Marty’s Story – Deadhead – Part One

The blade rips into his flesh as he cuts, using the knife like a saw, his bloody, torn flesh falls to the floor below him, and he laughs, staring at his reflection.

“It was the words that drew us in, it was the night that sealed our sins, the devil smiled from somewhere afar, as our hero burned the dying star, whispered words, vaulted sins, the devils work, forever, begins,” he says, the lights flicker, as energy snaps violently through them, as he continues to look into the mirror, the blood drips from his face into the sink, he grins, his face grotesque, ripped and torn into a mask, in the form of a demented smile, that is now carved in his flesh. With a shaky hand, he raises the bloody knife once more, stretching the skin around his eye with the other hand, then digs the blade in, and screams….

He feels his mouth go dry, nervously he grabs a glass that sits on the side of his desk, placing the sheet of paper down as he takes a large mouthful of the liquid, he feels the vodka burn his throat as it goes down and he lets out a hiss of satisfaction.

“I’ve read a lot….” He stops in his tracks as he takes a quick, sharp breath in, as he attempts to quell the burn from the vodka, hisses again, before pressing his lips together tightly. “I’ve read a god damn lot of shit you’ve wrote over the years Marty, but this has got to be the best fucking piece of writing you’ve ever placed on my desk,” he says looking over to Marty, who has a broad smile on his face.

“See Bernie, I told you it was worth the wait, it’s good right?” Marty says, slapping his hands together in excitement.

“It’s better than good, it’s wrong, fucked up, pushing the boundaries of good taste to the extreme wrong, now where’s the rest?”

“It’s coming,” he says leaning back in his seat.

“Coming? What the fuck do you think this is? I’ve got half an issue ready and waiting for this baby you’ve been gestating, now two days before the issues published you tell me its coming?”

“You said it yourself, it’s the best piece I’ve ever written, don’t you want the rest to be just as good?”

“Don’t throw my words back in my face Towns, it’s not good form, just tell me how long you need?”

“Another few days, four at the most, I wanna get it right, I want the whole thing to mesh perfectly.”

He empties the remainder of the glass into his mouth and sucks another quick, desperate breath of air in with it, hoping to dull the burn once again, “Two days, that’s all you’ve got, you don’t have it ready by then I’m going run with Jones’ story.”

“Jones? Seriously Bernie? You’d give that hack half an issue? Can’t you push it back a few days?” Marty says in shock, sitting up in his seat.

“He’s got something ready, you don’t, and two days is the best I can do. Templar’s tying my hands Marty, they’re cutting expenditure, the old man wants us to meet deadlines without fail, every issue,” he says pouring himself another glass, and filling Marty’s as well. “Mate between me, you and the bottle, they’re getting close to pulling the pin, I went to see the old man yesterday, fucker looks ready to run, he’s got that look, you know, crazy eyes and shit. I can’t push back now, it’s gotta be what it’s gotta be,” Bernie says quickly draining his glass once again.

“Fuck! Seriously? I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise it’ll be ready,” Marty says as he clenches his hands into tight fists.

Bernie lets out a loud, boisterous laugh, “Shouldn’t be too hard sport, you’ve got a killer start.”

“It’s not the start, it’s the end. I just thought jumping to the end at the start of the story gave it a, you know, a sorta fucked up twist, see what’s going to happen, before it all really begins,” he says, as he picks his glass up from the desk, letting the vodka dance around on his tongue, swishing it around in his mouth, before he swallows it.

“Sure you’re not being too cerebral for the readers? I mean, we’re no high-end magazine Marty, we’re penny dreadful shite, trying to pull a Stephen King might alienate the readers.”

“It’s clever I know, but the way it opens the story up, allows itself to connect straight to the ending makes it more fun. It gives you guts, gore, and a hell of a draw card to drag you in, you don’t like the idea?” Marty replies quickly.

“I get the whole trying to draw the reader in shit, I love that. It’s just sticking the end at the start, it’s more what they do in the movies, or big publications, not what we do in shock horror magazines mate,” Bernie says, filling their glasses again.

“Trust me, you’ll love it and so will the readers, you’ve always said it’s all about impact, well, this is it, I want the reader drawn in straight away, I want them to WANNA know what’s gonna happen next, why he’s carving up his face. I mean, don’t you?”

“Okay, okay, you’ve won me over you little shit so stop trying to sell it to me. Does Wilkinson have a cover yet?”

“You know Gareth, he’s working his way there, it’ll be ready.”

Bernie swivels in his chair and leans back, resting the empty glass on his enormous stomach, “So tell me, oh great sage, how are you going to cut the ending so it flows into the beginning?”

“Easy,” Marty says as he empties his glass again, slamming it in the desk. “I’m going to smash cut it straight in, no bullshit, just straight into it,” he says with a twisted smile, as the vodka burns down his throat, all the way to his stomach.

Twisted Tales Of The Damned – I’m Losing It

The last 24 hours have been a mashup of moments, fractions of seconds, that when pieced together make no sense at all.

I remember the man from the white room,  the imposter, the book, the shadow, and, the little girl screaming, terrified and, and a woman, Clare?

The rest seems like poorly sown together images, distorted through eyes not mine, eyes weary from a full night worth of drinking, a throat and lungs stained and burnt with the smoke from a packet or more of cigarettes. But yet, I have no recognition of any of these things, just the after tastes, just the aches and pains.

What happened to me last night?

It was then I noticed the folder the strange man from the white room had left me somehow ended up spread across the lounge room, pages from it were torn in peices, others brunt, I needed to know what happened, what drove me to destroy something that the man said would help me. Whatever good it would do me now, was little to nothing, that’s when I noticed the folder still had something in it, when I opened the folder I found the story still complete. It was then that I noticed in the mess spread around that there were multiple copies of pages, I realized this last night I’d tried to destroy the book, only to find it replenished itself back in the folder.

What madness is going on, and how in the fucking hell do I escape it?

 

Daily Grind – Persistence Is Overrated

When I started this blog, when I took over this blog, I wanted to take back what was stolen from me by that imposter, the bastard who stole everything I’d written and claimed it as his own.

Since that day, I’ve been plagued by ghost from my past, dreams bathed in nightmares.

Slowly my sanity has broken, my life has collapsed and everything I thought was true, became twisted in lies and works of fiction.

The man from the white room, he came to me again, he said he had a gift, a story, one written just for me. He handed me a folder, smiling broadly.

I asked what it was about, he laughed, and said it was about me, it was my story, all of it from the beginning to the end, if I wanted to be free of all this, if I wanted to live, I needed to understand my role, why I was so important to him, the one in the shadows, and how I could change the story to my advantage.

I felt my skin crawl, and then, he was gone, I was alone, normally I would’ve said it was a dream, another piece of my sanity slipping, but, I have the folder, I just don’t know if I have to courage to open it.

Day 365 – To Pass Into Glory – 50 Word Story Expanded

“Don’t be a cry baby Sasha, you passed the test, you’re in. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

Sasha looks up from her blood covered hands, tears running down her face, “This wasn’t a test, it was murder!”

She laughs, “It’s only murder if they find a body, now, eat.”

“A-A-Are you serious? I have to eat it all?”

“No, of course not,” she says.

“Thank god, I thought you really wanted me eat him,” she says, collapsing backwards.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, you will eat him, but you won’t do it alone, we feast tonight, nothing should be wasted, and once we have taken him into us, we will gain his strength, his wisdom, which clearly isn’t at the top of my list, considering he was thinking more with his dick than his grey matter,” she says with a evil smile.

Sasha begins to break down in tears, looking over, towards Lance’s lifeless body, his dead pale eyes stare towards her, and she feels her stomach twist and turn, then empties its contents onto the ground beneath her.

“That’s it girl, let out all the vile waste you gave inside you, make room for the feast,” she says running her hands softly through Sasha’s hair.

“That’s not what I’m doing you crazy bitch! I’m vomiting because this whole fucking idea makes me sick, I didn’t even want to bring him here, you made me, you threatened me, I’ll go to the police, I’ll tell them eve…..” she doesn’t get to finish her rant as a blade rips through the back of her neck and out through her throat, chocking her, she convulses, ganging on her own blood, as the woman looks down on her, smiling.

“Don’t worry Sasha, you’re not going to miss out on the feast, in fact you’re going to be part of it!”

Day 365 – To Pass Into Glory – 50 Word Story

“Don’t be a cry baby Sasha, you passed the test, you’re in. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

Sasha looks up from her blood covered hands, tears running down her face, “This wasn’t a test, it was murder!”

She laughs, “It’s only murder if they find a body, now, eat.”

 

This 50 word story was originally published in issue 287 of Fear In Fear Magazine under the name To Pass Into Glory, and posted here on the 1st of October under the name Test, the short was expanded upon the same day, to read the expanded version, you can go HERE.

You’re more than welcome, as always if inspiration hits, to expand the story yourself, all I ask is that you post a link in the comments below so I can showcase it on the blog.

 

Twisted Tales Of The Damned – It’s All Dust In The End

He came to me again last night, the man from the white room, I don’t know if I was sleeping or not, whatever was going on, whatever was happening, it didn’t matter anymore. he smiled, smirked even, then told me more stories, more lies of a life I’ve never lived. He assured me what he told me was true, but venom sprayed from his words, and it infected all.

He laughed when I demanded he leave, to get out of my home, it’s then he pointed out that we weren’t home anymore, we were in the white room again, the mirror was still broken, the table on its side, and, in the corner, crouched down in a ball, hissing and spitting like a wild animal, wasmy shadow self.

We sat there in silence, as the man chewed on some kind of chocolate bar, smiling every time we made eye contact, eventually I asked what was going on, why was I here in this room, this place again?

He said we’re waiting, we can’t get properly started until everyone is here, that’s when the door opened, and he stepped inside, the imposter, the one who stole my life, I launched from my seat at him, and the room shifted again, I was home, gripping nothing. I span around, my eyes searched every crevice, every crack, ripping it apart, and when I finally collapsed onto the ground, exhausted, frustrated, the man appeared onext more, he smiled, and shook his head.

The time was over for games, he said I needed to stop, to listen, and maybe, if I played my cards right, I would prosper. I didn’t get to ask any questions about what he meant, as he was gone after that, leaving me alone in my destruction. The laughing of a little girl pulled me from my stupor, she danced around the lounge room, laughing, singing, calling for me, her daddy to come play, I reached out to her, touching her cold hand as it evaporated into dust before my eyes.

Like I said, I don’t know if it was a dream, or something else, but whatever’s happening to me, it’s far from over.