[Collection] Gamzee's Stories

Sup. In addition to writing poetry, I also write short stories. I'm inspired heavily by H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, and horror and gothic stuff in general. For the most part my stories are dark. Enjoy, and leave a comment, or critique, or even a like!

Table of Contents:

The Archaeologists - this post.
Beached Soldier - Post #4
Everlong - Post #5
The Dark Poet - Post #6
The Darkness In Light - Post #9
2020 - Post #10
Whispering Wizard - Post #11
A Modern Diogenes - Post #12
The Planet of Blood - Post #14
People Are Strange - Post #18
Lacy Banston - Post #21
The Watchmaker - Post #23
Day at the Buffet - Post #27
The Pursuit of Happiness - Post #30
Homely - Post #31
Planet Hayrot's Antique Emporium - Post #33
The Blood Lord - Post #36
My Beloved - Post #38
Survival - Post #43
All Hallow's Eve - Post #44
All Hallow's Eve (part two) - Post #45
Pawn Shop - Post #46
Bedroom Blues - Post #47











The Archaeologists




Yeah, so, I suppose my childhood was pretty average. I mean, compared to the other kids in my school I had it pretty good. My mom worked as a dentist's secretary. However, that's not where our money came from. Father was an archaeologist. Well, that's what mom would tell me. I didn't see him as often as I would have liked. He was pretty well known and he'd always be away for months at a time on excursions in South America. He made good money, but he wasn't around much.

Everyone in town knew and loved my dad, so it came with its benefits. Teachers would always know who I was and usually would cut me some slack. Other times I got into fights with other kids, usually the ones who were in poverty. I figured they were jealous of my good financial situation. Luckily, this was almost like a ritual. Ever since elementary school I've had to defend myself, so I learned to fight. I Even enrolled in some mixed martial arts classes for awhile. Needless to say the fights always ended in victory for me.

Dad himself was interesting to say the least. While he was a friendly guy, I noticed he tended to be awkward in conversation. No doubt a small side effect from being away from civilization for so long. But that's not the weird part. The weird part was that he would keep some of the oddest artifacts for his own collection. I don't think I could even properly describe some of the grotesque idols and paintings we had hung in our house. I recall a painting of a strange, almost bat-like creature descending on tribesfolk and tearing one of their arms off. And then there were these little figurines he'd have of some sort of horrors you'd expect to see in a child's nightmare. Tentacles, and claws, and sharp teeth, and wings, and their faces. The faces. I'll spare you the details on the faces, but I will tell you this: those faces plagued my dreams for weeks after seeing them. Even if it was just a split-second glance. My friends would tell me that they saw the faces in their dreams too.

Other than my father's strange obsession with these relics, he'd often distance himself from me and my mother. Maybe it was work related stress, or distraught in their marriage. I don't know. They fought a lot and it always ended with my father locking himself in his study. With those paintings and idols and the faces. It was as if he cared more about his precious little artifacts than his own family.

But it got worse.

It was my thirteenth birthday party and my mom wanted to celebrate it at my house. I had plenty of friends at that point and they all wanted to be at the rich kid's birthday party. Who wouldn't? We had a Piñata, a magician, a clown, good catering, and games. Typical party. We were all having a blast. My friends, though, they didn't really know what to get me. Some gifts were money. Some gave me video games or card games that I already had. Still, others didn't even get me anything. Not that I can blame them. I didn't ask for anything, and honestly, I couldn't care less.

So there I was. Thirteenth birthday, surrounded by friends, my mom, and some extended family I hardly knew. Dad was off on an expedition again. He always managed to miss the rather important events in my life. I don't know whether I'd consider it a blessing or a curse that he wasn't here for this one.

They began singing the happy birthday song to me when suddenly it was halted by a loud shriek coming from the house. Not a second later my friend Tomie comes bolting out into the backyard. He ran to his mother and embraced her. We all stared, wondering what was going on. She softly caressed him while asking in that sweet motherly tone, "Tomie... it's okay. Tell mommy what happened."

He whispered something in her ear. Immediately her face turned into one of disgust and anger. She stormed out, Tomie in hand, and didn't say a word. I didn't know what to do. Mom rolled her eyes and told everyone to head home. It was abrupt, and unexpected. No one protested. Within minutes it was just me and mom again. She told me to go to my room and keep myself busy. So I went and played upstairs.


Fast forward two years. Fifteen now. Dad was out of the country once again. Tomie, however, moved. Not too long after the incident, actually. Didn't even say a word. Next thing we knew, their house was for sale and all traces of them were gone.

I truly regret that fateful Friday night. God, I wish I went out that night. Mom was over at her friend's house. She hardly left, so this was rare occasion. While she was gone, I was just watching some 'toons, and then I had this curious urge. Maybe it was the curiosity building up over the years, but I wanted to see what was in that study. Why would my father always lock himself in there? Why did Tomie run out screaming? What the **** was in there?

I finished my Dorito and licked the crisp cheese it left on my finger. I was nervous and excited at the same time. I reached the study in only ten or fifteen seconds. It wasn't too far from my room. Sometimes at night I would hear noises from within.

Ah, the familiar Gothic door. It architecture made it even creepier than it already was. It was incredibly weird on its own, but, Dad was always in South America. So why Gothic? Well, it didn't matter. I opened the door slowly - as it was always unlocked - and peered inside. A black abyss. I don't even remember the light behind me penetrating the veil. Regardless, I reached for a light switch, or perhaps a flashlight, any source of light. I finally found a light switch, but the light it turned on didn't help much. It created a very dim light, kind of like the ones you see in a fancy restaurant.

Then, three things happened. The door quickly slammed shut behind me. The gust of wind knocked the breath out of me. Finally, I realized what was in this room. Aligned on shelves and the walls were those faces. Hideous multi-eyed beasts. Elongated heads with unspeakable markings on them. Bodies of twisted flesh and darkness. But worst of all - the eyes. All the eyes stared at and followed me. Some force compelled me to move forward. I was breathing heavily from having the wind knocked out of me, and I couldn't avert my gaze from the faces.

I swear to god I heard a low chant begin, but there was not another soul in the room. They seemed to originate from the paintings and idols and fetishes decorating the room. I don't know if I'd even call those cobblestone-ridden walls and floors a room. All I saw were the grotesque faces and a pedestal ahead. Bookshelves encircled it and one lay open on its stand. The faces forced me to it. Reaching it, my eyes unwillingly shifted down. I couldn't even understand most of the words, yet I knew they were utter horrors. Necrophagous . Cyclopean. Mi-Go. My hands forced a page turn and I found a gut-wrenching picture staring right back. It was multi-mouthed with slime-drenched tentacles outstretched in front of it. Almost inviting me to them. I heard a low roar that quickly became louder. It was not of this world. It came with sounds of flutes and drums and grunts which mixed into the ever escalating roar. Somehow I was able to regain control of myself and quickly thrust the book from my hands and onto the floor.

The roar dwindled, but an ominous chanting began. And then I realized it was those faces on the wall that were chanting. It was all too much to handle and I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would permit. The chanting seemed to slow time, as I didn't reach the door in ten seconds, rather, ten minutes. Ten minutes of that hellish chant. I brutishly barged into the door and sprawled out onto the floor on the other side. The door slammed shut behind me.

"Honey? What are you doing?"

I looked up to see my mother. "Oh... just wanted to take a quick look in Dad's study. Just curious."

"Aw, baby, you know he doesn't want you in there," she scolded, but then sighed. "Just go back to watching Television. I'll order us some dinner, okay?" I nodded and lumbered to my room.

Those nightmares? Yeah. Many, many, many nightmares. Of The faces. I could never forget those faces. So horrifying, and mysterious, and forbidden. I had a lot of time to reflect on that evening. Dad was still around for a couple more years 'till he died. We got a phonecall saying his corpse was found in a Peruvian cave system. My mom received his money and possessions via a will, but we never heard anything else about his death. Mom was hit a lot harder than me, and never found love again. If she even found it in the first place. As for me, I finished High School as usual. Then it was on to college, and I had to decide on a major.

I've had plenty of time to reflect on that evening. On my whole life, really. I wondered about Dad, and why he chose his career. Then there was his fascination with the idols and paintings and statues. And the faces. God, what was it about those faces? I wanted to get my own so I could study them. Yes. Study them. Dad knew something was odd about them. Hell, I could even collect them myself. But you can't really go to college for collecting, so... what to do? Hm. I could always search and find them myself, right? Yeah! What better way than to collect those forsaken relics for my own collection? By god, I've got it!

I think I'll major in Archaeology.

I approve. The simplicity of the prose works. I would like to see more of this tale.

I like it, its a bit too predictable but a good tribute to lovecraft.

Beached Soldier




The mysterious black sky and the unknown ocean. Indistinguishable at day, but at night, they converge. Two vastly empty bodies incomprehensible to man. So alike, yet so different. So explorable, yet so forbidden. It's so-- Robby? ROBBY!

Robby broke out of his trance and looked to his left. "Robby, man, why're you sittin' here on the beach all alone? C'mon man, the party's inside!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be inside in a minute, Cody."

Cody threw his hair to the side. "Whatever, man." He turned and walked back into the house. Robby looked back to the deep ocean, which slowly swayed under the moonlight. He looked up to the sky one last time before getting up and moving back inside.

Almost to the door, he could feel the music pulsating inside. He opened the door and was assaulted with a crashing wave of music. The sound of guitars and drums and bass and talking piercing through his ears. He mentally sighed and mingled his way in. Many girls stopped him to rub up against him and admire his beauty. He was a very handsome man. A strong jawline, wavy, blond hair, a well-toned body, and an overall charm and presence that attracted innumerable females and brought great jealousy to the males.

But it wasn't girls he was interested in tonight. He was merely taking a solemn stroll down the beach, lost within his mind, when Cody found him and told him to join the party. Robby didn't want to appear weak or a square, so he went along. He tried to get away twice, but each time Cody had found him and dragged him back inside.

Robby needed to use the restroom. Every step of the way, he was handed joints, bottles, pills, among other things, and had intoxicated women stumble into his arms and proclaim their undying love to him. He simply smiled his stunning smile and let the girls stumble off to another guy in their drunken state. Or, he though, perhaps they were rolling? He wasn't sure as his knowledge of drugs was small. He'd taken a hit off a joint here and there, had a drink once in awhile, but did not enjoy drugs very much or the culture that surrounded it.

He was almost to the bathroom when a girl bumped into him and kissed him. In the confusion she blew smoke into his mouth and forced him to inhale. He did and immediately began coughing. He tried to say something but couldn't stop his coughing. He tried to grab her, but she ran off into the crowd. Annoyed with this, he walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Robby flicked the light switch on and began his urination with a sigh. He finished up his business in the restroom and opened the door.

As he stepped out, Cody brushed by him. "Oh, hey man!" he said, seeing who he'd passed. "Hey, lets go out on the balcony. There's a hookah set up, and you just gotta try it!" Robby gave quick nod and followed him, rolling his eyes as he did. Once outside, they sat down and Cody was passed a hose. Robby sat next to him and closed his eyes, tired of the party already. Then he heard Cody say something to him.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Cody holding a snake. Robby wasn't sure where he got this snake from, but Cody wanted him to kiss it. The snake was passed to him and he grabbed it. He slowly took it to his lips. They kissed, and the snake blew smoke into his mouth. He inhaled the arid vapor and closed his eyes. Shapes and figures appeared and spoke to him. The elephant reminded him of his recent ex and how much they loved each other. The lamp, however, wasn't in agreement and said they were better off separated. The elephant and lamp continued to argue but Robby was not interested. He found it a petty, pointless conversation. He opened his eyes and found the snake still in his grasp. Red jewels stared into his mind. Then he felt something to his left and an Aztec Warrior wanted the snake for himself. Robby was reluctant, but handed it to him. Robby looked about and was sitting at a bonfire with the rest of his tribe. They'd just killed a wild boar and were roasting it over a blazing fire.

The Warrior explained that is was cooking now, and that it would be ready in half an hour. He then kissed the snake and pressed his tongue into it's. Like with Robby, it was forceful, but pleasant. However, Robby was upset that the snake had chosen to leave him. "I had my chance and I blew it," his conscious decided. Instead of letting jealousy and rage control him, he lay back in the hammock beside his fellow warriors. They all, in turn, had their kiss with the cunning serpent.

He no longer wanted the snake. Nor did he wish to be a part of this barbaric tribe. Instead, he turned his head and gazed out to the ocean. The waters were illuminated by boats of Greek Warriors invading their homeland. "Our homeland," Robby thought. How upsetting that it would soon be razed and pillaged and warped into a ruin. How upsetting. He lovingly looked up into the sky and flew to join The Hunter in his fight against The Bull.

So, this was my entry for the writing contest this month. I was thinking along the lines of hiding/keeping something in a closet. Instead of something sinister, I kind of went for a more emotional route.

Everlong



After taking a sip of his coffee, he put it down on a coaster. Glancing at the calender, he was struck aback at the date. Was it really the 3rd again already? He checked his phone just to make sure. It was.

He slowly rose up and cleaned up after himself. Wiping the table and filling the mug with water. I'll clean it later, he figured. More important things to attend to. With the kitchen cleaned of his messes, he made his way to his study. The door swung past the sensor and the light kicked on as he entered. The study was plainly decorated with just a couple paintings. A desk and chair were placed below a window.

He went over to the closet in the corner and found a cardboard box inside. He took it and went placed it on the desk. He took a seat and opened the box up.

The first picture he took out featured two feisty children fighting over a toy. Looked like an action figure. The boy and the girl were pulling and tugging at it while two older women watched in amusement. All in all, it was a cute photo.

The second picture had two teens embracing each other and showing their shiny pearls to the camera. Both had braces and looked geeky. Regardless, they both appeared full of joy in each others' company.

At this point he began sniffling.

The third picture was of a young man and woman. The man with his long, straight, blondish hair, and the woman with her curly red hair. They looked adorable together. They held their hands in front of the ocean on a pier. They appeared to have matching rings.

The final picture looked to be from some number of years later. This time, the man and woman were accompanied with a very young boy and an even younger girl. They had all the qualities that a beautiful, innocent child would have. Big eyes, a curious expression, and presumably a heart full of love. Clearly the man and woman loved these children with all their heart.

But it was too much. He choked up and began to sob. Soft at first, but rising to a crescendo that echoed throughout the house. He brushed his long, straight, white hair back against his ears and pushed his palms to his eyes. The sobbing only worsened.

It didn't stop until another entered the study. They walked in and put their hand on his shoulder. He turned around and the sobbing ended immediately. He ran his fingers through her curly white hair and they kissed.

The Dark Poet



He once again averted his gaze when she glanced over in his direction. Shy and afraid, he averted his eyes. The moment, the opportunity, had once again slipped past him. Like the many times before, he lacked the courage to meet the stare.

For Vince Falcone this was a typical day in the class. He, ever silent and afraid to match eyes; she, completely oblivious. Ever since the first day in the school, he had his eyes on her. The tall, dark haired girl who sat across the room. Whose eyes he felt were the gates to her mind, and whose elusive smile he sought to grab with each passing minute. Although he felt intense attraction for her, Vince lacked the courage to even strike up a conversation with the beauty.

The rest of the day dragged on, but Vince's mind remained on the girl. His school work had been slowly slipping down the drain for months. In his eyes, Amanda Harper was the girl for him. Perfect in every way imaginable. The problem was that he did not know how he could ever break the ice, let alone ask her to do something with him.

Later that day, Vince was at home, listening to classic love songs, when an idea popped into his head. Maybe he couldn't verbally express his feelings, but what if he wrote them down? What if attempted to write poetry?

He rocked back in his chair and thought. "I've never written anything before. Hell, I'm probably horrible at it... but poetry is supposed to be words coming from the soul, right? Just feelings on paper? Maybe I'll give it a shot and see how it goes."

Vince went into his notebook and ripped out a page. Next, he took out a pencil and put it to the paper. He let his mind wander off to the dreamy realms and the havens of the inner mind. His pen slid across the paper, recording whatever words of love and compassion that would find their way into his open receiver mind. After a few moments lost in his thoughts, he wrote down the final line and looked over what he wrote.

Is that you in the dress,
whose hair curls into a mess?
wounded on your heel I see,
feeling pain through the seam.

Talk and listen, though silent you are,
speak and hear, your mind is shut.
please release, I'm not relieved,
I'd give my kingdom for your dreams.

His eyes widened in shock at the words in front of him. "Wow..." he silently whispered. "I'm... I'm actually good at this." He smiled to himself and titled the poem as "Amanda", and signed his name at the bottom. He put it in his notebook for class tomorrow. He would put it in her locker before school began so that she would find it before their class.

He was extremely nervous and excited all at once. When Vince arrived at school, he immediately went to her locker. Seeing no one around, he slipped his poem into a hole in the locker and quickly made himself disappear. No one had saw what he did, and that was how he wanted it.

The bell rang at the end of class, and his nervousness took control of him. Though he was looking forward to her response, Vince was determined to spend as much time as possible avoiding going to class. He took long drinks at every water fountain; he spoke to every friend. He even occasionally dropped his pen on "accident" and had to retrieve it. But with the late bell about to ring, he would have to face the consequences of his previous actions. Whether good or bad he did not know.

He opened the door and took his seat. As he walked, he saw Amanda look at him hard, but she did not say anything. He was too afraid that she formed negative thoughts about him, and so he did not take his usual glances at her. Instead, he shoved his face into his textbook and hoped the class would end without incident. At this point he thought of himself as the biggest idiot ever and regretted that he ever wrote the poem in the first place.

When the bell rang, he got up and left. He walked down the hall and almost reached the door when he heard a female voice call his name. He stopped and slowly turned. It was Amanda. Amanda was walking towards him; a slight smile formed on her face.

"Hey, Vince. I, uh, I got your poem." She took it out of her purse and unfolded it. Vince bit his lip and his cheeks went red. "It was so sweet of you! I had no idea that you're such a talented poet. Poetry is like, my favorite thing ever! If you want to, you can come to my house after school". She smiled. "Maybe we could watch a movie or something?"

He stuttered "Um, I kinduh... er..." He looked at her. Her crisp, blue eyes looked longingly at him.

Vince gulped. "Yeah, sure! I don't have anything to do today." He paused. "Uh, you'll have to lead the way to your house."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him out down the hall. "C'mon, silly! Lets go!" The two of them laughed and went outside, hand in hand. Vince couldn't believe it. The girl he thought he could never say a word to actually wanted to hang out with him for a change!

They came to the house in only ten minutes. They went inside and Amanda told him to make himself at home while she changed out of her school clothes. The house was dainty and feminine, much like Amanda herself. He felt embarrassed knowing that his house was much dirtier and lacking any sort of flare or attraction to it. That's what you get with only a father and his son living in a house. Regardless, it didn't matter. They were here, not there.

He sat down in a chair and waited. After five minutes, Amanda came down wearing a short skirt and a very revealing top. She slyly smiled and asked him what he thought. Vince stammered and replied with an approving nod. She led him into another room and they sat on a couch. She'd chosen to watch a horror movie. It was about a couple who go away on a vacation. While they're away. the man starts developing a mental illness that leads him into insanity. He starts to verbally abuse his wife, and eventually he starts to physically assault her.

Amanda leaned onto Vince and whispered into his ear, "I hope I never meet a psychopath like that". A particularly gruesome scene came on in which the man beat the wife half to death with a crowbar. Amanda pushed herself into Vince and embraced him. Vince wrapped his arms around her. They held each other tighter and tighter until they started cuddling. Soon afterwards, they were making out. Vince was sure he had finally found love.

The next day they were officially boyfriend and girlfriend, and spent many more days just like the first. Vince hadn't written any more poetry since then, deciding that his one poem had done its job. He was content with where he was right now, and all was well for him and Amanda. Their friends and family supported the relationship, and months went by without any fights or trouble between them.

His performance and school continued to drain because of Amanda. Not from his uncertainty and inability to talk to her, but from spending so much time with her. Vince entered a period of depression due to failing a few classes. He did not spend as much time with Amanda, and felt a drift between them. Their friends and family noticed the change as well, and no matter what she did Amanda was not able to bring him out of the hole of gloom he had trapped himself in.

Finally, his depression had been enough for her. She solemnly broke up with Vince and they went their separate ways. Vince was understanding, but his depression, to simply put it, was too great. He no longer saw his friends outside of school and he became very introverted. Weeks went by with no sign of happiness finding him again. He thought about all the memories he had with Amanda, and how all of it had started: a poem. The idea of writing again was enough to bring a weak smile to his face. So one day at home, he began writing.

He wrote a few poems. One about a sickness affecting a group. Another of couples being separated, by distance, anger, even death. All were topics of despair and sorrow. Expressing his feelings through poetry had calmed him, and he had a good nights sleep for the first time in months.

The next day at school was peculiar. For one, dozens of students had caught Strep Throat and were not in school that day. Some of his friends had broken up with their girlfriends and boyfriends. A few of his friends apparently packed up and moved overnight. There was even a rumor that there had been a car accident late last night that killed four students. These events were strangely familiar. At lunch, Vince took out the poems he wrote last night and looked them over. With a look of horror, a chill ran down his spine.. All of these instances were eerily similar to the images the poems painted.

After school, Vince went home and plopped down on his bedroom floor. He held a pen in one hand and stared at the paper in front of him. He sat for half an hour, unable to believe there could possibly be any correlation to his poetry and the real world. He scoffed at the very thought of it! Reluctantly and curiously, he finally decided he would test it. He wrote a poem that described a hamburger appearing on the counter of his kitchen.

He got up and walked into the bathroom.

Sitting on his bathroom counter was a burger. Vince dropped the pen in shock. He stood for what seemed to him an eternity at what could not be there. What should not be there. There was no doubt: it had appeared. He retreated to his room and wrote another poem, describing the sack of money at the foot of his bed.

After he wrote it, he turned around.

Sitting at the foot of his bed was a sack of money. His breath became heavy and he slowly sunk down to the floor. He opened the bag and poured out the bills inside. It was tangible. It was real. The bag and the bills were here, in his room. Despite everything he knew, the unexplainable had happened and what he wrote down on paper had somehow come into existence. The paper he wrote the poem on was a normal piece of paper. There was nothing unsettling about the pen. Vince concluded that somehow, whatever he wrote a poem about, it would find itself from the realm of fiction and entwine itself within the fabrics of reality.

Could that be why Amanda liked him? Perhaps the poem he wrote, and titled in her name, had changed her. Could it be that the love he thought he found was nothing more than the work of some sort of magic? Was it just words on a paper that made her love him, not him himself? The thought of Amanda never truly having feelings for him left his heart even more broken than before.

Vince went out for a walk. He wouldn't even think of telling anyone about this power. None of his family or even his closest friends could know that he held such a powerful ability. Hell, he was still trying to come to terms with it. A walk to collect his thoughts and get some fresh air was what he needed. He took some of the bills out of the sack he had conjured. After all, it would be pointless if he did not use it. Once he got outside, he made his way to the store to buy some snacks. Then, he went for his stroll.

A few minutes later, he came upon a gut-wrenching scene. He saw Amanda. He saw Amanda making out with a boy. Rage built up inside him. Rage directed at Amanda and this other person who was caressing her in the middle of the park. He would have gone up to them and told her off, probably call her some names, but he caught himself and continued to walk on by. However, the anger continued to build up inside him and clouded his judgment. He angrily walked back to the store. The store sold paper and pen, and paper and pen he bought. Vince walked back to the spot where he saw Amanda. He half hoped they'd be there, half hoped they wouldn't.

He came around the bend, and as he expected, they were still there, happily carried away in the act of touching and kissing that he once knew. Vince sat down on the side of the path and watched them. He coldly stared for minutes, and for every second he observed his mind became a burning forest of hatred and malign sadness. In his hand was the pen and the paper he bought at the store. He looked at it, back at the couple, and back down at his paper again. With his emotions in flames he set his pen to the paper and let his frustration take over. He wrote and wrote all the dark thoughts in his head. Of death and mistrust and gore and horror. He wrote of a couple meeting death in a horribly gruesome way. Once finished, he titled the poem as "Amanda".

His eyes were transfixed on what he just wrote. It was the darkest, most hate filled poem he had ever laid his eyes on. He knew what was to come, and a mad grin slowly spread across his face. A show was about to begin, and he had the best seat in the house.

First, the two of them stopped making out and the guy got up. He was yelling something about bees and swatted at the air furiously. More of the insects appeared and they all descended on him, stinging furiously. He cried out in pain at the stinging and stumbled into the middle of the path. He eventually fell to the ground trying to fight off the insects. Amanda was about to run over to help when a loud neighing echoed in the distance. In a few seconds, a horse-drawn carriage was seen speeding on the path, obviously agitated by the bees. Their driver was unable to control the panicked beasts. Amanda sprung up and tried to run over to her lover, afraid of what was to come. She was no more than ten feet away when the carriage came upon him. His cry of agony was silenced instantly and replaced with the sound of bones being crushed beneath the weight of the wagon. What was left after the horses ran on was death. A mixture of blood and bones and flesh laying in the pavement, a pool of dark blood flowing into the grass. The epitome of horror came to her face as she backed away, hand to her mouth. Unable to cope with the death, she turned and ran off screaming into the woods.

Onlookers had seen what happened and rushed to the boy, though it was hopeless. He was obviously crushed to death, and ceased to live. While the others scrambled to help, Vince instead listened closely to the night. Moments later, the roar of a creature was heard and above that was the high pitch scream of a female, which was then drowned out by the sounds of tearing and snarling. Satisfied, Vince rose to his feet and walked back home.

He laughed to himself. The first of many.

Wow, man you're a pretty talented writer, your poems, stories they are all great.

Howe ever in this last one I can't help but see it has an eerie coincidence to death note : /

I read the first book of Death Note, and I know that "writing comes to life" has been done numerous times. I don't recall it well right now, but is it any more coincidental than that?

As you can imagine, some of my poetry is inspired by real life experiences. In fact, the poem I used was inspired by one particular female. I thought it would be a cool idea to mix poetry and horror together.

This was my entry for the April Writing Contest.



The Darkness in Light




I can't even recall exactly how long this ordeal lasted. It may have been days, it may have been weeks. Either way my perception of time is certainly destroyed at this point. In this note I'm going to try to recall the events leading up to now to the best of my knowledge. It may not be completely accurate, but here is how I remember:

My interest in investigating local legends and tales started when I was a young boy. I was the one who'd ring the old lady's doorbell. I was the one unafraid to spend a horrid night at the local cemetery. I was the one who'd go into the bathroom at night and attempt to summon Bloody Mary. These and more were my childhood legacy. Simple fables and ghost stories that turned out to be nothing but stories told to frighten children.

So my curiosity continued. After becoming financially stable, I would set out for weeks, or months at a time to visit areas of interest. I became somewhat known to the paranormal culture as an adventurous young man, willing to take on any challenge set to me. I answered most, and most were nothing but superstition. Regardless, I was always hailed as some sort of hero or renegade to this underground community.

As I was searching one day on the internet for something to investigate, I received an anonymous e-mail. It was odd as most would want to meet me and have long chats before I set off, and I would usually gather more information from them in person. The e-mail I was sent went as such:

Greetings, Douglas! I'm a huge fan of your work. For certain reasons I would like to keep myself anonymous, but I have a local legend you may be interested in. I live in a small town in Massachusetts, northeast of Innsmouth. We're a fairly small town; about six thousand of us live here. On the coast there is a lighthouse from a century or two back. An older gentleman lives there and keeps it running. However, legend has it that there is something more sinister and forbidden going on within it's walls. Some people have claimed that late at night and early in the morning, regardless if the lighthouse is on or not, there is a peculiar light coming from one of the rooms (keep in mind, this is a larger lighthouse, both in girth and height).

There are many stories about the place. Some believe it to be haunted. Others think the old man may be a ghost or some sort of creature. I'm not sure what to believe. Anyone who cares enough about it is too afraid to go confront the man or enter the lighthouse. I thought, perhaps, someone of your skill and stature would have no qualms with coming here and putting this legend to rest. If you should so choose, I have attached a document showing directions to Beaver's Glen (my town) from Boston. Goodbye, and good luck.

Turns out with a quick search on the internet that this place did exist. There was a lighthouse, and I was able to find stories of the lighthouse on paranormal forums. I got my traveling gear together and arranged a flight to Boston later in the week. It would only be about three or so hours I imagined. I've flown from Miami to New York City before and it was a little under three. I took the remaining week to relax and do a little research, though I did not come up with much. This happened often and it did not bother me. Small towns usually have a local library filled with history and information on it's past denizens.

I arrived in Boston on July 27th, around noon. I rented a car for two weeks, and after grabbing lunch, I drove there. The directions I had received were of the fastest route and I found myself nearing the town by four. By four the local area turned into wilderness and country rather than the urban area I'd driven through. I don't think I would have been comfortable in the area had it been night, and thought myself lucky that the sun was still bright in the sky.

A few minutes past five I observed a sign to the side of the road welcoming me to Beaver's Glen. As I continued to drive I saw farms on the outskirts of the town, which surrounded a bay. On the northern end I could see a tower-like silhouette which I assumed to be the lighthouse. As excited as I was, it would have to wait until the morning. The drive had worked up my appetite and I would need to find somewhere to rent a room.

A short time later and I found myself at The Mason's Pearl. An odd name, but nonetheless the motel looked promising. I turned into the parking lot and and parked next to the information center. Inside there appeared to be a man waving me towards him. I stumbled at first, but made my way to him. As I entered the small room I could see the man. Old and scraggly. Needing a room I swiftly changed my face into a smile and greeted him. He began talking in a sporadic pitch:

"Evnin', stranger! What brings yer company?"

"Just passing through," I replied. "I'll be staying for a bit but then I'm heading south for New York."

"Well, sounds fine. It's $80 a night. We also feed our guests here, so feel free to grab some dinner in the kitchen while it's still there."

"Thank you, sir." I payed the man, grabbed a plate, and retreated to my car. I finished my small meal and then brought my belongings to my room. It was of adequate size and average quality. I did not mind as I did not plan to stick around this town for long.

In the morning I drove further into town and found a small cafe. I ordered my coffee and proceeded to look at the few maps and papers I had of this town. As I was sipping my coffee, I overheard a conversation two men were having at the counter. It appeared to be relating to the lighthouse in some way.

"...flickering, in a strange way. Y'know, I dunno how I'd properly describe it, but it was weird as hell."

"You probably had too much to drink that night. It's just a lighthouse, man," he laughed. "What? Do you think that old man is harboring a monster, or trying to resurrect the devil?"

"Whatever. It just gives me the creeps sometimes. Don't you feel the same?"

"Ehh, I guess. But still, it's just some old lighthouse. ♡'mon, lets head back to my place before we miss the game."

The men payed their check and left. However, I was intrigued by this. I'd just concluded that there is, in fact, something peculiar about this ancient lighthouse. After I finished my breakfast I would have to make my way over there, and perhaps speak to it's attendant. I finished the last bit of my coffee and my complimentary biscuit before I headed out.

The road to the lighthouse was more rugged and rural than any other road I'd been on in this town. I had to avoid many potholes and piles of dirt that had collected on the lonely path. As my vehicle approached the tower, it's height grew more and more. I surmised that it was a good three hundred feet. I thought it impressive given it's supposed age of centuries. When I arrived I found no sort of parking area, so I simply parked my car in some shade and exited the vehicle.

The tower itself was in a typical cylindrical shape. Sprawling from the bottom to the top were columns that pronged at the top, where the light room was. At odd intervals there were windows, which I believed to be floors and the source of the strange lights the locals had seen. The archway that held the door had an architecture unfamiliar to me. I believed it to be older than it logically should be. It was like Greek architecture warped and twisted to make the elegant Greek into a barbaric wildman. Overall the lone tower with no sign of life had a very desolate aura around it. I felt unwelcome here. This was not a new feeling, of course. I'd felt this way many times before when I've prodded into the local legends, and this would be no different.

I approached it slowly; my way of making myself known was a black door knocker. It curved down and ended in what I guessed to be a toothed circle. I grabbed the cold metal and knocked four times on the door. I stood for ages until the sounds of locks originated behind the door. Suddenly, it swung open. There, standing in front of me was a short, brittle, old man. I looked into his cold blue eyes while he looked in mine. "Well," he broke the silence with his raspy voice, "the hell do you want?"

Struck aback, I returned in a slightly shaky voice. "Well, you see, I'm from out of town and I've heard about your lighthouse, sir. Its clearly a magnificent piece of work and I would be delighted if I could perhaps talk to you, and maybe have a look around in--" Slam. He slammed the door on me! I'm not sure what I said, but the old man simply slammed the door in the middle of my talking. I called out for him and heard no answer. I knocked on the door and heard no answer. I stood, defeated for the moment, and annoyed. I stormed back into my car and sat. Sat and thought. I looked at the tower. There would not be a way of gaining entrance from the front door. I had my doubts that the door would be broken down. However, those columns did look climbable. And I could tell the lantern room was not entirely encased with storm panes. I weighed the pros and cons and decided that I would return later that night, and ascend the tower from the outside. The man was wary of me and did not take a liking to the question I asked, so he had doing something in there. And I was going to find out just what it was.

I went back into town and bought myself some climbing gear. As expected they asked me why I needed it, and I said I was going to be venturing into the mountains in the near future and forgot my own equipment in Florida. I gathered what I needed and lazed around until nighttime. By ten o'clock I was ready, and drove out to the lighthouse.

The drive and tower were even more forlorn in the nighttime. There were no lights but the headlights on my car, and of course, the lighthouse. I turned them off as often as I could for fear of the old man seeing me from his vantage point. After some time I arrived and parked a bit further away, still in the forest. I prepared myself and my equipment for the climb. Oddly enough I found it easy to climb up the columns and did not need to use the equipment much aside from making a foothold or two. About fifteen minutes later I had gotten to the lantern room and stuck my anchor in the ground. It would hold long enough for me to slide on down when I was finished.

I looked around and found a door that lead down into the lighthouse. I glided over to it and tested the lock. Unlocked, as I suspected. I opened it slowly and peered inside. The room below was empty. I crossed the threshold and slowly closed the door behind me. I found myself alone in some sort of observation deck. A quick search found nothing, and I did not perceive anything to be out of place. The stairs were on the far wall and led down. I walked down the steps, trying not to make a sound. I passed a few doors that were mundanely labeled in such ways as "lamp oil" and "repair supplies". This continued until I found myself nearing an ominous door.

I pressed my ear into the wood and could hear a low muttering of sorts. I could not make out what was being said, but it was said in the raspy voice I'd heard before. I cracked open the door enough to peer inside. I was not prepared for what was beyond it. The man was in strange garb leaning over a desk. There were some windows in this room, but in addition were paintings of weird subjects. People without cloth. Men without genitals. Women lacking feminine features. Some of creatures I recognized as werewolves and vampires, while others were creatures I'd never seen before. Bookshelves adorned the walls, and though I could not read the titles from where I watched, I could easily assume them to be of an odd nature, as everything else in this room.

I tried to open the door more, to observe more, but I stupidly caused the door to creak loudly and push into the room. The man stopped his voice immediately and turned around. He looked at me with his angered eyes. "You again?" he asked. "Come here. NOW!" With the "now", an unknown force compelled me to hobble forward towards him. Once inside, a gust of wind with no origin slammed the door shut behind me.

"I thought my message would be clear to you, but I can see it was not." He left the desk and began pacing around the room. I could see the books open and writings that were elusive to me. He stopped at one of the paintings of the wall. "Tell me, do you know what this is?" He was gesturing towards a painting of an ugly, winged creature, with claws and what appeared to be an Insectoid head. It was tearing at something that once was alive, but it was decimated beyond description. The creature was entirely unnerving, leaving me to only answer with a weak shake of the head.

"I would not think so." He sighed and looked at me.

I finally gained the strength to speak. "What's going on here?" My breath became heavy.

"Kid, you shouldn't have come here. Not like this. You're not like me. Like us. I don't see the aura around you."

"Aura?" I asked. I looked closely at the man and swore that I could now see a dim, shimmering light around his face. He understood that I now knew.

"Yes. It is more noticeable to the person himself, in his reflection, but anyone can see it. You lack it." He returned to his desk, picking up a book and a small figure clutched in his fist. "But, you've come here, and you've seen too much. He must now decide what is to be done with you."

"What? Who are you talking about?" My breath became heavier.

"Who else? Him. The one who bestowed upon me aeons of knowledge and power your mind would be unable to comprehend. He who watches over me and the others. The one who knows all. The Key and the Gate. I will request his presence here, and it is he who will seal your fate." He looked into his book and began to recite words in a language that tore at my ears. I felt something overcoming me as the room became brighter and brighter, and I saw floating orbs of light slowly appearing out of thin air, followed by tendrils of dark flesh. I quickly turned around and tried to open the door, but it was to no avail. More orbs appeared. All hope seemed lost, but I happened to glance out a window and see my rope. Escape! I took a deep breath and ran as fast as I could to the window. The man was yelling now and I felt compelled to stay. I fought against it and jumped out the window. I grabbed the rope and descended swiftly. Running to my car, I took a quick look back. Above the lighthouse were strangely glowing lights of unspeakable colors and shapes, all connected by an alien flesh. The yelling was so loud that I could make it out from the bottom of the lighthouse. I was dumbstruck by the sight, and distracted enough that I ran into my car and fell to the ground. I stumbled to my feet in panic and started up my car.

I floored it and drove as fast as my car would allow from that lighthouse. From the man and those orbs. From the legend. I tried to calm myself on the road, and I did not look into the mirrors. I saw lights and forms that should not be. The old man spoke words that should not be heard. I tried to comprehend the events in the past hour, but I could not. It did, however, make time speed up and was back in my motel room shortly.

And so, as I said, I am not sure how long it has been. I've been unable to sleep well, and whatever sleep I manage to get is plagued by horrible nightmares. All I've done is ponder that night, and I've pondered hard.

I've written this note for two reasons. I decided this after I saw a shimmer around myself. First, I hope to warn whoever reads this to stay as far from that lighthouse, and this town, as humanely possible. It is without a doubt that some lurking horror resides in there, and it will eventually consume this entire town. Secondly, I do not wish any friends or family to be alarmed when they find this. You are not the reason I chose to take my own life.


~ Douglas Morgan.

this was my contest entry for the june writing contest. the theme was "faces in the rain". What I tried to do here was instead of literal faces, the people on the rooftop are the "faces" of the corporation.

2020

Domenic took a final draft from his cigar and flicked it over the side of the building.

He and the others watched it fall; eventually it became engulfed in the smoke that rose from below.

Domenic took this moment to survey the streets. Chaos and panic littered them like garbage. From the roof of this fifteen story building, he could make out various scenes from afar. Stores being robbed. People pushed aside into rubble in the scramble for whatever meaningless possessions the peasants could get their hands on. It was like watching children fight over a piece of candy

"We really ♡♡♡♡ed up this time," Domenic finally remarked.

Harold stepped forward. "You know just as well as I do that we couldn't predict that this would happen. It's impossible to foresee."

"Whatever." Domenic continued to observe the anarchy below. "It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing does." Harold and the other men remained where they were. A light, misty rain began. Domenic watched it mix with the smoke from the fires below.

A man who was sitting at the table spoke softly into a telephone. After a moment, he looked up.

"Domenic?"

Domenic turned around to face him.

He continued. "Sir, it's Frank Lennard. He wants to talk to you. "

Domenic turned away from him, to look over the burning city. "Doesn't he understand? Don't any of you understand? There isn't a way to reverse this. In just one week we've managed to doom the entire human race."

He shook his head. "I'm not going to talk to him. There's nothing to talk about."

The man hesitated a moment and then relayed this into the phone. After what sounded like a small argument, he hung up. Harold moved to join Domenic's side. He watched the streets for the first time.

Minutes passed. Piercing through the shouts of anger and screams of terror from below, Domenic's laugh was let heard. Harold looked disturbed.

"What the ♡♡♡♡ is so funny?" he asked.

Domenic turned and smiled. "You know, you always watch movies that have humans dieing off, or read about some stupid 'end of the world' doomsday event. You always dismiss it as a bunch of idiots being superstitious. You never think twice about it."

"And?"

Domenic pointed out to the horizon. Harold's eyes followed where he pointed. As far as their eyes could see, there were buildings on fire, people running in every direction, gunfights. Destruction. Desolation. Inhumanity.

A wasteland in the making.

Domenic climbed up on the railing and turned to Harold.

"My friend, the end has finally come. You and I, and these men and women who wait on this rooftop, orchestrated the doom of the entire planet. Like a bunch of idiots."

With that, Domenic took his leave.

I wrote this for the August contest no clue what it is. Prose or some ♥♥♥♥.

in fact ♥♥♥♥ categories what am i a douche

Whispering Wizard

The birds go soaring by the window, while my pen glides on paper.
I wave my hand and a book is brought to my hand,
flying through the air without physical force.
I'm writing down my latest spell,

"A small pinch of the finest fruit,
a refined powder brought in with a scoop,
pour some water and allow it to dilute,
and a wave of the wand in a circular loop.

It's one of the most powerful spells ever conceived,
never before has an attempt be made.
If my calculations are correct...
I'll be able to control every season.

Every drop of rain, every chip of rock,
every flowing river, every blade of grass.
Every cloud in the sky, every fish in the sea,
all will belong
to me.

My preparations complete, I exit my tower,
not through the door, but with a snap,
and there I stand on the beach.

On the sand in windy weather,
the expansive sea on the horizon.
I remove from my pouch the materials needed,
to sow the seeds of death's arrival.

Breath in
breath out
Breath in
breath out

Feel the world and wave my finger,
every creature appears in my mind.
Every atom that says it is alive
is bent to my will and listens to me.
From here I smile and laugh with the wind,
for I am the most magical one of them all.

A Modern Diogenes


To understand the point of life and existence, I think, is to shelter yourself from true reality and live a movie. You know what I'm talking about: that typical Hollywood bull♥♥♥♥. Have some hard times, but it always turns out well in the end with the girl of your dreams in your arms.

Hahaha. Yeah, good luck with that.

There is no silver lining, folks. There is no moral to the story. We're a bunch of drugged-up slaves trying to find hope in a world that is devoid of it. Don't believe me?

What did you do today? Sit around and do nothing? Go work in an office that keeps the temperature four degrees too cold? Well, to be honest, I don't give a ♥♥♥♥. Whatever you did wasn't meaningful. Whatever you did didn't serve any purpose other than to ensure you can live your hollowed life for one more day. Oh, you got paid? Big ♥♥♥♥ing whoop. Just more money to spend on your pointless ♥♥♥♥.

Oh, don't bother looking for God or anything like that. Does God exist? Which religion is right? Answer: none of them. There is no God. There is no higher purpose to life. I'm not saying I'm right in this assumption (though I believe I am), but lets be real, folks. If there is a deity out there, it's pretty clear that he stopped caring about our greedy, worthless lives around the same time he brought this universe into existence. I'm pretty sure we've run this whole “life” and “society” thing into the ground, and God is laughing at our pitiful attempts of restoring it.

But hey, whatever floats your boat. If believing in God or Buddha or constantly trying to disprove their existence is what gets you through the day, so be it. But it isn't just this we worry ourselves over. Oh, no, no, no. Lets get into politics! ♥♥♥♥ing wonderful. What could possible be more entertaining and breathtaking than bickering about money and war and laws and rules? I can't think of anything more unnatural than man-made laws. I don't see animals obeying human laws. I don't see the weather stopping to say, “Oh, I'm sorry, you had a town here? Well, I guess I'll just move this here tornado over to some unpopulated place. Yeah, I'll do my testing there.”

You know, I once had a friend... well, ex-friend, tell me that I should stop being so ♥♥♥♥ing depressed and cynical. He said, “You know, Adam, you just put too much thought into everything. Why can't you just enjoy life? Maybe grab a beer and watch a football game.”

That ended well. Meaning, my friend with a black eye, and myself with an assault for battery. I think punching someone in the face really gets the message across. I don't like what you're saying to me, I don't like that you're judging me, so here's my fist against your jaw. But, we get back to these “you can't do that!” laws, and now I've got to pay for his ♥♥♥♥ing hospital bill.

Which, is ridiculous, I might add. What kind of world do we live? I can buy a gun and ammunition and literally murder a hundred people, yet to go in for crucial surgery you have to cough up a lot more money. Isn't there something seriously wrong with a society in which it costs less money to ruin a hundred lives than to save one?

Going back to my friend, his comment is what got to me. Get a beer. Watch the game. Why? Is having a beer supposed to make me happy? Maybe he doesn't realize that I'm not a consumerist whore like he is. Like I said, we go to work to make money, and for what? To buy pointless ♥♥♥♥. I don't even know why I bothered trying to change their views. They saw their phones and food and movie tickets and vacations as “necessities”, that they couldn't live without.

But I feel like this has been too much of a ramble. Besides, if I wait for too long, someone might come in and try to stop me. Not that it would be the first time. I've been walked in on about six times. But not this time! I made sure that my parents wouldn't be home, and my brother is off with his friends. Probably getting drunk or something. In fact, my parents probably are too. Ah, how wonderful it must be to live in ignorant bliss.

Well, hopefully the noose is tight enough this time.

It's clearly a biased, opinionated point of view in A Modern Diogenes, but I think that's what I like so much about. It's the irrationality of some views, or how hard some of the others hit, that force a reflection on the topics brought up by the protagonist.

Interesting ending.

The Planet of Blood


Finally, the moon had been reborn and the night grew as dark as the deepest trench of the ocean. My friends and I had planned this out for the past two weeks: on the new moon we would break into the college observatory and have a look around. None of us bothered to take the class which required tedious amounts of math, but we also wished to explore the place. Not to mention it'd be pretty cool to say we had a beer inside a restricted area of the campus.

I had all advance courses on my schedule, save for math, which I did poorly in. Hence why this break in was the only viable option. I didn't let my lack of mathematical skills deter me whatsoever. In any other field I was, to put it bluntly, a genius. Among the subjects I was attracted to, Philosophy and Psychology were the two that fully grasped my attention. Psychology was more for the applicable skills gained from it, whereas Philosophy was for my thinking side. As a Christian I of course found the philosophy surrounding the existence and power of God to be of most interest. Pascal's Wager showing that any rational person would choose to believe in a God must be one of the greatest breakthroughs in human history.

Regardless of my intellectual pursuits, I still enjoyed causing trouble here and there. For example, being twenty and below the drinking age, yet getting drunk off my ass every weekend. Of course, this did not suffice, so to achieve my thrills this time about I would risk expulsion. Sure, it's idiotic, but isn't having fun pretty damn important in life?

We met in a garden near the Observatory at 11 pm on a day with no Astronomy classes scheduled. Michael and Kayla were already sitting about and waiting for me before proceeding.

“About time you showed up. You brought the lockpicking ♥♥♥♥, right?” asked Michael.

“Yeah,” I replied. “You guys got the beer?”

Kayla held up the case of beer.

“And where's Tyler?” I asked.

“Right here, dip♥♥♥♥.” Tyler moved forward.

“Sorry. Didn't see you there.”

“Yeah, yeah, always putting the black guy down. Whatever, man.”

“Shut up and lets get going. If we goof around too long someone is bound to call security,” I said.

Kayla spoke next. “Trent has a point. Lets get going.” We silently made our way through the shadows and past a few buildings until we reached a hill on the edge of campus where the observatory was. Past it in the distance were a range of mountains that brought the cold from the peaks. It was warmer than usual, so we needn't wear coats. Only long sleeves.

I made my way to the front of the group and took out the lockpicking tools. A few minutes of work ended with a rewarding click. I put the tools away and we entered, closing the door behind us. I assumed since this was just a school observatory that there would be no resting quarters or other homely rooms, and I guessed correctly. We had a flashlight and waved it about the room. It was plainly decorated with some chairs and tables scattered about. A few bookshelves stood against the walls. In the back was a spiral staircase leading upstairs. We walked in the darkness and up the stairs. Upstairs was the telescope, conveniently let out and fixated on a spot in the sky. Kayla had set the case down and was opening a beer.

I was slightly excited. “Alright, who wants to look first?” I asked.

Kayla sipped at the beer and looked questioningly. “Look at what?”

I pointed at the telescope. “You know, look in the sky, see the stars?”

“I don't really care,” she replied. “I just agreed with breaking in here since it seemed secluded.”

“Same here, man.” Tyler replied. “Wherever the beer goes, I go.”

“Michael?” I asked. He responded by grabbing a beer and downing it. I shrugged and took a beer out of the twenty four pack. Hearing that no one else had any interest in even taking a peek left me disappointed, and so I just sipped mine refreshingly. The rest were more interested in getting drunk and drank a lot faster than me. We couldn't be too loud, but we told stories and jokes and had fun. After finishing two of mine, and everyone else well on their way to full intoxication, I decided to take a look through the telescope. After all, it seemed strange that someone would leave it out overnight. Maybe their class was tracking a certain star or planet?

Curiously, I peered through the mirror. Through it I clearly saw what appeared to be a burning ball of fire, almost how I imagined our own sun would look. However, many flares were shooting off and there seemed to be a greenish haze surrounding the object. Confused I backed up and looked up to the sky with my naked eye. I regained myself and looked once more. This time there was nothing but blackness. I gazed for a few moments but it was of no use. I didn't touch the telescope and it didn't appear anything blocked my view.

“Hey guys?” I called out. “Will one of you take a look in here and tell me what you see?”

“No way. That sounds incredibly boring,” Tyler said.

“Just sit down and have another beer, dude. We don't care,” added Michael.

“No, seriously. Just tell me what you see.”

Kayla stumbled up and over to me. “I'll look, I'll look. Just shut up.” Kayla bent over and looked in. “I see a whoooole lotta nothing!” she laughed and moved the telescope around.

“Dammit, stop it! I thought I saw something weird and then it disappeared.”

“Lighten up, Trent. It was probably just a, nebula thingy.”

I sighed. “Just give me another beer,” I demanded as I walked back to the others. We continued to drink and have a merry time, but I couldn't stop thinking about the object I saw. I made a note to remember it. The next morning I remembered it clearly, as I had dreams about it. Dreams that I could see the object, but with my naked eyes. I could see past all the fire and haze and make out structures protruding from the planet. Unfathomable cliffs and oceans adorned the celestial body. A mark of beauty in the night sky and one whose mystique was of dying interest.

This completely went against my beliefs. Namely, that we are all God's children and that Earth is a gift to us. How could it be that another planet exists where there was, or currently is, life? It pained me enough that I left my dorm and found my philosophy professor in her office. It was just as I remembered. Namely she hung various portraits of philosophers and books stacked in one corner. I knocked and entered.

“Professor, might I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Trent. What's on your mind?”

“Well, it's just.... you're Christian, aren't you?”

“Religious beliefs are one of the topics that professors aren't supposed to discuss. You know this.”

“That's fine. It was a rhetorical question, as I've seen your car and you have a cross hanging on your mirror.”

She frowned and motioned me to sit in the seat in front of her desk. “So, hypothetically, I'm a Christian. What of Christian theology would you like to discuss?

“Well, if God created us and the Earth, is it possible he might have created other creatures and planets?”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“That's what has me confused. I, uh... last night I had these strange and extremely lucid dreams in which I floated over this burning planet, but I could see structures on the planet. It seemed so lifelike, almost as if I'd seen it before.”

“Trent, you experienced a lucid dream. You have no reason to think that a dream is reality.”

“But how do we know that for sure? What if the dream was some form of astral projection?”

“I would find that a little far-fetched, but not out of the realms of possibility. Still, if I were a Christian, I would have serious doubts as to life existing on other planets. I don't think I would believe that anything could be created without the will of God.”

“What if God did create them, though?”

She looked at me as if I were mad. “How would that even make sense?”

“Suppose if...” I tried to gather my thoughts. “If this knowledge wasn't put into the Bible because we were meant to discover it ourselves?”

“Do you really think God would deceive us like that?”

“Is it not within the realms of possibility?”

“No, it isn't.” She opened up a book and glared at me. “I'll see you in class tomorrow.”

I stood and left. She was of no help. I grasped the cross around my neck said a short prayer. Praying that I would not be right. However, I knew what I saw last night was not a delusion caused by lack of rest or the effects of alcohol. I went back into my dorm and surfed the internet in hopes of finding others who experienced the same as me. However, I could not find anything that had any air of severity, only badly written stories and the occasional video game. Disappointed, I went to the school's library to search there.

I checked everything I could think of. From the many sets of encyclopedias to obscure books written by unknown authors. Absolutely nothing that could help. Facing defeat, I pushed the shelf in anger and managed to knock a few books to the ground. I bent over to grab them and put them back. I picked up one of the books to discover one underneath it. The tome had a plain black leather cover, with symbols I did not recognize on the front. Some dust had gathered on it that I swept away. I put the rest of the books back and took this one to one of the private study rooms.

I closed the door to the personal study and laid the book on the table. I pulled a chair up and carefully opened it. A strange and eerie language that didn't match any of the languages I had studied littered the pages. As I turned the ancient pages there were pictures coupled with the dreadful words. One was a dark beast with many mouths, with blood that dripped from penetrating eyes. Another was a bat-like creature that appeared to have a scarab or another insectoid for a head. The pictures became more and more odd as I turned the page and a trickle of fear slid down my spine. After skipping many pages and getting further into the book, I found what I was looking for.

Pictured was the burning planet, and written below was the first word of this book I was able to read. Harlvoria. I continued to read but I was still unable to make out more than a few words here and there. Tunneling worms. Glass. Maddening buzz. None of it was coherent. Near the bottom of the page there appeared to be a citation of some sort. When I looked back up to see where it was noted, it was after a word that clearly said “Blud'sgåova”. The word was reminiscent of the North Germanic word for “blood gift.” With renewed interest I read the citation, which appeared to be an incantation of some sort. There were small drawings at the bottom of the page which showed a person quickly traveling through a door of some sort. I took out pen and paper and copied the words flawlessly.

“Twy'ltef eod le lifs orofwh.” I repeated it multiple times to myself until I was sure I had the correct pronunciation. Once I was sure, I closed the book and returned it to where I found it. I refused to hold such an unholy book in my possession for any longer than was necessary. I quickly shoved it back into the shelf and made my way back to my dorm. I took my bible from my bedside and stored the paper in there. However, I still had other classes to attend, and I did so. Afterwards I sat around and made idle chit-chat with some friends in the cafeteria, but I was not able to keep my attention on the conversation. To quell my growing curiosity, I would return to the observatory tonight without company. I would recite the phrase I had taken from the book and see if that would cause the object to return. I had doubts that anything would come of it, but there would be no rest for me until my suspicions were silenced.

The rest of the day was spent in solitude and with scattered prayer. I could not bring myself to study for any other classes and instead kept busy with television and video games and other activities to help quiet my racing mind. Sometime after a late dinner, it had grown late enough that I felt assured that I would not be discovered. As with last night, I sneaked out to the observatory in the dead of night. Once again I picked the lock and entered the building.
With flashlight in hand I ascended the stairs to the second floor. Once again the telescope was pointed out into the vast emptiness of space. I placed my Bible down and took the piece of paper out. I cleared my throat as I approached the device and peered through it. To my surprise, I saw the Harlvoria once again. I wretched back in surprise and realized my mistake. When I looked through again I was relieved to see it still there, burning and glowing ever diligently. I glanced at the paper for a moment before looking back through the scope. I softly whispered the words, “Twy'ltef eod le lifs orofwh.”

Immediately following the ritual came a forceful pull from the inside of my head, and I found myself being dragged through a horrible blackness. A constant push of air like a light breeze was the only sound combating the ones of whispering voices. They whispered of things I would refuse to believe. “God is dead.” “You have been abandoned.” “Oblivion awaits the rotted away.” I thrashed in defiance as they grew louder and louder. I closed my eyes and screamed as loud as my lungs would allow, but the voices yelled back with such ferocity that I whimpered. I closed my eyes while they screamed at me.

Suddenly, the voices stopped and I reluctantly opened my eyes. I found myself in the same position as my dreams. Some force was slowly bringing me closer to the surface of the planet. As I came closer and closer, the details of the surface became even more clear than the dream. The structures I saw were large, black towers, made out of some versatile material. They twisted and turned into shapes that I knew of no name for. The water of the oceans were a sickly gray, with bubbles of various sizes scattered about. The edge of the cliffs were wickedly gnarled and shaped like hungry teeth.

My fear grew and grew, keeping in time with the ground becoming nearer and nearer. The only relief I found was in the fact that I heard no more voices. All I heard was a quaint silence. My feet finally reached the ground and I stood on the edge of one of the thousands of cliffs. The terrain was noticeably more chaotic than before. The hills rolled up in the distance and layered in no way possible for it to be natural. I could see now that the cliffs seemed to make gigantic fault lines, and the way the edges twisted made the shape of an elongated maw. Above me the night sky was empty and the source of the dusk's light was impossible to find.

I turned to walk away from the cliff's edge when I finally heard the first sounds of the planet: a faint buzzing. I looked around to try and find the source, but to no avail. The buzzing grew louder and louder until I stopped in my tracks. The sound came from behind me, and reluctantly and full of hysteria I turned around. As I did, a massive black swarm came from the trench. From all of them. In the distance the massive swarm conjoined in the sky and formed a a dome around me. I fell to my knees and ripped the cross off my necklace, and embraced it until my knuckles turned purple. The swarm lurched all at once, with me as their target.

The alien flies bit and tore and gnawed and chewed and clawed at my exposed flesh. They tore into my clothes and I could feel some burrowing under my skin. Some forced themselves down my throat. Through the pain I could make out their mocking laughter and continued chants of faith-breaking words. I screamed and tried to fight them off, but all it accomplished was more piercing laughter resonating in my ears. I took to running, but I didn't make it even two feet before my legs gave out and I collapsed. The creatures continued to sting and dig into my flesh until I fell into unconsciousness.

When I next opened my eyes, I laid on a stretcher that was being carried off somewhere. I was too weak to look around or ask questions, but I heard my professor speaking to one of the medics.

“...his skin.”

“What do you mean “eggs?”

“I don't know how they got there, but they're some sort of insect eggs. The doctors at the hospital will probably be able to identify them. He's lucky to even be alive after all that bleeding.”

I could make out the lights of the ambulance in the darkness, and someone shouting orders. My professor leaned over and looked me over before speaking.

“Trent, I'm... I don't even...” tears dripped down her face. “I pray to God you'll be safe.”

I coughed up some blood and smiled. “God? Hahahaha, GOD?” I let out a maddening, mocking cackle as I was lifted into the vehicle.

You are so getting better at your descriptions! And man, i actually got creeped out! ♥♥♥♥ man, good job!

I just sat down and gave it a good, enjoyable read for the first time.

Nearly shat myself.

Good job, past Gamzee.

We're studying gothic lit in class right now, and you happen to post this. Huh.

I liked the story for those elements.

People Are Strange


The daze came rushing on, pulling my eyes open and causing me to clear my throat. With a yawn I looked around to get my bearings. Apparently I'd fallen asleep inside a dirty box with old newspapers to use as a bed. The rain had left, but the clouds remained ever dark.

Why was I here again? Oh, right... got into another fight with Abby. Lauren decided that was the last straw, and kicked me out of the house and into the streets. Of course she wouldn't understand. Lauren could never understand Abby.

Abby. That ♥♥♥♥♥.

I crawled out of my box and exited into the alley. The only company I had was the rotting meat that the butcher threw into the dumpster last night. The stench was absolutely unbearable, so I rose and jogged down the alley and into the street.

It was disgustingly filthy, as always. No one cares for the streets around here. As long as it's somewhat flat no one would intervene. Not that I was going to complain. I wouldn't want to be walking on gravel and rocks.

My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten in well over a day. I looked to my right, and peeked into the butcher's shop. I came around here last week to see if I could have some food, and he obliged with a few pieces of ham. I tried coming back two times since, but each time he yells and threatens to remove me. But, hey, third time's the charm.

I walked in and looked up at the meat hanging from the ceiling. I licked my lips and called for the butcher. However, as soon as I did, I frowned. I heard him yell and then there was a loud banging. Fear struck my heart and I swiftly turned and ran out the shop. I ran across the street, forcing some cars to brake quickly. A few people looked at me, but their attention left as soon as it came. They know it's me and that I'm not of any interest nor importance.

I crossed and continued to walk down the street. Hardly anyone paid attention to me, but the few who did would frown in disgust and quicken their pace. Sure, I looked dirty and unsavory, but was I really that bad? I guess people are strange.

Now, I was steadily approaching a street vendor. I saw the man cooking food and giving hotdogs to people. They gave away paper and metal in return. I figured it would be worth it to try my luck with him. After all, it worked yesterday. I walked calmly around to the back of the cart, but before I could get a sound out he smacked me and pushed me back. I didn't resist him and simply went on my way with an intense feeling of defeat, and hunger.

As I walked it began to rain. People began to take out umbrellas to protect themselves from the showers. Cars started up their wipers, and occasionally one would splash its water on me. The cold sunk in and the extra weight from the water put stress on me. I did my best to ignore it and continued to walk. I walked for about ten minutes, and by then I had gotten a bit far from my home. Further than I'd usually go. But today I was in the mood to walk through the park.

Happiness refused to have me, and the downpour didn't help my mood. I stopped and scratched my head while looking around. Some kids were in they playground, running around in the puddles and climbing the trees. Some teens were running around and throwing a ball to each other. It seemed odd that they would be out here while it rained, considering they must be getting cold.

Regardless, my walk continued peacefully until I walked past two people. They took one look at me and began to yell something. I yelped in return, but this must have intimidated them. They began yelling, and then I heard more yelling from others. As I stood there I saw a man come running towards me and pointing a light at me. I turned around but was met with another light. I closed my eyes and felt something stinging my leg. Then I slipped into unconsciousness.

I awoke in a white room. Two people in white coats were talking to each other. They passed around some papers and then the nurse left. I looked around the room and yawned, feeling tired still. Whatever put me to sleep was strong.

The nurse finally returned with a long silver stick. I thought that she was going to give me food. She handed it to the doctor, who took it in his hand, bent down, and stuck it in into my neck.

So far, I have only read 'People are strange' cause the title kind of jumped out at me..it sounds like it will make a good story.

Now, first off, what I like about this story is that it feels like an extract from a longer story, this is good for me for two reasons...

1.) If it was a extract, it will be short
2.) It jumps straight in with out any dilly dallying

I especially like the fact that the story is in first person, cause that is how I write, it appeals to my greatly; also, the tone of the story, how it is kind of dark....but not emo (if you know what I mean) it's just...hard to explain, but this is how I write in all English exams, so it's what I feel comfortable with.

I am extremely picky with what I like, so if I'm not already told that something is good, I won't have an open mind towards it, but the title jumped out at me out of all of the other stories so I decided to read it myself (cause I hate being forced to read ♥♥♥♥ at school in a designated period of time) so because I chose the story myself, I was able to absorb the story and understand what it means so I can continue, as opposed to just reading the words.

I LOVE stories with an open ending like that...just odd, scary and a bit random/unexplained..it is how I finish all off my stories.

I really think you are a great writer, please continue writing stories like this one!

Thanks, man. I'd recommend you read ALL THE STORIES, as I enjoy having a dash of mystique to them, along with some interpretation as to what transpires.