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The Wireman

Last night, I was derailed from seeing a movie by a pal of mine ‘J,’ who needed a ride to a barbeque, with an invite as barter. Damn right I could see the movie another time!

We arrive at Lindsey’s house, where her roommates were all running about, organizing the contents of 11 empty grocery bags; meat here, condiments there, booze here, etc…

I’d noted to Lindsey that I liked her new home, it’s much bigger, roomier, and safer than her previous one, to which she looked a little puzzled.

“You… you must be referring to the house on ‘Nashville St,’ because you never saw…”
“…the other one,” Lindsey’s roommate Emily finished.

“So… you don’t know the story of the place in between the place you knew us to live in and this one, right?” Lindsey asked.

I just stood there, curious of all of the wide-eyed, uneasy looks, making myself wordlessly obvious that I’d not a clue. They called in the third roommate, Brianne, followed by J.

They took turns adding in their ‘two-cents,’ confirming little details, adding others, to which they all agreed upon as the story progressed. Rather than make this a back-and-forth story of four people interjecting, I’ll tell it to you third-person.

On Carrollton Avenue in New Orleans, Lindsey had parted with her previous roommate, and got together with two girls from school she didn’t know so well, Brianne and Emily, and got a decent place. The place in question was rather roomy, in a good location, and, above all, a hell of a bargain. This house, like most in the neighborhood, is nearly one hundred years old.

When Emily and Lindsey arrived to move their belongings in, they saw a note on the door of the furthest room from the front door, there was a note by Brianne, saying that she’d already claimed it, which annoyed the other two girls.

A blessing in disguise.

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Y’all Asked For It (Harold Redux)

In 1963, two young men hire on as ranch hands in the Wyoming mountains. During the long months of isolation, an unusual bond starts to develop between them, one which they are only vaguely aware of–until one night when it rises to the surface in a passionate encounter. When the season ends, they part ways, only to realize the true depth of their feelings. Thus begins a decades-long affair that the two of them desperately try to hide from those around them–one which will prove simultaneously beautiful and devastating.

EDIT: PLEASE READ THE COMMENTS BEFORE YOU POST “I DON’T GET IT” & ETC ON THIS ENTRY. THANK YOU.

Smile

You wake up today, going through your daily routines without a second thought. At one point, you decided to spend your time coming here, to read along with some arbitrary journal written by some escribitionist some of you may be familiar with but none of you really, truly know.

Have you realized what day it is?

The concept you believe to be real, what you might call ‘time’, exists in a circuit, with mornings and nights, days and weeks, months and years repeating themselves, stuck on loop within an infinite cycle. The reason for this is that time is nothing more than a border, serving to shield their decrepit, malformed dimension from ours.

The good are those who have built this wall.

The bad are those who are being kept out.

Once every so often during this continuum, there is a scheduled lapse; a small space existent within this ring of time, an anomaly which would not exist if time were, in fact, a straight line.

Those who idle upon the other side are your Doppelgangers, your alternate selves, wearing your clothes, working your jobs, speaking your words, yet they suffer more than you do. They are the epitome of the wrongs you have committed, the proof of your corruption, the spiritual manifestation of your immorality. Lest you turn into demons yourselves, time itself allows your karmic state to affect their spirits instead of your own, forcing them to watch you from behind a one-way mirror to assume the blame for all you as humans have done wrong.

The eleventh day of the eleventh month is when this mirror becomes a window, and they are given a chance to trade places.

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Sick

I slept fine last night. Didn’t sleep so well Sunday though. It was my own fault, really. I did tell him he was welcome in if he pleased.

My dream began like one of those horror games you might see, like Silent Hill or Alone in the Dark. It was night out, and almost pitch black. I was holed up in some building, hiding from something. Or waiting. I peeked out; the door was glass and had some rule stickers on it. I suppose I was in a corner store. Upon looking out, I see a deserted street, lighted by a few dim streetlamps. The street was dead empty, dead silent. I seemed to be in the middle of a city… yet there was nothing.

I tentatively opened the door, creeping out into the cold night. Ever have on of those dreams where you can feel what’s happening? This was one of those dreams. I turned left out the door and began walking. The street was sloped, and I was going down. Suddenly I stopped in front of a building. Looking to my left at it, it seemed like a small house. Not one like you’d see in the city. It was in shambles, a light grey blue color. I felt the need to go in, to see the inside. I crept up to the door and turned the handle.

Opening the door, I looked in. There wasn’t much but a few boxes, a table, and a bed. I moved silently towards the bed. On it slept a person. I glared down at her for a few moments, her sleeping figure taunting me. I bent down, picked up an object, and swing.

The brick ensured that she would not wake up soon. Dropping the bloody, hair-matted brick, a message flashed through my mind, clear as day, a dark, deep, raspy voice speaking through my mind. “The sinew will sew together the darkness and damnation.” I only know of one kind of sinew; it’s the stuff inside of you, connected to your muscles and bones, that let you move the way you can. Looking over to the table, I saw the moonlight glinting off something. I walked over and there sat a knife, placed perfectly in the center, the blade facing away from me. He knew I was coming. He knew he could tell me to do this. He knew I would oblige.

I picked up the knife and walked back over to the unconscious form in the bed before me. Her blonde hair was spilled out around her, her head bleeding profusely. I feel now as though I recognized her… but I can’t be sure. I tore the sheet off of her and brought the knife down to her, stripping her flesh from bone, until he muscles were all visible. I began grabbing at the sinew, slicing at it, and piled it all up. Once I’d gathered all I could, I began wrapping it around itself. It formed a blindfold.

I put it on, and all was black. Until the darkness was filled with an image. A house far off, silhouetted against the night sky. Atop it was a figure, and a dog. The dog howled, and the figure turned towards me. His tattered cowl flapped in a soundless wind. His blazing eyes bored into me, the blood red beads that were his pupils boring into my soul. He grinned at me, knowing he’d just gotten one step closer to corruption. I began calling him. Like in many dreams, there were things I could not control; my voice was strained, and even though I shouted as loud and hard as I could, the sound traveled mere feet. I woke up soon after that, feeling as though I had not slept at all.

And I knew I hadn’t. That wasn’t sleep. He’d brought me into his world. He’d done so many times before, and he’d watched what I did as I was placed in a deserted carnival, in a school of ravenous creatures waiting to devour me and my closest friend. He’s there sometimes, my friend, but I think I know why. I think he’s sick too.

I looked around and knew where I’d been. I knew what I’d seen. “The sinew will sew together darkness and damnation.” And it had. He’d shown himself to me. He was no longer what he’d been. A shapeless shadow. A shadow with eyes. One with a cowl and a demon grin. One who’s eyes glowed hot with flames. One who spoke to me, and caressed my face with clawed, shadowed hands.

No.

He has a shape now. He’s real. He’s come so far there’s no way I can get rid of him now. He needs a vessel, and he’s chosen me.

Besides, everyone is a little sick, even if they don’t want to believe it.

The Drain Lady

My father was a military man. Retired back in ‘95 from the Navy after 20 years of proud service to our country. But before that, we moved often… every 3-4 years or thereabouts we’d pack up and get shipped somewhere new. Early 1989, a wonderful opportunity arose and dad took it. A 16 hour flight later, and we were stationed at N.A.S Sigonella, Sicily. I guess I was about, ohhh 10 or 11 at the time. Those years were blurred save those pinpricks of memory that still haunt me. That still plague my dreams from time to time.

Our first home there was an apartment in a complex called “Bellavista” far from the Naval base. There was a waiting list to move into Base Housing that generally ran for about a year and a half’s wait. Until your time to move, you had to live amongst the locals wherever you could. Bellavista was a beautiful place… we lived on the upper floor of the complex and had a wonderful view of the countryside off our back balcony. At night, one could look up at the night sky and see a thin trail of fiery red lava slowly ebbing from still active Mt. Etna. And in the morning, everything left out in the open was often found to be blanketed ever so slightly in volcanic ash, almost like a light dusting of snow.

But naturally, as perfectly nice as Bellavista was, it wasn’t meant for us for long. The lnadlord’s daughter was pregnant, engaged… and homeless. Guess who got the boot? So we moved, with the landlord’s assistance, into another home. Motta S. Anastasia, a little cobblestone-streeted town near Catania, and much closer to the Navy base. The day we drove up to the new place, I felt ill. Of course, nothing was thought of this at the time, but I’d swear in retrospect I was being told something. The place was a 3 story house with an apartment on each floor. I really don’t remember the neighbors, but both were similarly Navy families. And I can imagine I pissed them off a lot with the screaming.

Dad unlocked the door and proceeded into the small entryway. The cobblestone street gave way to a marbled floor entrance and a matching set of marble stairs up to the second floor, which was our new home. The place was stunningly beautiful. Marble floors… glass french doors into the living room area… balconies attached to nearly every room, save the one that was to be mine. Claw foot bathtub…bidet… all the modern conveniences expected of a home in Europe.

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