Archive for July, 2013


Footfalls II


John sat comfortably, ripping through a pack of sandwiches with his teeth as he dialled a number.
Securing one tuna sandwich, he began to munch as he listened to the phone ring.
“Hey baby!” A cheery voice greeted on the phone
“Hey sugs! You on a break now yea?”
“Mhmm. Just having some coffee and looking through some papers.”
John chuckled,  shaking his head as he picked up another sandwich. “Madae McFaden it is called a break for a reason! Take a break!”
Her laughter blared out of the speaker. “I’d take a break when I’m dead”
“You? I doubt it!  You’d probably ask to be buried with your work.”
“Well, you can’t expect me to fold my hands in the ground,  doing nothing can you now?”
They shared a laugh and a small smile tickled his lips.
“I miss you baby…”
“I miss you too, hun. How’s Edinburgh and the convention? On a break?”
“All good and yes, on a break. Having some sandwiches in this huge cemetery. Real quiet and all”
“Urghhhhhh” She muttered and he laughed out loud.
“You know I hate those places. Dunno why you find them so peaceful”
“Because they are you wuss! Wussy Madea!”

Madea?

John suddenly shivered, turning. Had he heard someone?
“Gotta scram baby. Break over!”
“Ok hun. You take care” John said  distractedly, still looking about.
“I love you” She said blowing a kiss over the phone.
“I love you too”
He walked to the nearest trash can and put the empty packets in. Dusting himself of crumbs, he walked out of the cemetery.

Madea?
Madea…
Madea!

“Lend me your eyes”
John tossed and turned in his hotel room, sleeping fitfully.
“Lend me your body.”
He kicked at his duvet, deep in sleep, as if fighting off an invisible foe.
“Give me my bride!”
He groaned, hands clawing at his bedsheet, sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Lend me!”
“Lend me!”
“Lend yourself to me!”

“Yes!” John shrieked as if in pain and suddenly, eyes popped open.
He shuddered, feeling like he had been bathed in cold water.
He groaned, rubbing his eyes.
“What the hell?” He murmured.
His shivering made him realise he had kicked off his duvet. Sliding his torso out of bed, he stretched his hands and grabbed it, pulling it over himself.
He sighed at the warmth and soon, he fell asleep.

Madea…

She kissed him soundly on the lips and he hugged her hard as they cuddled on the sofa.
“Missed you…”
She snuggled into his arms and he stroked her cheek, absent mindedly.
“Did you say something?” She suddenly said, turning.
He blinked confused. “Mm? No…no I didn’t”
“Oh..thought I heard you whisper My bride”
He chuckled. “Wanna be my bride?” He asked, nuzzling her ear.
She giggled. “You asking me to marry you?”
He licked her neck slow…and she shivered.
“Do that again…” She whispered.
He blinked. “Do what again?”
She turned and leaned towards him, licking his neck slowly.
“That…” she murmured, her eyes glazed.
He felt his tummy clench as his heart began to pound.
Smiling, she stood and dragged him by his shirt, sashaying into the room.
Together, the three of them walked into the room.

Soon, she was riding the two of them to ecstasy.

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I walk slowly, grumbling as I try to balance the shopping bags in my hands to lessen the ache in my tiring arms.
“Almost there” I whisper to myself, a billow of cold steam following my words. It is a cold February night and a little shiver dances up spine.
“Brrrr! Onward soldier, onward!” I murmur, egging myself on to walk faster. I muse about getting myself a help just to do the grocery shopping.
It used to be John’s duty but since we broke up…
Well, that is that.
Coming home to rest would be ideal but that would mean living on Pot Noodles till the weekend arrives. My saving grace is the 24hour Tesco store just by the corner of the next street.
I walk past the cemetery and grimace in distaste. Graveyards always leave me with the heebies-jeebies. Not because of any ghostly fears but an aversion i acquired after i got lost in one as a child.
It had been grandpa’s burial at Edinburgh and with the boredom of a seven year old child, I ran after a butterfly delightedly, believing somehow that that was the spirit of my grandpa. It didn’t take long for me to lose my direction in the huge ground. I lost track of the butterfly and couldn’t find my way back. The grounds soon became a labyrinth to me and I was sure everyone had gone home without me. My legs soon got tired from walking and I decided to sit on a little mound of stone that was shaped like a stool. Shock and fear registered in my eyes when I suddenly felt the ground give and I toppled into a shallow grave.
It was in there my father later found me, crying my eyes out, staring at the grinning skull of a dearly departed.

I shudder at the recollection. John had decided to get us a house on a street that had a cemetery just to get me to let go of my fear. At first, I protested but the rent was cheap and so didn’t matter.
Cheapskate.

“Almost home” I whisper, listening to the rhythmic squeaking of my sneakers as I trudge on.
“Can I help with that?”
My head jerks up at the voice behind me and I turn.
There is a man with his face hidden in the shadows. My heart rate increases exponentially and it suddenly dawns on me how vulnerable I am.
As if reading my mind, he comes closer to the street light and it illuminates his face.
A huge sigh of relief leaves my body. “Ah! Spencer! You gave me a fright there!” I chuckle in embarrassment.
Spencer is a friendly neighbour I see around often. John never liked him because he thought he had a crush on me. It didn’t matter that the alleged crusher had a fiancee he had introduced to us.
Spencer smiles at me. “Sorry about that. Didnae ken you stayed out late”
“Huh?” I murmur, confused, eliciting a bark of laughter from him. “I didn’t know you could throw in Gaelic with English”
He chuckles. “Something I picked up. Need help with those?” He points at my shopping bags.
I shake my head, not wanting to burden him “Nah, they’re fine. I’ll manage. Thanks though!”
“You sure?  C’n ‘elp ya”
I smile. “You’re doing the accent thing again. It’s cute. You should teach me.”
His smile broadens and for a second, shadows shift across his face, lending him a look of malevolence. I step back instinctively, blinking rapidly and suddenly, it is gone.
“Gotta…go now” I say quickly, fidgety. He notices my discomfort and nods politely and turning away.
I think I’ve offended him and I suddenly feel foolish.
“Umm…Spencer?” I call.
He turns.
“Maybe I could do with some help” I say sheepishly.
He smiles and walks back to me. “Nothing wrong with that, lassie. We all need help.”
I give him half the bags and he lifts them. “Whao! What’s in here? Bricks?”
We share a laugh. “Tins and more tins!”

We walk along, talking, until we get to my gate which he helps me unlatch as I bring the bags in.
“Thank you so much!” I enthuse, dropping the heavy bags at the front door.
“My pleasure. Always my pleasure” he replies.
I wait for him to start leaving but he doesn’t. I smile at him uncertainly.
Does he want me to invite him in? I haven’t had a man over since John left.
But this isn’t ‘any’ man. This is a soon-to-be-married man!
“So…have a good night?” I venture.
He nods. “I will. You’ll see”
We stand there in awkward silence and I begin to get worried. Is he going to force himself on me?
“How is Dolores these days? When is the wedding?” I ask, trying to remind him of his engaged status.
“Dolores…?”
“Yes… your finacee?”
“Ah…” he says and chuckles, stroking his beard.
My teeth gnaw on my bottom lip in anxiety and my tired hands tremble as I try to get my key out of my bag. They fall and I bend to pick them up.
That is when I notice.

Only two feet are connected to the ground.
Mine.
At that moment, it suddenly strikes me how I didn’t hear any footfalls walk behind me, before he showed up.
I stand up slowly, eyes wide, lips trembling.
He smiles amiably. “Ah…I see you’ve noticed” he whispers.
“Wha..what a..are you?”
“Madea…Madea…Madea”
He whispers softly walking closer to me and I step back, limbs trembling.
“Have you seen Madea? Madea? Where are you?”
I open my mouth to scream but only a croak escapes.
“Little girls shouldn’t disturb my sleep. Mm…Madea?”
The porch light barely illuminates him as his skin ripples, the colour draining out of them, going grey. His clothes tear, suddenly turn to rags.
The smell of damp earth pervades the air, cloying, choking. I gag, tears streaming down my face like rivulets, my saucer-wide eyes shaking. I feel something wet run down my thighs.
“Madea” he growles, his voice suddenly gravelly.
His skin stretches, thin, and a familiar skull grins at me.
“O…ohh..”
“Madea. I’ve been waiting to take you home with me…My bride”
He reaches for my face and i shudder as bony hands stroke my cheek.
The stink of rot…
Of a graveyard…
“Madea… Daddy cannot find you this time…

I scream.

Hands shake me roughly.
“Madea! Wake up!”
My eyes open and I take deep, ragged breaths, body daml with sweat, trembling.
“Jo…hn?”
He stares at me worriedly, eyes red with sleep.
“You ok?”
I open my mouth to speak but he places a hand to my lips, pulling me close.
“Shhh… It’s just a dream…”
My shakes eases and I sigh. “Him again…” I whisper. “Since you came back from Edinburgh, it’s gotten worse”
“Just memories… Shhh. Sleep”
He kisses me softly on my lips and slowly, I drift back to sleep.

“Madea…” John whispered to himself.

“My bride…” Another voice murmured through him, stroking her cheek.

He would not remember saying anything… or stroking her cheek.

—————–
To be continued. Maybe?

Down The Pike


It is like my eyes are suddenly opened and I see them, a host of them, in numerous queues that seem to stretch on till eternity. All sorts of people are lines up; people of all ages are lined up – from the ancient olds to floating masses of what should be fetuses.
How many of these lines there are, I cannot say because I cannot count.
‘As vast as the sand on the seashore’ is the first thing that comes to mind.
‘There are about 7 billion people in the world’  think to myself. ‘Surely, all of them are here today!’

I look forward to see where they’re all heading to; or herded to. There are checkpoints at the start of each queue manned by being  I cannot properly explain so forgive me if my description of them comes off as vague. In fact, if it is possible for a thing to look vague, then these beings are vague.
They wear dark cloaks, or maybe dark clouds as the cloaks seem to swirl like mists if you stare too long. They are hooded; the only visible parts, spindly black twigs knotted to form arms. In one hand of a being is holding what can be most aptly described as a huge scissors; although one cannot be so sure, seeing at these tools pulse with inner light, as if alive.

My eyes ache when I look at them so i return to study the host and that is when I  notice something truly odd. I blink to make sure I am not hallucinating. Slightly above each person is a floating string made of what I can simply describe as Light. Each Light is different in hue and my eyes widen in wonder at the numerous colours that have congregated over numerous heads; from the brightest of yellows that leave a lingering giddy feeling in my body to the darkest of blacks that make me look away, shuddering instinctively. Although  colours are similar, each string of Light is unique in a way I cannot put my hands on just yet.

Suddenly, I understand the function of the scissors held by the beings that man the checkpoints. I turn to watch them snip at these strings as each person is presented before them. Immediately a string is cut, the scissors absorbs the light, incandescent, so bright it dazzles the eyes that by the time you are able to see again, the person snipped is no longer there; replaced by another.
I watch in fascination as spindly fingers hold strings delicately between what would be a thumb and index finger of a human.
It takes me a whole minute to realise what is happening and my amazement is replaced with dismay…and fear.

“Death!” I cry out loud, turning back to the people queued, as if wanting to appeal to them to turn back. The ancient olds walk on, look of pure serenity on their faces. The disfigured and sick (obvious only by their skeletal bodies), trudge on, gratitude written on the harsh planes of their faces. There are the young;  healthy and smiling, oblivious. And then there are the scared, the afraid. They are aware of what is ahead. Their saucer-wide eyes, shimmering with tears; their lips trembling, as they try to stifle screams.
‘If all these people die, then who lives?’ I muse to myself and the answer comes to me just as quickly.
Some have been on these queues for years…for ages. They would not all die immediately.
While some know what lays ahead, a great deal do not and they would continue living unaware, until it is their turn to get their strings cut.

Hands push me forward and I turn back in surpr…
“No..no…no…nono” I murmur, my limbs suddenly losing their locomotive function.
I am on a queue.
I feel sweat bead on my forehead and armpits, and i break out in violent shivers.
I turn to the blank face behind me. “There has be..een a mistake” I stammer. “I do not belong here”
I am ignored and I try pushing my way out.
“Please, let me go. Please. I still have time. I don’t belong here. No. Please”
I choke on a sob, chest heaving as I am clamped into position by a mass of bodies.
I look ahead and my heart stops at the checkpoint that is just a few bodies away.
Tears streak down my face and my legs shake unable to bear my weight. I do not crumple to the ground, still carried onwards by the mass of bodies behind me.
I struggle!
I cry!
I scream!
I pray!
“God no…No please..not yet…still got a lot to do please No No” I mumble, terror settling in the pit of my stomach like an unborn fetus made of lead.

Soon, it is my turn and I stand before my executioner.
“There…has.. has been  mishtake..” I stutter, hiccuping. “It’s…n..not…ti..time. Pl..Please…”
Ignored, spindly arms hold my light and my teeth chatter as my eyes follows the path of the looming scissors.
At the first snap, my heart lurches as if being pulled forcefully out of my chest.
I open my mouth to scream.
The scissors glow green, so bright tha-

———————————————————————————————–

I am reading Insomnia by Stephen King and I was inspired by his depiction of Auras and Bald Docs #1 #2 #3 (Read the book and you’d understand what I’m saying 😛 )
This piece crept into my mind subtly and evaded my faculties till i was so distracted, I had to stop reading to write it down on paper, before continuing with my book.
(And it is a good read so far, I’d recommend)

Hope you enjoyed and do comment thaaaanks!
Have a lovely weekend!
Jana!

P.S.A + Rapunzel


So two years today, I was in front of my ragged Toshiba laptop finally registering for a blog after coming across stories from Terdoh and Toolsman’s blogs. A lot has changed since then; for one, I’m not using a Toshiba laptop anymore. Lol.
More importantly, I’ve improved immensely in my writing, If i might say so myself.
Most importantly, I’ve met a lot of interesting people that have all inspired, intrigued and also irritated me (Sometimes, all at once!) This is a thank you to everyone that has stuck with Phantompages; old and new comers. I’m grateful.

Readers, I thank you for the time you’ve spent reading my cravies and good and bad stories. For the constructive criticisms, I thank you. And for the love and adulation (Real and imaginary on my part), I thank you.

Writers, I thank you for the Messages and emails asking if I didn’t mind having your stories up here. I thank you for the help you’ve all rendered, keeping this blog alive.

Ah, as usual, special thanks to a couple of people (I could swear I gave these same set of people special thanks last year!): Eddie (For helping me handle the blog when I almost deleted and for being my close friend and Mother all rolled up in one!), Pemi, Ekwe, P.Mantis (Professional Asshole), and last but not the least, my Fire.

Blogging is a pain in the ass you know. And if there’s anything more painful than blogging, it’s being referred to as a Blogger.
I am a writer; I write. I will be an author one day, when my materials and good and ready to be published.

Umm.. run out of things to ‘say’. So, was running through my STORIES file and came across one I wrote for Achiva’s blog as part of a series. Made me chuckle so decided to brush it up more and put it up here.

Thank you once again for all the care and support.
Watashi wa minasan o aishite imasu!

RAPUNZEL

There lived a man and his greedy wife. They were very much in love but they had no child. The man did not leave her, despite the fact that his mother insisted he did so because his wife was a ‘useless woman who used abortion to scatter her womb’. He was in love and he would do anything for her. Of course, his mother didn’t approve and he could bet she has been ‘Casting and Binding’ sine they tied the knot as man and wife.

Beside them lived a Lagos big girl called ‘Aunty Dollars’. Aunty Dollars was notorious for her diabolical means of making money and bringing customers into her hair shop.
Aunty Dollars has this mango tree in her compound and her neighbors could see it. When Aunty Dollars went to Dubai for holiday, the man’s wife, greedy woman, decided she wanted the mango.
She cried and went to her husband.
“Honey I really want those mangoes at Aunty Dollars’ house”
The man was confused. “I can buy you any mango in the market my love. Must it be her own?”
“Yes! If you love me, you’ll get them for me”
The man was unsure of what to do.
His wife’s long throat increased the more time he wasted time. “I will die if I don’t eat Aunty Dollars’ mango o! I will just die here and you will bury me!” the woman wailed.
‘See me see wahala’ the man thought to himself. ‘On top mango again?’
The man tried to endure but the man eventually got tired of his wife’s nagging and deliberate bad cooking and decided to get her the mangoes.
With his heart in his mouth, he jumped fence into Aunty Dollars compound and got the mangoes.
He thought the matter had ended there with his wife.
For where!
The greed in the wife was something else. This woman started behaving like she was the Patroness Saint of Mangoes! She wanted more!
“Your mates are having children and you’re here looking for mangoes! Is it not thunder that will fire you Idiot!” he shouted one day in a rare display of anger.
He ate burnt, bottom-of-the-pot jollof rice and black dodo that night and with repentance in his heart and hunger in his stomach, he stole the mangoes.
Anything to keep his ‘darling’ wife happy; and keep his from purging his intestines out every night.

Until one day…
“Oho!” Aunty Dollars screamed at the base of the tree, cutlass in hand, catching her thieving neighbor unawares. He hadn’t known she had come back!
“Mr. Man! Aha! So you were the one stealing my mangoes ehn? You don die today!”
She sharpened the cutlass on the floor while the man, scared, stayed on the tree, mangoes in hand, pleading the blood of Jesus.
“Please” he begged. “It was the Devil! She sent me!”
“You will go and meet the Devil today. Ole!”
The man begged and begged, promising anything and everything.
Aunty Dollars, diabolical and crazy woman, thought about it and decided to take him up on his offer.
“Seeing as I haven’t been serviced in a while, I want you to sleep with me for a month” She smiled in satisfaction at the shock on the man’s face.
“B..but…But I am a married man!” he protested weakly.
“Oho! Now you remember you are married abi! A married man that steals mangoes abi! Oloshi! Do you want me to call the whole street to gather and burn you?”
The man begged for another bargain, anything but sleeping with her.
Truth is, it would have been easier if Aunty Dollarz was pretty but OH NO!
Aunty Dollars looked like the ugly twin sister of Eniola Badmus; a walking, breathing two bags of beans with legs.
How was he, a lean man, supposed to survive with such a heap of fat in bed? And what if she decided she wanted to ride him? Would cellotape glue his broken bones? Who would pay for his medical bills?
Oti o!
The man pleaded profusely but she was adamant.
“Neighbors o!!! Come o! Ole dey here! Bring tire!” she screeched, her fat buttocks quivering as she ran around her compound.
Fearing jungle justice, the man quickly apologized and agreed to her demands.
Without telling his wife, the man who climbed to steal mangoes, climbed to play his away matches in exchange for a month as was agreed. He would not admit to it but the sight of Aunty Dollarz’s ample mammary set his flag pole straight; compared to his wife’s lemon breasts.
Like a pulsing G, he scored (Proving his mother right that the problem wasn’t really from him). Before the month was over, Aunty Dollars became pregnant.
After nine months she gave birth to a beautiful girl with very light skin.
Thinking to give the girl an exotic name, she named her Rapunzel, after the fairy tale story. As the girl grew, Aunty Dollars noticed her hair was so long and black.
Aunty Dollars had an idea.

During this time, the prince of the land was going through hard times. He had spent his money on women in Saudi Arabia and his father had stopped his allowance permanently. As he was walking, contemplating on his life, he passed by Aunty Dollars’ house.
“Rapunzel! Open the door!” she shouted with impatience.
The Prince was amazed when he saw the beautiful girl that opened the door for the crazy woman everyone in Lagos knew. More so, he couldn’t believe how lovely and long her hair was. It was so long, it actually reached to her knees!
“Haaaaay! Asanwa baby! Obianuju!” he exclaimed to himself. “Erichaamichaaka!”
The Igbo blood in him sang and in his head, he devised a method to make himself rich.
After weeks of monitoring Aunty Dollars’ movement, he knew when she left the town and that was when he decided to strike.
He crept to the side of the house and knocked.
“Rapunzel. Beautiful egg of Life. Open the door please.”
Rapunzel, shocked to hear the voice of a man got curious and opened the door. When the prince entered, he viewed the beautiful Rapunzel and fell at her feet.
“My goddess! Is your name Maggi nne? Because you’re looking spicy!”
Rapunzel blushed.
“To tell you the truth, nne m, if i die now, I want to come back to this world as the dress you’re wearing just to feel your skin on mine AsweartoGod!”
He licked his index finger and touched the ground.
“Stawpeeeet” Rapunzel gushed, flicking her hair.
“Egovine! Tomato Jos! Omalicha! Rapun Rapun! You have stolen my heart, Please take it but give me the change of your love baby!”
Rapunzel, having never been washed like dirty boxers before blushed and fell in love with the prince.
“Am I really spicy?” she asked shyly.
“Yes baby m! You are o! You’re finger lickin’! So beautiful! Oh can I have a piece of your beautiful hair? To remind me of you every day!”
Rapunzel drank the zobo of Life and like a mumu she agreed and the prince chopped off her hair.
The next day, the prince sold it off as Brazilian hair to his vain sister. He smiled as he counted the money.
“Nna mehn! Lekwa correct business!”
And thus, the hairomance continued.

Rapunzel being a part-time mammy-water grew back the hair in no time and seeing this, the prince decided to open a saloon.
When Aunty Dollars came back from her trip, she was shocked to find out about how badly her business was faring. She enquired and found out that the Prince had opened his own hair salon.
Baffled, she went home to contemplate.
Rapunzel being a mumu in love couldn’t help telling her mother about the prince. She told her mother how they had planned their wedding already.
“Mummy he said he will give me the world!”
“The prince? That useless Emeka boy? That Igbo riff raff?”
“Mummy he is so great and romantic! He asks for a piece of my hair as a token of my affection. He’s sewing a shirt for himself made out of my hair. How cute!”
“So he cuts your hair! That explains it! Ori e o da!”
Rapunzel was confused and asked he mother what she meant.
“Idiot! He is just using you! He has opened a hair salon with your stupid hair!”
Rapunzel was shocked and hurt.
“It can’t be!”

She waited for the next time the Prince would come and she confronted him.
“Where’s the shirt of hair you’re sewing darling?”
“Ah My Akwa Ugo! My tailor is a mad man o! He hasn’t finished!”
Rapunzel smiled sweetly, her eyes hard. “Let’s go meet his now.”
“Now?” The Prince became nervous and Rapunzel knew her mother was right.
With anger, she threw the Prince out of her room window and the prince died.
Rapunzel also found out about how her mother was using her too to make money and she blamed her for the Prince’s death. Everyone knew Aunty Dollars’ reputation as a witch and she was arrested for murder.
Rapunzel decided to go into business for herself.

The neighbor, seeing the resemblance between him and Rapunzel one day added 2 and 2 to make 5. His Math was bad but he knew she was his daughter. His wife already had to children from him, both girls.
He told Rapunzel about her parentage and after DNA test proved him as her father, she moved in with him and handed over her business to him.

He later died, and somehow, along the line, her name changed from Rapunzel to Cinderella.

If you get what I just did there…

The End.

——————————————————————–

Have a lovely week people!

Requiem


I

The receptionist tries a little chitchat with the stranger.
“So how long you gonna be town for, Mr. L?” she asks, smiling shyly at him.
“Just for the night, my pretty lady” he answers, smiling. “A show…of some sort.”
She blushes, fluttering her curled, auburn lashes. “Oh great!” she enthuses. “You part of the new performing act in town? We hardly have any shows here!”
He smiles warmly, cupping her cheek suddenly, planting a soft kiss on a lovely cheek.
“Oh you’d see tonight. And I hope you my pretty lady, would participate!”
She simpers, muffling her giggle with dainty hands, her eyes watching his lithe form leave to his room with interest.

II

Her doorbell rings insistently, waking her up from fitful sleep. Cursing, she opens bleary eyes and stares at the digital clock, glowing green.
3.30am.
“What the…”
She groans, flopping back on the bed. Her eyes slowly close when the doorbell rings again, longer this time, as if whoever is at the door is leaning on the  buzzer.
She jumps up, kicking at her duvet angrily.
It has to be her sister. The good for nothing wastrel who does nothing but party every night since she came to stay at hers. She has probably forgotten her key.
She grumbles all the way downstairs, switching on the light and with sleepy-eyed fury, draws the bolt off and yanks the door open.
“You better have a fucki…”
She stops.
There is no one at the door.
Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion, eyes still glazed with sleep.
“For fuck’s sake!”
She slams the door shut and cursing under her breath, she walks back up the stairs.
The bulb suddenly flickers, and as if snuffed, goes off, plunging her into darkness.
“Oh come on!” she groans, adding expletives for good measures when she blindly stubs a toe. Gingerly, she traces her way up the dark stairs, holding onto the handrails as guide.
When her feet get to the top, she suddenly feels cold hands grip her ankles.
Incomprehension shocks her to silence for seconds.
At the first pull, she regains her voice.
And screams.
She screams as she is dragged her down the stairs.
She screams as she falls, her head hitting every step like a bouncing ball before unconsciousness takes her out.
The light flickers on seconds later.
A trail of blood is smeared down the stairs.

III 

He stands bleary-eyed, holding on to his flaccid penis as he releases his waters of mankind as he tends to call it.
‘More beer than water’ he muses to himself.
Friday night, time to get wasted.
Inebriated by the alcohol, he is barely moved by the stink of the urinal.
As he is about to give himself a firm shake before zipping up, the light of the stall goes off and he curses, words slurred.
Suddenly, he feels cold, clammy hands prise his hand away from him member and grab his balls.
He squeaks in fright, the pain at being violated momentarily rendering him sober.
A scream of terror tears itself out of his throat as the strong, unyielding hand drag him, as if trying to force his body into the small toilet, slamming his head repeatedly on porcelain till they lose their virgin whiteness, crimson red with blood.
His body slides down to the urine stained floor.
The lights come back on.
A man walks in and opens a stall.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”

IV

She squats unceremoniously on the toilet seat and lets out a string of piss.
Her headphone blasts music into her ears and she bobs her head, feet tapping tot he beat.
Suddenly, she feels something cold and long slither into her vagina, forcing its way in.
Her eyes widen as she tries to stand.
She is pulled back to the seat.
She screams as she continues to sink further into the toilet bowl, eyes shiny with tears and unbelief.
She screams in pain when she feels her inside being dragged out.
As if pushed away by an invisible force, she falls, kneeling, her head smacking the tile floor.
Drops of blood streak down the toilet bowl, on the floor.
The light illuminates the drops of blood drops making crisscross skid marks down her pale thighs, her womb still pulsing warmly between her legs.
Her headphones continue blasting their music, unaware.

V

Jeremy is shoved out of bed and dragged into the kitchen.
A meat cleaver is forcefully thrust his hands.
He screams, hoping to wake someone up as invisible hand drag him up the stairs.
He realises what is about to happen seconds too late.
He plunges the cleaver repeatedly into his big brother’s chest and throat.
His prepubescent voice, hoarse, continues to scream, unable to stop.

VI

You would next.
You would scream.
But nobody would hear you.
NOBODY would hear you.
This is your Requiem.

 

VII

Mr. L’s lips are stretched at the edges into a smile, naked on his bed in his motel room, his thick , long member, black as night and visibly throbbing, contrasting with the pale hue that is the rest of his body. He fiddles with the chain on his neck, eyes closed as his body trembles slightly.

“Scream my little ones” he murmurs throatily, licking his dry lips. “Scream!”
He groans, cocking his head to the side, as if listening to the finest aria from an orchestra, a deep hum rumbling in his chest, building.
His hair crackles with electricity, standing at their ends.
The bed shakes as his body increases its vibrating intensity.
“Scream!” he murmurs louder, almost orgasmic.
He throws his head back and bares his teeth at the ceiling, hands squeezing his chain tight, body frozen.
As the music in his head builds up to a crescendo, he ejaculates.
His semen, black like stale blood runs down his thighs and he sighs, the look of serenity creeping into his face, opening dark eyes tinged red.
He belches, sulphurous smoke escaping from his nostrils.
“Wonderful!”
He laughs, teeth gleaming. “Wonderful! It’s been a wonderful show, Ladies and Gentlemen!”

 

VIII

An old truck coughs up smoke as it struggles to fire up its engine early in the morning.
After a few tries, the truck roars dully to life.
Whistling, a stranger pulls out of the parking lot of a motel, whistling under his breath.
He waves out of the car to no one in particular as he gets on the road.
“Where shall we perform next, Ladies and Gentlemen?” he murmurs.

IX

He turns to you and smiles knowingly.
He winks.

 

X

You would next.
You would scream.
But nobody would hear you.
NOBODY would hear you.
This is your Requiem.

 

——————————————————————————-

When I wrote this at first, I had no idea who the man was but when I finished, I realised it could be no other than Mr. L.
Always wanted bring in a character from an old story into a different one.
Ah, if you have no idea who Mr L is, phantompages.wordpress.com/2012/06/01/ldiablo/‎ 

Ah yes, before I leave.
Phantompages is going to be 2 on Sunday! Yaay!
Umm… no idea about what I’d do YET but hey, keep your eyes peeled.
Oh and subscribe if you haven’t.

What else?
Have a lovely weekend!
Jana!

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