Why Do I Write and Why "Horror"??

This isn't my normal blog post about terrifying supernatural spirits or man devouring creatures. It's more of a short post to describe why I do what I do and what makes the interest in what I do so prominent in my life. When people ask what kind of stories/blog do I write/have, I always hesitate for a moment before revealing the nature of the content. I do this for two reasons ; 

• 1)  The first one is because for people who aren't into these kind of stories there is a certain look that is received when revealed, and that is the look of "Pretend to look like you are interested but really what kind of psychopath is this guy and what has him so messed up". I personally love this look and it is all part of the fun but the reality is that I am NOT a psychopath and NOTHING has me so messed up I just write about something that I enjoy as every writer or blogger does. The stigma to the horror genre is very real from the outside to which I put it down to fear. People don't want to read about someone getting tortured or being trapped in the pits of hell for all eternity but in fact people getting tortured or murdered is what happens in life and is happening right now as you read this. The idea of hell and being stuck there for all eternity is also a very normal thought and fear that people have but we put it to the back of our minds in order to function to the best that we can in life, this is a skill us humans need and have controlled to some extent. I personally have a lot of these fears and I am aware of what happens in life so I write fictional stories which helps get these thought out of my head and when down on paper it helps rationalize them. 

• 2) The second reason I hesitate is because I  don't like the label "Horror" it just sounds so generic and gory and that's not what I'm about. Some stories are based on urban legends from across the world including America, Brazil, Ireland and England etc... and these legends are what give those small towns in these countries some history and tradition, and that itself is a positive idea which should not be labelled with the name horror. Other stories are completely fictional and all born from the mind of yours truly. The psychological ones are my favorite because it generates a lot of creative power and this is something that should be the main interest of the story, I like to make people think critically about the world and themselves, and again I think it would do them stories a disservice to just say its just all horror. There is a magic side to a spooky story especially around the fall/autumn as we say here in Ireland and winter time. When the leaves start to fall on the ground and you can see your own breath starting to form as you breath out. Around Halloween especially there's something in the air that attracts me so much to it, the sight of carved out pumpkins and all sorts of scary decorations actually brings a content feeling inside myself. I could live in the aura of the months of September - December forever and never get bored.

As for why do I write in general, well why do farmers farm? Why do athletes run? Its just something that I was born with a liken to, you can get into the whole nature vs nurture debate on this if you wish. At school I always preferred subjects that demanded creative freedom and storytelling was what I enjoyed the most. When writing I get lost in the world that I have created and that's the beauty of it. The people, the town, the story is all you and I get sucked into that which can be fantastic for a break from the hundred miles an hour lifestyle that people tend to live nowadays that's just outside the walls of your writing chamber. 

Before I came up with the idea of the blog I had no idea what to write about, all I knew was that I wanted to write something but had a million different ideas floating around my head. That's when I decided to write a collection of short flash fiction stories, to get all those ideas out there and to stop them pestering me. I am hoping to and working on issues to come out monthly containing 10 - 15 short stories per issue and also a novel is in the works. The whole writing game is not something that happens overnight and cannot be rushed , patience is key along with a certain amount of meticulous planning.

So that's it basically there's no need to get into too much detail or personal reasons behind it all, I don't think that's needed. Go on people read my stories, critique them, think about them, share them with friends or online but most importantly enjoy them and I hope that I have least scared you a little!!!! 

Don't forget to count ;)

In the clay county region of Indiana there is a town called Brazil where a legend haunts the local cemetery, a legend that brings many curious people all year round. It lies on a sloping hill that is roadside and dates back to the 1860's, that's the oldest headstone that can be found here. The cemetery itself isn't the main subject of the legend, it is actually a number of uphill steep steps, 100 to be exact and this is how it got it's name - 100 steps cemetery. 

It's said that at midnight if you walk up the visibly fading steps and count each one as you pass until you reach the top to number 100 and then turn around you will be greeted by the ghost of the first ever caretaker of the cemetery. He then will show you a vision of your death and tell you to walk back down the steps. If you count the same number of steps as you did going up then the vision would come true but if you happened to count a different number then you were one of the lucky ones and the prophecy was indeed false. 

Of course as the legend spread around, people got the idea to avoid the steps completely when going to the top of the slope but this idea wasn't as smart as the people thought it was. They didn't get away without being punished for their wise actions, as anyone who got to the top without using the steps were pushed to the ground by an invisible force and clawed at. Leaving them with a red hand mark on their backs known as "the mark of the devil".

Walter Cox worked as the towns local librarian, a job in which he dedicated the majority of his time too. He was never married nor did he want to be. He led an easy life which revolved all around his library and in the evenings he didn't stray too far outside of his comfort one either, by watching quiz shows and reading stories from his favorite horror blogger. Always with a crossword in hand and glasses falling off the bridge of his nose as he awkwardly interacted with you, he, Walter was a man the locals liked but also had a sense of pity for.
His world came crashing down one night as he made his way over to the DVD rental shop. Walking around the isles looking for his nights entertainment he could hear and noticed two fire trucks fly past the window, followed by numerous police cars. Walter walked to the door of the shop and could see smoke coming in the direction of his library just over the row of houses in front. He began to panic intensely, dropping all that he carried before running over to the library as if he was an athletic sprinter.
What he had feared had become the reality of the situation. There it was up in flames with the roof after caving in. He could not understand how his happened, he only locked up a couple of hours ago and everything was fine. As the fire was being attended too he sat on a step corner sobbing into his hands for a couple of hours, this was all he knew in life, all he wanted and in one moment his happiness had been stolen from him. His sadness was soon replaced with despair and a sense of worthlessness. He remembered the blog post he read a few weeks ago which was about the legend of the cemetery in his town which was just a ten minute walk away. He abruptly jumped up and briskly walked in that direction.
As he reached the cemetery a strong wind started blowing, followed by heavy rain with Walter standing at the end of the steps looking up to the top of them. He put one foot out and stepped onto the first step, he didn't know what he wanted but he just wanted to feel something. Every step was longed out and filled with racing thoughts. The rain was dripping from his head, onto his glasses and then falling to the ground he continuously stared at. Each drop sounded like a rock being thrown into the ocean as he was nearing the top of steep hill;  "87,88,89,90" he counted out loudly while panting for air.
As he reached the top he stood with his hands on hips, trying to gather his breath back. "Now what .......NOW WHAT!!!!"  he shouted out while tears began falling from his eyes once more, forming a bubble of water with the rain on his face. Everything went silent for a few moments, even his thoughts, but then noise started filtering back through starting with the gong of the towns large tower clock as it hit midnight. He turned around to be greeted by a cloudy figure that glided his way only to form the outline of a tall man standing upright in front of him.
The ghostly figure put his hand on top of Walters head showing him a vision. What Walter seen terrified him so much that he could not talk respond but only gaze at the cloudy ghost in a terror-stricken manner. The figure then leaned in and whispered into Walters ear "Walk down the way you came up and if you count the same number of steps as you did coming up then this vision will come true but if you get to a different number then you will be freed from the claws of this prophecy, but remember don't forget to count". Walter began to walk down while looking back at the ghost as it was becoming more transparent and fading with each step he took down. "68,67,66,65" The anxious feeling of whats ahead was in full flow causing his heart to beat rapidly and sweat was rushing out through his glands as if he had just competed in a high intensity sports match.
Nearing the bottom he glanced down at the steps ahead but couldn't tell if there were 11 or 10 left. This would either make 100 in total or 101, but he didn't want to know he just kept walking with his head raised up looking at the dark sky in hope.
"97,98,99,100" he stopped for a minute knowing that this next step would be the most important one he ever took. Fingers crossed he reached his right leg out but was met by a drop, there was another step. The vision was gonna come through, he could feel the temperature rise and the noise of laughter enclose on him.

His hand fell and face smacked on his library desk counter. He opened his eyes and jumped up all startled, people were gathered around him laughing and recording him as he talked in his sleep and was drooling all over the desk. He shouted at them to leave and ran behind them locking the front doors. He slumped to the ground, half in happiness that his beloved library was still intact but half in shock as that dream felt so realistic.
Later that night he walked by the DVD rental shop that he went into in his dream, he didn't enter but just stared at it from the outside feeling like this happened before. Over his left shoulder he seen a fire truck speed past, followed by another and numerous police cars. "No way, no no no no no no" he got all frantic and panicky, not knowing whether to go or not but of course he went anyway. It was like his dream, the library was indeed on fire but this time he wasn't gonna sit and cry, he was gonna try redeem some of his most important collections inside before it was too late.
He managed to sneak around the back of the building to where there was a hidden entrance not visible to passer's by. The fire was on the right hand side of the building and all he had to to do was get to his office which was on the left and retrieve his collections of work. He got to the office and managed to get his work out, but just as he was about to go back out the hidden door the roof caved in, trapping him in the fire fueled rubble.
He lay there thinking of that so called dream he had and as the fire started to engulf him and his screams rang out he thought about the vision he had. That frightening vision he was shown maybe wasn't as he thought it was. He saw himself burning to death in what he thought was the firey pitts of hell but in fact maybe the prophecy had come true and his death was foreshadowed in the place where he loved and cherished. His remains were taken and laid to rest at 100 steps cemetery.

The Hellfire Club

In South County Dublin, Ireland there is a large wooded area in the mountains that has a famous hill known as Montpelier Hill. It is popular amongst dog walkers, evening strollers and campers alike, as the scenery is beautiful and filled with air of relaxation. At the top of the hill overlooking County Dublin lies today an old building in ruins, but this building wasn't always this way, in fact the run down building has so much dark and satanic history to it that no one would dare spend a night here alone even after all that time had passed.

Before the Hellfire Club began there was a passage grave with a cairn that lay on top of the hill. One of the wealthiest men in Ireland was said to have built a hunting lodge over the cairn, destroying it in the process. The roof of the lodge was damaged not long after through a rough storm that passed by the lodge one night. People close to the scene at the time say that it wasn't the work of the storm that damaged the roof but it was the work of angry spirits that were seeking revenge for the fact that the cairn had been destroyed.

In 1975 a man named Parsons, who was known for his liking to enter the realm of black magic founded the Hellfire Club. It was a club of secrecy that met in unknown locations that varied in order to protect their identity. Sex, alcohol and gambling were the usual antics of the night at the club and they even dressed up like the Devil and danced around until the early hours of the morning. Parsons was given the name "The King of Hell" by his fellow members, who looked up to him as i he had a direct line to their beloved Satan himself. They worshiped Satan so much that at each meeting they left a seat vacant in the hope that he would turn up sometime. They also held what was known as black masses where they decorated in satanic art and sacrificed black cats and sometimes even the servants that were forced into this role.

Another famous tragedy that took place here was the murder of a local farmhouse man, who one day went up to the club to learn more about what took place there.The next morning, he was found dead by two men, one being the local priest. They both entered the club full of rage over what had happened and were shocked to what they had been greeted with. A full banquet had been laid out with all the members sitting in what was like a trance as a large black cat (a lot bigger than the ones that were sacrificed at the meetings) was prowling around the members in a circle. The priest noticed that this was no ordinary cat, it had horns growing out from the top of its head and hooves for paws. The priest who had some holy water on him splashed the large cat but it just looked back at him with its eyes turning red before vanishing into thin air. The priest ran outside and found the guy he came in with lying on the ground dead, deep claw marks all over his body.

As the members of the club were all getting old and recognised that they don't have much time left, they decided to burn the building down with them all inside. This was a way of both getting rid of any evidence of what took place here but also the fact that what they had; the secrecy and debauchery would die with them.

In more recent time people still feared this place. No one has ever spent a night here and not reported some sort of strange activity. A couple that camped just outside the building said they had witnessed their campfire acting very odd; rising to at least seven feet in height and then lowering again before extinguishing. Then as they tried to light another fire it would not work on that spot, they had to move their camp to get a fire lighting.

Another man who had a fascination for the supernatural and paranormal got exactly what he wished for one night. He said to have witnessed objects not only moving but flying across the room at random parts of the night. His EMF meter exploded and he could also hear the helpless purring of cats but they weren't anywhere to be seen. The man didn't last the whole night, leaving halfway through when visions of men and women being sacrificed haunted his every move.

Of course not every time people visit the Hellfire Club something frightening happens, it seems to only happen at special times that no one can predict. Nothing has been reported for nearly fifteen years now and it is said to be turning into a tourist park with the building its main attraction. Whatever they do with it, they can only hope that what happened in years gone by has finished and the story of The Hellfire Club that once was the source of great evil up high in the Dublin mountains remains just a story of the past.