Abandoned House by Richard Bell

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Larissa managed to crawl free from the wreckage and make it to the other side of the road, her bloody left leg and arm leaving a Jackson Pollock spatter across the wet tarmac.
Four mangled vehicles lay strewn across the winding country road and huge plumes of steam became ghost screams into the weak morning light. The sole survivor, Larissa Bartholomew, snatched a smirk as she remembered how much her boyfriend hated ‘last girl standing’ movies – with a passion!
In all directions, the Scandinavian countryside proliferated like a million biker beards and shrieking black birds darted across the gap in the skyline, bound for the other side with the dead from the catastrophic accident.
The Elk lived for a few minutes before succumbing to its massive injuries. Drunken Elks, wasted on fermented apples, often stagger into the road, unaware of the dangers.
She looked back and snatched another smirk at the tiny saloon car with a fuck off moose hood ornament!
The rains had softened the verge to mush and she slipped and fell into a gully that followed the road like racing snakes. Winter was fast approaching and the nights sunk to a madness-inducing damp chill.
“Ahoooooooooyyyyyyy!” She yelled from her supine position, fully aware that wolves and bears were the eyes in the deep black woods.
“It is a womb bearer and she sheds her scarlet waters.” The tiny voice seemed to come from behind her but she couldn’t see what it was in her blurred shock.
“This is the foretold in the parchment. Muster the unalive bearers and convey the delivered to Straahl. The ceremony has outnumbered one and ten black suns.”
A vague mist enveloped Larissa, lying in her soggy dip in the world and she wondered if the voices and the exquisite floral scent were dying memories.
She began to scream until…
The huge hand that covered her mouth was all that was needed to shut down this nightmare to a dark sleep and hiccuping breaths.
Her dream was a fast flowing river in the night under a clear sky and a myriad of lights. The stars seemed like Chinese lanterns released by the universe to remember the dead. The river increased the flow and straight ahead was a huge waterfall but flowing upwards! Her body sailed up the frothing waters as salmon swam past her at dolphin speed. As she reached the top and over the crest, her eyes widened in sheer terror as a giant hooded creature lay ahead. She could make out the glinting fangs as the river flowed right into its gaping maw.
“Wake me from this…NOW!”
Her body moved inside the great jaws and she felt herself pounding on the roof of the mouth, then the throat and all the way into the stomach, flames leaping and shrill voices pleading in agony and…
Her eyes moved independently inside their sockets as she slowly came round. She realized that her surroundings had changed but couldn’t see the skies above the treetops.
Faint pairs of pinprick lights, she understood to be blinking eyes, flashed off and on in the crepuscular tree trunk army surrounding this clearing. She could make out an oddly geometric shape in front of her but dismissed it as fallen branches and happenstance.
“Stand upright, you, child of dire misfortune. Walk of you own volition into my realm and sit by my fireplace.”
As she raised herself up, two black lanterns, suspended in mid-air, burst into flames revealing a beautifully crafted hut, exuding the mist in swirling snowflake patterns.
“Are you Straahl?” She uttered through chattering teeth, the chill nipping her extremities.
“Knock with the staff on the face of the beast and choose the number of strikes from your first instinct.”
The door was arched and blood-red with the most hideous black demonic face, tongue outstretched and brow furrowed to almost no eyes, except two deep Violet diamonds that pulsated hypnotically.
She grabbed the staff by the door, swung out at full stretch then brought it cracking into the tongue of the vile thing.
“Three more I think and we’ll see what you have in store for sweet little Larissa, crash orphan and shedder of scarlet water.” Her sarcasm rippled the mist into agonized faces and death grin skulls before returning to snowflakes upon the last strike.
“Let me in, I’m freezing out here!” She murmured.
The lanterns suddenly fell to earth, transformed into a huge black millipede and scuttled off into the inky blackness that the open door revealed to her.
“Take a seat by the fire and warm your scarlet water, crash orphan. I will join you after your refreshments.”
Larissa moved with cat-like stealth inside the dark space and, once a few strides in, the door slammed shut, cracked and disappeared as she found herself in a round room with deep red walls and a floor that was a still black pool of water.
The fireplace was a beautiful ornate stove fire with a large pewter tankard on top, steaming and smelling delicious. She sat in the chair, which was the lantern millipede, sipped her delicious drink and stared into the odd violet flames in the stove.
“This is unusual but hospitable and I thank you for saving me from the wolves and bears, Straahl. Whoever you are? Sorcerer? Hermit? Zombie Apocalypse Survivor? I thank you.” Larissa felt her wounds healing and a strange warmth fill her up from the toes.
“I am shocking to see, crash orphan…”
“Please, call me Larissa.”
“Larissa, I am an elemental. I exist outside your laws but inside your lore. I ask that you see me as something natural beyond your perspective not unnatural beyond your comprehension. They made Satyr and Devil of me in their nightmare texts, but I am the scales of the land and sea and skies. I am underneath world and high above world meeting to a harmonious tune. May I present to you, Straahl.”
The stove fire creaked and groaned and shaped into a hideous tall black cloaked creature. She instantly recognized it from her dream but it was too late. Giant jaws clamped around her torso and bore down, slicing her in two. Then a huge tongue picked up the legs and shoved it deep into its throat. Her last view was her bloody sneakers passing by to fall over the waterfall and into the flames of agony.
“Kids, they’ll swallow anything. Actually, so will I.” The creature bellowed with laughter then shot the tongue out to wipe against a rough tree bark.
“I really hate cocoa butter!” He growled before slinking into the blinking eyes forest and the realm of disbelief.

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Original written work of Richard Bell aka @rick_nightmare

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Nesta Scrudge by Richard Bell

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Nesta Scrudge was ancient
Skin like sludge and sun-baked fudge
She shambled on her veiny legs and muttered ‘neath death breath

Nesta was a foundling
Left in a bag with booze soaked rags
She only knew donated love
and contact from a wicker cane

Nesta lived a road life
From army to a leathered carnie
She rode the ghost train bumper
And lost her heart to scares

When the rolling funnel clouds
Made sunder her spooky wonder
She landed in an open field
Surrounded by her terror props

With the takings from the summer months
She bought the land, spat on her hands
And built herself a palace
From her dire imagination

The bumper cars were clown cars
Beef-heart red and living dead
They’d drive into a ghost town
Where the monsters lay in wait

Creatures fashioned from the corn
A pig’s blood rain in the house of pain
The demons and demented folk
And limbless laughing gorks

Word soon spread of this bazaar
A haunted land in hell’s command
She packed it full of horrors
And twisted nightmare fuel

Pitch black run-throughs chased by psychos
Asylum surgeries and cells
Vampire towers, werewolf woods
The circles into Dante’s hell
The hungry for live flesh deceased
The unhinged and the saw blade freaks
The dollies and the puppet scares
The whispered pleas to murder shrieks

Nesta saw each sunrise burst
As people fled their wallets bled
Her vision promised complete satisfaction
Nesta Scrudge, the mother of the famous haunt attraction.

Meg Muckel Bones. Swamp hag

Meg Muckel Bones. Swamp hag

Original written work by Richard Bell aka @rick_nightmare

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Challenge Yourself Group Work – You by Tony Norton

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Sweet Sunshine
Its hot soothing caresses
On My glad face
The Sunshine Seeps Stomach Deep
Blue Lapping Ocean
Calming Lullaby
Focusing
My Minds Eye
Lovingly Capturing
A Photographic Still

A Snapshot of
Eternity
Eternity is You

YOU

(At the CENTRE of it All)

Eternity is You
A Snapshot of
A Photograph Still
Lovingly Capturing
My Minds Eye
Focusing
Calming Lullaby
Blue Lapping Ocean
The Sunshine Seeps Stomach Deep
On My glad face
It’s hot soothing caresses
Sweet Sunshine

….and around and around and around we go
for You and I both know
Love is Always the Answer
Eternally

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Original written work by Tony Norton aka @iwilltwittowho

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Freewill Writers Asylum Challenge – The River’s Edge by Richard Bell

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Friday was the day that the fleet came ashore.
Despair.

The road is rich pickings for backpack meat. The hopeful, the desperate, the tragic and the restless. They’re dead as soon as their butts hit the seat. Poisoned quills pinch the vocal chords and then a choking fit and then paralysis.
Awake, asleep, numb but aware.
No birds sing in the cutting woods. Bloody handprints make a hideous hide across the tree bark.
The Floating Butcher is my media handle. Little rafts with parts of different people pieced into one freak carrying a devil poem in their teeth and a ram’s skull for the figurehead.
‘Hot tar blood in slice scar slit Bad meat drifter’s a dead pieced kit
Wolf jaw goat creep slays the lambs
Kill your beliefs in god made man.’
Their final breath seal’s a note to the last important person in their lives – ‘lost at sea’ and the lyrics to Come Sail Away by Styx.
I sit in my office vehicle, day after day and I hate the world that is not the river. I hate it more than my scars and my shame and the dirty things they did to me on the river bank.
The river was hell for me and it will be hell for them.
My scanner lights up with the furore. The fleet landing up and down the river and the whole force getting the call, scrambling to beat the selfie ghouls and necroweb scavengers.
Meanwhile, in the cutting woods, the bloody print trees has ripe backpack fruit hanging from the branches.
They didn’t need their feet inside my wheels so I packed them neatly in the bags.
When they find this place and the altar and the rafts and the packs and the pieces and the poem and the videos.
And the quiet.
No birds sing in the backpack trees above the red soil and saturated pain. They follow the meat on the rafts on the river.
On the shoreline.

Original written work by Richard Bell aka @rick_nightmare

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

 

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Asylum Friday Challenge – Pet Semetary by Richard Bell

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The Challenge  – The title says it all.
Your story or poem or even lyrics, your way using this weeks theme. Pet Sematary

THE BURIAL GROUND by Richard Bell

Strange the misspelled burial ground
A resting place to be shown around
For beloved pets the bad road slays
Beyond the tangle, sour earth waits
Broken skull night visitor
Suicidal housekeeper
Bloody church, beloved cat
Stony soil in a man’s heart
The neighbor shows the secret plot
Returned from death is church, but not
Both estranged from family
Resurrected mystery
Idyllic day for flying kites
Happiness outshone sunlight
Cut short by a tragedy
Beloved son, a soul set free
But grief and loss and violence mixed
Turn a rational mind dead sick
Reburied in the sour earth’s filth
Returned a scarred and evil will
A killer tot plays twisted games
Lure the trusting by their shame
Cuts and kills with feline guide
Terror seeks the things they hide
A shot of poison is death’s release
Beyond the Semetary’s peace
Although each second with our loved ones matter
Sometimes, just sometimes,
Death is better.

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Original written work by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Challenge Yourself – 5 Sentence Short by Richard Bell

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That’s the good thing about a razor tongue stud.

You can wait until they’re all asleep and lick their veins open.

You can really taste the metal in sleep murder blood.

Just before the last spasm their eyes open and you can cut out the fright and swallow.

Who needs fangs when you have a tongue blade?

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original written work by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Challenge Yourself – 5 Sentence Short by Peter Joyce

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It started as a button that showed I was a boy
At thirteen it is hairy and I use it as a toy

21 now and coming into season
I use it now for a particular reason

30 and I should know better
I do know how to get girls wetter

I’m 50 now and no longer a lout
I get the odd reminder he is about

Idling into 70 now and all I can see is my belly
I don’t care coz I am watching the telly.

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Original written work by Peter Joyce aka @cheshirevenom

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Freewill Writers Asylum – Friday Challenge – Nightmare by Richard Bell

Shrill by Richard Bell

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“Worthless, weak, stupid, pathetic, spineless, idiotic, dog shit!”
They pushed, they kicked, they knocked, they accused, they vandalised and slurred. They pushed and pushed and pushed and…
“It is time to show them the host.
Your good nature has suppressed this for far too long and now that nature is torn out of your soul.
There is no restraint on the creature.
You, now, are he.”
His thick fingers bent to meet the back of his hands. The cracking was masked by shrill, agonised screams of unbearable pain. The jaw dislocated and moved to the side of his head forcing his underbite to shear off the tip of his nose. Gargling and gasping for breath, the neck distended and lunged back with the head to the shoulder blades. As they met, he spat blood down the back of his legs and heaved as the spine snapped and folded him in a neat half. His feet facing east and his sawn off nose, to the west. All around the baying group, bones snapped like dry branches and blood fountains spattered the concrete yard. It was as though a hundred invisible strong men had moved among them all and began to fold the callous tormentors.
Silence like the centre of a cloud bank ran through the onlookers, only broken by the occasional crack or snap of joints and ligaments.
The great horn sounded and the folded mess of broken bullies rose to the feet and began to dance and shuffle as though they were hideous marionettes. The carnival music, supplied by a gramophone wound in a fury by bald cats, made the scene utterly absurd.
The blasts began on the horizon and moved ever closer, tearing up huge mounds of populated earth and vaporizing it in mid-air. Giant chariots carrying gods and waving royalty streaked above the blast clouds under a stampeding herd of white buffalo.
My body was liquefying and draining into the mouth of a bullfrog. I was glad to slide into his innards and the quiet dell filled with ferns and mossy trees, small waterfalls and great hosts of bluebells.
The last glimpse of the world was everybody as they were before the attack. They walked into the bright lights and were no more.
“Your true nature won the fight and here is your eternal rest. Not in the flames of horror but the pond where your family lost their lives when the car careened off the road.
Fill your lungs with the green water and sink into heaven, dear child.
You have earned that peace.”

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Original written story by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare.

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Freewill Writers Asylum Friday Challenge – Asylum After Dark by Richard Bell

Counting The Days To Insanity

Counting The Days To Insanity

The Challenge:   The power just went out and all Asylum doors are unlocked.

The power just went out and all Asylum doors are unlocked.
Tonight my horrible honeys I’ve made you a murderer.
You writing challenge is this:
A short story or poem.
You get 1 chance to commit only 1 murder.
Make it count…

Silence 2.0 by Richard Bell

Am I Going Insane? by Syllirium

Am I Going Insane? by Syllirium

“L O L A Lola, Lola, L O L A…”
“Quit singing that fucking song! You know that I enjoy the extra surprise underneath the skirt, Streeks. These walls are thin, even with the soft furnishing and our psycho ponchos. The storm is on the way, my sinuses are never wrong. It’s going to be a big one, as in ‘lights out’ big one.”
The brick and plaster bounced echoes around the corridors of Rothenburg Asylum, delighting some of the more lucid guests with the conversation and eliciting furious howling from the ‘way beyond help’ crew in the Extra Tight.
Permit me to introduce myself, I’m Yakuza Streeks, former head of catering at Jim Jones…just kidding…I ran my own business delivering meals to the old folks. One day I just stepped out of my skull and added a dozen Carolina Reaper peppers to the risotto and the rest, as they say, is history. Forty seriously ill and two dead. The arresting officer had a grandma that I gave the fire shits to so he pepper sprayed me on the hour for a week. They tested me and threw me in here to cool off! The guy I’m singing Lola to, that’s Cold Slab. He liked the boys dressed as girls but wasn’t much of a conversationalist. When they finally raided his home, they found three chest freezers full of transvestites and his whole house was painted in lipstick – even the windows. That’s when they dubbed him the Decorophiliac! No sense of humor and a cock like a midget’s thumb. I’m not politically correct so don’t expect Germaine Greer. We’ve got them all in here, the snapped, the ground down, the ragers, a few deities and then there’s Silence.
Now there is the top of the psycho’s pyramid.
Silence amassed a body count of around a thousand, so they estimate. He started when he was ten and was a ghost taking hitchhikers up and down the west coast, killing two or three at a time and always with the same MO. He took the tongue and the little toe on the right foot. They only caught him when his lock up where he kept all the trophies got prime-time exposure when they opened it up on Storage Hunters.
True story.
“So the storms coming, eh? What time will it hit, Cold Slab…Cold Sla…”
Darkness.
The power is out and, yes, the door is open. I’m going to upgrade my status from mischief-maker to outright unhinged, full on lunatic. I’m going after Silence.
The black corridors are a walk in my memories and I figure two more turns and I’m at the cage door to Extra Tight.
I can hear Silence snoring.
Good.
I’ll sneak in like Ramirez and powder choke him. Got a fist full of plaster dust and I’m stuffing it into his throat like he’s Linda Lovelace.
I have a better idea. I’m going to skin him and walk out of here in a Silence suit.
Got my shiv and I cut and cut in the darkness. Following the contours then just peel back and step in. He smells bad skinned like fish fart breath on a week old corpse. I used to find them delivering my meals.
Door after door just swings open with no power and I find a bag in the laundry truck to secrete myself.
Tomorrow, when the storm is gone, another one will start. Silence will resume the spree as me.
Silence 2.0!

Sane Painting - Insanity by Kim Gauge

Sane Painting – Insanity by Kim Gauge

Original written work by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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The Pleasure of Pain by Brandon Ryals

Intenebris x Stanislav Krawczyk "PAIN" Ring on model Linnea Thomasia

Intenebris x Stanislav Krawczyk “PAIN” Ring on model Linnea Thomasia

So subtle, the touch upon my hand

A secretive glance beckons me to follow

Watching in silent contemplation as she disappears swallowed by the darkness

Looking around the darkness seems alive shadows move closer ever-expanding

Reaching for me fighting to take hold

They move around me a stygian sea full of mysteries overflowing with wonders

It is then I feel her touch upon my cheek

So soft so gentle is her caress

The beating of my heart is all I hear until she speaks

Warm is her breath upon the back of my neck

She speaks of love and forbidden passion

Visions of carnal desire fill my mind as her hands wander across my chest

Close your eyes my love place your trust in me she says as her lips brush my throat

A sigh escapes from me as I give in to her seductions

So cold the blade that slides into my flesh

Never has the sensation of pain been this exquisite this intoxicating

I cannot help but smile as her tongue runs the length of the wound

A gasp as she partakes of my flesh takes my sacrament

Gently she lays the blade upon my chest open your eyes see me for who

I truly am

It is then that she reveals her true nature, that the demon is freed upon this world

Her eyes burn in the darkness smouldering with forbidden passions

Hair falls around her face a waterfall of living darkness

so beautiful the fallen one so deliciously wicked

Taking her hand I pull her close softly my lips brush hers

The metallic taste of my flesh still lingers

Intoxicated by this creature before me that gives herself to me

surrendering to my darkest desires.

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Original written work of Brandon Ryals

VISIT AUTHOR BRANDON RYALS ON FACEBOOK CLICK HERE

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