.
“After Lucas and Mary, there will be others.” Monahan put his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.
“But they are only children.” Jeremy said. “They can’t do any harm; they can’t stand in our way of making a better tomorrow.”
“They are preventing you from exercising your right to an eternal life.” Monahan was indignant. “He is the one who must be appeased, not me.”
“I can’t do this.”
“You can and you will.”
“After they are gone, you will kill the ones who gave you birth as well.” Monahan said with delight. “Won’t you?”
“I will do as you ask of me.”
The killing spree had begun. Monahan and his disciples raged a savage war upon the citizens of New Castle. Jeremy was second in command and after the deaths of Lucas and Sarah came the slaughter of his parents which only fueled his fire and bloodlust. He couldn’t stop it now. Monahan was a juggernaut and he slammed through town like a boulder, killing everyone in its wake. Soon many of the town’s women and children were like lambs to the slaughter. The men were dragged out into the streets and crucified on metal crossbeams, telephone poles used as makeshift center pieces. Through all of this, Monahan’s appearance seemed to change. No longer was the gentle façade of a man in the grey suit. There was only the evil now. His human attributes took on a demonic glow. He now crouched on all fours, eyes yellow and large. His hands were now claws that elongated every time he took a life. He was the one who was fed. He was the answer to their problems. Jeremy knew that he was part of something meaningful and fulfilling. He sighed and a smile rose upon his face. But he was trapped, the Monahan demon beckoned Jeremy and his other followers to the center of town.
“I am He who answers your prayers.” Monahan growled.
“I have slaughtered the inhabitants in this town to appease myself.” Monahan continued. “You are mine and no one else, follow me to the next feeding ground, for I must continue to feed.” Monahan’s voice gurgled and dragged.
“Look upon all of this destruction.” Monahan commanded.
“We see the destruction, Lord.” His followers said in unison.
“We must bring this message to all towns and cities and country sides.” Monahan’s eyes brought forth a haunting, yellowish hue.
“We must obey you, Lord.”
Monahan turned and started toward the edge of town. It was now time for another place, another people. Jeremy followed right behind him. Into the night they walked, feeling as though they were meant for something more…something more.
THEY WARNED ME AGAINST THIS
1. It’s Just A Game
The box clinked and clanked as I walked it up towards my sister’s bedroom.
I had stumbled upon it one late summer’s day in August. One of our many excursions to the local yard and garage sales that spread across the greenery sidewalks of Sawyer. I hurried along the staircase up to my sister’s bedroom with wonder in my eyes and a spring in my step. It was like getting that long awaited present that you always wanted to get for Christmas, only mom and dad wouldn’t buy it for you. But there it was that rectangular box that held a jewel of a game that I’m sure my sister and I would spend many a waking hour devouring.
“Did you get it?” Laura asked with that gleam of greed in her eye.
“Yep, a steal too.” I was salivating at the mere mention of it.
Laura didn’t get to come with mom and I on this trip to town. She was laid up in her room, with a broken leg. I told her not to jump off of the roof onto the trampoline that we owned but she didn’t listen to me. Oh I can do this…she would say or…I’ve done this so many times. Well it only takes one time. Stupid girl! When we decided to go on that hot August day I remember Laura whining and complaining that she couldn’t go. She was old enough to stay home by herself anyway. It wasn’t like we were leaving a two year old at home by herself. Even though she acted like one.
“So how much did it cost?” Laura commented as I sat the box on the table in the corner of her room near her bed.
“A buck fifty!” I was exuberant. “And it’s still wrapped in the plastic. You can’t get a better deal than that!” I sounded like a raving lunatic. The sunshine came through the window and illuminated the dust that was in the air. I went down stairs and got one of the folding chairs that were stashed away in the garage and brought it upstairs so that I could have a place to sit. Laura sat on her bed, her leg propped up on two pillows. The big white cast was like an upside down gun with her foot as the handle. The names that were scrawled on it were the names of kids from school and the like. She had many friends, though most of them couldn’t write their own names. They looked like chicken scratches against a white matted canvas. I started to tear through the plastic that covered this jewel of the gaming world. My eyes became large and finally I took a breath of relief as I lifted the box top and peered inside. First there was the board. It had a sinister smiling sun in the left hand corner which peered across its way to the profile of a half moon that was on the opposite corner. The moon’s face appeared to be disappointed as you could tell by the frown. Next was the name of the board…OUIJA…THE MAGNIFICENT. The name flowed from my lips and stopped in midair. I ran my fingers across the fancy alphabet that was in the center of the board. The letters made a crescent shape from side to side along with the numbers 1 through 9 then 0. It was ominous to see the words “goodbye” on the bottom as if the game was speaking this. It was then that I remembered the commercial for this particular type of game. It had the tag line…it’s just a game, isn’t it? Then the kids would answer back…well, isn’t it? Laura and I gazed at the game as it lay there sprawled out on the table waiting for someone to play it. We laid our hands on the heart shaped piece of wood.
“You ask it a question first, Jack.” Laura was giggling, her eyes moving wildly.
“Okay.” I said. There were always the stories that floated around with this type of game. I remember one TV preacher blaring out from the glass tube.…IT’S A PORTAL FOR SATAN!! They even went as far as to bring on one of them people who supposedly were demon possessed so that they could tell the story about how they had been delivered from the oppression. I honestly thought it was a bunch of hogwash.
“So… I went on. Who is Gracie Jenkins sleeping with?” We both laughed at the thought of this intriguing question. It wasn’t really that intriguing though. Gracie Jenkins knew every man in Sawyer and she had the battle scars to prove it. You could always tell when she had just been with someone. She walked around as though she had a corncob stuck up her butt. It was said that she had an abortion some time back. Lawrence Reynolds beat her up pretty bad when she tried to pin her pregnancy on him. She was so distraught that the thought of having a child made her vomit. She was a cruel woman anyway. No one liked her. Most people thought that she was only good for one thing only.
Our fingers plopped on top of the wooden heart. The shape started to instantly move with our hands. There definitely was something guiding this. I didn’t know what it was. Laura didn’t know either. Our eyes were fixed upon the board, our hands starting to move wildly. Soon circular motions gave way to letters…D…E…A…and then D again. This didn’t make any sense. I asked the question again. The same series of events populated the board, and then the letters…D…E…A…and then D again. After this our hands moved magically to the word GOODBYE. It was like magic, which was the only way to describe it. We ended up playing the game into the evening hours until mom called upstairs and told us to come down for dinner. We didn’t even put the game back in the box. As I walked out of my sister’s bedroom, my eyes gazed toward the board. That sun just winked at me! Like I said before, for the next two weeks we would meet in the bedroom and play this game that seemed to have a lasting impression on us, especially Laura. She would sit and stare sometimes out of her window, leg still propped up. The white cast covered in pen and marker and chalk. So many people came to the house to write on it. Laura was definitely tired of the publicity and she was bored out of her mind. She would play the game by herself. I, myself, had started to become bored with the game. When August turned to September and Laura’s cast came off her leg, I remember wanting to be outside. The crisp autumn air that would float around in puddles of coolness would ever so slightly tickle my nose and freeze my lungs every time I took a breath. The trees were becoming bare now, the branches like skinny fingers that shed its skin to reveal the bone inside. Laura didn’t enjoy it though. I would tell her to come outside with me…you need to exercise that leg, Laura, it’ll get stiff and then you won’t be able to move it! Stupid girl! She was in her own little world, a world filled with school and that game. She had to hurry home after school and hover over that ridiculous board. During the third week of school, I decided that I was sick one day. Fooling mom and dad would be easy. Mom was a hypochondriac and dad was always at work so he didn’t even know what day it was. Laura always kept her door locked especially when she was playing that game. She would not be home though, at least not until school let out. This was my opportunity. I crept into Laura’s room with the anticipation of a cat burglar, ready to salivate over whatever treasures I could find inside. I was pretty familiar with the room anyway seeing as how we played with the board so many times there. My wondering eyes glanced over at the table where the board usually was laid out but it wasn’t there. She hid it from me, didn’t she? I ended up turning her room from this tidy little space to a disaster area. I swear a nuclear bomb went off in there. I found the game though, hidden away at the bottom of her laundry hamper amongst the dirty panties, shirts, and shorts.
I ran downstairs like a race horse, opened the front door and ran around towards the back of the house. Near the back of the house was an old shed that dad kept his lawnmower and tools in. I knew that he kept his charcoal grill in there as well and where there is a grill there is bound to be some lighter fluid along with some long matches. My thoughts went back to the fourth of July when dad singed his beard and the hairs on his arms, his eyes loud and dreadful as he watched the bursting of the fireworks in midair. I remember how hot it was that day as well. Towards the back door was a fifty gallon drum filled with ash. Dad used it to burn trash since the garbage trucks didn’t come out that far. We were in the middle of nowhere. Among the rusted out cans and an old toaster oven that dad somehow thought would burn, I laid the rectangular box on top. It barely fit in the circular drum and I used my hands to cram the corners down into it. I drenched that thing in fluid and struck a match. The flame went about six feet high and the smoke billowed forth like the smoke from the fires of hell itself. It was then that I noticed the school bus coming up our drive. Laura stepped off the bus and noticed the smoke from the back of the house. She ran as hard as she could back there where I was standing, lighter fluid in hand. She slowly walked towards the billowing smoke and peered inside the barrel. The remnants of a rectangular box lay in there; a hideous mesh of cardboard and carbon, the evil sun had not burned away yet.
“HOW DARE YOU GO INTO MY ROOM?” Laura screamed. Her voice was shrill and a bit garbled. She hissed at me…YOU LITTLE SNEAK…THAT’S MY GAME, NOT YOURS! I PLAY IT ALL THE TIME…YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE IT ANYMORE! She stuck her hand inside the barrel and reached for what was left of it, which wasn’t much, mind you. Laura howled as she fell back towards the ground, her hand bubbling like water in a tub after you have put soap into it. This isn’t Laura anymore…I thought. I ran towards the front of the house and jolted inside. Mom was gone. She had been gone for the past five hours. She started a part time job at the Sawyer diner at the corners of Tribbs and Calhoun. I wanted her to be here so bad. I ran quickly up the stairs and locked myself in my room. My room was across the hall from Laura’s and soon I could hear her footsteps on the staircase, her door opened and she walked in, closing it behind her. I heard it lock.
2. What Is In Laura’s Room?
Laura refused to talk to me. She wouldn’t look at me when we crossed paths each morning, getting up and preparing for our day. I did notice sinister glances my way when passed by my seat on the bus; I always got the better seat before she did. Each day would end the same. We would come home from school and she would lock herself in her room for most of the night. She still had her hand wrapped from the incident at the smoking barrel and I could hardly sleep at night because I heard scratching noises in her room. I didn’t know what these noises were; only they were starting to become unnerving. I finally decided that there should be a showdown.
“Laura, please open your door…I would…like to talk.” My voice was quivering at the thought of how she would react to the pulsating knock on her door. There was no answer. Fortunately it was unlocked this time. I ventured in, unaware at what I would find. Nothing. There was nothing. She wasn’t even there. There seemed to be a spell that abounded throughout the house. Mom and dad were living their lives as though we never existed. They did live in their own little world now. They were unaware of the things that were happening between Laura and I. There was deadness now that permeated Laura’s room. I wanted to leave it but couldn’t, not now. I followed the deadness to the corner of the room. There was the table. The table that held that monstrosity of a game that I so longed to be rid of. Suddenly I gasped in horror as I looked down at the table. The board was there in all its evil demonic glory. I grabbed the board with one hand and broke it over my knee, it was then that I turned around toward my sister’s closet and fell on my knees. I could hear them crack as they hit the hard cold floor. Hello there…it gurgled. Standing in the corner near the closet door was a hideous deformed fellow about four feet high. He gleamed in the sunlight and his teeth were as razors. He smiled a most foul grin which sank me more to the ground until I was on my stomach. I tried to slither away from him but couldn’t move. My eyes were fixated on his stature and his appearance. He had an elongated nose which he constantly flipped with his fingers; his eyes were large and yellow. When he smiled his mouth contained horribly sharpened teeth that gleamed red from stale blood. His ears pointed towards the sky and he didn’t have feet. They were hooves. He wore a simple jacket that had coat tails which flowed from him towards the bedroom door. His laugh was grating and I longed to escape the room. My body was plastered to the floor. I cringed as he raised one arm, revealing small, ghastly nodules on the underside. They are filled with pus…MY GOD…they’re…dripping on the floor.
I could hear his thought in my head…open the closet door, Jack…
It didn’t speak to me. His eyes were now burning holes through me. Open it. Open the closet door! I could hear it scream at me through my brain. My head started to ache. I got up from the floor and reached for the door knob. With one twist it flew open. Laura’s dead eyes stared back at me. I was frozen. My feet did not move. It was if I was glued to the floor. Her neck was purple from the rope that was around it, her tongue wagged out of her mouth like the tail of some mangy dog. Oh God! I cried. Oh God! I once again fell to the floor, my heart sinking down to my diaphragm, my breathing was labored and the evil little man (not a man) loomed over me, dripping red colored saliva from his horrid teeth. It wasn’t until I was on the ground that I realized that Laura’s body was naked, bloody letters and numbers covered her chest and legs. A horrible sun was engraved in her forehead and the half profile of the moon, frown and all, was slashed into her left hand. Etched across her stomach was one word…goodbye. Droplets of blood dripped from her toes, making a pool that gleamed in the sunlight. Goodbye was all I could think about at that moment. The little monster still stood over me…waiting…waiting as if he was looking for me to say something about his handy work.
Do you like it?
“Get away from me! Leave me alone…please!” I said, tears flowing down my cheeks.
DO YOU LIKE IT?! The thought rang in my head. He could speak to me. He could hear me thinking. You could play the game now…she won’t mind…she will just lay there…hey, maybe we can use an internal organ in place of the heart shaped wooden thing-a-ma-bob! My eyes rolled towards the back of my head. My face was flush and the monster’s face was pressed against mine, his breath that of a decaying body. He took hold of one of my hands and started to drag me across the floor. I was still and my mouth could not speak. My lips were dry like the desert ground, hard and cracked and begging for moisture.
I killed your parents as well…they are dead…
The thought raced in my mind. All of this over a stupid game. I began to understand the TV preacher better every second. I really didn’t know if this creature was the devil or not, but he had my hand; pressed it hard within his, I could feel the bones start to crackle and the pain shot through me like a hot bullet on a summer day. I could not mutter a sound, not even a whimper as he dragged me out of the room and by the stair well. I was dangling above a precipice now. The staircase was not there anymore, only blackness underneath my feet. He let go. I fell, screaming all the way down until I hit the carpet which was connected to the front room where mom and dad were peacefully watching TV. Upon further inspection I noticed that mom and dad were not breathing and their throats had been torn out as if someone took a bite out of a juicy apple. They both were sitting in their respective chairs, listening to the TV chatter on about some new fangled gizmo on one of those half hour info commercials. Only their ears could not hear and their eyes could not see. They were glassy. I could see inside but no one was looking at me. Like a vampire that cannot see his reflection. Upstairs I could hear the shuffle of hooves against the wooden floorboards and the slithering slide of a dead body that once hung in a closet. I once again hurried up the stairs and reached my sister’s bedroom. There was no one in there. No little man. No monster or demon or whatever it was. I hoped to never see it again. I did, however, discover my sister’s bloody bones underneath her bed. She had been eaten.
3. Dead Town and Mrs. Trundle
Two months came and went since that day. The chill of winter was now commonplace. I had buried mom and dad near the old oak tree that sat near the edge of our property. Laura’s bones were buried along side of them. A makeshift cross stood in place as a tombstone. The game that we had played all those months ago was still upstairs in my sister’s room…waiting…waiting for the next player. I nailed a sign that said KEEP OUT on the door to the bedroom. I intended to never go back in there. I, myself, waited, sitting in dad’s old lazy boy, I waited…waited…for it to return. Soon it did return. It returned to my sister’s bedroom one day in early December, the newly fallen snow was a blanket of white against the murky grayness that filled the sky. He wanted to play.
So that freakish little imp wants to play…huh? I only assumed that this thing came out of the board. A grotesque sort of creature that those TV preachers warned me against. The board rested on the floor of my sister’s bedroom, the letters faded a little. The numbers were peeling off of it; I would find little pieces of black lettering on the floor from time to time. I would play with the little demon for awhile and then put the game back in its rectangular box. This would go on for days at a time, the creature threatening death if I didn’t play with him. I soon discovered that Sawyer was starting to look a little bare at times. No children played in the streets, nobody sitting on their front porches rocking back and forth. Even in the dead of winter there would be life outside every little house that lay across the main drag that ran through town. But now there wasn’t. I found out that anytime the demon and I would play that horrible game, someone in Sawyer died. One day I took a walk along the main drag. The street was cold, the cracking of the road seemed to gape in places and I wondered if there were other creatures that had escaped through these cracks. In certain areas of town you could smell a stench. A foul stench that permeated the air, it was death in all his glory. He came out of nowhere when that rectangular box was first opened; our greedy little hands caressed the heart shaped wooden thing that would circle around a board that summoned some untold evil. This evil slipped by us and manifested itself within the game. I pulled out a handkerchief that I had in my back pocket. I shoved it up to my nose and mouth as quick as I could to fend off the odor. It didn’t work.
I tried to rummage through the deadness of the town…this town is definitely dead…my thoughts raced, my eyes boggled and my head hurt. It hurt enough that I took refuge within Miller’s One Stop Shop on Miner and Keefe Streets. I knew that Bill Miller had aspirin and I needed some fast. I took the aspirin off the shelf behind the counter where Bill now lay. He was contorted in some weird fashion, a dead smile upon his face and his eyes rained tears of blood…stale blood. I swallowed the aspirin hard as I gazed upon Miller’s face. I remember long ago when I would come into his store and get the latest Spider-Man comic or a pack of baseball cards; let’s see whose rookie card I could get this time…I always collected the Diamond Kings from Donruss. If he was out of Donruss, I always settled with Topps. Picking up the package, a gleam of sunbeam radiating on the lettering, I worked my way toward the back of the store. It was then that I heard a whisper…a murmur…and then a scream. One of my freshman teachers, a Mrs. Trundle sat there in the corner, eyes wide and she just stared back at me. Mrs. Trundle was a healthy woman. She was heavy set. She wore the classic horn rimmed glasses that everyone always made fun of. I wasn’t making fun of her today. It seemed as though we were the only survivors of this game. She looked up at me with terrified eyes.
“Jack…Jack Loren?” Her voice was gravelly as if she had swallowed a bunch of rocks.
“Mrs. Trundle. What happened here?” I asked
“It’s as if the whole world has gone topsy turvy, Jack.” Mrs. Trundle said.
“You’re gonna think this is weird, boy.”
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Trundle.” I would not be surprised at what she was going to say.
“I saw this…this…little man, he walked up to the counter and put his little grimy hands on it and tried to pull himself up, I never seen anything like it before.” Mrs. Trundle was shaking. An ugly looking, little man…now that I think about it…A HORRIBLE GROTESQUE CREATURE! I looked at her with pitiful eyes. She walked with me as we left the One Stop Shop and our feet hit pavement. We looked down the stretch of Old 45 and my eyes peered in the distance. At what I thought was the end of the road was the creature. Mrs. Trundle gasped. She saw it too. She fell to the ground with a thud, her thighs seemed to bounce and her belly shook. She was down for the count. I started to run the opposite direction of the creature. He ran after me. I looked back and saw his salivating mouth and his wide yellow eyes, peering at me. He stopped short and loomed over Mrs. Trundle’s body, claws digging into her stomach. I couldn’t watch. I wish I had never gotten that game on that hot August afternoon, when the air was thick with humidity and my sister still had her leg cast. All was ok in the world. All was ok in Sawyer. The street lamps still came on at dusk and there were the older folk, rocking in their rockers, yelling at the young kids to stay off their properties. What I would give to go back to that day, but I can’t. My reality was the monster, which was feeding off of my old high school teacher. She didn’t last very long in this. I continued to run…run past the A& P Grocery…run past the old Sawyer Cemetery. I ran right out of town. It let me run…it’s still waiting there for me, I know it. I later learned that Sawyer had become a ghost town; the creature took refuge in the old Cemetery where it feeds on whoever travels down the stretch of Old 45. I suppose it’s still there, smiling a horrible grin, using a finger bone to pick at its blood stained teeth.
The box clinked and clanked as I walked it up towards my sister’s bedroom.
I had stumbled upon it one late summer’s day in August. One of our many excursions to the local yard and garage sales that spread across the greenery sidewalks of Sawyer. I hurried along the staircase up to my sister’s bedroom with wonder in my eyes and a spring in my step. It was like getting that long awaited present that you always wanted to get for Christmas, only mom and dad wouldn’t buy it for you. But there it was that rectangular box that held a jewel of a game that I’m sure my sister and I would spend many a waking hour devouring.
“Did you get it?” Laura asked with that gleam of greed in her eye.
“Yep, a steal too.” I was salivating at the mere mention of it.
Laura didn’t get to come with mom and I on this trip to town. She was laid up in her room, with a broken leg. I told her not to jump off of the roof onto the trampoline that we owned but she didn’t listen to me. Oh I can do this…she would say or…I’ve done this so many times. Well it only takes one time. Stupid girl! When we decided to go on that hot August day I remember Laura whining and complaining that she couldn’t go. She was old enough to stay home by herself anyway. It wasn’t like we were leaving a two year old at home by herself. Even though she acted like one.
“So how much did it cost?” Laura commented as I sat the box on the table in the corner of her room near her bed.
“A buck fifty!” I was exuberant. “And it’s still wrapped in the plastic. You can’t get a better deal than that!” I sounded like a raving lunatic. The sunshine came through the window and illuminated the dust that was in the air. I went down stairs and got one of the folding chairs that were stashed away in the garage and brought it upstairs so that I could have a place to sit. Laura sat on her bed, her leg propped up on two pillows. The big white cast was like an upside down gun with her foot as the handle. The names that were scrawled on it were the names of kids from school and the like. She had many friends, though most of them couldn’t write their own names. They looked like chicken scratches against a white matted canvas. I started to tear through the plastic that covered this jewel of the gaming world. My eyes became large and finally I took a breath of relief as I lifted the box top and peered inside. First there was the board. It had a sinister smiling sun in the left hand corner which peered across its way to the profile of a half moon that was on the opposite corner. The moon’s face appeared to be disappointed as you could tell by the frown. Next was the name of the board…OUIJA…THE MAGNIFICENT. The name flowed from my lips and stopped in midair. I ran my fingers across the fancy alphabet that was in the center of the board. The letters made a crescent shape from side to side along with the numbers 1 through 9 then 0. It was ominous to see the words “goodbye” on the bottom as if the game was speaking this. It was then that I remembered the commercial for this particular type of game. It had the tag line…it’s just a game, isn’t it? Then the kids would answer back…well, isn’t it? Laura and I gazed at the game as it lay there sprawled out on the table waiting for someone to play it. We laid our hands on the heart shaped piece of wood.
“You ask it a question first, Jack.” Laura was giggling, her eyes moving wildly.
“Okay.” I said. There were always the stories that floated around with this type of game. I remember one TV preacher blaring out from the glass tube.…IT’S A PORTAL FOR SATAN!! They even went as far as to bring on one of them people who supposedly were demon possessed so that they could tell the story about how they had been delivered from the oppression. I honestly thought it was a bunch of hogwash.
“So… I went on. Who is Gracie Jenkins sleeping with?” We both laughed at the thought of this intriguing question. It wasn’t really that intriguing though. Gracie Jenkins knew every man in Sawyer and she had the battle scars to prove it. You could always tell when she had just been with someone. She walked around as though she had a corncob stuck up her butt. It was said that she had an abortion some time back. Lawrence Reynolds beat her up pretty bad when she tried to pin her pregnancy on him. She was so distraught that the thought of having a child made her vomit. She was a cruel woman anyway. No one liked her. Most people thought that she was only good for one thing only.
Our fingers plopped on top of the wooden heart. The shape started to instantly move with our hands. There definitely was something guiding this. I didn’t know what it was. Laura didn’t know either. Our eyes were fixed upon the board, our hands starting to move wildly. Soon circular motions gave way to letters…D…E…A…and then D again. This didn’t make any sense. I asked the question again. The same series of events populated the board, and then the letters…D…E…A…and then D again. After this our hands moved magically to the word GOODBYE. It was like magic, which was the only way to describe it. We ended up playing the game into the evening hours until mom called upstairs and told us to come down for dinner. We didn’t even put the game back in the box. As I walked out of my sister’s bedroom, my eyes gazed toward the board. That sun just winked at me! Like I said before, for the next two weeks we would meet in the bedroom and play this game that seemed to have a lasting impression on us, especially Laura. She would sit and stare sometimes out of her window, leg still propped up. The white cast covered in pen and marker and chalk. So many people came to the house to write on it. Laura was definitely tired of the publicity and she was bored out of her mind. She would play the game by herself. I, myself, had started to become bored with the game. When August turned to September and Laura’s cast came off her leg, I remember wanting to be outside. The crisp autumn air that would float around in puddles of coolness would ever so slightly tickle my nose and freeze my lungs every time I took a breath. The trees were becoming bare now, the branches like skinny fingers that shed its skin to reveal the bone inside. Laura didn’t enjoy it though. I would tell her to come outside with me…you need to exercise that leg, Laura, it’ll get stiff and then you won’t be able to move it! Stupid girl! She was in her own little world, a world filled with school and that game. She had to hurry home after school and hover over that ridiculous board. During the third week of school, I decided that I was sick one day. Fooling mom and dad would be easy. Mom was a hypochondriac and dad was always at work so he didn’t even know what day it was. Laura always kept her door locked especially when she was playing that game. She would not be home though, at least not until school let out. This was my opportunity. I crept into Laura’s room with the anticipation of a cat burglar, ready to salivate over whatever treasures I could find inside. I was pretty familiar with the room anyway seeing as how we played with the board so many times there. My wondering eyes glanced over at the table where the board usually was laid out but it wasn’t there. She hid it from me, didn’t she? I ended up turning her room from this tidy little space to a disaster area. I swear a nuclear bomb went off in there. I found the game though, hidden away at the bottom of her laundry hamper amongst the dirty panties, shirts, and shorts.
I ran downstairs like a race horse, opened the front door and ran around towards the back of the house. Near the back of the house was an old shed that dad kept his lawnmower and tools in. I knew that he kept his charcoal grill in there as well and where there is a grill there is bound to be some lighter fluid along with some long matches. My thoughts went back to the fourth of July when dad singed his beard and the hairs on his arms, his eyes loud and dreadful as he watched the bursting of the fireworks in midair. I remember how hot it was that day as well. Towards the back door was a fifty gallon drum filled with ash. Dad used it to burn trash since the garbage trucks didn’t come out that far. We were in the middle of nowhere. Among the rusted out cans and an old toaster oven that dad somehow thought would burn, I laid the rectangular box on top. It barely fit in the circular drum and I used my hands to cram the corners down into it. I drenched that thing in fluid and struck a match. The flame went about six feet high and the smoke billowed forth like the smoke from the fires of hell itself. It was then that I noticed the school bus coming up our drive. Laura stepped off the bus and noticed the smoke from the back of the house. She ran as hard as she could back there where I was standing, lighter fluid in hand. She slowly walked towards the billowing smoke and peered inside the barrel. The remnants of a rectangular box lay in there; a hideous mesh of cardboard and carbon, the evil sun had not burned away yet.
“HOW DARE YOU GO INTO MY ROOM?” Laura screamed. Her voice was shrill and a bit garbled. She hissed at me…YOU LITTLE SNEAK…THAT’S MY GAME, NOT YOURS! I PLAY IT ALL THE TIME…YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE IT ANYMORE! She stuck her hand inside the barrel and reached for what was left of it, which wasn’t much, mind you. Laura howled as she fell back towards the ground, her hand bubbling like water in a tub after you have put soap into it. This isn’t Laura anymore…I thought. I ran towards the front of the house and jolted inside. Mom was gone. She had been gone for the past five hours. She started a part time job at the Sawyer diner at the corners of Tribbs and Calhoun. I wanted her to be here so bad. I ran quickly up the stairs and locked myself in my room. My room was across the hall from Laura’s and soon I could hear her footsteps on the staircase, her door opened and she walked in, closing it behind her. I heard it lock.
2. What Is In Laura’s Room?
Laura refused to talk to me. She wouldn’t look at me when we crossed paths each morning, getting up and preparing for our day. I did notice sinister glances my way when passed by my seat on the bus; I always got the better seat before she did. Each day would end the same. We would come home from school and she would lock herself in her room for most of the night. She still had her hand wrapped from the incident at the smoking barrel and I could hardly sleep at night because I heard scratching noises in her room. I didn’t know what these noises were; only they were starting to become unnerving. I finally decided that there should be a showdown.
“Laura, please open your door…I would…like to talk.” My voice was quivering at the thought of how she would react to the pulsating knock on her door. There was no answer. Fortunately it was unlocked this time. I ventured in, unaware at what I would find. Nothing. There was nothing. She wasn’t even there. There seemed to be a spell that abounded throughout the house. Mom and dad were living their lives as though we never existed. They did live in their own little world now. They were unaware of the things that were happening between Laura and I. There was deadness now that permeated Laura’s room. I wanted to leave it but couldn’t, not now. I followed the deadness to the corner of the room. There was the table. The table that held that monstrosity of a game that I so longed to be rid of. Suddenly I gasped in horror as I looked down at the table. The board was there in all its evil demonic glory. I grabbed the board with one hand and broke it over my knee, it was then that I turned around toward my sister’s closet and fell on my knees. I could hear them crack as they hit the hard cold floor. Hello there…it gurgled. Standing in the corner near the closet door was a hideous deformed fellow about four feet high. He gleamed in the sunlight and his teeth were as razors. He smiled a most foul grin which sank me more to the ground until I was on my stomach. I tried to slither away from him but couldn’t move. My eyes were fixated on his stature and his appearance. He had an elongated nose which he constantly flipped with his fingers; his eyes were large and yellow. When he smiled his mouth contained horribly sharpened teeth that gleamed red from stale blood. His ears pointed towards the sky and he didn’t have feet. They were hooves. He wore a simple jacket that had coat tails which flowed from him towards the bedroom door. His laugh was grating and I longed to escape the room. My body was plastered to the floor. I cringed as he raised one arm, revealing small, ghastly nodules on the underside. They are filled with pus…MY GOD…they’re…dripping on the floor.
I could hear his thought in my head…open the closet door, Jack…
It didn’t speak to me. His eyes were now burning holes through me. Open it. Open the closet door! I could hear it scream at me through my brain. My head started to ache. I got up from the floor and reached for the door knob. With one twist it flew open. Laura’s dead eyes stared back at me. I was frozen. My feet did not move. It was if I was glued to the floor. Her neck was purple from the rope that was around it, her tongue wagged out of her mouth like the tail of some mangy dog. Oh God! I cried. Oh God! I once again fell to the floor, my heart sinking down to my diaphragm, my breathing was labored and the evil little man (not a man) loomed over me, dripping red colored saliva from his horrid teeth. It wasn’t until I was on the ground that I realized that Laura’s body was naked, bloody letters and numbers covered her chest and legs. A horrible sun was engraved in her forehead and the half profile of the moon, frown and all, was slashed into her left hand. Etched across her stomach was one word…goodbye. Droplets of blood dripped from her toes, making a pool that gleamed in the sunlight. Goodbye was all I could think about at that moment. The little monster still stood over me…waiting…waiting as if he was looking for me to say something about his handy work.
Do you like it?
“Get away from me! Leave me alone…please!” I said, tears flowing down my cheeks.
DO YOU LIKE IT?! The thought rang in my head. He could speak to me. He could hear me thinking. You could play the game now…she won’t mind…she will just lay there…hey, maybe we can use an internal organ in place of the heart shaped wooden thing-a-ma-bob! My eyes rolled towards the back of my head. My face was flush and the monster’s face was pressed against mine, his breath that of a decaying body. He took hold of one of my hands and started to drag me across the floor. I was still and my mouth could not speak. My lips were dry like the desert ground, hard and cracked and begging for moisture.
I killed your parents as well…they are dead…
The thought raced in my mind. All of this over a stupid game. I began to understand the TV preacher better every second. I really didn’t know if this creature was the devil or not, but he had my hand; pressed it hard within his, I could feel the bones start to crackle and the pain shot through me like a hot bullet on a summer day. I could not mutter a sound, not even a whimper as he dragged me out of the room and by the stair well. I was dangling above a precipice now. The staircase was not there anymore, only blackness underneath my feet. He let go. I fell, screaming all the way down until I hit the carpet which was connected to the front room where mom and dad were peacefully watching TV. Upon further inspection I noticed that mom and dad were not breathing and their throats had been torn out as if someone took a bite out of a juicy apple. They both were sitting in their respective chairs, listening to the TV chatter on about some new fangled gizmo on one of those half hour info commercials. Only their ears could not hear and their eyes could not see. They were glassy. I could see inside but no one was looking at me. Like a vampire that cannot see his reflection. Upstairs I could hear the shuffle of hooves against the wooden floorboards and the slithering slide of a dead body that once hung in a closet. I once again hurried up the stairs and reached my sister’s bedroom. There was no one in there. No little man. No monster or demon or whatever it was. I hoped to never see it again. I did, however, discover my sister’s bloody bones underneath her bed. She had been eaten.
3. Dead Town and Mrs. Trundle
Two months came and went since that day. The chill of winter was now commonplace. I had buried mom and dad near the old oak tree that sat near the edge of our property. Laura’s bones were buried along side of them. A makeshift cross stood in place as a tombstone. The game that we had played all those months ago was still upstairs in my sister’s room…waiting…waiting for the next player. I nailed a sign that said KEEP OUT on the door to the bedroom. I intended to never go back in there. I, myself, waited, sitting in dad’s old lazy boy, I waited…waited…for it to return. Soon it did return. It returned to my sister’s bedroom one day in early December, the newly fallen snow was a blanket of white against the murky grayness that filled the sky. He wanted to play.
So that freakish little imp wants to play…huh? I only assumed that this thing came out of the board. A grotesque sort of creature that those TV preachers warned me against. The board rested on the floor of my sister’s bedroom, the letters faded a little. The numbers were peeling off of it; I would find little pieces of black lettering on the floor from time to time. I would play with the little demon for awhile and then put the game back in its rectangular box. This would go on for days at a time, the creature threatening death if I didn’t play with him. I soon discovered that Sawyer was starting to look a little bare at times. No children played in the streets, nobody sitting on their front porches rocking back and forth. Even in the dead of winter there would be life outside every little house that lay across the main drag that ran through town. But now there wasn’t. I found out that anytime the demon and I would play that horrible game, someone in Sawyer died. One day I took a walk along the main drag. The street was cold, the cracking of the road seemed to gape in places and I wondered if there were other creatures that had escaped through these cracks. In certain areas of town you could smell a stench. A foul stench that permeated the air, it was death in all his glory. He came out of nowhere when that rectangular box was first opened; our greedy little hands caressed the heart shaped wooden thing that would circle around a board that summoned some untold evil. This evil slipped by us and manifested itself within the game. I pulled out a handkerchief that I had in my back pocket. I shoved it up to my nose and mouth as quick as I could to fend off the odor. It didn’t work.
I tried to rummage through the deadness of the town…this town is definitely dead…my thoughts raced, my eyes boggled and my head hurt. It hurt enough that I took refuge within Miller’s One Stop Shop on Miner and Keefe Streets. I knew that Bill Miller had aspirin and I needed some fast. I took the aspirin off the shelf behind the counter where Bill now lay. He was contorted in some weird fashion, a dead smile upon his face and his eyes rained tears of blood…stale blood. I swallowed the aspirin hard as I gazed upon Miller’s face. I remember long ago when I would come into his store and get the latest Spider-Man comic or a pack of baseball cards; let’s see whose rookie card I could get this time…I always collected the Diamond Kings from Donruss. If he was out of Donruss, I always settled with Topps. Picking up the package, a gleam of sunbeam radiating on the lettering, I worked my way toward the back of the store. It was then that I heard a whisper…a murmur…and then a scream. One of my freshman teachers, a Mrs. Trundle sat there in the corner, eyes wide and she just stared back at me. Mrs. Trundle was a healthy woman. She was heavy set. She wore the classic horn rimmed glasses that everyone always made fun of. I wasn’t making fun of her today. It seemed as though we were the only survivors of this game. She looked up at me with terrified eyes.
“Jack…Jack Loren?” Her voice was gravelly as if she had swallowed a bunch of rocks.
“Mrs. Trundle. What happened here?” I asked
“It’s as if the whole world has gone topsy turvy, Jack.” Mrs. Trundle said.
“You’re gonna think this is weird, boy.”
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Trundle.” I would not be surprised at what she was going to say.
“I saw this…this…little man, he walked up to the counter and put his little grimy hands on it and tried to pull himself up, I never seen anything like it before.” Mrs. Trundle was shaking. An ugly looking, little man…now that I think about it…A HORRIBLE GROTESQUE CREATURE! I looked at her with pitiful eyes. She walked with me as we left the One Stop Shop and our feet hit pavement. We looked down the stretch of Old 45 and my eyes peered in the distance. At what I thought was the end of the road was the creature. Mrs. Trundle gasped. She saw it too. She fell to the ground with a thud, her thighs seemed to bounce and her belly shook. She was down for the count. I started to run the opposite direction of the creature. He ran after me. I looked back and saw his salivating mouth and his wide yellow eyes, peering at me. He stopped short and loomed over Mrs. Trundle’s body, claws digging into her stomach. I couldn’t watch. I wish I had never gotten that game on that hot August afternoon, when the air was thick with humidity and my sister still had her leg cast. All was ok in the world. All was ok in Sawyer. The street lamps still came on at dusk and there were the older folk, rocking in their rockers, yelling at the young kids to stay off their properties. What I would give to go back to that day, but I can’t. My reality was the monster, which was feeding off of my old high school teacher. She didn’t last very long in this. I continued to run…run past the A& P Grocery…run past the old Sawyer Cemetery. I ran right out of town. It let me run…it’s still waiting there for me, I know it. I later learned that Sawyer had become a ghost town; the creature took refuge in the old Cemetery where it feeds on whoever travels down the stretch of Old 45. I suppose it’s still there, smiling a horrible grin, using a finger bone to pick at its blood stained teeth.
MELINDA
He put his wrinkled hands over his eyes.
The monstrosity that was his daughter leered at him from the foot of his bed. He gasped a horrible gurgling sound as his eyes bulged out of his head in horror. A hand with sharp, razor like claws crawled onto the covers…and then the other one fell hard against his covered feet.
“Leave me alone! Please!” He shrieked in terror into the face of the evil that gloomed over him. The monster just grinned, showing the blood stained teeth. My God…this cannot be her… his thoughts raced to a time when things were simpler. A time when all was right in the world but this was not that time.
I am here for a sacrifice…daddy… don’t you want to play? He could hear the thoughts of this hideous thing. They were connected…somehow.
On August 21st 1954, Matthew Hamlin and his wife Sarah welcomed into the world, their daughter, Melinda. So much was right with the world then. The time went slow. The world was different than the world that we are used to today. No road rage, no internet, nothing but time…time to make things right…time for happiness, no matter how short lived it was going to be. Sarah noticed right away that something was amiss. Something about this creation was not right. Matthew knew it too. How are we going to face our friends? Matthew thought. In sheer horror they looked upon their baby.
This baby has no eyes…
She has no ears…
She has one hell of a grin though…and her nose…so long…
It was their baby none the less. Sarah was determined to love the child and to bond with it whatever it was. The baby, on the other hand, had a different agenda in mind. Two weeks after they brought her home, Sarah was killed in her sleep by it. The thing crawled into the bed in between Sarah and Matthew and bit into her mother’s neck and sucked the blood like a tick that went too long without feeding. Matthew threw the child up against the wall and the creature broke its neck and died. In fear, Matthew threw the carcass down into their root cellar and forgot about it. Or at least he tried. He buried Sarah out by the oak tree where they stood just two years before and took their vows. That day was a joyous one indeed.
Sarah was lovely in her white gown.
Now this day was not the day he wanted to contend with. Sarah’s body was so shriveled up that she looked like a raisin in the sun. Tears streamed down Matthew’s face as he shoveled dirt upon his wife’s body. It would be the last time he would see her. His thoughts went to the evil that was lying…decaying in the cool, filthy, musty air of his root cellar. That night as he tried to fall asleep, he could hear a sound, it was the sound of weeping. It got louder and louder until it filled his head. Melinda was alive. Each night was the same. The same weeping and the same restlessness. During the day the weeping would be replaced by laughter. Laughter that was ever so slight but just enough that it pierced the eardrum. On the night of September 3rd 1954, Melinda decided to come out of the floor. She was waiting for him. Only she wasn’t the strange looking little baby with the wide toothed grin. She was the purest form of evil that Matthew could ever imagine and she was waiting for him in his bedroom.
Daddy…daddy…the thing called out into the darkness with its thick, graveled voice. The mere thought of it caused Matthew to piss his pants. He couldn’t go to bed yet…not while that thing waited for him. While Matthew took a long walk down the road from his property, the thing crawled back underneath the floorboards. Soon the weeping began again. After walking for a while, Matthew started the journey back to the house. He noticed something near the oak tree that made his skin crawl. His eyes adjusted to the darkness to find that evil thing clawing and digging at the ground where he had buried Sarah. Mommy…mommy, it whispered into the cool night air. Melinda’s voice gurgled and growled as she dug her way into the grave. Upon finding Sarah’s body, the creature tore into it like a sick cat clawing at the scared little mouse before eating it and started to devour it. Matthew vomited at the sight of it…the gnashing of teeth…the cracking of bones…the ripping of skin. Quickly turning around to see the horror on Matthew’s face, Melinda crawled out of the grave, rotten teeth still chewing her mother’s flesh. She glared at her father as she started to hobble towards him. Matthew ran inside the house, locking the door. All the while he could hear her call out to him from the other side…daddy…daddy. He put his hands to his ears and tried to ignore the grinding voice of the monster. Matthew finally lurked away from the door and ran into his bedroom that he had shared with his wife Sarah. Melinda made her way inside, her claw like fingers scraping paint off of the walls. She knew where the bedroom was and she made her way there, hobbling.
Matthew’s eyes grew wide as he looked upon the monstrosity. He felt a sense of disgust and pity as he backed himself into the corner of the room. The thing that was supposedly his daughter, grinned at him, got on all four and started to crawl towards him, wet spots became increasingly apparent as she was drooling on the floor. Matthew screamed…and screamed…and screamed. The creature slinked away, frightened at the noise. Why would you scream daddy? Why would you cry at the sight of me? THAT MAKES ME ANGRY…DADDY!! It was angry…angry enough to cause some damage. Melinda rose up and struck at Matthew, tearing away the skin from his chest. Blood splattered across the bed; Matthew managed a final crawl up into the bed.
He was bleeding profusely from his chest now. A puddle of blood encircled him and he reached for Melinda as she loomed over him, tears flowing from his eyes. Matthew remembered the day that she came into the world. He didn’t want her then…he didn’t want her now. His eyes blurred as they tried to focus on what stood over him. He closed them tight. It wasn’t until later that he did open them up; a scream tried to leave his lips but failed. She was still in his bedroom, her mouth filled with his flesh. It managed to gurgle out a throaty, “daddy…I love you”…as it chomped and crushed into the meat with its stained teeth.
The monstrosity that was his daughter leered at him from the foot of his bed. He gasped a horrible gurgling sound as his eyes bulged out of his head in horror. A hand with sharp, razor like claws crawled onto the covers…and then the other one fell hard against his covered feet.
“Leave me alone! Please!” He shrieked in terror into the face of the evil that gloomed over him. The monster just grinned, showing the blood stained teeth. My God…this cannot be her… his thoughts raced to a time when things were simpler. A time when all was right in the world but this was not that time.
I am here for a sacrifice…daddy… don’t you want to play? He could hear the thoughts of this hideous thing. They were connected…somehow.
On August 21st 1954, Matthew Hamlin and his wife Sarah welcomed into the world, their daughter, Melinda. So much was right with the world then. The time went slow. The world was different than the world that we are used to today. No road rage, no internet, nothing but time…time to make things right…time for happiness, no matter how short lived it was going to be. Sarah noticed right away that something was amiss. Something about this creation was not right. Matthew knew it too. How are we going to face our friends? Matthew thought. In sheer horror they looked upon their baby.
This baby has no eyes…
She has no ears…
She has one hell of a grin though…and her nose…so long…
It was their baby none the less. Sarah was determined to love the child and to bond with it whatever it was. The baby, on the other hand, had a different agenda in mind. Two weeks after they brought her home, Sarah was killed in her sleep by it. The thing crawled into the bed in between Sarah and Matthew and bit into her mother’s neck and sucked the blood like a tick that went too long without feeding. Matthew threw the child up against the wall and the creature broke its neck and died. In fear, Matthew threw the carcass down into their root cellar and forgot about it. Or at least he tried. He buried Sarah out by the oak tree where they stood just two years before and took their vows. That day was a joyous one indeed.
Sarah was lovely in her white gown.
Now this day was not the day he wanted to contend with. Sarah’s body was so shriveled up that she looked like a raisin in the sun. Tears streamed down Matthew’s face as he shoveled dirt upon his wife’s body. It would be the last time he would see her. His thoughts went to the evil that was lying…decaying in the cool, filthy, musty air of his root cellar. That night as he tried to fall asleep, he could hear a sound, it was the sound of weeping. It got louder and louder until it filled his head. Melinda was alive. Each night was the same. The same weeping and the same restlessness. During the day the weeping would be replaced by laughter. Laughter that was ever so slight but just enough that it pierced the eardrum. On the night of September 3rd 1954, Melinda decided to come out of the floor. She was waiting for him. Only she wasn’t the strange looking little baby with the wide toothed grin. She was the purest form of evil that Matthew could ever imagine and she was waiting for him in his bedroom.
Daddy…daddy…the thing called out into the darkness with its thick, graveled voice. The mere thought of it caused Matthew to piss his pants. He couldn’t go to bed yet…not while that thing waited for him. While Matthew took a long walk down the road from his property, the thing crawled back underneath the floorboards. Soon the weeping began again. After walking for a while, Matthew started the journey back to the house. He noticed something near the oak tree that made his skin crawl. His eyes adjusted to the darkness to find that evil thing clawing and digging at the ground where he had buried Sarah. Mommy…mommy, it whispered into the cool night air. Melinda’s voice gurgled and growled as she dug her way into the grave. Upon finding Sarah’s body, the creature tore into it like a sick cat clawing at the scared little mouse before eating it and started to devour it. Matthew vomited at the sight of it…the gnashing of teeth…the cracking of bones…the ripping of skin. Quickly turning around to see the horror on Matthew’s face, Melinda crawled out of the grave, rotten teeth still chewing her mother’s flesh. She glared at her father as she started to hobble towards him. Matthew ran inside the house, locking the door. All the while he could hear her call out to him from the other side…daddy…daddy. He put his hands to his ears and tried to ignore the grinding voice of the monster. Matthew finally lurked away from the door and ran into his bedroom that he had shared with his wife Sarah. Melinda made her way inside, her claw like fingers scraping paint off of the walls. She knew where the bedroom was and she made her way there, hobbling.
Matthew’s eyes grew wide as he looked upon the monstrosity. He felt a sense of disgust and pity as he backed himself into the corner of the room. The thing that was supposedly his daughter, grinned at him, got on all four and started to crawl towards him, wet spots became increasingly apparent as she was drooling on the floor. Matthew screamed…and screamed…and screamed. The creature slinked away, frightened at the noise. Why would you scream daddy? Why would you cry at the sight of me? THAT MAKES ME ANGRY…DADDY!! It was angry…angry enough to cause some damage. Melinda rose up and struck at Matthew, tearing away the skin from his chest. Blood splattered across the bed; Matthew managed a final crawl up into the bed.
He was bleeding profusely from his chest now. A puddle of blood encircled him and he reached for Melinda as she loomed over him, tears flowing from his eyes. Matthew remembered the day that she came into the world. He didn’t want her then…he didn’t want her now. His eyes blurred as they tried to focus on what stood over him. He closed them tight. It wasn’t until later that he did open them up; a scream tried to leave his lips but failed. She was still in his bedroom, her mouth filled with his flesh. It managed to gurgle out a throaty, “daddy…I love you”…as it chomped and crushed into the meat with its stained teeth.
THERE WAS A CURFEW THAT SUMMER
The days that followed June 10th, 1973 would always stick in my mind, not just because they were humid days. I remember them as if they were yesterday. During those days I was a kid of thirteen just minding my own business, walking through the yard of old man Morton on my way to the library where mom would be working. The lawns were freshly mowed and the smell made me as intoxicated as a drunk staggering out of a bar on a hot Saturday night. Soon, though, the days would come to an end with me vomiting from being so drunk…drunk on what happened under that hot Midwestern sun. The police were gathered around the old dilapidated barn that sat on old man Morton’s property and there she was on the back side of the barn, sitting straight up against it, a dark pool of blood settled around her like an all consuming darkness that waited for the moon to shine. She had cuts on her wrists, ankles and her neck, which was slit from ear to ear. I can’t believe that I walked right beside that barn…she was there…bleeding. The police questioned Morton. The interrogation took only a few minutes because they could tell with Morton that dementia was starting to set in. He hadn’t really been much since his accident twenty years earlier, at least that’s what he said it was. I decided to let the police do their job and walked along the path to the library which was on the corner of Frederick and Jones streets. I met mom outside the door.
“Did you hear about what’s going on at the Morton place?” I was overexcited, I’m sure she could tell.
“Yeah,” Mom said. “I don’t want you ever going through his yard again. Do you understand me?”
“Sure.” I said.
“Promise me.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“Good.”
The walk home with mom was a silent one indeed. The path to our house went by the Morton place and her pace quickened. I, being sort of a hefty kid, needed to up the ante just to keep up with her.
Geraldine Rivers was her name. She was the local gossip and according to some of the townsfolk, sad to say, her passing was not going to hold much fanfare. Her husband committed suicide some years back and there where those that said that her constant nagging led him to it. I was instructed to stay in most of the day on June 12th, a few days after they had found Geraldine’s body. Over the course of two days there were the usual speculations.
Wonder who could have done this horrible thing?…
Wonder if it could be a local killer?…
She got what she deserved…
No one “gets what they deserve” I deserved a piece of apple pie after supper the day of the murder, but I didn’t get it because of the trouble I got into by going through old man Morton’s yard. Now that I think about it, I deserved a far worse punishment than that. There was one speculation that I never heard from anyone…who is next…
On the 12th there was rain, on the 13th however, the sun rose in the sky and sat there like a gaseous orange fireball. I swear you could see eyes and a mouth imposed upon the sun’s surface, getting ready to release the most sinister of grins. It was hot. You know what was even hotter, Miss Lou Anna Jenkins. She would be the answer to the question, who is next? I had the biggest crush on her even though I was only thirteen at the time. She was a flaming red head, who was also flaming for big John Carl, who owned the only liquor store within a forty mile radius. There was many a night that she would be waiting for him to close up shop. They would get into his car, turn up the radio and blaze off into the night like a cat with its tail on fire. So much a young kid should not know.
When big John closed up shop on the 13th, she was not there to greet him at his car. Instead she was in his car, in the backseat to be more precise, hands tied behind her back, with her head, lying face up, on the floorboard. The threads of skin attached to her neck were in a jagged fashion as if someone or something had just ripped her head off. The 14th would not be a good day for John Carl.
“I didn’t do it man!” John Carl barricaded himself inside of his house while the police surrounded the place. There was a policeman around every corner of his house, the one he rented on Caddell Street. The heat must have gotten to John Carl that day. Soon there were bullets blazing and two officers were dead. He still maintained his innocence when he walked out of the house but it didn’t matter, he was dead as soon as he stepped out onto the lawn. Those officers that were left started firing their guns as soon as he opened his front door. They didn’t wait to see if he had his hands raised. They didn’t wait for him to throw away his gun. They let go a barrage of hot lead that pierced his body in slow motion. There were ten gunshot wounds in all.
Within the course of three days, two more killings took place. Linda Greggs, who worked with my mom at the library, was killed on her way home. The body was found without the head as well and the jewelry had been removed, she wore a lot of it. The more peculiar of the two killings had to be the murder of Janice Emberton. Janice, bless her heart, was an invalid who lived on Palmer and Brice. She lived in the oldest house in town, a large, luxurious, Victorian style home. She lived there alone with her three cats, Mr. Wiggle, Ju Ju and Moxy. What was strange about her death was the fact that her body was intact when the police arrived. It looked as though she had been strangled and the killer left a calling card. Officer Barton noticed blood soaking through her shirt. He gently pulled it up to discover a bloody message carved into her stomach, it read:
JUST FOR FUN…
A look of terror flooded Officer Barton’s face.
“Mom?” I held her hand as she sobbed over Linda’s death. The past few days sent her into a tornado of emotions and rightfully so. She stayed in bed the entire day of the 20th. I had to fend for myself if I was going to get anything to eat. Dad left us when I was 5 and I always wondered where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. I found out later that dad left us for some cheap floozy he met while on one of his weekly excursions out of state. He drove a semi for Hartford Meats, delivering to restaurants and grocery chains that sprawled across the country. He went everywhere, every state, every town. There might have been more than one floozy but neither I nor mom knew if that was true or not.
There was a storm on the 21st. The town meeting was going to take place at six o’clock that evening and the topic was of course going to be the killings. Officer Barton was not looking forward to be held on a spic and grilled by the ensuing questions that he could not answer.
“First of all let me assure you that we are doing all we can!” Officer Barton yelled out to an overzealous crowd. Officer Barton was tall and thin; you could have looked at him at that meeting and have mistaken him for a scarecrow that presided over a cornfield made of people. Officer Barton called for everyone to take their seats and to settle down. The town hall was standing room only and outside, the streets were empty.
“You honestly want us to believe that the local police here have everything under control.” One man said. “I don’t really see that.” You could hear muffles of agreement.
“Barton! You can’t give us false hope, now!” Another person yelled above the crowd.
The townsfolk were in the makings of becoming a lynch mob. In all of this, one man stood up and spoke. His words seemed to quiet everyone down. It was Jeremiah Greggs, Linda’s husband.
“I can’t speak for everyone here, but I need to know who did this, especially to my wife. The murders were senseless and my two girls have nightmares because of it.” Jeremiah sat down and sobbed. I went right up beside him and put my arm around his shoulders. You couldn’t tell the rain from the tears that fell down Mr. Greggs face. It was during this meeting that Officer Barton called for a town curfew that would last indefinitely. One thought was racing in my mind…whatever happened to Janice Emberton’s cats?
A few weeks went by. The killings seemed to stop but still there was the curfew. Every shop in town had a sign near closing time that read:
Our Shop is
Imposing the
9’oclock Curfew
Curfew, I hated it. There was still time enough to go outside, what with the daylight lasting so long. It stayed though, even when weeks turned into months. It was close to Halloween when I found out what happened to Janice Emberton’s cats. It seems as though they had taken refuge in the woods that covered about four acres that surrounded part of the town. It was getting too close to curfew on the day that I had discovered them. There they were, walking across Gadson Creek road, together. I followed them into the woods on the other side of the road, trying not to scare them away. Their trail led me through the thick autumn woods, the skinny, decaying branches covered the clearing like long slender fingers, grasping for me. Soon my path came to an end when I reached a certain area that was overgrown and wild. The cats were climbing on a mound of some kind of trash or dirt or something. But it wasn’t trash at all. It wasn’t dirt. There were dead bodies there, lots of them. They were piled in some kind of hideous form. From the top to the bottom was six feet. I covered my nose and mouth with the crease of my arm; you know where the forearm and upper arm meet. That didn’t do any good. These bodies had been here for a good while. Chunks of flesh had been ripped off. The cats were having a field day. When I finally came out of the woods and reached Gadson Creek road, it was then that I noticed something that I should have noticed before. Small blood stained paw prints.
There was evil in the air that day. You could blame it on the Halloween spirit or just the simple fact that the killer was still out there. My discovery of those bodies triggered a mass hysteria in the town. Officer Barton lowered the curfew to seven o’clock. A bulldozer was sent to those woods on all hallows eve. A hole was dug and the bodies were buried in a mass grave. The cats were gone now.
When I went to bed on October 30th, I sat by the window and breathed in the cool, crisp autumn air. I took it in so slowly and opened my eyes. I quickly closed them when my gaze lifted past the old oak tree in our yard to the eyes of a man in the distance. He was cloaked in a hooded robe. The bright yellow moon illuminated his face and heightened his sinister grin. When I opened my eyes again, he was gone.
“There was a man outside my bedroom window last night.” I said.
“Really, you sure? Mom said unbelieving. “It wasn’t a figment of your imagination was it? Of course, after what has been going on in this town, I wouldn’t doubt what you saw.” Mom was shaking now.
“I mean you did find those bodies.” She sat down on a kitchen chair. “All those bodies.” Mom was staring out into space. I touched her shoulder.
“Mom?” I said.
“What.”
“Are you ok?”
“I’m trying to be.” She slowly got up from her chair and headed down the hall to her bedroom. I didn’t hear anything else, except the door close behind her. Halloween was the time for ghosts and goblins and the time for children to act like them. I wondered if the cloaked man would show himself tonight. Seems like this night would be the right one. He could roam around freely and be inconspicuous, hiding in the shadows, and no one would be the wiser. Was the cloaked man the killer? Would he strike tonight? The curfew was going to make things tough. Officer Barton did what he had promised; he pushed it back to six. Trick or treating would take place at four o’clock. Four o’clock, are you kidding? We would barely be back home from school in time. I was at the age where I wanted to do more tricking than treating. I wanted this day to feel normal. I met with some of my friends when school let out. We all got on our bikes and started to ride. Our bikes ended up in the woods where I found the bodies earlier. An eerie feeling came over me as we passed the mock burial site. I was ready for those bodies to burst out of the ground and attack us as we rode past. It didn’t happen. We really didn’t want to trick anybody, we just wanted to get away for awhile and see if we could stay out past the curfew. Our ride led us out of the woods and into a clearing where a shack stood. There were no trees and nobody around. We were alone.
“You think anyone lives there?” Jimmy Monford said, his eyes pulsating and doing double takes as he looked around the clearing. “I would hate to think that someone was watching us here.” His voice started to quiver.
“You scared, Jimmy?” Daniel Trolley was the lead bike that led us out to this shack. He was a good friend of mine just like Jimmy and he tried to sound tough. He leaped off his bike and ran towards the door of the shack.
“You coming, Nathan?” Daniel taunted me.
“No.” I gasped.
“You and Jimmy are just alike.” Daniel said. “Besides, its Halloween, you can’t go through this day without being scared at least once.” He sounded determined now. The sky was growing dark and surely six o’clock had come and gone. We had done it. We stayed past the curfew and lived to tell about it. At least I lived to tell about it. Daniel’s hand started to twist the rusted doorknob that was barely hanging on the ramshackle door.
“Last chance, losers.” He said with a laugh and a smug look on his face. He ventured inside and the door slammed shut behind him. There was something or someone in there after all. Jimmy and I looked at each other and started to shout out his name. Behind the door you could hear the most god awful screams ever to pierce a dark night such as this. We darted off on our bikes as fast as we could. Our young minds would never forget this night as long as we lived.
A few days later we were at the funeral of Daniel Trolley. Officer Barton had found the shack just like Jimmy and I had told him. He took to his grave the things he saw in that shack…things that should never be said in public…things that should never be seen by human eyes. He didn’t even go to the funeral. Still the thought of the cloaked man haunted me for awhile after. Soon the curfew became ridiculous. Five o’clock. For awhile we never saw Officer Barton. The town soon learned of his demise as he was found in the graveyard hanging from the oldest tree in town. Whatever he saw must’ve spooked him really bad. To this day I never knew who or what was hidden in that shack. I never even saw the cloaked man anymore after that. We breathed a sigh of relief when the curfew was finally lifted. Before I called it quits on those olden days so long ago, I finally saw one of Janice Emberton’s cats on one December morning, and it was unusually warm that day. I saw only one…I think it was Moxy…walking along Gadson Creek road, away from the woods. Moxy’s paws prints were dirty. I saw something sticking out of its mouth. I never really got a good look…a piece of bone, perhaps?
“Did you hear about what’s going on at the Morton place?” I was overexcited, I’m sure she could tell.
“Yeah,” Mom said. “I don’t want you ever going through his yard again. Do you understand me?”
“Sure.” I said.
“Promise me.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“Good.”
The walk home with mom was a silent one indeed. The path to our house went by the Morton place and her pace quickened. I, being sort of a hefty kid, needed to up the ante just to keep up with her.
Geraldine Rivers was her name. She was the local gossip and according to some of the townsfolk, sad to say, her passing was not going to hold much fanfare. Her husband committed suicide some years back and there where those that said that her constant nagging led him to it. I was instructed to stay in most of the day on June 12th, a few days after they had found Geraldine’s body. Over the course of two days there were the usual speculations.
Wonder who could have done this horrible thing?…
Wonder if it could be a local killer?…
She got what she deserved…
No one “gets what they deserve” I deserved a piece of apple pie after supper the day of the murder, but I didn’t get it because of the trouble I got into by going through old man Morton’s yard. Now that I think about it, I deserved a far worse punishment than that. There was one speculation that I never heard from anyone…who is next…
On the 12th there was rain, on the 13th however, the sun rose in the sky and sat there like a gaseous orange fireball. I swear you could see eyes and a mouth imposed upon the sun’s surface, getting ready to release the most sinister of grins. It was hot. You know what was even hotter, Miss Lou Anna Jenkins. She would be the answer to the question, who is next? I had the biggest crush on her even though I was only thirteen at the time. She was a flaming red head, who was also flaming for big John Carl, who owned the only liquor store within a forty mile radius. There was many a night that she would be waiting for him to close up shop. They would get into his car, turn up the radio and blaze off into the night like a cat with its tail on fire. So much a young kid should not know.
When big John closed up shop on the 13th, she was not there to greet him at his car. Instead she was in his car, in the backseat to be more precise, hands tied behind her back, with her head, lying face up, on the floorboard. The threads of skin attached to her neck were in a jagged fashion as if someone or something had just ripped her head off. The 14th would not be a good day for John Carl.
“I didn’t do it man!” John Carl barricaded himself inside of his house while the police surrounded the place. There was a policeman around every corner of his house, the one he rented on Caddell Street. The heat must have gotten to John Carl that day. Soon there were bullets blazing and two officers were dead. He still maintained his innocence when he walked out of the house but it didn’t matter, he was dead as soon as he stepped out onto the lawn. Those officers that were left started firing their guns as soon as he opened his front door. They didn’t wait to see if he had his hands raised. They didn’t wait for him to throw away his gun. They let go a barrage of hot lead that pierced his body in slow motion. There were ten gunshot wounds in all.
Within the course of three days, two more killings took place. Linda Greggs, who worked with my mom at the library, was killed on her way home. The body was found without the head as well and the jewelry had been removed, she wore a lot of it. The more peculiar of the two killings had to be the murder of Janice Emberton. Janice, bless her heart, was an invalid who lived on Palmer and Brice. She lived in the oldest house in town, a large, luxurious, Victorian style home. She lived there alone with her three cats, Mr. Wiggle, Ju Ju and Moxy. What was strange about her death was the fact that her body was intact when the police arrived. It looked as though she had been strangled and the killer left a calling card. Officer Barton noticed blood soaking through her shirt. He gently pulled it up to discover a bloody message carved into her stomach, it read:
JUST FOR FUN…
A look of terror flooded Officer Barton’s face.
“Mom?” I held her hand as she sobbed over Linda’s death. The past few days sent her into a tornado of emotions and rightfully so. She stayed in bed the entire day of the 20th. I had to fend for myself if I was going to get anything to eat. Dad left us when I was 5 and I always wondered where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. I found out later that dad left us for some cheap floozy he met while on one of his weekly excursions out of state. He drove a semi for Hartford Meats, delivering to restaurants and grocery chains that sprawled across the country. He went everywhere, every state, every town. There might have been more than one floozy but neither I nor mom knew if that was true or not.
There was a storm on the 21st. The town meeting was going to take place at six o’clock that evening and the topic was of course going to be the killings. Officer Barton was not looking forward to be held on a spic and grilled by the ensuing questions that he could not answer.
“First of all let me assure you that we are doing all we can!” Officer Barton yelled out to an overzealous crowd. Officer Barton was tall and thin; you could have looked at him at that meeting and have mistaken him for a scarecrow that presided over a cornfield made of people. Officer Barton called for everyone to take their seats and to settle down. The town hall was standing room only and outside, the streets were empty.
“You honestly want us to believe that the local police here have everything under control.” One man said. “I don’t really see that.” You could hear muffles of agreement.
“Barton! You can’t give us false hope, now!” Another person yelled above the crowd.
The townsfolk were in the makings of becoming a lynch mob. In all of this, one man stood up and spoke. His words seemed to quiet everyone down. It was Jeremiah Greggs, Linda’s husband.
“I can’t speak for everyone here, but I need to know who did this, especially to my wife. The murders were senseless and my two girls have nightmares because of it.” Jeremiah sat down and sobbed. I went right up beside him and put my arm around his shoulders. You couldn’t tell the rain from the tears that fell down Mr. Greggs face. It was during this meeting that Officer Barton called for a town curfew that would last indefinitely. One thought was racing in my mind…whatever happened to Janice Emberton’s cats?
A few weeks went by. The killings seemed to stop but still there was the curfew. Every shop in town had a sign near closing time that read:
Our Shop is
Imposing the
9’oclock Curfew
Curfew, I hated it. There was still time enough to go outside, what with the daylight lasting so long. It stayed though, even when weeks turned into months. It was close to Halloween when I found out what happened to Janice Emberton’s cats. It seems as though they had taken refuge in the woods that covered about four acres that surrounded part of the town. It was getting too close to curfew on the day that I had discovered them. There they were, walking across Gadson Creek road, together. I followed them into the woods on the other side of the road, trying not to scare them away. Their trail led me through the thick autumn woods, the skinny, decaying branches covered the clearing like long slender fingers, grasping for me. Soon my path came to an end when I reached a certain area that was overgrown and wild. The cats were climbing on a mound of some kind of trash or dirt or something. But it wasn’t trash at all. It wasn’t dirt. There were dead bodies there, lots of them. They were piled in some kind of hideous form. From the top to the bottom was six feet. I covered my nose and mouth with the crease of my arm; you know where the forearm and upper arm meet. That didn’t do any good. These bodies had been here for a good while. Chunks of flesh had been ripped off. The cats were having a field day. When I finally came out of the woods and reached Gadson Creek road, it was then that I noticed something that I should have noticed before. Small blood stained paw prints.
There was evil in the air that day. You could blame it on the Halloween spirit or just the simple fact that the killer was still out there. My discovery of those bodies triggered a mass hysteria in the town. Officer Barton lowered the curfew to seven o’clock. A bulldozer was sent to those woods on all hallows eve. A hole was dug and the bodies were buried in a mass grave. The cats were gone now.
When I went to bed on October 30th, I sat by the window and breathed in the cool, crisp autumn air. I took it in so slowly and opened my eyes. I quickly closed them when my gaze lifted past the old oak tree in our yard to the eyes of a man in the distance. He was cloaked in a hooded robe. The bright yellow moon illuminated his face and heightened his sinister grin. When I opened my eyes again, he was gone.
“There was a man outside my bedroom window last night.” I said.
“Really, you sure? Mom said unbelieving. “It wasn’t a figment of your imagination was it? Of course, after what has been going on in this town, I wouldn’t doubt what you saw.” Mom was shaking now.
“I mean you did find those bodies.” She sat down on a kitchen chair. “All those bodies.” Mom was staring out into space. I touched her shoulder.
“Mom?” I said.
“What.”
“Are you ok?”
“I’m trying to be.” She slowly got up from her chair and headed down the hall to her bedroom. I didn’t hear anything else, except the door close behind her. Halloween was the time for ghosts and goblins and the time for children to act like them. I wondered if the cloaked man would show himself tonight. Seems like this night would be the right one. He could roam around freely and be inconspicuous, hiding in the shadows, and no one would be the wiser. Was the cloaked man the killer? Would he strike tonight? The curfew was going to make things tough. Officer Barton did what he had promised; he pushed it back to six. Trick or treating would take place at four o’clock. Four o’clock, are you kidding? We would barely be back home from school in time. I was at the age where I wanted to do more tricking than treating. I wanted this day to feel normal. I met with some of my friends when school let out. We all got on our bikes and started to ride. Our bikes ended up in the woods where I found the bodies earlier. An eerie feeling came over me as we passed the mock burial site. I was ready for those bodies to burst out of the ground and attack us as we rode past. It didn’t happen. We really didn’t want to trick anybody, we just wanted to get away for awhile and see if we could stay out past the curfew. Our ride led us out of the woods and into a clearing where a shack stood. There were no trees and nobody around. We were alone.
“You think anyone lives there?” Jimmy Monford said, his eyes pulsating and doing double takes as he looked around the clearing. “I would hate to think that someone was watching us here.” His voice started to quiver.
“You scared, Jimmy?” Daniel Trolley was the lead bike that led us out to this shack. He was a good friend of mine just like Jimmy and he tried to sound tough. He leaped off his bike and ran towards the door of the shack.
“You coming, Nathan?” Daniel taunted me.
“No.” I gasped.
“You and Jimmy are just alike.” Daniel said. “Besides, its Halloween, you can’t go through this day without being scared at least once.” He sounded determined now. The sky was growing dark and surely six o’clock had come and gone. We had done it. We stayed past the curfew and lived to tell about it. At least I lived to tell about it. Daniel’s hand started to twist the rusted doorknob that was barely hanging on the ramshackle door.
“Last chance, losers.” He said with a laugh and a smug look on his face. He ventured inside and the door slammed shut behind him. There was something or someone in there after all. Jimmy and I looked at each other and started to shout out his name. Behind the door you could hear the most god awful screams ever to pierce a dark night such as this. We darted off on our bikes as fast as we could. Our young minds would never forget this night as long as we lived.
A few days later we were at the funeral of Daniel Trolley. Officer Barton had found the shack just like Jimmy and I had told him. He took to his grave the things he saw in that shack…things that should never be said in public…things that should never be seen by human eyes. He didn’t even go to the funeral. Still the thought of the cloaked man haunted me for awhile after. Soon the curfew became ridiculous. Five o’clock. For awhile we never saw Officer Barton. The town soon learned of his demise as he was found in the graveyard hanging from the oldest tree in town. Whatever he saw must’ve spooked him really bad. To this day I never knew who or what was hidden in that shack. I never even saw the cloaked man anymore after that. We breathed a sigh of relief when the curfew was finally lifted. Before I called it quits on those olden days so long ago, I finally saw one of Janice Emberton’s cats on one December morning, and it was unusually warm that day. I saw only one…I think it was Moxy…walking along Gadson Creek road, away from the woods. Moxy’s paws prints were dirty. I saw something sticking out of its mouth. I never really got a good look…a piece of bone, perhaps?
IT’S A LOT WORSE THAN BEDWETTING
Guy knew that it was a nervous tick.
He couldn’t help it though; his anxieties increased one hundred fold when he had to do things that were out of his ‘comfort zone’ as it was. No medications seemed to do the trick. His mother always yelled at him and belittled him for it. In Guy’s mind it was far worse than bedwetting, far worse than Turrets Syndrome and much worse than cutting yourself.
“Stop doing that!” Leslie shouted from the living room couch. Her favorite show was on and she was focused on it. Guy’s finger nail biting was getting the best of her and she had to show some frustration. “What happens if your fingers start to bleed?” She continued.
“Yeah right.” Guy threw it back to her. His nails were pretty short. They would grow for a while but then the urge got him strong enough that the feeding frenzy would continue. Leslie headed for the door.
“I’m going to be gone for awhile, Guy.” She barked. “You’re gonna have to find something for yourself to eat. There is some chicken pot pies, you know, the ones you like that you get from a freezer. Oh…there is…um…hotdogs—
“Yeah.” Guy cut her off. “I got it!”
She bounced out of the house and slammed the door. Guy and Leslie had their share of ups and downs but after the loss of their first born to crib death a few years ago, the separation started to take place in their marriage. Guy stared at the fingernail clippings on the kitchen table. He gathered them up and threw them in the waste basket. She is right though, I need to stop. He thought about it really hard as he continued on his slow course to cuticle disaster. Getting up from the kitchen table, Guy opened the refrigerator freezer and took out one of those chicken pot pies. He glared at the label in disgust, it read: MR. JOHNSON’S CHICKEN POT PIE…WITH REAL VEGETABLES. Why in the world a food package would have to say the words ‘Real Vegetables’ was beyond him but it was true, he did like them.
A few days later Guy managed to break his back while working on his roof. He fell fifteen feet to the ground, hitting it on some of the scrap roofing that he had thrown down. Later he discovered that the scrap was hiding a large rock underneath. He howled in pain as his spine broke forth from the skin. He lay there, not moving, a pool of maroon caressed the ground underneath him. Soon Guy and Leslie were on their way to the hospital after a desperate call to 911. Guy’s anxiety intensified as the ambulance roared through the streets, jostling him around in the back of it. He was stabilized but the pain was unbearable. They plunged the gurney into the swinging doors of the ER and attended to him, Leslie by his side.
They let him go a week later. Leslie gave in to his every whim while he rehabilitated. The nail biting got worse. One day his fingers did start to bleed.
“I told you to stop it, they’re bleeding aren’t they?” Leslie scolded Guy like a little child.
“Can you get me some bandages, babe?” Guy didn’t pay any attention to the scolding; he laid there in the bed, wiping the blood off onto his pajama bottoms. A few days later he had the bandages off and his fingers were in his mouth again. Soon the fingernails were gone down to the cuticles. Guy was in some pain but of course it was easy to deal with since he was already taking Vicodin for the pain from his back. Leslie noticed blood on the bed sheets that he had thrown into the clothes basket right by his bed.
“What’s this?” Leslie looked stunned as she pulled out a bloody sheet from the dirty clothes hamper. Guy showed her his hand. She gasped and ran to the bathroom to get some more bandages and antiseptic. The skin around Guy’s fingers was gone. The muscle was exposed and there were hints of white poking through the red matter. Guy had eaten his way through the skin. Upon further inspection, Leslie noticed flesh colored pieces of skin on the floor next to his bed. He actually chewed off the skin and spit it out on the floor! Leslie was starting to get sick. By this time Guy had been taking three Vicodin a day. He was pretty much numb to the excruciating pain he would be suffering if it hadn’t been for the pills. Leslie cleaned up the excess blood, bandaged his hand up and walked out of their bedroom in shock. For the next few days, Guy laid in bed, staring out into space and didn’t even try to get out of bed like the doctor told him to. It was hard to get up though, without the pills he felt like a ton of bricks came crashing down on him. There was nothing to do but to chew on his hand again. The bandages were soaked through and he didn’t bother to put anymore on. His wife gave him all the necessary things to use but he didn’t use them. Before he commenced to chewing, he took four Vicodin. He laid there bleeding, his hand lying on his chest, bony fingers exposed. Guy had finally chewed his way to the bone. His fingers were red laden, some bits and pieces of muscle tissue were still attached. Soon that was gone too. He started to eat the palm of his hand.
Leslie started up the stairs to their bedroom. She walked slowly towards the door and opened it just a crack. Guy was sitting up in bed, his mouth red from eating his hand. A bottle of Vicodin was on the floor beside him…empty. Leslie fell to the ground in fright.
“Honey?” Guy seemed surprised. No answer. Pretty soon Guy had chewed down to his wrist. He was bleeding profusely now…he smiled a grin only someone who was stoned out of their mind would make. He died right there, bleeding.
Leslie awoke and staggered to the bed. Guy was there. He was dead. His wrist hung over the bed, dripping blood. She looked down and screamed. Her clothes were covered in his blood. She had been lying there while his wrist drained on her. She continued to scream as she looked upon Guy in terror. He was staring back at her with his…dead…eyes and he was smiling, a dead…bloody…smile.
He couldn’t help it though; his anxieties increased one hundred fold when he had to do things that were out of his ‘comfort zone’ as it was. No medications seemed to do the trick. His mother always yelled at him and belittled him for it. In Guy’s mind it was far worse than bedwetting, far worse than Turrets Syndrome and much worse than cutting yourself.
“Stop doing that!” Leslie shouted from the living room couch. Her favorite show was on and she was focused on it. Guy’s finger nail biting was getting the best of her and she had to show some frustration. “What happens if your fingers start to bleed?” She continued.
“Yeah right.” Guy threw it back to her. His nails were pretty short. They would grow for a while but then the urge got him strong enough that the feeding frenzy would continue. Leslie headed for the door.
“I’m going to be gone for awhile, Guy.” She barked. “You’re gonna have to find something for yourself to eat. There is some chicken pot pies, you know, the ones you like that you get from a freezer. Oh…there is…um…hotdogs—
“Yeah.” Guy cut her off. “I got it!”
She bounced out of the house and slammed the door. Guy and Leslie had their share of ups and downs but after the loss of their first born to crib death a few years ago, the separation started to take place in their marriage. Guy stared at the fingernail clippings on the kitchen table. He gathered them up and threw them in the waste basket. She is right though, I need to stop. He thought about it really hard as he continued on his slow course to cuticle disaster. Getting up from the kitchen table, Guy opened the refrigerator freezer and took out one of those chicken pot pies. He glared at the label in disgust, it read: MR. JOHNSON’S CHICKEN POT PIE…WITH REAL VEGETABLES. Why in the world a food package would have to say the words ‘Real Vegetables’ was beyond him but it was true, he did like them.
A few days later Guy managed to break his back while working on his roof. He fell fifteen feet to the ground, hitting it on some of the scrap roofing that he had thrown down. Later he discovered that the scrap was hiding a large rock underneath. He howled in pain as his spine broke forth from the skin. He lay there, not moving, a pool of maroon caressed the ground underneath him. Soon Guy and Leslie were on their way to the hospital after a desperate call to 911. Guy’s anxiety intensified as the ambulance roared through the streets, jostling him around in the back of it. He was stabilized but the pain was unbearable. They plunged the gurney into the swinging doors of the ER and attended to him, Leslie by his side.
They let him go a week later. Leslie gave in to his every whim while he rehabilitated. The nail biting got worse. One day his fingers did start to bleed.
“I told you to stop it, they’re bleeding aren’t they?” Leslie scolded Guy like a little child.
“Can you get me some bandages, babe?” Guy didn’t pay any attention to the scolding; he laid there in the bed, wiping the blood off onto his pajama bottoms. A few days later he had the bandages off and his fingers were in his mouth again. Soon the fingernails were gone down to the cuticles. Guy was in some pain but of course it was easy to deal with since he was already taking Vicodin for the pain from his back. Leslie noticed blood on the bed sheets that he had thrown into the clothes basket right by his bed.
“What’s this?” Leslie looked stunned as she pulled out a bloody sheet from the dirty clothes hamper. Guy showed her his hand. She gasped and ran to the bathroom to get some more bandages and antiseptic. The skin around Guy’s fingers was gone. The muscle was exposed and there were hints of white poking through the red matter. Guy had eaten his way through the skin. Upon further inspection, Leslie noticed flesh colored pieces of skin on the floor next to his bed. He actually chewed off the skin and spit it out on the floor! Leslie was starting to get sick. By this time Guy had been taking three Vicodin a day. He was pretty much numb to the excruciating pain he would be suffering if it hadn’t been for the pills. Leslie cleaned up the excess blood, bandaged his hand up and walked out of their bedroom in shock. For the next few days, Guy laid in bed, staring out into space and didn’t even try to get out of bed like the doctor told him to. It was hard to get up though, without the pills he felt like a ton of bricks came crashing down on him. There was nothing to do but to chew on his hand again. The bandages were soaked through and he didn’t bother to put anymore on. His wife gave him all the necessary things to use but he didn’t use them. Before he commenced to chewing, he took four Vicodin. He laid there bleeding, his hand lying on his chest, bony fingers exposed. Guy had finally chewed his way to the bone. His fingers were red laden, some bits and pieces of muscle tissue were still attached. Soon that was gone too. He started to eat the palm of his hand.
Leslie started up the stairs to their bedroom. She walked slowly towards the door and opened it just a crack. Guy was sitting up in bed, his mouth red from eating his hand. A bottle of Vicodin was on the floor beside him…empty. Leslie fell to the ground in fright.
“Honey?” Guy seemed surprised. No answer. Pretty soon Guy had chewed down to his wrist. He was bleeding profusely now…he smiled a grin only someone who was stoned out of their mind would make. He died right there, bleeding.
Leslie awoke and staggered to the bed. Guy was there. He was dead. His wrist hung over the bed, dripping blood. She looked down and screamed. Her clothes were covered in his blood. She had been lying there while his wrist drained on her. She continued to scream as she looked upon Guy in terror. He was staring back at her with his…dead…eyes and he was smiling, a dead…bloody…smile.
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