Summer Games

Authors note: This is the short story I wrote in July that was rejected. The story had to be under 1k words ( mine is 998 ) and it needed to feature something about camping. Camping for me was a huge part of my childhood. I attended a Christian camp in Wisconsin for many years. Digging back into those memories was wonderful. Finding the scary hidden within was delicious.  


The lake was black and hid many secrets. The only light offered came from the hanging moon above but it could not penetrate the lakes obsidian depths. But it did provide enough light for Brody Fitzmore to see the outline of the peer that floated silently in the distance.

Brody gulped the velvet summer night and crunched his toes deeper into the sandy shore. It was a funny thing to see the place that offered laughter, games, and splashing under the summer sun become so dark and ominously corrupted under the waxing moon.

The buckling ribs of the cicadas, the croaking of something bulbous and slimy just beyond the tall reeds, and the scratchy wool air made 12-year-old Brody, who was crowned bravest of the first-year campers, think only of the horrible hungry things within.

A voice slipped through the dark of the trees that leered behind him like great sentinels of summer.

“It’s the last night of Camp Wonder, Brody.”

The soft chattering of his fellow campers buzzed somewhere between the trees.

“That means this is the last chance  to win the Craw-Man Patch.”

Another wave of exciting chattering followed as this crucial fact fell upon Brody and his doubting thoughts.

He needed to do this. If he failed, the counselors would win the coveted patch and he would never be able to return.

Gritting his teeth, Brody took a step into the inky water. The midnight lake felt cold and treacherous. But the chattering turned into cheers, and Brody was filled with courage.

Emerging from the forest was first-time camp counselor, Ellen Roberts, his competitor. Her red one-piece swimsuit seemed to glow as Brody’s eyes quickly traced her.

“You ready,” she said softly looking down at Brody with more concern than competition.

Brody focused his eyes forward. He dare not look at her completely. If he looked at her he would be distracted. He needed to focus. This was life and death stuff.

“Little more than a hundred yards. First one back gets the patch.”

Ellen smiled at him and took a step into the water. They were side by side. Equals in the pale moonlight. All the games. All the blood, sweat, and tears led to this very moment.

Heck, the entire summer depended on this, thought Brody as he balled up his fists with determination.

“It begins when the fire starts. And remember, beware of the thing that sleeps below!” commanded the voice in the forest.

Brody and Ellen went into a running position. A few clean steps and a perfectly executed dive would be the determining factor without question.

From behind them someone was breathing, moving sticks on sticks, pouring a tin of liquid, scraping a match, and then the whoosh of fire and heat. The final camper vs counselor challenge began with a cold splash.

Brody felt he had taken a better dive but he couldn’t be sure because he did not expect the awesome darkness of the lake. His heart pounded from his arms cutting madly through the water but also from the terror that soaked his very bones.

This must be the feeling the elders talked about last night as they sat around the fire. The water was truly filled with microbial fears that bubbled up from the fathoms below.

My God, thought Brody. How deep is the lake? And what of the slimy, blind, oily things that hide amongst the forest kelp below?

Did something just grab him?

Brody kicked violently with his legs. It was probably just his imagination but it could have been the thing that sleeps below! Another layer of gooseflesh covered him as the horror-filled his mind. Must stay focused-


Brody’s head cracked against the floating wooden deck. He made it! Ellen splashed close behind him. Without even trying to clear the stars from his eyes, Brody hurled himself on top of the platform so he could dive back towards the blazing shore. The damage was done.

“Brody! Your head. Your bleeding!”

Brody turned to see Ellen lifting herself up onto the deck. She looked like how he imagined a siren to be. Flowing hair, piercing eyes, smooth skin. Then one of his eyes went dark. With the back of his hand, Brody wiped at it. More hot sticky blood plopped into the water.

Ellen gently tilted his head to the right and examed him. The blood gleamed silver under the spell of the moon as it continued to drip on the deck and fall between the planks.

“It’s not bad. Just a bad scrape,” she said softly.

They locked eyes as she pressed Brody’s hand over it.

“Kinda silly to get hurt over something like this, huh?” She said as her eyes stared out at the bonfire onshore.

“You think your too old for summer games, don’t you?” Brody said with a chord of defiance in his voice. “ You don’t believe in the thing below, do you?”

Ellen looked at Brody with silent teenage knowing.

“It’s all just silly summer camp games, Brody.”

Brody looks at Ellen with a smile. Taking his hand, he wiped the blood across his entire face as if it was warpaint.

“I hit my head on purpose,” he said with wide, unblinking eyes of madness.

“Why’d you do a thing like that?”

“To bleed.”

“Why did you want to bleed, Brody?” said Ellen nervously.

“Because it’s drawn to blood.”

Suddenly Brody started pounding on his wound. What was once a scrape turned into a cascading gash. Blood flowed freely.

Then it came – A tall shadow with cherry-red eyes and moon drenched claws that clicked and snapped behind Ellen.

Smiling Brody turned and dove back into the black water as the thing that sleeps below violently grabbed Ellen with ancient hunger.

As Brody neared the shore the sound of Ellen being ripped apart was replaced by triumphant cheering from his fellow campers. The fear that nearly conquered him was all but gone. The summer was saved.

The campers had won!


The Visitor

Note: Below you will find a rejected short horror story. The story needed to be under 600 words, feature a post-apocalyptic setting, and have a theme of love and loss. Though it was rejected I enjoyed the process. It was challenging but very rewarding. Enjoy!

The man who hated the world stared out the ash-covered window of his decaying house. Walking up to the house was a raggedy girl wearing tattered clothes. She was no more than 10 years old but she carried herself with great familiarity. The man pursed his lips in thought. 

Why is she here again?

When the seas dried up and the sun faded to an ashy smudge, a sickness fell upon humanity. It did not take long for the world to start eating itself. The rule of flesh was all for one and one for all. So the man would forever watch from the shadows of the house to make sure these murdering madmen stayed away. But sometimes they sent children. 

When the girl entered the house of ruination she did so without fear. The man, hidden in shadow, watched her with great curiosity. Careful to not make a noise, he followed as she gingerly walked up the broken staircase. That is when he saw the crude shiv in her pocket. She was surely one of the flesh-eaters.

He waited for her to reach the top of the staircase. Like she always did, she took a left and entered a room. The man gritted his teeth and followed. 

In the past, he had allowed this little girl the freedom to explore and take, but now, after seeing the knife, he had to but a stop to it. He had to kill her before she killed him. 

Before the greying of the world, he was a man of science and not a murderer of children. But was it not him who gave it to them? Thus, making him a murderer of worlds? The reminder sent a shot of anger and guilt through him as he reached the room upstairs. 

He waited and listened carefully. Was she…crying? 

Of course, thought the man. This little beast was well trained. She knew he was there. This was a trap. The man shifted his view so that he could peer through the crack of the door in hopes of seeing the would-be assassin. She wasn’t hiding. She was sitting Indian style in the middle of the floor, crying and holding something.

He should go inside and strangle her. That’s what he should do. Just get it over with. But, his old-world self could not find the strength to act. But why?

Her crying. It reminded him of what was and what could never be. The floorboards groaned as the weight of this thought made him shift with unease. 

The girl stood up and looked back at the door. The man froze as he saw her dirty and tear-streaked face. 

“Hello?” called out the girl. 

Silence fell between them. The man dare not move. 

“Are you there?” said the girl again. 

A voice from downstairs interrupted.

“Rose, time to go!”

Before the man could move, the girl named Rose opened the door and walked through him. 

Turning, she looked briefly towards the man. Her eyes searching.  

The man, perplexed, watched her leave before turning to the room. It was a child’s bedroom.

His eyes moved to a moth-eaten mattress where a skeleton lay holding a rusted gun. The man’s eyes fell to where the child was crying. On the floor was a picture of him holding the girl called Rose in a field of summer dandelions. 

Suddenly, he remembered the good: the smell of spring rain, the sounds of summer, the goodnight butterfly kisses. 

But then he remembered the betrayal,  the bullet, the loneliness. And suddenly the ghost of the man hated everything once again.  

The Phantom Neighbor

I am currently the only resident in my 3 unit apartment. For the last two nights someone has been trying to open my apartment door.


I never investigate it. But I know it’s real because as I write this my door knob is slowly shaking. I can hear the groaning of the wooden entry door as if someone is pushing against it.

I’m sitting on my couch. I have a stupid pocket knife from 5 Below in my hand as I watch my door being tried. I’m careful not to make any noise.

The world is a mad, mad place. Some people kill for money or drugs. And some people kill for the hell of it. Whoever was fucking with me obviously fit amongst these types of people. But I sure as hell wasn’t going out without a fight. That is if the the door was breached. It wasn’t. Thank God. All I need to do is keep absolutely silent.

And that’s when my phone started to ring…

I Found the Devil at Flashback Weekend.

The green and red mohawked man’s jean jacket vest was covered in the most extreme horror patches and buttons I had ever seen. He had patches dedicated to Cannibal Holocaust and pins featuring Charles Band’s shit-tastic pile of cinema trash. But it wasn’t these obnoxious displays of identity that disturbed me so; it was the pinned patch in the center of his jacket that read, “Ask Me About Satan.”

These horror conventions are drowning with all sorts of characters. Here, you’ll find Halloween-Heads, Horror critics, Punks, and even the ultra rare, almost extinct legend that is the Goth. So it wasn’t really the patch that had my heart pumping faster than normal. It was his aura.

I’m almost positive this guy felt me judging his patches because he turned around and grinned straight at my face. I pulled my eyes away and started awkwardly staring at some shitty homemade spooky candles that some aged punk rocker chick was selling.

But what the fuck did I see? It was only a brief glance but I’m almost positive the Satan patched dude had tiny sharp teeth and bible black eyes! I decided to steal another glance.

Confirmed! The guy was still staring at me and he had the blackest fucking eyes I had ever seen. Shark eyes. The eyes that Quint from Jaws spoke about. Before I could process the thought through my energy drink trenched brain, the guy turned around and walked swiftly through the crowd. And I did the stupidest thing anybody could do after seeing a sharp toothed guy with devil eyes: I followed.

I pushed past a fat Freddy who was delivering one out of a thousand cheesy Nightmare lines. Fred cosplay voices are equivalent to Heath Ledger Joker cosplay voices so I couldn’t help but wince. But doing this distracted me from focusing on the man with the ‘Ask me about Satan patch. And that’s when I crashed into Sean Patrick Flanery.

S.P.F (thanks Chris) was fist pumping to terrible music. He smiled and audibly hooted in some sort of cocaine or super fruit vitamin burst. I looked past his orange glow to see my target farther than I wanted him to be. Flanery hooted again and invited me to a shared pump of the fists.

“Not now, Junior!”

I pushed past him.and continued my search for the Satan guy. I couldn’t locate him! I hissed a curse as I desperately scanned the buzzing convention floor like a T-800.

Target acquired! I found him taking a selfie with some big boobed girl with tattoos that she could not have gotten sober. With some sort of stupid courage, I hit continue in this stupid game of cat and mouse!

Just as I was about to reach him, or IT, a t-shirt vendor ambushed me.

“Don’t be shy! Take a look at all our overpriced t-shirts!” said the vendor who grew up on the Twilight Saga.

“Cool but, uh-”

“I know right?! See they all glow under black light?! You see? How cool is that – black light?”

She giggled and flashed a black-light wand like some 12-year-old girl high on rock candy. I wasn’t in the market for stupid shirts but I knew I couldn’t escape this trap so easily. So, I let her have it.

“Why the fuck would I pay $35 dollars for a shirt that turns on with a light that I’ll never encounter unless I’m raving with the crew from Return of the Living Dead? And if I’m exposed to said light I’d be risking the embarrassing fact that I have a ton of cum stain on and around my crotch area. Goodbye.”

Using my rudeness as Bat-smoke, I zipped past her and rounded the corner to where I saw the Mohawk Satan go.

“GOD DAMN IT!” I roared.

The fucker was gone! A wave of panic started to sit on my chest as I looked around like Charles Band looking for a paycheck. Was this going to be one of those crazy ass stories that would haunt my mind until the day I die? The story about the time I saw a real demon at a horror con. What a story that could have been.

The chemicals in my brain did a little dance and I felt depressed as I gloomily walked away to continue my gazing at Lance Henrikson’s liver spots.


A cigarette cracked voice behind me said. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Somehow, someway I knew this voice belonged to HIM!

My heart pumped faster than Sean Patrick Flanery’s fist as I slowly turned around to confront whatever he or IT was.

His eyes were blacker than black. His teeth; yellow jagged abominations that could rip flesh from bone. Under his jean jacket vest, he wore a simple Hanes undershirt with a crude image of an upside down Crucified Jesus. This guy was the real fucking deal!

With a smile, he presented a large black book to me. The book was made of leather. The cover had the Satanic pentagram etched in fine gold ink. I know what this was. It was the Book of Satan! Once I sign it he would give me whatever I wanted! Just like in The Witch movie!

“Wanna check out my portfolio?”.

My saucer wide eyes and slit mouthed grin instantly dropped.


The devil guy chortled, put up his index finger to me as if to tell me to hold on. With his other hand, he pulled out his yellow teeth with a slurp. A line of spit webbed from his mouth and fake teeth. The spit string snapped.

“Damn teeth. Gotta love Spirit Halloween, uh?” He chortled again in merriment. “Wanna check out my portfolio. I’m an artist.”

My jaw fell to the floor. That’s when I noticed he was standing behind a booth that read: Vincent Vicious: Dark Mind, Dark Soul, Dark Art.

This guy fucking just baited me right up the ass! I started tearing up as I grabbed his book of art and flipped it opened. Inside I found life like pictures of classic horror icons like Freddy, Jason, and Dracula. The only thing was they were all drawn like Penises. The guy who I thought was an agent of Satan drew life like horror icons as if they were life like dicks. What. The. Fuck.

My lips trembled as tears softly fell down my cheeks. I Sad Dracula’d hard as I walked further into his trap by complimenting his Horror Penis talents.

“That’s soo…original.”

The asshole smiled a beautiful set of teeth. His right black eyeball popped out. A contact. He pulled the other one out. Two beautiful blue eyes twinkled at me.

“Not biggie. Got them cheap on Amazon. Free shipping with Prime. Total win. Wanna buy a print?”

He pointed at a selection of 8×5 prints of his dick art. He had everything from Regan from The Exorcist to a big black King Kong.

“Come on. Help me out. I’m hungry. I gotta make a living. You love horror, right? These are Con exclusives. Come on, these tables aren’t cheap. Whaddya say, buddy? ”

I must have left my body because I saw myself completely giving in by his sales Kung Fu. He sale slayed me. I was almost sobbing as I pointed at the Michael Myers as a penis print.

“That one.”

He pulled it down and autographed it. In what he must have thought as super clever, he added an exclamation in the shape of a penis.

“That would be 45 bones, my man.”

I trembled a smile and gave him my credit card.

In the background, Sean Patrick Flanery gave me a whats up chin and fist pumped in my direction as the black light t-shirt vendor hung on his bicep. She was waving her wand at SPF’s crotch area.  His crotch glowed with a stain.

I cried.


Neon Ghosts

Kyle Brown came home late one night tripping on mushrooms. These are not the mushrooms that you put in your salad, however you probably can do so. It would entirely depend on how weird you are.

The kind that Kyle Brown took were inter-dimensional. They’re the kind that make time deathly slow as you see everything in neon. It was on Halloween that he came home tripping on these shrooms.

Kyle reached for his doorknob and the doorknob glowed with a brilliance that he could not describe nor truly comprehend. So he laughed in euphoria and entered his studio apartment.

The single pumpkin light in the far corner of his studio glowed in a fiery orange smile much like it had done before but this time it was alive with color. This was no doubt the result of the drugs that he had consumed three hours earlier. With a swift twist of his wrist Kyle locked the door. He was safely inside or so he thought.

Kyle hummed to himself as he slipped off his tired loafers. That’s when he felt it. Something was clogging up the studio apartment atmosphere. Whatever it was Kyle did not like it. He slowly lifted his head up and scanned the room to see a neon glowing sheet ghost sitting on his sagging sofa.

Kyle could hear his heart howling to get out of his chest. He blinked and blinked but the classic sheeted ghost that glowed so brilliantly neon did not go away as hoped. It flashed orange, red, purple, green and blue. It was not in that order. It seemed to have no order in its display.

The ghost reminded Kyle of those freaky fluorescent flashing fish that hang out in the darkest depths of the ocean. The ones that they always showed on ocean specific documentaries for late-night television viewing. Television was something he could turn off. This was not something he could turn off or make go away. Without taking his spiraling eyes off the paranormal intruder, Kyle slowly reach for the light switch.

” DO NOT TURN ON THE LIGHTS!” said a soft childlike voice that slipped out from underneath the folds of the sheeted ghost.

“uh, why?” was the only thing his cosmic lit brain could think to say.

The ghost did not answer but instead swiftly and effortlessly stood up from its sitting position as if it was hoisted up by an invisible string. The ghost was nearly ten feet tall. It’s rounded head scraped the ceiling. The head slowly turned towards Kyle and revealed two black eyes and black moaning mouth.

“You dick!” roared Kyle as he fell on the floor in disbelief.

The ghost started laughing hysterically. He pointed at Kyle and buckled over in glee. Slapping his ghost knee he bellowed out, “I got you, you stupid dink!”

Kyle shook his head and stared at the laughing asshole.

“Booghoulie, I could fucking kill you!

“That’s what you get for doing shrooms without me.”

Kyle looked at his laughing ghost roommate with a face as cold as a tombstone. How could he hate this sad sack of a ghost? After all he was his best friend.

“Besides,” said Booghoulie. “I’m already dead!”

Kyle exploded in a fit of laughter at this obvious truth. The small, drab studio apartment was quickly filled with joy for nothing is better than having a best friend in life and in death.

The Spook-Filled Tackines in Gatlinburg TN


I am currently exploring the insane awesomeness that is Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Let me tell you – this place is flowing with awesome tacky spooks!

My fiancée and I wanted to knock the Appalachian Mountains off our bucket list. So we drove a thousands of miles to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. What I was expecting was a small mountain town with some touristy things….I was not expecting this!!!!


This place is drowning in cheese! Holy shit! I look left and I see Ripley’s Believe It or Not cheese, I look right and see a side of Haunted Mansion! Aaaaahhh! My monster mania radar is going ape shit!


It’s only been 2 hours; I have 3 days. I just might explode. Tomorrow I will share the Haunted Mansion treats with ya’ll.

The Graveyard Machine Presents: Sad Dracula

Halloween 1997 could have been a potentially awesome year for me. It wasn’t. I was grounded.

My punishment was this: I could dress up but I couldn’t trick r’ treat. This was totally intolerable for such a sweet kid like me. I mean, all I did was stand up in Ms. Finches class and produce a beautiful anal crescendo that I had my friend T.J crying. Such joy is a gift.

I have never experienced such aggression in my lifetime. And I thought the winds from my thunder fart was hot! This grounding had scorched my debut of Dracula.

So I walked the streets of Homewood, Illinois in full Drac regalia, looking sad as shit in the year 1997 because I farted in grade school. What a stupid sentence.


Do not fall trap to my lame story of woe for I am inspired! Sad Dracula will become the new face of The Graveyard Machine. I will use Sad Dracula as a symbol of the past, present, and future of all things horror! Sad Dracula is here to remind us to enjoy the spooky side of life.

Sad Dracula Rising!

Flea Market Horror Finds #1

The American flea market is a graveyard for cool shit you don’t need. Which means you actually DO need it.

It’s also filled to capacity with deadite looking, soulsucking, nasal burning, stomach churning goons that’ll make you scream.

If you get past the creatures that lurk you will inevitably enjoy yourself. If ChrisDoesComics and The Gaunt can do it, so can you!

This weekend was Friday the 13th. That means absolutely nothing. However, Friday the 15th was Flea Market Sunday at my local hunt- Wolfs Flea Market.

I was helping my father-in-law hock is junk when I had a sudden urge to hunt. I told myself I wouldn’t buy but that’s like telling my Kiki to stop stealing my God damn pillow every God damn night. I’m glad I didn’t listen to my brain. The gut is always right! The gut is always right!

My first treat of the day took only one American dollar. Best dollar spent in the last 4 days.


Wait until they get a'load of me!

After grabbing the serial killer clown I ventured off to a table operated by some very nice Mexican people. I quickly realized they are not all rapists and gangbangers when I purchased the motherload below!


Kong is King

Todd McFarlane’s RKO King Kong was mine for only $15 bucks! I nearly poo-pooed my slacks! I have been wanting this statue for years. Every single Pop Con or Horror Con had it for hundreds! The scuplt is simply amazing. It truly shows why Kong is the mightiest of monsters.

This find ended my epic Sunday on a high. Perhaps it was from finding Kong or the rancid fumes of the living corpses that stroll the lanes of all markets, but whatever it was I want more.

The Reward

The asthmatic Son woke sometime after three in the morning. He did not need to pee. The winter outside was quite. It was he who woke himself not nature. The Boy had read about mental alarms all month. This week he had put what he had learnt into practice.

Tonight was not practice. He slipped on his Spiderman slippers, shuffled to his desk, pulled open the top drawer, and retrieved the Boning Knife that Father had looked everywhere for. Sliding the drawer shut he shuffled to the hallway with nothing but his red underwear, Spiderman slippers, and the Boning knife.

Father and Mother never went to sleep. Sometime last month they moved their bed across the room, diagonal to the door that is shut but not locked. The lock had broken earlier in the week. It was too expensive to change on a fixed income. Father had his bolt action 700 loaded and pointed at the door across the room. Mother kneeled behind him. Both trembled. Father and Mother knew if they slept on this night they would not wake.

For a week the Son would enter Father and Mothers room. First they slept until the small asthmatic breathing woke them. Sharp air out of open mouth. They called to him soothingly. When the Boy realized they had wakened he shuffled out the room. This continued for a fortnight. After awhile Father and Mother pretended to sleep. When they did this the Son and his strangled breathing would get closer and closer. They would wake again and call out to him. Again he would shuffle out of the room with a soft click of the bedroom door. That is when the voices spoke to them.

The Son held the Bone knife tight in his hands as he shuffled through the long shadow soaked hallway that led to Father and Mothers room. He passed family photos but did not care to look at them. His boney chest heaved and rattled as his mouth exhausted the breath within. The boy did stop at the frosted bay window that looked out from the second floor. He went on his tip toes and craned his neck.

The forest in the backyard was draped with snow. The dead trees beyond revealed the moon was full. The boy licked his lips and smiled. He dropped down and sat. Across from him stood a very old oak Grandfather clock. The Son looked up at the top of the clock where a carved face of an old man leered down. The son picked his nose and waited for his parents to fall asleep.

The attic space above Father and Mothers room groaned. The night was long and they felt the warm sleep pull at their eyes. Father bit his lower lip. It filled his mouth with copper but it did not aid him. Mother had already rested the back of her head against the wall. The weights continued to pull and his lids grew heavy. The thin barrel of the 700 fell to his knees. Father and Mother did not know why the fell asleep. They did not know what the boy had put in their coffee. The gun fell to the floor with thump.

The Son heard the disturbance. He looked at the clock. It read three and a thirty. It was just like The Thin Man had said. The son nibbled on his inner cheek with excitement as he shuffled and wheezed to the last door at the end of the hallway. He turned the knob and popped open the door. He entered with the shadows of the hallway.

Inside the room Father and Mother slept unwillingly. Father was still somewhere between worlds. He desired not to sleep so he fought it. His thoughts were distant. Farther back. Not centered. Yet, he could faintly hear the familiar voice that spoke not only to him but to Mother as well. It was a shared dream that slowly dripped into a shared waking thought. He felt his teeth grind. What did the voice say? He pressed harder until a tooth cracked. And he remembered the shared voice. It said to them: Beware the Boy. Father fought to surface from the chemical sleep.

The tip of the Bone knife pressed against the skin of mothers throat. The skin went back until it popped. The knife slid through easily. It stopped halfway when it hit something hard. The Son was intrigued by the blood that gloved around his hand. It was warm and his hands had grown cold. Mother choked on the blood and on the knife. The Son pulled it out and pushed it through her left eye. The eye gave a soft squelching sound that was enjoyable to the boys ears. He crawled over to Father after the right eye was dealt with.

Father woke sharply as he heard what sounded like fabric being ripped open. He felt movement from his gut. He looked down to see the boy quickly dashing a knife back and forth across his belly. It went deeper and deeper until his gut spilled out.

Beware the boy.

He grabbed at the Sons face. He squeezed the child’s head. His nails dug deep but that did not stop the rapid cutting of the knife. Fathers hands dropped from the childs head. His body shook like he was cold as he looked down at the mess of his gut. His mouth dropped opened and he finally knew what had happened to his missing Bone Knife.

The Sons eyes watered in pain but he did not let that bother him. He had things to do. He put the knife inside fathers open mouth until it could not be seen. He slid off the bed and left the room. The Son did not know but Father and Mother lay slaughtered on the very bed they conceived him in. He left the room.

A long moment had passed when the Son returned to the room. He brought with him wooden toboggan that he dragged with a rope. He pulled the toboggan where mother was. He climbed back on the bed and pushed mother off and onto the toboggan. She fell mostly on the sled. The Boys breathing was sharp and painful but he continued. He dragged Mother out of the room, down the hallway, to the edge of the staircase.

The staircase went down, down to the darkness below. The Son stared wheezing at the inkiness below. He was looking forward to this part. Walking behind the toboggan where he had purposefully positioned the curved end, the boy pushed and pushed until the toboggan dipped and finally cascaded down the stairs into the ebony below. The boy smiled and went down to retrieve the sled.

By the time he dropped Father down the stairs the moon had already risen above the trees. The Boy could not be blamed for this as Father was much heavier than Mother.

He was thirsty after this. So he decided he wanted something to drink but as he thought this the house shuttered and groaned. The boy forgot about his thirst and remembered the task at hand.

Father and Mother lay at the bottom of the stairs. Their bodies twisted and wet with each others viscera and inside stuff. Mothers neck had broken against the wall. They lay under a a tall draped window. The Son wen to the window and yanked the drapes opened. The moonlight spilled inside and covered everything in a brilliant way.

Acting fast the boy quickly shuffled to Father and Mother. He dipped his hands inside Mothers slit neck and Fathers opened belly. He then stepped on their bodies as to gain height. He carefully crouched down, put his arms apart, and smeared a large arch as high as he could on the moon drenched wall with blood. After doing this he took the palm of his hand he made a circle in middle of the arch. He stepped back.

The silver moonlight turned the bloody arch into a glowing liquid. It shimmered magically. It grew bright and brighter. The bloody arch began to make a crumbling noise as the moonlight highlighted it. Small flakes of the wall fell from the outline. Suddenly a door appeared.

The Son watched in awe as this happened. He could not believe it. It was just like the Thin Man had said. Not wasting a minute the boy shuffled to the Moon Door and pushed. It swung open with swoosh. The door opened into obsidian. The child could not see anything but he could hear and feel heavy breathing and hot stagnate air escaping from within. Somewhere deep inside a voice rumbled out.


The Son pushed the bodies into the doorway as far and as much as he could. They did not go completely in. They had knotted together. The boy began to whimper as he tried and tried. His strength was all but wasted. His chest protested the air that struggled to escape from his ragged lungs.

He did not whimper for long. Something from the dark of dark pulled the knotted bodies in with such force that they disappeared with a snap. Heavy crunching, ripping and slopping filled the whole of the house. The Son, wide eyed, stepped backwards and stared at the gaping black mass that the door revealed. A wet slurping sound ended the cacophony of flesh and bone.

Still staring the Son sat down indian style and waited. His breathing slowed. He licked his lips ravenously. It was his turn. His reward. The reason why he had obeyed the Thin Mans request to feed the house was here. It came. From within the door way emerged an immense red and muscular arm covered in thick black hair. In its monstrous hand it held a large gold bar. The arm dropped the bar into the boys lap and retreated into the nether regions of the house. The blood door slammed shut.

And now it was the child’s time to feed. He took the bar and pulled off the gold foil to reveal a thick chocolate bar inside. The Son finally feasted.

Halloween Delight

Upon the faces of those who fright

Ancient haunts will delight

Under witches moonlight.

All will giggle,

And all with glee

For something sweet and sugary

Skeletons in cobbed hats

silly little tykes dressed as bats

and very confused cats dressed as rats!

All are equal on this night,

When the pumpkins are a’ light

Boo! Squeek! Eek! Halloween Fright!