Tag Archive: death


Ma Sullivan


She sidled up to the front aisle and sat down, her thinning grey hair covered haphazardly with a scarf. It did not stop stubborn wisps of hair bent on freedom from escaping. She sat and waited for the remaining seats to be filled up apprehensively. Her calloused hands gripped the clutch of her favourite bag and she rubbed the filigree design with her thumb feeling every bump; a habit she was wont to do when extremely nervous.
The room to be viewed was still empty of people, the only occupant, a big metal chair She stared at it, as if concentrating trying to pry it secrets out. Soon, it would be taking the only thing she had left away from her. Her lips dried and she licked them reflexively. She heard movements behind her and knew the pew had begun to fill up.
She did not turn back, avoiding to see the faces.
It wasn’t shame or fear.
No. Ma Sullivan knew no shame.
She just did not want to explain her presence; or offer apologies she knew would be ineffectual.
So she sat there, hair tucked haphazardly in her scarf, back ramrod straight, staring right ahead.
Quite a number of people wanted front seats, and as she made way for them, they saw her and gasped.
She did not avert her eyes; No Sir!
She looked them straight in the eyes, taking in the ill-disguised look of disgust on their faces without a twitch of her facial muscles in reaction. They always dropped their eyes first, shuffling past her. She heard them whisper amongst themselves and pass her name around.
She heard the murmurings behind her but refused to answer them; she had every right to be here.

Soon, the lights dimmed and the main stage area lit up, distracting them.
Guards came in and walked to the chair, checking the straps and bolts. When they were done, one of the officials gave a speech.
She did not listen. She tuned them out.
She came for one thing only.
Soon, they brought him out.
She stared at him as they pulled him to the chair and strapped him. Ignoring the bondage, she stared fixedly at his face.
He had grown softer around the edges. His eyes looked rheumy. He looked older than ever.
His once full head of hair was shaved completely bald and looking like that, sitting there, she could not help but be reminded of his father.
His father had once sat on just the same chair.
She had watched her younger son sit on the same chair.
Now, it was his turn.
As if feeling a stare, his weak eyes looked to the audience and seeing his mother, there was a sudden light in his eyes.
Not one of happiness; of anger, of resentment.
He sneered at her.
She watched him impassively, unprovoked. Seeing as he couldn’t rile her up, his swore at her, red in the face.
Unfeeling bitch.
Like she hadn’t heard that one before.
Was this his way to finally get the attention he always craved from her?
Well, he got in. She was there watching.
He flipped her a middle finger before he got completely immobilised and smiled at the little frown thst crawled up her eyebrows.
The bitch wasn’t carved out of stone then!

Soon the ceremony, as she dubbed it started.
The official stated his name; stated his crimes.
Ma Sullivan did not flinch as the list of murders her son had committed rolled out.
Murders against women her age; women that looked like her
Murders meant for her.
He had had her face in mind every time he strangled them; he said so in court.
His real victim was her but since he could not get her, they had to do.
No, he wasn’t molested ss a child.
But the fucking bitch was made of stone, all my life!
She sat stoic then, listening in the court room.
She was doing the same now; sitting there, stoic.

Soon it was show time,
They fixed the cap on his head and there he sat, looking as stupid as his brother had looked with that cap on his head; as stupid as his father had looked too, seated right there.

They killed him.

The others gasped as the electric currents fried him. She said nothing, merely watching her son’s jerking body as his brains fried.
It almost reminded her of his birth; the light flickering in the dinghy backroom of a motel. The smell of death and decay that she had been unconcerned about.
She wondered for a second if his electrocution had hurt as much as she did, pushing him out of her
It would have been fitting if it did.
Come in screaming, leave screaming.
It didn’t matter now anyway.
He was dead.
When he had been confirmed dead, she watched them roll out his dead body.

The show was over.
The murmurings began again.
How could she come to watch?
How could she bear it?
Just what kind of a woman was she?

She said nothing, walking out of the stifling room to the open air, grateful for the gulps of fresh air.
She made a beeline to her car and when she was safely inside, she rested her head on the steering wheel.
Tears coursed down her cheeks and she did nothing to wipe them away.
Where had she gone wrong?
Why did they all end up the way they did?
The media touted her as evil. ‘Matriarch of the Evil Sullivan”
It did not matter that she never participated in their crimes; or that she had kicked all three of them out of her house before they had gone on a bend.

Could she have stopped it?
She had failed.
As a wife; she married a lazy psycho, a lunatic.
As a mother; she was too busy to love them. She herself never received any love from her mother.She had worked hard to provide money for anything they wanted.
Why hadn’t they been enough?
Her lunatic mistake of a husband then bred them for evil.
As a human; she had been too afraid to stop them.
She kicked them out instead.
She had been a coward.

She swallowed a sob and decided on what she would do.
She would absorb all the blame; from the families of the victims, from the general populace.
She would absorb them all.
Then she would take it with her to a place where she knew she belonged.
To hell.

————————————————-

If this doesn’t make sense, welcome to the club. Didn’t make sense to me either.
Reading a book titled Talking to serial killers and this is the result of a half-formed idea.
Are people born evil? Or is it solely on upbringing?

Let’s think about that.

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!

The Final Trick


“20 minutes Tyler!”

I can hear the crowd roar with approval from the dressing room backstage.
I smile a little, swiveling my turning chair until I’m facing the huge mirror that covers almost half the wall in the ‘common room’ as it is called by everyone. I watch life pass by behind me.
Chorus girls dressing; one trying to pin a tassel to her dark nipple. I watch the curtains leading to the center-stage part a little, allowing the stage light to filter through, before it falls back into place.
Yells of encouragement, of laughter. I sit in front of the mirror and watch in fascination as painted-on faces come into view.
One girl notices me and suddenly her face is lit up with a beaming smile. She whispers quickly to another girl standing nearby and they both turn and look at me.
They make to approach me but suddenly are  turned away when they hear their cue to partake in the spotlight.
Their turn on the big stage.
They wave and the cheekier of the two girls blows a kiss at me. I make a catching motion and place it on my lips, smiling slightly as she blushes red and hurries off.

“Tyler! You shouldn’t be here! Your dressing room. You would be next”

My manager.
Without a word to him, I do as he demands, walking away from the hubbub of the changing rooms of the other side acts to the quietness of mine.
Main act of the night.
Star.
Alone.
My manager hovers behind me like an annoying bee with me playing the flower.
He is nervous; his fingers twisting at a piece of paper, the pamphlet for tonight’s show.
He is talking to me.
“This would be the biggest! The biggest show ever! We are making millions!”
I tune him out.
I sit on my ‘throne’ and face an even bigger mirror.
What is it with mirrors in this place anyway? It seems like everywhere I turn, there is another me, staring out with lost, brown eyes.
Lost.
I watch him talk, bulbous nose moving with every enunciation. He notices my absent-mindedness and sighs dramatically. I almost chuckle at the comical way his already huge girth expands as he takes a deep breath.
I wonder he has a baby hippo nesting somewhere within his voluminous white jacket.
I remember when he was slimmer, hungrier.
I remember when he first met me.
‘Do you want to be a star?’ he had asked me then. I remember looking at dark, shifty eyes and wondering just how he was going to pull that piece of magical trick off. I remember shrugging my shoulder and nodding noncommittally. I did what I did because I enjoyed it, not because of stardom but I figured that too wasn’t bad. Stardom meant I shared my art with a wider audience an of course, better funding. Maybe even one day affording a new suit and not the hand-me-downs I picked up from charity stores.
He was true to his word.
He made me a star.
But he sure did reap the benefit later, if his weight is anything to go by.
I raise one hand to silence him mid prattle.
“It’s just another show Donny. Relax.” I murmur, a small sigh escaping my thin lips.
I have finally responded and he grabs this opportunity before I shut down.
“Just another show? THE QUEEN IS OUT THERE! Dignitaries! This is IT! IT I TELL YOU!” He walks about, guts heaving, hands flailing.

“Yea yea…” I stare at my reflection intently.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for; maybe glimpses of the ten year old boy who stared in amazement at the street urchin’s hands as he made the cards he held up disappear.
I can still remember his toothy grin, his croaky voice that asked me to pick a card. “Go on” he had cajoled and i picked a card.
I remember his cackling laughter at my stare of wonder when he had produced exactly the card I had picked up.
“Another!” I cried out in excitement; that pure, unadulterated excitement.
I am looking for glimpses of the boy who went home and proudly announced to his father that he was going to be a Magician.
‘Stop talking nonsense and get your hands ready for kneading’ my dad had replied shortly to me.
A baker he was, and a baker he was determined to make out of me. To my father, baking was in the Hughes blood and he was ready to knead me into what he was by all means.
I wonder where the boy who went back to that street urchin, begging him to teach him the tricks of his trade is.
What happened to him?
Would I ever feel that way again?
Would I ever feel that rush of excitement and sense of adventure I felt when I finally left home in the middle of the night, leaving to seek my fortunes as an entertainer? That freedom; that belief.
I look hard at myself and I cannot find him.

“Are you even listening to me!”
Donny’s voice breaks into my contemplation and I sigh, exasperated. I turn to him.
“Where did I go to?”
He looks puzzled. “Tyler, you’re here…I don’-”
I shush him. “Do you remember the Canon show?” I whisper.
H frowns, knowing where I was leading to.
“Not today of all days” he mutters to himself as he walks to the drawers, rummaging them, pointedly ignoring my question.
“Remember the way the small crowd cheered? How you lifted me up and called me a genius” I whispers, more to myself.
“Ah!” he calls out, securing a packet of Bupropion. He fetches me a glass of crystal clear water and proffers the two small tablets to me.
“You’re not spazzing out on me today of all days Tyler. No.”
I ignore the tablets in his hands and rest my chin on my steepled fingers back to gazing at myself.
“I don’t need those”
He looks aggrieved and I suddenly feel a little pang of guilt. I sigh, my face softening to accommodate a smile.
“Fine. I’ll take it. Just shoo. You’re a mother hen”
His smile comes back and dropping the tablets in my hands he holds my head and plants a wet kiss Donny-style on my forehead.
“We’ve made it!” He laughs and walks off. I can hear him scream at my makeup team to get to work.
When I’m sure he is out of sights, I get up and dump the antidepressant pills in a bin.
I’d do without them.

Soon, I am on stage and I feel rather than see Donny give me a thumbs up. I hear my wife’s laughter as she claps.
I smile to myself.
She believes I do not  know about her and Donny. Better off that way isn’t it?
A tic pulls at my eyebrow and quickly banishing thoughts, I wear my mask; full wattage smile. All suave.
I can barely make out the said dignitaries in the audience, the spotlight cast on me, turning them into mere shadows with voices.
Alone.
I wait for the rush I get from the applause and cheers but nothing hits me.
It is all noise.
Alone and Empty.
Like an automaton, I go through my practiced routines with such dexterity, I could have been doing them blindfolded.
After the thunderous applause that signals the end of my last performance, I clear my throat.
As if on cue, there is a hush.

I smile.
Not the mask; not the full wattage smile.
I smile; small, sad.
“Now, for my final trick” I murmur.
I hear the buzz of excitement in the audience; i also hear Donny’s voice demanding to know ‘What the hell he’s doing!’ from someone.
I do not turn.
I pick up a sword, one of the props and slowly twirl it like a baton in the air. The silent anticipation is so thick, I could have cut it with a bread knife.
“I’m done” I whisper and without thinking, I drive the sharp point of the sword into my neck.
I bite my lips at the pain, my eardrums able to pick out the gasps and claps over the pounding of blood.
They cannot see my blood, carefully absorbed by the black cloak I have on.
I suddenly realize they are waiting… for the illusion to be revealed; for the magic.
My knees buckle and I crumple to the floor.
Dimly, I hear the first real screams of fear.
Ah…
Shouts assault my ears and I feel arms around me, trying to save me.
I finally see him; the young boy who did Magic because he loved it. He extends a hand to me.
Slowly, I reach out and take it. I feel his small, familiar palm squeeze mine. I try to return the gesture.
Finally.
Finally.

——————————————————–

Hey everyone!
This was a half-finished tale hidden somewhere and decided to stay up (currently 3.23am) to finish it up and ready to post.
I do hope you liked it.
There was some sort of message I wanted to pass across when I started writing this initially; I cannot remember what now but I’m hoping i unconsciously included it in the story so let me know if you see it.

That being said, I hope you all have a lovely weekend.
Jana!

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!

Mameh


Hey!
Today’s post is courtesy of yours truly and a deviation from the norm.
Enjoy!

MAMEH

I suddenly remember the little oval scar at my mum’s shoulder. I remember it dark, larvae-like, and memories of how fascinated I had been as a child, of that little oddity makes me smile. When Mameh tied her wrapper to her chest, I’d climb in her laps and sit down, my little hands straying to the scar. I would prod it, pinch it, even attempt to open it which made my mum laugh even though it hurt her. She’d prise my fingers away and tell me to stop touching.

I never could bring myself to ask her the question, intent on discovering for myself the secret of the atypical scar.
One day, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and with the seriousness only a six year old child could muster, I blurted out the question. “Mameh what happened here?”
I remember the small smile that tugged at the corner of her dark, full lips as she  removed my prying fingers for the umpteenth time.
“A nail entered into my back” she said simply and I remember how wide my eyes had gone. I didn’t ask the obvious questions of “How or When?” even though I was burning to.
I was that kind of child.
All I did was absorb this new piece of information in silence as my mind tried to picture the nail Papa had once shown me during one of his DIY repairs, doing the damage.

After minutes of ruminating, my little mind got tired.
“Did it hurt?” I asked finally.
“Of course!” she exclaimed, laughing at the memory as her fingers played with my tough black hair that seemed to tangle at the slightest opportunity.
“Very bad?” I asked again.
“Very bad. It bled a lot.”
Again, I absorbed this new piece of information. The idea of blood gushing out like a fountain I had seen at the amusement park Mameh took me to once made me smile. Again, I had been that kind of child; fascinated with the bizarre.
I inferred at that moment that my mum had cried when she had that injury. I suddenly giggled and my mum looked at me in askance.
I was wondering what her face must have been like when she cried. Did she have catarrh dripping down her nose like I did when I cried as I begged Papa to take me with him on his journey to Yola or when Mameh put vegetables in front of me and forced me to eat the vile greenies?
“You cried mummy!”

Note, this hadn’t been a question. Was it the excitement in my voice or the look of absolute triumph in my fce? She laughed long and hard! I remember her laugh now; unrestrained and full, as if coming from the very pits of her rotund stomach. Her breasts would jiggle against me with the force of exhalation like it did that day.
“No o! I did not cry! Big girls don’t cry!”
Now, I laughed too. She was obviously lying. I didn’t know how I knew this. I just did. It was the glint in her eyes; the glint she had whenever she wanted me to help her ask Papa for money. I was an astute child; Mameh always said I had an uncanny way of ‘knowing’ things. She’d later chide my ‘knowing’ as I got older. “Ask questions! Don’t assume!” Not that I ever see the need to; my assumptions are always right.

My fascination with her scar lessened as I got older. In fact, up until now, I hadn’t thought about that oval scar in years.

I stare at her impassive face now and suddenly, the urge to feel that little mark fills my head. I lick my lips, fighting for control of my fingers. I fight the urge to stretch my hand and push the starched white shirt they’ve put on her and feel her scar like a doctor feels for a tumour. It had been our bonding point.
I giggle as hysteria tries to take chunks out of my mind and I feel my elder brother’s worried stare beside me.
I smile at him. ‘I am fine’ my smile says even though my eyes tell a different story.
I stroke her cool face, marvelling at the mortician’s skills in making her look presentable. She looks almost…alive.
For a second, I thought I saw her lips twitch, the beginning of a smile. I blink quickly and it’s gone.
It is when I feel my brother’s arms around that I realise I had been in tears.
“Big girl don’t cry” I whisper to the woman I loved since the day I ‘knew’ her. “But I am not a big girl… I still want my mummy…”

I hold her hands for a second and feeling the insistent tug from my brother, I decide to move away from the casket, making space for other viewers.
A small song she used to sing comes unbidden to my head and I murmur softly.

“Good night. Good night.
Close your eyes, Keep them safe.
For soon will be morning…”

My voice threatens to break as emotions well up in me, clogging my throat.  I cannot complete the song.
“And you would need them healthy then…” my brother murmurs, finishing the song.
I smile up at him.
“ I’m fine” I tell him again, trembling smile in place.
He pulls me into his arms and hugs  me tight as sudden powerful sobs rack my body.
He murmurs the song over and over again to me, rocking me like a child; just like the way Mameh did when she sang the song to us as children.

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!!!

Alice


Captaining today’s ship would be Dionysus.
Good luck.
You’d need it.

ALICE

Do you ever feel like a part of you is missing? A second part that seems to hold more power, more control, more grace, more drive?
It’s like you are the passive part and this other part is the Active one…
Alice felt this way all her life. Scientific folks would have called it a trauma caused by her mother’s death in a car accident when her car was smashed by a speeding truck. The driver was not drunk or inebriated in any way.
Spiritual folks would call it an affliction, like some wrong doing must have led to this.
Nihilistic folks would rationalise it as one of those random inexplicable acts just like the daily lives of humanity.
Alice lost her dark essence at a very young age. Molested by her father, she always knew she felt pain but she couldn’t understand why. Slowly, she developed a subconscious belief that life is pain; I deserve to be hurt especially by loved ones.
She felt like if she did something to assert her presence to reality, she would be an interference to the superior humans in front of her. She repressed her dark side until she completely lost it, a slave to the nice girl role.
Alice was always the polite one and the more polite she was, the more the seniors hated her, the more her classmates made fun of her, the more she withdrew into herself
Always consumed by her tragic past, she became distracted from reality most of the time, never able to pay attention to the mundane things her fellow humans talked about. She started to grow a certain disdain for them so as to keep them away from her, lost in dreaming of her past pain.
The feeling that there was no one she could confide me in consumed her. She started to listen to the voices inside of her head and she became addicted to the sotto voco of her inner voice. The voices kept telling her the same things till she became prisoner to them. Like a junkie, she was addicted to hearing them speak and she wanted more.
Alice started to unravel taboos in her mind; she decided she needed something more stimulating to arouse her.
The darkness slowly spewed into her soul.
She finally accepted that she could never leave her painful past behind because her past was what defined who she was. She also accepted that anyone who obstructed her thoughts was her mortal enemy. She subconsciously put them in the ‘Sheep’ category in her mind, never willing or able to pay attention to anything that comes out of their mouth.
Alice used to be picked on in school until she wore her oddity on her sleeve. She used to be the kid everyone made fun of and now she was the kid everyone feared. She knew she’d never be ‘one of the guys’ no matter how hard she tried and all it took was for her to stop trying. Alice always needed her ‘thought fix’ and she used it to deflect any other thoughts that didn’t come from her own head. She felt as if the shallow minds around her harmed her own thoughts.
The darkness had risen and she had more understanding of things as they really were. She mentally played back her childhood days and how her father fondled and used her. She made the thoughts darker in her mind and she saw her small self sucking her father’s penis after which he came semen and blood on her face. She also played in her mind, him fucking her young self doggy style, ripping her hymen apart and sliding in and out with his huge cock and blood dripping from her vagina. She had learned this trick. She always exaggerated everything that happened in her mind. She had stopped running away from painful memories and started trying to see how much pain the memory could actually inflict on her.
Alice also played back the memory of her dead mother. She imagined the truck ramming into her car with tiny shards of glass piercing into her flesh after which the truck climbed on top of the car and crushed her to death. She also imagined the sympathizers to be big black men and they pulled her out the car, ripped her bloody clothes off and gang-raped her lifeless corpse.
Alice mind was consumed by one single thought and that was paying back her father. She had planned so many scenarios in her mind and one day, she finally took action. As her father came home, she stood behind the door and slammed the back of his head with a baseball bat. He was knocked unconscious.
When he woke up, he was bound in a room with no clothes on. He also saw his teenage daughter standing in front of him. She had a little pubic hair and her mammary glands were not very developed
“You like what you see daddy”
A rope with thorns was tied to his penis and if he were aroused, it would pierce into his dick and cause him to bleed.
Alice started rubbing her breasts, smiling coyly and unable to help himself, her father started getting hard. He screamed as the thorns pierced through the shaft of his penis. Alice licked her two fingers and stuck it into herself, moaning like a pornographic actress sehad studied weeks ago.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgghhhhhhh!!!
He was erect and bleeding profusely. She knelt before him and began sucking the blood that dripped. He got harder as she kept sucking it, lips slathered with blood and saliva.
“You like that daddy”
Alice then turned her back and took her father into her, the thorns still wrapped around his member. They both screamed in agony and pleasure as the thorns gripped her father’s penis tighter and ripped apart the insides of her vagina.
When she was done, she put them out of their misery.
By the time neighbours came around, they saw Alice and her dad lying dead in a pool of congealed blood.
The life is gone, another one begins to be ended in due time…
The cycle continues…
————————————————
I warned you. LOL
Hope you have a great weekend!
See you on Monday!

Day 21- Death is Saving Me


Hey all! Tarhyel takes us through today!

Death is Saving Me

You know nothing of my kind

And you try to know what runs inside,

When I put on my evil smile.

But the more you know, the less you like.

Never has someone lived in such an aura of Apathy.

Is it over yet? you ask yourself.

What feeling is this in which I dwell?

You conquer your fear of courage and dig deeper;

Through my Iris, you find my soul.

Unexcused, Unabsorbed, Alone but Unafraid;

Unexplained, Unresolved, is it worth the price you pay?

You give me yours, for I have no heart.

You must be the Alchemy of all that is Loving.

My biggest fear Love, has come to me:

Death it seems, is saving me.

My lone-some existence has died,

Risen from Ash my Life can begin.

You bared the wounds on your back,

Scars untold upon your heart.

You are the one who stopped at nothing to set me free.

In this moment of eternity, I make a vow,

Never shall my WILL be undone;

To Love you with my all now and long after I’m gone.

————————————————————————————

It’s Friday. Cheers to the coming weekend and holiday!

Day 20


Pie san’s day.

————————————————————

Al-lusion
The confusion as the answers fade away
May the mysteries of the morrow
Be prevailed upon today

And in time The coffin beckons
And the feet hurry to go
Graying head is full of questions Heart, with maelstrom, beats below

It is weary, All is dreary
Leave desire, find your rest
Leave the chase of shady answers Never found, then lost is best

Lonely spirit, Can you feel it?
There is no one left to care
No quintessence, take your presence
Pack your longings, bring them here…

——————-
Three years today, a friend was stabbed to death over a Facebook argument. I was going to write something but i am a dry well.
I remembered this from Pie san and decided to use. I am just realising how apt this is.
This is for you, Salum Kombo.

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