Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Tag: The Roundhead

  • It’s Always In The Quiet That We See Noise

    It’s Always In The Quiet That We See Noise

    “Like one of those roundabout animations. You know the ones I’m talking about, where you stick a heaps of sequential drawings together on the inside a cylinder and spin it around like the worlds going to go out of style and you get the illusion that whatever you drew moves,” the boy says nervously.

    “You’d drawn,” a voice says from somewhere within the darkness.

    “S-Sorry?” He asks as he nervously rubs his wrists, momentarily soothing the rawness that was created by the handcuffs earlier.

    A mustached man leans forward into the light whilst placing a cigarette in his mouth. They stare into each other’s eyes until the nervous young man looks away, and the mustached man smiles as he ignites a match, lighting his cigarette.

    “You said you drew, but it should’ve been you’d drawn,” he says taking a long drag on the cigarette before blowing the smoke into the boys face.

    His eyes well-up, stinging sharply as he tries to catch a breath of unpolluted air. “W-W-What?” He gasps, coughing violently.

    The mustached man smiles as he leans back into the darkness, taking a drag on the cigarette once more. The room glows with a volatile red as the embers of the cigarette surge to life, and the boy wets himself immediately, slowly raising his hand into the air and pointing to the darkness beyond the man with trembling lips.

    The mustached man raises an eyebrow as he feels a coldness touch his back followed moments later by a decaying stench that cuts into each nostril like a knife, and then it speaks….

  • We Are A Mirrior Of Impossibilities, So Shed Our Skin And Fly

    We Are A Mirrior Of Impossibilities, So Shed Our Skin And Fly

    I’ve dissected every moment up until this point with cold silent reflection, calculated every lie I’ve ever told to find the trajectory of this moment here and still haven’t found any reason why I’m standing naked and alone in this room.

    Don’t even try to ask the question for it doesn’t matter what I was doing before this all happened, or what I had planned on doing after. To be honest, and I’m sure you will agree, in the end it doesn’t even matter how many lies brought us here to this moment, all that matters now is surviving this ordeal and getting back on the streets where I need to be.

    That’s what really matters.

    Well that’s what I keep telling myself as I stand here letting moment after wasted moment pass by like a reddish ooze sliding underneath a doorway.

    I can see by the void that lies beyond your eyes that you don’t fully understanding what’s going on. What my words mean in the cluttered format I have selected to present them to you in. I can see some movement of recognition as a word jolts some piece of equipment in the deluded little playground inside your head, but that is few and far between.

    There it is.

    That nervous smile you’re so good at giving when you’re not sure if you’ve just been given an insult or someone’s made a half arsed joke at your expense.

    Allow me to build upon it if you wish, because it doesn’t seem like we’re going anywhere soon.

    SEE!

    There it is again.

    I saw your eyes grow wide for a moment as your read the word WE!

    Did you think I stood here alone? Reread my words again, but hear them this time.

    There.

    I can see now you understand, but still confusion holds onto your throat with a vice-like grip.

    Let me help shed some skin.

    Let me help you see what wicked lies brought us here.

    Let me show you what pathetic misdeeds singled you out so perfectly.

    I can see by the look on your face many of those moments have flooded through your dull synapses.

    But first before we venture down the road of never-ending decay, do me one last service.

    Do this deed to start our a conversation anew.

    And look up from these words, and see me…..

    For I see YOU!

  • What Whispered To Me In The Ginger Wine

    What Whispered To Me In The Ginger Wine

    It’s funny how pain can linger from the most insignificant injury, and disappear almost instantly when the injury is life threatening. I know you all silently agree, some of you even agreed out loud or even took the time to think about that scar you have somewhere hidden, or in plain sight that almost cost you this life. Though in the end, regardless of where you sit my point is if anything else, more about this moment in my life than it is about some random pointless to my existence moment in yours.

    Although I never did picture this as the way I want out, fuck it wasn’t even on my one hundred and one list of things to do before I died, not that I had that many thing stars to aim for,

    I’d laugh If only to myself, but I’m exhausted. The heat of the bath water is causing me to break out in a sweat along with the poetically confusing lyrics from one of the many rhythmically twisted songs that Pearl Jam forced into the blender of insanity we call No Code plays with my mind.

    But regardless of all of these things, I still see the redness ooze from my arm into the water like a broken tap head unable to be turned off.

    It’s not how I pictured my end, I mean we’ve all toyed with the idea but I was pretty sure the coward in me would never do it.

  • Loathing To Be Free Of My Noise

    Loathing To Be Free Of My Noise

    Pulsating veins ebb with the life extending seed of oxygen, slowly suffocating our every breath with each beat of our diseased hearts, loathing to be more than a stain, destroying mirrors versions of who we see as our reflection, a cacophony of errors transcended by the darkness buried deep within your eyes, strive to be like me, while struggling to see…

  • Selection Is Half The Fatality Of Life

    Selection Is Half The Fatality Of Life

    As I sleep inside I die, a million times behind my eyes, nightmares that could never be real, images drawn with fevered hands, the darkness of night seals my sin, trapped by my own mind within, lies deceived by my own twisted insanity, an insanity fueled by burning razor blades slicing across my wrists, freeing that inside which longs to be free, letting the destiny of life release me….

  • Show Me The Sea Of Red Inside Your Head

    Show Me The Sea Of Red Inside Your Head

    We hate to feel but wish to be, drugs designed to dull the pain as well as reality, we are the disease, our sickness it’s cure, feed the beast within its cage, lick the salt from inside her rage, tomorrow will hurt, today will be your birth, in a sea of blood, in a river of shit, in a world they won’t appreciate you until you’re long dead and gone, so thrust the knife, split the veins, punish the beast, feed the bitches, reap and sow, sweet perfection!

  • Scars Upon The Ground Before My Victim

    Scars Upon The Ground Before My Victim

    Foreshadowing realities birthed in the nothingness of a world lost in forever and today, the past of yesterday a figment of delusions wrapped in the tissue of flesh and muscle, we one, we are, the beast that hides inside your head is a greater threat than the one underneath your bed, for both are figments of a broken mind, but the one inside can dig it’s way free while the other birthed below your feet will fade away….

  • Torment Me With Images Of Who I Once Was

    Torment Me With Images Of Who I Once Was

    I was a burning bush in a sea of disenchantment somehow locked within the bitterness of an endless yesterday that starved the life from my diseased bones, the fire was to be my freedom from the sins that were discarded around me like dying leaves falling from the pathetically bare arms of a shedding tree, that fashioned me into something sinister that no longer resembles anything human, just a shell of a shadow that  has no shape or substance…

  • Faces Twisted To The Style Of My Minds Eye

    Faces Twisted To The Style Of My Minds Eye

    Nursery rhymes twisted in grimm outcomes beg all humankind to question ones own self loathing while criticizing the world around for all the injustices it brings upon us while we inevitably stir the pot with our own self unconfessed sexual desires that burn deep inside our groin, wishing to thrust our own bits and pieces into the perfect version we believe we are, open you’re eyes and see, you can never be me and I thankfully will never be the patheticness of who you think you are….

  • Absent From What Made Sense Was The First Mistake

    Absent From What Made Sense Was The First Mistake

    You give a moment of anxiety more guidance and pompous overture than you do to life as it passes you by at a rate you never realise until it’s too late, sacrificing everything for the demons that exist on the inside of your skull but have no real sharpe or consistency in the world that revolves like s bottle top in its death throes, wake up and see what you have missed out on while you were in your self imposed tomb or continue to suffocate until all is no more, until you are just someone else’s demon without essence…

  • For I See Forgivness Where There Is None

    For I See Forgivness Where There Is None

    He spoke of many things as the end twisted  its vile hand towards him, words not all together meaningful in order of their context and placement, but when they sat separated before your eyes a theme of dissatisfaction and disappointment becomes clear, new sentences form with vigor and a passion unknown before, giving the true message a chance to breathe while he takes no more….

  • My Hate Filled Rant Was Like Fists Hitting Your Face

    My Hate Filled Rant Was Like Fists Hitting Your Face

    Cross pollination of a sickness rooted in the core of everything I am, your pathetic existence is nothing more than a momentarily absent minute of my time, for the rottenness that pumps through my veins hungers for your taste, vile witness you will be, an ending void of emotion for the world will not mourn a loss such as you…

  • Look Without Eyes And See Me For What I Am, A Monster Of A Man

    Look Without Eyes And See Me For What I Am, A Monster Of A Man

    Whispers in the darkness make a trail to the dead of endless torments, I forsake all and everything just to hear the words that never make sense, for I am more than you could ever think I would be, and as life slithers from your rotting corpse know that my hand may have held the blade that slit your dirty throat, but it was your disease that drove it there…

  • Wayward Sheep Call For Death To Be

    Wayward Sheep Call For Death To Be

    To be the infinity to your hopelessness gives me purpose in this world full of colour and light, to be that which sucks up your life so fleeting into my completeness that means so little to a withered vessel broken and ugly, perhaps a chance to dream glimmers in the night of what is never more….

  • A Thousand Words Wasted By Hate

    A Thousand Words Wasted By Hate

    You delivered your hate on my doorstep as if you were delivering a package of shattered glasses, there was no care in the words you chose only bitterness seeped in time and space, I had nothing to give back so I took your words and used them as the unending fuel that now burns my destiny into darkness, for your face is all I see never theirs, and I’ll keep killing you until your voice grows silent….

  • Let Me Be What I Promised My Nightmares I Was

    Let Me Be What I Promised My Nightmares I Was

    A doorway in a moment of time where all was is, and forever is a nightmare threatening what lies in a tomorrow that cannot be for yesterday never existed, let my lightness burn all that ever saw anything but the blood on my hands, forgive the darkness that grows in me for it is not of its making, for I tasted the darkness long before mine took shape…

  • The Sinful Strings Of Fate And Our True Purpose – Short Story

    The Sinful Strings Of Fate And Our True Purpose – Short Story

    He fumbles frantically with his phone as the silence of the world around him creates an uncomfortable eerily feeling. As the phone tumbles through his fingers and plummets towards the ground music blasts to life in his ears, breaking the silence like a brick through a window.

     “Shit!” He hisses through clenched teeth as he desperately tries to catch the phone mid-air, before it hits the ground and potentially shatters into several unusable pieces. The conversation with the girl at Fone Zone replays itself inside his head, repeatedly replaying the part where he refused the protection plan that would have his phone replaced on the spot if it was brought in damaged due to being dropped.

    His fingers brush over the slim-line cover, and he curses himself once more, this time for not taking the extras package that would’ve seen him supplied with a broader cover, with a more protective edge he could’ve grabbed ahold of.

    The phone hits the ground and bounces off the footpath, skidding to a stop at the feet of a shadowy figure. He feels a coldness run up his back and dig its way into the base of his skull, swallowing everything and all his is.

    “Why?” He whispers, moments turn to seconds with no reply. He casts a vengeful glance up into its empty eyes.

    “WHY!” He screams as his hand tightens on the cupboards handle, while the warm sticky wetness of the blood soaks into his socks.

    ”None of this is happening. It’s only my imagination,” Marty says as he closes his eyes tightly while still clutching the cupboards handle. “I’ll wake up and everything will be like it’s supposed to be, and that thing won’t be re…” his words stop before they can all escape his mouth, and he stands in silence once more while tears begin to gently running down his face as the stench of death fills his nostrils as it flows from the creatures cold dead mouth and onto the back of his neck.

  • Shades Of A Torn Soul

    Shades Of A Torn Soul

    It’s not me,

    it’s not my deeds you see,

    shattered dreams,

    whispered words,

    rivers of blood,

    seas of sin,

    it’s not me,

    it’s not my bitterness you see,

    in your head,

    through your eyes,

    beneath your bed,

    my sin continues to grow,

    it’s not me,

    it’s only my lie you see,

    shades of grey,

    slivers of white,

    a pale comparison,

    for a failed life,

    it’s only me,

    for I’m all you see,

    the mirror,

    the shadow,

    the forever.

  • Perpetuating Stereotypes Unfairly Judged

    Perpetuating Stereotypes Unfairly Judged

    Wretched is your design,

    life’s blisters run up your spine,

    the flesh of another beneath your nails,

    your words twisted within lies and fairy tales,

    sedating your hate in worthless bars,

    cover your flesh to hide the scars,

    you throw your weight,

    perpetuating your self hate,

    losing your battle,

    disenchanting the cattle,

    and as you drop your veil,

    showing a twisted mask so stale,

    mesmerising us with words unspoken,

    fractured reflections in mirrors broken,

    we see the truth through your eyes,

    for now you cannot hide behind your lies,

    you’re a soul with its head dismembered,

    a shadow of someone

    who’ll never be remembered.

  • A Scribble For The Soul – Short Story

    “Sinful discoloration of the darkest corners bleeds life into your images, and in that darkness I see something that leads me to believe the infection that ravages every cell of your body has twisted its way into your mind. If you look at the drawings you happily scribbled when you first joined us here, you can see they consisted of a completely different palate than the one you use now,” he says flicking through the small pile of drawings that sit upon his desk, before looking up at him again. “Tell me what has changed?”

    “Nothing’s changed,” he says quickly, his voice void of emotion.

    “Then explain to me the change in style and colours?”

    “No one wants to be a one trick pony their entire life. I felt it was time to try something different. Challenge myself.”

    “There is no challenge being wagered here, there is only disease. Talk to me, I am the only one who can help you harness the energy you wield helplessly and shape it into something wonderful. Something that could heal your broken self.”

    “When I came here, it was by self admittance. I know as do you, that I can walk out that door right now and there is nothing you could do to stop me, because fundamentally there is nothing wrong with me. However,  I’m happy to hide here away from their prying eyes, so I can buy time until I’m written back into the story. What I don’t want is for you, some second-rate afterthought, to challenge my role. You are nothing in this story, in fact you are less than nothing. You’re an invention to suit a need that will be utilized sooner than you think,” he says as he looks around the room, silhouetted by the light behind him. “Can’t you feel it?” He asks leaning forward in his seat, into the light of the sun. “They’re coming, both of them are and we all don’t stand a chance,” Gareth says with a twisted smile.