Category: horror


El Malvado Muñecas


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El Malvaldo Muñecas
Gently, the wind caresses
They swing
Synthetic hair fluttering
Catching the rays of sunlight.
Eyes stitched shut.
Lips stitched to a slashed smile
Across kntted faces
The locals cross the road
Quick signs of the cross
Away from the dolls
Garroted
Under barbed wires.
Puppet-like
The wing, the puppet-master.
No one knows how
Or why
Or when
But even the bravest of men
Would never stray where  they hang
Swinging merrily
Invitingly…
Touch me…

She died,
Nina, the curious.
A week after she had waited,
Away from Papa’s gaze
To quickly touch a doll
Light; just light on its feet.
Drowned.
A week after,
Her doll, redhead and patchy
Hung beside the others.
Garroted.
A dancing puppet.
Touch me…

Papa wailed as he saw
His gift of love,
Crudely added
To the macabre theatre
El malvaldo Muñecas
They took her.

Poseído!
Muñecas poseído!
Possessed,
Every single one of them
Their stitched-on smile
Never wavering
At the accusing glances of the locals.

It is whispered;
Sí, it is true
That on a certain night
They do not just hang.
On a night when the gateway
Between worlds open;
Día de Muertos.
Their stitched eyes open.

It is whispered,
Sí, it is true
They remember;
The warmth of their owners,
The echoed feel of a body
Pressed softly
Against a child
And then, they move
In search.
Of old owners, long gone.
Of new owners,
soon to be gone.

El malvado muñecas
The evil dolls.

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Undeparted


“Susan Okpara is dead”

We sat shocked in the assembly hall, our minds trying to assimilate what we just heard.
Susan? Our Susan?
Susan the Head Girl. Susan the M.B.G. in Princess High.
Some of us did not believe it.
We refused to believe, even as we sat on the pews at her funeral, watching her covered coffin as a Bishop spoke about Life and Death.
It still did not…no… would not hit us as we watched her being laid into the ground.
We refused to let it hit us as her coffin was covered with sand, as we took handfuls from a mound; we knew we were just going through a ceremony.
The box is empty.
It had to be.
Susan is not inside.
She couldn’t be!

Susan Okpara is not dead.

Simple.

“Susan is not dead” Mr Ikon said authoritatively when we resumed the next week.
He glared at us, daring us to argue but no one was ready to.
He was her prized pupil.
Mr Ikon walked to her desk and pointed, finger trembling as he tried to control the tremor in his voice.
“Susan is not dead. She is here with us, sitting right here. We cannot treat her as dead”

That was how it begun.

We were willing to go along with it.

Susan wasn’t dead.

Her desk remained there for her.
We stuffed her assignment into them.
It didn’t matter to us that it was soon overflowing with papers.
We packed them neatly, writing her name on each one and storing in her metal locker.

Her name remained on the register and I personally signed her in every morning.

We reserved a seat for her for school trips.

She was the prom queen and her crown was put on her seat.

It was graduation day and for the first time, we forgot about Susan.

“Everybody come together. Now smile. Say cheese”

We smiled as the flash blinded our eyes for three second

Two weeks later, my graduation pictures came.
I smiled as I looked through them.
The last was the panoramic view of all the graduating students.
I smiled as I identified everyone.

My eyes glanced over myself…and stopped.

My heart stopped.

Then redoubled.

I closed my eyes.

I opened them, blinking rapidly.

I looked back at the picture,

No, i was not mistaken.

Behind me, Susan stood in her school uniform.

Her skin seemed translucent; faded.

Lips stretched wide into a smile that didn’t reach her cold, dead eyes that glared out at the camera.

My hands shook, my breathing coming in gasps.

I looked at her hands.

They held my shoulders.

No, not held.

They clawed at my shoulders as if trying to rip my arms out of their sockets.

A whimper escaped from me.
The photograph fluttered away from my hand and dropped on the bed.

Sweat rolled off my brows and I brought out my phone, shakily trying to dial Lola’s number.

Just at that moment, I felt it.

I felt a hand pull on my shoulders.

I turned violently, jumping off the bed, eyes wide with terror.

No one was there.

My throat clogged as I picked my phone quickly and dashed for the toilet.

“Oh God” I whimpered as I locked myself in.

I sat down on the toilet lid, fingers slipping off my keypad as I tried to get Lola’s number from my phone book.

I wiped my hand rapidly on my thighs, trying to control my breathing as sweat into my eyes,  listening to the phone ring.

I licked my dry lips anxiously.

“Hello! Oh my God Feng was just about to call you! Did you hear what happened? Mr Ikon is dead!!”

My brain slowed to a crawl.

“Hello? Feng? Feng? What is it? You crying? ‘Cause of Mr Ikon? No? Feng what happened!?”

I took a deep breath.

“L..Lola…”

“Yes? Talk!”

“L..Lola..Susan…”

“Huh?”

“SUSAN IS NOT DEAD!”

As I spoke frantically to her, I felt it again.

Hands gripping the back of my neck.

I screamed, phone dropping off my trembling hands and clattering to the floor.

“Why didn’t you people let me die?”

—————————————————————————

Hey!
So, this was first scribbled after i finished watching an anime, Another. Served as an inspiration for this story and if you watch it, you’d know why.
I’d recommend to fans of animation. Yes, it is Japanese but hey, I think the Japanese tell the best horror stories.

That being said, hope you have a lovely weekend and Eid Mubarak to my Muslim readers!

Jana!

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.


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!

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!

The Painter


She smiled at him from across the pub and he gazed at her blankly for a second before breaking eye contact. He felt her gaze steadily on him  and he pointedly ignored her, focusing on his pint of lager.
Coming to an abrupt decision, he downed the beer in three large gulps and setting down the glass, he waved to the waiter and walked out of the pub to the car park. He had been passing by the unknown neighbourhood when the sudden need to drink drove him into the side pub; the sudden need to wash out the bad taste of the news his agent gave him more like.
“You have to do something or I’m afraid I’d have to drop you!”
He huffed now in irritation at the memory checking his pockets for his keys.
“I know who you are.” A female voice said behind him and he turned in surprise.
It was the woman in the pub.
His eyes narrowed and he turned back to his car as his fingers snagged his keyring up.
“And who am I?” He asked dryly as he opened the front door.
She walked closer to his side, a big grin on her face. “The Painter. Eugene De Croix”
His eyes narrowed further as her smile became wider.
“Former painter” he spat out gruffly manoeuvring himself into his seat.
“But a fantastic one!”
He made to shut the door but she stood in the way, holding the door.
He eyed her for a second, taking in her features with practiced eyes of one who observed human features for a living. She was unremarkable; a large forehead above wide set eyes and a hooked nose. Her only saving feature were her lips; small and full.
‘And not belonging to that face’ he mused sardonically to himself.
“What do you want?”
She hesitated suddenly unsure of herself.
“Well…Ummm… You’re a great painter. And I’ve studied your work. And I’m an art stude-”
“Do you want an autograph?” he interrupted rudely.
She bit her lip and his eyes strayed to them, tracing every curvature, mentally applying a vivid shade of red to them.
“I want you to paint a portrait of me.”
A cruel smile formed on his lips abd he snorted. “Ha! What?”
She stood straighter. “A painting. That is what I want.”
“Well Miss…”
“Schronberg”
“Miss Schronberg, yes. I do not receive painting commissions in parking lots. And even if I did,  certainly not from you or your type. You cannot afford me. And since you say you’re an Art student, you’d know I haven’t painted in the last three yea -”
“I know I know. But I do not think you do it for the money, your art.”
He laughed in derision. “Oh yea?”
“You don’t. Your paintings tell me that. And you have donated quite a lot of them. Don’t you miss painting? The thrill of producing something great like your ‘Selene on a Couch?’
He stared at her with renewed interest.
Could he…?
“Nah..” he murmured, shaking of his head an a short laugh as he dismissed her.
“Please Miss Scrotumberg. If you’d excuse me…”
Unoffended by the unconcealed insult, she refused to budge. “No.”
He snorted, amused by her defiance. “I would call the police, Miss.”
She smiled. “You wouldn’t. ”
“Oh yea?” He smiled.
She smiled back. “Oh yea!”
He huffed and suddenly his agent came to mind.
Another work…another work.
He stared at her again, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Does anyone know you’re here” he asked suddenly and she frowned slightly at the awkward question.
“Umm..no. Don’t live around here. On a mini-sightseeing.”
He licked his lips.
“Fine. Jump in”
She broke into a wide grin.

***************************************

He arranged her lips for her and walked back to his easel where a canvas was propped. He eyed the figure and dipping a wide brush into a paint pot, he smeared his paint medium on the half-finished canvas, total concentration as he brought her alive on the canvas.

Running dry of dark paint, he took his paint bowls and walked up to her. With unusual gentleness, he lifted her head and squeezed her neck, until tiny drops of dark blood oozed into his pot where he had made his precise incision earlier.
Her dead eyes gazed unseeing, a look of surprised permanently etched on her face.
He smiled briefly at her cold body, remembering how good it had felt to take her home; to sneak up behind her and with practiced movements, slash her throat.
She wanted to be painted after all and it had been a while he had employe his special medium.
Staring at her now, his hands began twitching again in excitement.
After his self-imposed hiatus because of  a murder investigation which resulted in him being questioned, it felt good to be back.Smiling and humming a little tune to himself, he walked back to his canvas, fresh paint in hand.

*****************************************

“It is fantastic to have you back Eugene! And you work, SPECTACULAR!”
He smiled indulgently at the overweight man who stood in front of his canvas, staring.
“This would sell. Ah I see you used your signature colour! The curves. The swirls. The contrast on the white canvas. SPECTACULAR!”

The spectacular rang in his head as he smiled, giddy with triumph.
Unable to contain his excitement, he took a late-evening walk, aimlessly meandering through streets and alleys.
“Hey boy. Fancy a fuck?” a voice whispered out of the gloom.
He turned and thinking quickly as a woman walked towards him. “Only if you allow me paint you after.”
“Whatever. Gonna be 30 bucks. Got a car?”
He smiled at her in the darkness.
His fingers twitched.
He licked his lips.

The End.

————————————————-

I always find it cheesy writing The End. Dunno why. Lol.
Have yourself a lovely weekend.
Jana!

Refuge


The abandoned house groans like an old woman as a nifty wind buffets the shack.
Window frames bang against window sills routinely at different corners of the house.
The swing hooked to the old oak tree at the backyard complains as the rusted metals holding the contraption rub against each other with the force of the wind.
The front door had fallen off at one point and so the house invites us inside to take refuge from the billowing elements.
The front door leads directly to a large, almost empty space that should be a living room.
Wallpapers peeled off, plaster fallen off the walls in patches like fairy dust.
It is almost empty, save for a rocking chair.
It does not move, even as stray children of the wind find their way into the abandoned shack of a house.
Somewhere within the house, an old grandfather clock booms the hour and as if on cue, the house is whipped into a frenzy.
Creaks.
Groans.
Moans pass through the walls and if one should press their ear to them, they’d swear they heard conversations.
The stairs squeak, as if someone of great bulk is climbing down.
The grandfather clock stops booming at twelve and suddenly, the rocking chair begins to move slowly.
Almost happily; like a dog that has sighted his master.
The stairs stop squeaking and the floorboards take over the squeak, almost sounding like footsteps that lead to the living room and eventually, to the rocking chair.
The chair rocks faster…
Faster…
FASTER!
Almost in a frenzy that if it were human, it would have been foaming at its lips with excitement.
A big crash and as if a weight had fallen on it, it stops.

A low  murmur, old crooning…
The empty rocking chair begins to move, as if controlled.

There is just one glass that has not fallen off a window frame in the house. The glass is in the living room. The rocking chair faces the windows.
Reflected on it, a fat woman sitting, staring at the naive soon-to-be-permanent-guests of the house; You and I.
Face, as black as night.
Hair, as white as snow.
Teeth, as red as blood.

She watches us as we run into the house to take refuge from the heavy rain that just began to fall.
“Wow! That was bloody sudden!” you mutter as you look around and sighting the chair, make for it.
You sit on it and invite me with open arms to sit on your lap.
Together, we sit, gazing at nothing.
We do not notice the reflection.
We only shiver a little; maybe from a chill.
Maybe because reflected, she just pulled us into herself.
One big hug.

Face, black as night.
Hair, white as snow.
Teeth, red as blood.

———————————————————————-

Another flow of random energy amassed as words.
I would settle down soon enough for  proper story.
Promise.

The Mortician


I sat in my inner office, biting on the sorry end of a pencil as I stared intently at a document. Figures swam in my eyes and I sighed. We were barely managing to stay afloat from the state of the account books. I dropped the pencil and removed my glasses, rubbing my eyes laboriously.
I really shouldn’t have given Patty a day off. Patty, my able assistant and Saviour on days like this when my brain refused to cooperate with me.
I sighed again, closing the file and keeping it for later when I heard a chime at the outside entrance signifying that someone had entered into my small establishment. I stood quickly, tucking my shirt in and straightening my tie, I walked out of my office to receive a customer.

A tall but somewhat diminished man stood, unsure of himself looking at the empty front desk where Patty should have been. He didn’t notice my silent entrance. I cleared my throat to get his attention and when he turned, I took in his appearance. His clothes hung off him loosely as if it unsure whether to mould to his skin or not; decrepit clothes of dull greys and browns. He sported a buzz-cut, dark hair greying at corners, his face rugged and bearded. His hands fascinated me; huge, callused things that spoke volumes about his menial type of job. His dark eyes were flinty, piercing mine when i looked at them. I dropped my eyes quickly. From my examination, he wasn’t a rich man.
I sighed inwardly. How was I going to get ahead if I could only net these sort of people?
I put on a bright smile and presented my hand to be shaken. he stared at it and ignored it.
I swallowed my slight irritation.
“Hello and welcome to Dante’s Mortuary ” I said affecting good cheer. His eyes roved the front office as I spoke to him.
“Is this a mortician’s place?” he asked in a dry voice that sounded like gravel pieces grated themselves somewhere in his larynx. I smiled at the question.
I got it a lot because of the bright and tasteful décor of the office. People always expect something dark and grey when they hear the word ‘Mortician’ and so being thrust into a vibrant office always threw them off.
“Yes it is and I am the man in charge” I added helpfully.
I felt his eyes go over me and I bore his examination with good grace. A few seconds passed and he didn’t say anything.
“So…” I started “You need my services?”
He nodded. “Are you good?”
I smiled unsure of how to answer. “Yes Sir. I can assure you I am excellent at my job. I would want to show you my past works but I’m sure they’re rotting in the grave right now”
I flashed him a brilliant smile which he answered with an impassive look. My smile died. Poor taste in joke?
“Well…I am good” I finished limply, suddenly unsure of how to continue the conversation.
“She was a beautiful woman.” he whispered, eyes far away. His eyes focused back on me. “I want to make sure she looks good. Good for viewing”
I nodded sagely. “Of course Sir.”
“Money is no object” he added and I reappraised him, curiously. Well! I grinned.
“Of course Sir. We give our clients expert services which they can testify to. Or not.”
“She was very beautiful” he whispered, eyes faraway again.

We stood there in silence, him arms by his sides distant; me, arms folded primly behind me, twisting my toes in my shoes with growing impatience.
Suddenly his attention returned. “She was a looker. She must look that way. Make sure of that.” he said sharply as if rebuking me and I snapped to attention.
“Of course Sir! May I inquire her name and when she died?” I asked.
He stared at me for a second too long, making me suddenly uncomfortable.
“Her name was…is Martha”
He smiled small. “I’ll fill out the necessary documents when I bring her.”
He turned to leave then stopped just at the door.
“As to when she died…” he paused, licking his lips. “It would be as soon as I get home” he whispered.
Without a backwards glance, left my office.
It took me several seconds for the import of his words to reach me. I gasped, swallowing hard. My mind was in turmoil.
“Maybe I heard wrongly” I whispered remembering he had said money was no object.
I needed funds. Badly.
I swallowed and walked back into my inner office.
“Maybe I heard wrongly”

He was right, she was a beautiful woman.
I stared at her lovely face slightly marred by death, fingers stroking her full dark hair. Her eyes were closed, thankfully.
Sometimes they were brought in with their eyes open. The emptiness usually made me shudder. It didn’t help that I enjoyed working on them late at night when there was quiet.
“What a pity” I whispered. “What a beautiful loss…”
“Maybe you heard wrongly?” a voice asked.
I jumped, startled.
I was alone. I laughed softly running my fingers through my hair. Fatigue.
“Or maybe you heard me wrongly?”
I jumped again, eyes glancing widely. “Who..what?”
My eyes fell on her face and watched in horror as her stiff lips stretched into a smile.
“Ah… Now you hear me… But you heard him wrongly…right?” the feminine voice drawled into my ear.
My legs shook and I stumbled, voiding my bowel on my trousers.
“Let’s make sure you really heard wrongly… Let’s make sure…”
A tug; sharp blooming pain.
I screamed.

***********************************************

Patty walked into the office the next morning and dropped her bags on her desk.
“Harry! Morning!” she called out.
She got no answer.
She frowned and walked into his office. She had noticed the lights on. Odd in itself, it meant he was in.
His office was empty.
“Ah. He’s working then”
She walked to the door opposite his office and knocked. “Hey Harry! I’m in!”
Silence greeted her.
Frowning she opened the door and walked in.
The smell hit her before the sight did.
Her eyes widened and she gagged, choking on a scream.
Harry was splayed on the floor, scalpel clutched in one bloodied hand, his ears clutched in the other.
On a slab, the unsmiling face of a beautifully dead woman.

First Kills


Dionysus says hello.
Sit back and enjoy!

—————–

I never knew I could go through with it.
There she was, coming out of a grocery store. Her red hair screamed that she was on the prowl, looking for a man to court her. I made my move and introduced myself.
She smiled.
Up close, she looked so innocent, so pure. She said her name was Jenny. I felt ashamed at what I was planning to do and all voices in my head told me to let go but I found myself carrying her groceries to her car. I don’t know whether it was my charm or my dashing good looks or maybe she was desperate for company but she offered me a ride.
I told her I lived just down the street.
My heart started to race as I sat in the passenger’s seat of her car contemplating my next move. Conflicting thoughts spiraled around my head. I looked at her and she was talking excitedly about something. I was nodding my head in approval but I couldn’t hear a word she said, my mind focussed on killing her. There was a small metal rod tucked underneath my shirt. I planned to use it to knock her unconscious.
It was dark so I brought it out slowly while she kept talking. I hit her on the head with the metal but it didn’t knock her out. She screamed and stepped on the accelerator hard. The car swerved crazily, before we crashed into a tree.
I managed to escape with a few cuts and bruises on my skin but Jenny’s face got impaled by a long piece of broken glass from the car windshield.
It was night time so I made my escape before anyone could see me. Although I didn’t kill her, I was responsible for her death.
A part of me felt pleased and another part felt disgusted by what I did.
In time, I’d be able to rationalise these feelings.
“Do you plead guilty to the murder of Jennifer Connelly?”
“I do”

SECOND KILL

It’d been about 9 months since that incident with Jenny. The police smelled alcohol on her breath and blamed the accident on reckless driving. Nothing mattered to me anymore than that night. I couldn’t focus on anything else. I felt powerful, stupid, confused. I felt something. Its been long since i actually felt anything. I knew I had to do it again, this time, a lot more carefully.
I saw my next victim in a bar. She was drinking alone, again, waiting for a man to court her. She wasn’t as pretty as Jenny but it didn’t matter.
I wasn’t planning on sleeping with her even though I was seducing her. I told her that I had some old movies in my apartment. She seemed interested so we got a cab and went over to my house.
As soon as we entered, she wasted no time and kissed my lips.
I pushed her away gently to signify present disinterest. I got us a bottle of wine and poured it into two seperate glasses.
We toasted and we drank.
She passed out.
I had spiked her drink with a heavy dose of rohypnol beforehand.
I went to the kitchen and got a knife. Leaning over her, I pressed it in slowly into her belly and watched as her flesh swallowed the sharp metal.
Blood began to pool on the couch so I left the knife in her belly and carrid her to the bathroom.
I pulled the knife out from her belly and the blood gushed out.
Her eyes were open wide although she was unconscious.
It was as if her body was fighting death, the same way a beheaded animal runs around and twitches before it drops head.
I waited for her to stop bleeding, her skin turning pale white as all the blood escaped her lifeless body. I carried her corpse and buried it in my backyard. Compared to the first, this was a little bit refreshing.
I killed her with my own hands and I felt no conflict within.
I felt good.
Am I a psychopath to feel good taking someone’s life? Hmmmm

“Adriana Smith’s corpse was found buried in your backyard. Do you know anyhing about this? “
“I killed her. You guys already know what I did so why do you keep asking the same questions?”

THIRD KILL

She was a law student in a library.
She looked a little too uptight, too serious like she needed to loosen up. I told her that i’d commit a crime if I was sure she’d be my lawyer. She smiled. The veneer of hardness she wore on her face quickly disappeared and she was like a baby. It was like she was just looking for someone to play with her and not take her too seriously.
She said her name was Tori.
I told her I could read her palms. She was fascinated.
I guessed her star sign and got it right.
It was Aquarius.
I told her I could figure out who she was by looking at her handwriting. She was so excited to be with me. We talk about abstract things before I saw the look in her eye like she wanted me to shut up.
I kissed her.
I took her by the wrist and led her to a secluded place in the library. We made out.
I had sex with her standing. It was uncomfortable but still cool.
On our way back to her dorm room, I pushed her into the bushes.
Again, It was night.
I pressed her face firmly into the grass with both hands. She tried to breathe but she couldn’t. I suffocated her with the lawn. I left the school premises, never to return.

SIXTH KILL

I was getting good at this.
I started adding a little artistic touch to my kills. My next victim was Patricia. She was a DJ at a nightclub. How easy it is to pickup women who work, especially in night clubs. I compliment edher on her choice of music even though I wasn’t listening.
She smiled.
I told her the music was too loud at the club and we should go outside. She agreed.
I said nothing, holding her close and drawing her into me. Her breath started to warm my upper lip. I smelled hemp on her breath. I wasted no time to kiss her. I then whispered into her ear that I had some old records I wanted her to listen to at my apartment. We got a cab and we made sweet love on arrival. We never spoke of the records.
We were both tired after sex and we slept.
The next morning was when I was planning my kill. I had already thought it through and it was playing out like a video game. I planned to meet a girl, seduce her, sleep with her and then kill her in my shower.
SHe asked me where the bathroom was, I showed her. She walked naked to the bathroom. I heard the sound of the shower. I quickly ran to the closet to bring out the rope I was planning to use to strangle her. I took off my clothes and entered the shower with her.
She smiled. I rubbed some soap on my palm and used it to massage her shoulders.
As she was washing the soap off her face, I strangled her from behind with the rope.
She gasped, her hands slapping my face trying to break my tight hold on her neck. She finally stops breathing.
I felt aroused, powerful.
I always wanted to try this.
While still holding her neck tightly with the rope, I got hard and inserted my member into her lifeless body from behind.
I ejaculated into her before I released the rope from her neck and she dropped to the bathroom floor, the shower still on.

THIRTEENTH

I met her at the shopping mall. She was gorgeous. It was like I was staring at sunshine. I told her I’m from Europe and was only staying the weekend. I got her number. she said her name was Stephanie. It was a Friday. I invited her to my apartment the next day. She was hesitant at first but I persuaded her. She came and we watched Grey’s Anatomy. I tried to kiss her but she pushed me away. She dropped her glass of wine and said she was going.
I was planning on having sex with her but things didn’t go as expected. I dashed to the door and locked it. She started to scream but I immediately ran and knocked her out with my fist.
I soon realised I didn’t just knock her out, her neck snapped as she hit the floor. I felt sad cause I wanted to have a little fun before I killed her. I opened her shirt to expose her perfect breasts.I sucked at them, squeezed them, pleasuring myself till I ejaculated on her pale pink nipples. I chopped her up into little pieces before dumping her in the river

NINETEENTH KILL

That last one was feisty. She almost escaped and I had to kill her and the witness that saw her. This one had to be stress free. I needed a tranquilizer. My next victim was a stripper. She was giving me a lap dance and I injected her neck with the tranquilizer. I had become much more creative and my kills usually had an artistic bent to them. This one, I was trying to prove how unaware people really were. She sat down on me, asleep. Everyone thought she was still giving me the dance. I unzipped my trousers and pulled her panties to the side as I put my member in. I swayes her from side to side like she was still giving me the dance.
I came inside her.
I placed my hands slowly on her neck and strangled her.
She stopped breathing.
I zipped up my trouser, raised her up from my lap and put her on the chair where I sat.
I walked out of the strip club and no one noticed. I wasn’t so lucky this time.
SHe was on the news and the strip club had a camera.
They saw me. My face was on the news. This is probably my last entry in this diary.

“My Patrick Bateman, You were found guilty for the murder of 26 innocent women. You seemed to enjoy doing it, even documenting it”

“I did. I fucking enjoyed it. If I didn’t get caught, I would have continued”

“Your crimes are despicable, inhumane and barbaric. There’s no mercy for you Mr Bateman. You are sentenced to death by hanging”

———————-

Crazy as usual from Dionysus!!

Have a lovely day!!!

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