There There, Young Boy…

A horror tale that makes you keep the lights on.

ChrisDoesComics.com

It was in the middle of the night when little Geoffrey was awoken by the tugging of his bed sheets. Without thought he closed his eyes as tight as he could, curled up into a tight little ball, and clutched his blanket turning his small knuckles nearly white. He desperately tried to let his mind wonder elsewhere but found it difficult since this was the third time this was happening tonight. Geoffrey braced into himself and began to think simple happy thoughts. Thoughts about mother. Their trips to the apple orchard or the sound of her voice calling him back for supper as he played outside with the dog. The tugs on his bed sheets were now few and far between and getting fainter with each occurrence. Curiosity always getting the better of him, he slowly opened one eye and quickly examined the corner of his room. There was his…

View original post 1,871 more words

Tom Waits: The Power of Words

I am going to keep this brief and let the words of Tom Waits do the job. All I want to say is that Tom Waits, much like Dylan, is a master wordsmith. Here is a man that can unlock the secret horror of the world.

What’s he building in there?
What the hell is he building
In there?
He has subscriptions to those
Magazines… He never
Waves when he goes by
He’s hiding something from
The rest of us… He’s all
To himself… I think I know
Why… He took down the
Tire swing from the Peppertree
He has no children of his
Own you see… He has no dog
And he has no friends and
His lawn is dying… and
What about all those packages
He sends. What’s he building in there?
With that hook light
On the stairs. What’s he building
In there… I’ll tell you one thing
He’s not building a playhouse for
The children what’s he building
In there?

Now what’s that sound from under the door?
He’s pounding nails into a
Hardwood floor… and I
Swear to god I heard someone
Moaning low… and I keep
Seeing the blue light of a
T.V. show…
He has a router
And a table saw… and you
Won’t believe what Mr. Sticha saw
There’s poison underneath the sink
Of course… But there’s also
Enough formaldehyde to choke
A horse… What’s he building
In there. What the hell is he
Building in there? I heard he
Has an ex-wife in some place
Called Mayors Income, Tennessee
And he used to have a
consulting business in Indonesia…
but what is he building in there?
What the hell is building in there?

He has no friends
But he gets a lot of mail
I’ll bet he spent a little
Time in jail…
I heard he was up on the
Roof last night
Signaling with a flashlight
And what’s that tune he’s
Always whistling…
What’s he building in there?
What’s he building in there?

We have a right to know…

 

 

The Word of the All Gods.

And the witches of flesh hung from the neck on the tree of souls. They screamed and scratched as we chanted in the fiery glow of Christianity.

Be gone to those who cackle and caw at the moon and the sun! Be gone to the dancers of the harvest moon! Be gone to the swayers of pagan songs. We will flay the souls from the bone! Flay the souls from the bone!

*          *          *

Ions have passed and time as be reborn. No longer does the Christian cup hold it’s water. Mighty and strong hath returned the pagan chants of yesteryears. 

Lo! the truth speaks in the trees! Nothing is right and nothing is wrong! Speak to the wind and speak to the sea! We all are cattle from the fields of the All Gods.

They who birthed us from blood soaked tears. They who saved us from wooden cross shame. They who gifted us the planetary zions of impossibilities.

Slumber no more for the All Gods awaken. Slumber no more for we will be saved. Slumber no more for the bells of Irathoth have tolled once again!