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Art, Graphics & Creative Writing => Horror Fiction => Topic started by: unknown on March 19, 2007, 08:16:09 pm



Title: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on March 19, 2007, 08:16:09 pm
Horror Stories

(http://a782.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/4/l_69247967ad3fa5d926d66b4d7256bc7d.jpg)


(http://a540.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/62/l_a990ccc814f3326d167e611473494563.gif)A place to post original horror stories...


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on March 23, 2007, 09:18:56 am
just a fun little short...
(http://a591.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/20/l_fb6aaa783263ddfc2eadc8f06dbeb376.jpg)
The Drive Inn




Dear Readers Digest,

I am sending this to you, per your request for bad experiences at the movies. A conversation I had with my daughter, started me thinking about the night I stopped going to the movies. So when I read your ad, I had to write and tell you about my experience.

My greatest joy in life is my daughter Lisa. Last week I was sitting in my Lazy Boy recliner; rocking her, she has the prettiest blue eyes and the most darling curly blonde hair.

“Mama, we saw the scariest movie at the mall, it was all about skeletons and monkeys and pirates! Why don’t you ever go to the movies with us Mama?” Lisa asked with the cutest look of concentration on her face.

“Lisa, honey do you know what a drive-in is?” I asked her.

“No Mama,” she replied.

"Well that’s were you drive your car to a giant screen and you sit in your car and watch the movie." She looked more puzzled then before, twirling her little curls around a finger.

“Mama had a bad experience at the drive-in and she hasn’t been back since, and she doesn't go to the movies. We’ll just rent some movies and watch them at home, OK. Hon.?”

Well OK. Mama, but I think your being silly,” Lisa said.


It was autumn, the leaves were falling and the sun was setting red in the sky. My sister Mary was pissed, because our parents had insisted she and her boyfriend Ron, take me with them to the Drive-In. “You little brat, I’ll get you for this,” she threatened.

I stuck my tongue out at her as far as it would go, I didn’t care whether she liked it or not. I loved vampire movies and this was going to be a good one, Christopher Lee, Taste The Blood of Dracula.

My mother always packed us a big snack for the Drive-In. This time we had hot dogs, kept warm in a mason jar filled with hot water, along with some buns, mustard, ketchup, pickles, some cold pork and beans and popcorn. Ron stopped at the IGA and got a six-pack of Stroh's and some Pepsi.

The details of that night are so clear in my mind. I even remember the sound of Ron’s black Toronado crunching through the gravel of the drive-in. Ron always got there early to get a spot near the screen. Just as we were settling in, the projection machine started up, showing us a commercial for dancing popcorn and singing candy bars. I always wondered why the light of the projection machine always looked like it was streaming through a fog.

“Can I have a Pepsi, Mary?” If you never tasted Pepsi ice cold, out of a glass bottle, you never really tasted Pepsi. The movie started and so did the necking. I covered my eyes. My sister Mary looked back at me and said, “Ha, ha look at the little baby.”

“I am not a baby!” I protested.

***

As I peaked through my fingers the female lead in the movie was bludgeoning her cruel father to death with a shovel and Ron’s hand was snaking its way under Mary’s blouse, “Mary's got cooties! Mary's got the cooties.” I loved teasing her.

“Just watch the movie Sheryl, and don’t you dare tell Mom and Dad, got it,” she demanded. She knew I wouldn't squeal. Just then the Pepsi started kicking in and I had to pee bad.

“Mary take me to the bathroom, I gotta pee,” I begged.

“Baby gotta go potty?” Mary said mocking me.

I wasn’t going to take that from her, no matter how scared I was, “Forget you Mary.”
I'll show her, I'm gonna get a giant garlic pickle and I'm not gonna share.


I pulled the door handle and stepped out into the darkness, winding my way through the maze of cars; watching Dracula's twenty-foot face contorting as he hypnotized a girl on the screen. Once I got into the light of the concession stand I ran for the door of the bathroom and rushed into the nearest stall. I pulled down my drawers quickly, hopped on the pot…whoosh. Oh, that was close.

When I stepped out of the stall; I saw a lady facing away from me. She was dressed in a flowing white gown, her long white hair falling to her waist, she was moving her hands around as if searching for a light fixture in the dark.

“Are you alright lady?” I asked.

“Come here and help me child,” the white lady's voice sounded funny as if it was coming from far away.

I went to her and reached out for her hand, she turned and, oh my god, her eyes are all white.

"Don’t be afraid, Sheryl, I’m blind, please help me,” the white ladies voice was soothing and compelling, “Give me your hand dear.”

I am being silly, Oh the poor woman, wait...how did she know my name! I started to back away slowly; her upper lip started curling up like a snarling dog’s, revealing two long sharp, canine teeth. White-eyes staring sightless, arms snatching the air like a cat at play, searching for me. I turned too quickly and tripped. She rushed forward hearing me fall. I scrambled to my feet as her arms snatched the air where I had lain. I ran screaming hysterically. A couple saw me and tried to grab my arm, "Hey slow down!" I had to get out of there, I ran scrambling my feet slipping and skidding in the gravel.

As I jumped in the back Mary said, “What happened to you?”

I sat in the dark trembling, ”Let’s go Mary,” I begged.

“Are you sick? You're shaking all over, Sheryl,” Mary said, “Ron can we go?”

“Yah, sure, gotta get more beer anyway,” Ron said.


Sincerely, Sheryl Brownie


P.S. Dear Readers Digest, I swear it's true, I hope you don’t think I’m nuts.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: cleasterwood on March 23, 2007, 12:12:42 pm
That's so cute!  Needs some more imagery, me thinkest, but not much.  Nice job.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on March 23, 2007, 01:24:41 pm
Actually I was trying  keep the language simple to make it sound more like the characters voice...I think it worked?

It is sickeningly cute isn't it!





Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Morrison on March 24, 2007, 03:47:00 pm
It's less gothic sounding from your other tales, Unknown, and yet, I thought it still worked. 

"Dear Reader's Digest," fooled me.  For an instant, I thought it actually was a letter to Reader's Digest.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on March 24, 2007, 06:47:28 pm
Thanks Morrison

this is kind of a nostalga piece with a twist


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Heather Delaria on March 25, 2007, 01:47:49 am
I liked it!  I thought it was very cute.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on March 25, 2007, 02:10:52 am
Thanks Heather ;D



Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on April 02, 2007, 01:42:48 am



(http://a166.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/28/l_480708956f23c51c08098f54ffcdfe15.jpg)
Erzsébet the new Queen of Cats



Nestled in the rolling hills of New Hampshire, along the Contoocook River is the five-year-old New England College, only a twenty-minute drive from Concord. The year is 1962, it is the month of October and the leaves are swirling dream-like in the fall breeze. The land is covered in a rosy blanket, quilted with orange and yellow patches. The leaves that rustle in the trees are dazzling in their last burst of vital energy before the onset of the somnolent winter.

In this quaint liberal and professional College is an auditorium and the Professor is watching as the students file down the stairs and plant themselves into their seats. The Professor’s skin is porcelain white contrasting sharply with her black suit coat, she wears black horned rimmed glasses that only accentuate her exotic and intelligent eyes, her lustrous black hair is bound tightly back in a double bun.

Her name is Elizabeth Nadasdy she is about five-foot six, thin yet curvy. She teaches English literature, Comparative religion and Latin. Tonight her Comparative Religion class is being treated to a guest lecturer, Charles Montagne: author, psychic researcher and self-professed expert on vampire lore.

Elizabeth looked out into the expectant crowd, “Alright class…as you know this evening we have a very special quest lecturer and author of the controversial, Vampires Slumber, Amongst Us. Charles Montagne, Mr. Montagne?” He was a tall fellow wearing a tan suede jacket with patches on the elbows: his face was sun-tanned bronze, he had wavy brown Hair and hazel eyes, he approached the podium with long slow strides, as the audience cheered and whistled.

“Good Evening,” he said, in the worst imitation of Bela Lugosi anyone had ever heard. They laughed at him but it had warmed the audience up, just as he knew it would. “Tonight I am here to talk to you about the history, pyschology, and cultural significance of the vampire.” “Shhh,” he whispered, “don’t tell anyone, but I’m really here to sell copies of my new book.” There was a muffled sound of amusement from the audience.

“Let’s get started shall we? I hope to convince you that, the vampire is not simply a Hollywood creation or just a primitive superstition. Carl Jung might have explained it is a persistent manifestation of the “collective unconscious,” an archetype. The vampire has been with us since the very beginning of civilization. The belief is found among the Chaldeans of Mesopotamia along the Tigris and Euphrates River: the rumored location of the Garden of Eden, it is found on Assyrian artifacts and Lilith herself appears in the Epic Of Gilgamesh. "Who can tell me about Lilith? Yes, the young lady in the second row.”

A bleached-blonde in an incredibly tight, red cardigan sweater that made her chest look like the launching pad for two interplanetary rockets, stood up, “She’s the Gloria Steinem of prehistory, the first women’s libber, and the first wife of Adam. Hey, that means she was the first one to get a divorce too.” The crowed laughed at this and her face turned nearly as red as her sweater.

“Yes the divorce! I’ll get to that in a moment. I think you have encapsulated the modern outlook on Lilith quite well, dear. However, the being known as Lilith is derived primarily from Babylonian Demonology. She is a divine: but terrible mother Goddess a devourer, a destroyer, she is called Lilitu the "wind-spirit." She can be found on Assyrian stone and clay tablets. In Kramer’s translation of The Epic Of Gilgamesh, “she is the demon that builds its nest in the tree.” She is the Coriolis storm in the desert that blinds--that eats flesh from bone. She is the screech owl screeching, the leopard pouncing, the jackal feeding, the shadow that paralyzes in the night and the demon lover who drains away life.

Lilith is now usually spoken of in terms of the Hebrew tradition. The only reference in the Christian Bible specifically is in Isaiah. Although she appears quite extensively in the post-biblical writings of Jewish mysticism: in the kabalistic interpretation of Lilith, she is shown as the other half of Adam, when mankind is still said to be in its hermaphroditic more spiritual state. This can be understood in terms of their belief in a spiritual descent of man into the flesh. Adam and Lilith were split, shall we say, from one being into two. They fight over dominance and Lilith flies away by uttering God’s ineffable name. Lilith bears children fathered by either Adam or Samael, or by a demon host gathered in the desert, depending upon which version of the story your reading. Three angels take Lilith’s children from her; the names of these angels are used on amulets as a ward against her. Three to one, I guess they weren’t taking any chances.

In vengeance for being cheated out of her birthright as the mother of mankind and for the loss of her firstborn young; Lilith seeks out the newborn children of Adam and Eve suffocating them in their cradles. These newborn are under her dominion, for an allotted time, she also seduces young men appearing in wet dreams, to continue spawning a race of her own. According to some authorities, she is immortal and not subject to death as were Adam and Eve, because she did not partake of the fruit of the tree of knowledge.”

Professor Nadasdy interrupted, “Isn’t this story simply a metaphor for the prehistoric battle between matriarchal and patriarchal societies?”

“Well, I believe, there is far more to it than that Professor.” Charles Montagne said, “In the fourteenth century amulets were still being made and ceremonies performed to ward her off, must especially as a protection against what we now call crib death or SIDS, and the haunting and sometimes terrifying experience of sleep paralysis.

The belief in vampires and the succubus, which are closely related, spans the globe; there are similar myths that appear in ancient Egypt, for instance Baphomet the cat headed-goddess has to be tricked into not consuming the world in her anger. In India, we have Kali the destroyer; these destroyer goddesses are both similar to Lilith in her original nature. In Greece we have the Legend of the Lamia, the goddess Hera kills the queen of Libya’s children she is cursed and roams the world feeding on the newborn, enticing men into sex and then…devouring them. In China the chiang-shihs, India the rakshasa and the vetala, the similarities in these beliefs is uncanny. Now what I am leaving out, can anybody help me out here, I am always forgetting something?”

“Dracula!” Chimed in the girl in the red Cardigan.

“Dracula smacula, I want to hear about the Bloody Countess,” yelled a dark-haired waif in the back row, chewing on the end of a pen.

“Yes your right again dear!” Charles said, aiming his finger at the girl in the bulbous red cardigan. “Bram Stoker’s character Dracula is the basis for our twentieth century conception of the vampire. In Poland, Romania and Hungary the belief in vampires was very strong, it’s probably no wonder since the nobility were pale as death, and most likely suffering from porphryia.” At this point Charles noticed, Professor Nadasdy wincing. Charles continued, “The Eastern European nobility were famous for the sadistic and cruel treatment of their servants and of the peasant population in general. Who can tell me what the Bloody Countess’s nickname was in her own country?”

“The ****,” shouted, the waif in the back, relinquishing the end of the thick pen from her mouth for just a moment.

Before Charles could speak again, Professor Nadasdy interrupted, “are you in this class, young lady?”

“Yes, my name is, Lucy Westin check your attendance sheet!” the waif said a little miffed at the question.

“I don’t allow swearing in my class, got it!” Professor Nadasdy threatened.

Nancy Westin replied, “Well ‘****…’ is what they called her.”

Professor Nadasdy exclaimed, “ I don’t want to hear it young lady, is that understood!”

“Yes Professor,” Lucy Westin said in her snottiest tone.

“The Countess Bathory is a fascinating character. Her and her accomplices tortured and killed an estimated three hundred women. It is said she was incredibly vain, so vain in fact that she bathed in the blood of young women because she believed it would keep her beautiful….”

Elizabeth exclaimed, “You make it sound as if she was a one-dimensional character, a complete monster. Did you know that she was a devoted wife and mother of four children, that she was a cousin to the king, that her family was so great that their name was changed to Bathory, meaning “the valiant.” That her husband was called the Black Hero of Hungary and died in battle defending his country! How do you know that it was not disease that drove her to these crimes!” Elizabeth eyes glared at Charles Montagne, “Without this same family Europe would have fallen to a Turkish invasion, aren’t you in the least grateful? Don’t you think that you’re being unfair?”

Now it was open war, a game of cat and mouse between them, but who was the cat and who was the mouse?

“No, Ms. Nadasdy, I don’t think I am being unfair at all, it is well known how she cruelly pricked the young woman with pins, and hot irons to make them bleed. How she hung them in baskets covered with needles, from the ceiling and showered beneath them in their blood. This woman was rightfully convicted of witchcraft, and her accomplishes were summarily executed. She however being an aristocrat, as you mentioned, was allowed to live.”

“You call that living! Walled up, alone in a tower, it would have been more merciful to have executed her!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Have you no understanding of what kind of hell that is!”

“As I--was about to say,” Charles, said slowly, ignoring her question. “The historical figure that Bram Stoker’s Dracula, is loosely based on is Vlad Tepes. The name Dracula is translated as the son of the devil or the son of the dragon; I presume, Vlad was called this because of his notorious reputation for committing crimes of torture and mass murder.”

Regaining her composure, Professor Nadasdy interrupted again, “But isn’t it also true he is recognized as a national hero, that he held the Turks at bay protecting his country from invasion?” She waited for a moment, “I asked you a question Mr. Montagne,” Professor Nadasdy said softly, but stared at him insistently.

“Hitler loved his dog, and Capone gave to charity. What of it?” Charles replied nonchalantly. “May I continue?” Charles asked politely.

“Please do,” Professor Nadasdy said, adjusting her glasses.

“There are four possible causes of vampirism usually discussed: infection by bite, or the drinking of vampire blood, possession by a demon spirit, and probably the least discussed but not least likely is black magic.”

There are many cases of vampirism reported by sworn witnesses, for instance the case of …” Charles went on like this for quite some time. He staid well past the time he was scheduled for: answering questions, autographing copies of his book and casually flirting with the young ladies. The little dark haired waif, Lucy Westin approached him.

“Mr. Montagne, I have to talk to you, but not here. Can you meet me in the College Library at say, 8:00 o’clock, tomorrow night? Please say yes, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

Charles replied, “What’s this all about Ms. Westin, it is Ms. Westin right?”

“Yes it is, something strange is going on, just promise to meet me!” Nancy Westin said quietly but insistently.

Charles replied, “Tomorrow night it is then, Ms.Westin cross my heart, OK.”

“I better get going before she gets suspicious.” Lucy said, as she glanced nervously around. Then walked off the stage.

When all the kids had finally filed out of the auditorium, Professor Nadasdy put her arm around Charles’s arm looked into his eyes and said, “Lets go have coffee, we should talk. There’s a lovely little dinner just up the road.”

“Why certainly, Professor Nadasdy, I’d love to!” He replied.

“Call me Elizabeth…Charles?” She asked with the slight hint of question in her soft sultry voice.

***

They sat across from each other in the little white dinner with red-checkered table clothes with the sound of dishes clinking and a soft murmur coming from the other patrons in the place.

“Why are you really here Charles? We don’t usually get big name celebrities in this neck of the woods?”

“Why Elizabeth, you do have a sense of humor after all!” Charles said, truly surprised.

“You are avoiding the question, lovey,” she said.

“Not at all, it is just part of the gig, book tour and all that you understand,” he said.

“So you’re not hunting…for something in particular?” she said as the waitress brought over two steaming hot cups of coffee. “Thank you Delores,” she said to the waitress.

“Yah--up,” the waitress replied.

“Well right now, I have something in my sights that looks pretty appetizing,” he said as he winked at her.

“You’re incorrigible Mr. Montagne,” she said staring straight into his eyes, with just the hint of a smile twisting the corners of her sweetly sculpted lips.

“Well shucks, Mam I don’t often meet a fine filly like you.” He said in a horrendous western accent.

“I warn you, Charles I am more than you can handle.” Elizabeth laughed.

"We shall see,” Charles replied.

***

Charles Montagne tossed his keys on the dresser of the little cabin he had rented, kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed. It’s her.

***

It was near midnight and Charley was dreaming. He saw himself standing naked in a field. He looked in the sky at the enormous moon hanging overhead, like the sword of Damocles. He had always known, even as a child that it was not a “man in the moon,” but a woman. Diana, the Goddess of the moon glared down at him making him feel small and exposed beneath her. An owl in the dark forest surrounding the clearing screeched shrilly, startling and freezing him in place his heart thumping wildly.

Then it began, from all sides they came, ripples in the grass of the field. He saw them now dozens of cats moving in unison, drawing closer. They gathered around him now in a tight circle mewling in heat and hissing, their tales swinging in cat rhythm, when those tails stopped swinging…

He awoke in the dark, damn that was weird. He tried to get up he couldn’t, s***, there was a weight pushing on him. It became heavier, and he sank into the bed. He struggled to move; I am caught between being asleep and being awake, that’s all.

His blankets flew off the bed floating down near the far wall, exposing him to the night air. He felt fingers sliding slowly, gently down his body from his shoulders: over his chest, across his belly. A wet push into his belly button and then a swirl, he gasped. Sharp teeth sunk into his left nipple, making it stand at attention. He felt a wet breath in his ear, fingers caressing his hair. Oh Jesus. Now nails gently raked his thighs up and back, He felt a sharp wet bite on his upper left thigh. His paralyzed body now fully aroused, the sweat dripped down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging. But there was nothing he could do.

He felt the weight, the wetness as the shadow slid down upon him. He felt it gripping, tugging at him as it slid slowly down, then up. No, this isn’t happening! He heard wet noises, felt the warmth of darkness; the shadow thing had come for him…it had come to claim his seed.

***

He awoke. He could see that it was dark outside through the thick green polyester curtains of the cabin window. What the hell time is it? He rolled his legs off the bed. He noticed his covers lying near the far wall. God I can hardly move. He reached for his watch on the nightstand it was seven fifteen. He felt his body he had small puncture wounds on his left thigh and his left nipple, I slept through the whole day? I have just enough time to make it to the library.

***

He drove up to the library entrance in his white, two-door Olds Convertible. Ms. Westin was wearing a black mini skirt, white office blouse and a black suit coat and very wicked looking high heels. She was walking back and forth in front of the Library, click, clock, click, clock, quickly puffing a cigarette and forcefully blowing the smoke out.

“Look Mr. Montagne--,”

He interrupted her, “Call me Charles.”

"All right Charles, I know this is going to sound crazy but there is something weird happening on campus the boys, I mean their lifeless and all they talk about is Professor Nadasdy, I am not just jealous either! Other things--girls have been disappearing."

The wind suddenly roared showering leaves in their faces, then swarming around Charles and Lucy.

“What the hell! Let’s get out of here!” They ran for the Olds struggling against the leaves that swirled furious in the air about them. Just as Charles hand was reaching the door handle he saw her, Professor Nadasdy.

She stood in the middle of the road, “hello lovey,” she said putting her glasses in her pocket, pulling out the clasp and shaking loose her hair, it flowed in the wind, surrounding her head waving hypnotically like the hood of a Cobra.

From the other side of the car her heard Lucy laughing, “he fell for it, just like you said he would Erzsébet.” Charles looked at her through the tempest of leaves swirling about them, realizing his mistake.

“What do you want!” he shouted over the wind.

“Why lovey? I got everything I wanted from you last night,” she laughed, her voice born on the wind struck him with a physical force. He realized his only chance was the car. He grabbed the top of the door and just as he was in mid-hop into the seat the wind caught him and flung him over the car and thirty feet across the parking lot. He skidded painfully on the side of his face and one shoulder, another ten feet, the asphalt ripping through his clothes and embedding small stones in his tender flesh. Dazed and bleeding he began struggling to his knees. He saw them both walking slowly towards him, a wicked little triumphant smile on their faces.

“Did you really think you could outwit me boy? I survived death, look upon me boy! I conquered age, ” Erzsébet said taunting him.

“I have danced with the devil herself, I am her handmaiden, what are you but a simpering half-man. The Black Hero of Hungary, that was a worthy male for my attentions; hard as iron in body and mind, how far your kind has fallen in these days of luxury and comfort. What a truly weak and pathetic fool of a creature you are.”

Charles went for his boot knife, pulling it out as he leapt up, “I’ll cut your black-heart out, blood-sucking ****!” Erzsébet lifted a hand and he was tossed through the air, this time his back slamming hard into a nearby oak, falling to the ground. He lay there coughing up blood and watching them.

“Ohhh, Charles this is really going to hurt, too bad you’re kind of cute--for an old guy.” Lucy taunted blowing him a kiss and pointing her derringer at him.

Erzsébet began to chant, a wicked beam lighting her eyes,

“Baalat, Belit-illi…
Lilit-Malakath-Ha-Shadim, Come to me oh my Queen, my Goddess, your humble servant beseeches thee.
Send me, the spirit of terror, the desert djinns, the wind that devours flesh.

Baalat, Belit-illi…
Lilit-Malakath-Ha-Shadim, Come to me oh my Queen, my Goddess, your humble servant beseeches thee.
Send me, the spirit of dark wisdom, the screech owl in the tree, the voice paralyzing flesh.

Baalat, Belit-illi…
Lilit-Malakath-Ha-Shadim, Come to me oh my Queen, my Goddess, your humble servant beseeches thee.
Send me, the spirit of ferocity, the leopard hunting, the claws that rip flesh.

Baalat, Belit-illi…
Lilit-Malakath-Ha-Shadim, Come to me oh my Queen, my Goddess, your humble servant beseeches thee.
Send me, the spirit of carnal desire, the jackal at the corpse, the jaws that rend flesh.

“Come to me my cats!”

A legion of cats seemed to come trotting in from nowhere and everywhere, hissing and mewling in heat, they surrounded Charles and the tree he lay bleeding under; their tails swinging in cat rhythm and when those tails stopped swinging…

The End
(http://a387.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/9/l_a6e50fa3414090c4ab24a55028de0a6a.gif)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Sarah on April 02, 2007, 02:34:45 am
Wonderful imagery and references ton ancient myths.  Might use a bit of a dash of irony at the end to make it feel more "complete," but other than that, very entertaining and wonderfully written.

Sarah


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on April 02, 2007, 02:55:54 am
Hi Sarah

Thanks for reading it...

If I have a sudden ironic inspiration I'll add it in.

(http://a387.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/9/l_a6e50fa3414090c4ab24a55028de0a6a.gif)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Veronica Poe on April 07, 2007, 04:49:56 am
Well, you have obviously done your research on this one. I like the story, found it suitably creepy, but I think we got to the end a little bit too early. The death could have been prolonged a little bit.

I wonder if the villification of Lillith was part of her original myth or added later? Since she is just a myth, I suppose it really doesn't matter.  I am unfamiliar with the history of Jewish myths, but I do know that a lot of early Christianity was all about villifying the old pagan symbols, we have had those discussions among us many times.

Personally, I would have liked to find out more about Erzsébet.  I have no problems with making her just a villain, I think it works quite well, but I would have liked to have seen her in the story a bit more. I liked the bit about cats and the addition of succubi, I have studied them and the incubi (and the lamia) myself in the past.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on April 07, 2007, 05:11:07 am
Hi Veronica

My endings suck...I get that a lot...for every one of my stories actually...LOL

I haven't done a story yet from the point of view of the "monster," perhaps at some point I will.



Lilith has a dual nature, Like Baphomet and Kali, for instance Baphomet is a destroyer and a healer.

The gods were more complex in the past, now we have simplified them to the point of being absoutes i.e. absolute good or absolute evil.

When I look at nature I don't see absolutes, the wind can be good...a cooling breeze in summer...it spreads seeds across the ground, it blows the rain clouds that water the earth. Yet it brings it also has terrifying destructive power, the hurricane, the tornado....

(http://a387.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/9/l_a6e50fa3414090c4ab24a55028de0a6a.gif)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Veronica Poe on April 07, 2007, 05:19:27 am
Nice imagery.  I wouldn't say that your endings suck, this one (and in most) you have the right idea, just tend to get there a little too quickly.  The only ending that I didn't like (and still have a problem with, frankly) is the one for the Devil's Pen. I am of the school that if one is going to kill themself, they had better have a good reason, and I simply haven't seen a reason in that story yet. The story in itself is good, though.

I think what made your story about Anna's Diary so succesful is that we got the chance to see her unravel our eyes, hence, the ending (which is also left suitably vague) comes as no great surprise.

The old gods have been simplified and distorted quite a bit. Take Pan - he started out as some sort of fertiluty god and ended up as the basis for the Christian devil.  He is a perfect example of what I am saying.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on April 07, 2007, 05:32:11 am
Hi Veronica


I know what your saying, most of these stories could be longer and I admit I have a tendency to rush the endings, my stories since Anna haven't had the same depth of character.

Thanks for critiquing it, it realy helps me see how I can improve my writing.

(http://a387.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/9/l_a6e50fa3414090c4ab24a55028de0a6a.gif)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Veronica Poe on April 07, 2007, 05:55:30 am
No problem, I am glad that I can help.  There is an old saying, "one does not write, one rewrites."  At least the problems that come from short stories are farily easy to fix, screenwriters are forever rewriting their screenplays.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on April 07, 2007, 06:26:06 am
Hi Veronica

Theres a lot to be said for that, but one also has to know when to stop writing. Sometimes its hard to tell when something is worth working on, or just to move on to something new.


(http://a387.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/9/l_a6e50fa3414090c4ab24a55028de0a6a.gif)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Zodiac on April 08, 2007, 05:49:25 am
I liked it, too, reminds me of an old Night Gallery episode at Miskatonic University where a young H.P. Lovecraft was forever raising his hands to ask about this demon or that. 

(Anyone remember Night Gallery?)


Personally, I think that every short story could be enhanced if it had a hot young heroine in it (sort of like Veronica).

Keep up the good work, though!  For my money, your stories are like the second coming of Lovecraft.  For me, there is no greater praise.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on April 08, 2007, 09:14:42 am
(http://a432.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/38/l_279fd63b1d24ffc54b496203e9461b37.gif)

Hi Zodiac

I never missed an episode of Night Gallery when it first aired. I don't remember the episode that had Lovecraft but at the time I wouldn't have known who Lovecraft was. I am a huge Lovecraft fan his mythos is truly amazing so I am humbled by the comparison and thank you for it.

 (http://a387.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/9/l_a6e50fa3414090c4ab24a55028de0a6a.gif)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Stacy Dohm on April 08, 2007, 03:35:52 pm
One of these days, someone should make a show on Miskatonic University, sort of like the next Buffy. The possibilities would be endless!

It's obvious who your influences are, Unknown - Lovecraft when it comes to fiction, Poe when it comes to poetry!


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on April 08, 2007, 05:11:00 pm
Thank You Stacy

Thats actually a great idea,

Happy Easter!



Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Volitzer on April 09, 2007, 12:39:27 am
17 more months of George Bush and Dick Cheney.

 :o  "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!"

The horror....

:-[ :-[ :-[


 ;)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on April 09, 2007, 01:14:30 am
Hi Volitzer

"17 more months of George Bush and Dick Cheney."


That's probably one of the scariest things I have ever read...


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Gwen Parker on April 09, 2007, 01:46:49 am
I'll say!  We can't get those guys out of there soon enough.  Too bad the election isn't this year.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on April 09, 2007, 03:07:03 am
To bad we can't vote "no confidence" like they do in Canada.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Volitzer on April 11, 2007, 09:09:03 am
The worse thing is that only 40% of the population goes to the polls in the Federal Election.  So only 152 million vote out of 380 million.  >:(


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on June 27, 2007, 07:13:05 pm
revised June 27, 2007


Erzsébet


Nestled in the rolling hills of New Hampshire, along the Contoocook River, is the five-year-old New England College, only a twenty-minute drive from Concord. The year is 1962, it is the month of October and the leaves are swirling dream-like in the fall breeze.

The land is covered in a rosy blanket, quilted with orange and yellow patches. The leaves that rustle in the trees are dazzling in their last burst of vital energy before the onset of the somnolent winter.

In this quaint, liberal and professional college is an auditorium, and the professor is watching as the last few students file down the stairs, and plant themselves into their seats. The professor’s skin is porcelain white, contrasting sharply with her black, suit coat. She wears horned rimmed glasses that accentuate her exotic and intelligent eyes. Her lustrous black hair is bound tightly back in a double bun.

Her name is Elizabeth Nadasdy. She is about five-foot six, thin yet curvy. She teaches English literature, comparative religion, and Latin. Tonight, her comparative religion class is being treated to a guest lecturer, Charles Montagne. He is an author, psychic researcher and self-professed expert on vampire lore.

Elizabeth looked out into the expectant crowd, “Alright class -- settle down, as you know this evening we have a special guest, the author of the controversial, ‘Vampires Slumber Amongst Us.’ Charles Montagne, Mr. Montagne?” He was a tall fellow, in a well-worn, brown suede jacket. The light patches on the elbows, faded gracefully now with age.

His rugged face was sun-tanned bronze. His wavy brown hair curled about his head like a wreath of laurel leaves on the brow of an ancient poet. His hazel eyes sparkled with confidence as he approached the podium in long, slow, steady strides. The audience cheered and whistled its approval.

“Good evening,” he said, in the worst imitation of Bela Lugosi, any of them had ever heard. They laughed at him, but it had warmed them up, just as he knew it would. “Tonight I am here to talk to you about the history, psychology, and cultural significance of the vampire.” “Shhh,” he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but really, I am here to sell copies of my new book.” There was a muffled sound of amusement, and not surprisingly a few half-hearted boo's from the audience.

“Let’s get started shall we? I hope to convince you that, the vampire is not simply a Hollywood creation, or just a primitive superstition. Carl Jung might have explained it is a persistent manifestation of the 'collective unconscious,' an archetype. The vampire has been with us since the very beginning of civilization. The belief is found among the Chaldeans of Mesopotamia, along the Tigris and Euphrates River, the rumored location of the Garden of Eden, it is found on Assyrian artifacts and Lilith herself appears in the, ‘Epic Of Gilgamesh.’ Who can tell me about Lilith? Yes, the young lady in the second row.”

A blonde in an incredibly tight, red cardigan sweater, stood up. Her sweater looked like the launching pad for two huge interplanetary rockets, and every man in the room dreamed wistfully of the lift-off. “She’s the Gloria Steinem of prehistory: the first women’s libber, the first wife of Adam." The blonde said, in a cautious tone that sounded more like a question than an answer. A sudden inspiration lit up her deep blue eyes. "Hey, that means she was the first one to get a divorce too.” The crowed laughed. She blushed, her face turning nearly as red as her tight sweater.

Charles replied quickly and eagerly, “Yes the divorce! I’ll get to that in a moment. I think you have encapsulated the modern outlook on Lilith, quite well, dear. However, the being known as Lilith is derived primarily from Babylonian Demonology.

”She is a divine but terrible mother Goddess, a devourer, a destroyer, she is called Lilitu the ‘wind-spirit.’ She can be found on Assyrian stone and clay tablets. In Kramer’s translation of, ‘The Epic Of Gilgamesh,’ she is the demon that builds its nest in the tree. She is the Coriolis storm in the desert that blinds -- that eats flesh from bone. She is the screech owl screeching, the leopard pouncing, the jackal feeding, the shadow that paralyzes in the night and the demon lover who drains away life.

"Lilith is now usually spoken of in terms of the Hebrew tradition. The only reference in the Christian Bible, specifically is in, ‘Isaiah.’ She appears quite extensively in the post-biblical writings of Jewish mysticism. In the kabalistic interpretation of Lilith, she is shown as the other half of Adam, when mankind is still said to be in its hermaphroditic more spiritual state. This can be understood, in terms of their belief in a spiritual descent of man into the flesh. Adam and Lilith were split, shall we say, from one being into two.

"They fight over dominance and Lilith flies away by uttering God’s ineffable name. Lilith bears children fathered by either Adam or Samael, or by a demon host gathered in the desert, depending upon which version of the story your reading. Three angels take Lilith’s children from her. The names of these angels are used on amulets as a ward against her. Three to one -- I guess they weren’t taking any chances.

"In vengeance for being cheated out of her birthright, as the mother of mankind and for the loss of her firstborn young; Lilith seeks out the newborn children of Adam suffocating them in their cradles. She seduces young men appearing in wet dreams, spawning a race of her own kind. According to some authorities, she is immortal and not subject to death as were Adam and Eve, because she did not partake of the fruit of the tree of knowledge.”

Professor Nadasdy, interrupted, “Isn’t this story simply a metaphor for the prehistoric battle between matriarchal and patriarchal societies?”

“Well, I believe, there is far more to it than that Professor.” Charles Montagne said, “In the fourteenth century amulets were still being made and ceremonies performed to ward her off, most especially, as a protection against what we now call crib death or SIDS, and the haunting and sometimes terrifying experience of sleep paralysis.

"The belief in vampires and the succubus, which are closely related, spans the globe. There are similar myths that appear in ancient Egypt, for instance Baphomet the cat-headed goddess has to be tricked into not consuming the world in her anger. In India, we have Kali the destroyer; these destroyer goddesses are both similar to Lilith in her original nature.

"In Greece, we have the Legend of the Lamia, the goddess Hera kills the queen of Libya’s children. The queen is cursed and roams the world feeding on the newborn, enticing men into sex and then…devouring them. In China the chiang-shihs, in India the rakshasa and the vetala, the similarities in the beliefs are uncanny. Now what I am leaving out... can anybody help me out here, I am always forgetting something?”

“Dracula!” Chimed in the girl in the red Cardigan.

“Dracula smacula, I want to hear about the Bloody Countess,” yelled a dark-haired waif in the back row, who till now had been diligently chewing on the end of thick pen.

“Yes -- your right again dear!” Charles said, pointing at the girl in the red cardigan. “Bram Stoker’s character Dracula, is the basis for our twentieth century conception of the vampire. In Poland, Romania, and Hungary, the belief in vampires was very strong; it’s probably no wonder since the nobility were pale as death, and most likely suffering from porphryia.” At this point Charles noticed, Professor Nadasdy, wincing.

Charles continued, “The Eastern European nobility were infamous for the sadistic and cruel treatment of their servants and of the peasant population in general. Who can tell me what the Bloody Countess’s nickname was in her own country?”

“The ****,” shouted, the waif in the back, relinquishing the end of the thick pen from her mouth for just a moment.

Before Charles could speak again, Professor Nadasdy interrupted, “Are you in this class, young lady?”

“Yes, my name is, Lucy Westin, check your attendance sheet!” The waif said, angrily.

“I don’t allow swearing in my class, got it!” Professor Nadasdy said, as if she were brandishing the cutting edge of a sword with her stern voice.

Lucy Westin replied, “Well, ‘****’ is what they called her.”

Professor Nadasdy exclaimed, “ I don’t want to hear it young lady, is that understood!”

“Yes Professor,” Lucy Westin said, in mock acquiescence.

Charles began again, a little shocked at the venom in the exchange between the two women. “The Countess Bathory is a fascinating character. Her and her accomplices tortured, and killed an estimated three hundred women. It is said, she was incredibly vain -- so vain in fact, that she bathed in the blood of young women, and all because she believed it would keep her young and beautiful.”

Elizabeth exclaimed, “You make it sound as if she was a one-dimensional character, a complete monster. Did you know that she was a devoted wife and mother of four children. The Countess was cousin to the king. Her family was so great... their name was changed to Bathory, meaning 'the valiant.' Her husband was known as the Black Hero of Hungary and died in battle defending his country!

'How do you know that it was not disease, that drove her to these crimes!” Elizabeth glared at Charles Montagne, “Without this same family, Europe would have fallen to a Turkish invasion, aren’t you in the least grateful? Don’t you think that you’re being just a little unfair?”

“No, Ms. Nadasdy, I don’t think I am being unfair,” Charles replied. “It is well known how she cruelly pricked young woman with pins, and hot irons to make them bleed. That she hung innocent peasant girls in baskets covered with needles from the ceiling. Then she showered beneath them in their life-blood. This woman was rightfully convicted of witchcraft, and her accomplishes were summarily executed. She however being an aristocrat, as you mentioned, was allowed to live.”

“You call that living! Walled up, alone in a tower, execution would have been far less cruel!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Have you no understanding of what kind of hell that is!”

“As I -- was about to say,” Charles, said slowly, ignoring her question. “The historical figure that Bram Stoker’s, Dracula, is loosely based on is Vlad Tepes. The name Dracula, is translated as the son of the devil, or the son of the dragon. I presume, Vlad was called this because of his notorious reputation for committing crimes of torture and mass murder.”

Regaining her composure, Professor Nadasdy interrupted again, “But isn’t it also true he is recognized as a national hero, that he held the Turks at bay protecting his country from invasion?” She waited for a moment, “I asked you a question, Mr. Montagne,” Professor Nadasdy said softly, but stared at him insistently.

“Hitler loved his dog, and Capone gave to charity. What of it?” Charles replied, nonchalantly. “May I continue?” Charles asked politely.

“Please do,” Professor Nadasdy said, adjusting her glasses.

“There are four possible causes of vampirism usually discussed: infection by bite, the drinking of vampire blood, possession by a demon spirit, and probably the least discussed but not least likely is black magic.”

There are many cases of vampirism reported by sworn witnesses, for instance the case of …” Charles went on like this for quite some time. He staid well past the time he was scheduled for; answering questions, autographing copies of his book and casually flirting with the young ladies.

The little, dark-haired waif, Lucy Westin approached him. “Mr. Montagne, I have to talk to you, but not here. Can you meet me at the College Library, say -- 8:00 o’clock, tomorrow night? Please say yes, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

Charles replied, “What’s this all about Ms. Westin, it is Ms. Westin?”

“Yes, it is, something strange is going on, just promise to meet me.” Lucy Westin said quietly, but insistently.

Charles replied, “Tomorrow night it is then, Ms. Westin, cross my heart.”

Lucy glanced around, nervously. "Please be there, it's vital.” She said, and then walked off the stage.

When all the students had filed out of the auditorium, Professor Nadasdy put her arm around Charles’s arm. She looked into his eyes and said, “Lets go have coffee, we should talk. There’s a lovely little diner just up the road.”

“Why certainly, professor, I’d love to!” He replied.

“Call me Elizabeth -- Charles?” She asked, with a slight hint of a question in her soft, sultry voice.

***

They sat across from each other, in a little white diner with red-checkered table clothes, the sound of dishes clinking and the other patrons softly murmuring in the background.

“Why are you really here Charles? We usually don't get big name celebrities in this neck of the woods?”

“Why Elizabeth, you have a sense of humor after all!” Charles said, surprised.

“You are avoiding the question, lovey,” she said, pointedly.

“Not at all -- it is just part of the gig, book tour and all that, you understand.”

“So you’re not hunting -- for something in particular?” she said, as the waitress brought over two steaming hot cups of coffee. “Thank you, Delores,” Elizabeth said, to the overworked waitress.

“Yah -- up,” the waitress replied.

“Well, right now, I have something in my sights, I’d dearly love to mount.” He said, as he winked at her.

“You’re incorrigible Mr. Montagne,” she said, staring straight into his eyes, with just the hint of a smile twisting the corners of her sweetly-sculptured lips.

“Well shucks, Mam, I don’t often meet a fine filly like you.” He said, in a horrendous western accent.

“I warn you, Charles, I am more than you can handle.” Elizabeth laughed.

"We shall see.”

***

Charles Montagne tossed his keys on the dresser of the little cabin he had rented, kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed. "It’s her."

***

It was near midnight and Charles was dreaming. He saw himself standing naked in a field. He looked in the sky at the enormous moon hanging overhead. He had always known, even as a child that it was not a 'man in the moon,' at all, but a woman. Diana, the Goddess of the moon glared down at him, he felt small and exposed beneath her. An owl screeched shrilly, startling and freezing him in place, his heart, thumping wildly.

A sudden wind arose, and ripples appeared in the tall grass. From all sides they came, quickly crossing the field towards him. He saw the ripples for what they were now, dozens of cats moving in unison. They gathered around him in a tight circle, mewling in heat and hissing, their tales swinging in cat rhythm.

He awoke with a start, his eyes searching the pitch-black darkness surrounding him, damn that was weird. He tried to get up, he couldn’t. ****. He struggled to move. I'm caught between being awake and being asleep, that’s all.

His blankets flew off the bed as if tossed by unseen hands, floating down near the far wall, exposing him to the chill night air. He felt fingers sliding slowly, gently down his body, from his shoulders to his chest, across his belly. He felt a hot-wet thing force its way into his navel, and then swirl around the center, he gasped, as jolts of fear and pleasure shot through him. Sharp teeth punctured his nipple, making it stand painfully erect.

He felt a moist, airy breath in his ear. Invisible fingers ran through his short, curly brown hair. Oh, Jesus. Sharp nails raked his thighs up and back. A sharp, wet bite pierced his thigh, something sucked at the wound. His paralyzed body was rigid now with tension, panic stricken, yet aroused. The sweat dripped down his forehead into his eyes, stinging and burning him.

He felt the weight, the warmth, and the wetness as something slid slowly, down upon him. No, this isn’t happening! He fought his paralysis fiercely trying to squirm his way out from under the thing that sat astride him. He listened in horror to the slippery, sucking sounds the shadow thing made as it rode him. Clippity-clop, it galloped faster and faster with each racing heartbeat.

Suddenly it clamped tightly down on him, he could feel darkness shivering, and soaking the bed sheets. His mind was seared in a blinding flash of wicked sensation as the moment of unavoidable release came. The shadow thing had come for him -- it had come to claim his seed.

***

He awoke. He could see through the crack between the thick-green polyester curtains that the sun was setting. What the hell time is it? He struggled to roll his legs off the bed. He noticed his covers were lying near the far wall. God, I can hardly move. He reached for his watch on the nightstand, it was seven-fifteen. He felt the puncture wounds on his aching body. I slept through the whole day? I have just enough time to make it to the library.

***

He drove up to the library entrance in his white, two-door Olds Convertible. Charles saw Ms. Lucy Westin. She was wearing a black mini skirt, white office blouse, and a black suit coat. Her wicked high heels were catching and reflecting every drop of the fading, red twilight. She walked back and forth in front of the Library. Click, clock, click, clock, quickly puffing on a cigarette and forcefully blowing out the smoke.

“Look, Mr. Montagne--,”

He interrupted her, “Call me Charles.”

"All right, Charles, I know this is going to sound crazy, but there is something weird happening on campus -- the boys, I mean… their lifeless and all they talk about is Professor Nadasdy, I am not just jealous of her either! Other things -- girls have been disappearing."

The wind suddenly roared showering dry leaves in their faces, they swarmed like mad bees around Charles and Lucy.

“What the hell? Let’s go!” They ran for the Olds, struggling against the leaves that swirled in the air. Just as Charles hand was reaching the door handle, he saw her, Professor Nadasdy.

She stood in the middle of the road, “hello lovey,” she said putting her glasses in her pocket. She pulled the clasp out of her hair, shaking it free. Her hair flowed in the wind, waving hypnotically like the head of a cobra.

From the other side of the car he heard Lucy laughing, “He fell for it, just like you said he would Erzsébet.” Charles looked at her through the tempest of leaves, realizing his mistake.

“What do you want!” he shouted over the wind.

“Why lovey? I got everything I wanted from you last night,” she laughed, her voice born on the supernatural wind struck him with a physical force. He knew his only chance was the car. He grabbed the top of the door and just as he was in mid-hop, the wind caught him and flung him over the car and thirty feet across the parking lot. He skidded painfully on the side of his face, and one shoulder another ten feet, the asphalt ripping through his clothes, and embedding small stones in his tender flesh. Dazed and bleeding, he struggled to his knees. He saw them strutting slowly towards him, a wicked, triumphant smile on their faces.

“Did you really think you could outwit me boy? I survived death, look at me when I talk to you, boy!” Erzsébet said, reveling in the unbridled use of her power.

“What are you, but a simpering half-man? The Black Hero of Hungary, that was a man worthy of my attentions, hard as iron in body and mind. How far men have fallen in these days of luxury and comfort. What a truly weak, and pathetic fool you are.”

Charles went for his boot knife, pulling it out, as he leapt up, “I’ll cut out your black-heart, you ****!” Erzsébet lifted a hand, and he was tossed through the air in a shower of leaves. His back slamming hard into a nearby oak, falling to the ground, he lay there coughing up blood and struggling desperately to remain consciousness.

“Ohhh, Charles this is really going to hurt, too bad you’re kind of cute -- for an old guy.” Lucy taunted, blowing him a kiss.

Erzsébet began to chant, a wicked beam lighting her eyes,

“Baalat, Belit-illi…
Lilit-Malakath-Ha-Shadim, come to me, oh my queen, my Goddess, your humble servant beseeches thee.

Send me, the spirit of terror, the desert djinns, the wind that devours flesh.

Baalat, Belit-illi…
Lilit-Malakath-Ha-Shadim, come to me, oh my queen, my Goddess, your humble servant beseeches thee.

Send me, the spirit of dark wisdom, the screech owl in the tree, the voice that paralyzes flesh.

Baalat, Belit-illi…
Lilit-Malakath-Ha-Shadim, come to me, oh my queen, my Goddess, your humble servant beseeches thee.

Send me, the spirit of ferocity, the leopard hunting, the claws that rend flesh.

Baalat, Belit-illi…
Lilit-Malakath-Ha-Shadim, come to me, oh my queen, my Goddess, your humble servant beseeches thee.

Send me, the spirit of carnal desire, the jackal at the corpse, the jaws that rip flesh."

"Come to me, oh my cats!”

Yellow and orange, stripped and spotted they came... plain and brown, gray, white and black they came... trotting in from everywhere and nowhere, hissing and mewling in heat. They surrounded Charles their tails swinging in cat rhythm and when those tails stopped swinging…



Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Trent on June 28, 2007, 12:50:28 am
Hey Unknown,

Been so long that I can't remember what is different from this version with it's original version.  Is this one up for publication, too?


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on June 28, 2007, 07:11:43 am
Hi Trent

Yes, I am waiting on word from a new zine called the Open Vein. It is a free horror zine on myspace.

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=93625996


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Stacy Dohm on June 29, 2007, 10:16:27 pm
Do you know any of these guys, Unknown? 
If not, how did you hear of them?


(http://a786.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/7/m_35f0d8d3a748275750baa0a9776185e9.jpg)

The Open Vein
 
    "Grotesqueries of the Flesh and Mind"


 
 


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on June 30, 2007, 12:18:56 pm
Hi Stacy

I heard about the Open Vein through Mydarkness, she will be in the very first issue of the new zine...

She has several short stories posted in creative writing section... among those are Suicide Jack and Katlyn's Door, which I highly recommend. She also started a flash fiction thread here with several of flashes posted -- like Texas Heart and Flat Bed Blues.

If your looking for a good horror story, I highly recommend her work... (They might actually scare you!)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Volitzer on July 10, 2007, 05:29:53 pm
  Another Illuminti-crat in 2008!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Rachel Dearth on August 01, 2007, 12:22:17 am
mydarkness is a very talented writer.  You should tell her to come back again, Unknown, and maybe the three of us can work on something just for fun.  :)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on August 01, 2007, 02:23:17 am
Hi Rachel

Nice to see you back. Mydarkness is very talented... she doesn't seem to be to interested in posting here anymore.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Rachel Dearth on August 02, 2007, 12:19:50 am
Yeah, I think some people just come here to get feedback for their personal ideas and aren't really interested in making friends.  Too bad, I like to compare notes with other writers!


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Rachel Dearth on August 02, 2007, 12:22:43 am
And, it's good to see you back here, too.  ;)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on August 05, 2007, 06:35:44 pm
Nice to see you here too, Rachel.

I am working on a new horror story, I am hoping to have it finished before to long.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 08, 2007, 11:11:44 am
Silent Noir

Warning: This story is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for those under the age of 18.


Silent noir, bloody noir
All is sick, all is blight
Round young harlot, heavy with child
Drug addicted teen so clever and wild
Sleep! No infernal peace
Sleep! No infernal peace

Silent noir, bloody noir
Street gangs quake at the sight
Police lights flashing in the night
Rappers sing ho…ho… ho
Death the end has come
Death the end has come

Silent noir, bloody noir
Son of Sam
Hates pure might
Florescent beams of strip club lights
Fill the silent seedy night
Trash cans fill with afterbirth
Trash cans fill with afterbirth

Trash cans fill with afterbirth
Trash cans fill with afterbirth

Sleep! No infernal peace
Sleep! No infernal peace


Her dream-shaded eyes, were the color of a mid-summer morn.  She was dressed to kill in her favorite pair of old blue jeans, they caressed her every curve and crevice, hugging her heavy bottom with the jealous zeal of an adolescent lover. She wore a dark t-shirt that said, “Lead Me Not Into Temptation, I can find it myself!” It made her smile wickedly, whenever she thought about it. She never wore a bra with it and that guaranteed -- no man or boy could keep his eyes away. It gave her a naughty little thrill. She absolutely loved the attention, loved to make them drool over her now falling, but still full, ripe breasts.

As she descended the narrow stairwell, she looked with nervous anticipation at the cold cavernous room that lay before her. Iron shackles dangled ominously from a chain at its' center. She blushed. Her legs became weak and wobbly, but she willed herself onward. Other -- strangely disturbing apparatus were gathered there. It made her apprehensive, but, it also filled her mind with dark imaginings and a guilty fascination that could not be denied.

Heavy shag carpet of deep blood red covered the floor. The walls were of rough cement, painted black with wriggling stripes of white, giving it a film noir feel. But even, “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari,” could not match the disquieting surrealism here. In the four corners of the room strobe lights flashed, creating a stuttering effect, like an ancient black and white horror reel.

She saw something -- it moved slowly through the shadows. She was overcome with a sudden irresistible, almost hysterical urge to flee. But her wobbly rebellious legs, ignored the desperate pleas of her panic-stricken mind and wildly thumping heart. Now she saw him coming, moving relentlessly towards her. He was dressed in black leather pants, laced up the sides with leather strips that looped through brass rings and a white wife-beater, like the one Brando wore in “A Street Car Named Desire.” 

He held a black ridding crop, he slapped it in his hand as he approached, whack, whack, whack. The flashing lights making it appear as if he moved in slow motion through this shadowy realm of his own creation. He said in quiet, yet confident and commanding voice, “I knew you would come.” Her head swam dizzily and she couldn’t find her voice.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He said, looking at her sharply. “Once you enter that circle there is no going back.” It was then she noticed a large circle cut from the carpet and within that, another circle was surrounded by the curious symbols of the alchemist's art.  Almost without conscious effort, she nodded her head in silent affirmation.

“That simply will not do, my dear, this is no game. You must answer the question.”

“Yessss!” she hissed, her voice quivering, knees shaking uncontrollably.

“Understand… you must give yourself to me freely and of your own will.  If you kneel within that circle,” he said, pointing with the ridding crop, “you will be mine forever, to do with as I please, to ravish or ignore, to torment or caress, to indulge or deprive. You will be owned absolutely, totally and without reservation.”

“I understand,” she said and holding her head up proudly she entered the circle and knelt there. Then she lowed her head to the cold stone and waited.

“How do you feel, different?”

“Yes,” she sighed quietly.

“Yes what!”

“Yes, Master!” She responded quickly, fearfully. The juices flowed hot, wet, between her silky thighs and soaked her frilly lace panties, darkening the crotch of her favorite jeans.

“I am disappointed in you, I had thought you were far more intelligent, more of a natural slave, but no matter. To truly understand your slavery you must taste the lash.”

Her head on the ground, her dreamy blue eyes staring wide in disbelief she watched as he walked, appearing and disappearing in the obscene flashing lights. He reached for the red and black whip that hung, curled like a coral snake on the crude cement wall.

“You will not move Slave, you may scream and you may cry… but you will not move.”

The whip flicked like the head of striking serpent, hissing through the air, ripping through her shirt and raising a long red welt on her back. She jerked in searing agony, the tears streaming from her eyes and down her cheeks. Jaws clenching, eyes squeezed tight, she vainly told herself she would not scream, despite the pain. She was too tough and far too willful for that.  As the second stroke wickedly caressed her naked flesh, she screamed, screamed like a banshee in hell.

“You may now crawl to me, Slave.”

She moved slowly, her limbs sluggish and heavy. Staring with a strange fixation on his shiny, freshly-polished black hobnail boots, she crawled. She waited there beneath him now, afraid to lift her eyes. He put a finger gently to her chin, a gesture she instinctively understood as a command to lift her eyes to his. She looked up fearfully, submissively, expectantly.

“You have tasted the lash, now kiss it.”

Startled, shivering with fear and revulsion, she gazed upon the long twisted sheath of red and black leather that had ravished her flesh so -- mercilessly.  As her lips touched it, she squirmed, excited beyond control she began licking, kissing, and sucking desperately, writhing uncontrollably in the throes of a mind-numbing orgasm she collapsed to the floor losing consciousness.

***

She awoke naked. Her bright red hair dangled before her eyes. Shackles bound her legs and wrists, holding her arms aloft, exposing her naked breasts to advantage and holding her legs spread open… before his fierce scrutiny.  Somewhere in the background a radio was playing, and Nick Lowe crooned seductively to screaming teenage girls, “You gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure, cruel to be kind means that I love you. Bay… bay you gotta be…”

She squirmed helplessly, whimpering, as she saw his lips curl back in a feral snarl, revealing wicked long eyeteeth. He cupped a pendulant breast with one hand as his lips moved slowly towards her tender throat.

© 2007 Wayne Peake



Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Pagan on December 08, 2007, 12:44:04 pm
Nice work, Sonny, we'll make a writer of you yet!  Can't wait to see the illustrations!


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 08, 2007, 12:50:42 pm
Hi Pagan

I missed you dear...


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Pagan on December 08, 2007, 12:57:51 pm
Awww, I missed you, too!  I also get the feeling that you are interested (per the new story) in getting laid.  Am I right?   :o


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 08, 2007, 01:01:27 pm
I was always interested dear...


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Pagan on December 08, 2007, 02:18:04 pm
Sure, but this one REALLY gives the idea that you are interested in getting laid! 

When are the pictures coming?


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 08, 2007, 05:21:29 pm
I'll try to work something up, just for you...


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Pagan on December 10, 2007, 09:34:13 pm
Awwww, just scribble something to do with your fantasies, of which I am sure there are many!


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 11, 2007, 02:10:48 am
dfgdgdg


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Rachel Dearth on December 13, 2007, 11:54:11 pm
Say what?


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Rachel Dearth on December 13, 2007, 11:55:42 pm
Interesting stuff, but you have nearly perfected the gothic style, why change? 
It is unique and practially no one is writing that way anymore!

Rachel


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Zodiac on December 14, 2007, 12:00:22 am
I like the kink!  I just picture Pagan as the main character of it and it all goes down fine!   ;)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 14, 2007, 12:08:17 am
Hi Rachel

I don't think, Silent Noir is a very well thought out story.. is rather thin in terms of character/motivation, and point and/or twist. I wrote in about half an hour and was curious what kind of responses it would get. I thought it would be more controversial. I may work on it... but I really am getting bad at starting stories and not finishing them.

Hi Zodiac

I think Pagan liked it, too


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Rachel Dearth on December 14, 2007, 02:39:23 am
Welllll, it ain't controversial because we have all read sexy stories before. I'm sure the guys are going to like it more than women will, as it is written from a guy's point of view.

I take it that it isn't done.  If it was really going well, wouldn't you feel like working on it more?  The best writing tends to feed on itself, like a puzzle you are putting together!  I'm sure other people will think differently about it than I do:  my opinion being, of course, that it is't bad, but I like your gothic stuff better as it sets the mood a lot more nicely.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 14, 2007, 03:37:07 am
Hi Rachel

About the gothic thing... I am not abandoning the gothic style, I just don't want to be stuck in one narrow corner of horror genre... and in fact, I am sort of itching to do some Sword and sorcery/heroic fantasy. But I want to finish Crooling Grange, The House of Dupree and the companion piece to the Devil's Pen first.

I think it is not controversial because it isn't being read, and you may be suprised at how many women enjoy it.

I won't argue that Silent Noir is a good story... it is not (I think the poem is quite good, although, definately in poor taste).  With what is written, so far...  the characters actions don't make any sense. The plot is so thin it is more of a scene than a story.

I did write a long prologue... but I haven't posted it.  Actually, I thought about pulling the whole story.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 14, 2007, 12:28:40 pm
Silent Noir prologue?


She squirmed on the long slippery wooden bench, waiting for the “happy people,” to clear the hell out of the little church of St Edgar’s. All that hugging and holding hands made her uncomfortable, self-conscious. She was alone now, surrounded by people, but alone. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, and by God she wasn’t going to the reception. Spend the night beating off the unwanted advances of stumbling drunks and assholes who thought they were slick. No thanks, been there done that, got the t-shirt.

Five years, five years of hell and torment since her groom had shuffled off the mortal coil. Five years of guilt and self-recrimination. She knew he was on a path of self-destruction. It wouldn’t have mattered what she’d done. She could have been the perfect little kiss-ass Stepford wife, wouldn’t have mattered, not in the least. He’d pushed so hard. But she had promised never to leave him. She’d known what he was like.

With the rest of the wedding party she made her way out of the little church on the bluff, trying to be small… and invisible, trying to escape the cheery greetings and awkward, well-meaning, but embarrassing questions.

A windstorm was gathering, the clouds rolled quickly in ever-changing hues of gray and violet. Her white cotton sundress billowed in the moonlight and she drew her shawl in tightly around her shoulders against the cold. The rusty iron-gate creaked dismally as she entered the old cemetery. There was something peaceful about a cemetery, something, somehow comforting and she needed that now, needed peace. How long had it been since she had a good nights sleep, hell, she couldn’t remember the last time.

Her feet wandered aimlessly or so she’d thought, and then she realized where she was. The grave, his grave, the grass had grown long around the tombstone and the little copper pots for flowers lay empty. She stood there for a long time in thought letting the memories flow.

First she sensed it, a presence, like a gentle caress surrounding her. She looked up and saw a face, a face open, relaxed and calm. Suddenly as if a damn had burst within her, she began to cry.

“Death is the hunter.” He said.

“What?” She asked wiping the tears away.

“Death is the hunter, he stalks us all and there is no escape. But he can be held at bay for a time and that time is all we have.”

“Who the f*** are you! What do you want?” She yelled, as a sudden gust of wind went rippling through her red-hair.


“My name… just another box, dismal as a coffin, another label for society to trap the individual in coils of definition, confining the spirit within bounds it can control and thus, feel comfortable with. Names come and go… with time and circumstance, I am son, I am brother, I am friend, I am lover and I am master. If you must have a name then pick one.”

“How about nut job! Leave me -- the f*** alone.” She said, her heart racing she bundled her fist and crouched slightly, ready for anything.

“Ha, ha, ha, my you are spirited… perfect!  Do you ever wonder about fate, my dear? What brought us together on this lonely hillside beneath the waning moon and chilly starlight? Aren’t you curious? Will you throw away this chance, believe me, fate opens its’ doors but rarely and closes them unexpectedly.”

“Well? What the f*** -- do you want?”

“Come to me… bind yourself to me. You will feel… feel the cleansing fires of pain and for a time you may forget… forget the wrongs done to you and those you have wrought. You shall come to know yourself... your womanhood and my manhood... you will know pleasure. You will not be alone.  You don’t have to answer now just take this card. If you don’t come, my stormy one, I shall be very disappointed.”

The weeks went by and still she kept the card. Every now and then she would take it out and look at it. Sometimes she would feel a presence surrounding her, a light that touched her, gentle and reassuring like in the old cemetery. Why the hell was she even contemplating this!  It was crazy, but she’d done crazier things before.

She open the trailer door, it flopped open banging against the wall. Linkin Park boomed from the doorway, “What I've done, I face myself. To cross-out what I've become. Erase myself, And let go of what I've done. What I have done.”


"Damn thing still isn’t painted," she thought slamming the trailor door; she shook her head in disgust. She struggled, dragging the reluctant trashcans to the curb. She jumped suddenly as something ran past her in the darkness, dropping the trashcans, “f*****g armadillos.” The cans clanged noisily, spilling their contents on the pavement. She began picking up the trash and shoving it angrily back into the cans, “What! And leave all this!” she shouted into the waiting night. Silent tears filled her dreamy sky-blue eyes.

***

Her heart beat in her ears as she tried to dial the number for the third time, God, she was sooo… nervous. It rang. It rang again, a third time. She was just about to flip the lid and say the hell with it, when she heard a voice, soft as a breeze, but with the hidden force of a hurricane blowing up behind it.

“Hello, my Stormy One. I have been waiting for you.”

“How did you know? How did you know it was me?”

“Calm yourself, take a deep breath. -- I assure you -- that I am not stalking you, my dear.”

“s***! I knew you were some kind of a creep!”

“Then why did you call, Stormy?”

“I don’t know, but…”

“I will tell you, because somewhere deep inside of you sensed something in me, something that you needed, you wanted and something you have never had.”

“Where did you get that line from a bubble gum wrapper?”

“The pain eats at your heart… you cannot sleep. The pain has grown inside, until you can’t imagine life without it… you fear that there is nothing left but the pain, nothing left to hold onto but it.”

“f*** you! You bastard!”

“Stormy, I can help you. For now, all I ask is that you meet with me… someplace safe, someplace with lots of people. Then if you say no, I will never darken your door again.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Your so f*****g smart you tell me!”

“Because you are afraid.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His heart chilled by the tenderness, the beauty of that soft and sultry voice, he tried to choke back the emotion. Damn... he needed her... she needed him... but it was her choice.



Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Matt on December 14, 2007, 01:27:36 pm
I read it, I don't think it was bad or controversial. 

You can tell at the top how many times a topic was read. Before I posted this, the tally was at 322 views, which is a lot, so people are reading it. Maybe people just don't have the time to post any thoughtful comments about it.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 14, 2007, 03:29:14 pm
Hi Matt

Thanks for reading it... the 322 is the whole thread though... from the beginning.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Scorpio on December 14, 2007, 09:56:16 pm
I've read it, too.  I didn't see anything wrong with it.  Of course, I am not really a literary critic, so I had no comments. I didn't see anything controversial about it, though.

I tend to be a bit picky about the type of sex that I see in stories, and I think everyone has something different that excites them.  I'm not prude, but I wonder at the artistic value of placing sex in stories is anymore. I used to like that movie 9 1/2 Weeks and the Last Tango in Paris, now I see them and wonder what the excitement was over.  More often that not, the titilation tends to detract from the storytelling, rather than add to it. Just my opinion.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 14, 2007, 10:19:01 pm
Hi Scorpio

I tend to agree, although sometimes sex is crucial to understanding the characters, and their motivations.

I guess I am more of a prude then most then, if it is not controversial... I do seem to have at least some sex in the majority of my stories... although I have tried to be tasteful about it, in most instances. In ,"The Oubliette" the sex was definately part of the horror, as well as in "Erzabette."

Silent Noir, has opened up for me in a wonderful way and I think the pain/dominance/submission is a crucial element in the story. Actually there isn't a "bonifide" sex act in the entire story and I thought some might think it corney for a woman to have the big "O" simply by being in a position of total submission.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Trent on December 16, 2007, 07:02:31 pm
Sad to say, I have to admit that you could cut out most sex stories from stories and it wouldn't really hurt them that much.

And, as someone who has read pretty much all of your stories here, Unknown, I have to admit that there was only one where the sex played an essential role in understanding the characters, was it the Horrors of Cooling Gridge that had the guy doing his sister?  That worked out pretty well, and it made you wonder what would happen next.

On a side note, in real life, sadly, it takes a lot more to bring women to the big 'O' then fiction writers say it does.   ;)



Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 16, 2007, 08:12:00 pm
Hi Trent

And if I hadn't mentioned it, nobody would have commented, about the "O."

I disagree, about the other stories, Ezrabette is essential a story that turns steorotypes on their head.
It is set in the sixities, discusses feminism, Gloria Stenheim... prehistoric battle between matriarchal and patrical societies, which we can see in the change from and essentially feminine godhead throughout the world to a male Godhead.

1. The female is stronger then the male
2. It is the man who gets raped
3. The damsel in distress is actually a villian
4. The man is the victim
5. The monster wins

For these reasons, the sex in, "Ezrabette" was essential to get the point across


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Rachel Dearth on December 17, 2007, 01:03:39 pm
Quote
On a side note, in real life, sadly, it takes a lot more to bring women to the big 'O' then fiction writers say it does. 


Yep, but it depends on the woman!


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Rachel Dearth on December 17, 2007, 01:04:53 pm
Your next story should be about an incubus, Unknown, then you can feel free to put as much sex in there as you want without any complaints about it.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Rachel Dearth on December 17, 2007, 01:08:14 pm
Quote
And if I hadn't mentioned it, nobody would have commented, about the "O."


Probably not, but you'll notice that people don't tend to give specific feedback about what they do or not like about something around here unless asked for it. That is similar to even writer's forums where people tend to also give more general opinions. That is why it is best to go with your instincts as a writer first and decide whether it is working or not.  The most important thing?  Keep hammering away at a story until you are certain it works and (at least in my case) try and write the passages of a story quickly!  That way you don't have as much time to second guess your instincts and the flow is a lot better.


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 17, 2007, 01:29:59 pm
Hi Rachel

I doubt if there will be another story... at least not for a very long time.

Thanks dear


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Pagan on December 18, 2007, 11:02:52 am
Well, the sex needs to be more graphic, simple as that. 
Let's try it again, but this time really make the readers feel as if they are having the big 'o.' (or lots of little ones). ;)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Zodiac on December 22, 2007, 08:35:57 pm
Happy Holidays, there, Unknown! 
Hope you have a good one there buddy!   ;)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 23, 2007, 10:23:11 am
Hi zodiac

Thanks and Merry Christmas!


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Sarah on December 26, 2007, 03:54:55 am
Merry Christmas, Unknown.

To Zodiac and Pagan (each, of course being pagan-worshipping infidels), Happy Holidays. 

Sarah


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 28, 2007, 10:46:18 am
Hi Sarah

So nice to see you here, dear.

Hope you had a wonderful holiday, and I wish you all the best in the New Year...



Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: Ares, God of War on December 28, 2007, 05:11:48 pm
The new story reads fine to me.

I have an idea for another one (so long as you are writing sex stories):

A guy picks up a chick in a bar, they have sex, and he finds out she's a demon.  That is usually where the story ends, right?  Not this time, the rest of the story could be about him coping with the idea that he has fallen with a demon while she wrestles with her re-emerging humanity!  Cool huh?  ;)


Title: Re: Horror Stories
Post by: unknown on December 28, 2007, 05:30:43 pm
Hi Ares

Glad to see you back, it is a cool idea.