The Beast

Tradition, comes in many forms, and they exist for many reasons, ‘The Ritual of The Light’ simply existed to protect. For those who do not know of this tradition, fear not, not many do, but Jonathan and his family knew it well. It took place December 31st, from sundown to midnight. The tradition was simple really, before sundown a certain lantern in the house was to be blessed by the eldest male of the family this blessing being to assure the light of the lantern is strong enough to ward off the beast. A creature of evil and torment, a creature that hounded children, drank blood like wine and drove men mad. The light was to remain on all night, to ward off the beast, and one was ever to be out of the lanterns light for more than two minutes for if one was, they would surely be doomed.

Jonathan lit a match as the sun dipped low into the horizon, disappearing behind the sky, and as darkness was enveloping the world around his home he lowered the match to a lantern’s wick, which had been blessed hours earlier by his Great Uncle Joe. Catching fire the lantern quickly did its job and provided quite an illumination for the living room from its spot on the small coffee table.

“Ah, quite a fine light wouldn’t you say, boy?” Said an old voice that crackled like a dying fire, which belonged to Jonathans seventy-five-year-old Great Aunt Gretel.

Jonathan looked at his Great Aunt who sat illuminated by the light of the lantern, wrapped in a green sweater with a pair of thick pants and boots, rocking back and forth rhythmically on a rather large sofa while she knit a scarf, beside her resided Jonathan’s Great Uncle Joe, who was not much older than Gretel. He was dressed in a sweater, with coveralls, and had also wrapped himself in a rather large blanket whilst also wearing boots, the heavy clothing the both of them wore shielded them from the winter cold, which permeated throughout the room.

“Yes, yes indeed, a good light, I think it should last us through the night.” Said Jonathan, who quickly went to one side of the room, lighting another match to set the logs in the fireplace alight, providing little but much-needed protection against the cold, after all the Beast was not the only danger of winter. After doing this, Jonathan resigned himself to an armchair adjacent to his family, the lantern as well as the coffee table it sat on acting as a median between them. The air was cold but thankfully Jonathan found himself protected from it by his thick jacket, pants, and boots. The one thing he was not protected from was the solemn air stemming from the seriousness of the tradition, which lay over them all.

Jonathan turned his attention to the familiar surroundings of the living room of the old house, the gaudy pink and green wallpaper, the many decorative vases that sat scattered amongst various tables, casting peculiar shadows on the room, the paintings of ships which hung on every wall powerful behemoths, plowing forward through the vast ocean and off into the great unknown, Jonathan longed to see the ocean really, he wanted to get out of this house one day. One day he did. He wished to see the unknown, the unexplorable, however, he feared he would never, he feared he was trapped. His Great Aunt was always rambling about the Beast, a creature of which he was unsure even was real.

Jonathan sighed and all was silent and quaint as Jonathan stewed in thought...and it seemed like just another December 31st.
When suddenly, a scream was a heard, one that could only belong to a child, a girl, a small girl.
The scream shot through the air like a gunshot. Piercing the air like a bullet pierces the skin and utterly shredding the peace.

A scream? Thought Jonathan, How? Where? Jonathan’s house was not only in the middle of nowhere but surrounded by a thick wood, the only town was thirty miles away, and only his Great Aunt and Uncle ever went there. They were also to remote and isolated to be near any main roads In the whole of his life which totaled sixteen years Jonathan had never heard a scream in this neck of the woods.

The screams got louder, screams of anguish, of pain, the screams turned to wails, and the wails themselves turned into cries for help.

“Help me! Help me please!”

For the moment no one reacted, everyone was too stunned, it was as if they had been struck by lightning, no one seemed to breathe, never before had such a thing happened, and on December 31st no less.
Finally finding the will to overcome his paralysis Jonathan shot to his feet, his entire family looked to him, and he looked back.

“We have to help,” Jonathan stated simply, his voice unwavering, commanding almost.

“No.” Said his Great Aunt looking into his eyes, her body still, her eyes boring into him, she spoke only one syllable but she had communicated so much, “sit down.”

“No,” Jonathan responded.

Tension filled the air, it was as if the very paintings in the room had come alive and the waves of water had crashed into the living room, filling it to the brim. Jonathan further waded in defiance as he continued on. Feeling he could not stand idly by as an innocent child screamed for help.

“We are going to help her. Let’s go together, all of us with the lantern!”

“We can’t!” Jonathan’s Great Uncle Joe cried rasping, “we are too old...to slow...and you can’t go out their alone.”

“If you can’t go out there to help, then I will. Alone.”

Jonathan’s Great Aunt’s eyes turned to fire and her nostrils flared for a moment and then they grew sad, filling with tears, which slowly flowed down her cheeks, “then you will surely end up like your father and mother…”

Jonathan froze stiff, his mind pulled under by memories like a body in a riptide, he remembered that night, three years ago, he tried to shut it out but sometimes the walls of his mind failed and he was dragged back down in the memories, Jonathan shook his head, grabbing onto the present and holding it with a tight mental grip, he would not allow himself to be consumed by such thoughts at this moment.

Jonathan looked into his Great Aunt’s eyes with conviction, “I am going out there with or without you.”

The tension had broken, it had frozen, shattered and dissipated. And all that remained was a cold air, and the sound of the girl’s constant, somewhat distant scream. The storm was over but the mission had only just begun.

“Take this.” said Jonathan's Great Uncle, reaching beneath his blanket and pulling out a knife, holding it out to Jonathan, “for protection.”

Jonathan nodded in thanks and retrieved the knife from Great Uncle's hands.

“I don’t like this one bit,” interjected his Great Aunt, “but take this boy,” she said holding out a piece of string originating from a large ball of yarn at her feet, “wrap it around the knife, once you reach a minute, we’ll tug on the string, signaling for you to come back, so you won't be in danger of the beast.”
Jonathan nodded again and grabbing the string quickly tying it around the knife handle and looking to his family, uncertainty, and fear shaded their faces.

“I will return…” Jonathan said firmly, keeping his voice as calm as possible whilst turning to the door and throwing it open, the full chill of the winter night filled the room, hitting his face full force, stunning him for a moment, he shivered, the cold air already worming its way through his pants and jacket to his skin. Jonathan looked to the woods, the light of the lantern and fireplace shining through the doorway and windows, allowing a small amount of light in the winter night. And the uncertainty of his mission filled him for a moment, would he find the girl? Could he navigate his way through such a massive wood? In the dark no less? As the wails persisted, Jonathan did his best to cast aside any doubt. He must do this...he must. He was the only one who even would or could he reminded himself. Taking a deep breath the frigid air tickled his lungs and he took a step forward, sinking almost up to his knee in the snow, he almost lost his footing but he quickly put one foot in front of the other, “come on Jonathan! You can do this!” he hissed to himself, trudging forward towards the woods edge.
Until there he was, facing frost covered trees and an endless darkness before him, yes he had gazed upon this wood and even explored them during the day but at night, it was as if they had been transformed. It was as terrifying as it was mysterious. Could it be, there was a creature, a beast in there watching him right now? Was the Beast even real?
It was contemplating this that Jonathan left the light of the lantern and the house behind and trudged into the wood.
Jonathan felt blind, his eyes having nothing to grasp in the inky blackness, there was no light, no shadow, only darkness.
He knew he needed to find the girl and fast, looking this way and that he tried getting his eyes to adjust as much as they could to the forest while walking forward slowly, but before he could even begin his search he felt a tug on his knife. The string. Quickly he turned and trudged as fast as he could out of the wood, following the string which turned out to be a useful tool. He emerged facing the house, where he saw his Great Uncle Standing outside the doorway, watching him. He waved and Jonathan waved back before turning and making his way back into the wood.

Jonathan knew he couldn’t wait for his eyes to adjust, the cold was catching up to him and his pant legs and shoes were beginning to feel wet, not only that but the girl’s cries were growing fainter, Jonathan knew she must have been getting more tired, she could have been on the verge of death at that very moment.
Hoping for the best, Jonathan put his hands in front of him to make sure he didn't run into a tree and trudged fast and headlong into the wood, moving his head left and right, relying more on his sense of hearing than sight, trying to pinpoint the girls shouts for . Until, yes, he got it! A general direction, “don’t worry!” he shouted. “I’m coming!”

Whether the girl heard this or not Jonathan did not know as there came no response but the continued cries for help. As he continued his search, Jonathan felt a feeling of unease make its way into his being, wrapping around his soul like a snake. Choking his bravery, was there something legitimately wrong? Or had the story of the Beast been ingrained him so much, he couldn’t help but be scared of the idea of it?

There came another tug on the knife in Jonathan's hand, “Dammit!” Jonathan screamed in anger, he turned and trudged back, holding the string as a guide and trying not to bash his own brains out as he hurried back. Reaching the edge of the wood Jonathan stumbled out of the wood and into something rather large.
Crying out he hopped backward holding up his knife defensively in fear, only to relax once he realized it was his Great Uncle.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said gasping for breath, feeling quite drained from his strenuous activities.

“Boy,” his Great Uncle began, shivering, “the search is hopeless…”

“No!” Jonathan shouted.

“The girl will be dead soon.”

“I almost got her!”

“No, you don’t! Don’t you get it? If she isn’t dead there’s no way you’ll even make it back in time and there the b-”

“Have you ever seen the beast?” Jonathan said cutting him off.

His Great Uncle was quiet, “has Aunt Gretel?!” Jonathan shouted.

“N-no…” his Great Uncle stuttered.

“Then how do we know it’s even real!” He shouted. Suddenly angry. The Beast? Who would even believe in such a stupid fairy tale, he had never seen it, and neither had his family apparently and even if it was real, who would allow it to stop them from saving an innocent life.

His Great Uncle was silent as the cries of the girl continued to grow fainter, Jonathan dropped the knife into the snow.

“I don’t need this…”

“Jonathan…”

“Go back to your light…”

“The Beast took your mother!”

“My mom always had sleepwalking problems, she walked out into that blizzard while everyone was sleeping, and dad tried to find her and he died, end of story.”

“The lantern was off when she went missing!”

“What does that prove? Did Gretel see the beast?”

“No b-”

Before Jonathan’s Great Uncle could even finish he had already turned around and plunged back into the wood.
“Jonathan!” His Great Uncle screamed as he trudged as quickly as he could through the snow once more, following the sounds of the girl’s cries, Jonathan pushed himself to go faster, neglecting his sight like before he was instead completely relying on his hearing, trying to discern if he was getting farther away or closer and if he was even going in the right direction. He was completely devoid of caution now, not even using his hands to feel anymore, Jonathan was moving dangerously fast now as he ran, constantly clipping trees and almost falling over as he simply focused on getting to the girl as fast as he could.
Jonathan knew could do it, he could find this girl and save her, he could even prove that the Beast was a myth. Time was of the essence, he needed to find this child. He could hear her cries, they were louder now. He was close, he was close.
Then Jonathan’s world went downwards.
His foot fell into oblivion, looking down Jonathan saw a massive drop beneath him...and with a cry, he fell.

Jonathan felt an intense pressure in his legs for a brief moment, then heard what sounded to be a snapping sound followed by an intense burning pain. Jonathan gritted his teeth as his thoughts, his emotions, his very being was filled with one thing. Pain. His vision blurred and darkened for a second but Jonathan remained conscience. He lay still for a few minutes before gathering himself even as an intense heavy throb pounded his legs, fighting through the torment he propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at his legs. It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust but when they did he screamed...his legs were twisted, like two twigs snapped by a child during playtime, pointing in directions they shouldn’t, a bone poked out of one pant leg, the opening allowing blood to flow freely from his body.

Jonathan grunted and fell back, his hand brushing against something to his side, it was cold and hard, a metal? Propping himself up again he turned his head and noticed a double-barreled shotgun.

“The hell?”

Reaching out he grabbed it and pulled it close to examine it in the dark, he immediately recognized it, it was his father's shotgun. The one he had brought with him all those years ago when he went to look for his mom in the blizzard. Jonathan broke it open looking inside the breach he saw two shotgun shells. One of them fired. What had happened? Why had he shot? Had he found mom?

It was in this moment, Jonathan realized, he could no longer hear the cries of the little girl. His eyes wide, he began looking in every direction for the body of a child.

“Oh no, oh no!” Am I too late?”

Was she dead? Had she fallen down this steep hill and been mangled as well. Was she somewhere else entirely?

“Hello!?” Jonathan shouted, “little girl?!”

Jonathan looked left, and right, he could barely see five feet in front of him even with his now well-adjusted eyes, he saw a steep cliff face to his left and more endless woods to his right. The silence was eerie, deafening even, he could hear his own heartbeat.
Jonathan shifted his legs, forgetting they were injured for a moment and crying out as a sharp pain ran up his leg.

Then he heard it, footsteps, light steps coming from the woods. Jonathan looked up, was it the girl? They seemed to be getting closer.

“Little girl!” He shouted once more, “is that you?!”

WIthin his field of his vision from amongst the wood emerged a large creature of grotesque proportions, Jonathan felt the air leave his lungs as he froze, the many eyes that covered the creatures upper head focused in on him, a thick, long tongue covered in teeth unfurled from the mouth of the creature, as it glided forward with remarkable, unbelievable grace, its thin spindly legs barely making a sound, its large hands never leaving its side.
The creature stopped before Jonathan, hovering over him, it cocked its head to one side and chuckled, then, it spoke.

“You will find no little girl here...boy…only me.”

Side note: This story was done by another Twitter friend who you can follow here @KindOfaTrollLOL. Fantastic story writer and you can check out more of their work from their Twitter page.  Thanks for letting me use this story on my blog. 

Old London Town

 I’ve lived and worked in London for the best part of 30 years, and I thought I had a sound knowledge of its culture and history. I’ve heard the gruesome stories of its past, who hasn’t growing up here? But tonight I saw the darkest side of London that I’ve ever seen.

I’m a fire fighter so you can understand when I say that. We don’t just put out fires; we also see suicides, car crashes, and other traumatic situations. Sometimes they can be explained by simple human behaviour, but sometimes even that falls short. The ones that leave me shivering in bed are the acts of violence on other people. Sure I know most of us are friendly, but once in awhile, you find that one person that is beyond all help. Beyond all saving.

As a lad, I grew up with a few friends that have stayed that way even with life pulling us in different directions. Throughout school, we were a close-knit group and even when it was time for some of us to go to college, we still kept in touch. Naturally, as we’ve grown older and had families of our own, we try to meet up any time possible.

A few years ago Paul moved to Australia, (the names have been changed to protect identity). Paul and his wife and kids come back to visit their family one every year, and a roundup of the guys is always on the cards. Tonight was one such occasion.

I had finished working a rota of four-night shifts and was looking forward to 4 days off. My wife already knew that I was meeting up with the boys, these things were planned months in advance, so I had packed some nice clothes to get ready at the station. Lucky for me I work at ______road Station right in the centre of London. After a quick session in the gym and a spruce up, I walked out the building feeling a million dollars and headed to the pub where we were all to meet.

David and Phil were already sitting at a table by the window when I entered All Bar One at The Old Bailey, so I used the universal hand signal for “want a drink?” and they both raised a Peroni glass in the air. After being served by a flirtatious waitress with a nose piercing, I was sat at the table catching up on old time when Dean walked through the door.

I hadn’t seen Dean in some years as he had missed several of our previous meetups, so you can understand that expectations for the night were now high. This had just turned into the one night when all five us were back together, and I planned to make it epic. It must have been an hour, three pints and six shots later before Paul walked into the bar.

There is a saying: Friends come and go, like the waves of the ocean, but the real ones stay around like an octopus on your face. I’ve always like that quote. Essentially, it means friends can go years without talking and then pick up where they’re left off. That was us right then.

The beer was flowing, and we just fitted back together like a Mechno set. At some point, a group of girls had joined us and the night seemed to go from zero to hero. We are all around our 30th, but most of us are still in pretty good shape. My jobs probably has me in the best condition of my life, and David has always been able to speak to the girls. While Phil is packing what most men could only wish they had, so they both do pretty well. Dean, well Deans was always the quiet one. Now just to set the record straight I love my wife and children and would never dream of cheating on her for another woman, it’s nice to flirt but that as far as it goes. For the other guys, well, I’m not their keeper.

At some point I noticed a black taxi pull up outside our window, some of the lads at work subdivide their career with driving a cab as it pays wells and also allows them the freedom to work they own hours. But the reason I noticed this particular taxi was that it was in exceptional condition. It could have been in a car show hosted by Jeremy Clarkson or even been a chauffeur for the wealthy or famous.

As it sat idly by the side of our window, the orange street light flicked off the blue pearlescent paint and flashed in my face; I watched to see if the dark tinted window would reveal the occupant that it hid. But as time went on, no one emerged from the cab, and the black windows hid the driver from view. I did see quite a few people try and hail the driver, but the driver didn’t lower the window and the orange taxi light on top of the cab was off. A while later I had forgotten about the mysterious taxi as a chatty redhead swung her red wine around wildly, and I tried to dodge the droplets that escaped like embers spat from a fire.

Before I knew it, the last bell had been rung, and we all got a last beer before talk turned to where we should go next. I had a day out planned with the missus and kids, so I for one wasn’t going any further. The train station was calling my name, and I was beginning to feel the tiredness setting in. Dean echoed my decision, and the other lads scoffed and tried in vain to lure us to a club, the girls on their arms wasn’t enough for both Dean and me, so we turned our attention to securing a ride to London Bridge Station.

Maybe it was luck or pure coincidence, but as we stepped out the door the taxi I saw earlier fired up his engine and turned on his hire light. The pub was emptying pretty fast, and a guy with a super drunk friend tucked under his arm beat us to the cab. I saw him try the handle, but the taxi pulled off, leaving him cursing and picking his friend off the floor. I thought it was going to past us, but it didn’t, it stopped with precision next to Dean. Dean grabbed to handle and the door open, we both jumped into the gloomy interior, and I told the driver the destination.

I was pretty pissed by this stage, but I do remember finding it quite weird that the glass partition that separated the driver from us was blacked out with limo glass. Black taxi in London don’t have this feature, and I nudged Dean in the ribs and giggled something about being movie stars. Comfortable that we were in safe hands I closed my eyes for what would be a ten-minute journey.

As we approached London Bridge Station, the driver sailed through a green light and under the railway arches. The bump jolted me awake, and I saw Dean staring head with a face as white as snow. I didn’t think the ride had been particularly bad but by his hands clamped to the seats I must have been wrong.

Drunkenly I asked what was wrong and Dean murmured something I couldn’t hear. I asked again as the driver slowed and pulled over in a dark patch under the railway arches.

“The voice.”

It was then that my drunken self-awareness triggered and I sat bolt upright looking around. We still had another 40 meters to the forecourt and didn’t know why the driver had pulled over early.

“The voice.”

The fog in my brain lessen, and the blood in my veins went cold. Have you ever heard something on the edge of your hearing, like when you turn the radio down so low that you can barely hear it but you know it’s playing a song? Well, that what I thought I was hearing. It wasn’t until the engine stopped that I could listen to what was making the noise. Something was speaking at such a low level that I had to strain to hear it but what it was saying will haunt me for the rest of life.

The voice crackled and sounded hollow like it was being spoken from a deep well. As I listen, a mist like substance oozed through the payment window and congealed on the floor by Dean.

“You hurt her, didn’t you? You killed her, didn’t you? We know you did. She calls to us, they all do. All the little girls and boys that you hurt. Yes, we know what you have been doing, and we know what you were thinking tonight. Poor little Sarah, you were going to give her something tonight wasn’t you? Something no little girls or boy should have. Wasn’t you?”

Dean had succumbed to a blubbering mess as the mist rolled and boiled. I shrank as far from the thing as possible as the icy chill emanating from it cause goosebumps to run up my arms. The mist solidified into a grotesque decrypted old figure with no eyes and gaping wounds that littered its body. I couldn’t tell if it was man or women, the skin looked like sandpaper and its breath smelt like rotten flesh. I have seen some horrors as a firefighter especially mangled corpse from train suicides. It was like this body had been put back together from pieces that didn’t match.

Dean was nodding a whimpering as the demon asked him again about what he wanted to do to little Sarah. The beast reached out a hand to clamp Deans face as its chin dropped and stretched to a horrific proportion.

The demon wailed like a storm. Like a million bees swarming from a nest. Like a thousand voices screaming at once from one mouth. Dean screamed too as white vapor poured from his throat into the demon’s mouth. I started to pull the door handle and banged on the window, but no one was around to help or even hear us.

Deans face shrank and wrinkled like a deflated balloon until his bones protruded from his leather skin. I jumped back as his eyes popped and goo splatted the creatures face, but still, it drank his soul. Deans limp carcass crumbled in the seat and the demon closed its mouth and turned to me with gaping fleshy eyes. I begged, pleaded with the thing not eat me and it set the corners of its papery mouth up at the side, before wafting back to vapor and pouring again through the payment hole. Terrified I pinned myself to the seat as the engine fired to life and the taxi moved on.

I didn’t know what Dean had been up to and it mortified me to know what he had been doing. But he was always secretive and often didn’t come to the regular meet ups. Seeing his crumpled remains though. I shuddered again, both for what had happened to him and the justice for his victims.

I have never been so grateful to step out of a taxi then right then. As I fell onto the forecourt and the door slammed shut, I looked about as if in a dream. The cold paving felt fresh and solid, and I turned to see the taxi still at the curb. I somehow could hear a singsong voice from within as it pulled off and drove into the night.

“London Bridge is falling down, falling down.”

Side Note; This is a story from a very good author that I know named Grant Hinton. You can follow him on Twitter @GrantHinton3 where the link to his website will be that contain others stories similar to this one, Thanks again Grant.

My Daughter Saw The Easter Bunny

I hadn’t been sleeping well for more than a month and after a concerned talk from my husband, William, I made a doctor’s appointment. Nightmares had never been a problem for me, but during that month of struggles, I was getting them a lot; creatures, wholly inhuman, plagued my dreams and I felt a deep separation from everything and everyone I loved. I felt that a minor lack of sleep wasn’t a good reason to see the doctor, but deep down, I knew it would help to put our minds at ease.

Sleep threatened to take me while I sat in the uncomfortable office chair, waiting for the doctor to decode my test results. He pulled no punches when delivering to me his diagnosis and the words struck my entire being like an abomination. It took less than a second for me to respond.

“Menopause?!” I blurted out, wanting to lunge across the desk, straight for his throat. He only nodded, silently referring to my medical file.

“It’s not uncommon for a woman your age” he stated.

“My age?” I gritted. “I don’t understand. Wasn’t my last checkup fine?” I desperately hoped that I was the rube in some cruel joke or that I had inadvertently nodded off and was dreaming.

“It was fine and I do not understand it completely, either” he said in a calculated manner, but honestly trying to calm me down. “Is it rare? Yes, but not unheard of.”

“Maybe it’s stress?” I said, praying for a more temporary diagnosis. My insides burned like they knew he was talking about them.

“Your estrogen levels are appropriate, Rebecca, but your oocyte count is basically null.” he said, closing my file and effectively ending any hopes I had to change his mind.

I wasn’t familiar with the term ‘oocyte’, but context defined it for me. “So” I began, feeling almost silly about it, “I have no eggs left?”

He nodded with smile they must only teach you in med school, then went on to lecture me about the female body. My thoughts went instantly to my five year old daughter, Amelia, and the eventual conversation we would have to have about why she would never get to be a big sister.

“It’s not the best news, but try to have a good Easter, Rebecca” he said as I walked out of his office. His sentiment was sincere, but it stung nonetheless.  

I pulled out of the parking lot and my tears were free to fall at will; I wanted to get them out of my system as much as possible before returning home.

‘How am I going to tell William?’ I asked myself a dozen times during my drive. And every time, it brought on another fall of tears, so I took the long way home. I trudged through the varying levels of grief at record pace and by the time I reached my driveway, I had convinced myself that everything was going to be all right. I had a diagnosis, but no cause. I had a million more questions, but they all ended up with the same answer. It tore at my womanhood and my sense of purpose, but I had convinced myself that we would make the best of it.

“Hi, honey” William said before I was fully through the door. Amelia greeted me with a wave from the couch next to him.

“Hi, guys” I smiled. As bad as things seemed to be, everything I was thankful for was sitting not twenty feet away.

“How was your checkup?” William asked, ignorant of the results.

“Fine” I shrugged, hoping to buy a little more time before I had to relay the news to them.

“Well, Ames here was just telling me an interesting story” he said, holding back a chuckle.

“Is that right?” I said, thankful for the distraction and taking my spot on the loveseat.

“That’s right” he said and gave Amelia a playful nudge. “Go Ahead. Tell mommy.”

“I saw the Easter Bunny!” Amelia shouted, nearly bouncing off the couch.

“That’s good, honey” I replied, trying to hide the fact that my mind was far away. She was too excited to notice.

“Yeah! In your room the other night” she finished.

“Okay” I said with a forced smile that caused hers to drop. I guess my response wasn’t exuberant enough for her liking.

I wanted to disappear into something mindless, so I turned on Hulu, and clicked the first thing in our Keep Watching list. It was obvious that William had been at the helm of the TV because, right away, it started playing some pedantic documentary about alien abductions and government conspiracies.

”Theories abound as to why these beings abduct mainly females” the narrator spoke, but I tuned him out. “… our physiology… reproductive systems… alien hybrids” he continued.

“Why was he here so early, Ames?” William, the eternal enabling father, humored her. “Easter is a still few weeks away.”

Amelia started to answer, but stopped and pointed at the television. “That’s him!” she belted out.

William and I looked at the television to see an artist’s rendition of the supposed ‘Gray Aliens’. It had the stereotypical bulbous head, almond-shaped, black eyes, and scrawny frame. We fell literally speechless, waiting for Amelia to laugh at what was obviously a joke.

 “He told me something, but I forgot” Amelia muttered. “He said he was looking for something.”

“Who did, Ames?” William asked. “The Easter Bunny?”

”To begin their hybridization program,” the narrator continued, “they start by harvesting eggs of the abductees.”

“Why do you think it was the Easter Bunny, Amelia?” I asked, more concerned than curious by that point.

Her eyes lit up with realization and she shouted, “Eggs! That’s what he said he needed!”

Side Note; This story was written by a talented Twitter writer friend of mind. Give him a follow - @BradDracV and thanks again for your submission.

The Blue Men Of Minch

The Minch is a strait of the Atlantic sea channel that separates the north-west Highlands between the inner and outer Hebrides in Scotland. It is a popular spot for sailors passing between islands and also for tourists who want to relax in leisure while enjoying the beautiful scenery that it has to offer. Besides all the attraction to the place it has a secret, a secret that lies under the sea that was said to have taken many lives.

Legend has it that at the half way point between the two islands there is a clan of people known as "The Blue Men Of Minch". They are known to conduct the nature of the sea ; if they were at peace or sleeping then the waters would be calm but if they were in a foul mood then they had the ability to conjure up storms as they pleased. People that lived on the surrounding islands believed that these existed and stated that they were in human form from the torso upwards which could only be seen but their lower half resembled that of a mermaid.

Some people even went as far to bring the blue men gifts. Pouring things like ale into the sea as they thought that their generosity towards the blue men would be reciprocated in the form of extra seaweed washed up on the island shores that could be used as fertilizer. A candle was lit on the night of Halloween and a small festival took place every year to pay respect to the clan.

The reason for the people paying so much honour was that the blue men were known to be very temperamental, especially if not cherished in the way that they thought was fitting. If a boat tried to pass and had the blue men not been serviced or treated correctly then you would be in great danger. They would gather at the half way point in the sea and form a border demanding to speak with the captain of the ship.

When faced with the skipper of the vessel they would engage in a rhyming confrontation which consisted of chanting a rhyme and if the captain could impress the chief of the blue men then the ship would be allowed to pass as they would be impressed by their sharp wit and appreciation shown. Those who were unfortunate enough to not have that sharp of a tongue would be dragged under the water and drowned horrifically

A famous Scottish folklore expert .named Donald Alexander Mackenzie (24 July 1873 - 2 March 1936) has said that this was an account of a rhyming engagement that was passed by a former captain of a ship;

Chief of the Blue Men:

Man of the black cap, what do you say

As your proud ship cleaves the brine?

Skipper answers;

My speedy ship takes the shortest way,

And I’ll follow you line by line.

Chief of the Blue Men:

My men are eager, my men are ready

To drag you below the waves--

Skipper answers:

My ship is ready, my ship is steady,

If it sank it would wreck your caves.

The impressive nature of the answer had impressed the chief of the blue men and the ship was waved by safely.

The origins of these people are said to be truly unknown. People have gave their theories such as that these were once slaves of North Africa that the Vikings took with them to Scotland many years ago and then disposed of into the sea once they were no longer able to work or needed.

If you are ever in the beautiful region of The Minch then you will see all the lovely surroundings that it has to offer but remember that under the water lie these people that truly give a different meaning to the phrase "Respect the Sea"

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.