Balcony

She came into the apartment, sunny and open, with groceries in both arms. She bumped the door shut with her hip and came through the walkway that led to the kitchen, setting the brown paper sacks on the gleaming marble counter top. “Honey?”

She could hear slightly muffled giggling coming from the balcony just off the bedroom and went towards the sound, her heart hammering in her chest the closer she came. The two French doors were open and the gauzy curtains danced in a light breeze, giving her occasional glimpses of her husband, laughing, and tossing their young son up in the air, catching him in his big hands. The baby was giggling like mad. She wanted to scream.

“Get him off the balcony!” she cried, darting across the room and snatching the baby from her husband’s arm. He looked wounded, and the baby began to cry big, confused tears. She didn’t care. The apartment was eight floors up, and every time she saw him tossed into the air, she could just see him fall… over the edge and to the pavement below. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

~

The years rolled by and as their son grew, and the father grew too. He grew in resentment, and malice. He grew in his desire for spirits, and late nights. His hands grew hard, and they grew fond of slaps and punches. Their son grew, becoming broad of shoulder, deep of chest, and watchful. He had endured his own bruises when he was small, but after a time his father had realized that he was too large, and had turned his attentions to his small, protective mother. Gone was the man who had tossed him, laughing in the sun, on the balcony. Gone was his Daddy.

~

She came into the apartment, quietly, softly, and set her things down in the hall. She took off her shoes – he hated a dirty carpet – and hung up her coat in the closet. She crept through the walkway, waiting for his voice to boom from one of the rooms, or for the feel of his iron hand around her arm. She was always doing something wrong that required his correction. At least he had stopped putting his hands on their boy. That was her one comfort, that he was safe and whole.

She heard giggling from the balcony.

Moving towards the sound, she saw the two French doors open, saw the curtains rippling in the breeze, and for a moment, she saw her husband, young and happy, tossing their son into the air again, and heard him giggle with delight. For a moment, she was afraid again of losing the child, of watching him topple over the railing and to the hard pavement below.

Her son held the father in his arms, and she only just then realized how big and strong he had become, and how frail his father had grown. He had seemed so large when he was hitting her, yelling at her… but he was so small, so small. He fit in his son’s arms like a baby, and lay there as if sleeping, the wind ruffling what little thin hair remained on his scalp. Her son giggled, looked over his shoulder to see his mother in the doorway, and winked. He approached the railing, and tossed his father into the clear afternoon sunshine.

—
Credits to: http://mladyelle.tumblr.com/ /

Countdown Till The End

My father in law is a detective. I met him a year ago when my partner introduced me to her family. He’s no Sherlock Holmes, but clever and seasoned one nonetheless. Normally he doesn’t really tell me, or anyone for that matter, about his work, and this Christmas Dinner was the first time I had ever realized what life changing work a detective did.

September 3 1991. His first case. He was about 22 at the time, a novice in the field of criminal work. The department were no fools, just letting a newbie go do dangerous work alone, so they assigned him to a more experienced detective.

The case was not the typical homicide typically seen in Chicago, but a suicide. Some kid, 16, hung himself, the department told him. They wanted my father in law and his mentor to go and investigate the scene. They were accompanied by a photographer and two others who would do note taking, fingerprints and footprints, measurements, etc.. A typical 5 man team led by my father in law partially, and his mentor majorly.

When they arrived at what was reported as a Motel, the suicide scene seemed very typical. Just a teen who hung himself in the middle of a room. My father in law, however, noticed that the noose seemed to be barbed. What seemed like metallic spikes emerged on the rope for the entirety of the length.

When measurements were done, dates recorded, and surroundings photographed, the two detectives were given clearance to inspect the body. The much more seasoned detective was looking through the corpse’s pockets while my father in law observed. After stumbling on what seemed to be a note, the detective pointed to one of the notetakers and told him to write. Then, he read from the note.

"10. We are the countdown to the end."

The suicide note was certainly spine chilling. They all pondered at what it could possibly mean. My father in law, young at the time, thought it was linked with a cult. His mentor shrugged it off.

One of the workers gave them a vial filled with blood, and asked them to bring it back to the department for a DNA scan. The two detectives complied.

Fast forward three days, and despite their efforts, they were unable to identify the teen and his DNA. My father in law got a phone call later that day, and reported to the department immediately. The news was very grim.

Four more suicides. He and his mentor were sent to investigate a female victim’s scene. I’ll cut out the details, but I will say that it involved self immolation, and the wall was painted in blood with a single, giant, number “8”. From all four suicides, the victims all died in different ways, all had a number involved, and the victims were unable to be identified.

The countdown stopped then. My father in law continued with his work. He’s a seasoned detective now, and doesn’t deal with the blood and guts anymore. He’s moved on to shoplifting and vandalism cases now.

That’s all he’s told me. That’s all I know.

—
Credits to: http://shawn3yboy.tumblr.com/

It's Legal

I’ve always hated the human race.

Dogs and cats, birds and mice- they’ve always been more righteous than people could ever be.

In fact, I hate calling them “humans” or “people.” They don’t deserve such worthy titles.

People tell me all the time that I, too, am a “human.”

I simply reply, “No, i’m an animal, like you. We’re all scum.”

On the other hand, I don’t know why I’m in prison.

In my county, it’s legal to bury animals in your yard.

—
Submitted by: http://natureandnostalgia.tumblr.com/

Fowl-Faced Killer 2: Killer of Fowl

Why is this happening to me? I’m not a bad person! I’ve never hurt anyone; hell, I’ve never even cheated on a math test! So, why is it here? Why did it choose me?

I’m in the hall closet on the second floor, while that “thing” wanders around my home, searching for me! It’s the only place I can hide, the only place I feel safe! I don’t plan on staying here long, just long enough for it to pass me by. Then, I’ll make a run for the front door downstairs!

I’d only heard bits and pieces of this thing! This killer! I heard about it on the news, but never thought I’d ever come face to face with it! But here I am, sitting in a closet, hiding from it! But why? I didn’t do anything! It’s not fair!

Oh god, I hear it coming up the stairs! Heavy footsteps followed by a loud echoing thud! It’s upstairs, at the end of the hall! Please, I don’t deserve this! I hear slow footsteps and something dragging against the hard wood floor, heading in my direction.

My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest! My breathing is so heavy that I have to cover my mouth to keep from making a sound. I can’t let it hear me! I’m not going to die here tonight! It’s getting closer! God help me! It’s stopped.

It’s at the door! My heart skips a beat. It knows. It has to know. I’ve never felt more terrified in my entire life. I see the shadow of its feet peering underneath the door. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m completely frozen in fear.

My heart nearly stops as I hear a splintering thud against the door. I almost scream, but I manage to stop myself. Another thud harder and louder than before. It’s trying to break down the door! It’s trying to get to me!

No!

No, this isn’t happening! This has to be a nightmare! Or someone is playing a cruel joke at my expense! Maybe I fell asleep on the couch watching the news! Yeah, that’s it! I’m dreaming! This isn’t real!

I almost scream when yet another gut-wrenching, wood-splintering thud echoes in my ear. I’m not dreaming! This is all too real! I’m trapped in a closet, with a killer trying to break its way in! Trying to get to me! Trying to kill me!

I’m cornered! I’m helpless! I’m afraid! No, I’m terrified! It’s hammering against the wooden door with all its might, trying so desperately to get through to me. The flimsy wooden door; the only thing separating me from what I can only imagine is a painful and gruesome demise.

But with each eardrum-splitting, trauma-inducing crack against the door, my fear dissolves into hate! Every bit of terror that consumed my very being is now drifting into my subconscious. And from the shadowy blackness, comes a flood of ungodly rage that’s seeping from every pore of my body!

Why did it choose me? Why has god abandoned me? Why am I not worthy of living?

No! I’m not going to die! Not like this! Not like a coward! I won’t be just another victim to this abomination! I’ll be the one that fights back!

I stand to my feet, glaring daggers into the flimsy wood that separates the closet from the rest of the house. The intruder continuing his vicious wailing on the door; small slivers of light shining through the wood, ever so slightly piercing the darkness that surrounds me.

My heart is racing! The adrenaline courses through my veins. My breathing quickens, and seems more like animalistic snarls! My fists clench! My teeth grind together! Sweat pours down my face! There’s no turning back now!

With one last strike from the intruder, I make my move! I slam all my weight into the door, shoulder first! The door tears from its hinges and I crash to the floor on top of it!

Where’s the light? What the fuck happened to the light? It’s pitch black! Nothing around me but darkness! My eyes struggle to make visible what lurks in the blackness that has swallowed me!

No.

No, this isn’t my home! This isn’t my small two story suburban home! It’s not where I live!

It’s a warehouse or a factory. It’s some kind of building with cement walls and floors.

Every bit of the adrenaline filled rage that controlled my very being is gone. The will to fight back against this murderous monster has drifted away. Just like my surroundings, my perspective of the situation has drastically altered for the worse. All I feel now is pure unadulterated fear.

I stagger to my feet, still alert of the danger that could be lurking in the shadows. The only real thoughts I am able to process are questions. Questions that I want - No, that I need answers to! “Why am I here? How did I get here? And where exactly is “here”? Will I go back? Can I go back? Am I alive? Am I dead?” But there came no answers.

My eyes frantically search the room, hoping to find something that could answer my questions! Anything! I find a row of industrial windows along the walls, with moonlight from the outside shining in. Maybe there’s something outside, a sign or something like that. Anything that will tell me where I am! I rush to the window.

What I hoped was salvation from this nightmare swiftly dissolves into horror, as I scream at what I see before me. What should have been a visible look into the outside world was instead replaced with the mangled, bludgeoned body of what was once a human being; barely even recognizable.

From its body structure, I can only assume it was male. A Caucasian male maybe early teens, lying in a dark, concrete room, under a dim spotlight. Its blood and brain matter scrambled across the floor, its skull completely caved in. Every inch of exposed skin covered in black and blue bruising and spattered droplets of blood.

The sight is so gruesome and sickening, but I can’t bring myself to look away. I feel sick to my stomach with each passing second that my eyes remain glued to the body. But then I notice it.

By the limp, lifeless and mangled body is a feather. A black feather; a crow feather.

With every bit of strength in me, I pry my eyes away from the body and back away from the window. My eyes dart all around me, searching for anything that could be lurking in the darkness. But there’s nothing!

At least, that’s what I think. It always feels like I’m being watched!

Realizing that the windows are against me, I rush through the darkness, trying to find any kind of escape route out of this nightmare. All I can hear is my rushing footsteps against the cement floor, echoing off the walls of the building. I think my mind is playing tricks on me, though. It almost sounds like there are two sets of footst-

Fuck!

I tripped over something! A pipe or-

A wooden baseball bat; its weapon of choice. It’s caked in a thick layer of what was once crimson red blood. Fragments of teeth and bone embedded in it, with small traces of human hair and what I can only assume is brain matter. But why is it here? Why is it just lying on the concrete floor, alone? And where is its wielder?

I honestly don’t wanna know the answer to any of those questions. I just wanna get out of here! But now, I have a means of defense, and it has no means of attack. At least, I think. In every case I’ve heard of, the causes of death were always linked back to this bat. Never anything else.

I slowly pick up the bat. Ugh, it’s texture is sickening! But I’ll have to get over that for now, this is for survival! This is all I have to defend myself! I can’t be like the others! I’m the hunter, and he’s the hunted!

I stand to my feet, but my right knee’s a bit fucked up. I landed on it when I tripped. I can barely put weight on it, but I can’t let that slow me down. I have to get away, I have to live! I start to limp more through the blackness, my senses only heightened by my will to survive.

Oh God. Oh God, please. If you exist, I’m begging you for a way out of this! Please, I’ll do anything, just let me live! I’m too young to die! Please, help me kill this thing! Let me-

What’s that sound?

It sounds like cawing.

As I draw closer, I find the source of the noise. A murder of crows hovering over the rotting corpse of one of their own. The crow seems to have been crushed or bludgeoned to death, and partially eaten. White masses of squirming maggots cover the mangled bird, slowly devouring it.

And while the fly larvae devour the lifeless crow, its brethren feasts on them. Oh god, this is making me sick to my stomach.

Actually it’s not nausea I’m feeling. It’s pain! Oh my god, it feels like something’s stabbing me from the inside! No, clawing! Clawing at the inner lining of my stomach! Oh god, it hurts! Oh my god! I’m on my knees, with tears in my eyes! My agonizing weeps echo throughout the facility, as I can’t hold them back! Oh my God, there’s something inside of me!

While I’m curled up in agony, I can feel their eyes glued to me. The crows, they stand and stare, as if they understand my torture! I look up at them with teary eyes, and they just stare back with blank expressions. But I can see it in their eyes, they’re laughing at me! Mocking me! No longer consuming the maggots, but gorging themselves on my pain and turmoil!

I want to scream at them, but for reasons unknown to me, I can’t. All I can do is push myself forward. Find salvation! That’s what I have to do, find salvation from this hell! I can’t be distracted by these birds, or this unrelenting pain! I just have to get out of here before it can get me!

I’m on my feet again, and the pain is even more intense. No distractions! Have to survive! I venture deep into the darkness, leaving the ebony fowls to return to their feasting. The pain in my knee no longer concerns me, as I can barely feel anything other than the literal gut wrenching agony that I am experiencing at this moment.

Oh God, what the hell is happening to me? What am I feeling? What is going on inside of me? I just wanna go home! Please, someone! Just take me away from this nightmare! Just-

Oh my God! Oh my God! I can hear it! I can hear it murmuring in the darkness around me! It’s here! But I don’t know where! My eyes dart around every which way, trying desperately to pinpoint the location of the murmurs. The words are hard to make out, though. They’re very incoherent. Something about numbers and feathers-

I found it!

I found him!

He’s right in front of me!

After all the running and searching, I’m staring eye to eye with this madman of legend! This psychotic killer! This monster! Some call him the “Birdman”, others have just called him the “Fowl”! But law enforcement officials and media outlets have given him one title in particular. The Fowl Faced Killer. Responsible for over a hundred murders all over the country.

His whole body is clad in blackness, from his black jeans, to the black electrical tape that wrapped tightly around his blood-caked hands, to his black leather jacket, to the black hood that shrouded his head. But not his face, oh no!

That was hidden behind the mask. The black leather bird mask. With that elongated beak that stretched nearly a foot in front of him; open, as if waiting to ensnare something within it. And in each corner of the forehead and placed just under the chin were silver studded straps. The only thing that shows any kind of humanity in this monstrosity is the eyes that peer through the jagged holes of the mask. The brown eyes of a human being that leer back into mine and fill me with great disdain.

It’s hard to describe the kind of feeling I’m experiencing right at this very moment. It’s sort of a mixture of absolute fear and pure excitement. I’m not sure if I’m terrified or possibly overjoyed at the moment. All I know is that he’s there and he’s unarmed! I have the upper hand! The odds are in my favor! Survival is within my grasp! Without a moment’s hesitation, I rear back the baseball bat I’m wielding, and as I went to swing I heard the Killer mumble one finally phrase.

"I’m sorry."

The bat connects dead center with his face and he shatters to the floor into tiny miniature version of himself! I act fast and begin to rain down blow after blow on each of the miniatures, but it only keeps producing more small miniature versions of the miniatures! Desperately, I slam the bat down as hard as I can, over and over and over and over. Bits and pieces of them flying past my head with each blow! But they just keep coming! Why won’t you all just di-

No.

Oh God, no.

It was a mirror.

All this time, it was just a mirror.

Oh dear God. It all makes sense now. This place, the body, the feather, the crows, the pain, the denial, the anger, the bargaining, and now the depression of it all. This whole time I’ve been trying to escape a monster. When I was only trying to escape myself; I’m the Birdman. I’m the Fowl. I’m the Fowl Faced Killer. I’m the Killer of Fowl.

What’s happened to me, and how long have I been this way? Was I getting better? Or am I experiencing a Jekyll and Hyde complex?

No. It was them. It was them all along. They love to play tricks on me. Making me suffer through a sick and twisted delusion, all for their own maniacal pleasures. The physical misery is not as satisfying anymore; they’ve moved on to psychological. And until every last feather is gone, this nightmare will never end.

Weeps in the darkness pierce my ears. A woman crying, and the pain is back. There is no escaping this hell, only appeasing the cause will treat the symptoms. And I have no other choice than to accept it. I clutch my weapon tightly in my hands. It is my lifeline, and it is the only thing that will relieve this agony. I turn. There is a young woman curled up in a corner, sobbing hysterically and bleeding from a wound in her head.

"I’m sorry."

I slowly move towards her. Her sobs become even more hysterical, as she desperately tries to crawl for some kind of cover that does not exist.

"I’m sorry."

I raise the bat over my head. She pleads for her life. I can no longer see a woman. Only a worm. And the crow within me needs to feed.

"I’m sorry."

I bring the bat down with all my might. A familiar, sickening, meaty thud echoes throughout the building, and a warm crimson fluid splatters on my body. The worm falls silent. I raise the bat again and bring it down. More blood sprays my body, but I persist in my act of bludgeoning.

"I’m sorry."

Please, forgive me! It’s the only way!

"I’m sorry."

But there may be hope! You’re dying for a noble cause!

"I’m sorry."

When they’re all gone, the world will be safe!

"I’m sorry."

Just a few more, I know it!

"I’m sorry."

One hundred and seventy-five should be the end of it!

"I’m sorry."

No more feathers!

"I’m sorry."

No more pain!

"I’m sorry."

—
Credits to: Jon Tallent (tallent_jonathan@yahoo.com)

Fowl-Faced Killer

"Have you heard about the Fowl Faced Killer? Apparently, there’s been a string of serial killings all over the country that link back to a guy that wears a leather bird mask.

The murders all occur within the last three months. According to investigators, the majority of the victims are chosen at random, the others were witnesses to his crimes.

The killer has a reputation for brutally murdering all sixty-five of his victims with a baseball bat. In most of the cases, the victims were bludgeoned to death, and in other cases, they were strangled with the bat.

But then there were the more ‘disturbing’ cases, in which the killer would create more gruesomely unique ways to use the bat. It started with Victim Twenty-one, where he choked the victim to death by forcing the handle of the bat down her throat.

He’s also known for leaving a similar piece of evidence at each crime scene. A single crow feather, all from the same bird. But what I’ve found the most chilling is the location and time that two specific killings took place. Victim Forty-seven was killed at 2:35 am on December 19, 2012, in Cleveland, Ohio.

Then, Victim Forty-eight was killed at 1:44 am on the same day, in Jacksonville, Florida. There’s only a nine minute difference between the two. How could he have possibly traveled across the country in only nine minutes?

Some believe that it’s a copycat. Others suggest that it’s some kind of cult. But all eye witness descriptions of the killer were all too similar, meaning there couldn’t have been more than one. Now, this has been going on for months, and you’re probably wondering why I’ve just now brought it up. Because I think he’s here, in my neighborhood.

An hour ago, I was driving home from work and I decided to take a shortcut down an alley. There was a silhouette standing directly in the middle of the path. It didn’t seem unusual at first, I usually saw people out walking on my way home. I slowed down, just to give it enough time for it to see me and move out of the way. But it didn’t move. I assumed it didn’t notice me, so I honked my horn.

Nothing. It didn’t make the slightest movement, or even acknowledge my presence. I was alarmed by this, but against my better judgement, slowly continued towards the silhouette. As I drew closer, my headlights shined on the figure in the darkness. It was a man. Dressed in a black leather coat, with a hood placed over his head. I stopped. His hands were tightly wrapped with electrical tape and caked with blood. And in his right hand was a bloody bat.

I immediately shifted my car into reverse and screeched out of the alley, but not before he turned his head towards me and I laid eyes on that ominous mask. It was just like all the witnesses had described. A black leather mask, with a long, opened beak where the nose should be, a studded strap under the chin and in each corner of the forehead. His brown eyes glared into mine. Even as I sped off, the eye contact never broke. It made me feel helpless, and I don’t know why.

I dialed 911 when I got home and alerted them of the situation. They’ve been circling the area for awhile now. I just wanted to warn everyone in the surrounding area to take extra precautions when locking up their homes tonight. If you own a gun, I suggest you keep it on hand. I’ve already taken the liberty of locking all my doors and windows. But for some reason, I don’t feel any safer. It’s odd, I feel like I’m being wa-“

…

"…Sixty-six… sixty-six not enough… no… sixty-six not enough… still too many… feathers… still too many, not enough… sixty-seven… yes, sixty-seven… sixty-seven will be enough… should be enough… no more feathers… sixty-seven… sixty-seven, no more feathers left… need sixty-seven… should be enough… where is sixty-seven?"

—
Credits to: Jon Tallent (tallent_jonathan@yahoo.com)

The Little Boy

My boyfriend and I own our first flat in England and were pretty excited about it.

We have 2 bedrooms and one wasn’t being used, that is until Leon’s (my boyfriend) brother asked if he could stay for the week. Leon and Kyle’s dad recently had a stroke and was in the hospital only half an hour away drive from us and Kyle lived a good 4 hours away so he wanted to stay and see his dad and use our spare room. We both had no problem with it.

So Kyle pulls up outside and he has bought his son Corey, who’s 5, with him. Hmm… ok I thought it was just Kyle and I personally didn’t fancy taking care of a kid too. Sounds very mean but I also had this week off and I had planned to go out and see friends, and I didn’t exactly want to be stuck baby-sitting, especially since I never knew Corey was staying over. I don’t really like children and images of him breaking my PS4, messing up my bath bombs and just causing a mess went around in my mind.

"It’s only for a week and I promise I will help out" Leon told me.

Ugh fine. Let’s just get it over with.

“So Kyle what’s with Corey? You never mentioned him coming over” I raised over dinner.

“Oh yeah.. Sorry, well my wife didn’t want him. He’s taken to drawing on the walls”

And he bought that kid to our new flat? Great.

Later Leon and I were in bed with the lights off watching Netflix on our iPad and just having a cuddle. It was around 2-3 in the morning and the door opens. It’s Corey just standing there looking at us.

“You OK buddy? You want some warm milk?” Leon shouts over.

“Yes” Corey just says.

Leon gets out of bed to sort him out and then a few minutes later he’s back in bed watching our film.

The next day Corey just said that he’s lost ‘the boy’ and is looking everywhere in the flat. Behind the sofa, behind the TV and just practically running around like a loon.

“What boy?” Kyle asks while behind down to his knees to look at him.

“He’s hiding.”

We all shrug it off that maybe he’s making stuff up. After all being with adults all day and no other kids, he may be lonely.

When it came to bed time, Corey was laughing and talking to someone in the spare room that him and Kyle were now occupying. It was like he’s having a full blown conversation with someone silent, well as much as a 5 year old could have.

I practically didn’t care as I thought back to earlier thinking that he’s just lonely and made a friend up or something.

Nothing happened the next morning and during lunch.

Kyle planned to go to the hospital and stay there until pretty late. As their dad was in a private hospital their visiting times were great and we could practically visit him anytime we wanted.

So me and Leon are in bed watching Netflix again with the flat to ourselves. Back to normal! At least for the night anyway.

We finished watching a TV episode and Netflix was just about to start the next episode when we paused it. I went into the kitchen to grab some beer for us and I grabbed some crisps too. Leon was in the loo at the end of the hall. I jumped in bed and started to open a beer for us when he came back down the hallway.

“Ready?” Leon says as he’s got his hand on the light just about to turn it off.

“Ready” I say smiling back at him.

He turns towards the light switch when we both see it. A child like shadow - the same size as Corey walk past our door and into the spare room.

"God damn it Corey. Why are you awake?" Leon just shouts while laughing down he hallway at him.

“Babe….. Kyle and Corey are with your dad… Remember?” I’m stuttering now.

We shut the door to whatever it was and leave the lights on.

The next day I got some smudging sticks and we practically went around the whole flat saying a prayer.

Corey was upset that his friend was gone. He said he can’t see him anymore.

Thank god whatever it was went, and Corey and Kyle have also gone now. Double happiness!

—
Credits to: Lori williams (Lori@msn.com)

The Great Debate

We’d always feared that this day would come. But a couple of months ago, it came true. That was when our scientist first spotted the space ship. At first we weren’t sure if it was heading toward us, but today we definitely know that it is. Everybody is at their wits’ ends on what we should do. Some say, ‘shoot it down before it gets here. What if they are bad and want to harm us?’, while others say, ‘let them come and see what they want. Maybe they want to help and show us new technology that could make our lives better.’

Since we’re a civilized culture, we took a world-wide vote, and it was decided to let them land, and to hopefully make peace with these aliens and learn from each other.

The ship would arrive in a couple of days. Most of us got ready to welcome the aliens. The thought was that they wouldn’t travel this far to start a war and we clearly would have them out-numbered. However, the others that had believed that the were dangerous were preparing for the worse. Now, it was only hours until they arrived and that’s when it all started.

Their ship broke off into smaller-looking ships and spread all over our planet. And that’s when the reports came in- that they weren’t other ships but were atomic bombs instead.

The big ship was just minutes away from landing. We weren’t prepared for this and couldn’t protect ourselves fast enough.

It was already here.

The ground shook as it landed. The door opened immediately and what looked like soldiers came running out and started shooting anyone that looked like they were going to attack them.

I got on my knees with my hands behind my head and hoped they knew what that meant. One of their soldiers came over and restrained me.

I asked, ‘why are you doing this? Why did you bomb those other countries and not us?’

'It’s simple', he said, 'We bombed the others because it was the easiest way to kill most of them. The ones that have not died will soon die from the radiation. By the time we can get all of our kind here, it will be safe for them to live there. In the meantime we can take over this part of your planet, and set up colonies for the others that will be arriving. If you haven’t figured it out by now why we are here, it’s because we are taking over your planet. Ours is almost dead and luckily for us, we found your planet which is very similar to ours. Also, we have learned our lesson. We won’t treat this planet like ours.'

I asked, ‘Why can’t we just live together?’

The soldier responded, ‘Because we don’t trust you or think you would allow hundred of thousands, if not millions of our kind to live here. We knew that it would be too much to ask and so decided that this was the best way. But don’t worry- we won’t kill all of you. Unfortunately, a lot of you will have to die. Sorry- we feel that this is the only way.’

I had two more questions and asked, ‘What alien forms are you? And where do you come from?’

'Fair enough', the soldier said, 'We are known as humans and we come from the planet Earth.'

—
Credits to: http://hell-if-i-know13.tumblr.com/

The End of the World

Jeremy sits down on the couch, grabs the remote and turns on the TV. He flips through his recorded shows and clicks on Doomsday Preppers. It’s his favorite show. He’s gotten a lot of great ideas for his bunker from this show. He had just begun to start the third episode when his phone rings.

Jeremy ignores it. He hates having his show interrupted. So he lets it go to voice mail, when it starts to ring again.

What the hell- I’m not answering it, he thinks.

On the 3rd call he finally looks, and it’s his girlfriend, Sarah, who never calls him while she is at work.

'What’s up, babe,' he answers.

'You need to call Adam- he's been trying to call you.'

'Why?' Jeremy asks.

'I don’t know all the details- Adam was pretty hysterical when he called me. All I know is that he's coming to get me and we're coming over,' Sarah replies.

Must be serious, Jeremy thinks. ‘Um OK, I’ll call him and find out. Be safe, baby, I love you.’

'I love you, too,' Sarah replies. Jeremy hangs up the phone and calls Adam.

'What the fuck is going on, man?'

'You were fucking right, dude- shit's going down. All those times we'd made fun of you and that damn bunker, and now we're actually going to use it,' Adam exclaims.

'What the hell are you talking about, Adam?' Jeremy asks, and switches to regular TV to see if he can find anything. 'I'm watching TV right now and I’m not seeing anything, Adam.'

'And you won’t! I'm not supposed to know, I was just in the right place at the right time. I was walking past two generals who were talking, and I heard them say that North Korea and Russia have both launched nuclear missiles at us,' Adam replies. Adam is in the army reserves and is a mechanic on a base.

'No way, you're messing with me, Adam. Really funny- get the crazy bunker guy all worked up.'

'Jeremy, I’m dead serious. I’m driving to pick up Sarah right now. Get your ass in the bunker and wait for us. Don’t let anyone in there either. I remember the secret knock so you'll know that it's us.'

'OK dude- you got it. You two be safe, damn it. You two are really my only friends,' Jeremy replies.

He then runs to put on some clothes and grab some supplies from the house, before running to the bunker. He gets in, shuts the door and locks it. He then sits and waits for his best friend and girlfriend to get there.

Hours have gone by and they still have not showed up. He can’t help but think the worst. He tries to get his mind off of them by taking inventory of all of his food and water. It worked, and he gets lost in the work. He decides that he has enough food and water for a year for all three of them. Right before he’s about to finish, he hears a banging on the door and runs over.

'Who is it?' he yells.

'It’s Adam and Sarah. But don’t open the door. The radiation has spread- it's already here!'

'What- no way! I’m going to let you in!' Jeremy yells.

'No!!' They both say. 'You'll let in all the radiation and we all would die. We're going to go back to my military base and see if they can help. We'll come back and get you whenever it’s safe. We love you, Jeremy.'

Jeremy falls to the floor crying. ‘I love you guys, too.’

Silence.

Months go by, and the pain of losing his friends begin to pass. He keeps himself busy by reading and watching movies. He can’t help but wonder what’s happening on the outside. He occasionally walks to the door and puts his ear to it, but hears nothing.

Two years have gone by and the loneliness is starting to set in pretty hard. He wants to go out but is too scared. He just sits there, thinking about his friends and wondering.

It’s about three years and his supplies are running low. He has about a week’s worth of food and water left if he rations it. Jeremy had stocked up on food and stored what couldn’t fit in his bunker, in his basement. He had a special room built that was dug into the wall with a door looked like a shelf full of junk.

He had enough food for him and his friends. But since his friends had never made it, he ended up having enough food for 3 lonely years. Just thinking of his friends makes him sad. He decided that it’s about time for him to go out of his protected bunker. Jeremy puts on his bio-hazard suit and puts the mask on. He grabs his AR 15 and pulls the slide to put a bullet in the chamber. He clicks the safety off, takes a deep breath in and exhales.

He turns the wheel and slowly opens the door. He peeks out and the outside looks clear. He swings the door open, and the sun beats down on his face, blinding him for a minute.

Oh how he has missed the sun. He wishes that he could have spent more time outside before all this had happened. He stands there and soaks up the sunlight. He looks around and nothing has changed. He had expected the grass and trees to be dead, but looked just like it did three years ago.

OK, Jeremy thinks, let’s get this done. I don’t know what can be out here- maybe I could be attacked by zombies. Jeremy laughs out loud at the thought of that.

He makes his way across the yard and slowly opens the back door to his house. He raises his AR to his shoulder and checks the rooms on the bottom floor. When it’s all clear, he heads to the basement and clicks his flash light on before shining it at the door. He walks over, puts the combination in and the door clicks open. All of his supplies were still there, untouched. He starts to fill his bags up and takes the first load to his bunker. He heads back in a few more times, and finally has the last bag loaded.

Jeremy heads back upstairs and is about to leave when he passes a picture of his friend, Adam. He grabs it off the wall and throws it into his bag. He then decides to go into the living room to get a picture of Sarah. He finds one and stares at it until a tear runs down his cheek. He loved them both so much.

He turns around and starts to head for the door when he hears a noise upstairs. He stops to listen and hears something again. He puts the picture in his bag and sets the bag by the door. He makes his way upstairs very quietly as he doesn’t know what it could be. He doesn’t want to scare it away, in case it’s a person. Hopefully they would have some news on what’s going on. Or if it’s a bad person, he doesn’t want them to have the upperhand and shoot him as he opens the door. Or, it could be an animal and if it doesn’t look sick from radiation, it would be nice to have fresh meat.

He gets to the top of the stairs and reaches the spare bedroom. He turns the knob and slowly opens the door. He raises his rifle and steps in, before swinging to the left, then right.

Nothing. He steps out of the room and walks to the bathroom. He looks in, and it’s empty.

He makes it to his room and hears something move. He turns the door handle and opens the door. He scans the room and sees something that looks kinda big under the blankets.

Sweat is pouring off Jeremy’s forehead as he reaches down and grabs a handful of blankets, before quickly pulling them off.

And he sees it.

Jeremy stumbles back until he hits the wall.

Adam and Sarah both sit up in the bed. Jeremy takes his gas mask off and stutters, ‘What? How?’

Adam looks at him, ‘Fuck, we figured that you would have killed yourself in that bunker by now.’

'What’s going on?' Jeremy yells. 'Have I been in that fucking bunker for the past three years for nothing?'

Adam starts to talk, ‘We had to figure a way of getting you out of our lives. We were tired of defending your sorry ass. People are always making fun of us for having the crazy-doom’s-day friend and it was embarrassing. Me and Sarah only had each other and we grew closer and fell in love. So, we came up with this end of the world thing so we could get you out of the picture. And what perfect way to do so, than your damn bunker. We figured you would have killed yourself by now.’

Jeremy pushes his body off the wall, raises his AR,  and puts a bullet into Adam’s head.

Sarah screams, ‘Please, Jeremy, no! I wanted to come and tell you but Adam wouldn’t let me. Please believe me.’

Jeremy lowers the gun and walks over to Sarah. He bends over and gives her a kiss.

'Oh, thank you, Jeremy. We can start over. We can hide his body and be together.'

Jeremy turns around, walks over, picks up his gas mask, turns around and looks at Sarah. He raises his AR and puts a bullet in Sarah’s head.

'I really wish my friend and girlfriend had survived the attack,' he says. He puts his gas mask back on, walks downstairs, grabs his bag of supplies and walks outside. He stops and looks up at the sun.

I hope that within the next three years it’ll be safe to live out here again, he thinks. He walks back into the bunker before shutting and locking the door.

—
Credits to: http://hell-if-i-know13.tumblr.com/

Over & Over

Tom wakes up and checks the time of the glowing red numbers in the darkness. They read 3:00am. He laid there for a moment, deciding if he wants to go get something to drink- for some reason, it was hot as hell in his room and his throat was dry.

So he pulled the covers off of himself and sits up. The red numbers now read 3:15. Just as he was about to get up, he heard the first gun shot.

BOOM!

It sounded like it came from his sister’s room. Then there was another shot.

BOOM!

That shot sounded further down the hall, from his brother’s room.

BOOM! BOOM!

These two shots was even further down the hall, from the very end where his parents’ room was.

Tom didn’t know what to do. Was he next? But why would they skip his room?

Tom was paralyzed, and couldn’t move off his bed. But he had to. He plants his feet on the cold, wooden floor and walks to his door and slowly opens it. He doesn’t see anybody, so he moves to his sister’s wide-opened door and looks in. Blood is splattered all over the headboard of her bed.

It takes Tom everything he has to stop himself from screaming. However at the back of his head, he knows that there are two more rooms to check. He reaches his brother’s room and looks in. His brother must have sat up when he had heard the first shot- there is a big hole in his chest, and blood was still pouring out of it.

Tears are streaming downs Toms’ face, and it took every ounce of his strength to look in his parents’ room.

His father was laying on the ground with half his head gone, and a baseball bat is still gripped in his hands. His mother was curled up in the fetal position on the bed. The sheets that used to be white are now a deep wet red. Tom falls to the ground sobbing.

Why was he left to live? Why would any one do this? He just lays there crying with his eyes tightly closed shut.

When he opens his eyes again, he is back in his bed. He is confused. Was it a dream? Tom looks over at the clock and it’s 3:00am. He just lays there and tries to slow his heart rate down. He couldn’t believe how real that dream had felt. His nerves are finally calmed and he is about to go back to sleep when-

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Tom jumps out of bed. What the hell??? He runs out of his room and it’s the same scene as before.

Everybody was in the same exact positions, and everything was the same. He ran all around the house to see if he could spot the person who had done this but found no one. He runs back inside, and picks up the phone to call 911. Just soon as he hits the last 1, he is back in his bedroom again.

Am I losing my mind? He looks over at the clock and it yet again reads 3:00am. This time, Tom jumps up and runs to his parents’ room to wake them up.

'Mom, dad, wake up!'

'What is it, son?' his dad says.

'We need to get out of the house- there is someone that’s going to come in and kill you!'

'Tom, you just had a bad dream. Go back to bed.' His mom replies.

'You have to believe me, mom!'

'Son, go to bed!' his dad yells.

Tom turns around and decides he can at least try to save his brother and sister. He glances at the clock in his parents’ room. 3:10am.

I still have 5 minutes, he thinks as he goes and grabs his brother and sister.

'What are you doing, Tom?' they asked, as he dragged them to the hall closet.

'Don’t worry about it,' Tom says. 'Stay here- no matter what you hear!'

He shuts the door and runs to the living room. Maybe he can surprise the murderer, tackle him and take his gun. As he looks at the clock, it turns to 3:15 am.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

'No!' Tom shouts.

How? I did not even see anybody! Tom runs upstairs and checks the closet- his brother and sister were gone. He checks their room and it’s just like the last two times: every little detail was the same.

It was like he never even gotten them out of bed.

Tom turns around to run, to get away from this nightmare. He sprints down the hall and trips over a rug. His body flies through the air and smacks onto the ground. Pain shoots through his body. Tom’s teeth slam together he winces from the pain. His body had just come to a stop from sliding on the floor, and Tom opens his eyes.

No! 

Tom is laying in his bed, and of course the time is 3:00am.

This time Tom wouldn’t let it happen. He jumps out of bed, runs in to the garage and grabs a can of gas. He goes into the living room, and starts splashing the gas around. He drops the can, and goes into the kitchen, grabs some matches out of the cabinet, draw and strike them before tossing them onto the living room floor. They ignite and quickly starts to engulf the living room.

Tom runs to his parents room.

'Mom, dad- wake up! There's a fire!'

His mom and dad wake up, and they run and grab Tom’s brother and sister, and head out the back door. They stand there watching. The whole house is pretty much in flames.

Tom smiles. They might not have a house, but at least he was able to save his family. He gets a little grin on his face, but it doesn’t last long.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

What the hell? How could the shooter even survive in there and what could he possible be even shooting at?

Tom turns around to see if his family had heard the shots.

But there is no one there.

Tom turns back toward the house, and there was no fire. The house looked just as it did before he had started the fire. Tom drops to his knees and buries his head into his arms and falls to his side. Tom starts to pray. Then he hears a deep voice.

'That’s not going to help you now, boy.'

Tom takes his face from his arms, pushes himself of the ground and looks around. He was no longer outside. In fact, he didn’t know where he was. It was pitch black. All he could see were these two red, glowing dots coming closer to him and, what sounded like hooves. It started to talk as it came closer.

'It pleases me greatly when you souls forget. The pain and anguish you suffer having to experience it for this first time again is delight.'

He is close enough for Tom to see now. He looks to be about eight feet tall. He is a blackish red color with deep red eyes. He has two giant horns penetrating from his head. His feet are large hooves that shake the ground under Tom’s feet.

'Let me show you now, boy. Show you why you are here in my presence.'

The creature places his hand on Tom’s head and sinks his long, black nails into Tom’s skull. Tom screams in pain as the beast laughs.

Tom opens his eyes and he is back in his house. He looks over at the clock and of course, it says 3:00am. He sits up and walks out of his room to the gun cabinet in his dad’s office and turns the numbered knob until it clicks open.

He grabs a shot gun and 5 shells and loads them into the gun. He cock it as he walks down the hall. He reaches his sister’s room and points it at the bed.

BOOM!

He takes a few more steps, pumps the shot gun and the shell falls to the floor. He swings open his brother’s door. His brother is sitting up in his bed. He looks into Tom’s eyes with confusion.

BOOM!

Tom turns to his parents’ door. He kicks the door in, while he pumps the gun. His dad is walking towards him with a bat.

'TOM WHAT ARE YOU-'

BOOM!

He can hear his mom scream he points the gun at her and ejects the shell. She curls up, and Tom pulls the trigger.

BOOM!

He turns around and walks back into his room, sits on the bed and puts the shot gun barrel in his mouth. The beast removes his nails from Tom’s head and steps back.

'Welcome to Hell, my son.'

Tom wakes up in his bed.

He looks over at the clock. 3:00 am. He just lies there, tears pouring down his face.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

—
Credits to: http://hell-if-i-know13.tumblr.com/

Monster

Suzy finishes her chores, walks into the kitchen and tells her mother that she has finished, before asking if she can go to her friend, Kim’s, house. Her mother agrees and Suzy heads for the door.

'Suzy, stay out of trouble and be careful!' Her mother yells.

'OK, I will!' she yells back.

Suzy has just turned 12 and was finally allowed to walk to her friend’s house by herself, but only to the friends that lived close.

She decides to cut through an alley Suzy knows she shouldn’t, but it would save her some time. She gets halfway through when she hears something behind her. She turns around to look, and the only thing she sees is a rag coming at her face.

~

Suzy wakes up in a dark cellar. Her hands and feet are tied up and there is tape over her mouth. She looks around, and sees him standing in the corner. He steps out into the dim light and Suzy can see that it’s her neighbor, Dan. He walks over and sits on the bed next to her. He leans over and kisses her cheek.

'Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to untie you and take the tape off- but if you scream or try to run, I’ll put it all back on and I’ll have to punish you.'

He unties the knots and slowly pulls the tape off. Suzy punches him in the crotch and runs into the dark corner before giggling.

'You little bitch! You're going to pay for that!'

Suzy’s giggles angers Dan even more as he gets off the bed and starts walking toward her. Suzy continues to giggle as Dan gets closer.

Her giggles then start to turn into a deep menacing laugh. It stops Dan in his tracks. Suzy steps into the dim light, and stares at Dan as her laughter grows louder. Dan falls to his knees in fear.

Suzy’s jaw unhinges and her skin starts to split, like a reptile shedding its skin. As Suzy’s skin falls to the floor, the monster from inside her makes its way to Dan. It grabs him and brings Dan up to its face. It licks Dan’s cheeks and leans in.

'You better worry, cause I’m going to hurt you.' 

Dan starts to scream, but it’s cut short by as he starts to gurgle and choke on his own blood. The monster eats up every part of Dan, walks back over to Suzy’s skin and works its way back into the skin.

~

Suzy looks back to make sure that she had left no mess before opening the cellar door. She steps out and looks around. Once she see no one is looking, she skips the rest of the way to her friend Kim’s house.

—
Credits to: http://hell-if-i-know13.tumblr.com/

Routine

The world is full of routine, even the most twisted of us have one. Gacy had a routine when he buried all those young men beneath the floorboards.  Wournos had a routine when she blew away her customers, groping, questing parts and all. Gein had a routine as he painstakingly stitched all those various bits of people together, belts of nipples and hand skin gloves.

Naturally, I have one too.

Mondays typically find me at the gym, though it’s often full of fair weather bunnies who flock in to try and make up for a weekend of overindulgence.  I think they know, though.  Humans, for all their intellectual bluster, are just herd animals like sheep and cattle.  I think they can smell a predator, even on a subconscious level.  Maybe it’s the blood.  The strongest soap and most scalding water can never entirely erase that smell once it’s in deep, once you’re bathed in it over and over.

Tuesday is grocery day.  I used to go on Monday, but food stamps and other government assistance monies go in on Mondays, so I would have to fight against a surging tide of mother hens (it’s always the mothers, too; the cockerels, if they even exist, stay home) leading varying numbers of snot-nosed, skinny chicks.  Acrylic nails trace along boxes of cereal as if the “8 added vitamins and minerals!” listed would somehow fortify their straggling brood.  There are invariably two types of hens: loud, boisterous women with sparkling jewelry and bad taste, their children swarming like plague around their monolithic mothers.  The second kind is smaller and more furtive; they slip through the cracks, darting in and out of shelves when they can manage, their silent children huddled like frightened deer.  I could almost feel sorry for these latter women.  The dark circles beneath their eyes and sunken bellies tell a story of want, and of worry.

Wednesdays, I hunt.  Most people wait until the weekend to go, figuring that they’re more rested and will have more time, I suppose.  That may work for pheasant, duck, and deer, but humans are a different animal altogether.  By the weekend, my prey is more rested too, and may be on their guard.  Wednesday is hump day - Tuesday is too early, they’re too fresh yet, and Thursday they’re starting to perk up and look forward to the weekend.  Wednesday is good.  People are slow on Wednesday, complacent.  Wednesday turns people into drones, and drones are good.  Drones don’t run very fast.

Thursday is prep day for me, but I suppose it could also be called Crying Day.  Or Dawning Day.  When the prey first wake up down cellar and notice the shackles on their ankles, see the bare concrete walls and floor stained in old, brown blood…most cry.  They cry and plead and scream, rattling their shackle chains and clawing at the walls.  I’ve found more than once fingernail stuck in the seams, the edges ragged and bloody.  All the noise used to distract me and I’d miss an edge that needed sharpening, or I’d forget to unclog the drain.  A few minor disasters taught me my lesson, though.  I can’t just call a plumber, after all.  I found that meditation helped me keep my focus, sometimes with some light, soothing music.  It got me back on my routine.

Fridays are busy.  There’s so much to do, and depending on how lucky I got on Wednesday, I sometimes don’t get into bed until the small hours on Thursday.  One thing, though, that I never forget is to make sure I lay them out flat, no matter how many pieces they’re in.  When I first started this, I cannot tell you how much time and energy I wasted trying to wrestle uncooperative parts into plastic bags, stuffing them into boxes, and shoving them into my trunk for transport.  I’ve since bought a truck, but the real trick is to drain them and lay them out flat.  All that liquid is heavy, and when they rigor up flat, it’s just like stacking cord-wood.

I have to hustle a bit on Saturday, but only for a little while.  I only have about an 18 hour window to get all the items loaded and transported up to my cabin, but it’s not a terribly long drive.  Wrap ‘em all in plastic, cover them with a tarp in the bed of my truck and haul ass for the Clean Air Zone.  If I’ve done everything right, they will still be nice and stiff when I get there, and will slide beautifully down the greased ramp into the cellar.  It’s cool down there year round, and as long as I keep everybody moving, I can usually keep the freshest ones apart from the others.  The driest, lightest ones I keep near the door to the inner house.

Sunday is Burning Day.  I always take a case of beer and a few steaks when I go up to the cabin, and an indulgence of each rarely sees me up before ten in the morning.  I keep a wheel barrow by the door leading down cellar, and after a year or more down there, the bodies are light and easy to stack.  One fellow was particularly fat (I try to stay away from those, but as I recall the hunting had been rather bad that week, and he was conveniently making a nuisance of himself) and I think he stayed down there for the better part of three years before I could haul him up.  I pile as many as I can into the barrow’s bucket and when them out to the burn pile.

I’ve worked on getting this part perfect for years, but I think I finally got it.  I know better than to load the whole thing up with big, vision-obscuring logs because the thing would never burn, but I need something to keep prying eyes from seeing exactly what I’m burning in the event some down-the-road neighbor strolls over to see what kind of barbecue I’m having.  A perimeter of large logs with gaps between for air makes up the bones of my pit, and wood pallets make a floor that allows spent ash to fall down away from the flames.  I bag those, and every few weeks a neighbor lady in the city buys it for mulching her rose bushes.  It’s hilarious.

Inside the log perimeter, I’ve set up a framework of light, dry wooden lengths…I think they were once meant to be rulers, but now they’re just scrap from the local home improvement store.  Once I shove them into the cracks between the big logs, they’re strong enough to hold up my burning material.  Sometimes the fires are bigger, sometimes they’re smaller, and sometimes I have a bonfire just for the sake of watching the flames dance if I don’t have enough material ready.  I require very little kindling, since clothes these days are so full of nice, flammable polymers, and once they’re dry as the bones they used to drape over and at most, it might just take a little kerosene to get everything started properly.  It burns all day Sunday, and by the evening, my fire is nothing but smolders, just as planned.

Monday always brings me back to the city early, and unless I’ve made a mess of the ashes, I don’t bother with a shower before I hit the gym.  No one gets close enough to smell me anyway.  They’re used to seeing me in there, though, those Monday bunnies, so I don’t think they’d notice even if I were visibly dripping in blood and with bone soot still in my hair.  On the outside, thanks to my routine, I’m really just another average Joe, just sweating it out on the treadmill until a dark tree of sweat spreads across my back.  Just part of the routine.

But I think they know.

—
Credits to: http://mladyelle.tumblr.com/

Lisa

Never Turn Around

I Am Sam

The Lights

Heavy Breathing

Headlights

Look Around

Sleepless

The Hum

Thomas

Here Kitty Kitty

Kate

My Girlfriend's Eyes

Grown Up

Iveth

Infested

Drawing

The Game

Your Life is A Movie

There’s a movie theater in downtown Phoenix, Arizona that only plays movies from 1987.

If you pay for 3 tickets and buy a large popcorn, they will play a film that shows you your future.

If you watch the entire film completely, you will have sleeping problems for the rest of your life.

Insomniac