Why do I do #MusicMonday on this blog?
Because music is life.
The songs I post on here - more often then not - have a dark vibe to them, or maybe contain a bit of poetry, or house enough F-bombs to make me feel alive.
But the real reason that I do a #MusicMonday is because music is a part of all of us.
It connects us.
It is Life.
It is Death.
And it is everything in between.
So, please, Creepsters.
Be part of our community here.
Be part of our darkness and our soul-searching.
Be part of our story.
And be part of our #MusicMonday, because we all rock.
Without further ado, this is what I'm listening to today...
I had a lot of fun writing this piece.
It was a great adventure in creating these characters and seeing where they would take me.
I hope, you too, enjoy the journey.
The Caretaker Nightmare #34
Her name was Evie.
She walked into my dim, dreary office at the end of the workweek.
She had long legs, short hair and an insatiable taste for acoustics.
She preferred pastels;
looked good in blue jeans;
and smelled like sugar cookies in December.
She lit up the room.
And for this she would have to be punished;
Sent away, forever.
After all, I could not have my darkness disturbed -
the spell broken.
I could not have a single shred of light puncture my shade.
And she definitely looked like someone who would want to extinguish the night.
It made me sick for what I had to do.
I didn't want to snuff out her light, but I had to do it.
I had to prove myself;
Show my worth;
Send a message to the others in my profession.
You see, my work is not some menial task.
No, my work is essential.
It's for the corporation. Thy corporation.
The ones who determine where our souls go to either rot or to flourish.
I could not be interrupted by her lure;
By her sparkle.
So, I accompanied her into the night.
Took up her offer of drink and dance until the wee hours of the morning.
I knew I could poison her drink;
Maybe con her into some dark alley;
Choke out her glow.
And the remorse, well, it would only be temporary.
After a day or two, I would forget all about Miss Evie and carry about my business as usual.
That's the nature of things and I've had to do so in the past;
Had to put many precious flowers to rest.
But that's part of the job ~ the one I agreed to years ago.
Hell, maybe it's been eons now, but I made my pact with blood and I must honor my side of the bargain - and I hate to admit it, but it's quite a rush to have such power; such influence.
I try not to abuse the skills I possess, but sometimes it's hard not to show off my talents;
To flaunt my carving skills;
You see, I am of a specific importance to the underworld.
I make the decisions - the important ones - of who gets to live forever and who gets to be forgotten.
I am the collector of souls; the keeper of spirits; the night watchman.
I consider myself upper management, if you will.
I make or break people.
And even though I would've loved to be stronger than my own will and not have taken Evie to bed with me that morning, I am still only a mortal and quite weak.
And I'm a sucker for long legs.
As I look back upon it now, I can see where I made my mistakes -
when I lost the upper hand.
It was somewhere between her legs and the melting sunrise that spilled into the room.
And to be honest, it didn't hurt as much as I had imagined.
Maybe she was being kind - perhaps she had a soft spot for me as well - or maybe she was just more of a professional. Whatever the case, the puncture to my abdominal hurt only for a minute, and then it went dark.
And as I examine all the information left in my head, I realize that I was replaceable all this time - that the pact wasn't for eternity, but rather, for a lifetime.
And that I, too, would have to pay for my sins;
Be charged for my debt;
Succumb to my fate.
And even though my fate is not what I had imagined for myself,
I must admit that those last minutes of mortality were the best I had felt in years -
The warmth of the morning sun upon my back;
That taste of burnt liquor that lingered on my lips;
And that sweet smell of cookies...
Beautiful and haunting.
That’s what I hope you get from this short story.
Enjoy it, Creepsters.
Nostalgia Nightmare #144 written by: Deevious
The gloomy shades of winter cast their shadows upon the day and the early night settled in.
A night that made him feel cold and alone.
He longed for a time that had past;
A time so sweet that it left its mark on his memory, like a handprint in cement.
But John knew she wasn't coming back.
He knew she was gone.
His heart told him so, or rather the void in it did.
Was it such a bad thing for them to have been so happy?
To have found each other in this crazy, mixed-up world?
Why couldn't they have had more time?
More good moments?
He blamed himself.
She was distracting him from his mission.
He knew that's why she was taken from him.
He should have just left her alone.
Ignored her that day in the coffee shop.
Shunned her when she bumped into him and dropped her cup.
He should have never extended his hand and introduced himself.
He should have resisted her smile and laughter and charm.
He should have never spoke her name...
What kind of name is that for a lady, anyhow?
But it fit her perfectly -
Her steampunk style;
Her classic, chiseled features;
He thinks back to that first meeting with a smile.
Such an impression they had on each other.
But he also knew in that special moment, as soon as he repeated her name, he knew certain wheels had been set into motion.
He knew it was dangerous territory, but he fell hard and fast and needed to be around her. Her energy was contagious. Her manner, intoxicating. She made him better somehow, and above anything else, she made him happy. A feeling he hadn't had in eons.
"At least I'll have the memories," he whispered aloud.
And he'll savor those memories, like morsels of food, until time decides to take that away as well.
He couldn't even be angry anymore.
He was exhausted from all the hostility.
He just wanted to be done with this world.
Done with himself.
He needed the rest.
He was so tired nowadays.
Tired of the shadows only he could see;
Of the voices only he could hear;
Of the messages he was sent to deliver;
Of this curse he was destined to live.
He was just thankful that he hadn't been the one who had to take Cooper.
That would have been awful;
No bouncing back from that one.
Maybe the Powers knew that and spared him that chore.
He mentally thanked them.
He stored his memories of Cooper into the back of his mind for later.
She did not belong here where he was now.
He would not taint her memory with such an act.
He would pull out those thoughts of her later and sift through them like old photographs and fall asleep dreaming of her.
But for now, he had business to tend to.
He made a pact and he must stick to his end until it was all finished;
Until he was allowed to move on.
Then, maybe, the Powers That Be would allow him to see Cooper again.
Even if they allowed it for a brief moment;
To see her in all of her glory and light;
To spend the afterlife with her.
That was something to look forward to indeed.
Now, he had to focus.
He took a deep breath and pushed Cooper into the recesses of his mind.
He was here on business and he had to focus.
John licked his finger and ran it over his scythe.
He inspected the house - it's clapboard siding; the cookie-cutter shutters; a wrought iron gate that he locked behind him.
He walked up the sidewalk;
Up the three steps on the porch;
Right up to the red oak door.
They weren't expecting him at this time of day, if at all.
They never do.
He took a deep breath and walked into the house.
I was reading a short story and came across this description of a book store.
I loved it so much I just had to share it with you.
"It was one of those old shops...in which the room was so small and the books so many that to move a step was to imperil your safety. Books ran in thick, tight rows from floor to ceiling everywhere, were piled in stacks upon the ground and hung in perilous heaps over chairs and window ledges."
This is a somber piece that invaded my thoughts a few years back. I had no choice but to give it life; To listen to it as it spoke to me and - as best as I could - to give it a voice. It is dark. It is disturbing. And I hope it reminds you appreciate everything and everyone good in your life. Unanswered Did she forget how the sun felt on her skin?How a cool breeze could twirl her hair?How the sand had tickled her toes?
Did she forget about the taste of chocolate brownies or how her mouth would water, almost painfully so, right before she bit into a granny smith apple?Forget about the smell of freshly made popcorn? The aroma of chocolate chip cookies as they were pulled from the oven?
Did she forget what it was like to awake in the early morning, curl up beside her lover and breathe him in as he held her close?
Could she not remember Christmas?The glow of stringed lights?The way the snow would glisten upon the driveway, like glitter on an art room floor?
Did she forget her favorite song?Or the way she could laugh, almost with failure to breathe, over a rerun of Seinfeld?Did she forget about that book she started to read?
Would she miss her dog?
Did she just get tired?
What was she thinking as she tightened that white leather belt around her neck? As those silver circle notches began to leave their imprint? What were her thoughts when she was choking out that little girl who made sand angels on the beach?While she was suffocating the teenager who experimented with make-up and boys?While she was snuffing out the last of the young woman who had just started to plan her wedding?
I am reading some Edgar Allan Poe and wanted to share the following passage with you.
It's haunting and it's horror at its best.
❤ I love his words...
“....no event is so terribly well adapted to inspire the supremeness of bodily and of mental distress, as is burial before death. The unendurable oppression of the lungs - the stifling fumes of the damp earth - the clinging to the death garments - the rigid embrace of the narrow house - the blackness of the absolute Night - the silence like a sea that overwhelms - the unseen but palpable presence of the Conqueror Worm - these things, with the thoughts of the air and grass above, with memory of dear friends who would fly to save us if but informed of our fate, and with consciousness that of this fate they can never be informed....these considerations, I say, carry into the heart, which still palpitates, a degree of appalling and intolerable horror from which the most daring imagination must recoil. “
I am a sucker for some dubstep, and if you add Halloween into the mix, well...
This is such a great collection.
I hope you find it as entertaining and creepy as I do.
Rock On, Creepsters. ❤
Are you familiar with this show?
If you haven't seen it yet, and you get a chance, check it out. It's a funny one.
And if you're already a fan, than you're already laughing at this short video...
Check it out, Creepsters.
And celebrate Halloween proudly!
Happy Weekend ❤
Here's a great little short story perfect for the Halloween season.
I wrote this a while back and although it's a throwback Thursday pick, it's still timeless in its horror.
Hope you enjoy it, Creepsters. 💀
Breakfast - Nightmare #117
I awoke, not knowing the hour.
All I could smell was bacon.
I sensed something too ~ the fact that I wasn't alone.
I bolted upright in bed; my heart racing; my nerves uneasy.
Struggling with my surroundings in the prominent darkness, my mind ached as it came out of some sort of dream that had dissolved with my sudden movement.
I tried to focus, unsure where I was and unable to determine anything familiar in the room.
And although I couldn't fully envision anything for certain, my other senses were working perfectly.
I could hear something breathing.
It was a low, interrupted wheezing sound, like that of an elderly man with emphysema.
I dared not speak. Figured the sound was just in my head - a leftover morsel of a bad dream.
But I heard the breathing again.
It sounded closer this time.
My mind raced with ideas and scenarios and questions and ways to escape.
I doubted that I could make it to the light switch; questioned if I could even find it.
I decided to sink down, slowly, with the least possible movement or noise.
I slipped back under the blankets, using them as a sort of protective shield. If I'm covered up, nothing can possibly get in. Right?!
Oh, the false teachings we're given as children. I pulled the warm covers over top my head, allowing only the slightest slit for my nose.
I tried to calm my breathing; thought happy thoughts of vacation and lovers; told myself this was all just an overactive imagination; a late-night snack fighting me back.
I listened intently, the silence cutting through my ears like a locomotive's horn.
I no longer heard the wheezing.
Definitely just my mind playing tricks on me.
And then, I heard a tussle of my blankets.
I felt the warmth of a breath on my face. No. No. No.
It's breath smelled, at first, like bacon sizzling in a frying pan on a Sunday morning.
Then, it turned. It turned sour and bitter, like milk left on the counter overnight. I tried not to vomit. Tried desperately not to breath it in; not to acknowledge it at all.
Don't open your eyes. Do not open your eyes. I squeezed them tighter. Clenched my jaw and prayed silently, hoping God really could hear my thoughts.
A horrific scream stung my ears. A wail so loud, it was like a knife jabbing me in the chest. I caught my breath. My eyes could only react and they jolted open.
I couldn't take it back. It had seen me. Worse yet, It had seen me seeingIt.
And I knew at that very moment I was going to die. Maybe worse than that, suffer and then die.
I knew it just as sure as you know a cop's siren is meant for you and not the guy in front of you. I knew it like you know you're going to puke ~ that awful churning feeling, coupled with a rancid taste and a dizzy head. And I did. I threw up. I threw up all over this thing.
This thing could only be described as a creature; some sort of specimen that those cryptozoologists would love to have in their labs. It was all twisted and taut, it's body resembling a tree more so than a human or animal. It's eyes were red and glossy with a milky substance that oozed from its corners.
My God did it stink ~ a terrible smell that emulated the laundry room of a hospital.
It had no mouth, and for a moment I was relieved knowing I wouldn't be it's next meal. But then its neck opened up.
Yep, it's goddamn neck opened up like the trunk of a car. It let go another scream, just as horrendous as the first one. It's neck vibrated, releasing a spray of what could only be described as motor oil.
I screamed back. Just as loud and just as long.
The creature stopped.
It stood up, revealing to me its enormous size.
Tilting its head, and towering by, at least 12 feet, it studied me for a moment.
Then, it leaned in. We were face to mangled face.
I covered my mouth with my hands forcing the scream to a muffle.
I started to cry.
Again, the creature opened its neck and spat the oil at me.
I closed my eyes from the sting. Suddenly, I felt tired.
Very, very tired...
I awoke, not knowing the hour.
All I could smell was bacon. ~Deevious~
Hi Creepsters ❤
Here's a spooky little read perfect for this time of the year.
Pour yourself an apple cider, put on that hoodie and enjoy this tale of the macabre.
Let me know what you think about it in the comments below...
Cursed Nightmare #177
Anna Weston was awkward.
Always had been.
Always had that black cloud swarming about her head.
Ever since anyone could remember.
Ever since that day.
The day of the incident.
That's what her family and the town refer to it as ~ the incident.
It happened years ago when Anna was four and still trying to figure out this gift. Some say she was born with it; others felt she taught herself that kind of darkness.
Anna couldn't quite figure it out herself. She knew not what it was or where it came from or why it had chosen her. But Anna knew she was different and tried desperately to hide it. Had done a good job of it too, until that day. Well, until that night.
That night she had been shunned from everyone and everything, her family made sure of it. They felt an obligation to the community to protect it, no matter the cost to their own daughter.
Anna was, after all, different;
Her classmates heard rumors of her abilities; her sacrilege.
They feared her presence among their classes and locker rooms.
Kept a close eye on her in the hallways.
The school board banned her from most school activities, such as dances and social gatherings and sporting events and her very own graduation. The Principal even failed to mention that she should be the valedictorian. She was, after all, smarter than all of them put together. Anna knew it. And what was worse was that everyone else realized it too.
The teachers resented her knowledge; secretly hated having to teach her what she already knew;
Classmates loathed her for being astute; for acing every test given; for her brains and raw beauty. Anna was growing up to be quite the looker.
Dinner was always served to Anna in her bedroom~ which was little more than a cubby-hole in the attic. Anna would listen with great intent at the popularity of her sister; at the laughter that poured from the supper table she was not permitted to sit at; at the smells of warm bread and succulent meats that she never got to see be created into a meal. She was only given leftovers - unwanted scraps of fat and gristle; half-chewed pieces of cold, hard bread ~ sometimes with the mark of leftover lipstick stained on its crust.
At night ~
Her father and mother would visit her, both heavily armed with rosary beads and garlic.
They were barely able to look at her as they completed the task of chaining and binding her to the bed.
She would laugh ~ out of spite and sadness, knowing that the shackles they bestowed upon her would not-- could not -- contain the energy she held; the energy she could use to summon her friends from the dark side. She laughed, demonically at them, these people she had to call family.
It wasn't till after they left her room, that she permitted herself to sob.
She would cry into the wee hours of the morning, cursing her own self, wanting nothing more than to be treated like a human being.
Just once to be in the limelight;
Just once to be admired and respected.
Or simply loved by another.
Even her own, older sister, Emma, was forbidden to speak to Anna since the incident. She was taught to fear her; loath her; wish her dead. Her whole family shunned her for something that wasn't even her fault. They all lived in tensions, afraid that she would summon Them again; Afraid she would try and offer up another sacrifice ~ maybe succeed this time around.
But Anna never got her chance. She was destined for greater things, no matter what the past had held against her, she would shine. She would shine even if it were for only a moment. She would prove she wasn't a monster; a conduit of evil; a freak that needed to be hidden from society. So what if her past was speckled with mischief. She hadn't asked for this curse
For this gift;
For this damnation.
Anna was sad and sorry.
Sorry for it all.
Sorry for scaring her parents;
For being different;
For being bad.
But it wasn't her fault and she didn't know how to turn it off; didn't know it was wrong;
And surely she couldn't be held accountable for something that happened in her youth!
But she was still paying some sort of price; still being hated by those who were to love her.
She thought back and cursed the one known as Dark Heart; those voices; the shadows. She knows now that it was wrong. But how was she to know then? She was only a child. A four-year-old conduit of some darkness she did not know how to fight. She remembers it clearly. Too clearly.
That night ~
She crept into her parents bedroom with a steak knife that had been left in the kitchen sink. She crawled into bed between them, slit her own wrists (horizontally) and chanted some peculiar language that sounded more like music than anything else (her mother later stated). Then, Anna held her bleeding wrists above their faces, ordering them to drink the blood of the Dark Heart.
Needless to say, the Weston's never felt safe again. That is until the day that Anna graduated from Dudleyville High. It was also the day Mr. Weston handed her a suitcase full of her belongings, a bundle of fifty dollars bills and ~ with a clear conscious ~ wished her well on her way out the door.
Anna was completely alone now. And quite comfortable with it. She shrank into the shadows she knew all too well, and although she came and went as she pleased, she knew she wasn't in control of her self. She only had to suffer her own temporary existence. And then, one day ~ soon ~ she would be called to offer her body as a gift to the Darkest of Hearts. So, she moped around town; cursing her fate; killing her time between data entry and old movies.
And then, one day, about six years later, she got the call.
Her sister was to be wed and her presence was requested ~ and she was certain ~ objected profusely by Emma and her parents. But they eventually succumbed to the pressures and charms of the priest of the ceremony, who assured them that family was the skeleton key to the House of Righteousness.
The reverend should have done his research and taken the family's accusations seriously. For even though the ceremony went off without a hitch, the reception was to be most memorable.
Even to this day, the people of Dudleyville won't speak of it. But the rumors about that night have made the town iconic and renowned for its dark aura that the townspeople still insist lingers today.
That evening, after the ceremonial wedding of Emma Weston to Joseph Dudley, things turned rancid. At the reception hall, a succulent dinner was served; the finest booze was distributed; and the merriment of guests abounded among the walls of the Dudleyville Town Hall.
It was about two hours into the celebration that Anna became giddy. She licked the last of the bubbles from her champagne and stood up.
It was time.
She walked out onto the dance floor. The guests fell silent.
Anna never danced. She was way to self-conscious for that kind of attention.
She had spent her last 25 years trying to become invisible.
She preferred books over people; music over conversation; and hardly ever left her cat, Griffin, and their one-bedroom apartment.
The only reason she was here ~ had to be here ~ was because of her sister. And she was hoping to be accepted before she had to go. She wanted to finally be part of the crowd;
Part of something normal.
Just once to be accepted as human.
But she wasn't.
And deep-down she knew she never would be.
But she had to try. And this was, of course, her last chance.
And so what if everyone there refused to speak to her.
Who cares if they only spoke about her in hushed tones.
She thought she'd give them a show anyways.
One last sentiment before she brought down the house.
The wedding band played and she let the music take hold of her;
Others, who were on the dance floor at the time, took notice and slowly cleared the floor, giving way to her solo performance. It was an amazing routine ~ breath-taking by all accounts. Her family gasped; Emma cried out for her to stop. Others just watched in silence. Some women whispered among themselves with a green tongue; others couldn't look away. The men at the reception - groom included - salivated, unable to hide their want.
All who were there that evening still remember it.
Anna spun around and around the hardwood floor.
She was graceful;
She danced with the elegance of an angel in flight;
She spun an intricate step of all genres of dance, from ballet to hip hop to folk;
She truly rocked the Town Hall as though it were the performance of her life.
And it was.
The band encouraged the affair and played to her movements. They howled a beat that was somewhat of a cross between rock-n roll and a tribal march. But after about an hour, they too needed a break.
The spell had been broken.
Or so they thought.
Still, Anna continued to dance as if to her own music ~ a music only she could hear.
But a faint tune was gathering; gaining sound among the whispers.
And within minutes, the band's music was replaced by another melody - a darker, more callous tune - later described by some of the guests as a sort of jewelry-box-music, and it rang loudly throughout the reception hall.
All eyes returned to Anna as she dominated the dance floor, sweat rolling off her gyrating body.
She was in a trance now, becoming one with music and oblivious to the crowd gathering, that now began to seep concern ~ not really for Anna, but for themselves.
Anna's dance exuded a rhythm from deep inside of her.
It needed to escape.
It had to be released.
Along with her curse.
Words formed and spewed from Anna's lips.
A chanting of some long-ago verse.
And she had no idea she even knew the words.
She ripped off her magenta-colored bridesmaid dress.
The crowd gasped.
No one looked away.
Covered in nothing but her own sweat, Anna swung her body to and fro, possessing every movement with grace and ease. She twirled around the dance floor like a pinwheel on the wind.
She was hovering just above the floor ~ in a twist spin ~ when the first bone broke.
It jutted out of her calf.
Her screams told the tale of how excruciating the pain was to her.
A few ran to her aide;
tried to soothe her;
Somewhere someone called for help.
But she wouldn't let anyone near her.
She wouldn't stop dancing.
Maybe didn't want to stop.
Maybe couldn't stop even if she tried to.
So, she kept on twirling.
Another bone protruded from her thigh.
Blood sprayed across the wooden floor.
She stumbled a bit, yet, she continued to dance. The tune changed slightly, to accommodate her limp and the jewelry -box-music picked up a pace that invoked Anna to perform a solo tango. She was dragging her one leg to the other side of the room, when the next bones broke.
It was both the left and right humerus that sprung out of flawless skin in her upper arms, like a set of wings put into motion.
The crowd - all but a handful - ran from the reception hall, screaming of the terror that they couldn't even trust that their eyes had seen.
Later, many would even question what they saw and shrug it off as one too many 7 & 7's.
But a few brave souls hung in the reception hall a little longer, only to snap some pics and video on their phones for future evaluation. Images that later would be too obscure and too out of focus to make out.
By now, Anna's face was beginning to distort, her face rippling like a wave.
She was beginning to lose consciousness now.
Her body had betrayed her;
It was no longer her own;
She had no control over it.
It was being sacrificed to the Dark Heart and she could do nothing but dance and comply to its musical tyranny.
And she was okay with that.
At least someone wanted her.
The minutes rolled by, with that tinkle of eerie music that controlled her. It forced the rest of her skin from her body. It melted and trickled off her bones like wax off a candle. She was, literally, a walking skeleton. Or rather, a dancing one. And her skin lay upon the floor like a discarded pile of clothes.
Next to it, blood and tissue gushed like water and formed a neat pile up along side of the skin.
Anna and her bones clanked on dancing to its own private, primal tune.
Her jaw bone opened and from it came a yell so excruciating that even the hounds of hell whimpered in their dwellings.
Her screams rocked the room; shook the tables to their sides and broke every last glass and bottle in the joint. The last of the onlookers ~ whose shock finally jolted them free ~ bolted into a mad dash for the exit.
She laughed a horrendous, evil clown laugh. A laugh so deep and twisted it shattered the windows, bathroom mirrors and fractured Anna's own bones into fragments. These fragments crumbled. Bone dust sprinkled to the floor like glitter.
The music stopped.
If you ask anyone in Dudleyville ~ to this day ~ most still hold their silence about the incident at the Town Hall that night of November 12, 2001.
Others, who spoke openly about the events have long been forgotten by some freak accident or untimely death.
No video or picture from the reception has ever been recovered.
The rest of the people in town remain silent.
The people of Dudleyville know how to keep a secret.
The Weston family buried the dust remains of Anna in the local cemetery.
Once buried, they never stepped foot near her grave again.
A keeper of the cemetery grounds insists that he hears a kind of jewelry-box-music emitting from her grave site whenever the moon is full.