Challenge Yourself -Asylum After Dark – The Remedy by Crimson Quintessence

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…

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Sit there, if you will,

whimpering in your dark little corner.

I can hear your knees knocking together from here on my perch.

Your yellow drug-stained teeth, rattling together like a broken awning swinging in high winds.

I can even hear the rush of air from your sphincter clenching shut.

Guess that worries you some, considering where you house your head most of your waking hours.

My heels click as I stride across the marble floor having jumped from my perched observation point in the house, echoing in your ears like rapid-fire shots out of a machine gun.

My face calm, my breath slow and steady, tapping my favorite weapon of choice in my left palm, licking my lips in anticipation of the assault you’re about to receive.

Sit still!

squirming coward, your movements will only make your punishment last longer.  

No matter to me, I’d enjoy the delay and your cries of agony.

I smirk as I remember how I got you here.

You thought midnight romp.

I knew something far different.

When I ripped the cord of the lamp from the west wall I didn’t think of the lamps weight, not at all.

In fact, it happened so fast I’m not sure I registered thought much at all.

But, I felt, oh, how I felt.

Rage,

a searing heat, 

it rose from deep inside me.

Explosive!

ravenous almost.

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I swung that lamp at your head like a professional baseball player swinging at his last-chance grand-slam in the world series.

Carr-aaack!

The hit heard around the world,

and just like that,

blood-spatter, and out you went.

Dragging your lanky-ass over to Nana’s wing-back chair came easy to me.

There was so much adrenaline coursing through me, I felt like a freight-train on full-throttle, no brakes.

The barbed-wire was fun, wrapping it around you like a python wraps itself around its prey.

Almost made me orgasmic,

then you twitched and took my moment from me.

Son-of-a-bitch!

Still, you try to take control.

But that’s okay,

I’m not upset,

not about that any way.

I’m going to take my time with you my dear, oh, yes, I am.

I remember that first night when we were at Dale’s party.

You said you had a surprise for me and took me upstairs.

Then, like the pig you are, you dropped your pants and I said wow, that’s my surprise, you brought me up here to show me a penis?

Yes, you said, with a smart-ass grin on your face.

Then you changed your tone and said well?

I said well what?

And you and your arrogant tongue spit out — Wax it.

How vile I thought, but we both know that I left my teeth marks in your dick that night,

don’t we darling?

Look at you, all dressed up like mommy’s little blonde cherub.

Too bad she doesn’t know what a nasty little cunt of a man you really are.

But I’m going to remedy that, I’ll show her on your behalf when I fillet you and pose you like an awkward statue impaled on a spigot and run through on your front lawn.

Hannibal would be so proud to know me right now.

You my dearest have been weighed and measured and you’ve been found wanting.

This will be the remedy of all remedies.

A song for all melodies.

Your undoing.

Your fate.

Lifeless, like the squished slug by the garden gate.

Gone and forgotten.

Dust in the wind.

My arms raised,

the blows came,

the remedy delivered.

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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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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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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

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Challenge Yourself Friday – Campfire Tales by All

A campfire, a scream, and a small lie that gets bigger and bigger..
Create this Story/Verse/Poem Any way you like using this weeks Prompt

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Campfire Tale Challenge

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On a warm summer eve a group of friends decided to head into the woods for a fun night frolicking in the dark after high school graduation and prior to the mass parting of their ways to university. A typical campout between friends. The first to arrive were Dave and Kelly, high school sweethearts turned loving, devoted husband and wife right after graduation, too soon most would say. Driving up to the old campsite in their black 4 door jeep, already knowing the spot they would be claiming for their tent.

As Dave was prepping the tent off to the left of the giant fire pit, Kelly began unloading the coolers from the jeep. An old red and white truck pulled up beside her, clanking to a halt. Inside were 2 wild and crazy guys, Steve and Jess, sports jocks who never quite fit into the typical mold. Jumping out Jess in all his glory, shirtless with beaming a crazy, happy smile he had become famous for. Arrived at the back of the jeep to lend Kelly a hand. Steve, he was already sipping suds, looking like he was ready to play a game of football ready to let loose a bit now that he had received his acceptance letter from a well renowned university, to which he had a full ride.

Jess and Steve placed their pup tents to the right side of the fire pit. Once these were up the task of gathering wood for the night’s fire ensued. Whilst Kelly, Steve and Dave began gathering kindling and downed limbs, Jess began unloading pallets from the back of his truck. A horned honked and Jess turned in his catty manner to see a SUV come pulling in spewing dust behind it. The occupants numbering 5. There was Katie the class prude, so pure, primp and proper. Marie who was the bad rocker chic, not even in the same class with Katie. Jeremy who was a hottest bad boy in 3 counties, known for courting mischief and pushing the rules. He really was a good guy just gained himself that bad boy rap, because he was bullied back in grade school. In tow were also JD and Sue, although not a couple they have been known to take out their sexual frustrations on one another from time to time.

When all the tents were up and everyone gathered round the fire that Jess sparked, enough wood to last them an entire week, they settled down to have a beer and a hot dog. The usual how’s it going, what’s happening before you leave for college, who you sleeping with now became the subject of getting reacquainted. As the sun slid behind the tree line the night still warm. Jess speaks up with a the suggestion to tell spooky stories. At this suggestion JD screws the top of a bottle of bourbon and Dave begins to spin a scary tale.

“So guys, have you heard what happened last month after the fourth of July bash? You haven’t?” Dave questioned the group, who were all huddled on huge logs place around the huge fire pit. Jess threw another log on the fire, as the flames grew so did Dave’s tale.

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“It happened not far from here, on the other side of the woods, man I can’t believe you didn’t hear about it. Anyway, there was a homeless train hopper guy that they found skinned and gutted at one of the old campsite.”

“Shit Dave, now I’m going to have the willies.” Katie piped up, although looking interested.

“Keep going man.” Jess pitched in with an antagonizing tone.

“They said that it looked like animals had ripped him open and gutted him. Guys, I went out there and looked, I found these.” Dave stood up and walked to the jeep bringing back a duffel bag and a pair of old worn out boots. “I decided to go snooping and one day after rummaging around I came across this stuff. Look on the boots it looks like dried blood.” He propped the gear up on another log. JD, already swaying, grabbed a boot and began to inspect it.

“Listen, there was more stuff over there. I’m sure from years of campers. But I didn’t think anyone who camp over there after that boy died falling in that hole way back when we were kids, y’all member that don’t ya?”

JD with a hooting laugh throws the boot back at Dave and stated “That ain’t blood dude, looks like oil to me.”

“Listen man, I’m telling you something happened over there, that gut they found had claw marks in his muscles, and he was completely skinned skull to toe.” wierd Dave continued. “There are some old things there that would expect to find, but there are newer things there too, a tent that can’t be more than a year or two old. It’s been damaged by the weather, but it wasn’t an old tent. There were other shoes too.”

“Dave stop it. Your lying, this is made up to scare us.” Marie, not believing a word of it as she opened another beer.

“Hey guys, Dave showed me this stuff when he came home that day. Wait until you see what’s in the bag. I don’t think the man who got killed was any old hobo either. I think he was, they’re looking for something.” Kelly was reassuring in her steady insistence.

“Show us what’s in the bag Dave.” Jeremy, seldom heard from pretty faced bad boy spoke up. “This is a load of crap and I’m not afraid. Hand me that bottle.” Swigging down a large portion of bourbon.

“Okay, but here’s where it get interesting.” Dave continued with the story, unzipping the duffel as he spoke. “I thought that maybe this guy was a standard drifter, after all the train tracks aren’t far from here. But when I opened the bag and started finding this shit.” Dave pulled out a binder, a book on legends banshee’s, a small kit that when opened revealed what looked to be a vampire slaying kit, vials of holy water,

crucifix, a sharpened wooden stake. “This isn’t even the weird shit guys. This is the item that has freaked me out.” Dave pulled an old book from the duffel bag, it’s paged marked with page markers to open straight to the page on Banshee’s.

“Dave, fuck you. Why the hell did you bring that here. We’ve camped here for years, this is bullshit. I’m going to pee.” Irritated and a bit rattled Sue stood up and stomped off into the woods.

Banshee BOS

Dave, Kelly, Jess, Jeremy and Marie all moved in closer and were inspecting the items that used to reside in the duffel. Jeremy seemed to lose his interest pretty quickly and wondered off to put another log on the fire. JD had already nodded off with his back against a tree.

“Hey, hey guys, where’s Katie?” Turning and looking like a lost puppy Jeremy, you could see a bit of panic in his eyes. Simultaneously they heard a shrill screaming from deep in the woods.

“Ah shit!” came flying out of Jess’ mouth as he turned to grab a flashlight. “Sue went out there you guys, and now Katie’s gone. I’m going to look. “Thanks Dave for the jitters.”

“Jess, wait I’m coming too.” You could hear the quiver in her voice as Marie offered to accompany Jess into the woods.

As the time passed and Dave, Kelly and Jeremy were left looking through the dead man’s belongings. Kelly spoke up “I just don’t know, I mean why here. We’ve been out here for years and there has never been anything remotely scary that has happened. Also, how do we know that this guy didn’t cross a bear or something, like you said it was an animal.”

Jeremy continued “Right, but wasn’t that kid that fell in the hole back when we were kids, wasn’t he skinned from the waist up? I’m just saying that was weird, he fell into a deep hole, but how did he get skinned?”

“I think there is something more going on here you guys. And what the hell is taking those guys so long? I bet Katie slipped and got dirty.” at that they all laughed.

“Banshee’s steal the soul right?” Kelly asked “Then why the physical wounds, this has just got to be a joke. Maybe someone left this bag there and it’s not at all tied to that dead guy? That’s possible right?”

Another shrill scream and then you could hear Jess screaming from the woods. “What the fuck is he saying?” Dave inquired as he stood up.

Another shout from Jess and it sounds like he’s running and getting closer. “Run, go-go go RUN” Everyone heard Jess’s panic, even JD stirred and

jumped to his feet.

“Ru, Oh fuck, run guys, run.” Dave having laid his eyes on Jess, instantly felt his panic as he turned to the jeep. Kelly on his tail. JD still standing at the tree base, still dazed. Jess came flying into the opening. The flesh separated on either side of his skull, blood gushing and covering the entire top of his torso. “Run run.” The last thing Jess would utter as he fell to the ground flat on his face, so close to the fire that the displaced air blew the flames of the fire, causing it to grow even higher.

Dave around the front of the jeep “Come on JD, let’s go NOW JD MOVE!” JD stumbled and almost stumbled right into the fire. Did he really drink that much in that short period of time. He was struggling with his own feet, he would never make to the jeep.

Banshee bitch

Kelly screamed out “COME ON SUE, MARIE, KATIE RUN, RUN FAST, HURRY!” She was terrified that was evident in her voice. Just beyond the fire you could see Sue’s back, her white tank top vivid. Beyond her and what she was seeing was horrific. The eerie glow of the fire made the face of the bitch facing Sue snarled and grotesque. In a flat second, Sue was no longer Sue, instantly her skin was sucked off her body with a gruesome sucking noise a snap and Sue screamed as she fell to the ground. Jeremy was already behind the wheel with the engine started and had shifted into reverse, he began backing up.

The grotesque face of the gigantic woman form continued to advance, JD now crawling to gain ground. She hadn’t spotted JD just yet. She was fixed on Dave. A moment later Jeremy had driven up right next to Dave who jumped in without hesitation. JD had caught the bitch’s attention and she slit him open like a knife in hot butter with her finger nail.

Jeremy, Kelly and Dave locked themselves in the jeep and began to drive forward when the jeep was stuck on a tree stump. “Son of a bitch, we can make this, hold on” Jeremy exclaimed. The hideous woman was close to the jeep, reaching out she began banging on the rear door attempting to reach Kelly. Screaming and crying Kelly shouted out “Hell fire and brimstone, it’s Katie, guys look, look at her, that hideous bitch is Katie. She has the remnant of the clothes that she was wearing tonight. I’d know that necklace anywhere!”

ruby necklace

Just as the glass on the rear window cracked and shattered, Jeremy backed up and pounded the jeep into first gear. Pulling away from the campsite leaving their prim and proper Katie standing there screaming a sharp shrill in her altered self.

Chuckling Dave cracked open another beer. “Well, what did you think about that story?”

Katie started laughing hysterically as she stood up and put another log on the fire. “Great job Dave, it’s good to know that you think that I’m a hideous looking bitch” Kelly snort laughed. JD was still passed out at the base of the tree. Sue and Marie went to pee, they didn’t go far and you could hear them as they urinated.

Jess smiled wickedly, running his tongue along his teeth, the fire twinkled on the sharp incisors that had recently presented themselves. And the flames grew just a little higher.

Damon-Salvatore

 

Phoenix Fiery Banner

The Revenge of the Pooman.
(A campfire scat requiem) by Richard Bell

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“Stoke the fire, children dire
Sit yourself around the liar
That’s Ranger Liar to you and me
And listen…listen…
Carefully…
The bears they do it in the woods
But you and I must hide the goods
Inside a throne of porcelain
And flush with water again and again…and sometimes…again!
For if the log is Christmas sized
And brought a tear to its owners eye
It festers in its blue flush rinse
And waits for night for sleep silence
And that’s when Pooman grows, emerges
Made from strains and colonic splurges
A Golgotha formed by fecal waste
Will rise from his TP hiding place
And seek out those ungrateful spawn
Who mock his peppers and sweet corn
His gargled breath and awful vapours
On Halloween, misuse of paper
He seeks out children who cower in fear
Who’s diet causes diarrhoea
And when he gets his hands on you
Forever you shall stink of poo
Yours shall be an earthy cologne
Ensuring time spent all alone
And even after twenty baths
You’ll still reek of his vengeful crap
The Pooman cometh so eat your greens
Your pulses and your Lima beans
Your fibre and your roughage
Your trail mix and hot porridge
And when he’s slimed you with his sludge
And made you stink of buttocks fudge
He creeps back to the toilet bowl
And with one flush away he goes
To his lair in dankest sewer pipe
And listens out for extra wipes
To visit those who gorge on junk
And bestow on them a dreadful funk
So campers hush and listen up
The Pooman made 2 girls, 1 cup
He was props and fx on Salo
And countless German porno shows
…And those Sloppy Joes you all just ate
Took me a couple of days to make!”
The aghast faces in the campfire light turned from pale to green. They bubbled and burped, retched and yakked as camper after camper sprayed thick liquid chunks over the hissing flames. It screeched and cracked and popped with still more hot spew raining down on it until they all sat back exhausted and spent at the bank of barf!
Then Ranger Liar stood up, tipped his hat to the depleted troop and said through a dirty laugh,
“And that, campers, is how you put a fire out when you’ve no water around.
Sleep tight!”

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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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Clown Challenge- Under The Canopy By Phoenix Fiery

Spooky circus tent
What the hell time is it anyway? Lifting my head slightly from the pillow to look at the alarm clock, its soft blue glow reading 3:33am. Why am I awake now I thought, sitting up in the bed. Shadows cast from the faint glow of the clock making the reflections in the mirror opposite the end of the bed, look very haunting. The terrible feeling that I was being watched made the hair on my neck stand straight up. Glancing around slightly giggling. “I am being watched” I whispered to the room, glancing at the clown masks hanging on my walls. Currently only a dark blurs upon my walls. Giggling once again I laid back down and snuggled close to my pillow.

I hadn’t been laying on my side for 30 seconds when I caught an ever so slight movement from the corner of my eye. My heart began to pound inside my chest as I realized that there is someone in my room with me. I laid there, heart racing, trying to keep my breath steady and not scream. My head was swirling, who was in my bedroom and what do they want. Unable to see the clock wondering how much time had passed. It’s possible that this person was a figment of my imagination after all.  They hadn’t moved again and surely 5 minutes had passed by.

Pretending to relax I rolled to my other side, now facing away from the figment that my mind imagined. The dark has never been anything that I have ever felt terrified of, on the contrary it has always been a safe place for me, to hide away. Just then a rustling of movement from the back corner of the room caught my eye. Sliding my hand under my mattress oh so cautiously as to not rouse my visitor suspicions, I felt at ease as soon as I had the hard, coldness in my hand.

On high alert that my back was turned to this intruder, I slowly began turn onto my back. Not a great position to be in either, wrapped in a swaddling of sheets and blankets, with no hope for a quick escape. Shifting ever so gently the cold hard handle into my right hand, I was now on my back. With eyes only slatted I was able to see enough of the form that had come to invade my home and a very faint glint of something in his hand. Without so much as a second passing he was sitting on the end of my bed. Did he just sigh?

Opening my eyes now that his back was to me, able to see the top of his head, it was bald, There were long tufts that hung over the sides of his head and down his shoulders and he had a large collar wrapping around his neck. Without thinking I moved my leg under the covers and the movement gained my intruders attention. He was caught off guard as was I, when in a split moment, he was right on top of me, his hand on my left collar-bone. His face pressed against mine, unable to utter a word as his eyes entranced me, they had just the faintest glow of green.

Sppoky Clown

“Why did you wake, sorry to have scared you. You have never woken up before.”. His breathe smelled of peanuts and popcorn as he uttered his words. Panic began to take over as my mind no longer was able to comprehend. Slowly bringing up my hand, holding the dagger, sharp and sleek, one made for moments such as this. The strength at which he pushed against me almost took my breath. His eyes growing ever brighter as his hand grasped my face as he drew me near. “I’ve watched you every night, every day, for years I’ve just watched. Only at night I am able to manifest and I am here now. With a gift, just for you. See you had me hanging there for all the years, I’ve watched your every move perched up there and It’s now time I say…”

His face couldn’t have gotten any closer unless he was going to meld into my skin. His hand grasping so tight on my face, my lips were numb. His shoulder pushing hard into mine. I cut his words off with a quickness and a hard jab square into his throat, his eyes rolled back in his head as he began to convulse and a cold wetness spattered across my face mixing with the tears now streaming down my cheeks. His jerky movements ripped his hand from my jaw, with a loud snap inside my head a jolt of pain shot up my temple.

Watching in the darkness as his body shook and revolted against his own attempts at grasping for his throat. In horror and disbelief as his large solid body seemed to melt away. Reaching for the bedside lamp, retching at the scene that became evident to me. There, where the clown had laid was now only a mask, a ceramic mask now shattered and a ring, a sparkling yellow diamond ring. Falling to my knees I wretched and screamed as I caught a glimpse in the mirror on the wall. Dressed in tank top and shorts covered in a green goo, dagger still clutched in hand. My jaw surely broken and I became aware of the other masks covering my walls.

Clown mask

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Copywrite 2015

Open Wound World by Richard Bell

bloody eyesPictures slice my eyeballs frame by frame with shallow cuts
Lacerate the psyche and then gouge into dismay
Horror show is rated by a drive by voyeur media
Slanting our opinions and then pissing on our graves
Open wound world you are sore and you are festering
No time to coagulate as another slice is taken
Transfixed terrified by your vulgar gut wrenched news alerts
The politics behind the propaganda unmistakable

Scary tv
The media make monsters to deter the truth behind the lie
Slaughter, hell and acts of god are indivisible
Starvation and disease are just exasperating sameness
Reconstituted slop served in a bun to make it plausible
Sexuality is a dead weight that drags behind us all
As though it is achievement or a reason to divide
The wonderment of life that is a spark lit for eternity
Instead a paper ticket for a cheap amusement ride
Faith is hope and glory for the simple life of piety
Twisted into anagrams and seared in deep mistrust
What use is a promise of the nourishment of afterlife?
When swollen bellies pray for life to grow out of baked dust
Predators, provocateurs, liars and idolaters
Swathed in precious metals and gyrating ignominy
Branded for the clones that are not friends but merely followers
Each more ludicrous than the last hypocrisy
Vultures sit atop a stack of wasted flesh by murder
Megalomaniacs make threats and the weapons race is on
Security by numbers in a sequence behind firewalls
What would we inherit if the whole world launched a bomb?
Fertile ground receding from a desert and a poisoned sea
Fields of Frankenstein food sway in weather that’s man-made
One half swills in gluttony a bloated self- indulgent breed
The other half surrendered to a charity charade
Open wound world you are sore and you are festering
No time to coagulate as another slice is taken
Austerity drives down the poor and bolsters those with riches
And silent preparation is the task for those awakened.

ripping face

Written 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. All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Under Babel By Richard Bell

Creepy forest

Schiele stood on the edge of his masterpiece and looked deep into spiraling abyss. His once shining green eyes had glazed over grey with abject misery. He addressed the five shining markers arranged in star formation with a courteous nod. Ibris Swain, Ibris Salk, Ibris Susse, Ibris Sove and Ibris Sarg were huge pointed crystals taken from a deep cavern and brought here to the Convergence. This was where the magnetism of the forest land came to a point and where Schiele built the tribute to his god.
Thirty three years of incessant planning, conversing, digging and construction was a cathedral’s height beneath his feet.
The stone masons carved alcoves peppered with crevices, splendid gothic arches, solemn secret rooms and ornate contemplative balconies. All of these were accessible by the most impressive spiral staircase that wound round and down, connecting every room to its serpentine majesty.
He stared into the graduating gloom, toes precariously over the edge of the stone flagged brim and sucked in a mouth full of juddering air and salty tears.
“I see you as the ages have shaped these lands under leaded skies and scarlet revolutions. I must travel your twisting splendor at the speed of the hunting hawk and, in my death throes, be complete in my satisfaction. Lord, I have built this tribute to your trust in our love. But your people have grown content and idle. They look elsewhere for your magic that fills the spirit though joyous praise. They gorge themselves on the excesses of your bounty and have forsaken the purity found in simplicity. Lord, I deliver unto you my tribute and, in your mercy, catch me before I’m smashed apart. I surrender myself to you.”
As he turned his back to the hole, Schiele placed his hand on Ibris Swain and the crystal glowed with a pulsating blue light. One by one, the other crystals lit up in different colors that fired into the blue sky, exploding a dazzling rainbow that spanned the far lands.

Scary forest alter
Closing his eyes tight, Schiele leaned back, stretched out his huge arms and entered his creation with abandon.
He opened his eyes as the hurling stones flashed the dreams of life between the pitch of oblivion. The sky was still full of colors and, as he descended further, the nightmares engulfed the beautiful dreams with juicy tentacles and ferocious snarling fangs. Into his mind’s eye strode the fiery goat lord, Zamiel.
“I see your sacrifice as imitation and nothing more. You will not catch the eye of the pious god with your stunt. He is too busy smashing worlds apart to notice your paltry tribute to him. You are all abandoned and your act is too little and too late. But I will continue your work into the fires and blackness. Surrender your allegiance to me, Schiele and I will make you magnificent in my legion. You shall be my architect of pain in the keep.”
Schiele smiled at the entity and peered into every secret room with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. Each circular niche contained graven prayers set out in neat rows between ordered scriptures and glowing relics. The tower descended into the heart of darkness but it was a spear tipped with innate goodness. In his hands was the name of The Lord of the light and he was to drive it into the blasphemy and end the war between good and evil.
A myriad of winged beasts flocked around his descending form as he smiled into the pin prick of rainbow light so far above him.

castle cave
His body slammed into the black rocks between a lava flow and stopped still. A deafening blast of horns rung across the obscenity and into the channels filled with the agonizing cries of pain, drowning them out completely.
Thunder filled the huge tunnel and Schiele’s body began to rise towards a blinding light flooding in to the top of the tower and the stones beneath him followed his smashed body. The tower beneath the earth was rising above and into the sky, as below him, hell was being swamped with beautiful colors. He was conscious but still in a cocoon of light and silence. Schiele rose above the hole in the earth as the great stones piled around his body, rearranged by a supernatural force of tremendous power. He was aware that, at his extremities, the great crystals had gathered and were transporting the star shaped man into the cloud and above the shield around the earth. In his mind’s eye, the tower in all it’s magnificence, had ascended to a great height and stood proud on the garden planet that had extinguished the evil inside the core.
Hell was dead.
Space was vast like the beautiful oceans and the blast of starlight reflected, was the sun dancing on the hypnotic waves.
The crystals and the man slowed to a stillness in front of a pulsating nebula.
“My son, you have shown true belief and sacrifice for love. Only the purest shall rise to be one amongst the throng. There is another garden that needs a protecting eye. You shall be that. You shall be the life giver for the planet.”
Schiele and the five crystals began to move at great speed, spinning until the five and the one became fire and light, settling in an orbit in view of a green and blue ball.
Sometimes a soul ascends to be a star but the truly blessed become the sun.

SupernovaWritten by Richard Bell

Includes art via Ann Thraxx

**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**

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**

 

Resurrect the Screaming Silence By Richard Bell

Trilogy of Terror #1.

scary thingUnder the doorstep, a small iron grate was the only light into the cellar.
It was also the only way for the darkness to escape into the world.
Sometimes at night when returning home, I’d catch the shine of cats eyes for a second. They’d burst inside the wrought iron slit then gone in the flash of a shooting star between shutter clicks.
The house was the last building on the park road not ransacked and ravaged by vandals and squatters. Right next to it, ancient graves peered out of scrub grass, towering weeds and skeletons of discarded modernity. The graveyard was merely fifty feet square with dilapidated railings and a gate pulled from its hinges. Around the top of the railings were dolls heads of varying sizes and states of decay and, on the large stone flags leading into it, crude pentagrams had been carved and plastic figurines melted into the middle of them.
The worn headstones had long since succumbed to the indignity of graffiti and those souls marked by them had the pleasure of partying teens congregating six feet above.
I lived alone in that house.
That strange house on ‘desecration row’.
It was my bolt hole when I told my wife that I couldn’t love her or anyone after the suppressed horrors of my childhood came calling in my forties. The time bomb exploded and a deep depression was a giant redwood felled on top of me. It pinned me to the floor as the world sped by in time-lapse fury and my world dwindled to a broken shell addicted to coffee.
That house had seen so many tenants depart in a frantic hurry.
The landlord suffered a heart attack at my kitchen table handing me the deeds. His last words were,
“You stayed the longest and you won.”
The cellar had its own nocturnal menagerie of unusual noises. I looked so many times but couldn’t find a door. It’s like they built it and sealed it up by putting a house on top.
Only the iron visor under the step gave a clue that there was a room beneath; A pitch black room filled with restless phantoms.
Things began to disappear and reappear elsewhere.
Voices moved like shadows in pockets of stale air.
Cold drafts accompanied terrible smells, creeping into the crepuscular gloom like the ivy from the graveyard walls.
But my mind was overgrown with flickering images of the past.
The scorpion sting of the buckle end of the belt, the crushing blow of spiteful words slung callously from measured lips. The final kick to the backside as I was cast out a black sheep, never to darken their doors again.
A terrible childhood is like a boomerang. Eventually it comes back around to take your head off your shoulders. You turn your anger inwards and it insidiously seeps out through your pores and tear ducts and manifests in awful outbursts and floating despair.
One night, wrapped in silver dust sprinkles from a half-open curtain, I caught a sentence from the whispers. It said,
“Under the melted children and headless dolls are woken spirit eyes.”
It played with my head for days, and, between the graveyard hooligans and the cat’s eye shutter meteors, I sank exhausted into my mattress and was pulled under the floor like a melted plastic figurine.
Melted and running down into the cellar. Beyond the reach of salvation.
“Do you think that you are real inside this box?” a voice in the ink called to me. I tried to find a clear space in my vocabulary but could only muster a terrified grunt.
“We are the unkempt and disturbed dead. Our resting place offers no peace and who we were has been wiped away by time and an obscene disregard for the once alive.
You will be our vengeance!”
The voices crashed like tiny cymbals in my neck behind the ears and slithered into the heart on dark scales of dread.
“Your vengeance? Your vengeance against the desecrates and defilers? I am to be your hammer blow to the disaffected youth.” I whispered.

scary people

“We will be at peace. They knock upon the coffin lid each night and we must rise and walk until the next big moon.” The voice circled me slowly.
“Who will offer me a cure to my darkness without limits? Who will chisel out a stone to mark my sadness? Who will rise for me when they surround this house with guns and finally shine a light into this hole?” I hissed at them through re-flux coffee phlegm.
Silence crackled like the end of a vinyl record before the needle glided across the smooth black sheen to rise above the platter with mechanical indifference.
“Grant us our peace and you shall be well rewarded. There are two that lead the sheep to our sacred earth. We will lure them to you in the sleeping hours. We were blessed and then forgotten. Do this…yes…do this…do this and we will take away the darkness in your soul. Are we agreed?”
“We are…we are agreed”
I crowed as the sensation of the mattress beneath me returned and a morning sun hooked its talons under my eyelids, prying them apart rudely.
Wearily, I trudged down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast and stopped still in the doorway. All the plates were piled up round the edge of the table and the spoons were evenly spaced in rows upon it. A salt trail snaked in between the spoons and cruet marked the corners.
It was the layout of the graveyard.
I moved to the stove to pour a coffee from the pot and add a little cream from the fridge. An uneasy feeling jarred my senses and a cold draft move behind me, teasing a shudder from my hackles.
Turning slowly, a blue flash nipped the corner of my eye and three orbs sank beneath frosted floorboards.
Without a sound, in the center of this macabre model, was my way for them to find peace.
It was a large stone masons hammer and was sat across two dead rats with their heads bashed in as a ‘how to’ guide for killing punks.
I grasped the thick handle in my left hand and lifted it onto the cabinet. Thick black smoke wisps trailed from the bulbous head and an inscription in the iron shone red. The words ‘ultionem ab inferis’ burned through the black smoke and flashed an evil grin. A deep shudder stampeded through my upper body and slammed into the back of my neck like a train wreck.
I googled the phrase and vengeance from the grave appeared instantly.
Three suns dipped and three-part moons rose before the big silver eye in the star strewn shit storm appeared. It pushed through a huge burning disc from behind a curtain of dirty clouds. Suddenly I was aware that the pillow next to me had a deep indentation. I reached in and found the evil hammer, cold and pulsing, ready to be bloodied.
“Tonight’s the night is it, folks?” I muttered as a fleet of orbs popped like champagne bubbles into the ceiling.
“Be our hammer blow to the desecrates. Give us peace at last.”
There was a knock at the door and I jumped out of bed, taking three stairs at a time and opened the door to see a tall, hooded teenage kid standing there. His eyes were rolled to the back of his head and he was hovering above the ground enough to let his toes drag as he moved. I stepped back and fell against the door allowing the figure to glide past me and into the kitchen. He was raised high and lowered onto the table. As his eyes rolled and his blue lips quivered, a deep ‘X’ shaped gouge appeared in his forehead.
“X marks the spot, eh?” I could feel the handle of the hammer fill my left palm and I left no time for deliberation. The skull cracked after one blow and the subsequent pummeling folded the skin into a splintered cavity, tearing it open and spraying brain matter and shattered bone onto me. The gag reflex gave way to thick vomit that poured into the hole in his head and ran into his open mouth. Bright orbs showered the scene congregating inside of his flattened skull. I fell to my knees as he stood upright and walked to the small rug near the doorway. It lifted and a trapdoor opened up. As he was lowered gently beneath the floor we were, momentarily, eye to eye. This is when his eyes popped from his socket and sunk into the gooey vomit just above his mouth.
That was when I blacked out.

Scary House full moon

The next month leading up to the full moon was a little like the scene from American Werewolf in London where David is bored inside the flat just waiting for the transformation.
Only I wasn’t a werewolf!
I was a stone cold killer with a hammer from beyond the grave. The night came thundering into my skull with loud banging on the front door and the hammer nestled in the pillow next to me. It was ready to taste blood and I was ready to be rid of this madness.
I bounded down the stairs and slid open the door carefully.
No one there.
Then an upside down face slid right in front of me and I realized that the last victim was hung upside down like a slaughtered pig.
“Come into the parlor” I murmured in a Lurch voice and the white-eyed hooded creep floated through the hall and onto the kitchen table.
I took out all the pent-up hate on this kid. Pounding and smashing, pummeling and tenderizing until he dripped over the edge and slopped onto the floor. As before, the silent shadows opened the trap door and the slop oozed into the darkness followed by a fleet of orbs.
As the grandfather clock struck three in the morning, a low rumble was followed by a ripple of tremors and finally the earth shook violently. The whole house cracked and trembled, shuddering as it tumbled down along with all the other derelict dwellings attached. The street split and began to sink into a huge hole that belched giant clouds of silvery red dust and hundreds of bright orbs chased me into the graveyard. I passed the etched pentagrams and stared at the melted figures which had disappeared and were replaced with the inscription on the hammer. As the dust cloud dispersed and the sunrise cast an orange glow over the area, I stared in disbelief at the cemetery. All the dolls heads had disappeared from the railings, which were straight and as new. The gateway was repaired and the stone path without carvings or vandalism. The gravestones shone in their original condition, free from graffiti. The grass was trimmed and edged. I looked into my hands and the hammer’s inscription faded and was replaced with the inscription Eternal rest, forever at peace.
“I still feel hollow. I did what you asked and now, what about me?”
“Drop the weapon!” A harsh voice rung out from behind me. I looked down at the hammer to find it thick with blood and hair and bone fragments. Spinning round, I could see the two victims on the path splayed out and battered. I raised the hammer above my head, shaking and gasping for breath.
The first bullet went through my arm and the second released my orb.
“Eternal peace” they whispered from their plots as the light faded to a cat’s eye flash in a dark iron grate.

Bloody hammerWritten by Richard Bell

**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**

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**

The Lifting of the Veil by Tony Norton

Lifting The Veil

Lifting The Veil


Petite Mal…the Dr said.
Quite common, a mild problem and nothing to worry about.
Joel had suffered with this malaise for all of his adult teenager years without ever giving it a name. Now, he felt relieved. The CAT scan confirmed that there was no underlying tumour or anything more sinister causing the problem. His latest bout had brought him and his parents frantically rushing to the E.R rooms as it was longer and deeper than any of the others he had had. He had dealt with the issue, up until now, like every other red-blooded male and chose to ignore it, hoping that it would just go away of its own accord.He had put the fear to the back of his mind, and carried on, regardless. Being a gangly gothic teenager, Joel’s mood swings were expected as the norm so he could, up until now, hide his illness behind his distant persona.
Petite Mal…..the demon named. He began, obsessively researching the web for anything and everything to do with it. He found that there were different severities of it. Some of the most gifted people on earth suffered from it. Illustrious names like Vincent Van Gogh, Isaac Newton, Charles Dickens and Leonardo Da Vinci to name but a few. Recently his episodes had become more intense. This was helping him understand and come to terms with his illness. Maybe, looking at the list of sufferers, it was not an illness, but a gift?
The Monday Morning train journey was the one he hated the most. Cramped carriages full of the walking dead. Soulless zombies, devoid of life, immersed in their digital self. All plugged in with auroras of”fuck off” radiating off them. The soft drizzle added to the ambience. The sort of grey blown rain that teases and probes its way into every nook and every cranny, soaking souls into reluctant submission. The coughing and spluttering a result of urgent germs taking to the air in order to spread their purposeful offspring. As usual, by the time the train got to Joel’s stop, there was no room for him to sit. He stood, teetering and shifting his position every time the train took a bend. On this dark winter morning, he couldn’t even seek solace by looking out of the window as the pitch black backdrop just gave him a duplicate reflected image of the miserable carriage he was travelling in.
The forty minute journey to University would be a very long forty minutes.
Suddenly the train jerked. Joel fell forward, grabbed the bar above the seats and then….. it happened.

Suspended animation.

The whole carriage, frozen in time. All except Joel. Every person in the carriage paused in a Munch style scream. Their faces twisted and contorted in despair and agony. Joel’s eyes darted from face to face, all of them the same, petrified. All except a grey haired old man at the back of the carriage. He smiled and doffed his black cap to Joel. He could see the fear in Joel’s eyes.
“Don’t worry Boy” he called out. It’s the lifting of the Veil.
You are blessed My Boy …you are a SoothSayer…a rare commodity these days”
A million questions flooded into Joel’s mind…however, his tongue simply wouldn’t work.
“Beware the Code Writers …My Boy…if they find you..they will get you…they will get you programming the future. They will cube and square route your freewill.
“But…why is everyone in so much pain?” asked Joel.
“Behind the Veil, the Code Writers ensure that everybody has a life of angst and turmoil” said the old man. It’s for them, the Masters, the Archangel’s. They feed off the pain. It’s the misery and woe that gives them life.
“But what……
The next thing the train lurched forward again, and Joel was back in the carriage. He looked around, everyone, all blissfully unaware. The Old Man, in the corner, no longer there. In his place, an androgynous man, with a laptop, furiously typing. He looked up and stared straight through Joel, with a knowing cold clinical look that sent a shiver right through him. He knew that Joel knew, and Joel knew his life would never be the same again.
And so the Chase had begun….

From that moment on Joel saw the Code Writers everywhere. Subtly they stood out like a sore thumb. Always of a similar ilk, androgynous and always with a technological gadget in their hand. Furiously typing, coding, re writing the immediate future. The futures of those they came into contact with. Joel knew they knew he noticed them. He felt very uneasy whenever he saw one of them. He never stayed around long enough to find out why. He became very fearful of having another episode. Not knowing what could happen if the veil slipped again. He had so so many questions. He was fearful of using the net to answer his questions too. Even the dark web presented him with a very big element of risk. He needed some answers.
Joel decided to visit a run down second-hand bookstore that some of the students used to trade in their textbooks. He vaguely remembered that in the musty fusty old basement there was a section on mythology magic and the supernatural. He wrote down some bullet points, Archangel’s, the Veil, inter dimensional beings, the usual science fiction. Except, Joel knew in his Heart of Hearts it was not. Not Fiction at all. This was the most scary thing…this was actually happening.
Joel caught the bus into the centre of the city. He began to notice. He noticed people more and he noticed numbers much more. The numbers of the busses he caught, the prices of anything he bought. He began to add to bills so the the end result ended up an even number. He caught even-numbered busses and walked half a mile rather than catching odd numbers. He became very distrustful and further withdrawn.
It was a sunny cold winter’s day. Joel got off the bus, and walked the last half mile into the city. The city, as always was very busy. Even now, early, there was a steady stream of people going their own way. Except Joel knew different. Their paths, mapped out, plotted by vectors, choices made for them. He began to think of them not as people, but as pixels. As little energy pods, solar cells for them – the other side of the veil. Charged with misery, ready to be ….Harvested.
He reached the book shop. It was off the main street, down a little Victorian undercover Arcade. There were lots of quaint quirky little shops, a refreshing change from the mainstream chain stores cloned on every city’s high street. He entered the shop, its low ceilings laying pay to his claustrophobia. There was a smell of old books in the air and he climbed down the rickety old stairwell.
Down in the basement he began to delve. He picked out one book, then another, then another. After about an hour it was clear he could not carry them all. He put some back. Carried four upstairs ( not five) and paid for them…cash. He threw in a bookmark to bring the price into the even.
At the till..it happened….
He zoned out and became aware of the otherness.
The world was grey and he could hear a faint distant hum. It was the unmistakable hum of technology. Out of the ether, the little old Man appeared.
“Quick Boy….no time….take this….”
He put his hands either side of Joel’s head.
A brilliant burning image appeared in front of him.
“This is Metatron’s Cube….its the key to crossing”
“Take it… hurry Boy…He and Sandalphon are on to You”
“Use the Cube to Cross”
Before Joel could ask he was back in the bookstore. The goofy shop assistant asking “Dude…You OK?…You kinda Zoned out for a moment there Bro?”
Joel left….books under his arm, with the image of Metatron’s Cube firmly burned into his brain.

Joel, in the warmth of the midday winter sun made his way back home on the bus. Paranoia had taken a deep root within him and he felt like he was continually being watched. He furtively glanced up at the other passengers all of which were non descript and not interested in Joel. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the searing burned image of Metatron’s Cube branded on his mind’s eye. He needed answers to so many questions?
On arriving home, as usual, he went up to his bedroom. He started reading the books.
Archangel’s history’s Heralds. He looked at the list of chapters and went straight to the section on Metatron’s Cube.
The book read,
“There are 13 Spheres of Metatron’s Cube.
They represent the 13 Archangels that stand before ‘God’.
Each One a Sacred Keeper of one element of the Creation.
Within the cube there are embedded elements of fire, water, earth, air and ether. There is also representation of every single element within the periodic table.
The 13 Archangels (ie the 13 Spheres of Metatron’s Cube) are present through all levels of creation. Archangels are omnipresent everywhere, in each and every moment.
Archangels are also ‘within you’, they exist within the Chakras and Energy Meridians) in order bring balance. In Eastern philosophy, the Tao, or Yin Yang resides in the centre of the Cube.
The words resonated with Joel…”everywhere in each and every moment”
The old man had told him that this was the key to crossing?
What did he mean? How?
Joel was scared. He was way out of his depth here.
Why…why him? What the fuck could he do?
He began to draw the pattern in his mind’s eye. He tried a few times, but its complexity halted him. He took the pen to paper, started with the thirteen concentric circles and began joining them. One by one the pattern began to take shape. As he drew, he felt first the pen, then his arm start to melt away. Into the ether, Slowly he began to see the images. Greys at first, ethereal cloudy blank canvass grey. It was accompanied by the drone of travelling electricity. Then came the colours.
Starburst Red and all its hues, searing bright and red-hot. An image of an Angel standing on the surface of the Sun in wondrous glory. The centre of the Universe and the bringer of life. Then the Vista changed, to deep hues of Cobalt Blues. There rose a massive Tsunami Wave and at its Herald, a Pure Blue Angel of Shimmering Shifting Water. Water, the cornerstone of life.
Again the colours began to change and shift, the blue of water and the yellows of light began to transform to greens. Water’s gave way to ground, islands rising , proud. Vernal greens began to grow, grow up out of the solid ground. Roots, branches, trees all began to morph into the shape of a Glorious Angel standing Rampant in the Forest of the Earth. Then the vision shifted…..shifted to high, above . Soaring above the Earth there flew a Golden Angel of the Air with a Golden trumpet. He blew the trumpet and its piercing blast caused the Vista to change again.
The fabric began to melt, to merge into the ether and the Angel of Metal and Matter hovered before him. He was not whole , but mercurial. He was of the chemical ether and Joel could FEEL him, he felt him in his heart, he felt his love, Joel wanted to stay there, for eternity, to never go back.
In that instant he heard a voice calling him, Joel woke with a start.
The Old Man was there, with him in his bedroom.
“At Last Boy….I have been waiting for you”
I have so much to tell You”
Joel felt sick , sick he was back in reality.

“Don’t fret my boy… I have seen many of your kind before…you are blessed..a Soothsayer…you’re kind are revered both sides of the veil. The worst that can happen is that you will be made to work for them…writing codes for the future.
My name is Paul, Paul Marrane. Some call me Matthias, others Buttadeus whilst others affectionately call me the Wandering Jew. I have lived a thousand lives and I will continue to do so until the Rapture. The signs in heaven tell Me that my penance is nearly over. That soon we will see the Return of the Nazarene. I ask you now for Hermitage?”
I don’t understand, said Joel?
Hermitage, Sanctuary, a Safe haven?
Safe from what..Joel asked?
Grant me this moment in time so that I may explain?
Yes…of course… I have…
“Tempus Stat”
Time Stand Still….chanted Paul.

With that the world….Paused. Joe’s watch stopped and the background barking of the neighbor’s dog immediately stopped.
Paul began…….
In the scriptures, 1 Paul 1:16, God gave us a clear indication of how he wanted us to behave.
It say’s,
“but like the Holy One who called you, be holy yourselves also in all your behavior; because it is written,
“YOU SHALL BE HOLY, FOR I AM HOLY.”
If you address as Father, the One who impartially judges according to each one’s work, conduct yourselves in FEAR during the time of your stay on Earth!!”
God noticed as time went by, man became more and more Godless. This angered the Lord for man carried on without any fear or fear of retribution. God decided that free will was the enemy of the Holy word.
He decided that every man, without God in his heart, would have his freewill taken from him.
It was too much of a task for there were so many godless on the Earth. He charged the Archangels with the task who in turn created and deployed the Code Writers to plot out the path for the unrighteous. They write out the miserable lives of all the ungodly.
Those with the love of Christ in their hearts have a firewall protection against the coders. They live the lives of free men with true free will.
The coders program misery because it charges more energy for the Archangel’s. The Angels are feeding on the energies in preparation for the Rapture. I believe the Rapture will be soon, for it is said, in the end of Days, many SoothSayers will walk the four corners of the Earth, proclaiming the coming Glorious Ascension.
Please…Now Joel..My Hermitage has been for three stopped seconds…two more than is allowable.
Please…I am sorry…I have to go.
Trust in Yourself Boy…look deep into yourself for the path you must take.
Choose wisely….
With that…Joel was back in his bedroom..more confused and scared than ever before?

Joel decided that he would.
He would have a long hard look at himself. Literally, to start with. He locked himself in the bathroom and stood in his underwear in front of the full length mirror on the back of the door. He was quite tall, around six one, to put an estimate on it, although he had never really measured himself. He was quite thin, skinny in fact, although he didn’t know what he weighed, as he never had actually weighed himself. He was gangly with a very pallid complexion. This was in stark contrast to his thick black mop of curly-ish hair. He stared into the mirror, closer. He could see his reflection of quite oily skin and realised why he never ever got this close to himself. He realised why at nineteen years of age he had never had a proper girlfriend. He was so awkward. Awkward looking, awkward sounding and awkward doing. He wasn’t really very good at anything. Average at Uni, average at sport, pretty much average at everything.
Pretty much nondescript. So Why?
Why Him..a SoothSayer? He looked up the definition of it on his mobile…”a person who can see the future”
He looked deep into his own eyes in the mirror…it was true…he could see the future staring back at him, his own future lay there mapped out before him…nondescript and awkward.
He began to feel lost. In his own bathroom, in his parents house, he did not have a clue who he was, where he was or where he was actually going.
He showered, the glistening droplets reminding him of the pixel people, shiny, aimless and cascading down towards the plug hole.
He dried off, got dressed and decided that he would do some research on the net. They already knew about him, he knew nothing of them. They know who he is, where he lived and all of his movements. He felt like he had nothing to lose.
On googling Metatron he came across the following.

“Archangel Metatron teaches esoteric wisdom to children and adults. He seems to take a special interest in highly sensitive young people who are misunderstood or even medicated because their spiritual gifts make them socially awkward”
Esoteric indeed though Joel. If only the Angel fodder pixels knew the truth about their futures. But what of his future? What of all the futures? What about the future of the future? He decided to leave the veil down and concentrate on his future, his studies. What difference could he make anyway? Perhaps Metatron would show him the true way?
All of a sudden a thought came into his head…Isaiah 38?… Immediately he googled it.
“And a highway will be there; it will be called the Way of Holiness; it will be for those who walk on that Way. The unclean will not journey on it; wicked fools will not go about on it”
With these words going over and over in his head Joel crawled over onto his bed, put out the light and fell into a deep sleep.

Joel began to dream.
Grey’s at first, grey’s with a soothing hum of electricity.
A bland sterile world leached and devoid of all feelings. His mind began to wander. He began to explore the limbo. Reaching out in front of him, ever long, a massive expanse of void. His search became more urgent. He began to feel cold. He started travelling in his mind faster and faster.
Nothing.
He began to panic.
He was getting colder and colder and more frantic. Mile after mile of cold grey expanse lay in front of him.
He was lost.
He stopped.
Stopped looking.
He remembered the voice of the Old Man
“Look into yourself”
Then you will truly see”
Joel noticed that the hum was accompanied by a small vibration. The grey he was standing on was vibrating. In his mind eye he immediately knew. The grey was his closed mind.He took a giant leap into the air and came down hard, heels first onto the membrane. There was a stretch an then a pop. Joel had broken through and he was bathed in a warm soothing amniotic fluid.
Brilliant colors glowed brightly with an iridescent sheen.
He was bathed in a kaleidoscope of light and saturated with love. He had never felt like this before. All the wonders of the universe shot past him in a million starbursts. He truly felt that this was eternity.
Then the 13 Archangels began to take shape and form before him.
They morphed and formed the pattern of Metatron’s Cube.
Slowly ….
Slowly …the cube began to spin.
The lights and colours of all the spectrum like a giant cumbersome Catherine wheel.
It started to gather momentum.
Faster
Faster and Faster and Faster.
It was now like a giant gyroscope, spinning and humming in a 4 dimensional plane.
The colors merged and gave way to LIGHT.
A blinding white light.
A Pure unbinding light.
Holy and Bright.
The light illuminated the path to the kingdom of heaven.
And Joel knew, that the path was one of infinite love.
He remembered the feeling of being lost…alone and frightening.
He remembered the grey… the Void.
He decided he would never feel like this again.
EVER!!!

Joel woke with a start. He felt like he had slept for…eternity. In truth, he had overslept and had just twenty minutes to get up, get washed, get dressed and get the train to Uni.
He felt….better?
There was a cold nip in the air, which hurt his chest as he gasped in lungfuls running for the train. Clouds of billowy breath chuffed out before him and he felt, for the first time in a long time, happy?
The train was crammed full. Pixels everywhere, with code writers interspersed every few seats. Joel began to feel sorry for them. Their banal lives being plotted, planned and mapped out to create energies for the Archangels. Then he realised, he had no firewall, no protection. He looked at the codewriter three seats back…was he planning Joel’s code? He looked kind of smug…and Joel felt the happiness draining away from him. Joel began to focus. He was a soothsayer…he could see the future…could he see his own? He tried.. he couldn’t. Then he focused on the codewriter. All of a sudden he could see the vectors mapped out in front of him. He imagined a wasp…the wasp appeared…he imagined the wasp flying over to the codewriter and stinging him on the throat.
It did.
He imagined anaphylactic shock..it happened…pandemonium on the train.
Next station paramedics were called…there was an audible buzz on the train.. people began to forget themselves and focus in on the codewriter. They began chatting to people they had sat next to and hadn’t spoken to in six months.
Joel was late for Uni, felt guilty about the codewriter, but had learned two valuable things.
1. He could at least affect some futures
2. In times of trial and tribulations, humility and humanity shine through.
He needed to work on his firewall.

Whenever Joel wanted to from that day onwards he could see into anyones future. Everyone’s except his own. When peering , however, he could only see the next six months. First he thought he was limited in his visions. He soon came to realise that there wasn’t any future past a certain date. There was a stark abrupt end to the light. Immediately after the World was plunged into darkness and chaos but thankfully Joel could see no further. It terrified him and was in complete opposite to the feeling of love in the light.
He began to screenshot the pixels images and found he could place them into a folder within his mind’s eye. He could later on, with time and quiet go back over them in a slide show.
Most of the them showed some sort of misery and trauma which came to an abrupt end. Some of the endings showed a specific date on the calendar.
23 September 2015…..six months away.
Joel googled the date.
The Day of Atonement.
Yom Kippur. Hundreds of websites with all sorts of theories all depicting the end of time? Were the other Soothsayers making proclamation?
Joel knew in his heart of hearts that the day of atonement was coming. He had been having more and more episodes of late and his dreams and visions were becoming more intense. He had been delving more deeply into the Bible. He kept getting drawn back to one particular passage
Acts 2:17 – “And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams”
Joel found himself praying more and more and finding an inner peace with the light it illuminated within him. He found that as he carried on his daily life, the codewriters began to ignore him more and more. He still had n obsession of even numbers, of symmetry and balance. Often , if he saw one of the pixels having a particularly difficult time, he cut them some slacking proceeded to write them out a different future. This was much to the annoyance of the codewriters, who were clearly not happy with his intervention. Fuck them, he though, within six months this will all be over for them anyway. Let them have a bit of peace to the end of days.
Paul Marrane frequently popped into his head. Smiling furiously, knowing his penance was almost done.
Joel spent the next few months skipping studies in favour reading the scriptures. In his heart if heart he knew, the day of atonement, the rapture, the beginning of the end of days would all be on 23 September 2015.

It was a very warm Indian summer day on the 23rd. Joel lay on his back in the long dry grass looking up at the bright sun. He had watched the news breaking on his cellphone as the Earth began to get peppered by meteorite’s. Small ones at first, the vanguard of the mother lode to come.
Joel stared at the dancing photons. They began to cluster together in an intimate form.
The 13 Archangel’s, began to spin in the sky with an energy never once seen before.
Singularly at first but centrifuge drew them magnetically together. The spinning force began to form vortex of light. It began to grow, developing in a worm hole. The core beginning to stretch out into long cylindrical pathway.
Isaiah 35:8
“a highway will be there; it will be called the Way of Holiness; it will be for those who walk on that Way. The unclean will not journey on it; wicked fools will not go about on it”

Joel could see photons of light being drawn in by the vortex.Millions of enlightened souls joining in with the Rapture. He felt the wave of pure unending love wash over him.
Hallelujah ….Rejoice….he was drawn Up….embroidered into the fabric of space and time…joining in the wondrous Glory of God.

The last huge asteroid slammed into the Mid Atlantic just as the wormhole closed. It was the power of a thousand Hiroshima’s. Two gigantic Tsunami’s travelled towards the East coast of America and Western Coast of Europe. The debris obliterating all within its path. The ensuing clouds drew a dark veil over the Earth and blocked out the Sun’s light. Slowly but surely, every last spark of light, every last pixel was plunged into deep black darkness.
The End of Day’s had begun.

End of Days

End of Days

Original Fiction 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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