Horror House

I started puking up blood. The copper taste never really left my mouth after that day. I keeled by the bathtub, vomiting more and more. She was beside me, standing there menacingly.

I watched, as though an old film, and saw what had happened to her.

There was a dead girl with a heart in her mouth and no eyes, that part of her face was wide with astonishment and torment. She kept trying to scream, but she couldn't. The heart was fatty, like a mass of gross tissue or a tumor trying to escape a tortured soul. Often veins would crawl out of her skin.

She could hear him coming, the ringing, and slow vibrations in the air and objects around her, warning her, but to no avail. There was no help for her soul.

He always used to come into her house and rearrange her possessions, attempting to possess her. Sometimes when she was out of the house and about, she'd come back, and the furniture would be tossed about or just moved dramatically. Then, sometimes when she slept, he would come in and watch her and turn the faucets on, or the television. The little trinkets she had sitting on her shelves, some were mermaids, one was Betty Boop, and he would move them or lay them down, but never break them.

She couldn't stop him. He was otherworldly.

Sometimes, she'd be standing in the kitchen, and static would rise up through her body, she'd loose colors of the spectrum and her mind would fade out to gray. Always, all she would hear was the ringing, and it tingled her bones, tickling them. She could feel the objects moving by themselves. But it was always him. He would allow her no one and nothing.

She would cry, but she cannot.

She would scream, but she cannot.

She would leave... but eventually, she could not. 

The Souls

“We live, as people of all sorts, then we die in all manner of ways, and then our souls leave us; and so the soul travels. Through the air, up through space, past the stars, planets, and other beings. The soul travels such a long way, it cannot be measured. It passes through other parallels and universes, but never becomes distorted. You would think that the soul would become light, or find a body, but truthfully, the soul travels onwards, forever searching. There are no all knowing beings to guide or damn our souls, they just float, and float on. Peace is something that cannot be known to the soul, bodily or by any other means. Our souls are everlasting, and ever wanting things. If we could have found peace by our body or soul alone, we would have found it long before now.

“The souls don't remember anything of their lives, only vague, vague thoughts they cannot decipher; but there are some souls that seem to know where they are going, and stop occasionally. Once they realize that nothing will happen though, they keep going. Sometimes, souls get sad, and stop floating. It doesn't matter how old or young the soul, they all stop sometimes. Still, nothing happens, and they are forced to go on, but to what? This is the final frontier, the blackness, limbo, and no more death awaits. Only time and space are ahead. There is enough room in the ever looming universe for all the souls that any planet could generate, and so it goes on.

“Sometimes the young souls get feisty, they play and twitter about happily, joyfully, enjoying the small companionship of other souls. It is impossible for souls to physically play with or harm each other because they lack bodies, and so there is no reason or want to fight each other, but there is no way to hold hands or hug. It is good that wars do not exist, but nor can love. Souls want very earnestly to find something, anything; an answer, more questions, a way. If any souls have found anything, no other souls would know about it, else they would have all been gone by now. The souls want, and grow impatient. The souls want, find naught and still they want.

“Then, something strange happens...”

The Crow

I held the dove in my hands, her panicked cries pierced the morning air. I grasped her tightly, constricting her wings as she shook with terror. I felt the feathers between my fingers, so soft was the down, how fragile her bones. I was careful with her, and now was the final moment. I began to choke her, her twitchy movements stopped suddenly. The birds eyes watched me with evil in them. I felt like my soul had been taken from me, along with her life.

This had to be done though.

I kneel at the end of the pier and I hold the dove loosely in my palms. The water staring back at me is dark, almost black. The moss and algae covering most of it's surface seems to dissipate and I place the bird on the surface. The pond echos in my heart, and begs the offering. I let the dove float slowly to the bottom. I feel her sinking.

I wait, and I feel my heart rushing to keep beating. I wait for but a moment, and I feel the water separate, and make a path, and I know she is coming up. Her wings are spread as she levitates out of the dirty leech water. Her once pure wings now are lacquered in black, and the gloss of her coat resonated in the rays of the sun. She's been to the other side now, and come back stronger. Like me.

She watches me, knowing my pain, and with her rebirth, she lands on my shoulder. When she nuzzles her beak to my skin I feel cold. She lays down, clawing at my skin. Then I feel a burning like tar over my shoulders, I can't move. She's digging her way into me. I start to scream, but hold it back, I hold onto my arms for balance. I claw my arms until I feel the burning growing like a stem out of my shoulder blade's. I watch hesitantly as the wings form, and the feathers unravel.

I feel her beak inside my throat, and know the power that she has given me. 

Vintage Satanism

While she's painting her face with red lips, and thick lashes, the roar of the world is passing by. Her breasts are held high by under wire like metal clasps holding her together, and her waist cinched in the classic hourglass figure. Her idol Marilyn would be proud. As she curls her hair the only thing she burns is her soul. Her personality slowly slipping away while her baby blues look only to one thing.

Satan.

He is her everything. 

Butterfly

Sometimes when I was a little girl, I would wonder if caterpillars got lost. I would see them in the gardens in the spring, and then they would disappear. I asked my mother about it and she smiled, saying that they never got lost, they were only hiding. She took me back out to the garden that evening, and up in a tree she pointed out the chrysalis' under one of the willow's branches. I wondered what would happen to them after this.

She brought me back out to the gardens a few weeks later, and I saw my first butterfly's. They were monarch's. The yellow of their wings matched the roses. But there had been one small cocoon that had not erupted with life. My mother said it was a late bloomer, and that it too would become a beautiful butterfly with time.

Although with the spring, came the storms. Only a day after I saw the butterfly's, the worst storm I can remember came through. My mother held me all through the night, because I couldn't sleep. I wasn't scared, but something was very wrong, and I could feel it deep in my bones.

The next morning I went into the garden, while my mother was still asleep. The storm had come and gone with little to no damage to the garden's, other than the occasional branch snagging on the rose bushes. Everything was fine until I came to the old willow where the chrysalis' had been. Lightening had struck the willow, splitting it in two. The branch that had held the chrysalis had smashed into the ground, and was buried deep in the earth.

All I could think about was that one small cocoon that now would never know life again. 

Dead

And so the skeletons came forth from the bodies of men, and they led themselves unto the seas, where they lived and they built with the stones of the old world, a paradise for the dead, and the dying, so that they could be received back into the arms of their Creator.

Yet that day would never come, and so they waited and waited, for it was all that their weary bones could do. They waited forever, and forever more; and when the day came that they could wait no more, they passed on from this realm, into the nothingness and solitude of eternity. 

The Carnival

The carnival leaves town...

The carnival always leaves town...

It goes away, far, and far.

When the carnival leaves town, the children...

Die.

The carnival leaves town,

No laughter.

The Ferris wheel is rocking back and forth.

The corpses fall from the seats,

Egad, the children stuffed on candy apples,

They've grown fat and sluggish.

The town stops for the carnival.

The lights all dim because everyone's gone...

Gone to the carnival.

Night after night.

The faces blur together, and the clowns laugh themselves to sleep.

Walk down the boardwalk

With the nice music and the nice people and the nice treats and the nice rides.

No one wants the carnival to leave town.

Cotton in my mouth.

I cannot scream.

When the carnival leaves town.