June 8, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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After staring at a laminate television in the dark, I start to get sleepy. My eyes droop and the feeling of my body in unconsciousness starts to take its toll. Like a trance with my brain buzzing and my mouth hanging slightly open.

I remember that my brother, Claudio, lies on his side diagonally from the television. A marathon of True Blood is on and I had sworn to catch up on the story. Being that the clock strikes 2 in the morning, my body caves in. My eyes flutter closed. Calmly, my head lies against the couch. Soundly, my heart beats to the pendulum inside the father clock. Breathing, so steady, it just brings me deeper under.

Something keeps me from falling asleep. Unsettling paranoia creeps on me and trickles down my spine. I shudder to wake and the clock reads that it’s only been one hour since I dozed off. Times slips when you are unaware; reminiscing in the cozy rest. Something grips my attention, holding it firmly in its unknown grasp. Unsettling paranoia.

It starts to fiercely shake me and now my eyes rise wide. My skin starts to feel like it’s rising off of my bones. I scan the room very aware now. I rest my eyes on the sliding glass door in the corner of the living room. Outside it seems so normal. The darkness, so absent of light, gropes against the trees so the color goes away. Everything is so black. Curiosity gets the best of me and carries my exhausted body to the clear surface of the cold glass. There is no moon in the November night sky. It’s covered by clouds, giving the night no chance of life. My eyes squint, with no helpful use, to see out into the night. It pulls me…with a rope wrapped around my waist. But I hesitate because I fear the unknown. Background noises like the television and my brother sleeping without a care-without this disturbance annoying the corners of his simple mind- start to fade away.

The leaves move and the blackness stirs. Yellow eyes flash at me, staring at me with nothing but fierceness of the being. I want to go out and talk to this irritating fear. Usually one would want to run away from something that glares deep into your soul with insanity. But I must know what lies on the other side.

My brother awakens and asks what I’m doing. I slide open the door without acknowledging him and a cool breeze whispers in my ear and against my skin. There is a long dirt path that leads into the woods. Taking baby steps, my curiosity leads me on. More yellow eyes sprinkle the dark trees and the bundles of bushes. They started rising out of nowhere. I’m not sure what’s causing me to keep walking forward but with every step I take, my heart grows in cowardice. My palms get sticky with sweat along with an unwelcome wave of warmth flowing through me. It is the dread that makes my stomach turn. That makes my knees wobble. That races my mind and turns my sanity upside down. The yellow eyes seem to burn their way into me. My breathing speeds and I walk faster. The darkness reaches out to me and touches me, trying to get its hold in me. More yellow eyes come together and I see a sickly shape form around the small yellow orbs.

Large and deformed, the air is thick with the odor of iron.
Almost like blood.
The shapes all take place with the yellow eyes. Growing all around me at intense speeds. My legs get the signal to run so they obey. My long brown hair falls behind me and so does all the hope I had for turning back. They chase me now and I can’t stop. But I do stop because there is a cliff ahead after escaping all these looming trees. From the air, three of the beings land in a hunch in front of me. Growling fills the air and I freeze in a moment of panic. Whatever they were they had long appendages coming from their back and ribs. There is a cloud break in the sky and the moonlight gracefully pours over the land and everything that inhabits it.

I saw it.

They have decomposed skin and those strikingly terrifying yellow eyes. With blood staining their macabre flesh. Ripped apart and allowing the disconfigured bones so show. The organs flowing naturally out of them but without them acknowledging it. Their faces are the worst part of this horror. Large teeth with a glasgow grin following all the way up the cheeks to their tiny ears. Their tongues hanging down and slobbering all over themselves. Blood and saliva. I clench my heart; it feels like it stopped.

This is like the worst beings to come out of my insane nightmares. Things that only come out of the dark and living proof that true terror does exist. Hissing and moaning and groaning they all surround me. Their stench is too horrid to bear. The earth spins around me and I just accept my fate. Taking in the last feelings of living I look around me and see a break. Everything closes in on me and I spot a large stick on the ground. I pick it up and charge for the trees, whacking a being in the head sending it backwards. With a small sigh of relief I know that it still isn’t over. The things were running after me. Emerging from the abundance of trees, beings with boiled skin and glowing even though they have dead skin. I am only going as fast as my weak legs will let me. Seeing the light from my home ignites a warm reassurance in me, a hope that escaped from me. I stumble and slow tripping at the steps of the sliding glass door. I fumble to open the door and fall into the warm building letting the light embellish around me. I turn with my palms and face pressed against the glass. There was nothing but the haunting black left behind.

Credit To – Z. Slaughter

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June 6, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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I watch the horror film that is news, every single fucking day. I have, shall we say, an unhealthy obsession, with knowledge, and subsequently the ‘knowledge’ provided by my television screen. I just cannot seem to ignore it; I suppose this is due to my primal instincts, provided by evolution. My instincts force my mind to pay attention to potential threats, and yes, forgive my insolence, but images of terrorism, horrid superbugs and violence look a little like threats to me, and they have stolen my ridiculous little life.
This is what I am now doing, sitting ridged in the darkness, with only my television set for company, providing me with a dull, glowing light, once again taking notes on the events of the world, as though I am in fact a reporter, and not simply watching one, with a terrified and aimless expression on my face, slowly wasting away.
I am calculating, and recalculating my chances of survival up against the new potential terrifying apocalypse being presented to me. Today it is bacteria, flesh-eating bacteria to be exact. Apparently it eats away at your flesh, and gains its nourishment from your blood. It sounds positively ghastly, definitely not something I wish to become involved in.
I come to the conclusion that I must stay inside, well, no changes there. I have always been somewhat, socially inept, but in the past few weeks I have become even more immersed in my own company, as though it is a separate entity from myself, able to entice me into solitude.
I make a mental note that I must not open the creaking, wooden door to the outside world, or the dusty windows, for fear of allowing that disgusting, damaging infection into my damp, dimly lit home. That would just be an excuse for some bad shit to happen, not that bad shit usually needs an excuse to arrive, but I sure as hell don’t want to give it one, for if I do, well, then the demise is on me.
I realize that this is in fact somewhat of a shame, because my only glimpses of the ‘real’ world come from my window, showing me the large skyscrapers outside of my home, and the gorgeous sunlight that is so bright it captivates me, perhaps because of how rare it is that I catch a glance in its direction.
Oh well, I must make sacrifices in order to survive in this terrible, uncaring universe, where pain and threats lay just outside, around every corner, in the very air I breathe, crawling underneath my skin, and plaguing my dreams.
I gaze at the news reporter before me, her hair as beautiful as her glowing skin, as though she was photo-shopped in the womb, and was born into perfection. She speaks in a monotone, her voice low, as though she is reading me a bedtime story, willing me to get some much needed rest.
I am exhausted; my brain is painfully fuzzy, and unable to calculate even the simplest of sums, probably due to my overuse of its functions, and tiring paranoia. I can almost feel my eyelids close, bringing me momentary relief, as though all I need in this world, to remain safe and calm, is some fucking rest.
No, no I cannot sleep now, not when I take in the harrowing meaning of her all too robotic words. She is showing me the potential number of human lives that could be lost, over a million, and statistically, wouldn’t I be likely to be one of them? Living in such a compact and large city, where bacteria have the ability to fester and thrive, even more so than the citizens.
I am basically a fish in a metaphorical barrel, with no defenses whatsoever. I attempt to be rational, I am aware that the stories I am being presented with are most likely filled with lies, or at least over-exaggerated truths. However, my minds rationality seems to crumble quite completely when the bright, fast moving images flicker in front of my eyes, as though visibly threatening me, and me personally. Isn’t it just too convenient, that just the other day I entered into one of my strange conversations with myself, that ended in the ghastly topic of bacterial threats, and my deep fear of a zombie apocalypse, and just two days later it is the main story on the news?
It is as though all of these threats are but one entire entity, determined to find and destroy my being, with some horribly aggressive consciousness.
They have been watching me for a long time now, I realize, thinking back to all of the television schedules I have studied, which appear to fit my life’s events, and the ‘coincidences’ that appear to occur daily, such as me speaking to a friend about thoughts that have been spiraling my mind, and finding that the same topic is being discussed on the television, or the newspapers. It is as though they somehow have access to my thoughts, to my mind. Perhaps they are the reason for it.
No, I’m being ridiculous, I’m just a fucking conspiracy theorist, and I sound like a crazy person. But still, the thoughts will not stop, they simply become louder, as though screaming at me, attempting to show me the truth of the matter.
As I glance at the television, cautiously watching the images before my eyes, I come to a starling realization.
I realize that it is not just the news that is in on this, but also the entire media system itself. They are warping my mind, distracting me from the truth, picking and choosing the information I am allowed to know, as though to render me weak, and easily suggestible. Every time I attempt to fit the pieces of this fucked up puzzle together, I fail, I become more confused, and deeply terrified. As though some fundamental part of myself is becoming more damaged the longer I remain in ignorance.
That is the only explanation I can find for all of the strange things that have been occurring. It is the only explanation for why my mind cannot comprehend such simple things the moment I turn on the screen, the moment those dastardly pixels enter my being, and take over my rationality. I hastily switch off the television, breathing rapidly, as my heart beats painfully against my chest. There is still a small, rounded light at the bottom of the television, reminding me that I cannot escape from this, I cannot escape from the pixels influence.
I cannot help but think that perhaps they can see me through these covert means, as though this is the way that they have been able to keep up with my thoughts, and remain topical in my life.
A loud harrowing knock pounds on my door, causing me to practically jump out of my skin, and physically jump backwards, further into the shadows of the room.
They are aware that I know; this must be it.
I shiver violently, and begin to sorrowfully weep, putting my head in my hands, as though to consume my very being, and keep it safe from these dastardly beings, although I know that it will do no good.
My breath is becoming shaky; I feel as though I am in fact exhaling the very panic that consumes me, although it still has not lessened, in fact it is increasing quite quickly.
Soon menacing beings enthrall me, and my brain becomes disturbingly weak. It is as though the organs within my skeletal frame are being mutated, turned into something unrecognizable, and my body is becoming as tired as my mind, as my eyes becoming blank.
Suddenly I come to the realization that this isn’t so bad; the images before my eyes are entertaining after all, so funny, so captivating. A manic laugh leaves my lips, at the sight of my screen, isn’t technology brilliant?

Credit To – Victoria Lendon

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June 4, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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I am walking in a thick, swirling, yellow haze. Struck with an overwhelming nausea, I sink to the ground and vomit viscous bile. I’m surrounded by figures that are tall and distorted, almost like shadows on a wall. They have elongated faces and their wide open mouths scream that cry out all at once. It is a primal sound of pure fear and unimaginable agony. Their distorted faces stare down at me. They surround me. I try to escape but they come closer.
I awake in a cold sweat. My husband is snoring peacefully beside me. The clock reads 3:09 am. I am home. I am safe. So why do I feel so uneasy? I convince myself it’s just the after affect of a vivid nightmare and go back to sleep.
The next day is normal. I kiss my husband goodbye. I go to work. The uneasy feeling never leaves me. After work I tell my therapist about the nightmares. “You’re just stressed, ” he says. “The nightmare is nothing to worry about.” I don’t share his certainty.
Despite my fears I manage to fall asleep at night. The figures wait for me. Their anguish is deafening. “Stop it! Stop!” I beg. In a voice that sounds like my own they scream, “Wake up!” My skin and eyes become the yellow haze that surrounds me. I become their jaundiced pain. My hands and arms are yellow as my bile. The shadowy figure reaches out to me again. “Hurry!”
I awake with a shriek waking my husband. “Another nightmare?” Freed from my dream I cling to my husband. “See your therapist. Tomorrow.” I suddenly feel sick but make it to the toilet. I can’t stop shaking. My husband gives me a glass of water.
“He’s no help. Says it’s just stress. But something is wrong with me. Physically.” He doesn’t answer. It’s clear he doesn’t believe me.
I make an appointment with our family physician. The doctors run blood tests and say I will get the results tomorrow. They seem unconcerned. I tell them I dream about feeling sick, vomiting. I feel wrong. I’m worried. I’m scared. They prescribe a higher dose of Lexapro. They send me away.
But I dream again tonight. I touch the back of my head and I have no hair. My cheeks are sunken in and my ribcage protrudes. My abdomen is swells under my ribcage. I am in so much pain I can’t stand. The hazy yellow figures continue to wail and scream. “What do you want? Leave me alone!” I scream and put my hands over my ears. Nothing drowns out their cries. Almost as if the sounds are coming from inside my own body.
Suddenly the figures move aside in fear as a shadowy, black creature enters the circle crawling on all fours. I stare into its sunken, black eyes and I see pure malice. It approaches me extending its gnarled, black fingers. I watch in slow motion, in too much pain to resist. It reaches down and touches my swollen abdomen. The place it touches turns black. The creature crawls inside my abdomen and the blackness spreads throughout my body until I was swallowed whole. I feel an emptiness and the world around me fades into nothingness. The cries fade. I awake.
Immediately after getting up in the morning I make another doctor’s appointment. I schedule an MRI of my abdominal cavity. The doctors warn over and over that this is an unnecessary procedure and the insurance won’t cover it. I give them my credit card. They do the scan.
The doctor returns with the results, “You have a malignant tumor in your liver. You’re so lucky. Usually by the time we detect liver cancer it’s too late.”

Credit To – Sarah L. Schaefer

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Oh See Dee

June 1, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” I yell out, sweat pouring down my face as I melt away from the stress of the situation. There is my mother, my perfect, caring and understanding mother, lying on the floor semi-conscious after the nasty fall she just had. I turn her over to lay her on her back and I immediately notice the swelling. She must have hit her head on the floor when she face planted under the dining room table. The blood is overwhelming the white tile floor, flowing steadily from a large gash on the left side of her neck. She must have caught the corner of the glass tabletop.

“You know I always stack school books on those tiles over there! That was so stupid and clumsy, Mom!”

I can’t stop looking at the gash in her neck. The swelling has spread across her forehead so it looks to be evenly distributed. But that gash, on the one side of her neck…it just isn’t right. She knows I can’t be put in situations like this, never been able to handle them well at all. I love my mother dearly and I can’t just watch her bleed out of that gash. I have got to do something!

“Mom, listen to me, you have got to stay still! Do you understand? This may hurt a bit but you CANNOT move or it is just going to be worse. I’ll be right back!”

I run to the kitchen, “2, 3, 2” and click the light switch 6 times. As I approach the knife stand, I make sure to rub the green wall counter-clockwise 24 times and clockwise 24 times before I lift every knife in the block until I settle on the one that feels the best, the paring knife. I skip two tiles left, 3 tiles forward and two tiles right until I am even with my mother. As I bend down over her, I make sure that I even up the blade opposite her neck from the existing gash.

“Mom, quit moving, you are going to mess up my line! Once it is perfectly symmetrical, I’ll get you a towel and call the ambulance okay! Stay calm!”

Credit To – StupidDialUp

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Modern Monster

May 21, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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Hello, my name’s Charlie Ipstien. Dorky, I know. But I’m better known as ‘Chips’ by my familiar. I ain’t a classy guy, a lowlife thug people call me. And I admit it. Can’t really blame myself though. It was where I was damn raised. Messed me up badly. I grew up in the slums, the absolute pits. The school I was taught in was complete and utter shit. The budget was around about the price of a taco. The teachers knew no better than us, and were nearly always pissed off. Let’s just say they had a different idea on ‘Punishments’, back then.
However, it wasn’t just them that caused us to be how we are today. It was a kid, who came to our school during April. You see, this was a cheap, cheap school, so the peasants around here could afford to ‘educate’ their child. So it’s no surpise to anyone that some shady characters got into the school. Like Larry. Although no-one actually called him that. That had a special name for him: Freak.
Larry had the average personality of a kid who just moved to school. Shy and quiet. But how he looked, well that was a whole new story. He had one of those conditions, I’d researched, um, let me see, ah yes: Hypertrichosis. Or as it’s better known ‘Werewolf Syndrome.’ Because who cares about being subtle. He had hazelnut brown hair all over his face, and his body. We found that out when Razor took his shirt off and started kicking him. People like us weren’t so used to the condition, so he was bullied badly.
We’d all call him freak, and ‘Werewolf Kid’ and usually taunt him with wolf howls all day. It weren’t ‘cos we didn’t like ‘em. ‘Cos deep down, we were scared of him. We’d never seen anyone like it, so that was our natural reply to it. You might call me sick, but I wasn’t doing the bullying so much, more just watching. I know, that’s no better but what would the teachers do anyhow? The gang would howl at him, and hit him all lesson long, while the teacher was usually shitfaced on the table.
The more I think about it, the more I feel bad. He was just trying to fit in, and we weren’t making that easy for him. But the others didn’t care, they never stopped having fun with him. Especially Razor. He seemed to take an instant dislike to him, and usually went way too far as we stood back. Razor wasn’t the most healthy-minded kid, as he lived in a house right next to druggies, the fumes getting through, most likely. Not many people knew Razor’s name, we think it was Robert Mayfield or something. But when some poor sucker named Jeff made fun of his name, Razor justified how he’d got that nickname. It was a natural decision to let him be in charge.
One of the incidents were Razor freaked out was P.E, and the teacher, being the lazy bastard he was, just gave us all a ball to bounce. We did the usual stuff, dodge ball, football, while Razor had two balls, and held them to his chest pretending they were his boobs. You know, the normal High School stuff. Then Larry came, presumably from the teachers office, his hair ruffled and messed up, and his eyes red from tears. Despite his large amount of hair, he was pretty weedy. There was a ball each, but since Razor had taken two, there wasn’t one for him.
“Um, could I have a ball, please?” He said, stuttering as usual.
Razor looked at him, then held one of the balls way over his head.
He pointed to the white ball above Larry and said, “Oh look guys! A full moon!” I had to admit, that was funny. We all laughed and Larry sighed.
“What, ain’t I funny enough for ya freak?” Razor said angrily, gaining closer to him.
“Just come back over here man, carry on with the game.” One of us called out.
“I’m not done with hairy and ugly over here.” He snarled back, as he carried on pacing towards Larry. “Well, what’s your problem, huh?”
Larry was walking back quickly, so Razor pelted one of the balls at him as hard as he could. It must have caught him of guard, because he slammed on the ground. The gym teacher just gave a grin through his cigar.
Razor got his second ball, and threw it even harder at him. Larry writhed on the floor in pain. Razor was freaking out, as usual.
“You want a ball, do you? YOU WANT A GODDAMN BALL?” He grabbed a ball of someone else and continued to pummel him, as Larry squirmed on the floor, his face twisted in pain.
“Leave it man, come on!” We all pleaded, this could get real ugly.
I wish, and I’m sure a lot of others wish, that we’d done more then. The display that happened through the next ten minutes or so was too disturbing even for us. Razor continued to pelt him until Larry was just breathing heavily, occasionally jolting with pain. I still regret not doing something to this day.
One day, as we were walking out of school, I saw Larry walk off to the right, where I was pretty sure just led to the woods. The woods were a creepy ass place. It was the birth ground of campfire stories, and many urban legends. Ghosts, bigfoot, some weird tall dude who stole kids. I quickly ran up to him, and he looked mildly surprised, as I guess he thought I was gonna beat him up.
“Please, just let me go…” He said immediately, trying to quicken his pace.
“Where to? The only place you can go is the woods. Where’s your mom or dad?” I asked. He slowed down, and sighed.
“I don’t have a house. The woods are my home. My mom died while I was on the way out.” He continued to walk on. I just stood there. Poor guy. Wait! ‘Stop feeling sorry for Larry!’ I convinced myself, and I ran back to the gang, way ahead now. Still, he had no home, and we weren’t making it easier for him.
The next day I told them about what he said, obviously instead of me talking to him, I was punching him, so they wouldn’t judge me. I was planning on maybe raising a bit of sympathy, but it raised more taunting, and the bullying just grew worse.
The story spread across the lunchroom like a germ, as I saw Larry look into his hands. He looked at me, shaking his head slowly. I felt kinda bad, and the next day, Larry had come up to me, while I was talking to my friends.
“Why, why’d you do it?” Larry asked, so pathetically I almost felt sympathy. The gang looked at me, waiting. I had to do something to please them.
I shoved him to the ground, his eyes wide with shock.
“Sorry Larry, nothing personal.” I joked. The gang laughed heartily, and I felt pretty good. Not for hurting Larry, but for being accepted a bit more.
But the day my childhood really got messed up was the day Larry left school. It was the Monday after a previous week of taunting and slightly more vicious attacks off Razor than usual. The story had mutated to a straight up insulting rumour, and I could tell Larry was losing it. I saw his occasional eye twitch, and his slight vibrations and he sat on his desk, clawing at the table. On Monday, he was walking through the gate, twitching like a mental patient. Razor met him at the gate, me and the gang behind him.
“Hey Larry, Look what I got for ya! Ahem..!” He began.
“St-, stop it.” He spat quietly. Razor was surprised, he wasn’t used to getting spoke back to.
“What, am I getting to ya?” He said in mock empathy.
“Shut up. Just shut up.” Larry countered. His eyebrows were slowly curling down, and the crowd gave an excited murmur. This was action!
“Really? You and what army?” Razor shouted, pushing Larry fiercely.
Larry, instead of backing away, just stumbled back a bit, and shook violently even more. He looked like he was in-between ‘not giving up’ and ‘not snapping.’
“You know what I think freak boy?” Razor said, nose to nose. “I think ya momma just killed herself when she saw what just popped out? Deserved it, if you ask me…”
It all happened so fast. Larry pounced on Razor, sending him to the floor, roaring as he did so. Razor gave a startled cry, shocked at this sudden outburst. We all stopped breathing, as time seemed to stop. We were all dumbfounded by this sudden outrage. Larry continued to beat him furiously, his arms so quick they were just a blur. Blood splattered to the ground by Razor’s head, as we just stood there in horror.
“Hey, let him go freak boy!”
Some kid tried to hold Larry back, and Larry reacted by punching him away with all his force. The kid fell back like a ragdoll. Larry spun his head back to Razor. I saw his eyes, and for the first time I’d seen him, he had a look I’d never seen before. The look of an animal…


That all happened in high School, as I said. Left me pretty devastated and disturbed. Took me a long while to get over it, still fully haven’t really. Sometimes the memory comes back, after trying so hard to forget it. I see Razor screaming in agony, as Larry continued to claw and punch him. The teachers had apprehended Larry a couple of minutes later, they held him back with all their strength, as he writhed like a fish caught in a net. He was taken to children’s juvenile centre. We never heard from him again, and the teacher would nervously change the subject when he was mentioned. Razor hardly spoke after that, He was never the cocky airhead I’d known him to be. Larry had left him with some serious scars, mentally and physically.
I’d just finished remembering all that suppressed trauma when I got a phone call. I picked it up, and Razors voice was on the other line. The audio was shaky, as if he was holding it with a broken hand.
“Hey, hey Chips.” He said un-confidently.
“Hey Razor man!” I said happily. I hadn’t heard from him in months. “How you been?”
“Can’t complain, can’t complain…” I could hear the paranoid tone of his voice. “So, hey, I was wondering, if maybe you’d like to…”
There was a long pause. I could have sworn I heard some very high pitched sounds, like whining…
“Yo Razor, you there?”
I heard a low grunt from the other end, a forceful grunt. Deeper than Razors voice by a long shot.
“Okay, 0kay! Sorry man, um, line went dead. Um, so, I was wondering if you wanna get a couple of beers?”
“Sure man, tonight?”
“Yeh, yes tonight. JTK bar at 8:00. See, see you there…”
I swore I heard another grunt, and the line went dead. The phone call had, unnerved me at the least, but he’d went kinda coo-coo after the whole ‘you know what’ incident.
I was walking towards the JTK bar and it was already dark. The gnarled trees from the upcoming forest were bent and twisted, like a spinal cord. The clouds devoured the sky like smoke. Hell, probably is smoke from all the damn chemicals from the factory around here: SIREN INDRUSTIES. Damn bastards, as if this place didn’t smell bad enough.
To get the JTK bar you had to go through the woods, the one were Larry had lived. I wasn’t so scared of it now, you just have to walk through a straight path, and it’ll lead you right to town. Still, the place gave me the creeps. All the legends, and especially knowing now that Larry lived here.
I walked into the entrance of the woods, and jerked slightly. I looked down at my feet, I’d stepped into a big footprint. Not just big, huge. And right by them were smaller footprints. I carried on walking until the smaller ones just suddenly, stopped. No evidence of them turning around or nothing. Weird.
I carried on, the huge trees towering above me, watching me almost in anticipation. Like they knew they were about to get a show. The cold air stung my skin. The owl gave the occasional hoot, and the moon rose above the smoke. Classic cliché horror movie moment. I chucked, but they weren’t real. None of them were.
I turned to the sound with a jolt, and there was just 2 particularly large and menacing trees, and some over-grown, swamp green bushes. Instead of the smell of piss and bark, here it smelled even worse. It smelt like raw meat, that’d been left here to cook and rot for a million years. Probably a dead skunk, but I couldn’t get over how bad it was. The odour filled my lungs, as I coughed and spat. I squinted my eyes to see what was behind there. All I could make out was a huge lump. Probably a tent, or a den some kids had made. Probably cooking some bad meat, or cooking something else. I heard slight whimpers, so quiet they could be missed. I wanted to see what was behind there, overlooking the entire meeting with Razor.
I began to try walking through the bushes, and the thick bristles made it tough. Ivy scraped my leg, like they were warning me to leave but I got through them. The smell was stronger now…
There was a narrow gap, and with a squeeze, I got past the tightly packed trees. I looked to where I had seen the shape…
The smell was strongest as it had ever been.
I gasped.
I saw Razor, beaten, bloodied and broken. His face was terrified, agonized, but somehow, self-accepting. His clothes were torn with three long marks. His body was dangling like a puppet. Around his neck was a gigantic fist, squeezing the life out him. The fist was brown, and hairy. The arm followed to the body of an enraged figure, a figure I knew all too well.
But this was nothing like the Larry I’d known. The Larry I’d known was small and weak, but this one was built like a bear! He had fists the size of wrecking balls, his body like a tank. His biceps were like giant pumpkins, and just looking as hard as steel. His fur had never been too rough, but his fur looked like it had been dragged to hell and back. When he was a child, you had been able to see his human features, however now he barely looked human at all. His face was angry, but calm. But underneath the miles of fur, his eyes were bloodshot and yellow. His teeth had been filed to a point, and they were stained with red. He had a particular look, I look I’d tried my damned hardest to forget.
The look of an animal.
“P, please….,” Razor said so, so quietly.
Larry raised one hand up to Razor’s head, and gave a sharp twist. A sickening sound followed, a sound like a plate being smashed. Razor fell to the ground lifelessly.
The puppets strings had been cut.
I gagged. My feet were glued to the floor, as the rest of me shook widely. Larry turned to me, his face partly hidden by the shadows. He gave a sick grin, like an animal that had cornered its prey.
“Sorry, Chips.” He, it growled, a voice so deep it sounded it would hurt to talk.
He took a pace towards me, his fist rose to me. He lifted me, his sharp nails, claws digging into my hip. His grip was so tight. I must have weighed nothing to him. I was now face to face with this monster I had once known to a child, a lost child, with no-one to love him, tormented to insanity. He spoke again.
“Nothing personal.”
I heard the plate smashing sound again, and it all went dark.

Credit To – YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE USERNAME! (Thanks to tytiger10 and Joshua Standlee!)

This is the first entry in the Modern Monsters series.

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Tight Spaces

April 30, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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This is the third installment in the Tower of Sorrow series.
Part One: Yon Black Edifice Hath Called Me
Part Two: First Steps


“Hello?” I ask perplexed.

“Who is this?”

The phone is silent and soon begins assaulting my ear with a “busy” signal. I feel my muscles begin to loosen as if the very bones that held them had liquefied. I can see the phone slip from my fingers and begin tumbling to the floor. My coffee cup tilts forward and the hot black liquid begins to spill over its edge. I slowly begin to realize that the blue and white tiles of my kitchen floor are closer than they once were. The realization sinks in that I am falling. I try to put my hands out in front of me but my limbs refuse to respond to my commands. My knees thud to the floor followed by my useless arms. The world around me begins to grow dark. This grand symphony comes to a close as my face meets the floor.

The darkness floods in and enshrouds me in its black garments. It begins to shift in a sickly ebb and flow with crimson and purple running through it. In amazement, I begin to feel my arms and legs coming back to me. I realize that I am no longer lying face down on the ground, but rather on my back. I am staring up at a crimson sky with small wispy purple clouds drifting lazily toward the horizon. There is a tickling sensation against the back of my neck and when I turn my head I see the reason why. I am lying in a field of some form of grass. It is exceptionally long and has small soft hairs running up and down its smooth blue surface. My gaze and reverie are broken by a rustling in the grass just feet from where I lie. As I peer in that direction I begin to see eyes staring back into mine. They are the brightest orange-red with three small black pupils set in a triangular configuration. A small furry creature pokes its head out of the grass. I begin to see that its wide round eyes are set in a small fuzzy face much like that of a lemur. I sit up and it shrinks back.

“It’s ok,” I coo, holding out my hand. The small creature extends its neck, which is nearly a foot long, and begins to sniff my hand with its small pig-like nose. In an instant the sun’s light is blinked out by a massive shadow. A mad screech breaks across the sky and I jump to my feet, throwing my gaze skyward. There it is, or rather, they are. The swooping black demons with their piercing green eyes are covering the sky. My small furry companion tries to disappear, running back into the tall grass, but he is too late. One of them dives down at lightning speed and snatches him up in its jaws. As it flies away it spits out the smoldering skeleton of the poor creature. Their shrieking and screaming are thundering across the open field. I feel a trickle run down my cheek and wipe at it with my fingers. Blood, my own blood, I start to feel dizzy and giddy, as if I had had too much to drink. In a matter of seconds the world has once again faded to black.

This time though, there are no demons. There are no whispering voices, no tower. The only sound is a low steady rumbling and music. The music is low and distant, but it sounds soft and sad. I can tell from the movement of my breath in front of me that I am in a tight enclosed space. I can’t move my arms or legs and if my eyes are open, there is no light to see. A chill runs through me and I wonder, am I dead? Is this small black space my final resting place? Is the slight movement I feel the pallbearers carrying me to my grave? As the fog inside of my head begins to clear I begin to smell a familiar stench. Is that gasoline? Oh dear God, am I going to be cremated?! I start to struggle to move and am met with resistance. I now know all too well that my immobility is not due to death or rigor mortis. My hands and feet are bound and I can feel the ache in my bent legs. They are screaming to be set free to straighten themselves out. The rope is cutting into my wrists and ankles as I fight to get free.

Suddenly I’m jolted to the right as what I now realize is a vehicle, slams to a halt. The distant music fades into silence. I hear a loud creaking sound and the weight of the car shifts. I hear the car door slam closed and the whole vehicle rattles with the force. Now, I can hear footsteps heading towards the rear of the car. There is the shuffling and tinkling of keys just before the trunk lid pops open. In the pale yellow light of the moon I see a dark figure towering over me. In the shadow of the figure’s wide-brimmed fedora, I can only see its mouth. The figure smiles and its teeth are horrible pearly white needles glistening in the moonlight.

In a deep and raspy voice the figure says with a chuckle, “Oh, I see you’re awake.”

Credit to: J. Brown

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