Challenge Yourself- Healing Verse II

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Because I survive, I heal. This entire song perfection. I rise as a Phoenix does. From the pit of darkest ashes of smoldering pitch, I rise embolden in flames because I AM strength…

My Immortal By Evanescence 2004

I’m so tired of being here, suppressed by all my childish fears. And if you have to leave I wish that you would just leave. Your presence still lingers here and it won’t leave me alone these wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just to real there’s just too much that time can not erase. When you cried I’d wipe away all of your tears when you scream I’d fight away all your fears I held your hand throughout all of these years, but you still have all of me. You used captivate me by your resonating light, now I’m bound by the life you left behind. Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams your voice it chased away all the sanity in me these wounds won’t seem to heal this pain is just to real, there is just too much that time can not erase.

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Challenge Yourself- Healing Verse I

Broken heart

You would have to know the back story here, I’ll say this. The scene I walked into was utter devastation and instant soul wrenching pain and this song played on repeat in the CD player. It took me years to listen to this again, It has helped me to realize and heal my heart and remember the great things we had and his way of telling me not to let it define me. Yes I still cry at this song, A permanent image burned into my head. Yet I survive.

Courtesy Guns and Roses 1991 Don’t Cry

“Don’t hang your head in sorrow and please don’t cry. I know how you feel inside I’ve been there before. Something is changing inside you and don’t you know. Don’t you cry tonight, I still love you baby. Don’t you cry tonight. Don’t you cry tonight there’s a heaven above you baby, and don’t you cry tonight. Give me a whisper and give me a sigh. Give me a kiss before you tell me goodbye, don’t you take it so hard now and please don’t take it so bad. I’ll still be thinking of you and the times we had, baby don’t you cry tonight. Don’t you cry tonight. And Please remember that I never lied and please remember how I felt inside now honey, you gotta make it your own way but you’ll be alright sugar you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

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Challenge Yourself- 2 Sentence Horror Stories

Souls

His hair waves delicately in the non-existent breeze as he beckons me. My hands gripping tight to my soul as I refuse to let it go. Sitting on the park bench of crimson hue he turns to me and says “I thought you weren’t ready to go, Oh I’ve missed you so”.

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Night Hags by Richard Bell

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“She is…she really is…”
“What the…she’s not…”
“She is! She is definitely a CILF.”
“CILF?”
“Yes…Crone I’d like to…”
“Ok, dirtbag, you need to douse the fire down there and focus on the party.”
“The Golden Girls always did it for me.”
“You should call your cock Dracula.”
“Dracula?”
“Yes. Every time it rises there’s a coffin involved!”
“That’s dead funny. Let’s get the snacks in bowls and the kegs out of the van and set this place up with a Heff vibe!”
“Hey! Did you invite the goth girls from apartment five?”
“You mean the Fridges of Eastwick? No one’s ever got anywhere with them and the rumours are that they hunt after sundown and drink blood for real. Haven’t you noticed the town has no vagrants? I mean none…why?”
“Probably because of the Mayor’s ‘here’s fifty and a train ticket now move it’ policy. Have to say that they look like they should be in a Rob Zombie movie. Hot and creepy is not just the jungle at night!”
“Well I posted an invite through their door and I didn’t get it shoved in my face so I’m hopeful. I bought some vodka and tomato juice and they can have Bloody Mary drinks in the moonlight. Look, this building needs to rock and tonight it will do just that.”
“Right! Let’s get the playlist sorted and the bar set up and we can get the party started. What the…”
“It’s a bloody power cut! Can you believe it? Ok…we’ve got the candles in that box. Let’s get them lit and text everyone to bring torches.”
“Erm…you’re not going to believe it but my phone is dead and…yes…the home phone is too. The blackout must be an electro magnetic pulse or something? Everything is dead. Well,we’ve got candles, booze and…a knock at the door.”
“Hey, it’s the goth girls and everything behind them appears to be on fire. That’s normal…we might need the extinguisher from the kitchen. Can you whip up two Bloody Marys, please?”
“Do they want ice?”
“I’m thinking not as they appear to be on fire themselves but it seems to be a black flame and cold so…”
“Two Bloody Mary drinks and…”
“Where are we?”
“We’re in the bathroom. What happened?”
“I brought the drinks in and then…nothing. I blacked out.”
“I blacked out when they walked in. Where are they?”
“I can hear voices coming from the kitchen. Let’s go and see.”
“What are you doing, girls and what’s with the knives?”
“I think they want to kill us. Like I said, no vagrants in this town and now we know why.”
“Wait, if this is witchcraft then I can use my holy water from the vampire kit from Comicon, right?”
“It’s here in my pocket. I was going to impress them if they showed. Alright, girls, let’s see you melt like in the movies.”
“It’s working! They’re crawling behind the breakfast bar. What the…but how…they’re old hags?”
“I’m getting wood. Think I’ll have a wild night with a couple of CILF’s. Come and meet Dracula, girls!”
“More like WILF’s – witches I’d like to…we have to do somethi…”
“I’m feeling drowsy. I think they hexed us. We have to get out of…”
“Where are we?”
“Back in the bathroom.”
“Did I get some witch action?”
“Yes, I think we both did.”
“Are your pants gone?”
“Yes. Yours?”
“Yup!”
“What did they want from us?”
“I think they’re like the Praying Mantis. They screw then kill their mates.”
“But we’re still alive…so…we’re ok, right? Right? Right?”
“It’s too dark to tell…ha ha ha hu…”
“You still there? You still there…you sti…”

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Original written work by Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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The Artist by Tony Norton

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A gentle confetti rain of dried out golden Autumn leaves pit pattered down from the forest canopy, crisp coating the floor with the sunshine of a yesterday’s summer.
Saul , pensive, thought to himself, “There is such a detailed delicate beauty in decay”
The car tyres crunched on the forest road gravel as the growling engine climbed up the snaking winding road.
For the last three years Dee had been dating Saul. She had first met him at Uni in one of the bohemian Gothic nights. He was gangly, geeky and painfully shy. Being in his peer group and also for most of her classes, she found herself getting closer to him. She soon found out that he was kind, sweet , gentle and an exceptionally gifted artist. Saul saw things in such intimate details and his artwork often painted a picture of an exquisite view of his subjects. His talents were off the scale. Otherworldly. Dee felt comfortable and safe in his company.
Comfortable that is until the last six months, Saul had been behaving oddly, going missing for days on end, becoming even more and more introverted. When Dee had asked him he said that he was “working on a masterpiece”
He had become disheveled, driven and had an obsessive compulsion about whatever was preoccupying him.
Dee, hoped that today, his revelation would put an end to it and the real Saul could return.
They drove through the forest, speckled rays of bright light dappled through the leaves as they passed the oak centuries lining the wayside.
They pulled up at the old disused mine works. Getting out of the car, there was an eerie silence.  No birds, no wind, just crystal clear silence.
Saul’s face, devoid of emotions .
“We are here”, he said.
“Here?” quizzed Dee.
Saul was already out of the car.
Dee, immediately feeling uncomfortable and alone, quickly followed him out.
Saul purposely bounded off.
Entropy had had its way with the old mine works. Rusty iron had adorned coats of venal green, and tendrils had slithered their way out of the forest, teasing their snake-like way all around the now jungle like complex.
There were windows, without any glass in them, long since smashed by stone throwing kids. Doors were swinging on hinges. The whole area in a state of derelict decay. It was hidden away in desolation.
Saul, obviously knew his way.
He darted, this way, turned left, ducked under a broken door frame.
Towards the rear of the complex. Dee hurriedly followed. Feeling more and more uneasy and uncomfortable with the surroundings.
Dee felt it in the pit of her stomach…something was not right.
It was then , BANG..the unmistakable smell of death hit her like a freight train.
At the back of the old works was an old miners infirmary. Six beds, that were there to serve injured miners whilst they waited in the woods for medical assistance.
In the beds, all handcuffed to the rusting metal framework were six bodies in various states of decay. Dee immediately turned to run, retching at the stench,
Saul blocked the door path.
“Dee, you have been chosen by the Goddess to bear witness in bringing forth the Rapture”
You are now here at her will, Welcome”
“I am THE Artist….Welcome to this…this is my Pallet”
“But, Saul…..tears welling in her eyes… They are all Dead!!!
No Dee, through Me, they live…they live to eternity….Don’t You see?
In the middle of the room was an artists easel, draped by a filthy white sheet.
Do you know what today is Dee… Do you know the date?
No answer as Dee sobbed uncontrollably, snot running from her nose in protest to the olfactory onslaught it was undertaking.
It’s Samhain…,All Hallows….Halloween…..
It’s time, to finish the masterpiece.
Let me introduce you to my Pallet.

In Bed One – Gangrene. Hues of Sage, Earthy Greens and Forest Moss.
Beautiful vernal shades of green in various stages of decadent decay.
A delicate swatch of all things green. The surface flesh twitched with the movement of fat gorging maggots. The dead body, crawling with life.

In Bed Two Charcoal….The stench of burning flesh and seared bone. The charred and burned body ravaged by the cruel flames that had danced it to death.

In Bed Three Umber. In The third bed lay a fat bloated body of a middle-aged man, his face contorted with the pain of death. He had a tourniquet tied tight around its middle. He had been cleaved through the abdomen, exposing the disembowelled large intestines. The intestines were split, revealing a large pile of brown dried caked faeces, being patrolled by fat zig zagging bluebottles. Dried stinking shades of Brown.

Dee’s gag reflex kicked in, bile retching into her dry throat.

In Bed Four Rosso Red. In the fourth bed lay the body of a young woman, that had been lacerated. She had had every major artery and vein severed. Blood had soaked the bed, obviously the kill was fresh. Thick clots of congealed blood lay in stark contrast to the grubby white bed sheets. In the red pool , lay the young womans life, outside of her young body.

This time Dee was physically sick

In Bed Five Yellow – In this bed there was a very old man, frail and painfully thin. He looked ravaged by disease, probably cancer. He was gaunt and yellow. Attached to his side was a catheter, with the tube ending in a clear glass medical flask. The flask had a tap off it into a dirty plastic washing up bowl, and there lay a dark yellow pool of urine, its stale stench overpowering. The man, was pitifully bearly still alive…

Dee’s revulsion was complete.

In Bed six- White. Here lay the bones of half a skeleton, all flesh had been stripped off. At the foot of the bed lay a tin bath full of caustic acid and the rest of the skeleton lay immersed in the liquid. Next to the liquid lay crumbly white brittle bones, and a mortar and pestle. In the mortar bones had ground to a dirty white powder

“This, this is my pallet” said Saul. In these poor souls death’s I give them eternal life… their colours live on in my artwork. Behold, I unveil the Rapture….
Saul walked to the middle of the room. There was a possessed look in his eyes….he walked to the artist’s easel, ripping off the White sheet.
He revealed the most beautiful portrait, exquisitely painted. Every curve, every line , every shade painted with perfect perfection. The picture was of a young woman laying naked in the forest glade. She was a pale alabaster, and the smile on her face belied the Goddess Gaia standing over her, her still beating heart in her one hand, ritual knife in the other. Dee, could see immediately that the picture was of her, in perfect symmetry.
“See, my darling Dee, there is no such thing as death… See here…. you are immortal”
Come the Goddess awaits….

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Original written work by Tony Norton

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Possession (challenge) by Christy Evans

image  When you’ve released yourself from a person that would destroy your whole being, the sum of the weight of toxic poison being lifted from your soul feels like a pressure valve finally loosening. That person is like an unwanted attachment, a possession of sorts. They want to feed off of your energy by bringing negativity to every aspect of your being. They would suck you dry down to the core of your bones, licking each finger of your marrow with a slight smirk on their face ever so disturbing. They have a multitude of faces, a sort of changing of personalities. But still their goal remains the same. The goal is to drain the purest soul. It finds its weakness and uses it to bring them to the lowest point. This is where it starts its work. Finally when you make the choice to cleanse yourself of this emotional vampire the feeling of enlightenment occurs. Realizing you are done being the feast of such an evil presence; You take whatever’s left of your plate of bones and let this three-headed dog realize there is no meal left for them to pick through. As you watch this entity angrily move on to the others around you, you wonder when these people will finally stop letting this evil posses them. They laugh at you like they’ve found something great. But you know the routine the manipulation, the moment of attachment. You know what is coming to them.

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Heck you’ve even tried to warn them but they do not see it yet. You feel like you’re the good guy in a horror movie that tries to tell everyone in town the truth of this evil and you’re the one who ends up in the straight jacket in a padded room waiting for them to realize you were right this whole time. You sit back and all you can do is hope for these people who would laugh at your new-found freedom to finally find theirs and release the demon who will suck their soul down to their very bones licking each finger of their marrow with that disturbing smirk. Until then you just sit back and wait. You know that moment, the I tried to warn you moment you know will come. But by then it will be too late for those souls. They can laugh at you now but there will be a moment of clarity for them and they will be the ones crying the once river of tears you’ve left behind. All you can do is try not to say I told you so, but that satisfaction is one to hard to resist.

by-the-strength-within-i-shall-succeed

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Original written work by Christy Evans

 

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Possession Challenge- Desolate Decadence

Help me eye

Heavy fog rolling in biting past the suns last glimmer, a deep and eerie shimmer.
As crisp autumn leaves crackle under feet, tis in the forest deep, where she shall roam
longing for her forever home.
Where at last she is set free, lost and forlorn, wandering. Gown of white now stained by moss and unrelenting time
Entering the twisted birch for a patch of trodden earth, to foray her rebirth
As visions creep entangling through her veins, as her final chapter rings.
Reaching, pleading with the strangling mist, beating the air with clenched fists.

scary woman face2
Her of hue no longer there seeped with red and tinged in sin, she calls beckoning him.
Release her there is no reprise from the anguish that boils inside.
One dance was all she stood, as demons grew from her rage taking her by veiled guise.
As she wanders down her abandoned path, insanity mounts her shattered soul twisting her compass from her grasp
A wicked demise as darkness settles before her eyes, all hope has gone as she screams on twisted lunatic binge
ripping at things she imagines there, tearing out the roots of her hair
Spinning, turning, her way obscured with haunted soul

insane face
Spittle flying through the air, scarlet swells falling from her ears and demons scream in their silent ruse, penetrating her mind infused
As she twirls in sweet nocturnal grue reaching for who she was, now forever lost.
Wandering she stills her craze, under the oak reaching out to her, gnarly knotted, dark and drab, it’s here where she shall stay.
Where her place eternal be, where she can silently scream never-resting only babbling.
Hiding within the shadows playing round, hearing men and growling dogs as they come round.
They are looking to slay her demon ways.
Her banshee laugh not keeping them at bay.
As men round the tree and encompass thee, her voice rising with insanity.
As she screams and onlookers watch as the struggle ensues, watching her soul entwine with hell-bound sin
Looking on not one but two fighting inside a turbulent battle, soul against demon in frenzied struggle.
A village man taking claim, for it is her that he will claim. Put this notch up on his mantle, he slays demons winning battles.
As he reaches for his mark, she turns to him in the willowy dark, the voice spoke and he fell to his knees whilst her demonic cry exploded his tender eyes.
Insanity laughing, spoke in tongues as her demon shrills have won.

dark embrace

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The Score by Richard Bell

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“Oh for pity’s sake, Felicia, Andrew Culdrake is a crushing bore. He’s as easy to get rid of as a cum stain on silk. Please, don’t pair me up with that gargoyle with halitosis!” implored Lewis, his loose roll up cigarette fraying like pubes bursting out of the side of a pair of knickers.
“Lewis, dahling, the studio made an epic. A sprawling landscape of evil escapism for the superstitious dullards and their social media saprophytes. They want you to score the theme and Andrew to preen it with sound effects. Think of it as you are the mighty rhino and he is the fussy little Oxpecker foraging for ticks around your anus.”
Lewis cracked his first smile of sobriety and wiped the condensation from his window pane to stare, doe-eyed, at the swollen river past the parade of willows.
“Oh he’s a pecker alright. I had to sit through a whole evening of him extolling the virtues of the fucking Universal Audio plug-in world and how it’s making the big studios extinct along with that infernal Fractal Audio!”
“You’re a purist, dahling, we all get it but time marches on and, as your agent and manager, I insist that we get this as a gong is almost assured. We can finally take the elevator to a high-profile and tables at decent restaurants around town. Do this for your lovely Felicia, Lewis and I’ll let you perform cunnilingus on me and you know I’m a squirter which will satisfy your dirty little piss fetish. Go on, for me and a face full of cunnyhunny?”
“Oh Felicia, I never could resist snuffling for truffles in your bejewelled trough. If I’m to be sober for this ordeal, then we will do this on the lake in Alan Parson’s boat. He owes me for rescuing his last album. I want it stocked with diet Dr Pepper and Snyder’s honey mustard pretzels. Oh and anything Rupert Neve made! Thank You Felicia, sweetheart.”
“The screening is at 1pm today in the Belvedere Theatre and you and Andrew must arrive with a clear head and an open mind. The movie has allegedly killed eight people and a further two runners this morning. It is on its third director and this one, from France, is an unknown so he probably won’t be an arsehole. It’s reputed to be worse than Billy Friedkin’s flick, which must be a nerve shredder! You ace this meeting and I’ll get Parsons to hand me the keys to Shangri La. What do we always say, Lewis…?”
“Score one more for the bad guys. Bye Felicia.”
“Pissing you already!” quipped Felicia through a dirty, smoky exhale.
Lewis finished a hot shower and laid on the bed staring at the beautiful watery reflections from the river. They rippled and danced while low hanging willow tree branches swept across at random.
“Oh, Chanel, my beautiful muse. I think this one will be pure torture but your honey tones humming in my ears will take me to our pier at sunset. Just me and you dangling our feet into the orange waters, fingertips touching lightly.
The whole score is sung gently into the big red disc as it sinks into the boiling horizon and the stars remove the needle from the record. I miss you every day and each score is infused with you, with beautiful you.” Lewis dressed for the occasion in a suit from Saville Row, a howling wolf T-Shirt he won in a fight with a goth and his lucky tan leather Grensons shoes.
Cross town traffic wasn’t as cool as Jimi Hendrix made it in song. The slow crawl in the taxi, with the overpowering scent of jasmine, allowed Lewis to peer at the life on the streets. The flow of traffic and teeming streets filled with all manner of folk weighed down by their demons and lifted, on occasion, by their muse.
“Hey! I’m walking here. I’m a person with the right to walk and breathe so don’t hit me, okay?” A rasping voice bellowed from the tiny frame of a bag lady pounding on the bonnet of the cab as the driver drove his fist into the horn and shouted something awful.
Then she locked eyes with Lewis and fell silent. Her face dropped and her jaw began to tremble.
“Mercy. Have mercy on me. Don’t send them for me. Don’t let them…”
Her last word and sorrowful tear streaked ahead in traffic as a bus slammed into her body and burst it open like a ripe melon.
“Christ…what the…” Lewis yelped as the driver turned and smiled insidiously
“Cleanest thing on her was her… They’re waiting for you at the theatre. We must not disappoint him.”
Lewis paid the driver who was rubbing his star necklace and humming a strange, yet familiar tune. “All part of the design, sir.”
Then, like stirring powder into water, he blended into the traffic.
“Lewis. It’s good to see you again. I enjoyed our little to and fro at the last party. You should come to my studio and look at the new toys. Go on, it won’t kill you.”
Andrew Culdrake stepped from the shadow of the doorway, extending his hand to greet the still shaking Lewis.
“Andrew, how are you? This is a surprise. So, we’ll be working on an epic together. It’s jinxed apparently so we might last until the end of the screening.”
Lewis chuckled into the stone features of a rather less than amused Andrew.
“David Cholmondley and Daniel Sargutt died on the set, Lewis. They were hit by a lighting rig that fell, swung down and sliced them both in two. The studio nearly pulled the plug on this twice but both execs died before they could stop it. A new exec, a French guy stepped in and completed it. No one had seen this thing in its entirety yet. That’s our honour.” Andrew was trembling as he finished his sentence and Lewis recognised the fear that the bag lady showed right before she was smashed to pieces.
“I’m thinking less is more, Andrew. I’m thinking get it done and clear out before hysteria makes cadavers out of us. Hey, if you die, you could rig the coffin to have the sound of knocking and screaming coming from inside!”
Andrew grimaced then smiled a broad toothy grin.
“Great idea! Let’s get inside and view this thing.”
The theatre was a beautifully restored music hall with high, vaulted ceilings and a pit with a Wurlitzer below the stage. The screen lay behind giant red velvet curtains and, as they sat in the roomy, sprung seats, a deep voice with a French accent came over the address system.
“Bonjour, my friends and welcome to the Belvedere. The significance of this theatre is that before it was a picture house, it was a music hall and before that it was a house of ill repute. This place was built on a worshipping ground for Belial, a very powerful demon spirit. The movie you are about to see and you are required to score and provide sound effects for, is perhaps the closest to the truth of the devil and his works. Lights please and watch without a blink of an eye.”
As the silent movie rolled, Lewis and Andrew sunk into a stunned, chilled trance of shallow breaths and saucer- eyed terror. They were aware that as the movie descended into dark scenes, all of the seats were filled with black spectres and the whispers stabbed the silence with menace.
As the movie ended, the two men drew long breaths and wiped their soaking palms down their pants.
“So gentlemen, you see the task ahead. I will ask you to sleep on this viewing before you are issued with the disc to begin your work. I must ask you that no one else may view this work and that you do not discuss it in any form, verbal or digital. Say ‘yes’ if you agree to the terms?”
Both men shouted “Yes” loudly into the auditorium before leaving the theatre.
Outside, the taxi that brought Lewis there was waiting and both of the men were ushered inside.
“Monsieur, Shangri La is moored and waiting for you both at the lake. Miss Felicia asked me to give you the key and the instruction that you both must remain on the boat, that is anchored in the centre of the water, until completion. Merci, and now we must get there before sundown.”
The boat shone a deep orange atop rippling red flecks as the late evening drew the stars down.
“Here you are, gentlemen. I bid you adieu.” Whispered the driver, still playing with his star necklace.
The two men walked steadily across the gangplank and onto the broad deck with impressive cockpit and a single light above the door picking out a sign that read
‘If music be the food of love…pig out!’ Andrew chuckled at the cheeky sign as Lewis opened the door leading to down below where Felicia had worked her magic.
The dimmer switch slowly revealed a plush, spacious lounge area and studio complete with huge recording desk, midi keyboards and a giant fridge filled with Doctor Pepper.
“I asked for diet DP, Andrew. Dammit!” Lewis growled as Andrew set the desk and keys up.
“Lewis, how are we going to score this without a…?”
Lewis grabbed a long, black remote control from the desk and aimed it behind his shoulder. Instantly, a giant screen above the desk lowered and a digital projector flickered white light onto its blank expanse.
“Now that’s something else.” whispered Andrew to a dumbfounded Lewis.
“Right, we’ve got our bearings now we do as the French guy said and get some shut-eye. Tomorrow we start our odyssey.”
“And should we survive, it’s gong city and you can bury yourself in plug-ins and fake amps!” snarked Lewis through a sideways smile.
“May your testicles turn to cubes and pus at the corners” Andrew replied and both men laughed heartily before hitting the hay.
That night their dreams were a pastiche of grisly and mind bending horrors. That was until 3:45am when a huge thud on deck had them careering from their bunks and up the stairs. What greeted them on the pristine boards was a goats head, with silver coins for eyes and a plain package between its teeth.
“What manner of Satanist bullshit is this, Andrew?” Lewis croaked through a dry throat.
Andrew stood silent with a sickly grin and deep, sunken eyes peering from his furrowed brow.
“We shall begin our task right away. We must marry what we see with a sound scape from the darkest part of the psyche. Take the package and toss the head into the drink, Lewis.”
Ripping apart the paper, Lewis gasped at the ice-cold, deep red DVD case. Inside, a black disc had the word Lucifugus written in glossy black ink across it and it smelled just like the goat’s head.
It was a week of intense work as the men pored over the movie meticulously, soaking in the scenes and furiously composing and creating all manner of sounds from an extensive library. Animal and human merged with mechanical to generate all manner of bizarre and horrifying sounds. Andrew did not sleep. Not one single wink. He laboured day and night, his eyes sinking further back into his head and his body odour becoming so rancid that Lewis retreated to the starboard side of the top deck. Lewis couldn’t find his muse, Chanel but instead had the strange tune the taxi driver hummed bouncing round his skull. He coupled it with a bizarre time signature and detuned strings and his bone chilling theme slithered out of his head, down below and onto the midi keyboard.
On the Saturday evening Lewis noticed Andrew had gone. He was nowhere to be found, even after an extensive search of Shangri La.
He went back to the desk and noticed the red disc box was open. He looked inside and there, on top of the movie, was a second black disc with the words ‘Sonat est Diabolo’.
“Sounds for the devil…dear Lord, Andrew, you really bought into the hype but where the hell are you?”
Lewis sat at the keyboard and played one last time, calling for his muse and thinking about the bag lady, the goat’s head, Andrew gone and…
Thud!
“That came from the deck. What the he…” Lewis had just completed bouncing his score down to a disc and placing it in the red case with the other two, when he heard the commotion.
Climbing the stairs and opening the door he faced a large moon and a curled up figure on the deck, naked and clutching a star necklace whilst humming an all too familiar tune.
It was the taxi driver and as he wept he pointed to the shoreline. There, standing in a row holding hands, were several naked and hooded people. Lewis looked back at the driver only to find that he was gone and instead the mangled body of the bag lady lay twitching and bleeding out, all the while whispering “Don’t send them, don’t send them…”
Lewis looked to shore again and to his horror the figures had their arms raised in the air and one of their number was flying through the air, over the water and straight for the boat. He stepped back and fell against the door, dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
The hooded figure glided gently onto the deck and landed on the bag lady who burst into a dust cloud and scattered as bats to the night air.
“You have completed the task set by my envoy?” The voice was familiar yet deeper, causing a sense of dread to course through Lewis’ body.
“Y…yes…we completed our work. It is below in…”
The figure held his arm behind his back and returned it with the red disc box clutched by long slender fingers with curled nails.
“How…how did you do that?” Lewis choked, desperate to be finished and as far away from Shangri La and the score from hell as he could possibly get.
“Let me introduce myself…” The figure removed his hood and the sunken features of Andrew Culdrake stared at him intensely for several terrified, silent seconds.
“I don’t understand. Andrew, were you in on this all along. Are you part of the design?”
“Lewis. I am pleased with your work. You picked up on my servant’s tune in the taxi and made it come alive. I am Andrew but not Andrew. What you see is a glamour to hide my true form that would surely send you mad. I have a gift for your service. Look behind you.”
Lewis turned to see the slender figure of his beloved muse, Chanel alive and in the flesh. She glowed silver in the moon’s glare and, as he turned to thank Andrew, he realised that he was gone. Lewis threw his arms around Chanel and kissed her passionately.
“This was my only wish for so long, Chanel. You have returned to me whole.”
Chanel gazed up at Lewis and smiled a broad grin. Then, in a smoky voice, whispered in his ear
“It’s me, Lewis, Felicia. I got my wish too!”

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Original horror fiction written by Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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