commit 4e1fa0174da08f93a9f10bd5b0da5f5929bf08b6 Author: cruft Date: Thu Jul 9 01:03:38 2009 -0600 First stab at automated conversion diff --git a/Makefile b/Makefile new file mode 100644 index 0000000..68f1567 --- /dev/null +++ b/Makefile @@ -0,0 +1,9 @@ +PAGES = page*.tex + +horrors2.dvi: horrors2.ltx $(PAGES) + latex $< + latex $< + +horrors2.pdf: horrors2.ltx $(PAGES) + pdflatex $< + pdflatex $< diff --git a/horrors2.ltx b/horrors2.ltx new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3ff44f --- /dev/null +++ b/horrors2.ltx @@ -0,0 +1,60 @@ +\documentclass{book} + +%\usepackage[T1]{fontenc} +%\usepackage{anttor} +%\usepackage{tgothic} + +\title{Horrors 2: Bavarious Reasons} + +\newcommand{\by}[1]{{\large By {\sf #1}}\\\bigskip} + + +\begin{document} +\tableofcontents + +\part{Bavarious Reasons} +\include{page1} + +\part{You're no Hakan} +%\include{page2} + +\part{The Chronicles Of Biddick} +%\include{page3} + +\part{My God, It's Full Of Stars} +%\include{page4} + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +% Appendices + + +\appendix +\part{Inflamed Appendices} + + +\chapter{Colophon} + +This book is a collection of stories from the Something Awful Forums, +inspired by the 1991 book {\em Horrors} by Ben Biddick. Most were written +as a response to a challenge by forums moderator AYBraham: + +\begin{quotation} + Your goal: Write a short story in the theme of {\em Horrors}, the collection + of short stories written by Mr. Ben Beddick when he was 13 years + old. Each story is encouraged to feature the tragic protagonist Luke + Bavarius, and must be more than 500 words each. Each story must show + that "kids need to be respected and listened to." +\end{quotation} + +This book was typeset by the \LaTeX{} document preparation system, using +the {\sf book} class. + +It was set in the Antykwa Toru\'nska (``Antiqua of Torun'') typeface, +the most horriffying of all the standard \TeX{}live typefaces. The face +was designed by Zygfryd Gardzielewski (1914--2001), and first cast in +metal in 1960 in the Grafmasz typefoundry in Warsaw. The variant used +in this document was digitized by Janusz Marian Nowacki, a tremendously +cool dude from Poland, based off of photocopies of the original design. + +\end{document} diff --git a/page1.tex b/page1.tex new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5fa2507 --- /dev/null +++ b/page1.tex @@ -0,0 +1,5295 @@ +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{ AYBraham} + + + + +{\em artwork by Discount_Bees} + + + +As referred to in the epic Horrors by Ben Biddick thread, +this thread is to serve as a Creative Writing contest for all +goons. + + + +Your goal: Write a short story in the theme of Horrors, the +collection of short stories written by Mr. Ben Beddick when he was +13 years old. Each story is encouraged to feature the tragic +protagonist Luke Bavarius, and must be more than 500 words each. +Each story must show that ``kids need to be respected and listened +to.'' + + + +Your Judge: Mr. Ben Biddick himself. He's +currently serving overseas in the Military, so the entries will be +judged at his convenience. + + + +Prizes: + +First Place: Full account upgrades (Platinum, No Ads, Archives, and +an Avatar Upgrade), a coupon to change any other user's avatar, +{\bf and an autographed copy of Horrors.} + + + +Second Place: Full account upgrades (Platinum, No Ads, Archives, +and an Avatar Upgrade). + + + +Third Place: One account upgrade of the winner's choice (Plat, No +Ads, Archives, or an Avatar Upgrade). + + + +In addition, if Ben so chooses, the worst entry will subjected to a +very, very malicious account name change & avatar change that +can never be changed so as long as you are on the forums, unless I +so deem it acceptable. + + + +Contest ends July 6th, 2009. Take your time with the entries. +Commence with the brutality! + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Mr. Bad Guy} + + +Gonna deliver some pain at 55mph up in this bitch. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Batmanuel} + + +{\bf The Stranger. Bavarious.} + + + +{\bf FOR MATURE READERS ONLY} + + + +``Whiskey.'' The stranger sat hunched over in the dark +corner of the bar. I would have missed him if it weren't for +my curiosity and his harsh cigarette tinged voice. I sat the glass +down, opened the bottle and poured. ``Leave the +bottle.'' + + + +``What's troubling you, Mack?'' I asked as I pulled +my hand away from the bottle. He didn't look up. I tended to +pry, but I got the feeling that this guy wasn't someone to +fuck with. + + + +Minutes passed and I forgot all about this stranger. Smoke hung +aimlessly in the air as someone busted out a trick shot in the +billiards game on the other side of the dark tavern. Maybe a fight +would break out. The regulars hate it when new people come in with +that slick shit. Almost right on cue, Jimmy Dean, a hulk of a man, +grabbed the trick shot artist around the neck and slammed his face +on to the table. This collision proved hard enough to send the +balls rolling in every direction. In practically the same breath, +the guy was thrown out onto the pavement. I let this shit happen. +No cops. Justice prevails and everything returns to a despairing +level of normality. + + + +I turn my attention back to the stranger only to find him gone and +a fifty dollar gold coin on the bar. Under the coin was a business +card with one word on it: Bavarious. How I missed a man dressed in +all black, wearing a knee length black leather trench coat duster, +walk right out the door is beyond me. He had to have crossed right +in front of my field of vision, but I must have been too distracted +by the fight to notice him leave. Whatever. + + + +I couldn't sleep that night. A feeling of uneasiness stuck +with me after my brief encounter with the stranger. He just wanted +a drink, right, lots of people do that, nothing weird about them. +All I could think of was his name. Bavarious. What did it +mean? + + + +The next day, I enter the shit hole and take over for the night. I +expect much of the same. The regulars were already there and most +likely drunk. The stale air welcomed me as I pushed through the +wooden doors of the tavern. I felt a chill rush down my spine as I +looked towards the end of the bar. I didn't even make it +behind the bar before I heard a familiar voice that would remind me +of exactly why I could not sleep. + + + +``Whiskey.'' Fuck. The stranger sat in the exact same +spot. `Same shit, different night' I thought to myself. +As if he didn't remember the minute details from the night +before, his grizzled voice said, ``Leave the +bottle.'' + + + +``So, are you drowning your sorrows away?'' I tended to +pry. He didn't look up, so I turned back to cleaning a yellow +beer stained mug. My mind wandered and I began to picture a lost +love. For some reason, I came to the conclusion that he fit the +motif of a heartbroken pathetic being taking everything he did +wrong out on himself. After this, he's probably going to the +nearest bridge and tease ending it all by dangling one foot over +the railing. Pathetic bitches never actually jump since +they're always back the next day drinking the same drink. If +not the bridge, he'll probably stare down the cold steel +barrel of a Beretta. Visions of my ideal womanly being played in my +head and I wanted to join him in downing the fuel of the unwanted. +The poor bastard losing the dark haired, tan skinned, beauty +running through a meadow on a sunny day, must be hell. I snapped +back to reality, shook my head and spun around towards this guy +with another bottle of whiskey. Almost exactly like the night +before, I fail to see him leave and I'm left to wonder why he +leaves the coin. One fucking tip. + + + +``Hey Marv, did you see that cowboy looking son of a bitch +leave?'' Marv, the rat-faced bug-eyed shrew of a motherfucker, +shook his head with a look of confusion. I didn't look too +much into it, as the smoke hovering in the air tends to get to my +head. Unlike the night before, I was able to thwart any thoughts on +the guy. I mean, I was never the obsessive little bitch type. I +tended to pry, but that was part of the job title. I had to talk to +these characters while they drank the night away. + + + +These nights always seem to run together. The same rituals repeat +themselves. The same poor saps gather in this shit hole. The same +rain falls outside. Jimmy and his gang exchange the same stories. +The same game of pool is played. The same fight breaks out. The +same song plays on the jukebox in the corner. The same `out +of service' sign hangs on the bathroom door. The same tourist +loses a wheel on the same pothole and drags his scared wife +who'd much rather stay in the car inside to use our phone. +The same poor fools come and go like fucking clockwork. I +can't complain. + + + +Every night for the past week, the Stranger sat in the same stool +under the same shadow, said the same four words, drank the same +whiskey, left the same goddamn coin and vanished the same way. If +it weren't for the same bad vibes that surrounded him, I +would not have even noticed him. + + + +I still have trouble sleeping at night. It's not that I +don't want to sleep; it's just that I can't. I +stopped trying. Techniques that bobble heads preach up and down to +levels of total effectiveness fail. Pills don't work, lying +in bed passively watching infomercial after infomercial have the +effects of making me wonder what exactly will blend. When I am able +to close my eyes, my mind begins to play a constant slide show of +the worst things imaginable. Decapitations. Bodies buried in +shallow graves. Houses burning. Screams fill my ears and I awake in +a cold sweat. I can't breathe. These problems began the first +night the stranger came into my dive. + + + +I find myself feeling nothing but disdain when I gaze upon my +tattered reflection in the mirror. The unshaven man staring back is +not me. Bloodshot eyes sunken deep into hollow cheeks. I lift my +hand up and it shakes as if my blood created vibrations as it moved +through my protruding veins. The mirror not only shows a vacant +waste of a man, but also serves as a vessel for vengeful shadows +that dance around in the dimness created by the talking heads on +their soapboxes of lies. I look again at my shaking hand to find it +in a tightly clenched fist flying towards the primitive zombie in +the glass imprisonment. The glass shatters into a sea of red. + + + +``Whiskey.'' He's there. Right fucking there. No +one knows where he comes from. No one even bothers to notice this +motherfucker. ``Leave the bottle.'' + + + +``You know, you've been coming in here for a while now +and it's the same four fucking words.'' I tended to pry, +but it has gotten to the point where this dude needs a crowbar +upside the head! I wanted answers or just a simple response. +``And man, you don't need to leave a fucking gold coin +lying there. That's too much goddamn money.'' + + + +As always, he finished off the bottle and left. As always, a +dirtied gold coin was on the counter. It was right then that I came +up with the worst idea of my life. Worse than moving out to this +fucking desolate place. This dumbass decision is probably my only +regret. Given the circumstances, this was a pretty sound idea and +very simple in execution. I called on Jimmy Dean and his gang to +rough the stranger up a bit. Easy as that. Not to really hurt him, +but to serve as an initiation of sorts. + + + +Jimmy Dean was the type of brute that would fit in prison, +professional wrestling or driving a truck for a repossession +company. The brute, with his shoulder length hair, beard, sharply +clad in leather and denim, carried himself with a high enough level +of untapped fury that assured me that a show was just on the +horizon. His gang lacked the size, and I'd say intelligence, +but Jimmy aint exactly a member of Mensa. It was clear that the +6'6'' tall Jimmy was the leader of the group. These +hours of darkness were going to be something to remember. + + + +``Whiskey.'' Like clockwork. I couldn't help but +crack a smile knowing that this dude was about to get fucked up. +``Leave the bottle.'' + + + +The jukebox in the corner began playing ``Here Comes the +Sun.'' Jimmy Dean and his cronies approached the stranger. +Unpromisingly, the green pained lights shuttered as the air became +stale. Marv sat in the stool to the left of the stranger, the other +guy behind him and Jimmy stood to his right. ``Who the fuck +are you?'' Jimmy asked in a slow but forceful tone as he +reached for the bottle. He picked it up, unscrewed the cap and took +a swig. He set the bottle down in a violent enough motion to cause +the liquid to splash on the bar. The stranger didn't flinch. +Hands still clasped around the glass, eyes still looking down. +``This isn't the a film noir. Hey asshole, I'm +talking to you!'' + + + +Jimmy reached out for the strangers collar. The temperature in the +room rose, but I felt cold enough to see my breath. My spine felt +severed as I fell back towards the wall behind me. Jimmy now had a +fistful of shirt and was close to unleashing a mallet of a fist on +this guy, when, in the blink of an eye, it was all over. The +stranger threw a swift enough boot to Jimmy's kneecap that +created a sound comparable to a thunderclap. As Jimmy doubled over +in immense pain, the stranger swung his hand around grabbing the +side of Jimmy's head, and, in a fluid motion, flung it down +towards the bar. The hard wood surface of the bar gave way to the +man's fucking head! The wood splintered around the hole that +was now host to a man's head. A second later, the man +standing behind the stranger took flight towards the pool tables, +slammed into the wall and became one with a pool cue. Marv, the +third man, suffered a brutal shot to the throat that sent blood +flying out of his mouth. He collapsed to the floor clutching his +sunken windpipe and gasping for air. I couldn't move. + + + +The stranger turned his gaze to me. His eyes created black holes +amongst the leathery, sandblasted, sun damaged face. His black hair +dangled in strands from under his black hat. He reached up, stroked +the stubble on his chin and sighed. After surveying the +destruction, he nonchalantly picked up his glass, downed it, +reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. His eyes never moved +from mine, and then a moment of clarity came upon me. The +uneasiness. I froze. I could see flames in the blackness. He stared +a hole directly through my soul. The carnage still existed among an +eerie peacefulness. He flipped the coin in the air, caught it with +his right hand, smiled and placed it on the counter. He then tipped +his hat and left. I remember seeing lights. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Torgo!} + + +{\bf Brian} + + + +Brian hated the new house. Ever since his family moved in he could +tell there was something not right about it. He especially hated +his room. It was an old + +dusty old room that smelled like death. Their were cobwebs in his +closet and the room smelled like many years gone by. + + + +The first few nights in the house came and went without any events. +On the eighth night though Brian was awoken by a noise eminating +from the closet. It sounded like a big dog was trapped inside. All +Brian could hear was clawing and low grunts and what sounded like a +big dog walking in circles in the closet. Brian cowered under the +sheets afraid to peer out. After ten minutes or so the sounds went +away. Brian lay awake the entire night. + + + +In the morning Brian told his parents about what had happened. They +just told him that it's normal. That old houses have a way of +making sounds like that. Brian didn't believe them though. He knew +what he heard wasn't just a house. It was something else. Something +unnartural. + + + +The next night Brian was awoken to the sounds again. As Brian lay +under his sheets he heard what sounded like sniffing and pawing +coming from the closet. He also heard something else this time. +What sounded like the sharpest fangs tearing apart meat. He also +heard chewing. As Brian peered out from under his sheets he saw a +pool of blood forming under the door. He quickly leaped out of bed +and down the hall to his parent's room. ``You've got to come quick +to my room and look!'' His parents slowly lumbered to his room. +``Their, in my closet!'' His Dad looked in the room but didn't see +anything. He even went to the closet and looked in the door but +didn't see anything. + + + +For the next few weeks nothing happened{\ldots} + + + +Today was Brian's Dad's birthday. Brian and his mom went to the +local mall and picked out some nice presents to give to him. His +mom bought him a toolset that had wrenches and screwdrivers and +Brian got his dad a nice necklace. While Brian's dad was at work +they made him his favorite meal and made a nice cake. Brian's dad +really enjoyed his meal and wore the necklace all the time after +that. + + + +Brian was a lot happier these days because he hadn't heard anything +from the closet for a while. + + + +Another thing that happened is that Brian and his family decided to +start raising rabbits. They had started with 5 five rabbits but now +they had 9. + + + +One day Brian went outside to feed them and was shocked because +there only 3 left. The fence had been broken into and their were +large tracks. + + + +Soon after this Brian started hearing noises from his closet again. +It was the same as before. All Brian could do was cower under the +sheets until the morning light returned. + + + +One dark and wintery night Brian was hiding under the blankets +while he heard the rustling from his closet. As Brian shook and +shivered the noises were growing louder and more violent. Suddenly +he heard the creature burst forth! It shattered through the closet +and crashed into the opposing wall. Brian was now paralyzed with +fear. He dared not look out from his sheets. He could hear the +creature walking towards him, its claws clacking on the floor. He +could hear the beast sniff his sheets. Suddenly he felt the +creature leap onto his bed. Through the weaving of his sheets he +could see glowing red eyes and a large grimacing mouth full of +fangs. But the most shocking thing of all is that he could just +make out the glimmering of something hanging from the creatures +neck in the moonlight. It was the necklace he bought his +father! + + + +``You were always my child'', the creature snarled to him. ``And now I +will give you the Dark Gift!'' ``After all like Father like son!'' The +creature then bit Brian on the face and the transformation began. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Mincher} + + +This thread is too hot to handle! + + + +Good luck to all you goons going hard at it. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Dr. Mulholland} + + +{\bf The Horrid Assignment} + + + +Luke Bavarious walked through the front doors of the police +station. He pushed the doors open. Inside was his boss, Johnny +Zepeder. + + + +``Bavarious!'' + +``What do you want Johnny.'' Bavarious said. + +``I have a new assignement for you! I hope you will take this new +assignment!'' + + + +Luke Bavarious took the new assignment and opened the manilla +envellope like a kid ripping apart a Christmas present that the kid +had been waiting for. Inside the manilla envellope was a new +assignment: Kill the local mafia boss. + + + +Bavarious looked up from his new assignment at his boss. +``Johnny.'' + + + +``What is it, Bavarious?'' + +``This doesn't sound like-{\ldots}'' + + + +Bavarious keeled over and from his mouth cascaded a river of vomit. +His eyes vomited tears too. The tears and vomit he was vomiting +pooled on the floor in a horrible cocktail of tears and +vomit. + + + +``Bavarious!'' + + + +Bavarious could say nothing. The cocktail kept pouring out of his +mouth. + + + +``Dear God, I'll get a doc-'' + + + +Johnny's neck exploded with blood vomiting out of the veins. +Bavarious screamed. He turned around and screamed again. He raised +his Baretta (all New York detectives have one.). + + + +Bavarious turned around and looked at his boss. ``I'm quite sorry,'' +Bavarious said. Johnny said 'you'd b-better b-be`` and belched out +one last spray of blood stained vomit. Bavarious turned and walked +out the doors, pushing the doors aside to get through. + + + +Bavarious looked at his new assignment that he just got. Kill the +mob boss. But why? Bavarious was not a killer. He was a good man, a +good Christian man. But he has a Baretta. Barettas are for killing. +He must kill the boss. He grabbed his Baretta and loaded it and got +in his car and hit the gas. + + + +Bavarious arrived at the mob boss's house. He got out of his car +and shut the door behind him and then locked it. He walked to the +front door and knocked on it three times. Then he realized. The +house had been abandoned since the horrid tragedy that had happened +there 50 years ago. He saw it in his mind{\ldots} + + + +''Hi, Daddy`` said the kid. The kid smiled. Kids are so wonderful and +carefree in this terrible world. + +''Hi there kiddo`` said the dad. The dad looked to be about 35 and +had a beer gut. + +The dad turned around and walked out of the house, pushing the +door, opening it, and then pulling it, closing it. The kid turned +around and turned on the TV to get out of the horrors of this +wretched life. It was 1959. The kid just got the TV as a birthday +present. His birthday was yesterday. + + + +The kid heard horrid noises from outside. He got up and opened the +door. His dad was lying on the ground with a silhouette on him. He +looked up at the man who was casting the silhouette. He had a can +of beer in his right hand and a Baretta in the other. Suddenly a +semi drove across their front lawn at the speed of fifty five miles +an hour, running the man and his dad over at the same time. Blood +vomited all over the front of the semi and all over the nice clean +green cut grass. + + + + + +Bavarious woke up. He had fallen asleep. He had dreamed of what +happened in the mob bosses house 50 years ago. Then he realized. He +was the kid of his dreams. Bavarious let out a scream and turned +and ran and went out the front door. He tried to open the door on +his Ford Contour but it wouldn't open. Suddenly, a headless corpse +with a can of Coors walked across the lawn towards him. Getting +closer and closer. Bavarious screamed. He got out his Baretta and +fired. And fired again. The bullets punched bulletholes through his +rotting stinky flesh but they didn't hurt him. + + + +Bavarious screamed and vomited again. The remainders of his lunch +floated around in a blood tinged mess all over his Ford Contour. +The Coors holding headless man kept getting closer. Bavarious could +only do one thing. This was the only option. His father would have +wanted it this way. He stuck the Baretta into his mouth and pulled +the trigger. But he had used all of his bullets. He vomited again, +pouring vomit down the barrel of his gun. He screamed. Finally the +Coors man was two feet away from him{\ldots} + + + +''Luke Bavarious, why did you hate me?`` + +''Who, who are you?`` + +''I am an artist. I am the man who killed your father in a +semi." + +He screamed. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{The Iron Fury} + + +This entry picks up immediately after The Horrid Reflection ends +and I fully intend to keep it going into a Luke Bavarious +mini-series. If anyone likes it, I will post more. If not, I will +accept all the ridicule humbly. + + + +The Horrid Refraction: + + + +Suddenly, I was sobbing. Once the tears ceased leaping from my +blood-drenched sockets, I took a moment to recollect myself. My +muscles tensed. I looked down at the dark, mangled body next to me. +What the fuck, I thought. I still had glass in my face. My head +throbbed. I rolled the corpse onto its back. And vomited. I vomited +so hard, so long, that a vessel burst in my eye, coloring it red as +Satan's ass. Its body had dissolved into phlegmy puss. The alley +stunk of fear and sweat and blood. And now vomit. + +The glow of some unspeakable evil hung heavy, looming over the dark +corridor. It pulsated. I had to get out of there. I had to think +about what just happened. + +I got to my lodgings and cleaned up. As I was picking glass out of +my shattered skull, a knock sounded. Heavy- angry almost- on the +thick wooden door. Inching to the corner of the room, I determined +to wait them out. I had darker matters to attend to. What was that +thing I had glimpsed in that dim alley? Why did it wear my badge? +Why was it-- + +``Bavarious! I know you're there!'' a feminine voice bellowed. I +could sense there would be no introspective pondering for me this +evening. I edged to the door. Skin standing at attention, hairs all +prickle, I passed my hairy appendage over the door knob. Slowly, I +creaked it open. Standing before me was a person I had thought, +hell, hoped I would never see again. + +Nora Fury. A halo of fiery red curls cascaded about her, wild and +unrestrained. Just like she was. A single cigarette smouldered in +her claw-like grasp. As soon as she was in the dank room, a slap +encircled my raw face. Blazed like the fury for which she was aptly +named. + +``How dare you leave me in Mexico,'' she sneered. I sneered back at +her sneer. + +``How dare you shack up with that drug lord,'' I returned with equal +disdain. ``Can't we just move on? You're a tough dame. I knew you +would come out on top. Here, lemme pour you a drink.'' + +I knew that when Nora was mad, she was a hellcat under the covers. +Maybe a nice distraction would ease my beleaguered mind. I turned +to the crimson cabinet behind my desk and my hands found their way +to two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. + +``So what d'ya need from me, Sugar?'' I smarmed, holding out the +stiff libation. It dropped to the floor, shattering at my feet. +There was no one in the room. + + + +Edit, whoops, I thought it said ``Entries must be NO more than 500 +words.'' So, can I add more? Or am I now disqualified? + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{bagrada} + + + {\bf The Earache} + +(edited from previous post to meet the theme) + + + +The night was dark and muggy, the heat weighing down on me like a +heavy winter jacket in the spring. The ringing in my dull aching +ear was the only sound. I stuck in my pinky and wiggled it, then +frowned at the sticky piss-yellow wax left on my finger. Not for +the first time, I thought about seeing a doctor. I shook my head. +My ear has never been right since that day in the pond, so long +ago. Time enough for doctors in the morning. Tonight, I had a girl +to save. + + + +``You have to help our friend, Mr. Bavarious!'' the kids +had said. ``She's been kidnapped by some freaky +cult!'' The cops didn't believe them. Neither did their +parents. But I did. I knew the dangers of not listening to kids. My +sister{\ldots} if I'd listened to her she'd still be +alive today. I'd told her she was just a kid too, that I +didn't have to listen to her, that I could swim where ever I +want. I almost died that day. Instead she died, died much too +young, died saving me. I loaded my beretta and nodded to them. +``Don't worry; I'll bring your sis{\ldots} I mean +your friend back to you.'' The boy shook his head sadly and +looked at me as I left. + + + +As I approached the abandoned warehouse where they said their +friend was taken, I glanced to the stars and felt a shiver run down +my spine as they seemed to blink in the night sky. A coppery rusty +scent floated on the stale breeze. I was close. I walked up to the +old wooden door, with my finger on the trigger, and kicked it open. +LIGHT. Bright searing light. Red rusty light. Purple smoky light. +Spirally yellow light. Grey and black and white colorless light. I +didn't hear the broken door clatter to the ground in front of +me or the vomit that suddenly projected from my throat, just the +constant droning ringing in my ear, louder now. + + + +The lights faded as I tried to blink through the afterimages to +look around the room. All around an old stone altar were the +cultists, theirs eyes bleeding, their robes coated in glistening +puke, their mouths slack in death. On the altar floated the +girl{\ldots} or parts of her. She was split in two; her eyes still +smoking, her hands still raised to the sky in prayer. The left side +of her mouth opened in a bright smile, while a few feet away the +right side gaped wider as if she were screaming. She was pinned in +the air like a butterfly to an insect spreading board. In between +her two halves, something moved, then the world ended around +me. + + + +The air became thick, muddy and gritty, like I was back beneath the +pond again that awful day. The lights returned{\ldots} rusty red, +black and white, vomit green. The horrible spiraling yellow. The +girl melted away, her long blonde hair splashing to the floor, and +I felt the air shift as something floated towards me. The ringing +in my ears was now the tolling of great bells, driving me to my +knees as my gut heaved and tried in vain to find something else, +anything more, to throw up. I felt something bitingly cold and +scalding hot brush my arm as the colors floated past me, and then +my arm wasn't there anymore. It floated off into the lights +which were now many bright balloons, all painted with crying faces +I could almost recognize. I blinked and the balloons popped +revealing a swarm of fireflies, each with a uniquely colored light. +So beautiful and horrible as they flew by me towards the door, +their lights blinking in a pattern my mind fought not to +understand. The tolling of the bells was now a tinkling song that +made me want to float along with it, if only I could recognize the +tune. The fireflies were floating spiders, then darting fish, then +the drowning faces of my dead sister. I staggered to my feet and +turned towards the door as the colors wafted through and became +dark. I took a few stumbling steps after them but stopped when my +foot kicked something metal and heavy{\ldots} the beretta I'd +dropped. Whispers suddenly, in my ear. My little sister. +``Breathe, Luke.'' + + + +I gasped for air, realizing I hadn't taken a breath since +kicking the door, and fought my way to the center of the room, +kicking the bodies of the cultists aside, and then gathering the +messy blonde hair and other unrecognizable bits into a clump in the +crook of my remaining arm. ``It's okay.'' I said. +``I've got you.'' With the smell of rusty blood in +my nose, the taste of bile and vomit in my mouth, the ghost of my +left arm screaming that it's still with me, the afterimages +of the wondrous lights seared into the back of my eyes, and the +constant and steady ringing in my ears keeping me company, I +staggered out into the now starless night. ``Don't worry +sis. I'll get you home.'' + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Unununium} + + +This is revised from the other thread + + + +The Scarecrow + +Luke parked his car at the side of the road. He walked over to the +massive corn field and squinted. Somewhere out there was his big +break. If the legend held true, he knew he'd have it set. Trying to +be silent, Luke pulled apart rows of corn and began to make his way +to the center of the field. Looking out, he knew he had a long way +to go. His revolver sat snuggly in his jean pockets. He wasn't +afraid to use it if he was heard. + +Luke's sneakers sunk into the moist soil, as he crept through the +corn field. He knew something was up. The full moon shined brightly +into the center of the corn field. In the center of the field stood +a mounted scarecrow. Its eyes beamed like an illuminating light, +and the straw covering its bare body poked out through seams on its +clothing. Luke was here for a purpose. As an FBI investigator, it +was his job to trot through this corn field to investigate the +claim that underneath the rugged clothing of this lifeless +scarecrow lays a corpse. He barged through a petite opening in the +corn field, and reached the scarecrow. The scarecrow was a morbid +mass of lifeless straw. A knife was tied into the scarecrows hand +with a piece of string. Luke unfastened the rope holding the +scarecrow unto the cross. The scarecrow then toppled over, landing +on Luke. It was heavier then he imagined. Luke rolled over, getting +out from underneath the scarecrow. + +Luke looked out into the corn field. It was an infinite abyss of +yellow and green plants. From his viewpoint, he couldn't see out of +the corn field. Luke turned back, and noticed in shock that the +scarecrow was now standing. Luke took a step back, but the +scarecrow moved in closer. With one luxurious swipe, the monument +of hay and straw sliced through Luke's neck with its knife. Luke +vomited wildly through his neck while disturbing and tremendously +rust colored blood came out through the same orifice. A stream of +strawberry-red blood dripped from the scarecrows metallic and +majestic knife, that soon entered into Luke's head. Luke dropped to +his knees. He gurgled like a drowning infant as he struggled to +breathe. Luke vomited blood through the hole in his head as +bubble-gum colored brain matter and blood exited Luke's head with +the scarecrows knife. Luke wasn't quite dead yet, he slowly crawled +away from the deadly straw body, but it was too late. A gust of +wind and magic picked Luke's body up into the air. Like quills, the +scarecrows straw exited his body and pierced into Luke's flesh. +Luke let out one final scream, before he died. Luke's lifeless body +floated magically to the brown wooden cross. As the lifeless +scarecrow soon faded into the ground, Luke's body strapped onto the +cross. The scarecrow was now gone, but a new scarecrow has come to +take its place. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{THE WORST DOCTOR} + + +{\bf The Snake Lady} + + + +There was a kid who came up to me one evening after I had left my +precinct, sniffling and tugging on the left leg of my pants. He had +snot all over his face and I was pretty disgusted. But my job is to +help people, not to pass judgment, so I decided to give him the +benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had cash on him. + +``What's wrong, kid?'' I asked. An ominous breeze +blew from the south. It was going to rain. I didn't ask him +why he was by the bar at such an age. A kid's gotta do what a +kid's gotta do. + +``Some lady stole my candy,'' he told me, wiping the snot +from his nose and the tears in his eyes in an upward motion. Both +bodily fluids ended up on his forehead. + +``Well,'' I said, popping the collar of my Armani jacket. +``I can handle that. Stay here, sport.'' + +I gave him a pat on the head, not unlike the pats my father used to +give me when I hadn't completely screwed everything up, and +went into the building. + + + +There was nothing in there that was particularly special, save for +a few local drunks hanging out in the corner. The bartender gave me +a nod, a knowing one; he could tell from my hat and flashy badge +that I meant business. That's what it is to be a private +detective, after all. I sidled up to the bar and took a seat on a +rickety barstool, ordering my usual: an appletini. A girl at the +bar eyed me. She looked like a bitch. I knew I had found my +target. + + + +``Hi,'' she said once I got my drink. The light leaked +from the neon signs that said ``PARADISE''. I chuckled as +I sipped my cocktail gingerly. How ironic. + +``What can I do you for,'' I asked. I didn't mean +it the way I made it sound. + +``It's not often a man like you comes to town,'' +She said, giggling. I noticed she was wearing a rusty +necklace. + +``Yes,'' I said simply. I don't like to waste +words. She put her hand on my arm and looked at me with glimmering +eyes. I said nothing. + +Suddenly she was grabbing onto my arm and digging her horrid nails +into my flesh. I cried out. My skin was on fire. She drew blood and +laughed like my grandmother used to. + +At that moment I knew I hated her. + + + +``You're a thief and a liar!'' I yelled, kicking my +barstool into her lower half. She fell down and brought my +appletini with her as she tried in vain to grab the bar for +support. The people around us piled out of the bar while screaming +and running. I was glad they knew enough to leave at this moment. +It was going to get ugly. + +``Bavarioussssss,'' she quipped, her tongue long and thin +like a snake. Her rusty necklace was rusted. Even more rusted than +before. She had no legs now. She was like a snake on the bottom. +Cruel and unforgiving. She was going to squeeze me. I knew +it. + + + +I felt like vomiting. A thin stream spluttered from my mouth. It +got all over my new boots. I was blind with seething rage as I dove +toward her, knocking over bottles of Jack Daniels. I began to punch +and punch and punch. I was screaming though I didn't know +why. She fought back feebly. She tried to kick me but she had no +legs anymore. I laughed. How unfortunate. + + + +She was bleeding a lot. It got all over me. Luckily I had tucked my +tie into my belt. It wouldn't get in my way. She scratched at +me again and called me mean things. There was blood, awful blood, +leaking from her eyes. It was red. Dark red. The color of a heart +after it's been taken out of a body. I was going to take her +heart out of her body. Then I thought against it. Too messy. + + + +Finally I drove the rusty necklace into her. She died of rust +poisoning. She giggled one last time at me before slumping onto the +floor. Then she disappeared in a cloud of smoke. + +``Should've gotten your tetanus shot,'' I +commented. I gathered up the kid's candy, colorful wrappers +that may as well have contained pure cane sugar, and went +outside. + + + +The kid was there, snot dried in his hair. He was wringing his +shirt with his grubby little hands when he saw me, fearing the +worst. I dropped the candy on the ground in front of him, and lit a +cigarette for myself. + +``Don't let it happen again, champ,'' I said. He +nodded and understood. As he walked away, munching on his dental +problem candy, I was reminded a little bit of myself. Life before I +became a detective. A simple, idle life with no worries. But that +was all behind me now. + + + +I'm Luke Bavarious, detective extraordinaire. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Tufty} + + +{\bf Dames, they're all the Same - a Luke Bavarious detective story +inspired by the works of Ben Biddick.} + + + +I'm a private detective. Luke Bavarious is my name. Bavarious by +name, Bavarious by nature. I own this city. The feds think they've +got this place locked up tight, but the criminal scum of the +underworld run rampant through the darkened streets committing +crimes and vandalism. This is where I come in. My name is Luke +Bavarious, and I'm a private detective. + + + +I'm a man with nothing to live for and nothing to lose, and there's +only two things in my life that I wouldn't want to lose, and +they're both Berettas. One is a gun, and I keep it locked and +loaded in my desk drawer, and the other is my sexy secretary, Gina +Beretta. An Italian seductress packing a big chest, tiny waist, and +a loaded gun. There's nothing sexier than a woman with a gun. + + + +The phone on my desk rings, I pick it up. It's Gina. ``There's +someone here to see you.'' says Gina. ``Send them in.'' I reply. Into +my room walks the most gorgeous dame I've ever seen in my life. I'm +talking beautiful - tall, brunette, and an ass like a couple of +melons. Says she has a job for me - the big one, my ticket out of +this hell hole they call a city. She tells me that a couple of big +time crooks are planning a heist on the New York City Bank, and she +wants me to stop them. ``But how do you know this, and why are you +telling me?'' I ask. ``One of those jerks is my ex-boyfriend, and the +idiot left the bank's blueprints and a copy of their plan at my +place before he dumped me.'' ``Hmmm{\ldots} that does sound stupid. I'll +take the job.'' + + + +Fast forward to a week later and I'm waiting outside the New York +City Bank. According to the plans, the crooks should be here any +minute. I lean against a street light and light up a smoke, the +wispy trail of smoke rises into the cool night air. I hear a click +like the sound of a cockroach being squashed, and I feel a cold, +hard object poke against my back. ``Don't move, Bavarious'' says a +rough voice filled with pure and utter hatred. The dame set me up! +I knew I never should have trusted her, dames are all the same. +With the lightning-quick speed of a cobra I kick my leg backwards +and send the gun flying out of my assailant's hand. It lands on the +road before skidding down a drain into the sewers. Before my +attacker could even react I've drawn my gun and spun around. +Suddenly, with shock and disbelief I see that the face of my +attacker is actually that of the dame who hired me for this job! +She must have been changing her voice to fool me. She looks +different this time, her eyes are as red as freshly spilt blood and +her skin has a greyish twinge, like a freshly embalmed corpse. ``Why +did you try to set me up?'' I ask her, pressing the gun into her +chest. ``Because{\ldots}'' I press the gun harder into her chest, +impatient for an answer. ``Because, Luke{\ldots} I am your sister.'' My +head reels as my world comes crashing down around me. My sister? I +have a sister? I think back to my childhood and don't remember +having a sister. Thinking of his troubled past and childhood caused +Bavarious to vomit. He did not like to think about his past. As the +vomit pooled on the floor, he could see the reflection of the dame, +his supposed sister, in the slick surface of the pool of vomit. The +sight of her like that brought it all back to me, but in my +distracted state, the dame gives me her best right hook right in my +jaw, and the world turns black{\ldots} + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{leb388} + + +{\bf The Girl} + + + +The night was cool and dark, unusual for summer. But then again, it +was a night for unusual things. Slashes of rain whipped at my face +as I navigated the alley. Fireworks vomited sparks of blue and red +into the sky. The booms sounded more like gunshots from Berettas. I +should know; I have one. I am a private detective. + + + +My name is Bavarious. Luke Bavarious. + + + +I'd been at the bar, kicking back a few martinis, when I got a call +about a noise complaint. I work every night if I have to, even the +Fourth of July. The job sounded easy enough, and after all, the +people need me. I am their protector. I am Luke Bavarious. + + + +But on this night, I wasn't as alone as I thought. As I walked +along, I heard the sound of footsteps. I stopped. ``Who's there?'' I +yelled, raising my Beretta. + + + +No response. + + + +I tensed. ``Come out where I can see you,'' I ordered. ``Now.'' + + + +A child stepped out of the shadows and into the trashy street. I +say that because the street was littered with trash. The people +there were usually nice. + + + +Most of the time. + + + +I holstered the Beretta, at ease. The girl looked young. Maybe six, +could even be seven. Who knows, in this town. Probably lost. She +clutched a doll and wore a dark raincoat. Not like that was any +help, in this torrential weather. + + + +``Are you okay?'' I asked her. ``Do you need help?'' + + + +``I need to find my mommy,'' she whimpered. She was crying. + + + +A girl that young shouldn't be alone in an alley off 42nd St. in +New York. Especially on a night like tonight. I pulled out my phone +to call to see if anyone reported her missing, but something was +wrong. I looked up at the sky. Fireworks still going at it like +crazy missiles exploding in the air. That's what they were. +Missiles. And that's when I saw it. The creature. The item the girl +was holding wasn't a doll after all--it was a monster. It had +buttons for eyes. There was no mouth, just stitches. The hair was +yarn. + + + +``Get out of here, fiend of hell!'' I screamed. + + + +I grabbed it. If you can call it an it. The hands were soft. At +least until I flung it into the puddle. Then they were wet. I +screamed, shooting at it with my Beretta. I felt a fear no one +should ever have to experience, a fear of the worst possible +things, a fear of death and everything around it. It was taking +hold of me, drowning me, and I kept spinning and spinning in the +abyss of its grip. I felt like vomiting. Maybe that was just from +the martinis. I shot it again and again, and so on. And then I +stopped. + + + +A flash of light made me see its face. Kind. Adorable. Just a doll +after all. + + + +Why do I always investigate noise complaints when I'm drunk? +Suddenly, the girl was sobbing. And I felt like an asshole. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{scarycactusjunior} + + +Okay, I'm game. + + + + + + + + + + + +The Runaway. + + + + + + + +Jimbo hawked a giant ball of phlegm between his dangling feet off +the boat dock and stared into the murky water as he watched his +creation sink to the murky inky depths of the lake. Watching it, he +thought long and hard about his current situation with his Pa. Pa +was starting to frighten him with his publicly known alcoholism. +Every horrible night Pa would sit on the porch of the rustic swamp +cabin in the wicker rocking chair by the front door and drink his +Coors repeatedly for hours. And then, with his eyes horridly +bloodshot he would come stomping back into the cabin and find Jimbo +for the nightly beating. Sometimes the beatings were so bad they +would leave Jimbo in a sobbing heap, his blood and tears mixing +together on his lips. Pa wasn't always like this, Jimbo had +vague memories of happier times; the sunshine days of his early +childhood when his mother was still alive and Pa hadn't drank +so much. + +Jimbo heard the front door of the cabin slam, followed by +Pa's heavy, booted footfalls. The wicker rocker began to +creak. Jimbo noticed that the sun was rapidly sinking, the drinking +would begin soon, followed by the almost ritualistic beating. + +Jimbo thought to himself. He thought that he didn't have to +return to the cabin. He could make Pa come looking for him in the +swamp, at night, while drunk. Decided, Jimbo arose and proceeded to +make his way deep into the swamp, trying to get as far away from +the cabin before full dark made it impossible to find his way +through the swamp. He tried not to think of how the cypress trees +looked like forlorn entities locked forever in their torment +because of the way the fading daylight lit them, or of the stories +his friend Benny used to tell about the Swamp Creature. + +The Swamp Creature was said to be a being of such hideous +countenance that it would drive any who were unfortunate to see its +horrible face completely and totally insane. Privately Jimbo +thought it was the thing that had made the crocodile eat his mother +all those years ago. Jimbo remembered the sight of all that blood +on the water; red blood on black water that boiled and roiled like +a vicious tempest. Jimbo shuddered and tried to push those thoughts +out of his mind. + +Distracted as he was, Jimbo slipped on a patch of slimy mud and +slid on his buttocks a little way into the swamp-water. He jumped +up quickly and stared wild-eyed around him, looking out for crocs. +His heart was pounding; he could feel the blood pounding in his +ears. Suddenly, he was very afraid. He fought the sob welling up +within him and went on his way. It was too late to turn back. + +He saw something then, a glint of gold in the reeds. Bending down +to get a closer look, he noticed it was a badge of some sort. Jimbo +picked it up and felt a feeling dread wash over him; it was a +slightly tarnished police badge. Jimbo read the name on it +aloud. + +``Bavarius{\ldots}'' + +There was a squelching sound behind him, and Jimbo turned around to +come face-to-face with a creature straight out of nightmares. It +looked like it had been a man once, but now it had no eyes and only +one shriveled ear remained. It looked almost half-melted and +inhuman. + +Jimbo vomited great jets of putrid vomit into the swamp. Some of it +landed on the Creature and made it even more horrendous to look at. +Jimbo vomited again until he could vomit no more. Tears sprang into +his eyes and he sobbed loudly, vainly. The Swamp Creature moved its +stumpy arm to catch the paralyzed Jimbo and crush him into the +once-chest. It breathed its foul swampy breath into Jimbo's +face as it spoke. + +``I am Luke Bavarius.'' + +At only thirteen years old, young Jimbo went instantly +insane. + + + +Two days later, there was an article in the newspaper about a +bizarre murder that had happened out at Old Man James's +cabin. Old Man James had been found dead in his wicker rocking +chair, a brass police badge shoved into his jugular. He had not +even dropped the beer he had been holding. On the cabin walls +behind him, written in blood and vomit was a single cryptic word +scrawled over and over: ``Bavarius''. Police searched the +cabin and found James's son rocking on his heels in the back +room, wearing only urine-stained briefs and giggling softly to +himself. He was taken into custody and placed in the State mental +hospital, where he remains to this day singing softly to himself +over and over. + +``Bavarius.'' + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{mboger} + + +{\bf Luke From Payroll} + + + +I sat down at my desk. The sound had come again. It was my phone +ringing. My hand shook slightly with the heavy receiver in my hand. +The sleek receiver was transmitting and receiving, ready to take +the call. I work in the payroll department. My name is Luke +Bavarious. I hate my fucking job. + + + +People had been complaining about discrepancies in their paychecks +for about a year now, so I finally decided to execute the plan I +had been working on for as long as I can remember. I was assigned +to raise the Demon Lord Gol'Sothog from the fiery pits of +hell. + + + +I spoke into the phone, ``Payroll, this is Bavarious. Luke +Bavarious.'' + + + +On the other end of the line, ``Hey, Lou, this is Bill Taylor over +in{\ldots}'' + + + +``Luke,'' I interrupted. ``The name is Luke Bavarious.'' + + + +``Ok, sorry. Whatever. The reason I'm calling is{\ldots}'' + + + +``Say it,'' I interrupted again. + + + +``What?'' + + + +I was starting to lose my cool. ``Luke. Bavarious. LUKE! FUCKING! +BAVARIOUS!'' + + + +``Jesus, Luke! Sorry! Luke Bavarious, Luke Bavarious, Luke +Bavarious,'' Bill sniveled into the phone. He doesn't deserve to +live and it was then I made up my mind. ``Man, you need to switch to +decaf. Listen, -Luke-. I have a problem on my last paycheck. I had +3 hours of overtime last week that I wasn't paid for and Debbie +over in HR told me to take it up with you.'' + + + +Over the last year or so, I, Luke Bavarious, have been slowly +syphoning money out of employee paychecks to fund my Demon Lord +Gol'Sothog sacrificial altar. Twenty bucks here, fifty bucks there. +It adds up. + + + +``Not a problem, Bob,'' intentionally mistaking his name and then +pausing for him to respond. He doesn't. He's so pathetic, he makes +me vomit in my mouth a little bit and then I have to force myself +to swallow it down. He's barely worthy of sacrificing to +Gol'Thogthog, but he'll do. And because he made me swallow my own +vomit, his sacrifice will be slow and painful. ``I see the missing +hours here. Why don't you come up to my office and I'll square you +away.'' + + + +``Sounds good. I'll be right up!'' The phone disconnects. + + + +He's fallen for my ruse. Hook. Line. And Sinker. And Luke +Bavarious. + + + +I have about two minutes to prepare, but that's two more minutes +than I need. I'm Luke Bavarious, always prepared. I'm hiding behind +the door with a syringe full of knock-out serum when Bill enters my +office. He doesn't even put up a struggle as I slide the syringe +into his neck, the needle vomiting forth sweet slumber into his +veins. + + + +Bill doesn't wake up until just after midnight. I had waited until +everyone had left the office for the night before loading Bill into +the back of my Dodge SRT-4. A lot of people think the SRT-4 is just +a Dodge Neon with a turbo, but fuck those guys, I love this car. I +drove my totally sweet SRT-4 to the secret location of the Demon +Lord Gol'Sahblah sacrificial altar and waited. + + + +Bill's eyes open and he tries to speak, but he can't. Did I mention +that my knock-out serum was also a paralyzing toxin? Bavarious! +Bill is laying on a solid gold altar, surrounded by dark, fiendish +incense burners. Expensive incense. I had to import it from +Thailand and everything. This is why I was skimming money from +paychecks. Have you ever priced a solid gold sacrificial altar? I +mean, it's not like you can just walk into Bed Bath and Beyond and +pick one out. This shit is expensive. + + + +I raise the jewel encrusted ceremonial sacrificial dagger over +Bill's body. His eyes widen in terror. It's the only movement he's +capable of making, thanks to the knock-out/paralyzing toxic serum, +which also wasn't cheap, by the way. I can't stress enough how much +money this whole thing has set me back. + + + +I began chanting. With each long forgotten word uttered, I can feel +the power in the room increasing. A dark mist begins to swirl and +in that mist I see another dimension. Closer, closer, two worlds +are becoming one. There is only one last thing left to do. I plunge +the dagger into Bill's heart and the ever so slowly twist the +blade. I lean over and whisper into Bill's hear, ``Bavarious.'' + + + +I'm then instantly thrown to the ground as an interdimensional rift +opens, unleashing the Demon Lord Gol'Sobeys from his hellish +prison. The Demon Lord smiles at me and I smile back. + + + +``YOU HAVE DONE WELL, LUKE BAVARIOUS. NOW THAT I AM FREE, THERE WILL +BE NO STOPPING ME. I WILL RULE THIS WORLD AND EVERYONE WHO INHABITS +IT.'' + + + +``All glory be to Gol'Bladder!,'' I shout. + + + +``YOU HAVE SHOWN YOURSELF TO BE A FAITHFUL SERVANT. AS SUCH, YOU +SHALL BE REWARDED. YOU WILL BE MY RIGHT HAND WHEN I ENSLAVE THIS +PUNY WORLD. YOU WILL HOLD THE HIGHEST RANK IN MY ARMY. THE RANK OF +PAYROLL ADMINISTRATOR.'' + + + +I staggered backwards and fell onto a desk that had materialized +behind me. A nameplate sparkled on the side of the desk. Bavarious. +I picked up the phone and heard a horrible ring tone. Suddenly, I +was sobbing. + + + +The moral of the story: Kids should be respected and listened +to. + + + +Edit: Shit! I wrote this earlier before the whole ``kids need to be +respected'' rule. Sorry, AYB! + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Smokey} + + +{\bf Thursday} + + + +{\bf Chapter 1} + +Luke Bavarious sat on the sidelines feeling completely helpless as +he watched his team lose yet another game to their cross town +rivals, the Anencephaly High Babies. ``That Dan thinks he's soooo +good at basketball, but one day I'll show him!'' he silently +mouthed to a passerby who made the unfortunate mistake of making +eye contact with him. He decided he had seen enough and couldn't +watch anymore, mainly due to the fact that the game was over. +Suddenly, he had to poop. + + + +Luke made his way to the dumpster behind the gymnasium. As he +pulled his overalls down to relieve himself, he noticed a pair of +girls walking along a path about 25 feet to the right of him . ``I +must have sex to those girls!'' Luke yelled at the birds flying over +head. He quickly finished his business and tossed his diaper into a +nearby tree. + + + +``Oh, you like those girls do you?'' a deep voice boomed from +above. + + + +Luke looked up and saw a large, muscular black man sitting in a +tree branch directly above him. The man hopped down and immediately +began dribbling a basketball with both hands, or ``double dribbling'' +as it's referred to in the NBA. + + + +``Sure, I like those girls and I want to lose my virginity by +carefully placing me boner inside of their girl boners, what do you +think about that!'' answered Luke. + + + +''You know what you'd like better than losing your virginity?'' +the man coyly asked. ``Never having sex, that's what!`` + + + +``Wow I never thought about it like that! Heeeey{\ldots}what's your +name anyhow mister?'' asked Luke. + + + +``My name is AC Green, and i'm a virgin.'' + + + +{\bf Chapter 2} + +The next morning, AC picked Luke up in his light blue 2003 Dodge +Caravan. They whistled the theme song to ``The Adams +Family'' in perfect unison as they headed to the karate dojo +to learn some much needed self defense. + + + +``You're going to eventually find that women will try +and make you do things you don't want to do Luke, and that +sometimes the word ``NO'' just isn't enough to stop +them from hassling you.'' AC said, his eyes searching for a +parking spot the entire time. ``That's why we're +going to learn some self defense moves today''. + + + +They spent the next 4 hours rolling around the matt and throwing +nasty elbows and flying jump kicks at invisible female assailants, +the rest of the class watching in awe and slight confusion as AC +and Luke kept yelling ``No means no lady!'' and +``That's my penis! You leave him be woman!'' + + + +An hour later, as Luke was exiting the police car, he turned and +asked the officer, ``What's gonna happen to him? What +will you do with AC?'' + + + +``He's a dangerous man and we've been after him for a long +time. You should thank your lucky stars we caught him before he did +anything to you kid!'' shouted the policeman back at +Luke. + + + +``Well at least he'll stay abstinent in prison!'' +Luke said. + + + +Their laughter echoed throughout the otherwise quiet +neighborhood. + + + +e: kids need to be respected too! (Didn't see that part, +sorry!) + +{\bf The End} + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Barometer} + + +My contribution; L.B;V.H.E. (the extended directors cut, with +deleted scenes) + + + +Luke sat in the dimly lighted corner of an underused and +over-bright bar. + +``Almost noon'' he thought to himself ``they should be fast asleep by +now.'' + +Shifting his considerable bulk, he managed to stand on his one good +leg, supporting himself with a hand on the table while his other +hand reached for his cane; an old waking cane bought form a dealer +in Soho many years past. + +``God I've really let myself go since the accident'' he whispered to +no-one ``maybe I'll look into that Pilates shit{\ldots}or +something.'' + +He rolled his one good eye towards the pretty barmaid, a buxom +blonde who was eyeing him suspiciously. His meaty paw fished out a +couple of bills and dropped them unceremoniously onto the wet +tabletop, next to his three empty glasses. + +``Hurr'' he spewed ``That'll teach her not to return my +flirtations{\ldots}uppity bitch.'' He gave her a smile that would wither +a rose, showing his rotten teeth that were green and yellow as +vomit. + +Lurching forward like some hellish zombie, he headed for the +door. + +Once outside, on the street, he shielded his eyes from the bright +sunshine ``Jesus I hate Kansas!'' he shouted, and a couple of elderly +people strolling by averted their gaze. He snarled at them, like +some wild animal that had been too long held in a cage and was only +now getting it's first taste of sweet freedom. ``fuckers'' he +mumbled. + +Luke was an old man now, even though he was only forty. He had seen +so much; things that would make your skin crawl right off your +body. Things that could curdle milk by just being discussed. Luke +was a Vampire hunter, in the classical sense. Luke was very, very +good at his job.Checking the swordcane with a swift motion, and +satisfying himself that it was still good and sharp and made of the +finest ebony, he trundled down the street towards the old Biddick +Mansion looking like some undead pimp, rolling towards his best +girl. + +``Those goddamn Vampires'll be vomiting blood from their throats, +ere this day is finished'' he vowed to heaven above ``Or my name's +not; Luke Bavarious, Vampire Hunter Extraordinaire!'' + +A boy of about 12 happened to be standing nearby, and when he heard +this his eyes sparkled with a devilish glee. + +``Hey, mister{\ldots}you goin' up to the ol Biddick place?'' + +``So what if I am, you little shit?'' Luke gnashed his rotten +teeth + +``Better not, I hear them folks is crazy{\ldots}and they got some kinda +dawg that wanders the grounds during the daytime. Never see 'em +lessen it's nighttime.'' + +Bavarious gave the tyke a once-over, and answered ``Izzat +right{\ldots}well, guess it's a good thing I have this Beretta then, +huh?'' as he spoke, Luke eased his brown courdory overcoat aside, +showing off a holstered Beretta 9mm, worn gunslinger style, with +the butt facing forward. ``I imagine THIS will take care of that old +DAWG'' he imitated the boys thick accent. He swooned a bit form the +heat, and sweating copiusly, continued his roll down the street. +Following at a short distance, the boy followed, shoeless and +dressed only in blue coveralls, worn form use and neglect. His bare +feet were covered in sores and wounds garnered from his time +playing in the dirt and rocks surrounding the little no-name town +they were in. His eyes were wide, and full of anticipation. He had +never before seen a man this grossly overweight, and was +intrigued. + +After a few minutes, Luke felt as if the eyes of Satan himself were +upon him, so he swung around fiercely, whipping out his sidearm +``WHO DAT?!'' he cried his good eye searching and looking crazily +around until it alighted on the small figure in front of him. + +The boy jumped from fright, and for a moment he felt as if his his +heart was going to burst from his chest, spewing crimson blood +across the dusty sidewalk ``IT'S JUST ME MISTER'' he shouted, +thinking the geezer must be hard of hearing if he had not noticed +him following by then ``I WANNA HELP, MISTER!'' + +``HELP?'' Shouted Luke, unconsciously imitating the boy and shouting +back;``I DON'T--'' he suddenly realised he was shouting, and dropped +his voice seeing that another couple across the street were +watching, intently`` I Don't need your help, kid{\ldots}now, buzz +off{\ldots}get lost{\ldots}scram. Comprende?'' + +The nameless waif wondered what the hell ``Comprende'' meant, but the +rest of the message was clear enough. ``Fine, you ol' bastard{\ldots}go +on, get yourself killed, see if I care!'' and with that, he ran +off. + +It took Luke another ten minutes of lurching to gain the front gate +of the fenced in yard surrounding the mansion. ``Hmmmm, I don't SEE +any big dog'' He continued to roll his single, jaundiced eye back +and forth, looking in vain for any sign of a guard dog. Satisfied +that there was no sign of such a beast, he opened the gate and +hobbled up the front path to the stairs leading onto the porch. He +unintentionally farted. Once in front of the massive oak +double-doors, he swung his eye around for another look. Again, +there was nothing to challenge him, and as he considered knocking, +the doors parted of their own accord, affording him access to the +darkened foyer of the seemingly uninhabited mansion. + +``CREEEEEEEEEAK'' went the doors, and when they were fully apart, +L.B. (As his one and only friend called him) took stock of the room +revealed before his eye. + +It was a small room, comfortable and sparsly decorated. There were +a couple cameos on the wall, and a small desk, covered in what +looked to be unopened mail. L.B. knew there were Vampires in this +place, he could smell the stink of hell itself in this place and he +figured that like all of their ilk, they would be holed up in the +basement, sleeping their undead sleep in coffins filled with the +dirt of their original resting places. + +He shifted his weight ``God-DAMN it I gotta lose some poundage'' he +cursed. After a cursory search of the downstairs, he found what +appeared to be a locked door to the basement, and he put his left +ear up to it and listened. + +``Hmmmmm, sounds like a heart beating{\ldots}that's odd'' He tried the +door, but as he had surmised; it was locked! + +Suddenly the door came crashing in on him, and the portal vomited +forth a huge, black dog{\ldots}some kind of mutant Great Dane he thought +fleetingly, as it quickly bit into his neck, tearing out his +windpipe and causing Luke to make the most horrid sounds even he, +in his long career of monster slaying, had ever heard. + +Somehow, his fat right hand had reacted instinctively and the +Beretta was alive in his hand! Bullets tore through the monstrous +dogs body, knocking it backwards and slamming it against the wall. +As it writhed in its death throes, Luke attempted to staunch his +wound, but he knew it was too late his plump hands could find no +purchase, and the wound was surely a mortal one. His vision was +blurring to the point that he could barely make out the small shape +coming up from the basement. + +``You shoulda listened to me, mister'' Said the boy in a quiet tone +``I woulda showed you the cellar door, and then ol Blackwood there +woulda never bit ya!'' + +``Gurgle..cough, spit'' was all Luke could get out, and as the life +ebbed from him, laying on that dirty linoleum kitchen floor, all he +could think was; ``Shit, why didn't I listen to that kid?'' The boy +crouched down in front of him, and just as his eye glazed over he +caught sight of a family portrait on the wall{\ldots}some cheesy mall +photobooth picture, enlarged, of the boy{\ldots}with the name ``Ben'' in +faux spraypaint letters and some other bling he couldn't quite make +out, before the Angel of Death took him. + +``Ma and Pa are gonna be SO PISSED that you killed Blackwood{\ldots}'' +said the boy to the corpse, glancing over to the lifeless dog +``Maybe ma will raise ya, so they can punish ya!'' again his eyes +filled with an evil gleam. + +With that, he gave a shrill laugh, and ran as fast as he could back +down the stairs, anticipation bubbling forth like boiling coffee. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Hamelin} + + +{\bf The Painter} + + + +The boy who wanted to be a painter stared at his canvas. His canvas +was blank and it stared back at him. He had many other blank +canvasses and they also stared at him. All the big squares of white +were empty like his mind. He could think of nothing to paint onto +the canvas. It drove him crazy. He would never be popular if he had +nothing but blank canvasses! All of his friends told him that he +would never be a painter. He knew he would show them. + + + +Since there were no ideas in his head the wannabe painter put on +his jacket and went to the art museum. There were a lot of +paintings at the art museum. The difference between these paintings +and his were that these paintings existed and his didn't. + +``I wish I could paint paintings like these!'' The boy said out loud +to no one. + +``Paintings like these huh?'' A tall shadow suddenly appeared over +the boy's head. + +``Would you like to have paintings like these in this museum?'' The +shadow continued. + +The boy spun around and standing there blocking light was a tall +gentleman. He was wearing a black overcoat over a black suit. The +gentleman smiled. + +``Yes! Yes I would! Can you help?'' The desperate wanna be painter +clapped his hands together with joy. + +From the gentleman's overcoat the gentleman grabbed a small wooden +box and handed it over. The box was made of dark wood and was very +smooth. + +``Take this box home, what is in it will help you put everything +onto your canvas.'' + +``Really? Thank you sir!'' The boy jumped up and down +with joy. + +The tall gentleman walked away without another word. + + + +Before he knew it the boy was home again. He locked the door and +excitedly opened the box. Inside the box was a paintbrush. The boy +took the paintbrush into his hand and it gave him an idea. He +started to paint. He painted and painted. The sun went down while +he painted, the sun came up and he was still painting. He painted +on every single canvas in his home until he could paint no +more. + + + +Days passed and no one heard anything from the painter. He didn't +show up to school. No one saw him at the park. After a week a group +of his friends broke into his house. They wanted to know if the boy +was ok. What they saw when they broke down the door were hundreds +of canvasses in an empty house. Paintings of furniture, paintings +of household objects, paintings of carpets, paintings of his +parents. Paintings of everything that would be in a house but none +of those things. As they dug through house they found the painter's +last painting sitting on his easel. It was a painting of the +painter himself. + + + +Most of the paintings were put in the art museum. Everyone in the +town was impressed by the paintings. Everyone wanted to meet the +boy who painted all the amazing paintings. They would ask the +museum employees about him. They would only say that no one knew +where he was. They only found his paintings in his house. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{gigz} + + +I'm game, what up? + + + +{\bf What Went Wrong} + + + +There is blood everywhere. My clothes are drenched with it, my +hands slippery. I look down at the dead body of Mrs. Trencher, her +throat still gurgling as she gasps for a final breath. The pencil +in my hand is a dark crimson. Slowly beads of her blood fall to the +already massive pool of blood on the floor. I look up and see that +everyone is staring in horror. It then occurs to me that I am +laughing harder than I ever have in my life. + +Flash. + +I wake up with a start, scared out of my mind. I am gripping my +pencil so hard I can hear the cheap wood start to splinter. It was +a dream. That's all it was. Hell of a dream though. My name +is Luke Bavarious. I am seventeen years old, and a senior in high +school. I am not shut-in, I am not excluded by my peers, and I am +not ridiculed and mocked. Frankly, people just like me and I get +along with everybody. I think something has happened to me. I just +have no idea what. + +Mrs. Trencher is my English Literature professor. I have never +harbored any sort of ill-will towards her. Her tests can be a +bitch, but she is not a disagreeable person. Her classroom habits +don't evoke the anger of any student. She is all-around well +liked and respected. She gives us candy when we study for tests as +a class. She gives us candy when we aren't studying. + +There is no reason that dream should have happened. I got plenty of +sleep last night. I wasn't up late, and I fell asleep right +away. I woke up on time, I had a bowl of cereal and a glass of +orange juice, and I made it to school without being rushed. + +It's 11:32. Class is continuing as normal, and Mrs. Trencher +didn't notice me sleeping. Then again, she is the type of +professor that continues on with her lesson with, or without, your +participation. If you miss the material, it is your own fault. I +shake my head and continue copying her lecture notes into my +notebook. At this point, I have zoned out and am copying the notes +without paying any attention to what they are. I'll read them +over lunch, so I at least know what she is talking about. + +``The elements of gothic fiction are easy to identify. In +almost all of them, a woman is trapped in a circumstance she cannot +escape from. This is usually a house. She has little time before +she suffers `a fate worse than death.' There is +something or someone keeping her in the house, by means of force or +obligation. Somewhere in the text, her savior will enter the house, +learn of the situation and save her from that Hellish +fate.'' + + + +Flash. + + + +I look up from my notebook, and see the blonde pony-tail of the +classmate in front of me. With my face torn in a bloodthirsty rage, +I reach forward and grab a hold of it. I yank it back towards me, +her face now staring at the ceiling in pain and confusion. Without +a word, I lunge forward and plunge my pencil deep into her left +eye. She screams. I scream. She is screaming from the pain, I am +screaming because I am delighted. I twist the pencil deeper into +her eye-socket. She convulses, and I hold fast. I stand up, leaving +Jenny to writhe in her chair. I look at my hand. I slowly drag my +tongue across my middle finger, savoring the taste of her +blood. + +I laugh harder than I have ever laughed in my life. + + + +Flash. + + + +I wake up on the floor next to my desk, tears stinging my eyes. +Everyone is crowded around me; Mrs. Trencher has sent Jenny off for +the nurse. Her eye is fine. I look up at the concerned faces +hovering over me. + +``I'm fine; really{\ldots}I've just been feeling a +little ill. That's all.'' The words have to be choked +out through the tears. I try to stand, only to find a hand on my +shoulder, keeping me at my position on the ground. + +``Francis, are you sure you're okay? You shouldn't +try to move. Jenny went to get the nurse, just sit tight.'' +Mrs. Trencher's voice is thick with worry. She was one of the +few who cared about her students. For a split second, at the +mention of Jenny's name, I had the image of my pencil twisted +deep into her cornea. I almost throw-up. + +``N-no, I'm okay, really{\ldots}''I pull myself to +my feet, using my desk as a crutch. I'm not really okay as I +say I am. I am unsure on my feet, and my vision is blurry. +Everything is swimming, but at least there isn't any blood. I +look around at my classmates; every one of them is staring at me +horrified. I'm not the first person to faint in class. +Melissa did two weeks ago in Biology. We were dissecting frogs, and +she is squeamish. As it turns out, I had screamed in absolute +terror, fallen out of my desk, and laid on the floor convulsing in +tears. + +Jenny walks through the classroom door, a very scared looking Ms. +Surough, the school nurse, in tow. I look up at Jenny, tears still +fresh in my eyes. Ms. Surough sets an arm around my shoulders and +leads me out of the room. I numbly follow her direction towards the +nurse's office. Something is wrong with me, and I don't +know what. + +Ms. Surough tells me to lie down on the couch in her office. I +happily oblige. + +``So, what happened, Francis? Are you okay?'' Her voice +stays level, but you can tell she is concerned. You can see it in +her eyes. The only thing I can think of when I look at her is the +image of my brutally attacking Jenny. What the fuck is +happening? + +``I'm fine, really. I just think I'm +overtired{\ldots}I didn't eat this morning. I think +that's it. Just overtired and a little stressed from work. +Really, I'm okay.'' I'm trying to convince myself +more so than Ms. Surough. + +That's it, really. I'm just stressed from work. I guess +I did go to bed too late, and didn't eat enough for +breakfast. I'm okay. Really, I'm O.K. + +I am O.K. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{KryonikMessiah} + + +The Ninjas + + + +Luke Bavarious was walking through a busy street, the landscape +riddled with urban decay. A building here, windows shattered, foul +smoke emitting from it's fetid chimney. A rusted out car +there, looking as if it had been sitting there for a good decade or +five. And all around was the constant buzz of midday traffic. +Bavarious, however, had other plans on his mind, as he walked into +a building. The building was tall{\ldots}{\ldots}.too tall. + + + +`This building is tall{\ldots}.TOO tall', Bavarious +thought to himself, one hand clutched to a Smith and Wesson .44 in +his pants and the other holding a beer. Suddenly, out of the corner +of his eyes, Bavarious saw a flash! As he turned around to +investigate, a ninja appeared! ``Come on, you commie +scum!'' said Bavarious, as he fired at the ninja. But the +ninja cut the bullet in half! Bavarious jumped back and stared the +ninja straight in the face as they began circling each other in +this old, decrepit factory. + + + +Bavarious narrowed his eyes. These ninjas were a tricky sort. Just +as he narrowed his eyes, a board broke over the back of his head. +Turning around, Luke Bavarious glared at another ninja in anger, +who was shivering with fear, a wet spot covering the crotch of his +costume as he held the piece of a broken board. Bavarious snatched +the pants right off the ninja, and turned around just in time as +the other ninja was leaping at him with a karate kick. Bavarious +wrapped the pants around his face, and he fell to the ground +choking, but then the other ninja made his move! + + + +Bavarious found a knife in his shoulder, which began spraying green +vomit and blood all over the Ninja, and he pulled it out and turned +around, only to duck the broken board. He stabbed the knife into +the ninja's hand, nailing it to the ground, and picked up the +broken piece of board, driving it through the Ninja's head in +one fell swoop, and it exploded into a spray of brains and blood! +Luke Bavarious was on the lookout for more ninjas, when suddenly he +saw two children, a little boy and a little girl, standing maybe +ten feet away from him. A dead ninja was on the ground, and the two +kids were happily tearing his eyeballs out of his skull. Luke +Bavarious grimaced at this, when suddenly, he realized his gun was +missing just as another ninja burst through the wall. + + + +That, however, was fine. The little girl picked up a pistol off the +ground, which went un-noticed by the ninja, who sworded out his +katana at great attack. Taking a chop at the little boy, he was +stopped in his tracks as Luke Bavarious tossed a vomit covered +pillow at him, which struck him in the face, and the little girl +accidentally pulled the trigger, shooting the ninja square between +his legs. + + + +The next day, all ninjas fled the city. Their three brothers in +arms had fallen, and no ninja was mighty enough to stand up to Luke +Bavarious. Children the world over rejoiced. + + + +The End. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{IShallRiseAgain} + + +{\bf The School} + +John Jones was your average every-day student at Livingston Middle +School. He was also very late. He hurried into his classroom for +the gifted students of which he was the smartest and coolest. He +hated his teacher, Miss Diabloclous, she was always giving them +homework and pop quizzes. ``Your late, John Jones! You get a +detention!'' shrieked Miss Diabloclous. ``Third one this +week'' thought John as he sat down with a smirk. + + + +When school was over he headed over to Miss Diablocluos's +room. Another student, George Smith, was already there. ``You +boys have been behaving badly, and we can't have that can +we?'' proclaimed Miss Diabloclous. Suddenly her face started +stretching and contorting, and she grew ghastly fangs. George was +screaming and vomiting at the same time. Her jaws stretched, and +she bit off the head of George. His arteries started spewing +copious amounts of blood all over the place. Licking the blood off +her face, Miss Diablocluos shouted ``Your next!'' John +was ready though and pulled out his berretta. ``Pop Quiz time, +what happens when I shoot a bullet through your brain?'', he +exclaimed and then unleashed a hail of bullets into her head. + + + +A police officer rushed in to see what was going on. Upon seeing +the grotesque body of Miss Diablocluos, he turned to John. +Expecting praise for killing the abomination of nature, he was +surprised when the officer unloaded a full clip into him with his +own berretta. Sighing the officer stated, ``Damn public +schools!''. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Paracetamol Boy} + + +{\bf The Smile} + +Narrated by Luke Bavarius + + + +I woke to a darkened room. The streetlights outside my window cast +eerie shadows onto the floor. My mouth tasted carpet. My entire +body was immobilised with searing pain. I managed, with great +difficulty, to turn my swollen face toward my left. The living area +was littered with broken furniture. + + + +So it had come to this. My wife had taken the kids and left me for +dead in what was once our family apartment in the central hub of +New York City. Blood seeped out the open wounds of my trunk and +saturated my dark blue clothing with an even darker sheen. There +the knife lay still, blade digging into the carpet in front of my +face. My own knife, that my own wife had turned on me. + + + +I could hear the soft wails of the police sirens from the streets +below. That was the least of my worries. Despite my dizzied state, +my thoughts drifted to my lovely kids, Johnny and Sasha. I wondered +if I would see them again, if they were safe. The steadily +loudening sirens registered faintly in the back of my mind{\ldots} + + + +Suddenly, I had a flash of mental clarity. It was the insight of a +dying man. I could not fight to live. I had lost too much blood, +the evidence of this mixing with the contents of my voided bladder +and slowly pooling around me like a seeping fountain of death. I +was a broken man. There was the chance an arterial bypass would +keep me alive, but even if I lived there was nothing to live for. I +didn't want to let anyone else think otherwise for me. + + + +The knife was only inches from my face. My good arm, my left arm, +could move but only with mind-numbing pain. Slowly, agonizingly, I +brought the arm closer and closer toward the knife. I grasped its +handle and lifted it from the carpet. Each action was excruciating. +But pain is only temporary, for in death there is the ultimate +release. My thoughts drifted again to Johnny and Sasha, as I used +every ounce of my remaining strength to roll onto my back. I +positioned the knife in front of my chest and closed my +eyes{\ldots} + + + +``Daddy.'' I recognised the voice and opened my eyes. In the dark, I +could see two small silhouettes sitting cross-legged beside +me. + +``Johnny?'' + +The silhouette on the left nodded at me and smiled. The smile had +no lips, only teeth. I shook. + +``Daddy, what are you doing?'' the shadow on the right enquired +meekly. Sasha? + +``Daddy{\ldots}daddy's going away for a while,'' I whispered. The knife +was still in my hand, in front of my chest, frozen in place. + +``Look{\ldots}daddy can't be with you guys for very long anymore. I won't +be alive for long{\ldots}I must go.'' + +``But you can't go, Daddy.'' The silhouette on the left was still +smiling, the white of his teeth glowing eerily in the darkness. ``If +you go{\ldots}I'll eat Sasha.'' The teeth spread to a grin. + + + +``Johnny{\ldots}'' I gasped. As I looked on, Johnny's grin seemed to grow +wider and wider. The rows of teeth separated to form a hole between +them, and the hole widened to a yawning chasm of unfathomable +darkness. A different voice emanated from the hole. ``Daddy,'' it +drawled. ``If you go{\ldots}I'll eat Sasha.'' + + + +Still in immense pain, I balked, speechless, at the two shadows in +front of me, one sitting silently, the other leering at me, teeth +as far apart as a basketball, face torn apart by a chasm. + +My vision blurred and it became increasingly difficult to breathe. +The knife dropped from my hand. Between ragged breaths, I gasped +weakly. ``Johnny{\ldots}you have your mother's smile.'' + + + +Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the silhouettes were gone, +leaving only the space they had occupied. + + + +I wept bitterly. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{ack!} + + +{\bf The Dock} + +This lake seemed ordinary enough. The drive to this lake seemed +also ordinary enough, though the road was windy and tedious. The +unfortunate youngest child of the Bavarius family, Luke, endured +riding in the very back seat of the Buick station wagon. With each +twist on the windy road to the lake, Luke suppressed his twisting +stomachs urge to purge and vomit due to the car sickness his seat +on this ride caused him. ``I hate this drive and I told them +we shouldn't go this year. I hate being the youngest. I +always have to sit back here and get car sick, but that +doesn't matter to anyone, especially my dad who never listens +to me'', Luke thought while feeling the bile raise to his +throat. ``This ride better end soon'' he wished, but the +ride was really just beginning. + + + +Upon reaching the cabin at the lake they drove to, Luke's +family unpacked for a week's vacation during the summer break +from school. Luke ran to catch up to his older siblings who were +faster than him as they each ran to claim their bunks in the cabin. +The ride left him more nauseas than ever and he had no hope of +getting a bunk in the main room. As usual, his bunk would be the +one in the back room at the back of the house. Once again he found +himself at the back of it all in the most uncomfortable place and +anything he said about it would go unnoticed and uncared about. +Needing fresh air to clear his head and most importantly, his +churning stomach of suppressed oral violence which was nearing +critical mass, Luke ventured outside, alone. He knew this trip +would be bad and the start was proving it. + + + +Behind the cabin was a trail. Dreary and barren, this trail had +seen no visitors all year. Vines grew across its misshapen +cobblestones. He tried to skip as children do, but the uneven +stones reached up to trip him. Even the ground he walked on tried +to make his life miserable. Luke pressed on. + + + +At the end of the trail, which led from the house to the lake, a +dock that rivaled an elderly woman's wrinkled and cracked +skin wound its way above the lake's depths. No one knew the +origins of the dock, but it had endured every frigid winter and +every scorching summer since its birth. Neglected and uncared +without a repairman's hands to repair it, the dock barely +held together with each board twisting and splintering. + + + +Creeping like a silent cat on the hunt for its prey, Luke crept +onto the dock. Engulfed in the mist of the lake which surrounded +him like a funeral curtain, he made his way to the end where he sat +on the end of the dock and put his feet into the water. The +coolness felt good to him and made his stomach settle and no more +churn like a vile popcorn machine ready to spew forth a vomit of +undigested cheese and crackers that was his only meal for the +day. + + + +Peering into the waters, Luke was surprised at the stillness and +the clearness of the lake. As the cruel world spun around him, he +could see through the very depths to the bottom which shimmered. He +could see his reflection coming in and out of shape. As he stared, +it seems time froze and the world stopped turning. His face became +without a shape and disappeared entirely. The faces of his siblings +floated by instead, pushing him out of the way. Then after that, +the faces of his parents, who never listened or cared for their +youngest child mocked him in his place. + + + +Feeling colder than ever before, Luke felt a fiery fury explode in +his blood boiling heart. His mind spun deeper and darker than the +largest tornados in Kansas. His eyes bulged, each vain throbbing +and pumping their purple liquid to increase his vision. The real +picture began to form. This lake was a mirror, a portal, a crystal +ball to show his life, show his future. + + + +The water's blue gave way to rust as each body flowed by +while blood drained from within. ``This is my life'', +Luke realized, ``this is my work. Whoever won't listen, +whoever won't get out of the way, this is where I must put +them, this is where they will pay''. + + + +Snapping awake, Luke glared at his aged reflection in the window +lighted by the moonlight in the night sky. His thoughts settled as +his memory cleared and the pain rose burning and bright like the +devouring flares of the Sun. + +``No!! This was not me!!`` + + + +''You did this, Horace Manslasher. You took my family that day while +I was at the dock and no one would join me. Now I'm coming +for you.'' + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{rinski} + + +{\bf The Mansion of Horror} + + + +Luke Bavarius stood before the haunted mansion of GhostRaven +Mansion. Black bats circled above, haloing the yellow moon. Luke +reached into his pocket. The cold steel of his Baretta reassured +him. + + + +Legend had it the mansion contained untold riches. Luke liked the +sound of that. + + + +Earlier that day a local kid had tried to stop Luke. + +``Don't go to the haunted mansion. It's too +dangerous. It kills people. It never loses.'' + +``I think I can handle myself, kid.'' Luke said, +smirking. + + + +THUD! Luke kicked the mansion's heavy wooden doors open. He +was in a large living room, 50 feet wide. All the furniture was +covered with ghostly white sheets and a chandelier hung ominously +overhead. There were lit torches on the walls. + + + +Suddenly, all of the furniture exploded. Luke shielded his face +with his arms. Splinters tore at his leather jacket. The splinters +reformed into a giant wood golem. The golem surged to life. +It's eyes glowed with arcane evil. + + + +Luke smirked. + + + +He grabbed a torch from the wall. He threw it. The wooden giant +burst into blue flames. It burned as though it were made of tinder +and lighter fluid. The giant fell to its knees in wooden agony and +then unexploded back into furniture. The haunted white sheets flew +back to again cover the furniture. + + + +``Getting the treasure from this haunted mansion will be a +breeze.'' Luke asserted, smirking. + + + +The next room was a gigantic ball room with chandeliers and a +wooden floor. One wall was covered in old oil paintings. The other +wall was a gigantic window with giant red curtains. He could see +the garden. The hedges looked ominous. ``Probably plant +monsters.'' Luke murmured. He took a step into the room. +Suddenly, zombies were clawing their way out of the wooden floor. +Their empty eye sockets were slick with green rot. It glinted +sickly in the moon light. Luke's nostrils were attacked by +the zombie's horrid stench. + + + +Then Luke was attacked by the zombies themselves. + + + +Luke pulled out his Baretta. He emptied a few bullets into the +mushy heads of the advancing undead army. The bullet wounds oozed +blood and pus but the zombies just kept coming. + + + +``They just keep coming!'' Luke joked, smirking. + + + +He had to act fast. He ran around the zombies and their zombie +holes so he wouldn't trip. Zombies dove at him. Luke dodged +the deft attacks. Zombies dove left and right. Barely, Luke made it +to the other side of the room. As soon as he stepped out of the +room there was a flash. All the zombies disappeared and the floor +grew back. The room looked exactly as it did initially. Luke was +astonished. He stepped back into the room. Zombies poured from the +floor like oozing pus. Luke stepped back. The zombies disappeared. +Luke chuckled. He did this for one minute then moved to the next +room. + + + +The next room was the kitchen. Immediately, all of the knives flew +out of the drawers. The knives hovered lazily in the air. Then the +knives flew at him. They cut through the air. Literally. Blood +droplets condensed out of the air. Luke dodged out of the way of +the knives attack. The knives flew past him into the meat locker, +killing the monster that was hiding inside. The knives made quick +work of the monster, then turned to attack Luke once again. Luke +simply shut the meat locker's door. The knives clattered +against the solid iron door. Luke smirked. + + + +Luke entered the hallway out of the kitchen and was immediately +attacked by a giant spider monster. ``What the!'' Luke +uttered. But before he'd even finished uttering, the spider +lurched forward. It's poison jaws opened. They tried to clamp +closed on Luke's arm. Luke dodged backwards as the jaws +clamped shut. The jaws etched a wound in Luke's arm, but were +unable to deliver their venomous payload. In one fluid motion Luke +drew his Baretta. He shot two bullets into the spider's +bulging bug eyes. Two bullet casings clattered on the floor. The +wound belched forth a thick green blood. The blood hissed as it hit +the floor, dissolving it. The spider recoiled. Its insectoid brain +was riddled with pain and fear and two bullets. But it was too +late. Luke grabbed a sword from the wall. He brought it down on the +spider monster's neck. The head was cleanly sliced off of the +twitching body. The spider collapsed in a heap of bloody legs. The +wounds vomited their acidic syrup and the floor kept +dissolving. + + + +``I'd better get out of here.'' Luke intoned, +smirking. + + + +As Luke was escaping down the hall, he saw a room filled to the +brim with treasure. He stood there, mouth agape. He was going to be +rich. He ran into the room. Suddenly, the room shimmered and +disappeared. Luke fell into a void. He screamed. At the bottom of +the void, as far as the eye could see in every direction, was an +unspeakably horrid beast. It was made of mouths and eyestalks and +tentacles. It covered the entire floor in every direction. + + + +Luke retched a scream. He tumbled towards the gaping maw of the +horrible creature. There was no escape. As Luke fell, a figure +appeared in front of him. It was the boy from before. + + + +``The mansion never loses.'' The boy said, watching Luke +fall. + + + +Luke choked on a sob. It was the last sound he ever made. As Luke +fell into the giant open mouth, the monster started biting him +lightning fast. The bites were so fast that the teeth broke the +sound barrier. Luke was dead before he knew it. He exploded into +bloody slices that fell down into the beast's stomach +acid. + + + +``The mansion never loses.'' The boy repeated. He +smirked. Then he disappeared. + + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Syphilicious!} + + +WHAT LURKS BEHIND OUR EYES/THE HORRID REFLECTION REVISITED + + + +Thursday night, and everything is quiet. Unusual for me, but in my +current settings it should be expected; instead of walking my beat +in the thug-infested alleys of our dear city, I am far out in the +country, at Old Woman McCannshire's place, engaged in a staring +contest with the termites that crawl in and out of the floor of her +porch as I wait for her to answer the door. The middle of nowhere +does not properly describe my location; I'd been driving so long +that I'm probably already halfway out. My name is Luke Bavarius, +and I'm a detective, but tonight I appear to be the guy that drives +around checking under old biddies' beds for monsters. + + + +Even the pranks get men sent out these days. A prank is what I +would have thought this would be, if I didn't know the old woman +calling was too addled to even have a teenager's sense of humor. +McCannshire thinks her house is haunted by spirits, and wants one +of us ``wonderful young men you have working down there'' to come +check it out. I'm almost glad I forgot to bring my spare ammunition +for my Beretta out here; I've used that thing enough today +considering my nerves are just about as shot as those three bank +robbers, and if this goose chase got any more boring I'd probably +put it in my mouth and make brain gumbo. + + + +The unlatching of bolts awakens me from my reverie, and my head +snaps back up into the proper position. ``You win this time, +termites,'' I mutter, wiping a thin string of drool from my chin. +Slowly, the door creaks open, and I am treated to the sight of Mrs. +McCannshire in a wispy white nightgown. Perhaps in the prime of her +youth this might have been something I could have tolerated or even +enjoyed, but the broad has long been in her more tender years of +age, her face has more wrinkles than the wandering Jew's underwear, +and her nightgown is greasy with the mysterious secretions of the +elderly. I try to focus on the mangy grey poodle she cradles in one +arm, a dirty little mutt that she probably pampers like nobody's +business. She really fits the picture of an old bag of bones, and +as soon as she opens her mouth I can tell how far gone she really +she is. + + + +``Are you the detective Officer Dent sent over to help with the +spirits in my house?'' She speaks slowly and clearly, her eyes twin +moons of gawkish innocence. I don't know which kind of dementia +would be worse: the flavor Mrs. McCannshire possesses where one is +magically returned to the age of nine or the other one where you +think the walls are talking to you. Although, considering why I was +here, it's possible she suffered from the latter too. + + + +``Uh{\ldots}yes. Yes, ma'am. Officer Dent is my, uh, superior.'' I stepped +past her and walked inside, trying to ignore the subdued growl the +mutt in her hands had started up upon sight of me. The place was +clean to a point; there were numerous tables and shelves bedecked +with pictures and family heirlooms, all meticulously dusted, but +the carpet was smeared with dirty pawprints and general dust and +filth, it's frayed and ragged material likely not blessed by the +gentle touch of a vaccuum cleaner for years. The carpet and walls +were an ugly matching beige and all the miscellaneous objects, +despite constant care, had lost their luster. The only sign of real +color came from the bathroom behind the door opposite the one I had +come in, wherein an even more hideous bright lime green covered the +small amount of wall I could see around the door. + + + +I turned to face her, reaching into the folds of my trenchcoat and +drawing out a pack of cigarettes and my lighter. ``Now, what seems +to be the problem here?'' A lazy puff of smoke floated serenely past +my raised eyebrow from my now lit cigarette. + + + +``Well,'' she said, setting the dog down onto the carpet where it did +an annoying little dance around our legs, barking and whining, +``I've been noticing things for several days now, but only this +morning did it get really bad. You see, every time I use the +bathroom I feel someone is watching me.'' + + + +``How can you tell?'' + + + +``Well, at first it was just an uneasy feeling. But then I started +hearing voices that would say things that I couldn't make out. Then +I started seeing faces out of the corner of my eye or in a +reflection. And this is happening quite often, mind you. It's +happened every time I go in there, and these days I tend to{\ldots}oh, +how should I say it{\ldots}do my business more often, mostly because +my--'' + + + +``I understand, I understand,'' I said hurriedly. ``Please, +continue.'' + + + +``Well, uh, this morning, I saw a face in the mirror behind me. And +I didn't just see it, either; it was directly behind me, an entire +person, and he didn't go away until I turned round.'' + + + +My eyebrow, which had just started to head home for the day, turned +right back around and marched up my forehead. This sounded +legitimately interesting. Whatever had actually happened, seeing a +person plain as day was a lot better than imaginary sounds or +tricks of light that even happened to people who weren't sitting +outside Death's doorstep in motorized wheelchairs. There was really +only one thing to do. + + + +``Well, I guess you'll have to show me the bathroom then, Mrs. +McCannshire.'' + + + +``Right you are, dear.'' She seems to notice that my gaze had strayed +to the pictures on the small table next to the front door, and as +she hobbles past me towards the bathroom she begins to talk about +her dead husband. Half listening to her talk about the dangers of +late term prostate cancer and wincing at the intimate descriptions +she gives of the times she went with him for his checkups, I search +for an ashtray and find one nestled in between boxes of tissue and +stack of gardening books. I rub the flame out and leave the stub, +resolving not to smoke any more until I leave the house. The old +woman doesn't need all that smoke. + + + +As I join her in the bathroom, I see that her poodle has the same +idea. It flies past me and sits whining at her feet until she +relents and picks it up again. I stand next to her and look around +the room. The mirror is old but clean, and the porcelain throne in +the corner is the same. I look into the sink, and from the short, +curly gray hairs lining the rim I deduce that she washes the dog in +it; either that or she's more up on the trends of women of today +than you'd think of a gal her age. + + + +The horror of the thought further distracts me, and I begin to +develop that thousand yard stare as she tells me about the various +scary encounters she has experienced while voiding her bowels, +unnecessarily clueing me in on the second part in her stories too. +Technically I am looking at the hot water handle, but I am miles +away, back on a real cop's beat or in the arms of a good woman, +whichever one does a better job of distracting me from her current +tale of a mysterious voice whispering in what she thinks is Latin +and the effects of the creamed corn she had with lunch two days +ago. Suddenly I spy in the reflection from the mirror that the dog +has the same idea. The yappy little thing now sits silent and +unmoving in her arms, staring intently into the eyes of its +reflection. + + + +At first I am grateful for the relative silence that its new object +of interest has provided, but after a minute it begins to make my +skin go all goosey. I've never seen a dog sit that still for +anything. I slowly move my hand in front of its face, nodding to +show Mrs. McCannshire I am listening at a pause in her latest story +involving the cupboard swinging open and almost hitting her in the +head and how the fright really helped ``loosen things, down there''. +I pass my hand back in forth in front of the dog's vision to no +effect. In a moment of clarity I drudge up the dog's name out of +its owner's ramblings. + + + +``Jasper! Hey, Jasper!'' At once the dog is a flurry of motion, +leaping out of her hands and latching onto the watch around my +wrist with its teeth. I stumble backwards into the main room and +fall to the floor, frantically batting at the hideous ball of fur +as it growls like a recently castrated bear. Instinct takes over; +my mind recognizes when I am in a fight for my life even when the +opponent is a 15-pound owl pellet. Without thinking I wrap the palm +of the hand it grips around its head and bash it repeatedly against +the edge of a bookshelf next to me, then stagger to my feet and +swing it around the room, screaming to match its rabid cries. All +of a sudden it flies free with a high pitched yelp and collides +with the table on which the ashtray rested and the table and its +contents tumble to the ground. + + + +I approach cautiously, waiting for my opponent to make some sign of +life. At once the small pile of picture frames and knicknacks +erupts as Jasper flies straight towards my face. + + + +I have anticipated it; it passes fruitlessly over my head as I lean +backwards almost parallel to the floor, and I hear its frenzied +growling suddenly muffled. I push my spine back into place with one +hand and spin around only to see Jasper hanging from the ledge of a +desk, his jaw wrapped around it and his teeth grinding into it as +if he imagined it to be my arm. I act quickly, sparing no mercy. +With several steps I come upon the helpless creature and I lift a +booted foot to hover a foot away from the back of its skull. + + + +``Chew on this, pooch.'' + + + +There is a loud, wet crack as its skull explodes like a balloon +filled with bones and blood. It's corpse falls silently to the +floor, followed by the lower half of his jaw and head. The top half +rests on top of the desk, firmly embedded into the wood. I curse +silently to myself and wipe my foot off on the carpet, leaving +behind a red smear flecked with hair and bits of bone. + + + +All at once I come to my senses, and I turn to see Mrs. McCannshire +standing at the bathroom door. For a second we both stand staring +wordlessly at each other, then she utters a soft cry and flees back +into the bathroom. I hear a soft click as she locks the door behind +her. + + + +I sigh and walk over, knocking on the door. ``Mrs. McCannshire, I'm +sorry about Jasper, okay? I shouldn't have{\ldots}done that, but he was, +I mean he was attacking me. There was nothing else I could +do.'' + + + +I continued to apologize while I listened to her sobs, trying to +look anywhere but back at that head, or that part of it, those +sightless eyes silently judging me. I've killed people before in my +line of work, and I see their faces when I close my eyes, but now +this mutt was getting to me more than any of them ever did. It was +an irritable little thing, but why did it up and attack me like +that? What did it see in that mirror? + + + +I notice that the crying on the other side of the door has stopped, +and for a moment I feel relief. ``Mrs. McCannshire, if you can just +come out here we can talk about this. Again, I'm sorry about your +dog, but--'' + + + +I am interrupted by the click of the lock, and as the door slowly +comes ajar I help her open it. She stands there, head down, and she +looks so depressed that I can't help but resume my apologies. ``If +there's anything I can do to pay you back for what I did, you name +it. I really can't tell you how sorry I am, I'll get you a new dog, +whatever you want. I'm sure I{\ldots}could{\ldots}uh{\ldots}'' + + + +The look in her eyes when she raises her head is different than +what you'd think a hysterical old woman would have. They're more +intelligent than they were before, those eyes, and they seem to +possess more menace than I assume an old lady like that would be +able to muster. + + + +One bony hand wraps around my throat with otherworldy strength, +choking off the rest of the sentence. She lifts me off my feet, +pulls back, and for a brief moment everything is serene. + + + +Then I hit the wall. I slide down next to the open front door, and +after my eyes uncross and the black in front of my eyes goes away I +use the knob to pull myself up. I check for broken bones and don't +find good news in the ribs area, but other than that I am fine, if +bruised. + + + +``Well, you've got a good arm, I have to give you that.'' I think +over my options, running my tongue over my teeth. I can't hurt her; +she's obviously just possessed by whateve possessed that dog in the +mirror. I have to get the spirit out of her, or incapacitate her, +but I don't know how to perform exorcisms and at her age a gust of +wind could kill her. Although if she's able to throw like that +maybe she's a lot stronger in other ways too. What if I tied her +up? + + + +Something makes my train of thought come to a screeching halt. It +hasn't reached the station, it's gone straight off the tracks. +There were no survivors. + + + +My brain is recieving messages my tongue shouldn't be sending. It's +not finding something that should be there. I grab a polished +silver cup off a table and flash my teeth at my reflection. There's +a black square where there should be a nice little white one. + + + +I've lost a tooth. + + + +This bitch is going to die. + + + +I toss the cup and pull my piece, my finger already on the trigger. +Worse men talk about how their guns sing songs that only ever have +a few notes; that's played out, and anyway my Beretta never saw the +appeal in singing. It yells, and it only ever needs to raise its +voice once to win an argument with someone. + + + +As I aim down the sights at the old girl now barrelling towards me +from accross the room with a horrifying screech, I recall something +about not having ammunition, and I anticipate the empty little +click. Cursing wildly, I hurl the gun at her, and it bounces off +her forehead ineffectively. I reach for the knife strapped to my +leg down at my ankle, but it is too late; she knocks it out of my +hand with one swift strike just as I am bringing it up and it +clatters against the wall. She slams me up against the same patch +of wall that I'd said hello to twenty seconds ago and holds me at +arm's length against the wall, my head more than two feet higher +than hers and my feet off the ground clattering against the wall. +Both hands are wrapped around my neck and I am rapidly losing +oxygen. You need to do something now, I think. Or you're done, +Luke. You're done. + + + +Frantically my hands search for something, anything, to fight her +off with, finding nothing. I'm simply too far off the ground to +reach anything. I turn my head as much as her steel fingers allow, +and through my darkening vision I can barely see an umbrella stand +with one large black umbrella in it. In vain I stretch my left hand +towards the handle, my fingers finding air and then brushing the +handle. I strain as hard as I can as the pain advances and my sight +blackens, and suddenly I have a grip, I grasp it with the very tips +of my fingers, bring it up to my hand. She is laughing now, +piercing and mocking, delighting in her triumph. She doesn't keep +it up for long. I raise the umbrella high above my head then stab +it down into her open mouth and throat, pushing it into her +esophagus as she spits and gurgles, her hands clutching even +tighter at my neck. The handle is just past her teeth, my hand +gripping it firmly even as she bites into my wrist. I use my thumb +to find the release and push it up. + + + +The umbrella is spring operated, the fabric edged with sharp metal. +Her neck evaporates in a cloud of blood and her head shoots up into +the hair, twirling in the air like a basketball and falling to the +ground with I and the rest of her body. + + + +After a while, coughing and wheezing, I push her corpse off of me +and use the blood-soaked umbrella to stand up. As soon as I try to +walk towards the nearest chair, I stumble and trip over her head. +Standing up again, I look back down at the bloody mess on the +carpet and on me. I feel bile rising in my throat, and I turn to +run to the bathroom. + + + +I push past the door and stagger to the sink, where I vomit noisily +and stand for a while, staring into this puddle of my own sick. +After what seems like forever I look up and into my reflection in +the mirror. I am hunched over the sink, my hands still grasping the +sides, my mouth hanging open and a thin trail of vomit hanging from +my lower lip. My eyes are wet with tears from the choking and the +vomiting. + + + +Truly I am a pitiful sight. I give myself a weak smile, as if it +will cheer me up. I can't help but notice that something is off in +my reflection, but I can't think what. Then I tongue the gap where +my tooth used to be. My reflection does not. It still has the full +set. + + + +The reflection straightens its back and wipes the vomit away, dries +its eyes with the sleeve of its shirt, and all I can do is stare in +dumb incomprehension. It is the same short black hair, the same +baby blue eyes, the same trenchcoat, the same man, yet it moves of +its own free will. It is me and yet it is not me. + + + +It has an almost condecending look in its eyes as it reaches down +below the sink, to its ankle. It comes back up, my knife in its +hands, its knife, and I cannot move a muscle. + + + +There is a flash of metal. He cuts through my throat like +cheesecake. The arterial spray gives a good portion of the shitty +green paint job a new coat from the opposite side of the color +wheel. There is a brief sense of motion, and I taste ceramic, my +body thudding to the bathroom floor. I move my mouth wordlessly as +red begins to creep along the grout in between the white tiles. I +hear a shuffle of fabic as my other self steps through the mirror +and lowers himself from the sink to the floor. He steps over my +body, taking care to not step in the advancing pool of blood. + + + +My vision begins to cloud for the last time as he casts the knife +absentmindedly down in front me. It slides to a halt next to my +forehead. He begins to walk towards the front door, then stops, +turns around. He walks cooly back to me, crouches in front of me, +grimacing at the blood that is in danger of soiling the knee of his +pants. He looks me in the eyes, and begins to say something, then +thinks better of it. He does nothing for a second, simply watches +me dying, then reaches over, placing an index and middle finger on +my eyelids, and then he slides them shut. + + + +``Good night, Luke.'' + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Rummanging} + + +{\bf Nebulous Cupboard} + + + +This city is my mistress; it is my wife; it is my secretary. All +that one can feel about a city, I feel it about this one, and more. +My best friend. I watch the public stream past my window, like a +river flowing past rocks, the rocks being my small 1 bedroom +apartment, which was by now dirty and neglected. + + + +When I leave for my patrol, I do not check for my gun. It is as +much a part of me as my toenails are of me. I am forced to bring as +well, my cellular phone. In an ideal world, I could never talk to +anybody, and all would be good, but it is not so I must. As the +rickety door rickets behind me as I leave, I cycle though my +address book. + + + +{\em ABE + + + +CYNTHIA + + + +MOM + + + +PIZZA HUT + + + +>DIRECTORIES + + + +>INFO HOTLINE} + + + +I ring for ``Abe'', as I am accustomed to doing. A gruff +New York accent shrieks in my ear. + + + +``Bavarious! Thank Christ you rang, something's not +right, need your help immediately! It's coming for me Luke, +it's COMIII --- ``. I interrupt him. ``Abe, +what is this? Where are You?''. I can tell from the tone of +his voice something isn't right. ``Why didn't you +phone ME if something's wrong!'' I said. + + + +``Dammit Bavarious, I ran out of credit, now get your ass over +here!''. I slapped the phone shut like the jaws of an +overprotective crocodile, and sprinted for Abe's hut. It +would be a long run from here, but I can tell he needed me. + + + +His wooden hut was hidden deep in the forest, the outside seemed +normal, well as normal as it could seem, Abe being an +unconventional character to say the least. In one slick +simultaneuous motion, I kicked the door forcefully, sending the +thing flying inwards, and swept my Beretta up from my ankle +holster, a task made significantly more difficult from the kick. +The lights were all not on, leaving the place shrouded in darkness. +I heard a noise from a closet, and rushed to meet the source. The +thin door was locked, so I shot 6 holes in it, allowing me to see +inside. There was nothing inside but my bullets. I carried on with +my sweep. + + + +The lounge: empty. The kitchen: empty. The bathroom: empty, save +for one poo in the bowl. The Stench was fresh, and strong. Whatever +left this vile gift was still here. I turn my head to check my +countenance in the mirror. I am entranced, until I hear a scream +from upstairs, distinctly Abe. I dart out of the room, and it +lumbers after me, slowly and scarily. I find Abe's shrouded +figure huddled in the corner of a blackened room. ``Abe, is +that you, have you been drinking again? You said you'd +quit{\ldots}'' I enquired. He looked me in the eye, and raised his +other hand. The light was so poor, I could not tell what was in it. +Until he flicked the lighter on. The small light illuminated his +tear soaked face, running down his cheeks, carving streams through +the dirt caked on his face. The dirty rag of material hanging from +the bottle neck became visible. ``I'm sorry +Bavarious'' he whimpered, and before I had the time to react, +to light the rag and tossed the bottle high in the air, shattering +on the ceiling above him. Shards of glass and licks of flame fell +down like hell fire onto his crumpled body. The house was wooden, +and the fire spread like wildfire. ``AAAAABBBBEEEEEEE'' I +cried, crying for the loss of a friend. I was forced to vacate the +house as fast as I could, the flames consuming the hut like the +mouth of Lucifer. Just as I was maybe 20 feet from the hut, it +exploded, sending shrapnel every which way. Something rock hard +struck my head, I hit the floor like a rock, out cold. + + + +Some unknown time later, the black mist tentatively receded from my +vision, allowing me to see. It took moments before I recalled where +I was, and I quickly looked back behind me. Nought but a single +cupboard stood. I crawled to it, my legs too burned to work. +Scrambling through the debris, I reached the un-charred doors, +pock-marked by 6 familiar bullet holes. I tried the doors, now +inexplicably unlocked. As the doors swung open, the bloodied corpse +of a small child fell outwards onto me, still clutching his +teddy-bear. I held the child as he held the bear, desperate for +solace in our final moments. I jerked my head back and screamed to +the heavens, and the skies opened. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{antiloquax} + + +{\bf The Unexpected Shocking Surprise} + + + +Luke Bavarious didn't know why he was called to an abandoned +church. But he had been called. By the man who had killed his +father. And it was the church where his father was murdered. + + + +As he approached the crumbling iron gates of the church, a pale +white boy with black eyes from out of nowhere tugged at his tan +rain jacket. + + + +``Do not go in there, mister,'' said the young boy. + + + +``Nonsense!'' laughed Luke Bavarious haughtily. + + + +``What is in there will destroy you!'' said the young +boy. + + + +Luke Bavarious pulled out his Colt Python and pointed it at the +boys pale white head that was now sweaty with perspiration and +fear. ``I said nonsense,'' said Luke Bavarious. + + + +But fear and bile clung to Luke's throat as he entered the +church. He plunged through the rusty wooden oak doors and reached +for his gun. Then he remembered he was already holding his gun. +Then he crept along the church. + + + +As he tiptoed quietly through the rotting, crumbling church, he saw +that everything was black except for places that were illuminated +by the pale blue light of the moon. It was a full moon. A full moon +just like the night his father died. + + + +At the altar of the church there was a shadow. Luke Bavarious +cocked his pistol and pointed it at the figure. The figure was tall +and intimidating and terrifying. But Luke Bavarious had seen worse +in his time. + + + +``Stop! Show yourself!'' said Luke Bavarious. But the +shadowy figure did not show itself. It was still a shadow. + + + +Blam. That was the sound of Luke Bavarious' gun as he shot +the shadow and killed it. Even in the moonlight, he could see the +glistening red blood shimmer in the moonlight as it spewed upward +and outward and everywhere else and covered the old and rotting +crucifix with gore and rust colored blood. + + + +Luke Bavarious wanted to vomit, but not because of the head that +had exploded and the brains that were on his clothes, but because +he had finally killed the man who had killed his father. The man +who had killed his father had never been caught. + + + +Until that night. + + + +But suddenly the echoing sound of the gunshot was interrupted by +clapping. Clapping hands. Clapping hands of the man who had really +killed Luke Bavarious' father. Luke Bavarius had shot the +wrong man. + + + +``Well done,'' said a voice that belonged to the rough +clapping hands. ``You have passed the test, Luke Bavarious. I +have been waiting for you.'' + + + +As Luke Bavarious began to feel the enormity of what he had just +done, the walls begin to spin. Madness and insanity tried to clasp +their hands on Luke's soul and he fell to his knees and +vomited sickly sweet bile and whiskey. His eyes blurred with rage +and tears. And the tears of rage too. And he didn't know what +he could do. + + + +``Luke Bavarious, I killed your father!'' said a mocking +voice. + + + +Blam. + + + +This was not Luke Bavarious' gun. It was the gun of the man +he had just killed. + + + +``What!?'' screamed the voice in the dark. + + + +The man Luke Bavarious thought he had killed was still alive and +had been waiting to shoot the third man who was the man in the +dark. + + + +``No!'' cried the voice in the dark. Luke could see now +and saw that it was the body of his old friend from school who had +grown up with him. Now he was dead. The man who had killed his +father was dead. And so was the other man, who had succumbed to his +injuries. + + + +``Well,'' said Luke Bavarius to no one in particular, +``I should go home.'' + + + +As he left, Luke Bavarious again met the pale white boy. But now +the pale white boy was covered in urine and feces because he was +terrified. But what was this? He was also smiling. Smiling the +smiling smile of a child who had lost a battle but won a different +battle. + + + +``Such nonsense you little children believe,'' laughed +Luke Bavarious mockingly. + + + +And Luke left the church forever. But as he left he could feel +someone watching him. It was the eyes of a third man. The man who +had really killed his father. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{benitocereno} + + +{\bf THE BEGINNING} (V2, revised for contest rules!) + + + +Minutes later, to the sound of gunshots, Rogue Davix awoke from his +horrible dream. The lumps, all of the lumps, were nothing more than +a satanic vision. The dreams were always the same. Aliens, +darkness, another world. If he didn't have amnesia maybe he +would have had some clue as to why he was haunted every night. But +it was a dark and dangerous secret, only willing to unlock itself +when he proved himself worthy. + + + +He brushed it off because he was not sleeping well. There were +strange noises outside of his apartment at night. Evil noises. +Noises so black they could snuff out the light of decency in the +strongest of men. He complained several times but no one would take +care of it. That is why he decided to hire Luke Bavarious, +PI. + + + +Rogue jumped out of bed and ran to his window. Luke Bavarious had +unloaded his Beretta into a stumbling ghoul, but the ghoul would +not stop. Luke struggled but was not able to stop the monsters +advances. They were coming towards Rogue's window! + + + +{\em Crash!} The window splintered into a thousand fragments and +flew everywhere. The muscular fighters traded blows. Blood and vile +fluid splattered everywhere. After minutes of fighting it finally +seemed that Luke was the winner- the ghoul fell to the ground and +cocked his head to the side, his bile vomited across the floor. +Luke collapsed to the floor and began to sob, his face disfigured +by the shattered glass and powerful blows delivered by the now +fallen ghoul, the evil merchant of pain. Rogue ran over to help him +up. + + + +``Luke, it's okay, you won.'' Rogue said, trying to +comfort him. + +``No, it's just{\ldots} no, I'm one of +them!'' Luke screamed as he looked into a mirrored +fragment. + +``No you're not, it's not what you have on the +outside that matters Luke; it's what's on the inside. +And we both know what you are. You're Luke +Bavarious.'' + +``You{\ldots} you're right. But we can't stay +here.'' He pulled himself together and stood up, triumphantly, +defying the gods trying to keep him down. + + + +Luke was right, outside more sounds began to stir. The ghouls could +smell the evil cocktail of blood and vomit through the broken +window, and they were hungry. Luke handed Rogue his spare +Beretta. + + + +``I hope you know how to use this thing,'' he snarled +through his clenched teeth. Rogue popped the safety off. + + + +The ghouls poured in through the window. Luke kicked open the +apartment door and they both ran to the fire escape. +``We're gonna have to go up!'' Rogue said as he saw +the advancing horde of darkness. + + + +``What's causing this!? Why is this happening?'' +Rogue panicked as he fired into the ghouls while climbing the +stairs. His bullets landed in their limbs, barely slowing them +down. + + + +``I don't know, but some people say it's the +Ozone! Without it, people are transforming into these{\ldots} +things! More and more lately! Either that or you just {\em really} +pissed someone off!'' Luke unloaded a clip into the closest +ghoul's skull; brains flew out of the back of its head like a +playdoh press. Images of the horrible dream flashed through +Rogue's head. + + + +They circled the top of the fire escape and stepped onto the +rooftop. Once there Luke turned his trusted Beretta onto the fire +escape itself. {\em Bam, bam, bam,} he shot the retaining bolts +loose. With one swift kick he dislodged the staircase, sending it +and its undead inhabitants to the ground stories below. It was then +that they observed their situation. + + + +The rooftops across the horizon, hundreds of them, were covered in +ghouls. It wouldn't be long until they found a way onto their +roof. The blood red sun rose in the distance, casting the shadows +of the ghouls across the rooftops, giving them an intangible bridge +to their goal. The flesh of Luke Bavarious and Rogue Davix. + +Rogue admired his gun with a thousand yard stare. + + + +``Two bullets left{\ldots} I guess we're lucky,'' Rogue +sighed. + +``That's two more than we're going to need,'' +Luke smirked. + +``What do you mean?'' + +``You saved my life back there when I was ready to throw in +the towel. Now it's time I save yours. You don't remember a thing, +do you?`` Luke paused{\ldots} ''we're getting off of this +planet.'' Luke shot his Beretta into the air, but the bullet +stopped inches from where it left the barrel and resonated with a +metallic thud. + + + +Luke's ship appeared from the naked air, the bullet held in +place by its force field, an impressive blue craft from the +stars. + + + +``Is this{\ldots} the end of Earth?'' Rogue asked. + +``No, no son. This is only the beginning.'' + + + +Basking in the clarity of the moment, the fog lifted, Rogue grabbed +onto his father's hand as he pulled him into the ship. Luke +hit the burners just as the monsters made their way onto the roof, +turning them into clouds of flying pink mist, their screams silent +against the engines' roar. + + + +They had a lot of zombies to kill, it was time to get to work. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{A Child's Letter} + + +Crap! My previous story had nothing to do with children! So here's +this other one instead: + + + +{\bf Yellow Eyes} + + + +``I'm not lying, Daddy!'' whimpered Kaitilin Axelplax, a six-year old +girl with an admittedly active imagination. ``I promise +you---{\em promise} you---that I saw it again! Saw +{\em them} again!'' + + + +Hubert Axelplax smiled his sick and twisted smile while +nonchalantly wiping the rust-colored tobacco drippings oozing down +his chin. Delicately, he set his Coors on ane Igloo cooler doubling +as an end table. + + + +``Kai, what've I told you 'bout {\em lyin',} you little +{\em bitch!''} Without warning---though she knew it was +coming---Hubert, with speed belying his significantly +overweight frame, backhanded Kaitilin, sending her flying into the +wall. She collapsed in a heap, knocking over a floor lamp in the +process. + + + +She stood, fought to find her balance, then, reeling from the blow, +vomited profusely all over the threadbare couch. Rust-colored blood +seeped wistfully from her gashed eyebrow. + + + +``I {\em swear,} Daddy! I saw the thing with yellow eyes! It was in +the mirror!'' Again, she threw up. Hubert took three long strides +towards his daughter's trembling form and unbuckled his belt in one +fluid motion. + + + +``You're {\em just} like her, you know that? Just like that +{\em whore} of a mother of yours!'' + + + +He raised the heavy leather strap above his wickedly grinning head +and--- + + + +* * * + + + +Luke Bavarious' radio cackled to life: {\em All units, we've got a +10-34 near Forty-second and somewhere near Dyer. Possible 10-45; +10-52.} + + + +Distractedly, Bavarious holstered his Beretta, taking a moment to +admire its clean lines, its intoxicating heaviness. + + + +Suicide would have to wait. + + + +He took one last, long drag on his cigarette, then tossed the +remainder out the window of his car. Baravious picked up his radio +and responded, ``Dispatch, this is Bavarious. I'm in the vinicity; +10-76. I'll check it out. Over.'' + + + +{\em 10-4, Bavarious. Out.} + + + +For the first time in a long time, Bavarious smiled. Nothing like +an old fashioned assault with possibly fatalities to enliven the +night. He had to admit it: he liked this work. + + + +Within minutes, Bavarious arrived at his destination. He parked in +an alley and realized he must be the first officer on the scene. +Everything seemed eerily quiet---especially for New York. Like +liquid, with practiced movement, he unholstered his sidearm and +kicked in the door. + + + +The apartment building's lobby was empty. Bavarious involuntarily +shivered, then made his way up the first flight of stairs. As he +walked gingerly through the halls, when he was just outside of +apartment 209, he thought he heard muffled giggling. He realized it +was the only sound he'd heard since entering the structure. +Adopting a professional demeanor, he knocked. + + + +No one answered. + + + +He knocked again and followed with: ``Police! Open up!'' + + + +He thought he could faintly make out the sounds of a children's +program, probably coming from a television. The giggling subsided, +replaced with whispered commands. Something ponderous within the +apartment dragged---or was dragged---across the +floor. + + + +Then, silence. + + + +Bavarious was about to knock again when, suddenly, the door opened, +and a little girl---no more than six or seven, answered. + + + +``Hello, Officer!'' she giggled. Bavarious surveyed her quizzically, +noted the poorly bandaged laceration above her eye, then looked +past her into the depths of the apartment's foyer. He thought he +glimpsed something twist subtly in the shadows. He blinked. + + + +``Uh, good evening, Miss. Are your parents home?'' + + + +``I don't h---I mean, no, officer, they're not. My mama died +when I was little, and my daddy, he's{\ldots}um{\ldots}he's---'' + + + +She seemed to cock her head, as though hearing an inaudible +voice. + + + +``---he's out buying more beer.'' She suppressed a laugh. + + + +``Is he?'' mused Bavarious. ``Miss, what happened to your +forehead?'' + + + +Suddenly, the girl's demeanor changed, plunging from sunny to +downright icy. + + + +``Officer, it's past my bedtime. I need to---you need to +leave.'' + + + +``Mi---'' + + + +``{\em Right} now.'' + + + +Though he couldn't explain it, Bavarious sensed an impossible +authority in her voice. An authority that hadn't been there moments +ago. He glanced at her again and thought for a moment her eyes were +glowing, yellow, bending his will to hers. He shook his head and +looked back into the apartment---anything to get away from that +jaundiced gaze! That's when he noticed what appeared to be a +rust-colored trail leading from an overturned Igloo cooler toward +another room in the apartment. + + + +``I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss,'' he intoned as he brushed past +her, intently avoiding her piercing eyes. + + + +Curiously, she said nothing. + + + +His Beretta held out before him, a talisman against the darkness, +he followed the trail into a bathroom. There, in the tub and amid +the stink of beer and feces, lay the body of what Bavarious assumed +was the little girl's father. The man's belt was still clutched in +his hand. + + + +The man's hand was resting on the countertop, a good seven or eight +feet away from the rest of him. + + + +Unable to control his emotions, Bavarious puked all over the fetid +corpse, displacing several flies. As the chunks rolled slowly down +the disemboweled form, giggling erupted from behind him. He +jumped. + + + +``I told you you needed to leave,'' breathed the little girl, whose +eyes had ceased glowing and now positively {\em surged} with +wicked yellow light. He noticed for the first time that her hands +were the color of rust. + + + +Bewitched, Bavarious could do nothing as her arms shimmered and +became a writhing mass of tentacles. He told his brain to send an +impulse to his trigger finger, but it wouldn't obey him. It had a +new master now. + + + +{\em Good night, Officer Bavarious.} projected the little +gi--- + + + +{\em Her name is Kaitilin. How do I know that? How d---} + + + +{\em I---yes, good night, Kaitilin. I'll{\ldots}be{\ldots}going{\ldots}now. +If{\ldots}if that's all right{\ldots}} + + + +* * * + + + +Luke Bavarious awoke outside of an apartment building somewhere +near Forty-second Street and Dyer Avenue, sprawled across the hood +of his car. The sun had just begun to rise above the tangled mass +of skyscrapers all around him. His mouth tasted like vinegar, and +he smelled like a slaughterhouse. + + + +``What am I doing here,'' he wondered aloud. + + + +The sun thrust a glinting beam of radiance through a break in the +buildings; it fell with purpose on a second-story window of the +apartments in front him. Following its path, he thought for a +moment he saw two points of yellow light blink, then vanish. + + + +``Weird,'' he muttered. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Decatur Fist} + + +The Last Night of Luke Bavarious + + + + + +Check the machine. No missed calls. No word from Davix. +Nothing. + + + +With a sigh that poured from his mouth with a torrent of non-amused +frustration + +Luke Bavarious pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket and +wadded it up and tossed it into the waste receptacle with the +precision of a black man that shoots basketball in a Lakers jersey. +As a fan of black culture Bavarious was known for his hoop skills. +They had even saved his life once and then again on another +separate occasion. + + + +Davix was dead, and that was that. There was no sugar coating any +longer. It must have been brutal. When you're surrounded by a +cacophony of death you think about death a lot. Davix had even said +during a haunting and stormy night that he hoped that he would go +in his sleep. + + + +It didn't happen like that. Luke Bavarious could envision in +his head a vision of Davix dying by the hands of that beast. +Bavarious could see the hand of the beast smashing into +Davix' face terribly powerful. It was a bodacious site. One +to be remembered for an eternity of doomsdays. + + + +You need a drink. Clear your mind. Stay on guard. + + + +Something strange had happened earlier today, it was why Luke +Bavarious now had the small piece of paper that he had just wadded +up and thrown away just moments ago before the ticking sounds of +the clock hauntingly swept its hand across the face of the clock +bringing time forward to this moment. + + + +The boy had told him that Davix would die, and Bavarious too if he +didn't listen. Bavarious had laughed a laugh and chortled a +chuckle at the thought of him and Davix going out on the same day. +However, it looked like the boy was batting half of a perfect +batting average now. + + + +He had shown up on Market Street and followed him all the way down +Pine, up West, and finally had the courage to talk to him once +stopping on Center. He was wearing a grey hoodie and seemed to be +no more than 13. He had dark stormy and haunting eyes, and you +could tell he wanted to be taken seriously. + + + +He had a pension for horror and a knack for stories. He claimed to +be the creator and destructor. His name was Biddick. He was to be +taken seriously by all accounts. + + + +Bavarious had told the boy that he didn't have time for him, +and that he needed to leave, but there was a thirst that needed to +be quenched that longed for the answer of why the boy would show up +after following him and then having the balls that were big enough +to make him say such nonsense to him. + + + +The boy told Bavarious he would be sorry. Bavarious ignored him and +ordered a tuna on wheat. + + + + + +Alone. + + + +The sounds came slowly at first, but then with a quickening of +rapid speed. Claws clawing razor sharp against banana peel soft +skin. There was a sound of terrible nursing. Like wounds being +cauterized by the flame of a thousand dying invalids. + + + +They were here for Bavarious. He laughed a strange giggling laugh +that sounded like a maniac pumping gas into a Ford Fairlane. He +opened the window and let them vomit into the window and take +him. + + + +They took him with a great brutality. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Brolita} + + +{\bf Mac} + + + +This morning, I woke up to find myself dead. + + + +I don't know how it happened, or why. That's why I'm here. Easy +G's, a dive on the bad side of town. Mac, the guy who runs the +place, is a good friend of mine. Always around to lend an ear. +Tonight, I hope he has two. + + + +My name is Luke. Luke ``Lucky'' Bavarious. I'm a private dick. At +least, I was, before I died. My dad was a cop. A cop that didn't +play by the rules. That's how he died. He broke the rules. Then the +rules broke him. + + + +My dad died when I was 13. He didn't listen to me. I knew the +streets. He thought, because he was old, because he was +experienced, that he knew more about the dark realities of the city +than I did. I tried to warn him. He didn't listen to me. + + + +It was a night just like tonight. Except both of us were still +alive. At least, for now. My dad was called in to investigate a +shooting. Prescott Avenue. The worst street in the worst +neighborhood in the worst city. I remember him drinking when he got +the call. He didn't always drink. Only when he {\em knew}. When he +knew something was going down. When he knew he would be cheating +Death. When he knew that one drink may be his last. He {\em knew}. +And {\em I knew}. + + + +I've blamed myself for my father's death. I've blamed him. I've +blamed the alcohol. I've blamed it all. But the one thing I can't +blame is the person who killed him. I can't do that, because I +don't know who it is. I've spent my life searching for him. I +became a cop, because I thought I could find him. I couldn't. I was +fired for using excessive force on a drunk one day. Served him +right, the swine. + + + +Tonight, maybe, I'll find who I'm looking for. + + + +I breeze into the bar like a shadow. That's pretty much all I am +now. A shadow. A shadow to my father, who is now a shadow himself. +The world is full of shadows, shadows that we don't see until it's +too late. I've been through a lot of crap in my time, seen a lot of +things a sane man would be better off without seeing. Luckily for +me, I'm not a sane man. I guess that's why they call me +Lucky. + + + +Mac's behind the bar. I slam some money down. ``I'll need a strong +one tonight, Mac. Gimme a Screwdriver.'' I wince at the sound of the +word. I killed a man once. Stabbed him through the head with a +screwdriver. Phillips head. Poor Phillip. + + + +Mac pours me a stiff one. ``Rough day?'' He asks. ``I'm just getting +started,'' I say, lighting up a cigarette. Red Apples. Menthol. It +stings like fibreglass, and I almost want to vomit. I take a drink +to cool down my throat. ``Mac,'' I say, my hands shaking, ``I'm +dead.'' + + + +Mac looks up at me. To my astonishment, he's not surprised. He +knows. + + + +``I know,'' he says. ``I'm the one that killed you.'' + + + +My shaking hands curl into shaking fists. Mac. My friend. My +brother. My killer. I lunge across the bar. ``You ROTTEN MURDERER!'' +I scream at him. I can't think. I can't breathe. My cigarette falls +out of my mouth. + + + +I grab his neck. From my holster, I pull my baretta. + + + +I don't even hear him laughing as I pull the trigger. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{nmg} + + +{\bf The Horrid in the Arcade} + +Bavarius woke with a startle. He had a hangover from the 3 Coors +beers he drank last night to help him relax and his head was +horrific with vomit and pain. Suddenly he remembered what happened +yesterday. It was his worse case yet ever. + + + +It all started yesterday when he got a telephone call from the +Chief. ``Bavarius I need you to go down to the arcade to investigate +a noise complaint'' he said. ``OK'' said Bavarius. + + + +His head and heart pounding like a drill, Bavarius loaded a clip +into his Barretta and fingered the safety. Nervously he went to his +Chevy Camero and hit the ignition. He punched the gas then realized +his car needed more gas. ``That's fine'' he thought. I have enough +gas to make it to the arcade. + + + +He peeled out of his driveway and sped down the street doing 55 +miles per hour. Suddenly he arrived at the arcade. He opened the +door and went inside expecting what he did not find. Instead he +found what he did not expect to find. What he found was a horrific +site. + + + +Blood and vomit and tears streaked the walls and the Space +Invaders. There were kids bodies laying everywhere, torn apart and +still bleeding blood. ``Who could do this.'' thought Bavarius. ``I am +going to catch who did this and find out how he could do this.'' So +he looked around. + + + +Suddenly he heard a movement. It sounded like wet vomit scraping on +sand paper. In a flash he drew his Baratta and loaded a clip. Then +he spun around to face the noise. ``Whoever you are, I have a Bereta +and know how to use it, scum.'' he said. + + + +Suddenly he saw movement. A man or what was once a man or woman +came dashing out from behind Missile Command. ``OUT.. OF.. +CREDITS..!!!'' it screeched in a slow southern drawl. ``No monster, +you're out of life'' said Bavarius as he squeezed the trigger +rapidly and deliberately. + + + +One shot to the head, two in each hand, and one in the heart for +good measure. Also he shot the thing in the legs and nose. + + + +The woman howled and fell back then started licking up blood and +vomit. It seemed to give him strength. So Bavarius emptied the rest +of his clip into the thing's head then reloaded. He blew out her +brains so bad that it exploded in a cloud of vomit and regret. +She's not coming back from that, he thought to himself. Frozen with +guilt, the man slowly began to run. + + + +Then he called the Chief and said ``cased closed.'' as he walked out +to his Camarro. He tried to start it but it was out of gas so he +walked to the gas station and bought some gas and put it in a gas +can then walked back and filled up his car with gas. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{Ghost Hat} + + +EDIT: Shit, I didn't see the note on using Luke Bavarious. Gonna +write another one. + + + +{\bf Invisible Monsters} + + + +Nobody could see! Nobody could see! It was a nightmare. Abby ran +for her life, as hard as she possibly could. What else was there to +do when a monster was chasing you? Her lungs gasped for air already +and her limps burned with exhaustion, but that thing didn't even +breath hard. + + + +It wasn't the monster chasing her that frightened her the most +though. It was the fact that she was the only one who could see +it. + + + +Lurking about the corners. Hiding in the shadows. She thought it +was her imagination. She thought she had been going insane. They +said you showed the first signs of schizophrenia when you became a +teenager. But then, it must have slipped up, for she had seen it +squarely, with both eyes. What's more, it knew. + + + +And then it gave chase. + + + +Down the sidewalks, across the streets despite the busy roads. She +must have been nearly killed five times by squealing cars. She +barely kept herself from tripping several times down the steep +hills. And still it chased her, it seemed to like watching her run. +Enjoying itself perhaps. It loped in plain sight. + + + +But only she saw! Only Abby saw the monster. Everybody else saw a +crazed girl running through the streets, no thought for her own or +others' safety. How did Abby know this? Nobody had believed her +when she said she was seeing things. Nobody screamed and ran +despite the fact a monster ran loose upon the same streets. Maybe +she {\em was} crazy, but she wasn't going to stop long enough to +find out. + + + +How she had wished she had paid better attention! Though even if +she had spotted the creature earlier she would not have known how +to defend herself against it. It had been following her for weeks +though. Weeks in which some shadowy thing had been watching her, +plotting against her{\ldots} + + + +No time! Abby ran. + + + +``You stupid kid!'' some guy screamed as Abby swerved past him. The +streets were full of people, making it hard for Abby to run at full +speed. She had to slow to dive and jump between and around them. +And there were carts everywhere. The beast! The beast was catching +up! Run! Run! + + + +An alleyway. Not a place she would normally go. That's wear drug +addicts and homeless people hung out, but it meant there would be +no people. No people meant no obstacles. Abby ra! She ran down the +alleyway. + + + +It took a moment for Abby to realize her mistakes. People might +have noticed if the monster had jumped her in front of them. Even +if they couldn't see it, they would see that something wrong with +her. With no people around, it could kill her in privacy. That was +her first mistake. The other was that this alley ended with a brick +wall. 10 feet high. + + + +{\em Oh no,} Abby thought, gasping for breath so hard she couldn't +speak. She had enough to scream however. She felt the wind rushing +by as the monster swooped in on wings of black. So close now that +she could see purple in those leathery wings. So close she could +see its gleaming yellow eyes. No pupils. Just shimmering metallic +yellow. + + + +It swooped in and landed with a great gust of wind on the cement +ground. It stood on two legs, like a man. But it was no man. Abby +was suddenly trapped between the brick wall and it. And then it +opened its mouth wide and inside it were hundreds of sharp, silver +teeth. It hissed and Abby screamed as it bent forth to devour +her. + + + +Another rush of air, but from behind the creature. A sudden blur +and then the creature was on the ground, wings spread flat. It +screamed a terrible scream and Abby covered her ears in terror. +Animal instincts took over and she hid behind a dumpster, eyes +squeezed shut, hands clamped over ears. She would never leave this +place. She would stay, stay and hide forever. + + + +She did not see what had overcome the creature. All a blur. She did +not see the man who had saved her until he tapped her on the +shoulder, and then pulled her out much to her horror. It had to be +that creature! That awful creature! + + + +``Agggh!'' she screamed as loudly as she could. Abby writhed and +tried to break free, still blind. Still crazy. Still insane with +fear. + + + +``Stop crying. You've been saved,'' said a voice. Abby +looked up, blinking heavy tears from her eyes, and found a man. An +ordinary man. + + + +Abby was silent, just staring in disbelief. Just a man. And behind +him. Nothing. The creature was suddenly gone. As if it had never +been there in the first place. She panted, sweating, hair a mess, +skin as white as snow. Just a man. And yet. ''You saw it? You saw +it?" she hissed, horrified for what the answer could be. + + + +``Of course I did,'' the man said in a voice as soothing +as butter. ``And it's gone now. It will never bother you +again.'' + + + +Abby gave a choke of laughter and could not help but hug the man, +her entire body trembling. The ordinary man reciprocated with one +arm, his other sliding towards his back pocket. He thought, in a +distant sort of way, that the child in his arms was warm. But the +blood from her throat would be warmer. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{SummerGlaucoma} + + +{\em my entry}: + + + +[AUTHOR'S NOTE: It will rapidly become clear that I do not know +anything about the Army, except that the food is bad and the +soldiers are awesome and protect my worthless ass and my right to +write goony stuff like the forgoing.] + + + + + +{\bf {\em BAVARIOUS REASONS}} + + + + + + + +I am stuck here, in this place of must and yellowed paper. The +place holds over my face a page, a urine-stained billow. My mouth, +a tool of evil and destruction, vomits bile, blood and +giggles. + + + +{\em Who am I?} I thought, trying to hug the thought as hard as +humanly possible. + + + +{\em Who am I? Who amI? whoami?whoamiwhoam--} + + + + + +My name is Luke Bavarious. I'm a cop. I like the work. + + + +I have a barrette. I keep it with me in case I've got to put up my +1990s supercop hockey mullet and think real hard. + + + +I'm thinking now. What kind of name is Bavarious? It is the steam, +the steam from the Fatherland's best beer region? And why Luke? +Cool hands, warm heart? Or do I walk in the sky, over to +GRAN-ND-PA's arms, my left leg caught, with my seven-league boots, +in The Barn? + + + +I know we all in this book live in a library basement. Our book is +next to some new kind of backwards comic book from Japan. + + + +When it rains, The Artists' ink runs and lets us visit, and let me +tell you, it's nice to get a furlough -- Okay, fine, that kid who +made us didn't specify breaks. I'm AWOL most of the time. So sue +me! -- in the more -- ahem! -- adult, of those comics. That kid +didn't make any single dames. + + + +Bavarious. Hmf. I don't even know what continent my people live on. +Maybe it's a cover name. + + + +Bavarious. + + + +Bavarious. + + + +Bavarious. + + + +An idea sneaks into my head, slashing its way in through my waxy +ear canal. + + + +I am emitting an evil smirk. + + + +I need to borrow something from Ken-wa over there in Samurai +Land. + + + +{\bf NEXT WEEK, IRAQ, BEN'S P.O.V.} + + + +My name is Ben Biddick. I'm a soldier. Do I like my work? Well, +that depends. I don't like gritty food. I don't like being away +from my parents (they're great -- I'll have to tell you some time +when we get a weekend pass about the time I wrote a book of crappy, +embarrassing stories, and they got it published with this vanity +press! Nope. No shit. None here, anyway). But I am proud of what +I'm doing here, for the Iraqi people, and for the freedoms I +love. + + + +Besides, you guys are the tightest buds I could ever wish for. Shut +up, Johnston! Yeah, well, you too! + + + +Oh, rad! Mail call! + + + +It's a package from that Internet forum that told me about how they +loved my stories. Yeah! I'll show you guys later. It's rad. + + + +Weird. Oh, well. I guess the only copy that Abe dude could find was +this soggy thing. I guess it'll dry out pretty fast here once I +take off the bubble wrap. + + + +Why do I feel so -- uneasy? + + + +What was that flicker -- did Abe put some confetti in with this? +Awesome! + + + +{\em But confetti doesn't wear its hair in a blond, barretted +ponytail. + + + +Good Christ--} (he thought) + + + +No, Johnston! Only {\em your} mom sends nudes. My mom is a +saint. + + + +{\em Yeah? Well, you'd look worried, too. If--} + + + +[a small figure darts towards me, swinging the hundred-times-folded +Kyoto steel with maniacal glee] + + + +Luke Bavarious? + + + +``Why yes{\ldots}! '' + + + +But, Luke: How-- Why do you even {\em own} a katana? + + + +``For Bavarious Reasons!'' + + + +Look there! {\em I am pointing to the page. A -- How did a he-she +from Japan get there? A he-she with a Samurai House's +medallion--?!} + + + +Luke says some magic words in some prehistoric Asian language, +pointing the sword at me. + + + +I started to shrink and grow more illustrationlike. + + + +I am drawn to the page, as much as I was when I was a kid. But for +not the same reasons. The child walks towards the page. I am +little. I am dressed in the same faux-b-baller shit I dressed in as +a little kid. I am a G.I. Joe-sized High-Topped Son of a +Bitch. + + + +Bavarious is full size now and god is he ugly as a real human. ``I'm +Luke Bavarious,'' he says to my buddies, ``and I'm a cop. Now, let's +see about this noise disturbance -- Where's this horrid Al Q. +Aida?'' + + + +Amid the predictable laughter, I hear the Simoom begin to blow. The +book slams shut. + + + +My name is Ben Biddick. I'm a cop. I like my work. + + + + + +Suddenly, I was sobbing. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{LesterGroans} + + +{\bf Dream Hyena: A Bavarius Tale} + + + +Luke Bavarius checked his watch and rolled his eyes as the radio +vomited some Stones track that the kids listened to these days. He +tapped his foot mindlessly on the gas pedal and honked his horn +again. + + + +``Dammit, woman,'' he mumbled to himself. His ex-wife had promised to +have their kid waiting for them when he got there. It would be the +first time he'd see the little brat in weeks. It was hard being a +cop, even harder having a home life when you were one. + + + +Bavarius grunted like an ape and got out of his Camaro, rounding it +to the suburban sidewalk and up the stone walkway to Carrie +Bavarius's bungalow. He knocked on the door. + + + +``Let's go, champ. Kids who are late don't get ice cream,'' Bavarius +called through the door. Still no answer. + + + +A thick, meaty thumping came from inside, like a pudding-stuffed +side of beef was being smacked against a milk bag. Bavarius +furrowed his expansive brow and rubbed his chin, stubbled and +gritty like the streets he swore to protect. + + + +He kicked the door in, it splintered against the far wall. His +Baretta was out faster than a synapse as he lunged into the +foyer. + + + +There were smears of body ketchup leading down the hall. Bavarius's +eyes narrowed, he started to sweat. + + + +``Carrie?! Lukie Junior?!'' He called out, steadying his firing hand +as he moved down the hall. The walls were streaked with scratch +marks. There were gouges in the wall up to an inch deep -- two +inches in some places. Three inches in others. + + + +As he passed a four inch deep scratch mark he rounded the corner +and there, at the end of the hall, was a thing that could only be +described as a dream hyena. It was on two legs, a scorpion tail +jutting from its distended, mangy belly, wiggling towards Bavarius. +Its jaw hung loose, almost broken, vomiting sickly metal smelling +saliva onto the floor, ruining the hardwood. Its eyes were gone, in +their place were throbbing boils of pus, what looked like a +cockroach had been stuck in the festering eye-wound, its leg +twitching out the side of it. + + + +The sharp scorpion tail had made fast work of Carrie, dicing her +body into so many pieces. Her entrails hung from sconces, the dream +hyena was wearing her hands on the top of its heads like the horns +of Pan. + + + +Bavarius gulped, his adam's apple bobbing. He took a stance and +made sure his voice was steady before calling out, ``You're under +arrest!'' + + + +The dream hyena didn't respond. It lurched forward, its legs moving +awkwardly, its clawed hands dicking gouges into the wall, the pads +of its feet squeaking on the glugging, bubbling blood bile that +spewed from Carrie's severed throat. It was already scabbing in +gobs around her neck{\ldots} not the kind of necklace she used to pester +Luke for, that's for sure. + + + +``Where's Lukie?'' Bavarius asked, holding his ground as the thing +lurched again, the umbilical scorpion tail wiggling hypnotically. +Bavarius smirked, ``You don't scare me{\ldots} bringing in punks like you +is my Baretta and butta!'' + + + +He opened fire, ripping apart the dream hyena's belly. It hissed as +it vomited disgusting, rotten entrails and a thick gaseous smell +like someone had run over a dead raccoon in a lawnmower. + + + +The dream hyena fell to the floor and darkness flooded over +Bavarius. He blinked, stepping back, dropping his gun. What was +going on? + + + +When he opened his eyes he looked at the floor in front of him. +Little Lukie Bavarius lay holding in his guts as they tried to +snake out of his grasp like loose Swedish sausages. + + + +Bavarius's neck was thick with corded veins, his eyes so wide they +almost blew out of their sockets. He dropped down beside Lukie, +cradling him in his arms, hearing the plopping splash of more guts +tumbling from Lukie's belly. + + + +``Daddy?'' Lukie looked up, his pale face round and innocent. He +looked so wise now. ``I just wanted to see you more, daddy? Y-You +always said you were too busy finding the bad men{\ldots} I-I thought +maybe you'd come if you had one to find here{\ldots}'' + + + +Lukie's lower half tore off like wet tissue as Bavarius tried to +pick him up. He held his son's top half like a broken pinata and +sobbed into his son's collar. + + + +This was a helluva thing. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{murdered by owls} + + +Think turgid Ben Biddick fan fiction written by Franz Kafka. + + + +{\bf The One Act Remaining To Me In This World} + + + +I'm not sure how it is possible for me to sit here, outwardly +so calm, while a tornado is whipping around inside my brain, +flinging emotions about like bits of debris left over from an +explosion in a sex shop. The definition of surreal: digging dildo +shards out of your ears{\ldots} if only metaphorically. + + + +I glance out the window of the break room of the factory where I +work, and notice that the moon is full, gravid with cold +purple-white light. Why does it seem to be calling me? I want to +understand what it is trying to tell me. I know it's telling +me something, if only I could hear it through the endless, +soundless muttering of a million dying souls. They're everywhere. +Their sighs fill my head like a swarm of crocheted bees. + + + +My coffee is very hot, and tastes of metal, or perhaps the tears of +molested children. I'm not sure why that comes to mind. How +would I know what molested child tears taste like? A trivial +mystery to which I am unlikely ever to find an answer{\ldots} + + + +There is a part of me, deep inside, that is like a tiger with +foot-long blades for claws, and it wants to attack and rip and +destroy this violent feeling of whirligig that raves and rages and +rapes the rest of my brain like a lunatic conquistador. But the +tiger cannot fight an opponent so vague and ephemeral. It's +like trying to grapple with a fart, or wage war against a cloud of +gnats armed only with a Beretta or a bag of tulips. + + + +A solemn fog has grown out of the river just to the north of us, +and it is as though someone has thrown a gray blanket across the +fields surrounding the factory. The moon looks down on all this, +benign, but also wild and terrible, the face of a pagan goddess +with a cold and clear eye. This is somehow comforting. + + + +Two of my fellow night shift machine operators walk in the room, +get their coffee and candy bars, and sit down at the other side of +the room, not speaking a word. We ignore each other testily. The +silence between us is a sacred bond, unrelenting, immutable. It is +more than just mute testimony to our deep and abiding wariness, it +is a black and shapeless ocean, seeming to drown the words we do +not speak. + + + +It is all right; I have grown indifferent. + + + +As I pick up the sports page from the table, I feel a sudden surge +of terror, coming from nowhere and everywhere, as if I had been +shaving in front of the bathroom mirror and seen a reflection of +the tiger streaking towards the back of my neck with deadly, fluid +speed, claws outstretched to rend and destroy. + + + +Outside, I show nothing. + + + +I sip my coffee. + + + +My cock is hard as steel. + + + +Ten minutes later, I am once again at the controls of my machine. +It vomits polyurethane airmail envelopes in an endless stream. The +stink of burning hot melt has settled into my clothing, and can be +sensed faintly anywhere I go, like the ghost of cheap aftershave on +a shirt the day after a date. Here, in the factory, the odor is +strong and almost palpable, with a kind of chewy, yellow +resonance. + + + +My bagger stands at the far end of the monolithic, hissing metal +apparition and collects the envelopes as they are expectorated by +the machine onto a small table. He executes a kind of dance, the +steps repeating every thirty seconds or so. He watches the counter +over the cutter bar, and when it reaches 100, he snatches the pile +out from under the next envelope with greedy, clutching fingers and +slams it into the cardboard flat he has prepared. He folds the top +over, slaps a strip of tape over the seam, and stamps the side with +the date and shift, all in one long, fluid movement. He bends and +twirls, deftly slipping the flat into a bigger box on a pallet. +Then he returns to the table at the end of the machine and prepares +another flat with economical, practiced motions, and places it +before him, ready to enshroud the next stack of the machine's +ejecta. Waiting the next few seconds for the next stack to be +ready, he waits completely motionless, head down, his hands spread +out before him on the table. + + + +I watch him carefully out of the corner of my eye as I run my +machine, and I wonder if he knows he is dancing. Could his +insensate eyes, half-closed and empty, simply be looking within, +seeing himself on some shadowy stage upon which he turns and +leaps? + + + +Actually, I think he's dead, and like a freshly decapitated +chicken, he just hasn't noticed it yet. He's dancing, +all right, but it's the same kind of dance a fresh corpse +executes at the end of a rope after dropping through the trap door. +The ballet of the damned. + + + +When the sun comes up outside, near the end of the shift, it always +seems to me like the whole factory and the buildings and fields +that surround it have been cruising all night through another +dimension, like a spaceship that goes through some kind of time +warp and then reemerges, unharmed and unchanged, at the exact +moment from which it departed. Nothing has changed in the world of +our origin, nothing has changed in our isolated pocket of reality, +but we have gone somewhere and come back nonetheless. + + + +I know that when I leave the factory and drive home in my car, I +will feel like an unknown astronaut quietly and without fanfare +returning home after spending years alone in my ship. I will listen +to the sound of no crowds cheering and watch as no tickertape falls +to celebrate my arrival as I drive through still-slumbering +streets. + + + +I am home, but I am still isolated and alone. + + + +When I walk out the front door, the fog is still there. It writhes +its way down the length of the river, enclosing and concealing it +entirely. I idly speculate that there could be some strange things +going on in there, and nobody would ever know. + + + +Anything could be hiding down there. + + + +There's nothing there, of course. It's just idle +speculation. + + + +I throw a rock down there as I walk past, just to be sure. + + + +Nothing happens. I stand for a moment, listening, and then laugh +nervously and walk on. + + + +I can feel the moon up there, smiling at me, even though it has +disappeared behind the trees. That's one thing about the +moon; you can count on it being there, even if you can't see +it. + + + +If you saw me now, a nondescript man calmly walking to his +nondescript car at the end of another day at his nondescript job, +you would never guess that I'm going insane. + + + +The impending death of my rationality is overtaking me like the +approach of a black hole, and within days, hours{\ldots} minutes, +maybe, I'm going to cross the event horizon and succumb to +the raging storm of gravitation spinning like a top within that +infinite silken darkness. + + + +But before the dissonance of that crazy awakening reaches its +crescendo, I'm going to perform the one act remaining for me +in this world. + + + +I'm going to wear a pair of Jessica Alba's +panties. + + + +Then I can finally die. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{fishguzzler} + + +Son of a bitch, there's a storm on --- no lightning, so I +do this little dance between the light switch and the bed, partly +because my room is just too dark, no light leaking in through the +levelors, and partly because I can't let my mom see the light +on when she trundles past for another batch of rainbow cookies +--- six neat little rows by five in the box, and four at a time +carefully arranged on a little white saucer-plate, and about a box +and a half gone by the end of the night, which means at least +eleven trips down the hall past my room to the kitchen on a night +when she's watching HBO in bed, pretty much every night +--- but mostly because there's a mad badger in my closet, +an evil monster with beady little eyes glowing faintly green. +Actually, I don't really know what `beady' means. +But I know what a monster is, even if, come to think of it, I +actually don't know what a badger looks like. But I imagine +it looks just like this little bastard in the closet. Maybe not so +mean. + +I can hear the television from the next room, though the walls are +ancient and incredibly thick --- I once put my fist into one, +broke through the new plaster, and then through something brittle +and white, until I sliced my whole hand open on a rough mixture of +sand and antique horse-hair that exploded into powder even as it +broke my left pinky and the knuckle of my pointer finger. I can +hear the television because of the heating vent on the wall between +the closet and my bureau, which conducts the voices from the +television with perfect clarity into my room and provides me with +fair warning every time there's a commercial break. +That's when I make my move. I'm fifteen, and I may be a +little pudgy, or maybe a little more than a little, but I'm +extremely light-footed, so I leap down from the bed and tip-toe +sprint to the door as my mother's clomping footsteps +reverberate back and forth in my little acoustic capsule --- +it's not because she's monstrously overweight, though +she must have gained over two-hundred pounds in the last three +years, it's just that she's such a hard stepper. I fly +barefoot across mathematically smooth and cold wood flooring that, +I know, I wouldn't feel if I could really fly. I keep my eyes +trained on the door of the closet and flick off the light, +crouching with my left hand poised on the light switch and my right +hand gripping the doorknob, white-knuckled, the scar where I split +the shit open standing out whitest, crisp even in the +near-blackness as I glare past it into that shadowed crevice with +the mad chittering sounds coming from inside. But it always quiets +as she passes my door, as though it doesn't want to be heard; +I still don't know how she doesn't hear it through the +walls when she's in her room. Stupid old cow. + +But tonight she's doing alright, I think, because she's +only made three trips down the hall to the kitchen, three trips +lasting three to five minutes each over the course of three hours, +which is a real record-low for her since things got bad, like maybe +now she's finally getting over it --- or maybe +she's just gotten too fat to walk and decided to start +bringing the box with her from now on. Either way, I've still +had to squat here three times so far in the dark, smelling that +musty yellow odor like rotten tomatoes mixed with, I don't +know, curry or something, listening to that thing cackle and +scratch at the back of the closet door, swinging it open millimeter +by millimeter, because I never dare to leave it closed --- +I'm too scared not to try and hear what he's doing in +there, plus I know perfectly well that he knows we both know that +he can open the fucking door if he wants to. I've seen him do +it, not in minute, scratching increments, but fast. + +Tonight the door has stayed put, and I haven't heard a sound +from the little monster. Even his stink, the one everyone else +can't smell, seems to be receding. Normally it hits me at odd +points during the day because it's burned into my fucking +skin, but tonight it seems to be clearing away, the dissipating +pestilential fog. + +I hear my mother put down her dish in the kitchen, but the cupboard +does not creak open. The sink splashes on instead, a sound I hear +more through the pipes in the walls than through the air. Is she +washing the dish already, packing it in, with so much less than a +box consumed? Maybe she is getting over it, at least realizing that +a box and a half of delicious rainbow cookies per evening +won't help --- but more likely, she's probably just +got a stomach virus or something. I hear her stomp into the +bathroom, even whistling the tune we all used to sing, ``Your +Face is All over the Place'', which is sung to the tune of +``Your Kiss is what I Miss''. I smile in the dark, no +fear now, thinking it's gone, and maybe this will be the time +it doesn't come back. + +There is a muffled thud from the bathroom, and a short, sharp cry +from mom. It brings to mind an image of my mother, beached, prone +in her fuzzy white robe on the bathroom floor, writhing in pain and +as-yet half-realized fear, the muscles in her neck bulging, showing +clearly for the first time in almost two years, as that little +fucker chews through cotton and into her chest. Blood spattering. +Chimp-like, upright badger-monster body, head like a nasty little +dog, Chihuahua or something, only with a cerrated nose like an +alligator, or one of those colorful baboon-things. Snarling bubbles +into the blood welling through the shorn muscle and cracked bone of +her left breast like a child with his chocolate milk{\ldots} Chittering. +Laughing at us. Oh my god her heart. + +Instead of flinging the door open and running to the bathroom, I +smack the light on and sprint to the closet door, throw it open and +freeze, staring right into those unforgiving dog-black but +compassionless spheres. So it rears before me, wipes it's +dripping chin with a bony little wrist. Cackles. Now you're +mother is dead too. First him, now her. First him, now her. + + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{TheElectronicOne} + + +{\bf {\em In the Mirror}} + + + +Out of the darkness came Rothard Mavalero. Grunting and thumping, +he was the city undertaker. It was not a job many would like but he +had kept it for fifty years. Some people thought that was unnatural +but they did not know the half of it. And if they knew the whole of +it they would have run in terror. Bodies interested him. He liked +the way they looked. He liked the way they felt. But most of all he +liked the way they tasted. + + + +Today it was Mavalero's favorite kind of body. A floater from the +river. It was still fresh, like a recently caught fish. The coroner +wasn't at work yet. Nobody would know what he was doing. He dragged +the bloated corpse and looked into its eyes. Suddenly, he began to +pry the eyeball from its socket. A sweet ``snap'' sound happened as +the elastic snapped. He licked the slimy eyeball, savoring the +salty taste. Then, as the deceased's other eye seemed to watch him, +he bit into the juicy retina. It tasted chewy and meaty, just like +he had expected. + + + +Mavalero looked down at the body tauntingly. Blood was oozing from +the empty socket. He liked that it was helpless. He stabbed at the +face to make more blood come out, then dipped his finger into the +blood-filled socket and tested the quality of the victim. When he +was done with the little game, he started to pry at the other eye. +This one did not come out so easily. It felt like it was glued into +the socket, and he had to tug and tug. But finally, with the help +of his pocket knife, it came loose. The eye stared Mavalero in the +face. He did not care. Rothard Mavalero was a very bad man. He +downed the second eye with pride, smacking his lips as he smiled in +his conquest. + + + +But as he began to ponder what he would eat next he saw something +in the corner of his eye. He didn't know what it was. His heart +raced like a galloping horse. He turned slowly towards what he had +seen. Then he sighed with relief, because it was just the mirror. +He had seen his own reflection. + + + +{\em {\ldots}or did he?} + + + +He looked at the reflection, but his face looked unfamiliar. He +turned his head, and his mirror self seemed to delay a little bit +before copying him. With a piercing, inhuman scream, Rothard +Mavalero realized what he was seeing. It was not a mirror, but a +window into a room that had been cleverly copied to resemble his +evil laboratory in every respect. The man was not his reflection, +but the young but hardened detective Luke Bavarius in disguise. +Bavarius had seen everything: the body, the eye eating, the +blood. + + + +He felt a nervousness arise in his throat. He struggled to hold his +posture as he waited for his certain death at the hands of the +private eye. Vomitus dribbled out the mouth of Rothard Mavalero. +Then, as he watched, Bavarius reached through the glass and +strangled him alive. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{WhereTheFishLives} + + +{\bf The Horrid Lighter} + + + +This is a long story about Luke Bavarius when he saw the shadows in +the world when he was younger in 7th grade. Bavarius is me. I saw +the them, the shadows. And it has turned my brain into darkness. I +was walking with my best friend Victor and Praeton when we found +the terrible thing. A sickly sparkle flashed the corner of my eye +and caused me to turn instinctively towards it. It was a silver +lighter, but not any silver lighter you've ever seen. It has a +skull on it with a eye made of ruby pressed into it. ``Cool'' said +Victor as he brushed the dust and soil from the lighter that was +buried centuries ago. It had a certain look that cut to my soul and +made my stomach tighten on its contents. + + + +Victor shifted it open and his expression changed to one of evil. +My teeth clenched as I could feel scaredness take me over. Praeton +began to tremor in delerium as sickly vomit shot from his mouth +like a giant waterfall. Once the vomit was spent, a terrible white +cloud came from the eyes and from his face. The cloud had Praeton's +face. Praeton's face had a certain shocked and unhappy expression. +It would be soon be too late for Praeton. The soul was sucked into +the lighter like an evil waterfall. And the lighter's fire was +switched out for a red indescribable flame as the soul went in into +it. + + + +``Praeton, No!'' I shouted from fear. It was too late, though. I +could tell. He was already changed in a certain way. So I ran away +from the evil duo. + + + +My fearful brain didn't know what else to do. It told my rubbery +legs to run and they did run. The shock of the pounding of my feet +on the ground went up through me. Up through my knees and then my +legs. Then my chest and my soul and then into my brain with a +terrible power. The power shot through me like an jackhammer. My +adreniline squeezed my jaw tighter and yet tighter to fight back my +morning breakfast. Which was prevented from being vomited out by my +teeth. The wind felt strongly against my face. Blinding me. But I +didn't have time to notice. I only had time to run. + + + +All of a sudden I was already at the door of my house when i burst +through it. ``Grand-nd dad? Help!'' I shouted! As I shot slowly like +a bullet from a gun through a sea of adrenaline. But there was no +Grandad, only Praeton who was already there. The silence was +deafening. The only sound was the horrid lighter clicking +deafeningly. I was in an abundance of shock. + + + +``Where's my grandad fiend?!'' + + + +``He's in here with us'' Praton made a grand gesture to the lighter +in his hand. + + + +``N-N-No,'' I stammered as I went to the closet and got out the +Baretta. The black gun metal was cool against the palm of my hand. +The blackness of the gun matched my heart's darkness as I aimed at +Praeton. + +``I'm gonna take you out!'' + +``Ha Ha Ha Ha ha'' he laughed. ``Bullets can't hurt me!'' he said +smirkingly. I knew I only had one clip with which to dispatch this +wretched thing. To back to wherever it came from. I fired and a +bullet went directly between his eyes but didn't stop him. Again I +fired, and again, and again I fired a total of 14 times. + + + +``Looks like someone's out of bullets!'' He cackled devilishly. Now +it was my turn to laugh + + + +``Hahahaha! Looks like someone doesn't know anything about the +Beretta M9!'' I triumphantly shouted. With my last bullet I fired. +The 9mm bullet slickly exploded from the barrel and into the +demonic lighter which was still in his hand. While the bullet +struck, metal on metal, the souls were vomited all out of the +it. + + + +``Nooooo!'' cried the thing as he turned to rust. ``It's all over +now.'' While the Beretta fell to the ground in slow motion I was +instantly {\em insane}. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{on time for once} + + +{\bf The Playground} + + + +When I awoke I was tied up in a dark basement and the little boy +was standing over me. The first time I saw him I had laughed at him +because he was constantly vomiting, the putrid liquid pouring out +of his mouth and nose as if he were a water fountain of vomit. It +didn't seem so funny now. + + + +Now that I was tied up, he seemed much more threatening. He stepped +closer. His warm vomit was now hitting me in the crotch. Where was +it all coming from, anyway? There was so much of it I +couldn't believe it could possibly have all been inside this +small child. Was his face a portal to a parallel dimension? A +parallel dimension of vomit? + + + +As he pistol whipped me with my own Beretta I choked and giggled +and thought about how I, Luke Bavarious, private detective, had +ended up in this situation. + + + +It had started because the children's playground was always +covered in blood and vomit. Every day it would be cleaned, but +every morning it would be covered in blood and vomit again. This +had been going on for several years now and we had finally decided +to see what was going on. I was assigned to stop the blood and +vomit. + + + +I went to the playground one evening and hid under a slide with my +Beretta and my night vision goggles. It wasn't quite dark yet +and there were a few children still playing. One of them was the +vomiting boy, which explained the vomit. Oh, how I laughed. +Hopefully there would be an equally mundane explanation for the +blood. Perhaps the boy had a beautiful blood-vomiting mother. I +would have to talk to her and ask them to clean the playground +themselves after they were finished using it so the city would not +have to pay so many cleaners. I would offer to help her clean the +playground, and maybe we would end up doing sex on a swing. I like +swings. + + + +I was distracted by my fantasy and forgot to watch the playground +for a few minutes. When I looked up again the blood was there and +the children were gone. I got out from under the slide and glanced +around. What had happened? Where was the beautiful woman? Suddenly +something hit me in the back and vomit sprayed over my head. The +boy! The vomiting boy! He must have been on the slide I was hiding +under, and now he had jumped off it onto my back! I tried to get +him off me but he held a urine stained pillow over my face until I +passed out. + + + +And now here I was, in this basement. I could see now that under +the vomit the boy's face and clothes were covered in blood. +And so were his teeth, his sharp horrible teeth. I knew then that +he had eaten the other children. Now he was going to eat me. +Suddenly, I was sobbing. + + + +A man in a lab coat ran in. He was also vomiting. + + + +``Daddy!'' vomited the boy excitedly. + + + +``Son!'' the man vomited, running over to his son, +``Stop! This one is not like the others!'' + + + +He injected me with something. Suddenly, I was vomiting. The man +collected some of my vomit in a beaker then poured it into a +machine. Writing in a language I couldn't read appeared on +the machine's screen. + + + +``See, son?'' vomited the man, pointing at the screen, +``This one is not like the others. It will not grow up to be +evil. The strange results you got were not because it will be even +worse than the others but because it is already too old for your +tests to be accurate!'' + + + +``You're right, daddy!'' the boy vomited, +``Let's put it back!'' He injected me with +something else and I passed out. As I lost consciousness I heard +him vomit ``We should try another playground, they seem to +have noticed what we are doing here.'' + + + +The next morning I woke up under the slide in a puddle of vomit, +with a bad headache and no memory of what had happened. For some +reason, though, I felt certain that this playground would remain +clean from now on. + + + + +%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% +\by{overnightmike} + + +May I humbly submit a gritty work of horror: + + + +The Exploding Curse + + + +A dark night filled with trial and unrestiness was ahead. The bar +tender said unimportant things which I heard. A vague feeling was +consuming me like I was consuming alcoholic beverages. When? When +will the signs come again and would they let me live? Being a +gritty person himself the bartender did not question my long +drinking mainly because I am a very mature person. I could not +shake the vague feeling. It was everywhere. + + + +I felt like vomiting but did not. Instead I was glad I had a +large-caliber handgun. + + + +The door to the tavern burst open, but the bartender never saw who +walked into the door because he had died of fright. I saw his rusty +blood. He was the lucky one of the two of us, who were the only two +people in the bar. Besides the signs, which had arrived. At least I +didn't have to wonder anymore. My legs burst open in a liquid +explosion. + + + +My whole being was pain. Excruciating on the floor of a bad bar in +a skid-row section of town. The signs had left but their work was +completed. For now. + + + +I passed out from the pain of having exploded legs. But I woke up +sometime later and poured some booze on them to make the pain stop, +I could not walk, so I wrapped them in dirty, booze soaked bar +towels, which were plentiful behind the bar. I was left to lay in +the bar with the dead bartender who was putrid with corpse-stink. +That was My Fate. My Punishment. My Own Prison. + + + +Everything was quiet. The dead bartender said, ``What's your name, +cursed one?'' + + + +``Burke Dreadnought,'' I said, quivering in fear at the talking +abomination from hell. + + + +``Do you know why you are here at this time, do you know what pain +really is?'' the corpse hissed at me, spraying me and everything +with green putrid goo while the words garbled out. + + + +``My legs exploded so I think I can talk about pain,'' I wiped the +blood off of my gratuitous chin stubble while saying. + + + +``Oh yeah, not yet you can't!'' The corpse began levitating and +suddenly I remembered. Bavarious! The curse all of a sudden made +sense! + + + +Summer 1967. I'm a rookie cop, green and not jaded at all and Luke +Bavarious is showing me the ropes of the hard, rain-slicked streets +of Miami. The Haunted House Murder Case. Fourteen people dead in +the span of one night. Bavarious wasn't assigned to the case but he +was the first one to the scene with me in tow. He growled out +instructions, brazenly brandishing his large-caliber handgun like +he always did. We found a kid. Left at the scene. Not murdered +thankfully. + + + +``The Haunting will follow you unless you put an end to the cure,'' +the kid said while shaking because he had vomited so much. ``The +curse must be lifted by giving the bones in the basement a proper +burial. There were ritual murders here back in prohibition times by +an evil bootlegger. Now he haunts the house by killing everyone in +it all the time!'' + + + +Bavarious growled, ``You make me want to puke! I'm here to get to +the bottom of this!'' + + + +After we left the scene I said meekly to the scowling Bavarious, ``I +think we should give those bones a proper burial bacause kids +should be listened to.'' + + + +``Ha! Let's go catch some scumbags!'' Bavarious put on his sunglasses +and went back to his squad car. Six years later I quit the force +and started drinking. That was when the signs came to the bar to +remind me of the curse and the kid I should have listened to. + + + +My legs were spewing gore trails all over and I finally remember +that I always carry a large-caliber handgun. I shot the +curse-zombie bartender right between his red devilish eyes. His +last words were, ``Soon, soon you will know the horrible depths of +hell as I know them, Burke Dreadnought!'' + + + +I am in the bar still. I will die here but if I could walk I would +go into a basement in Miami, and dig up the remains of the mad +bootlegger's victims and give them a proper burial. I would dig +them out of the same basement they found Luke Bavarious in last +year, raving about curses to this day in a mental asylum. + + + +The End? + + + + + +Ben Biddick you are a worthy fellow, thanks for this contest. + + + + + diff --git a/sa2ltx.py b/sa2ltx.py new file mode 100755 index 0000000..55b4e15 --- /dev/null +++ b/sa2ltx.py @@ -0,0 +1,76 @@ +#! /usr/bin/python3 + +import optparse +import xml.dom.minidom +import xml.etree.ElementTree +import re + +quotes_re = re.compile(r'"([^"]+)"') +dots_re = re.compile(r'\.\.\.+') +crap_re = re.compile(r'

.*

', re.DOTALL) +tag_re = re.compile(r'<[^>]+>') + +def by_class(e, classname): + todo = [e] + while todo: + i = todo.pop(0) + if i.get('class') == classname: + yield i + todo = i.getchildren() + todo + +def first_by_class(e, classname): + for i in by_class(e, classname): + return i + +def table_to_ltx(t): + dt = first_by_class(t, 'author') + + username = dt.text + if not username: + # Moderators + username = dt.getchildren()[-1].tail + print('%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%') + print('\\by{%s}' % username) + + body = first_by_class(t, 'postbody') + + s = xml.etree.ElementTree.tostring(body) + s = s.replace('
', '\n') + s = s.replace('', '{\\em ') + s = s.replace('', '}') + s = s.replace('', '{\\bf ') + s = s.replace('', '}') + s = crap_re.sub('', s) + s = tag_re.sub('', s) + s = dots_re.sub('{\ldots}', s) + s = quotes_re.sub(r"``\1''", s) + print(s) + +def doc_to_ltx(doc): + for e in doc.getiterator('table'): + if e.get('class') == 'post': + table_to_ltx(e) + +def main(): + p = optparse.OptionParser() + (opts, args) = p.parse_args() + + for a in args: + f = open(a, encoding='iso-8859-1') + parser = xml.etree.ElementTree.XMLTreeBuilder() + parser.entity.update(nbsp=" ", + rsaquo=">", + lsquo="`", + rsquo="'", + ldquo="``", + rdquo="''", + hellip="{\\ldots}", + ndash="---", + mdash="---", + iexcl="{\\!`}", + copy="{\\copyright}", + ) + doc = xml.etree.ElementTree.parse(f, parser) + doc_to_ltx(doc) + +main()