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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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images web page/designer where it has been provided.
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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

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images web page/designer where it has been provided.
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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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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Into The Storm by Brandon Ryals

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Walking alone through the shadows
I listen for the coming of the storm
Thunder rolls over the mountains
As lightning strikes in the distance

Lights ahead mark the pathway
So close now to the safety of home
Rain falls with a devils tenacity
As I reach the shelter of my keep

Fresh wood brings the fire to life
Throwing shadows on the walls
Yet the cold of the rain still grips my heart
As my gaze falls on the ancient tome

The power ancient and arcane within
words of salvation found on these pages
The workings of the dark gods reside here
Do I dare knowing the price to be paid

Unknown to me the demon watches
She waits patiently in the shadows
Her eyes burning with a primeval desire
As she watches with curiosity

Longing to be made flesh again
She cries out in frustration and rage
Her voice goes unheard in shadows
As tears of sorrow fall into nothingness

Sitting alone I stare into the flames
Unable to shake this sensation
I could almost swear I heard crying
Looking down I give in to temptation

Sitting before the fire I begin to read
Unseen the demon takes her place
Sitting before me within the fire
She guides my hand to the spells

It takes all her strength to guide my hands
The will to be made flesh is strong
silent desperation fills her eyes
As my eyes fall upon the proper spells

I close my eyes in contemplation
the ceremony simple but for one thing
It’s a small matter almost insignificant
A tribute payed in blood a gift of flesh

Hope fills her heart as she watches me
Her hands guide mine in the preparation
Each symbol meticulously drawn
Every item in its proper place

Sitting inside the circle I close my eyes
My heartbeats slow as does my breathing
Words of love whispered go unheard
As the verses fall from my lips

The room around me disappearing
My world falls into smoke and fire
As a figure appears in the distance
The demon approaches through the flames

My heart stops as she reaches the edge
The final barrier at the threshold
So beautiful cloaked in smoke and fire
Her eyes implore me to finish the rite

So close to the freedom she desires
Silently she begs him to finish
Tears fall from.her eyes as she reaches
Crying out in anguish for his love

The final words fall from my lips
The world around me exploding
Blinded by smoke and flame
I fall into darkness what have I done

For a mere moment hell follows
As she falls through the doorway
Crying out in triumph she is free
As the smoke fades she sees her saviour

Lying broken at her feet all but dead
Gently she lifts him into her arms
Moving into the night she lays him down
The rain washing away the stain of the pit

Gently she holds her love in her arms
Praying to the gods of old to spare him
His body lies broken and.bloody
Tears of sorrow fall from her eyes

Lightning crashes all around her
As an ancient prayer fills the night air
The night comes alive with spirits
As powers ancient and arcane fill the air

I awaken into a world of pain
Broken and bloody I open my eyes
I feel rain upon my brow so cold
I see through the haze my demon

She is so beautiful this child of perdition
Her embrace so gentle laying in her arms
Her voice a whisper in.my ears
As I succumb to the pain falling again

Staring down she smiles knowingly
The answer comes to her from above
Whispered on the darkness around her
She is granted the gift of resurrection

Smiling she lays him gently on the ground
Touching his face softly as the storm rages
A small bite on her lip and the blood flows
Her lips brush his as the gift is passed on

I open my eyes to her smiling face
Reaching for her I feel a change
Pain leaves my body in waves
Replaced by an unknown strength

Together we stand lost in our love
Finally I see her in all her glory
Before me so dark and enticing
This ravishing creature

Her eyes so dark and full of mystery
I stand awe of this goddess before me
As she falls into my embrace
Her head resting on my shoulder

With new-found strength I lift her
Together we move into the manse
Sheltered from the storm
Beginning our journey together in eternity.

Mad Max:Fury Road.

Mad Max:Fury Road.

Original written work of Brandon Ryals

VISIT AUTHOR BRANDON RYALS ON FACEBOOK CLICK HERE

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Freewill Writers Asylum Friday Challenge – Cries in the Dead of Night by Richard Bell

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Your Writing Challenge:

Late last night you woke to the sound of someone crying. It was loud and frightening.
You wanted to check it out but there’s something in the room, in the dark, watching you…
Write a very short story of this situation and how you get through it.

Walk Again, Suzy Dead Legs.

“You shitting bastards! Come back here right now. Right now!”
Suzy sat in the creeping darkness and sobbed, desperate for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. Her isolation, now that her fake friends had brought her to this ruin and abandoned her at breakneck speed, was a pair of chilled hands around the throat.
“Breakneck!” She let out a shuddering giggle between the terrified sobs and thumped her shrivelled legs, delivering metallic twangs from her wheelchair to all corners of the cavernous place.
The rippling evening sun fell below the tree line and only shards of broken glass became visible, even to her black circles for eyes.
For a moment she thought she saw someone enter the smashed front door and glide across the garbage strewn floor.
She stared intensely, desperate to discern anyone in this salacious local landmark.
Her heart had made its way to the roof of her mouth, heightening the senses to the sensitively of a spider web.
What was that in the cor…
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh!”
Suzy’s fright spasm was so huge it tipped the chair sideways on the uneven floor, sending her into a pile of rags, leaves and old newspapers.
She was desperate to find out where the scream came from and if they had come for her.
She rolled herself onto her side and sat up against the freezing wall in the alcove.
“Is anybody there, please? I’m para…my fucking legs don’t work thanks to a drunk driver and I want to get home before I need to crap. Anybody there? ANYBODY?”
The bird song died with a gust of wind and silence shrivelled the echoes of the settling to faint cracks and pops.
Suzy fixed her gaze to the far corner of the room and stifled a breath.
“Hello…can you speak? I know that you’re there. Please talk to me, I’m scared and I can’t run and I don’t want to die in this shit hole.”
A deep growling hiss came from the darkness and a flash of light reflected from two blinking eyes.
Suzy tried to shuffle across the floor but her hands slid into large chunks of metal and glass and she shrieked loudly before crying uncontrollably.
The growl grew in intensity from the corner as the huge scream violently pierced the quiet.
“Please, I don’t want to die. Please help me. They took my phone and left me in this place and ran away and I want to go home. I just want to go ho…”
“I want your soul for company.”
Suzy thumped her legs again muttering profanities and imploring them to work again and let her run away from the horror.
“I want your
SOUL!”
Charging towards her from the gloom was a huge shaggy figure breathing loudly and staring at her with pulsating red eyes.
Suzy clutched her chest as red-hot needles shot across her arm and jaw blasting stars in this Stygian hole.
Her last breath was used cursing the fuckers that left her to this.
“Suzy? Suzy, are you ok? Suzy?”
The shaggy figure threw off his suit and hit the halogen lights around the room.
The others came running in.
“Did we get her? We got you Suzy. We got you goo…”
The group assembled around her body.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!”
The lights blew simultaneously as a deep growling voice came from the rafters,
“I want your souls!”

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godmachine-creep-print

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

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
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Whoretopsy by Richard Bell

Warning: A bloody tale of horror for the weekend

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Lascivious urges and the lure of the downstairs pulse. There are places in this city of grey granite and half-light that will paint you neon red for a night and your filthy soul for a lifetime.
In those pockets of sin, the depths that you can plumb reach into to the basest desires of man and mangle the entrails decency into a splattered pulp.
Any perversion or twist of the psyche can be satisfied.
Anything for the right price, of course!
Behind the deadbolt doors are shells of humanity. These wretched souls are kept in service until desiccated, used up and milked dry of desire and will.
But death is not a release for them. It is a gasp before an encore.
When they die a whole new clientele appear from under the rocks and stones and out of their tailor-made trousers. They love the cold dead flesh, the unresponsive and totally servile.
They are the necrophiles.
Behind these red-painted doors are sights that were reserved for the grave robbers of the nineteenth century. The livid, humming bags of gut shredding stench. Animal mask wearing men in leather aprons drag the ‘all used up’ into these grotesque rooms and lay them out on a plastic mattress.
The room is chilled and they’ve had their hides filled with formaldehyde by Pete Mortem, the prep guy.
Pete runs the ‘Pine box office’ web channel or The Charnel Channel and supplements this with his sideline, the night safaris. He puts the customers into a van and drives them out to the slums. There the bored and wealthy can bag an orphan, get a Selfie and cut their own trophy.
Just another night in the grey granite city with the onion ghouls and bored, rich deviants.
But the blackest revulsion, reserved for the elite, underneath the obscene zoetrope, felt the ripples in their strands of the web. The curious can never peek through the windows of their country club of obscenities.
That’s where taboo ends and hell becomes access all areas.
But hell is a curious beast. It wants to see the aspiring monsters to grace it’s holding pens.
So hell released a siren with a ‘Y’ incision. It gave Pete Mortem the most putrid, stinking, rancid psychotic she-devil straight from the demonic slab.
This creature was a razor fighting, poison tongued, hard-drinking, hell raising demoness in life. She lived for every excess and screwed like she was riding a derby winner. By the time they found her in the motel room, rolled up in the sheets and jammed under the bed, she was a stinking purple swollen mess. But the star she carved on her chest with a blood curse, ensured her place to the left of the black goat.
When the leather aprons brought her in for the judge to violate, they never imagined what bone chilling terror would be unleashed once he sunk his teeth into the star.
Her black shining eyes glowing red inside, opened up to meet his gaze and, as he opened his mouth to scream, she sucked his tongue into her mouth. With molten bruises dancing across her jaw and cheeks, she sunk her razor teeth into his tongue and chewed slowly, drinking the blood and agonised convulsions. As she swallowed the shredded mess, he vomited into her mouth and filled her stomach with hot puke. It began to leak out of her incision and stab wounds. She threw him off her and onto the floor. Pete Mortem sat in his chair and cheered as the punters logged on in their tens then hundreds to see a rotten corpse snuff a rich bastard and defile him.
She sat up and belched out puke and stinking air. Her bloody star smoking with the fire beneath her purple skin. Reaching down, she slid her black fingertips inside her and pulled out a long, slim razor. That’s when she smiled a cold grizzly bear sneer with a panther’s snarl dragging her brow to push her black eyes back into the green depths of her skull.
The judge crawled back towards the bolted door, spattered with black blood and flesh pieces from previous shows and clambered up the frame. His bleary view through searing pain could make out a hate filled figure writhing towards him unfolding a glinting blade.
He tried to speak, to plead his case but the jury was out and the executioner called.
When the first slice came, it took both his eyes, folding them inwards and releasing reddy black goo spilling down his cheeks. The second took his nose and lips and the third cut a deep leer from his jugular to his jaw. The blood spurted out all over her, releasing plumes of black smoke and an even viler stench. The room began to frost at the corners then travel in snake-like splinters up to the table. The ear-splitting holler that followed saw the room crack in two and the table sink then fall into a cavernous abyss.
As the frost broke the door apart, she tossed the judge’s body into the darkness, scooping his entrails and slashed apart genitals to follow his wretched carcass to hell.
The leather aprons charged at her with machetes drawn, screeching from beneath their masks. But she was as swift as a hunting hawk and slid between them, slicing their hamstrings and Achilles’ tendons. They fell to the floor hollering, slipping about in thick blood as she wound around them slicing and slashing, black eyes wide and sharp toothed grin wider. Crawling about on their twitching bodies, she licked their flowing blood like a cat lapping up its milk. When they stopped moving, she dug the razor deep into their necks and sawed away, growling in rasps until both heads were off. Taking both their machetes she furiously chopped them into small chunks, stuffing the heads between the cheeks of their arses. As she strode towards the control room and Pete Mortem, she chew through the fingers of the leather apron fiends, spitting their rings onto the concrete floor.
Pete had seen events unfold on his monitors and barricaded the door with tables and chairs.
Whack! Hack! Smash! Splinter!
Two machetes working in tandem broke apart the door and, just like Jack Torrance, her hideous bloody grinning head leered at the terrified Pete.
Her eyes darkened to pitch holes as she licked the blades of the machetes slicing her green black vesicle ridden tongue. Then she spewed thick blood and stinking vomit. It ran down her chin and blistered the door, chairs and tables stacked against it. They smouldered and cracked then hissed like cockroaches before melting into thick lumps.
The lights popped and the door swung open. Pete looked at his screens and yelped in horror. A myriad of horrific images featuring all forms of diseased depravity flashed and melted from one to another as terrible scherzo music and screaming blasted his ears.
He backed away from them convulsing and covering his eyes only to stop still against the cold blades of two greasy machetes.
As Pete swallowed hard, one of the blades sliced through his Adam’s apple and he gaped like a landed fish. The second blade clipped the top of his skull off and fell onto the keyboard on the desk.
As his eyes rolled up into his head, the machete in his throat sliced down through his chest, slicing open his stomach spilling its contents onto the power points in the floor and emerging from his scrotum. Pete fell into two pieces in front of the demoness and she grasped his topless head, staring into his blinking eyes.
Slowly the flames behind the black holes shone through and Pete’s severed head screamed in terror without making a sound.
Her evil smile that never broke soaked in the horrors on the screens before they succumbed to the thick frost that followed her from the slab.
Silence moved from white noise to sibilance then the sound of two machetes being dragged behind wet footsteps echoed round the building. It lasted for thirty-eight paces until the deafening bellow sounded again then the whole building slowly slid into the abyss until it was a wasteland covered in black frost.
Somewhere close by a woman lay face down clutching two machetes.

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Original fiction by Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
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To the haters and the nefarious – by Richard Bell

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Mrs Buckley died today.

The weirdest thing; a deep black cloud settled over her ramshackle house and descended to shroud it in mourning.
The house of Mrs Buckley.
The house where Mrs Buckley had died.
It had a strange aloneness to it.
Like the child in the playground away from it all staring up into worlds beyond dreams, above the painful taunts and punches.
Nature had invaded the bricks and mortar with creepers and the shingles were weathered to splintered wafers.
The picket fence was a few sparse sticks that had not been claimed for firewood through the harsh winter and her black path to the deep green front door, a spattering moss clumps and snotty algae.
Inside the unremarkable home, her body hummed like electric wires in her chair by the fire. The last expression on her face was as though she had been kissed goodnight by a long line of life’s regrets. But it was the last regret, the one with horns and a tail and a story to tell, that left her a screaming skull, her eyes bleached and smashed with black threads.
In her bed, under her sheets, curled up in neat balls were the skewered tongues of her imperfect children.
Their bones and flesh were all ground and purged in mummy’s guts.
All except Delia, who lived in the cage with the words ‘saint inside’ carved above the door. She had been born a mute so never made the mistake of asking a question. She saw all her brothers and sisters fed the silence scone and chopped up into the boiling pot. She had to pretend that they were pigs from the woods and chew the meat from their bones.
She had to pretend that they had never spoken to her from the bars of the cage.
She had to pretend that she couldn’t taste the soap on the meat and the cries of pain in its juices.
Tap, tap, tap…claw, claw, claw…
Hour by hour her raw little fingertips and shredded nails picked at the bindings of the cage.
“I know where they live. The Tormenters and their kind. What I know is how to turn agony into fear like an alchemist. That is my gift to you my little caged saint.” Each time her mother spoke, more black threads invaded her dead eyes and Mrs Buckley walked further into the blackness of the far-flung horrors.
“I will travel with you my little caged saint. I will creep with you into their safety boxes and, once inside, you shall pick apart their bindings. I made this cage for you to find a way out. I took all the unworthy and fed you their nourished flesh. Know this, the worthless are there to feed upon.
Under this house, under its boards and into the stones are the Departers. They are the things that make the sperm so that we can find saints in our bellies. All of the worthless ones that talked as the Departers talked, before flying the nest and leaving us with their share of burden, ended more than bones but less than them.
As their part ended, so they ended and were put under the boards to stink then return to their fires under the soil.”
Days turned to electric night shine and Delia, with dulled nerve endings and a ravening for freedom, loosened the fastenings. The last day was quiet as her mother was lost in the blackness or so she assumed.
The bars of the cage fell away and clattered onto the cold tiles of the kitchen. They came to rest next to discarded bones, gnawed into the marrow by a hungry child and tied together to make the signs of saints.
Delia crawled slowly from her confinement and stood for the first time an equal to world. She wandered into the front room and sat at her mother’s feet staring at the vermin-chewed, stinking remnants of her body.
“My freed saint, you are ready to exact vengeance for your mother. My body is in ruin but my spirit is like our black cloud that has settled over the house. I will be above you in a cloud of shadows and we even the score. They were the wolves that every day blew at the piggy’s house. The Departers only want to rid their seed, everything before is seduction and everything after is reduction. Now go to the kitchen and open the cupboard with the red hand print and bring it all here.”
Delia shivered as a cold draught whistled in through the open window and curled an icy claw round her long gown. The post mountain at the front door had collapsed to a snow drift of white envelopes across the hall floor.
As she entered the kitchen, she swore her siblings ran through her screaming like bats emerging from the attic of a haunted house.
The large cooking pot was upturned and a dozen sharp knives lay around it. In the bottom, in the slurry of the last meal, were two jaw bones and one green eyeball. She reached in, plucked the eyeball out and slipped it into her mouth to swallow like a raw egg. The red hand print cupboard door was stiff but she pulled it open and pulled out a black bag which she dutifully took to her mother.
“Thank you my freed saint. Open the bag and take out all that is held within.”
The rain began to pound the roof and water poured in through the holes in the window. Delia opened the bag and tipped the contents on the floor at her mother’s feet.
“My last will and testament to you my child. This is what you must become to punish the vile creatures that tormented us and who stopped my heart with fright. Take off your saints robes and put on the skin of retribution.”
Delia put her feet into a black suit and rolled it up her body to the neck and over her shaved head.
On her feet, black ballet shoes and her hands black surgeon’s gloves. What was left on the floorboards was several tufts of hair, a paring knife and a syringe with a long needle. Inside the syringe a thick liquid writhed with parasites.
“On your body is the cover of night, as your weapon the infestation of squirm and the blade to take a trophy. On floor are my trophies. Tonight you will better them and scalp six. Remember my avenging angel, I’m at your shoulder. You shall deliver the poison and I will show them the red hand door to hell. We must go and do this before the dawn and I am drawn up into the cloud. Tomorrow you must build a life here and rid this home of all the skeletons and then me. It is then that you can unfold your wings and the up draught shall drive the blackness and spirits from here.
Come, follow me child and we will begin. The first stop is the house on the corner.”
Delia pushed the door, climbed the stairs as if she was thistle-down on the breeze and made her way into the room of the first of the six. She strode to his bedside and climbed under his sheets. Crawling slowly up his legs, across his belly and to his chest, her black shadow mother appeared at her shoulder and the fiercest grimace from the abyss blanched the boy’s eyes and froze him stiff. The needle slid with ease into his jugular and the twisting parasites flooded into his brain along with the whispered horrors of hell’s obscenities. He jolted and spasmed, snapping sinew and tendon then a sickening crack ended it all.
Each of the six visits played out the same and the morning broke with the last white-eyed corpse.
As she discarded her clothes and weapons, the cloud dissipated like ink in water and was gone.
Delia stood in front of her mother and drew a breath,
“I am free to speak as an angel and as a Departer. This world needs both. The angel to live a life with love and a Departer to destroy those who would stand against it.”
Delia rebuilt her home. It stood on the bones of father’s, brother’s and in the centre, Mrs Buckley.

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Original written work by Richard Bell

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Protected by The Grue Asylum Vaults 2015

Protected by The Grue Asylum Vaults 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Run by Tony Norton

Forest Spirit by FilipeHattori .

Forest Spirit by FilipeHattori


Lifetimes
How they pass by so quickly
I grow weary of Eternity
I live Forever

I am the Spirit of Forest
I feel its bleeding beating heart
Pulsing
Rhythmically in Sync with mine
We are ONE
Hear me –
in the still of silence
I echo through valleys of creaking pregnant pines
Our frequencies are ONE
Smell me-
I am in the scented sweet sickly sap
that bleeds from the scratched bark
Our scent’s – ONE
Yield!!
Demon Piercing Howls
They reverberate
transcending vibrational bonds
Connecting us to the spirit world
Oh Gitchie Manitou –
I pray –
Grant my passage between our dimensions
That I may cross
To this world
To do your bidding
Let my hot billowing breath
Cloud the cold crisp air
Let me anoint this realm
Weak Man
you will…
Bow in AWE of My Powerful Jaw
for the burden of justice has been bestowed upon me
I am lycanthropus
I am the bringer of truth
I see through your transparent soul
Black Crystal Purity
He Has Bestowed on Me
I am the bastard child of the darkness
Come
soak into the darkness
Drench in the shifting shadows of the night
I come to you
in the shafts of silvery lunar moonlight
We are Children of the Moon
Stare into my cold cobalt blue eyes
And know this –
You are mine…..
I am a manifestation of Nature
I am human, I am beast
We two are ONE…
I am a Remembrance from your God
That wandering souls get lost to the darkness
That Natures spirit lives
I am the Lord of all Midnight souls
I take You
I take Your throat
I take Your sex
I take Your sweet lifeblood
I take all of You
I damn Your soul
I condemn You to the endless night
Exalt Me
I am Wolf
You will join Me
Let My howls
Haunt Your dreams
My music plays in Your screams
Run Wild
Run Rampant
Run Free
We RUN

normal_Forest_Spirit

Featured image by Rafunsel  Jul 12, 2013 Hobbyist Digital Artist rafunsel.deviantart.com

Original written work by Tony Norton

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Queen of the Darkness by Tony Norton

Devil and the Deep Dark Ocean

Devil and the Deep Dark Ocean


Drowning in a Sea
Of Perpetual Motion
Moving Waves of Darkness
Are Alive
All Enveloping
A Constriction
It Cloaks
It Suffocates
Thieves Air
Choking
on the Fathoms Of the
Deep Decadent Darkness
So Vast …..
Enormous
Eternal
Exponential Expanse of Void
Hauntingly Vacant
Empty
Souless Black Canvas
of Nevertheless Blackness

Out of the nothingness
Crossing the Veil
Incantations flash
She,
Birthed
In Branded Black
Ancient Signs
They
Summon Her Majesty
She,
Queen of the Darkness,
An Apparition Appears
Beautiful and Black
Keeper of Hearts
She
Commands ….
Samurai Strokes
Purposeful Charcoal Strokes
Angrily Hand driven,
Owned….
Commanding strokes,
Portraying , drawing on the canvas of the Black Bastard Blanket
She,
Conducts the Dark
In Virtuoso
A Maelstrom Symphony of Sadness
Magnus Opus of the Hopeless
With a Pitiful Pallet of Sorrow
She Paints,
with every shade of black
Brushstrokes saturated with dark
Swatches swathed with despair
Every colour of misery
Of a Nihilistic purity
Your Soul cannot escape
Her commands
Mother of Maudlin Souls
Midwife of Shadows
She holds The Darkness
It Clings To Her Black Bosom
Sickly Suckling
She Moves the Darkness
In tandem…..
It saturates your soul
Waves over your hope
Haunting Dark Eyes
Cannot be escaped
Once You’ve gazed upon the Night
Once you have tasted the Darkness
You belong to Her
You belong to the Dark
You belong to the Night
You belong
to the Queen of Darkness
She owns the Dark
She owns Your Soul
She owns You

Queen of Air and Darkness by niko2137

Queen of Air and Darkness by niko2137

Original written work by Tony Norton

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

***Featured Image belongs to and was created by The world is mine by ParalyzingLove/ dith-dw.deviantart.com ***

Unto the Water by Tony Norton

"Sacred Geometree" by visionary artist, Bonny Hut.

“Sacred Geometree” by visionary artist, Bonny Hut.


Shhhhh
Stop…
Stop thinking
Empty your mind
To the Darkness
Let it become blank
Close all the little doors
Shut them out
Pull the plug on
Firing Synapses
Shut down the circuits
Welcome in
The Seeping Void
The Black canvas
The Blank canvas
Of Consciousness

There

Lulled

Calm

Ready?

Three , two ,one……

Open!!!!

Sploooooooosh!!!!
Waves of blue,
Crashing and Smashing
Waving and Washing
Seeping and Soaking,
Startling the Dark,
Fire!!!!
Pictures do start…
To form
Celluloid to Cells,
Nothing to Nucleus,
Gravity, Bonding,
Foetus Forming
Growing
Living
Faster
Urgent
Thrashing
in the Amniotic
Waves of Blue
Waters Well
Swell
We
Stand
Eggs to Children to
Screaming
Bone Stretching Adults
In an instant….
In a Raging Storm,
At the Edge
Of this Angry Ocean
We created
I hold You
So Tightly
Waves Crash
Onto the Dark Rocks
At Our Feet
Rain Hammers us Wet
We find a solace
A cruel comfort in each other
Winds of Limbo
Roar!!!!
Screeetch
Howl in our Ears
Powerful Ozone
Charges
Ironically
It Doubles
soon to be gone
Oxygen
In preparation
Brave
Foolish
We
Stand Tall
Pathetic Humans
Against the rising tide
Against the ruthless enemy
Time…..
Time will not be denied
We
The Consumers of this Earth
are Consumed
By the rise
Of the Towering Tide
Of a Million Trillion Tears
In this Soaking Ocean
Of Sorrows
The Ocean We begat
I look to You
And You to Me
And We know
And so
the Swathes of Liquid
In coitus ….
where we began…
Now rises
Up
takes us back…
To our base
We go back
unto the Water….

Human Fetus In The Womb, Artwork Photograph

Human Fetus In The Womb, Artwork Photograph

Original written work by Tony Norton

 

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**