Witches Shadow

[Posted by Ted H]

Happy Halloween. Now, enjoy the triumphant return of James Blake and John Praque! This time next week I'll embark on my quest for 50,000 as I begin the 2nd Blake novel. Enjoy this short that if anything, shows that Blake is no longer just an average guy trying to make sense of the supernatural.

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[Witches Shadow]

"I am so mad at you now," Blake said as the car drove passed the dark and empty gas station. "Christ, my bad," John complained from the driver side "I'll never hear the end of this, will I?" Blake shook his head as he looked to his pack of cigarettes, only three remained inside to last him through the night. He'd smoke one before bed, and had a hard craving to smoke one right now, meaning he had only one left for some unknown point in the night, and he felt it was going to be a long night.
            "Next time you think you know of an 24-hour gas station on Bear..." Blake began as he lit up his cigarette "...Make sure you know which one; Bear Road? Or Bear Street? Because the difference is paramount!"
            "I stand by my choice," John defended himself "I wasn't driving out of the way just so you could pick up a pack. Next time remember to pick your cancer sticks up during normal business hours." Blake rolled his eyes as he returned his lighter to his trench coat and took a drag. They were on a case. More specifically, Blake was on a case. John was around because he owned a car and a former cop can find other ways to be useful.
            "Which house is it?" John asked as Blake flicked ash out the open window. "Towards the end of the street. Red cedar house. Should be the only one without lights on." Blake then looked to his cigarette and frowned at how much had already burned away. "Remind me why we're here?" John asked.
            "Our client, Kaylyn, wants us to find her older sister, preferably before their parents come home in two nights."
            "Sounds like a job for the police and Missing Persons."
            "Kaylyn says her sister had been dabbling in certain things."
            "What kind of things?"
            "She didn't know. Probably Wiccan."
            "Damn sluts."
            "I know, right?"
            "Where's the younger sister now?"
            "Friends house."
            "Dare I ask why it's us and not her searching the home?"
            "Because the last thing Kaylyn remembers before running from the house was her sister screaming followed by something demonic crying out."
            "Wiccans can summon?"
            "Occasionally."
            "So the job is to find the sister and figure what happened?"
            "Pretty much. So you'll understand why I'm so miffed over not having an adequate supply of smokes for this evenings activities."
            "You could have a carton of those things and still not think you have an adequate supply for an evening."
            "...Touché....But c'mon, just three?"
            "Those things will kill ya anyway."
            "No. Dealing with another crazy Wiccan girl in my life will kill me."
            Both men continued to quip back and forth until John spotted the right house and slowed to a stop in front of it. "So what's the plan?" John asked as he killed the engine. Blake laughed as he got out, amused at the notion that he would deviate from his usual MO of figuring things out as the situation happens. "First we need to see what we're up against," he said as he flicked his spent cigarette away and walked towards the house.

Where The Hell Were You?

[Posted by Ted H]

I use my laptop for all writing. Previously, I always used a desktop. The desktops cool, but it's always possessed by some virus or another. Over the years, I've been able to handle and successfully rid my desktop of all virus issues without having to ever buy any software...but it was never a sure thing (especially since it literally rebelled against me if I used any browser besides internet explorer.)
A couple weeks ago, my desktop was hit so hard with a virus, that it was literally unusable. I would run various system recoveries but even then the virus persisted. What was particularly daunting was that my previous laptop went completely fubar with a hardware issue back in November and I luckily was able to transfer all my writing data to the desktop via my external HD...now that I successfully had to boot my desktop all the way back to day 1, I find myself curious about the integrity of my external or any of the (no less than 3) flash drives I use to back up ALL of my writing.

I do figure however, that anything written by me that isn't in some form of hard copy will always run the inherent risk of being lost for all eternity in the event of multiple catastrophic errors on my end. But what better way to back up my work than to put every damn thing on this blog?

.........

Anyway, this particular tale star three people I knew in college. No, their drug use is not exaggerated...mostly. One more thing was that they were pretty dumb...like they would always get pissed at me for using words that were too big for them to comprehend (anything with more than 3 syllables)

...and again, this is me trying to break up the pace of constant apocalypses...also stalling for time to write, unless any of the other authors decide to ya know, show up...

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[Where The Hell Were You?]

 

“This is taking too long.” Steve said as he entered and dropped his bag on the ground. “She’ll be back soon.” Dan said. Steve had been at work all day. During work he realized he forgot something when he moved in with Dan from his old apartment. Dan was being lazy, so he sent Brittany to get Steve’s stuff instead. That was four hours ago.

            “How much weed was it, anyway?” Dan asked. “All of it.” Steve replied.

            “How could you forget something so important?”

            “We’ve already had this conversation.”

            “Still…”

            “Look, you said Brittany had this. So where is she?”

            “You think the cops found it?”

            Steve didn’t respond, instead him and Dan grabbed their coats and made their way to Steve’s old apartment. When Steve moved out, a friend of his, Josh, moved in, so it wouldn’t be any intrusion for Dan and Steve to barge right in. The whole way over Steve and Dan argued over whose fault it was for this situation. “Did you leave anything else there?” Dan asked. “Just an outdated word-of-the-day calendar I didn’t want.”

            When they arrived to outside the apartment, they saw Brittany creep out the front door. “What the fuck?!” Steve immediately shouted. Brittany looked up at Steve and Dan with bloodshot eyes. “Uh-oh.” Dan said before snickering. “What the fuck?!” Steve repeated “Why did you take so long?” Brittany laughed a little before finally talking.

            “The sweet plethora quickly probed my flaccid phantasm.” Steve stared at Dan who returned the same quizzical look. Steve grabbed Brittany by her shoulders and asked “What?” Brittany laughed again and said “The sweet plethora quickly probed my flaccid phantasm.”

            “I think I know where your weed went.” Dan said as Steve bit his lip and made his way up the stairs. Dan followed, dragging Brittany behind him. Steve all but kicked down the door and saw Josh sitting in the middle of the floor. “Josh…” Steve started but Josh held his hand in the air for Steve to be silent.

            “A bunch of us were here for a house warming party, then Brittany showed up. We saw her remove a floorboard in the bedroom and pull out all that weed. Everyone else convinced her to share the weed and the next thing we know, it’s all gone.” Steve balled up his fists. “How much did you smoke, Josh?” Josh shook his head. “None, but everyone else smoked it, and let me tell you, there was a lot.”

            Dan was now laughing hysterically at how all of Steve’s weed was gone. “Where are they now?” Steve asked. Josh motioned to the bedroom “I gave them some chocolate and they’ve been staying entertained by your calendar.” Steve made for the bedroom to find several people laying about, the smell of weed still thick in the air, everyone high as kites. He saw his calendar in the middle of the room, the plastic case was cracked and pages laid strewn everywhere.

            “You guys are bastards.” Steve yelled. “Hey, dude.” One of them spoke “Don’t start a quarrel. We’re trying to enjoy ourselves.” Another one spoke “Yeah, you’ll give us away to the fuzz, then they’ll discover our clandestine activity.” One more guy joined in “This guy is really irking my vibe. Kick him out.”

            “You guys smoked all my weed!” Steve shouted over the brouhaha of high people talking. “That weed was for everyone. Its selfish to think its all yours.” someone said. “Fuck you! Do you know how much that weed cost me? Not to mention that I didn’t get any of it! I call shenanigans on you fuckers!”

            “Watch your bad language!” someone said from the floor “Don’t make us ostracize you from this place of happiness.” Steve walked up and grabbed his broken calendar. “Fuck you and your big words!” he yelled as he walked out of the room.

            Dan had meanwhile been talking to Josh. “What does “sweet plethora quickly probed my flaccid phantasm” mean?” Josh suppressed a laugh. “Uh…lets just say she got into a squelch with a couple guys after getting high.” Dan and Steve’s eyes almost bugged out. “Haha! That means we had-” Brittany said before Steve cut her off and stormed back into the bedroom, already pissed about the weed, but now fueled by a more noble reason to beat the ever living snot out of everyone in the room.

Allen Bee Cautious

[Posted by Ted H]

In a continuing effort to keep this blog from being 100% zombies/unholy creatures/apocalypse shit, I'm gonna put something up that is more, non-R rated.
...Instead we have another entry into the "Why Ted shouldn't be allowed to write children's books" series.
The zombies at the end are purely aesthetic to the conclusion and add nothing to the main story, so I can still get away with that...

This was done back in the day, part of a creative writing exercise. If you fail to see what the challenge was for this 26 sentence piece, then kindly exit this blog and go back to third grade.

Something a little more...substantial to come next week...maybe even a poem...

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Allen never cared much for the bees flying about. Bees usually just left him alone, and he did the same. Carelessly they would ignore each others existence until Allen’s friend, Danny came by. Danny, unlike Allen, despised the bees. Every time he saw one, he talked about how he would one day get rid of them. Finally one day, he told Allen he had devised a plan to rid himself of the bees. Gleefully he showed Allen a special rock he had found. He hurled the rock as hard as he could at a nearby hive. Instantly, the hive erupted with hundreds of angry bees. Just as Allen realized what was going on, the bees had overtaken him. Kicking and screaming, he tried to run away. Looking about, he soon saw Danny running to a nearby lake. Moving as fast as he could, Allen ran to the lake as well. Not a moment too soon, they jumped into the water. Once they were safe from the bees, Allen started scolding Danny for his foolish deed. Playing innocent, Danny said that his rock had nothing to do with the attack and that the bees were just naturally mean. Questioning his friend, Allen went to leave. Right as he got out, the bees started attacking again, sending Allen back into the water. Soon it was night and neither boy could leave the lake without fear of a bee attack. The boys soon grew cold from being in the water so late at night. Under the late night moon, the boys decided to make a run for it. Very quickly they jumped out of the lake and ran. While running, Danny saw the lights of his house. “X marks the spot!” he cried while pointing home. Yelling is what his mother did when she saw them finally come in after being out so late. Zombies were waiting for them there, which really made no sense at all.

 

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SPECIAL UBER BONUS SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[All-the-way to Zealots]

 

Although Being Careless

Does Earn Fools Greatly Hated Incidents

Just Keep Laughing.

Make No Obvious Pursuits

Qualifying Ridiculous Stops

To Unusually Vibrant, Wacky, Xenophobic

Yacking Zealots.

 

 

Happy THUMPING Halloween

[...Posted by Ted H]

Yup...Halloween. Heres a little somethin-somethin I threw together for just such an occasion. Posting it up a few days early since no one ever wants to read halloweeny things in November and odds are Halloween weekend/day people would be a bit busy...

plus now I can rest up and brainstorm for NaNoWriMo. Might get one or two other authors involved, so there might be *gasp* miltiple weekly updates next month? dont quote me though.

And yes, Ill admit in advance that this is such an overly complicated set-up for a Batman joke...

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[Thump Thump Thump Thump]

-THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

Four heavy bangs jolted Nicole and Paul from their sleep. “What was that?” Nicole asked in a worried tone. “I have no idea,” Paul said as he fought off a yawn “Prolly the wind.” he said as he turned over to go back to sleep. “Are you serious? The wind?” Nicole asked “The wind doesn’t slam into our house like that.” Paul grunted before forcing himself top get up. “Well what do you want me to do about it?” he asked but before Nicole could answer-

-THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

Paul seemed less dismissive the second time around, and searched in the dark for a bit to find some shoes. Down the hallway, their infant daughter Lizzie started crying. “Now I’m pissed,” Paul said before yawning again “Could you take care of Lizzie?” he asked as Nicole turned on a lamp and made for the door.

-THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

“Seriously, what’s going on?” Nicole asked, visibly upset over the banging. Paul could tell it was coming from the front door. Whoever it was, Paul was ready to kick their ass if they did it again.

-THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

Paul jogged down the hallway and ran down the stairs. He had no weapon handy so he settled for the lone umbrella in the stand next to the front door. He peered through the peep hole but saw nothing, not that he ever could before. The light in the front porch went out about a month ago and Paul could never get it to work. Paul tried looking out the side window but couldn’t see anything either.

Upstairs he could hear Nicole trying to calm Lizzie down to no avail. He couldn’t exactly blame the kid, his own heart was still trying to calm down. He could hear Nicole talking up there but it didn’t seem she was talking to the baby. He was about to call up to her when-

-THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

“Gotcha!” he called out when he unlocked the door and threw it open, umbrella in hand. There was no one out there though. He stepped out quickly and peered into the nearby bushes but saw no sign that anyone was around. “What the hell?” he asked himself as he slowly backed up into the house and closed the door.

“Please calm down,” he could hear Nicole saying upstairs to the baby, who finally seemed to be quiet. Other than that, there was no other noise. Slowly, Paul placed the umbrella back where it belonged and went up the stairs. “What’s going on?” Nicole asked as she peered out of Lizzie’s room. All Paul could do was shrug when-

-THUMP THUMP THUMP TH-

The thumping had started again only this time it had been disturbed by the door flying open and slamming into the wall. “Holy shit!” Paul screamed as he flew down the stairs.

“Trick or treat!” three small children shouted as they held out pillowcases in front of them. “That wasn’t funny,” Paul said as the kids giggled behind their plastic masks. One was dressed as Batman, another as a princess and the last as a vampire. “A bit late, huh guys?” Paul asked as he headed for the kitchen to go get some candy.

“Wait a minute,” he said as he opened the pantry “Halloween isn’t until tomorrow.” Just as the thought crossed Paul’s mind, he heard Nicole start to scream before getting cut off. Paul sprinted back towards the front door just in time to see the vampire and princess run out the front door. The vampire’s pillowcase was filled to capacity as he dragged it behind him, leaving a thick trail of blood. The princess meanwhile was trying to fit Nicole’s severed head into her own pillowcase.

Paul was frozen and speechless as he attempted to process the scene that just transpired. He was torn between running after them or calling the cops when he realized something. “The God-damn Batman is still in the house,” he said shortly before something slammed into the back of his head and everything went black.

Reflection in the Mirror

[...Posted by Ted H]

Eat your fucking heart out, Cornwell.

Man, job huntings a bitch...anyway...

This is likely the most fact checking I've ever done before...and most of it was done long before I even wrote this.
Gonna crack open the way-back archives next week. Time we got another play up in this bitch...
MLB playoffs starting soon, so I might not be able to get anything new out...

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[Reflection in the Mirror]

It was late when he had arrived. She wasn’t at her usual spot on the street corner waiting for him. She must have grown tired and went home, figured William wouldn’t show. The voice in his head screaming to kill every step of the way there. He couldn’t go to his wife about this. She had been suspicious of him for over a month. There was only one other person in the world he could trust right now. A woman he loved. They both held a bond between them that neither would bring to light with William’s marriage and her profession.

When he finally reached her house he noticed the lights were all out but he felt that she was awake. The was a restlessness within her which resonated. While her body was too tired to wait any longer, her soul could not help but worry what had happened to him. He gently tapped on the window and within moments there she was. The look of relief on her face was enough to drive away Jack from speaking within his own mind.

Jack. The voice had grown so powerful in him over time that it even took the liberty of naming itself. This is how insane the situation had become. There was only one way to get rid of Jack. Hell, Jack himself told him how to become free of him, but William couldn’t bring himself to it. He couldn’t force himself to take that action.

Mary Jeanette motioned William to the front door where she would let him in. When she did, the two embraced each other like it had been years since they last had met rather than hours. “I had wondered where you were.” she said as she silently let him into her room so they wouldn’t disturb the other residents.

Once in the better lighting of her room, Mary Jeanette immediately noticed William’s stressed state. “You look horrible. Is anything the matter? Did something happen to you on the way over?”

“I-I’m fine.” William managed to say “I’m just very tired.”

Tired of Jack to be exact, but he managed to keep silent of that as to not worry Mary. “Well, go wash up. You’re spending the night here. I fear you may collapse and I won’t allow you to leave in such a state.” she said as she turned and walked towards her bed. “I’ll be waiting right here.” she said with a smirk as she sat down on her bed.

William stumbled into the bathroom and stared himself down in the mirror. “Should I sing you a song? To help you calm?” Mary called. William barely heard her as he continued to stare until his reflection took its own life, blinked and started laughing. “She was right.” his reflection said “You look downright like shit.” No longer waiting for an answer, Mary began singing anyway. William ignored her as he concentrated on the mirror.

“Go away, Jack.” he said plainly.

“You know how to make me.”

“You can not make me choose.”

“I was born of your own dilemma. You created me to help you over come all this.”

“Not like this.”

“If there was another way, don’t you think we would’ve tried it?”

“You never tried anything. Right to killing you went.”

“And look how immediately you started getting better.”

“You still came back!”

“Because killing those women were only short term solutions, a mere bandage over a cancer.”

“You’re the cancer.”

“And your delusional.”

“Stop it! You enjoyed killing those girls too much.”

“I can’t help who I am no more than you can help who you are.”

“That is different.”

“No. It isn’t. You’re inability to choose between your own wife and your need for these women are what brought me about.”

“But the liver? How does consuming someone‘s liver help me?”

“Hahaha. I do have a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t I?”

“Stop! This ends tonight!”

“Quiet, or the whore will hear you.”

“Do not speak of her with such a term!”

“Oh? Than what is she? A ‘seamstress‘? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Regardless, this will end tonight.”

“You’re right.”

“…What?”

“I don’t plan on wasting my time anymore. I know how to cure you and end this.”

“You said that at the beginning, and every time before you killed.”

“This time is different.”

“How?”

“You’ve been visiting this particular whore far too much.”

“What?”

“Don’t take me for a fool, William. I know you’ve been hiding her from me. Of all the whores, this one means something special to you. Dare I use the L word to describe your feelings?”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Said the man arguing with a mirror.”

“You lay one finger on either-”

“That finger would only be your own, William. How delusional have you become?”

“I’m the sane one here.”

“Fool. We’re the same fucking person. But the sane part of you allowed me to manifest. The part of you that decided this charade needs to end and so here I am to save you. To decide how to save you and take the appropriate actions. Be it murder, then fine. Whatever it takes to save our own mind.”

“Save our mind?”

“You need to decide. I wanted to off the wife, day one. You said no, and up until now she was the only one you actually fought me over killing, while you willingly allowed me to paint London red with everyone else I so chose. Now here we are in another whores house and you honest to God have a problem with murdering again.”

“We…we might get caught.”

“We’re in her fucking home, out of view from the streets. Fuck, William, this is the least conspicuous we’ve been to date. It’s about the whore. All the other whores you’ve dusted yourself off afterwards and filled the void. But this one! This one can not be replaced. I can feel it in your heart you sap. She dies, or the wife dies, and all this ends.

“Why?”

“You keep telling me there’s only room for one of us in your brain, well now I say there’s only room for one woman in your heart. Have you made your choice?”

“I…I can’t. I love them both.”

“I’ve been on your side since the beginning, William. Despite the things you’ve said, my only concern is to help you. I’ve confirmed that you’re moral qualm is not faithfulness to your wife over these other women, but just the one in particular.”

“Mary? Is this why you’re making me choose? I finally settle on one, I’ll be cured?”

“Not exactly. I play for keeps, remember?”

“No…”

William inadvertently reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife. He looked back into the mirror and Jack was smiling from ear to ear.

“No. You c-can’t. Kill a woman I love? I’ll never let you.”

“We both knew it’s the only way. Now I’ll ask once again. Have you made your choice?”

“Not you…”

“William, please.” Jack said in an exacerbated tone. “Not. You.” William repeated. “Let me do it.” Jack had a look of surprise on his face. “I thought you could never imagine yourself a murderer?” he asked. Tears rolled down William’s face. “You aren’t worthy to kill her.”

“So who will you kill?” Jack asked “The wife, or the whore?”

“Leave me be for this.”

“So you’ll actually do it, or will you pussy out like with Ada?”

“Just…leave me be…”

William sat and wept for a few moments longer. Mary Jeanette had since ceased singing and laid in bed almost asleep when William finally returned. “What took you so-” she began when she noticed the stern look on William’s face, illuminated by the small bit of moonlight reflecting off his knife. “William?” she asked. “I’m sorry.” William said as he reached to hold her down.

Frantically, Mary thrashed about and screamed “Murder!” but William quickly forced her back down and slit her throat. As he held the dying body down and cradled the head, her life slowly slipping away, William looked towards the ceiling and asked “Are you happy?”

No response.

“Was that not good enough? You think I‘m pussying out again? Fuck you!” William screamed as he stood up over Mary Jane’s body, ripped the nightgown open and started dissecting and ripping her body apart. He took out organs and slashed at her face until he was digging into bone. He slashed off slabs of flesh and tossed them about. He destroyed the body in such a way that the previous murders, in which Jack would take over William’s body to commit, would pale in comparison.

When he was finally finished, William left Mary’s body in such a grotesque state, that it didn’t even resemble her. The image burned into Williams mind in such a way that he no longer remembered what she looked like in life. The memories were fading as were the feelings, scarred and replaced by the sight in the bed.

...

Back at his home, William sat in front of his fireplace as the morning sunlight crept in through the nearby window. He didn’t sleep. He could never imagine sleeping again. “Well?” Jack’s voice echoed either through the room or in William’s head, didn’t matter to him.

“Well what?”

“It’s almost over, no?”

“What do you mean ‘almost’? I made my choice and…and I killed her.”

“But you haven’t let go.”

William looked down to his hands, which were cradling Mary’s heart. After everything he had done to her that night, he decided to take the heart with him when he left. “She had given it to me while alive…I felt it fitting I should hold onto it in death…” William said while fighting back tears. Jack remained silent. “It hurts, Jack…I don’t even remember her face…barely recall how it felt to hold her, but it still hurts.”

William felt a slight warm sensation on his shoulder as if someone was holding it as he heard Jack’s voice again. "I promise it won't hurt anymore once you let her go, her heart most of all..."

Reluctantly, William rose, and let Mary Jane Kelly’s heart fall into the fire. He no longer heard Jack’s voice or felt his presence. William then walked away to wash his hands of the blood, and as he washed, the pain slowly subsided, until there was nothing left to clean.

When he finished, William turned to see his wife enter the room. “William? Are you alright? Is something the matter?” she asked after fighting off a yawn. “No.” William said as he walked over and held his wife. “Everything’s fine.”

Happy DeathDay!

[...Posted by Ted H]

Cake, anyone?

Not counting anything from any Creative Writing class, Ive currently now have proofread stories from three different people I know....What I really wanna know is: WHO THE FUCK AM I?
Oh thats right, Im awesome...Carry on...

Ive also added some new features including a fucking SEARCH BAR at the bottom! Wooooooooooo!

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[Happy DeathDay]

According to the computer clock, it was 3am. “When did it become 3am?” Mel asked himself as he checked his phone to confirm the time. Nope, the computer doesn’t lie. Wikipedia is a dangerous thing Mel learned as he switched the laptop down and went to empty the dryer. Click on one article and you can get lost in an endless marathon of side links. Whatever, its not like he had anywhere to be in the morning.

Mel gathered his laundry and made his way out of the laundry room and up the basement stairs of the house. He rented an old townhouse with a couple other people and the laundry machine and dryer were both hidden in the darkest corner of the basement. Mel never minded since his wi-fi still connected. He dare not abandon his clothes until they were finished, since his roommates were impatient and wouldn’t hesitate to toss his clothes to the ground so they could get at the machines. He wasn’t guarding his clothes in vain tonight either, he already chased away Neil earlier, who was notorious for throwing Mel’s clothes into a dirty corner of the basement.

Clothes in a sack hoisted over his back, and his laptop safely tucked under his arm, Mel made it out of the basement and headed for the main staircase. Fatigue setting in more and more every step of the way. All he could think about was getting to bed when someone rang the doorbell, causing Mel to almost drop his items.

“Are you serious?” he asked to no one in particular as he placed his laundry down and safely placed his laptop on top of it, then made for the door. Whoever this was had a lot of nerve, lord only knew if he woke up any of Mel’s roommates. The doorbell sounded again and Mel urgently ran to the door to prevent the ringer from doing so a third time. Without even looking to see who was out there, Mel threw open the door and was taken aback at who it was.

Out in the entryway was a man dressed in a black cloak, with a hood over their head concealing any hint of who they were. They bore an uncanny resemblance to the Grim Reaper. Held in their right hand (which was made to look like a skeleton hand) was your standard sickle while the left hand held a small chocolate cake.

“Not funny,” Mel said as he stared down the figure. “Happy birthday!” the figure said in a very unreaper-like upbeat tone “And by birthday I mean Death Day!” The figure held out the cake with their boney hand which up close looked legitimately like a real skeletal hand. “What’s going on?” Mel asked as he backed away and near the staircase.

“Look,” the man said as he entered with the cake “Lets just get this over with. You’re not the only soul I need to collect tonight.” Mel backed his way up the staircase as the hallway light illuminated the figures head. Most of the face was concealed by the hood but there was the unmistakable look of a jaw bone peeking out in the light. This guy was defiantly a walking skeleton. “Y-you’re death? Prove it!” Mel said, screaming out that last part in hopes that one of his roommates would wake up. “Don’t run,” the figure said as he ascended the stairs up to Mel “Now take your cake and let’s get this over with.

An overwhelming sense of intimidation washed over Mel as he realized the not only was death here to kill him, but it seemed that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. “C’mon man!” Mel screamed again “Whys it gotta be me? I don’t wanna die!” It seemed that either Death was pulling some voodoo keeping everyone asleep or that Mel wasn’t screaming loud enough. He was too frightened to scream any louder though.

“Just have your cake so I can move on,” Death insisted as Mel finally accepted what apparently was going to be his last meal. “I-I’m not hungry,“ he said as Death shrugged and said “Then lets get this over with then.” Mel bit his lip and lowered his head as Death shifted and raised his scythe in preparation for reaping. Mel didn’t want to watch as he fixated on his cake that once spelt “Happy Birthday” but “Birth” was removed and a frosting skull and crossbones was there instead. The name underneath caught Mel’s eyes and at the last second he screamed for death to wait!

“What the hell, kid?” Death asked after stopping himself mid-stride, the blade of his scythe only a few inches away from its target. “Neil’s the one you want! I’m not Neil,” Mel said as he presented the cake back to Death. “Yeah, I bet,” death said as he raised his weapon back up. “No, I can prove it!” Mel screamed as he cowered up the stairs and placed the cake on the ground. He then dug his wallet out of his pants pocket and showed Death his drivers license.

“Looks fake to me,” Death said. “You got the wrong guy, man!” Mel protested as he ran into his room. “Wait right there!” he shouted as he grabbed a yearbook from high school and flipped through the pages. “Here,” he said as he showed Death his senior picture, then showed him Neil’s. “Might be a typo, or a mix up of names,” Death said, still not convinced. Mel then sprinted back to his room and dug up three more yearbooks, including one from college and showed Death that his name and picture match up in all of them.

“Well…” death said after a moment, “That certainly would have been embarrassing. Where is Neil then?” Mel breathed a sigh of relief. “Neil? You missed him. He’s sleeping,” he finally said. “That’s odd,” Death said “I was suppose to catch him on his way to bed.” Mel didn’t like the sound of that. Maybe Death was the one with the typo and was really suppose to kill him instead? “Accidents happen?” Mel squeaked out. Death reached into his cloak and pulled out a PDA. He tapped the screen with his boney finger and showed Neil’s name as well as some other pertinent information. “Not a mistake,” he said “I‘m just apparently late.”

Mel thought about it for a moment. Was Death really late? Or was Neil suppose to be the one doing his laundry at this hour? Did Mel save Neil by kicking him out of the basement? Either way, it was pretty clear something happened. “Looks like Neil missed his appointment with Death,” Mel said as a joke. “Not this time,” Death said as he brandished his scythe and marched upstairs. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna go do my laundry again,” Mel said as he sprinted down back into the basement, locking the door behind him.

Demon Bar

[...Posted by Ted H]

Well I've been without internets for a while so I guess we finally missed an upd-What? One of the authors actually posted something last week? HOLY FUCKING SHIT! That means we havent missed a week yet. Mad props to Will for actually remembering to show up! As you can see bud, I havent changed the locks...yet...

Anyway, Will led off the month in case youre confused,. Not taking this as a sign that things will be any different from here on out though, Im gonna throw up an update now and buckle up for the next 30 weeks cuz I doubt lightning'll strike twice.

...............................

[Demon Bar]

He walked right into the bar and was slightly taken aback. It was dimly lit but the lack of light was made up for by noise; loud music playing and people talking. There were lots of people in here. “Can I take them all?” he thought as he walked to the closest table. A couple of large men were sitting by talking about whatever the hell it is large men talk about while grasping their giant glasses of beer. The specifics of their conversation were lost to the static of the background noises and his own impatience to get started.

D reached over and grabbed one of the men’s beer glasses. The man immediately stood up and demanded his drink back before things got violent. He had no intentions on drinking, but the only way he could start tonight is if someone else initiated things. It’s not a rule or anything, but tonight he felt like changing things up a bit, perhaps justify a little murder, if only a fraction of the murdering.

He decided to give the mans drink back in the fashion of smashing the glass over his head. The glass didn’t break, it was too strong, but its contents did spill all over the man. The man didn’t waste any time in rearing back and cracking D in the jaw with his fist. He almost took to the air but ended up just toppling over into a wall. Laughter erupted as the man cracked his knuckles, indicating he wasn’t finished yet.

D’s jaw was definitely hurt. A fracture or maybe a tooth chipped, either way blood was coming out the corner of his mouth. Beautiful. He returned to his feet as the man approached, now followed by his friend from the table. He reached to his back and pulled out his sword. Slightly bent at places and a handle worn to the point where he had to wrap it in tape, it was still as sharp as the day it was made, perhaps even sharper. The little light in the bar reflected off the weapon and both men hesitated for only a moment before continuing their approach; they clearly thought one sword couldn’t stop two burly men.

They hesitated, he wouldn’t. In a quick, fluid motion he ducked below the first man, his sword trailing behind him as he came up in front of the other man and swung his sword upward, striking up in the middle of the face. Not a deep slash, but enough for the man to raise his hands to his face and scream.

D then shifted around the man and faced the friend as he reached for his other sword strapped horizontally on his belt. As he freed it, he continued the motion around him an right across the friends stomach. The three just stood there for a moment; the men clutching their wounds and D in between them with one arm in the air and the other out to his right, clutching a sword in each hand.

It was time to finish this. D dropped his right arm and shifted his hold on the sword and drove it through the back of the first man while he brought his other arm back around, straightened it up and drove it through the second mans chest. He then withdrew both swords and let both men fall dying to the ground.

The rest of the bar, finally realizing what just happened, started to panic as people broke for the front door. D was still closer to that door than anyone and moved into the path of people. He knew some might slip passed him, but the majority of them would meet one of his blades. He started slashing at drunks and whores as blood flew in all directions. The more that fell, the more difficult it would be to navigate to the exit, the easier it would be for D to kill them.

“Such a fire hazard,” D said when he realized that there was no other exit to the bar. The bartender had remained behind the bar. D saw the fear in his eye, saw that he had no escape. Too bad. All in all D could tell that only two people had managed to slip passed and out into the night. He’s done worse, and it would feel fitting if he left three people surviving, but a certain look of determination in the bartender’s eyes swayed D from any thought of mercy. Something about that man seemed to suggest that fighting him would be more worthwhile than even the man who punched him.

“You wish to die?” D said aloud, more of a statement than a question, as he started running for the bar. He could easily jump it, but there was something in the air that suggested an ulterior motive. No matter, D took to the air, both swords over his head as he prepared to swing down on the poor sap when he felt himself flying backwards. He collapsed backwards onto a table which tipped and sent him toppling down onto the ground. He dropped one of his swords and he found it difficult to even sit up.

“What the fuck?” he screamed as he tasted the air and realized what happened. Burning. The bartender fired a weapon. The intense pain in his stomach painted a clear enough picture as to where the bartender fired and the size of the wound and the mortal damage to his intestines suggested that as clichéd as it was, the bartender was indeed packing a shotgun behind that bar.

The bartender cocked his weapon and circled around the bar. “What a faggot, cheating like that,” D said while spewing up blood. “At least you could see my swords when I enter-” he cut himself off as he forced his body to roll over. He couldn’t find his other sword, no matter.

The bartender was approaching for apparently what was suppose to be the kill shot. D stood up and used a chair to steady himself for a moment, before tossing it at the bartender. The chair smacked into his arm as he tried to dodge. When he went to aim again, D rushed into him and elbowed the shotgun away. “Did you really think that would stop me?” he asked as he stuck his sword through the bartender’s throat and sliced.

“What a mess,” D said as he surveyed his stomach, which was bleeding everywhere. “Definitely gonna need a new shirt,” he said as he sheathed his one sword and began searching for the other. “Where the fuck did that thing go?” he asked as he glanced and saw a young woman clutching it nearby an overturned table. “What have we here?” D asked as he casually walked over.

“Stay back,” the woman said as she held the sword out. “You probably would’ve gone unnoticed had you not picked that up,” D said as he now stood over the woman. She didn’t know what to do and D felt like fucking with her. “Go ahead, kill me,” he said with a smile “Strike me down and save countless lives. BE THE HERO OF THIS NIGHT!” He could barely hold back the will to laugh when suddenly the woman screamed and stabbed him through the chest. D clutched at the hilt which was now right under his chin as he fell backwards onto the ground.

The woman let out a sigh as she sidestepped D’s body and started for the door. D then reached and grabbed her ankle, causing her to scream and fall over. D didn’t hold back any laughs as he stood up and pulled his sword out of himself. “You really thought that would kill me, didn’t cha?” he asked as he prepared to kill the woman but stopped himself.

“I like you,” he said as he put his sword back in its sheath. “I’ll let you live.” The woman almost couldn’t comprehend what D just said. “What?” she finally said. “Yeah,” D said “You can go home now. Though in return, I might have to crash with you one night, you know, as a return favor for sparing you.” D then turned around and sprinted out the door. The police were coming.

Hateful Self-Loathing

[...Posted by Ted H]

a.k.a.: fun with a thesaurus

Just a short stand alone rant. Imagine if you will a psychotic nutjob screaming at himself in the mirror. I like to think that I could use this in something down the line, where some insane antagonist explains himself, exposing his apparent lunacy while he does something equally insane with his hands. Kinda like if the Joker took a bunch of barbituates and nailgunned his hand to a desk.
Or a split personality person....so make it Two-Face nailing his hand to a desk instead...the only question being: Which hand would he nail?

16 weeks and counting where I manage to keep this update schedule...go figure.

I got a few ideas over what to do next, but Ive been working non stop and had few opprotunities to actually write anything down. Maybe Ill get something out next week.
................

Why?
The reason is rather simple, really. You want to know why I’ve done everything that I’ve done up to this point? Why I’ve made a series of inexplicable, irrational and downright questionable decisions that have affected my life in a detrimental and negative fashion? It’s really simple if you look at it from my perspective, because while you can’t find a rational and intelligent reason for my actions, all I see is a clear and direct line of reasoning: I fucking hate myself.

I do. I despise me. I detest me. I hate what I’ve been, I hate what I’m becoming, and most of all, I hate what I am. If I were to ever meet myself in the street I would beat him within an inch of his life, then try and take it two inches further. I would hurt that man and gladly accept whatever punishment was handed. I hate myself with such a passion that I can barely form it into words without having to strangle something.

I try to punish this man, cause him pain and ruin his life, but it just doesn’t work. He still breathes, he still carries on, and he still has conscious thought. I’ve driven him to the brink of insanity and pushed with all my might, but he still remains. Taunting, vile, inexcusable. The mere thought of myself breeds hateful thoughts and bile forces itself out of my mouth. I hate this man, but there’s nothing I can do.

There is no superego. There is no redemption, nor is there any desire for it. I am merely and id and an ego. The id is a dark, disturbed being. It is sloth and avarice personified. The ego is miserable, because there is no compromise to be made. It is only resentment. Only hatred. Only rage.

I’ve long ago given up on redemption. My reason for being is to punish this man, myself. I will torture him, deny him pleasure and stress him until he breaks. And when he does, I will hate myself even more, because there is no other option. This linear spiral, the endless waltz of suffering has but one ending. The only thing that varies is how fast my decent into madness will be.

I am not blind to you. I never ignore a word and I am anything but ignorant to your passes. I love you, dammit. But to be with you would to give him happiness. And I only exist to deny him pleasure because his existence causes me so much suffering. And to subject you to my suffering would only amplify it even more. But to see you move on and ignore me causes the same agony, because it reminds me why we are not one, and I resent what I am all the more for it.

I can not kill him, because there would be no closure in death, just an abrupt end in which only I suffer. There would be no peace in death. I must, I will, drive him into insanity, and when I do, I will hate myself even more. Because when I see this pathetic being in the mirror, I realize that it is me. And for all the mental anguish I have suffered, it has been self inflicted. And I hate myself all the more for it.

I hate what I was.

I hate what I’m becoming.

And most of all, I hate what I am.

The Funeral

[...Posted by Ted H]

Funny thing about playing RPG games, doing schoolwork, working, finding a better job and writing all in the same week. Theres never enough time to do anything. Mass Effect/Fallout have been owning my soul as is this whole job hunt.

...Im not saying any of those are responsible for my lackluster writing.
The real reason is that I was recently, and without warning, exposed to dead, fat, old lady nudity (its as bad as it sounds) in person.
I may still need a few days to recouperate my mental state.
Why the fuck would I share that with you? Because I originally wanted to write a horror story this week, and there isnt much scarier than a dead fat old woman in a birthday suit.

Bad news: I got only half a story for ya.
Good news: Got another author (maybe 2) on the way.
Bad news: part 2 may or may not get posted in the near future.
Good news: I plan on gettin Safe Haven updated one of these weeks though.
Bad news: Aprils prolly turning into "All Ted Month"
Good news: An "All Ted Month" is the best theme month you can ask for.
Bad news: Im still doing this good/bad news thing.
Good news: It sure does flesh this update out though.

.......................................

[The Funeral]

It was still early when Dante arrived at the funeral home. He wanted to be there first so he could find a nice corner to sulk in and no one has to watch him enter. It would also give him one last private moment with Susan. He entered into an empty foyer with a freshly vacuumed carpet that Dante felt guilty about tracking mud on.

At the far side of the room was a fountain that hadn’t yet been switched on and over it hung a portrait of the original owner, the grandfather of the current owner or something. The man in the picture was sitting down with a scowl on him face and Dante wondered why people never smile for those paintings. The nearby grandfather clock struck a new hour and an automatic timer switched the fountain to life.

Dante heard a toilet flush and a moment later a man walked out of the bathroom without washing his hands and was surprised to see Dante out there. “Um, we’re not open yet,” the man said as he tucked in his dress shirt. “Not open?” Dante found himself asking aloud. He didn’t know what to think of that. “It’s awfully cold out,” Dante said “and I promise to be quiet.” The man finished with his shirt and shrugged. “Fine, but don’t let my boss know you’re here,” he said “Who are you here for?”

“Thompson,” Dante said. The man pointed to the double doors to the left of the fountain, then extended his hand outwards. “Sorry for your loss,” he said but Dante didn’t shake his hand. “You should wash your hands more in this business,” he said then went to visit Susan.

Dante entered into the empty room, all alone with a corpse on the far side. He was hesitant to approach but he knew this was his only chance to do so. “Hey,” he muttered out as he stood above her. There was a kneeler set up, but Dante didn’t bother. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get up if he did.

He tried to say something else, but words eluded him. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He decided to just reflect on their life together but nothing came to mind. All his mind could bear to conjure were vague emotions loosely associated to Susan. Each time he tried to identify the history behind a certain emotion, it would fade from his mind and other emotions would begin to overwhelm. He just stood over her and let it all wash over him. The only truly identifiable feeling was that of dread, because once this was all over, Dante knew he wouldn’t be able to feel much emotion without her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he pulled himself away from her and crossed to the other side of the room.


The family slowly filled the room in time. Her mother and father (arriving separately), grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and innumerable friends. Dante recognized most of them and almost marveled at how over half of them hadn’t seen, much less talked to Susan in years. All of a sudden they were there to show respect to the death of someone they barely knew in life.

None of them recognized Dante, either because they barely knew him before or they chose to ignore him, Dante remained undisturbed. Dante observed them all, if only to distract himself from his own grief. The mother did a lot of crying, mostly into the arms of her boyfriend. The father did all the talking and handshaking. The younger cousins sat in their own corner, grumbling at how they barely knew Susan and how Aunt/Uncle so-and-so had dragged them there. There was one aunt there with her own bottle of holy water, saying prayers and sprinkling water about Susan.

Most everyone else were seemingly oblivious of where they were and were talking as if this were some run of the mill family reunion. Of all the conversations that had caught Dante’s ears, none of them dared to bring up Susan, much less how she died. If you were to bring a blind man in and sit him down without telling him where he was, never in a million years would he be able to know he was in a funeral home.

The Drunk Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was

[...Posted by Ted H]

Its fairy Tale time, kiddies! this one goes out to my old roommate, whos prolly drunk right now...

......................

[The Drunk Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was]

Once upon a while ago, in a small nowhere village in a place no one cares to look for, lived a young drunk who with the exception of one particular trait, was just like everyone else you would meet. He didn’t have any unnatural strength or special abilities. He didn’t have a high intellect, he was actually quite naive and stupid. In fact, there was no redeeming characteristic about him at all. But it wasn’t what the drunk had that makes him unique, but what he didn’t have. He didn’t know what it was to feel fear. He wanted to, but he lacked to motive to actually try to learn, choosing to instead drink and inhale his mind altering herbs.

Every night the drunk would walk down to his favorite bar and drink all night, uttering the same line “If I could but shudder! If I could but shudder!” On one particular night, the bartender overheard the drunk’s muttering. “What is this you’re babbling on about, boy?” he asked. The drunk looked up and said “I don’t know what it is to feel fear. That is all.”

“You wish to learn fear?” a shady man in dark cloths and sunglasses said from the corner “Then go into the cellar.” The bartender shook his head. “I refuse to let this young man just stumble off to his death in the cellar.” With that he walked over to the shady man “Why don’t you go down there instead?” he said as he pointed to the cellar door. “Because I do not wish to shudder!” the shady man said sarcastically.

“What is so scary about this cellar?” the drunk asked as many people around began to take notice and listen in. “We lock you down there until the witching hour,” the shady man said “No one has ever survived and most usually pound furiously on the locked door and scream bloody murder until whatever they’re trying to escape kills them.” The drunk stood up and walked towards the cellar. “Will I learn what fear is?” he asked as the shady man and bartender walked up with him. “That and more. Though few last more than an hour down there,” the shady man said with a smile as he swung the doors open.

There was much cheering for the drunk as he descended the steps down into the dark cellar. He could hear various bets being placed on whether or not he’d survive. He was not afraid though as he continued down the steps saying “If I could but shudder. If I could but shudder.” He looked back up to see the bartender swing the doors shut and lock them, just as he heard the village church bell ring once.


The cellar was dark and there was a dripping noise somewhere. The drunk felt around until he found a candle, which he lit. When the room lit up the drunk heard a loud wailing like someone was being tortured. “What is that noise?” the drunk asked wishing it would stop because he found it annoying. “Who is wailing. Come show yourself!” he called.

With that a ghost materialized right in front of him and continued wailing. “What is wrong that makes you wail so?” the drunk asked a he took out some of his mind altering herbs and started smoking. “I’m going to strangle you!” the ghost screamed. “That’s not very nice.” the drunk said as he blew smoke towards the ghost. “Die!” the ghost screamed and made for the drunk’s neck, but he quickly dodged and walked towards the other end of the cellar with his candle in hand. “You can just sit in the dark if you don’t want to play nice,” he said as he continued to smoke. The ghost tried a few more times to strangle the drunk but kept failing, mainly because it was catching a second hand high and was easily distracted now.

The ghost soon became too lazy to try to kill the drunk and was now more hungry than anything else for some reason. Without a word it floated through a wall. When all the commotion ceased, the cellar door unlocked and the shady man stuck his head through to see. “Still alive are we?” he asked to which the drunk responded. “Yes, but I still haven’t learned what fear is.” The shady man laughed. “Don’t worry.” he said “You will. Few last an hour, and only the bravest last two.” the shady man they closed and locked the door, leaving the drunk alone again as the village church bell rang twice.


For a while it was silent and the drunk could only watch his candle melt. He felt sleep coming upon him just as a loud crash sounded from a door on the opposite side of the cellar. Shaking sleep from his eyes, the drunk wondered what could possibly be behind that door. He walked over to the door and opened it, and something large jumped out and pushed him to the ground as it passed.

The drunk got up and looked to see that it was a werewolf that had been behind the door. It was covered in thick black fur and had blood dripping from its fangs. “Awe, good doggy!” the drunk said to which the werewolf bellowed out a long howl which would cause any man’s blood to run cold, except the drunk only laughed and wondered “Do you know any tricks?”

The werewolf only growled and tried to bite the drunk. Annoyed, the drunk kicked away the werewolf before it could bite him. “If you can’t play nice, then forget it.” he said. With that he grabbed the werewolf by the tail and tossed him back through the door and closed it. The werewolf tried to break though, but the drunk had propped his body against the door and didn’t budge. Eventually, the wolf gave up and left the drunk alone.

The shady man opened the door and slowly looked down. “Are you dead yet?” he asked. “No!” the drunk called up “And there still isn’t anything to fear down here!” The shady man only laughed. “Patience and you’ll find fear. Few last an hour down here, only the bravest last two, but no one survives all three hours!” The shady man then disappeared and closed the cellar door.


The village church bell rang three time in the distance. The drunk sat alone in the dark as his candle melted down and extinguished. “If I could but shudder. If I could but shudder.” he said to himself until he felt something grab his foot. He looked down to see hands reaching up from the dirt floor of the cellar. “What the hell?” he said as he stepped back and watch a dozen zombies pull themselves up from underground and surround him.

“Who are you?” the drunk asked, annoyed by his unwelcome guests. “We are who came before you,” one zombie said “And now we come to eat your brains!” With that the zombies closed in to eat the young drunk. “I don’t think so.” the drunk said “I don’t think I’ll enjoy being eaten and besides, I’ve come here to learn fear and you zombies aren’t helping.”

The zombies ignored him and moved in to kill the drunk, who was quite angry at this point and started punching the zombies in the face. The decaying zombie heads didn’t hold up long to the drunks punching and soon all the zombies were dead. The drunk even took the time to put them all back underground where they came from.

The cellar door was opened, and the drunk emerged alive and well, and there was much rejoicing. Much money was exchanged as result from the before mentioned bar bets that were made. The young drunk drank up and later coupled with a young woman who decided to give him a special reward for his bravery.

This would be the end of the story except for the fact that the drunk still did not learn what fear was. This problem was remedied a couple weeks later when that woman he coupled with returned to him and uttered four simple words. These words shuttered the young drunk down to the bone and filled him with such fear and despair that he ran screaming from the village and never returned. These four words were:

“I missed my period.”

The Man in the Alley

[...posted by Ted H]

Busy much?
We need to fire up a facebook group or somethin...

..................

It was so cold, Mick could actually feel his lungs burning. He didn’t have long to ponder the impossibility of that idea before he saw two people walking down the alley, a man and a woman. “Show time,” he said as he pulled his gun and appeared from behind a dumpster. He stood before the couple and casually aimed.

“You know the drill,” he said “Wallet, jewels, anything valuable. And spare me the pleading and small talk, I’ve heard it all before and I still want your shit.” The woman started whimpering and the man tensed up like he was about to try something. “Don’t,” Mick said preemptively “Cuz then I will shoot. And then out of spite I’ll rape your little girlfriend.”

“Stephen,” the woman pleaded as she removed a diamond ring and placed it in her purse, then dropped it to the ground. The man fished out his wallet and tossed it down as well. “Now get the fuck out of her before I change my mind about the rape,” Mick said as the two took off running. He then gathered the items and walked back over to the alleyway where he and his friends agreed to meet at.

Tony and Ricky were already there, going through the items they had robbed people of. “Will you marry me?” Mick asked Tony with a smile as he held up the diamond ring. “Real funny,” Tony said as he grabbed the ring and looked at it. “This shit real?” Mick walked over to a box and sat on it. “Should be,” he said “People I took it from looked loaded. Can’t see why the ring would be fake.”

“I dunno,” Ricky broke in “Lotta people walking around today trying to look richer then ‘ey are. Wouldn’t surprise me to buy some Cracka Jacks and find that very ring.” Tony shrugged “Looks real to me.” Mick nodded. “What do any of ‘yas know?” Ricky said “I know a guy. I’ll have em look at it tomorrow.”

“Never mind that, we got company,” Tony said as a figure walked down the alley towards them. All three instinctively put their hands on their weapons, but kept them concealed. “You lost?” Tony asked. The figure shook his head. He wore a dark grey trench coat and had shaggy dark hair that concealed his eyes. He kept his head low with both arms hanging at his sides. He didn’t seem dangerous, but no one was taking any chances“Lookin for someone?” Ricky called out. The figure smiled as he extended his arm and pointed right at Mick.

Mick’s blood ran cold. Something about this man was off, but he didn’t know what. He immediately aimed his gun at the man anyway, Ricky and Tony followed suit. “Get out of here, buddy, before we make you regret it,” Tony said. The man ignored him and kept walking, ignoring the guns and all the while making a path for Mick. “Didn’t you hear me? Get the fuck out of here!” The man continued to ignore Tony.

Mick couldn’t take it anymore. “Waste him!” he shouted and all three fired into the man’s chest. He immediately fell over and didn’t move. Tony sighed and laughed “Well that was fucked up, wasn’t it?” he asked. “Something wasn’t right,” Mick said as he lowered his gun, but kept it in his hand. “You’re telling me. That guy gave me the creeps,” Tony said as he walked towards the man’s body.

“We gotta split!” Ricky called “Cops probably heard us! I ain’t goin back to jail.” Ricky started walking away. “Would you just relax for a minute?” Tony yelled as he started checking the man’s pockets. “Screw you!” I’m getting the car, ‘ll bring it around. Wait here for me,” Ricky yelled and left.

“What did he want with me?” Mick asked. “Haven’t the slightest clue, Mick. This schmuck don’t even got ID. Check this out though,” Tony said as he pulled a large curved knife from the man. “Wonder what kind of damage you can do with this?” he asked, then went to get up as the man grabbed his wrist and pulled him down.

“Would you like to find out?” he asked as he took back his knife and punched Tony in the nose, causing him to fly off and onto the ground. In the blink of an eye, the man was up and pulling Tony into the air by his collar. “What?……Who are you?” he screamed as the man plunged his knife into Tony’s stomach. “Something far too powerful to trifle with,” the man said. Tony kept coughing up blood and convulsing as the man pulled the knife strait up through Tony’s chest and head, through every bone and organ as easily as if there was nothing at all obstructing the knifes path.

The man dropped Tony’s remains and stared down at Mick, who couldn’t bring himself to run. He weakly raised his gun again. “We both know that wont do anything,” the man said with a smile. Mick tried anyway, but the bullet flew wide, embedding into the brick wall behind. Before Mick could try again, the man extended his hands forward and Mick felt an invisible force knock him backwards and into a wall.

He was then pulled from the wall and suspended in the air by that same force, arms and legs outstretched as far as they could go. “What do you want with me?” he screamed, unable to move. The man smiled again. Mick didn’t believe in God, but he was willing to give it a try if a miracle could save him now. Instead he got Ricky, which was just as good at the moment. The man turned his head when he heard tire squeals and saw a sedan barrel its way down the alley. There wasn’t much room or time to get out of the way, but the man made no effort to escape.

The car smashed into the man, but the man didn’t budge. The car wrecked into him like he were a brick wall and it actually bounced backwards afterwards. Ricky made no sign of life from the drivers seat of the totaled vehicle. “What the fuck are you?” Mick stammered out as the man lightly dusted himself off, but was otherwise unharmed.

Mick had remained suspended and helpless in the air as the man had ignored his question and was ready to pick up where he left off. “Now then,” he said “This is going to hurt like hell, but only for a moment…Then it gets a lot worse.”

The police never did hear the gunshots from before, but everyone within ten blocks heard Mick’s final, agonizing screams.

That One Bus Ride

[...posted by Ted H]

So...between 2008 and 2010, the bulk of my writing efforts went towards a project called "That One Night" It completely overshadows all my previous projects in terms of length, time spent, bloodshed per death, swearing*, and the most important stat: readers.
*Id have to check on that one...I do swear a lot when I write. I use "fuck" more than commas...
Obviously Ive found a new obsession in this site, but it does raise a key question:
Why not post it here?
Cuz its fucking long, holmes. I could break it up and post it piece by piece, but then Id be unable to post anything new for a long while and Id rather use that time to work some raw, unseen and unedited work.
But I'm not a complete asshole...so Ill post this one shot-short story that takes place in the same universe, bringing up a plot event for the hell of it.
You can call it a teaser...just dont call me a tease...

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"That One Bus Ride"


Hey, how ya doing? You don’t mind if I sit next to you, do you? Of coarse not. I mean, yeah, it’s just me and you on this bus but hey, you looked like you could use some company. Funny thing about buses…eh, no. I doubt you’d be interested in the last time I rode a public bus. Then again it sure makes a great topic of conversation while we’re actually on a bus.

Not much of a talker, eh? That’s ok. Better off with no interruptions. I hate interrupters, always budding in on my stories with silly little questions. I fucking hate it when people do that. What’s that? Don’t approve of swearing? Yeah, I know you didn’t actually say it but you sure as hell were thinking it, I can tell. Don’t ask me how it is that I can tell because that would be one long ass story that I certainly couldn’t tell before my stop comes up. Anyway, yeah, I swear. I swear a lot. Get used to it, I certainly have.

So yeah, the story I was gonna tell you. Well, you remember that one night where that gas station blew up? What am I saying, of coarse you remember. Who wouldn’t? Explosion damn near woke up the entire city let alone how it was in the news all week. Well I was there. That’s right, I saw it in person…well, no. I didn’t actually see it since I was sprinting as fast as I could away from it at the time, but trust me, I was there.

Quick side note: remember how the news reported that there were “definite fatalities” but couldn’t produce any bodies? They said they were completely obliterated? Yeah, tragic, I know. You know why they couldn’t find any bodies? That’s because those “definite fatalities” didn’t stay dead. No, I’m not talking about zombies; sorry, read your mind again, didn’t I? There were no zombies at the gas station, but the people who died at the gas station didn’t exactly stay dead. Damn, you sure are skeptical. I’m not even sure why I brought it up.

So, gas station blew up, right? And let me tell you, I was sure as hell lucky to still have my eyebrows. By the way, in case you were wondering, I didn’t actually cause the gas station to blow up in the first place, that was the attendants fault…well, not entirely his fault. He couldn’t exactly be held accountable for his actions at the time as he set himself on fire and ran into a spraying gas hose. Funny how being possessed works, huh? Don’t give me that look.

Look, this isn’t even about the fucking gas station. It’s about my bus ride. I’m just letting you know about the gas station so you know when this all went down. Now, the night the gas station went up and obviously I need an alternate mode of transportation now since the truck I was originally driving around in was currently on the moon thanks in part to the gas station. So eventually we found a bus stop and caught the next bus.

Huh? Oh, yeah. “We.” There were two of us. No I didn’t forget to tell you shit, I was just getting to that part. I wasn’t traveling alone, I was with….uh…my niece. Yeah, that’s it, my niece…who I was taking home to her mother. No, she wasn’t anywhere near the gas station when it exploded. That’s just silly. You’re silly.

Anyway, me and my niece caught the next bus that came by. This is where the whole story becomes relevant, and why I don’t bother with public transportation unless I absolutely have to. This isn’t just some run of the mill bus we climbed aboard either, no, this is the midnight run crowd. You know the crowd, right? No, you wouldn’t. You probably only ride the bus at normal hours. Smart move, but I didn’t have the luxury of choosing when I rode the bus, or who I rode the bus with. I just had to deal.

The midnight run crowd isn’t exactly a bunch of nice people. You ever wonder how murderers and rapists get home after they’re done murdering and raping? How could you not? Well a friend of mine came up with this theory that they all take the same bus home and work on alibis with each other. That would be one interesting crowd. No, I’m not saying that that particular bus was filled with murderers, I’m just saying that the people on the bus reminded me of murderers and rapists…plus that one guy I’m pretty sure was a rapist.

Whatever, there were four other people on the bus at the time, all spread out around the bus and sitting alone. There was the rapist up front, a homeless woman a few seats back of the driver, a drug dealer in the way back and the wild card guy who looked like he had just got done with a Richard Simmons workout and forgot to change out of his short shorts and tank top, he was sitting a few rows ahead of the dealer. Now, I’m not exaggerating with any of these people, they really were a rapist, homeless, drug dealer and that other weird guy.

So, all these weird people on a bus, and they give me of all people a collective “what the fuck?” look when I walk on. I mean, yeah, I looked like shit; I was covered in dirt, bleeding and my pants had been on fire before, but to say I was the weirdest person on the bus was a gross overstatement. These people didn’t know about the gas station either, and I doubt they would care even if I had told them. It wouldn’t have changed their perception of me as the weirdest person on the bus, that‘s for sure.

I didn’t talk to any of these people. No reason to. I had somewhere to be and the only way there was to ride the bus. None of that required me to talk to anybody, and they sure as hell didn’t talk to me. Shit, they didn’t even make a peep. No coughs, no sneezes, no clearing of throats, nothing. And it wasn’t out of fear, either. I mean sure, you hear a loud explosion and you don’t immediately think “Yup, the ole gas station must have gone up.” Hell, most rational people think it’s a terror attack and run for cover. These people on the bus though, it was just another night riding through the city; one going home after sex, another looking to sell, one tired after sweatin’ off some weight and another with absolutely nowhere to go. The only difference here was that I had decided to join their ranks tonight.

We took a seat in the middle of the bus and waited. So, like I said, utter silence until the bus made another stop and picked up a new passenger. The driver said something to himself about getting some winners tonight as a black guy wearing all black stepped onto the bus. I thought he looked familiar until I realized that it was the gas station attendant. I shit you not. He wasn’t black so much as he was burnt to a crisp. Every time he moved, he skin would crack and crinkle like it were glass being stepped on.

I kinda slumped down into my seat and hoped he wouldn’t notice me. Ya see, while he was possessed and trying to blow us all up, I kinda kicked him in the nuts hoping that would stop him. It ultimately didn’t, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t happy about it. Sure enough as he cracked his head around and surveyed the crowd, he came upon me and immediately started walking over. I briefly considered jumping off the bus to get away, but it seemed moot since it would require me to somehow get passed the burn man anyway.

So the guys standing over me, just staring down. I try apologizing for getting physical earlier, but he only stares some more, also he growls a little, and he’s balling his hands into fists, and I doubt anyone would rise up and fight him off if he decides to beat me to a pulp. Also he smells like cooked beef jerky, which made it hard for me to concentrate on an escape plan. So, inevitably, beef jerky became my escape plan. I told him that’s exactly what he smelt like and he should beware of any hungry dogs who might attack him, and ya know what, he laughed! He thought it was funny. Then he turned and walked away. Anti-climactic, I know, but what would you expect me to do? Fucker wants to kill you and he just recently walked away from being inside a gas station explosion? If that don’t fuck him up, there ain’t much I can do to stop him.

The gas station dude is no longer a threat and we rode in silence for a while longer. When we hit the next stop, all those non-dead people quickly got off the bus leaving just me and the burnt man…uh, and my niece. We did pick up a couple new passengers though, a man and a woman.
The man was a former drug addict and the woman used to be an aspiring model. She was hot but she had been taking a lot of dieting pills and avoiding food. I say they used to be a drug addict and aspiring model mainly due to the fact that they were dead now as w-

-Hey! I saw that, mother fucker! You thought about pulling the stop cord and running off the bus, then you twitched for it before second guessing yourself. Why would you want to stop now? This isn’t anywhere near your house and I’m not crazy, nor am I lying. Those two people were dead. The guy was wearing a wool knit hat and you know something? Blood was flowing down both sides of his head from the hat. It had pooled into his shirt and was glistening in the light…ok, maybe not glistening, but it sure has hell was wet. Plus his jaw was just hanging there. I mean, really hanging, like it wasn’t actually connected to his skull anymore except for the skin and tissue.

The woman? She was eating…herself! I kid you fucking not! She was reaching into her shirt, and was pulling out organs from her torso, then she ate it before presumably reaching back in for it again. It was probably the same portion of stomach and it looked disgusting at the time, though awesome in retrospect...Please stop pretending like you’re going to puke. We both know you’re not.

Anyway, the guy stood up and walked over to the driver. After saying something inaudible to his girlfriend, he reached over and snapped the drivers neck. At first I wasn’t worried because I figured the driver would come back top life and drive the bus like a maniac, and keep the bus from slamming into that upcoming building. No such luck. Apparently you don’t get to return to life if it happens to benefit me.

So yeah, we crashed. I know the news reports talk about the bus crash and how it happened right after the gas station explosion, but it didn’t, and it had next to nothing to do with the gas station other than a few of the occupants. The crash wasn’t that bad though, me being the only one on board with a pulse to begin with didn’t hurt either…oh yeah, and the niece…

So, that’s kinda the reason why I don’t trust public transit as much: never know when some undead asshole will come on board and kill the driver just for a cheap thrill.

…Alright, lemme be honest with you: I don’t have a niece. The little girl who was with me wasn’t related to me, I didn’t meet her until a short while before the bus ride and I never knew her while she was alive. Don’t get me wrong, she was an undead freak like everyone else on the bus that night but she seemed to have liked me so she didn’t try to kill me…plus she kinda proved her worth earlier when she helped me scare an old lady half to death and inadvertently kill a cop…

Oh look! That’s my stop. Great talk! Can’t wait until we talk again…oh we will, but we wont, cuz you’ll be strung out on meth and I’ll be all kinds of fucked up after falling down a staircase. Gonna be one hell of a New Years party!

A Message and a Post - From Ryan

[... posted by Ryan]

Well everyone. We've gained a third contributor. His name is Will, referred to us by Ted. I hope everyone enjoys his stuff. Also, I'm working on several short stories and novels at the same time so I'm going to be posting little bits of them from time to time and in between I'll update with poems or short stories I've already finished. The one I'm updating with today is my attempt at a romance. I don't know how polished it is, I just know that I can't stand writing romances. It was a practice at my strength of being a writer though.

His age shows on his face; in the wrinkles that form the wavy lines above his worn brow. The chalk dust on his hands and face only serve to add more age to his to his already ghost like appearance. He still uses chalk and ebony boards to teach his students the way of the world. In class he tells everyone that the ebony board is more personal than the power point slide; chalk and erasers can't hide their flaws behind digital make-up. The worn brown patches on the elbows of each shirt and blazer he wears are a tell tale sign of his commitment to his students; staying up late each night to scan just "one more" essay, just "one more" response.

His father grew up during the civil rights movement and used to tell stories about how he saw Dr. King speak at the Washington Monument. These stories of his father's past were the teacher's favorites. He always asked his father for one more story, one more moral.

When he went off to college his favorite authors turned out to be revolutionaries. Not just Dr. King but Voltaire, Henry David Thoreau and Whitman as well. His favorite thing to say in class was "those who could stand up before their nation, their peers and before the ones they loved and declare what they believed in was right for all people, and they were willing to fight for the benefit of all people, then they were truly the heroes of their times." When the teacher was the student he still lead the class and offered them up the ways of the world and the ways of honor and respect amongst the world. His teacher's became his peers and out loud before the end of each semester he would say "just one more. Just one more soliloquy of pride and love and the feelings that were lost long ago. Just one more kiss between lips and one more under budget staging of Troilus and Cressida… Just one more anything so I feel like I haven't missed out."

When the teacher started dating and looking for someone to spend the rest of his tomorrows with he spoke within his head "no more, even though I'm willing to go for just one more." He had almost given up hope until one day in the library. He bumped right into her while he was staring off into the science fiction section, fantasizing of futuristic knights defending their home front's, getting the girl and winning the honor of knowing they had fought and won for their country, for their planet and for their home. When he bumped into her he immediately noticed the way her eyes glistened a shade of green he had never seen before. It was a pure color that attracted him to her eyes, but it was the smell that made him realize she was the one. It was vanilla; real vanilla, not the scent of white chocolate or vanilla ice cream, but real vanilla. It was emanating from her hair, the prettiest shade of blonde and red, he could see her telling people that "the color isn't on a hair dye box, so it isn't a true hair color." Her hair color didn't matter to him. After bumping into the combination of the wonderful smell, her beauty and his hearts beating he couldn't think of anything else to say aside from the reflex of "excuse me. I'm so sorry."

He had ruined it; his first impression on the one he thought to be his true love. He walked away a sad and disappointed man, all the way to the Heinlein section before realizing his mistake. Almost to the Philip K. Dick section before her smell moved like fate through the shelves and aisles and right before he could turn and run back to her he notices Neil Gaiman's American God's and remembers the love Shadow had for his wife, even in her death and he walks back to her. The beautiful girl with the blue eyes, she smelled like vanilla he kept saying in his mind. 

His run back to her felt like a thousand steps, a day's run across an empty field where the only thing he could see was her beautiful face. She stared down into her selection of romance novels and she couldn't decide between a novel by Linda Howard and a novel from Helen Parramore. The teacher had read both selections and recommended the Howard novel, not because he liked it, but because a respected colleague had told him of the books themes, the love story and the adventure. Her reply was more of a physical reaction than one of words; she looked up into his brown eyes and stared. The moment was not lost to them and as they peered into each other's eyes they could only wonder what the other was thinking and as the red began to show on her face he introduced himself. Her response was just as wanting as she said "My name is Elizabeth." That was all she said. 

He wondered for a moment. How could this beautiful woman not see the beauty I see in her, or sense the longing I have for her now? He picked up a romance novel, and at this point he couldn't even sense the title, only that it had an "Oprah's Book of the Month" club sticker on it. He stared at his reflection in the luminescent and golden sticker and told himself that this was one of those moments where he couldn't show that he was fearful, that all his past ten minutes of staring into space and remembering characters in books was for her. He built up his courage and with one last exasperating breath he said "Do you like coffee?" 

The look in her eyes was a look he thought he said seen often enough. He thought this was the moment where he should take the hint, excuse himself and walk away and just as he began to walk away she said "Oh I'd love to get some with you." This was said in a high pitched voice, much higher than when she had said her name and from this the Teacher could tell she was as excited as he. "I brew my own and I only live a few blocks away. I would love to walk you back to my apartment for some drinks. The sky outside is getting dark but I did bring my magical umbrella so I can protect us both from the rain or any creature that may be lurking in the night." A smile grew across her face as she stared happily into the Teacher's eyes, piercing into his soul. He could feel her searching around inside his heart, attempting to discover his intentions. They are true his mind finally said and at once she stood, said "let's check out and go my Noble knight."

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But this was my attempt at a short romantic story. It actually branched off into a compilation of even further romantic short stories that I'd like to compile into one. But they definitely work better as separate short stories. Enjoy!