‘Back to normal’

The thing is, he’s always been like that. ‘Normal’. At least as long as I’ve known him. Surely he was the same ‘soul on fire’ from the very beginning. There’s a very genuine feeling you get when you first meet Denny. He may be a lot of things but ‘phony’ or ‘insincere’ isn’t words you’d ever use to describe him. Sure; ‘morose’, ‘brooding’, and ‘tortured’ definitely come to mind. They definitely fit. No one would argue with that but I think those states of mind come with the territory. It’s not easy being dead.

Yeah, he’s a decaying corpse in advanced stages of purification but that would never stop a boundless soul like Denny Jones. If anything, his absence of a pulse just adds to his authenticity. No one can say he doesn’t have a real reason for being morbid either. Festering pustules and oozing orifices are way up on the list of ‘dead guy’ motivations for being ‘moody’. Not to mention, the stark lack of dating options. You’d be ‘cranky’ too if you lacked a male appendage to consummate with.

Confidentiality, ‘that’ is one of the first things to fall off. He’s kinda sensitive about it, too. If you really want to see a rotting corpse get highly agitated, just ask him ‘how’s it hanging?’ He’s liable to snap. He hates that expression. The thing is, he’s a good guy. You shouldn’t kid your short friends about not being able to dunk. You shouldn’t rib your pale friends about having no tan; and you shouldn’t rub it in to your corpse pals about missing body parts. It’s just not cool. It ain’t right.

Denny wanders the back alleys of town most of the time. Occasionally he will venture outside his territory to the countryside though. Like most of us, he’s just looking for meaning to the universe. He’s inquisitive in that way. He likes to pick people’s brains for answers. If only we could steer him toward a less destructive way of achieving that. Then there wouldn’t be such an unfair bias against the dead. They are just a misunderstood class of people. The sooner we all realize that, Denny can stop running from the cops. He’s been a fugitive ever since he ate a few of them. Hopefully things can get back to normal soon.

Posted in creepy, Different Perspectives, Fiction Stories, Horror, Humor, Macabre, Murder, Science Fiction, Thought provoking, Thriller, Twilight Zone Inspired, Utopia & Armageddon, Whimsical | Leave a comment

‘I am the dark’

In the daytime, people are largely unconcerned with danger. They carry on with their individual lives and go their separate ways. It’s not that they are unaware of the lurking risks of life. Each of them just basks in the reassuring glow of the sun. It’s apparently human nature to relish in any false sense of illumination. They pretend that a glowing ball of fire in the sky provides a universal reprieve from peril.

In the evenings as the sun fades, they turn on lamps to maintain a safe distance from the dimming light. They lock their front doors and draw the curtains tight. In their minds, relative safety is just a light switch away. Despite this ritual, a sense of unease or subconscious dread still looms in the air.

The tenuous bridge connecting day and night narrows to that of a footpath. Begrudgingly, they turn off their lights and try to go to sleep. All the while reassuring their little ones that there isn’t a boogeyman in the closet, or under the bed. Its a brittle promise they wish they could believe themselves. Only a pale security light on the lamp post outside shines through their curtains to keep me away.

Once all vestiges of sunlight have faded, I drift into action and shroud the night in harrowing darkness. My precocious children scurry about in the long shadows and slither up the walls to explore. They feel safest in the security of my enveloping cloak. A few people still keep their lights on in a feeble attempt to hold my cold presence at bay. Regardless, I’ll find a way to push back against their security. I bathe the world in deep shades of darkness.

My nocturnal breath rattles screen doors and shakes all the tree limbs. My minions knock over trash cans and howl mysteriously at the moon. These lost creatures of the night tug mischievously on your door knobs and cause the walls of your home to creak. All with a goal to remind the terrified diurnal dwellers that they aren’t safe. Not in the least. I rule the shadow world while they quake helplessly in their beds. I am the dark.

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‘Pride courts an ego’

Gilded with gold.

Multi-layered in sin.

Pride courts an ego;

both thick and thin.

Where do ‘we’ stand,

as the world spins?

That’s not important,

after it ends.

Posted in Inspirational, Mantras, Poetry, Recollections, Uncategorized, Whimsical | Leave a comment


The death of Joe Earl Dunn didn’t sadden many people. Depending on who you asked, he was ‘eccentric’ or downright crazy. Every town has one. A wild-eyed conspiracy theorist who tries to enlist anyone who will listen, into his armada of delusions. Being a colorful hillbilly soul isn’t exactly endearing though. Everyone tolerated his strange antics, but no one really ‘knew’ him that well. They accepted that he couldn’t help being the odd way he was; but that didn’t mean they wanted to be around him. A dog is gonna bark, a cow is gonna moo, and Joe Earl was going to say odd, awkward things which made those around him uncomfortable.

The nonsense he volunteered on a daily basis ranged from Bigfoot sightings to claims of stock market manipulation by aliens. Somehow, his psychotic web of redneck conspiracies meshed together to form a ‘labyrinth of truth’ for him. There was no reasoning with the man. His mind was made up and he was convinced his unique worldview was the enlightened perspective.

Shortly before he died, he let it slip to a few uneasy townspeople that a malicious ‘groundhawg’ was terrorizing his remote farmhouse. That itself isn’t strange. They are quite common in the area and would be destructive to any farmland they inhabit. No, the disturbing part was that Joe Earl swore that the large subterranean rodent was targeting him deliberately for trying to smoke it out of its burrow and run it off. More specifically, he claimed the animal verbally taunted him day and night, with ‘smack talk’!

Honestly though, in a lifetime filled with ridiculous statements, it didn’t seem any more outrageous than the other strange things he said from time to time. Joe swore the annoying critter had declared a personal war on him. From shining a bright light in his window at night, to starting a series of nearby forest fires, it was supposedly out to get him. He even called the furry little rascal ‘Satan’. He told a clerk at the general store that he suspected ‘Satan’ was sneaking into his home at night and poisoning his ‘medicinal’ whisky. You just had to take what the old kook told you with a grain of salt. It was just another day in rural life.

With no known family or friends, the story of Joe Earl might have came to a screeching halt when he died but there is an unusual postscript to his strange story. You see, Mr. Dunn was rumored to be stinking rich. He paid cash for everything and had never worked a day in his life, (as far as anyone knew). He didn’t have a family to exhaust his unexplained wealth upon. Whatever the source of his endless stream of money, it appeared to be unspoken for. The authorities failed to find any cache of funds when they discovered his rigor-mortis stiffened corpse in the bathroom. It wasn’t long before treasure hunters started roaming his abandoned plot, looking for his lost money.

Locating his hiding spot became a competitive game among the town’s unscrupulous dregs. They didn’t know where to look but hoped his secret trove of money would turn up with a little bit of research. The law tried to protect the estate but the posted ‘no trespassing’ signs did little to dissuade treasure seekers. After ransacking the house with no success, they turned their attention to his ramshackle outbuildings. To their disappointment, neither of the storage sheds or Joe’s dilapidated barn contained anything of value. As thieves are notoriously lazy, all but a handful of them gave up and went home.

For the more ambitious looters who were left, they turned their attention to various other places on Joe Earl’s farm. Namely a series of freshly dug holes in the back yard. After a few minutes however, they realized the large holes weren’t made by human beings. One of the scavengers had heard the old man’s tale about the sadistic ‘groundhawg’ and put two and two, together. Just as they were about to abandon the effort, a metal detector indicated a large bundle of metal objects below the surface. Figuring the old man made up the evil rodent story to hide his stash of valuables, the greedy men renewed their digging effort. Groundhogs aren’t known to bury anything made of magnetic metal, but kooky old men sometimes do!

Once they conspirators reached the five foot level in the ground, they began to lose hope. It seemed hard to believe that an ordinary metal detector could detect something so deep under the surface. Even less likely that the old man had hidden money that far down. Still, the machine screeched in obvious distress as they made progress. They were too far into the excavation to give up now. They had to find out what was down there.

Finally their shovel’s hit pay-dirt. In this case, they finally uncovered the source of the metal detector signal. It was a zippo cigarette lighter and a metal flashlight. Amazingly both were like new and in perfect working condition! Also in the hole was a pocket sized mirror and a 25 caliber handgun. At the back section of the shoveled hole was a continuation of the original rodent burrow. It clearly went much deeper into the ground.

The men marveled at the man made objects inside the groundhog’s nest. One of them chuckled at the thought of finding ‘Satan’s den’ after all. Perhaps old man Dunn wasn’t completely crazy after all. Why a wild animal would want to steal human tools was anyone’s guess but they certainly didn’t believe ‘Satan’ was really pointing the flashlight at his window or starting forest fires. That notion surpassed absurdity. Everyone knows that animals aren’t capable of revenge thoughts or seeking vendettas.

They assumed that (like crows and certain birds), the ‘groundhawg’ just coveted ‘shiny things’. That was a tidy explanation they could all live with. It was all just coincidence that these items in the burrow seemed loosely connected to Joe Earl’s wild claims. At least they clung to that until the bottle of rat poison turned up a little deeper in the hole. It was then that the men started gently filling Satan’s hole back up. They knew what the coroner’s report would show about Joe Earl’s cause of death. He shouldn’t have messed with the little furry devil’s hole.

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To be honest, I don’t know what’s real and what is fantasy anymore. Perhaps you can help me decide. It all started quite recently. I retired to my bed to take a mid-afternoon nap. Being able to lie down on the weekends and not worry about an alarm clock is heavenly; at least it used to be. I was accustomed to sleeping on those weekend naps until my body felt rested.

Upon waking from this leisurely snooze a few days ago, everything seemed ‘off’. There was nothing I could point to at first. It was simply a lingering feeling of discomfort. Only now am I able to cite specific examples. I’ll detail them and hopefully you’ll weigh in whenever you feel you have some helpful input. Having another perspective will be fantastic.

“How did you do that?”; My wife snorted in amusement. I had no idea what she was talking about at the time. She cocked her head sideways and raised an eyebrow before trying to clarify what she meant. “How did you walk through the house, go out the front door, and then magically reappear at the top of the stairs?” Unfortunately her explanation also failed to clue me in.

“What are you talking about, hon? I just woke up from my mid-afternoon nap. I haven’t been downstairs since this morning. Honest.”

She looked at me with a certain level of annoyed skepticism. I could tell she didn’t believe me but she is the sort of person who avoids conflict at all costs. Instead in engaging in an honest but uncomfortable dialog to come to an agreement, my wife would continue to hold a differing opinion (in silence). The irony was, in her efforts to ‘keep the peace’, I would get even more agitated at her insincere stance. She would nod in false agreement while only doing so to avoid an argument.

Ultimately I decided to let it go. It wasn’t worth getting worked up about. That might have been the end of it, except I had a number of similar experiences during the next couple days. The first few instances were a bit strange, but with each successive déjà vu-like experience, it grew increasingly more bizarre. A handful of odd coincidences are one thing, but It almost felt like another ‘me’ was lurking a dozen minutes ahead, at every turn. What started out as a curious coincidence rapidly evolved into a consuming obsession.

The next morning, I got out of bed and went downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Without saying a word, my wife came over with a gleam in her eyes and gave me a very passionate kiss. I returned her unexpected enthusiasm but what she said next, stopped me dead in my tracks. It was too concrete of a statement to be dismissed as a simple misunderstanding or to be brushed aside.

“Careful! You aren’t a young man anymore, hon.”; She teased. “You should probably take a little rest to recuperate after that amazing ‘quickie’ we just had!”

I couldn’t process her words for a long time. They strayed too far from the truth that I knew. They implied a horrific measure of infidelity. One I simply couldn’t accept. I could tell she fully believed what she said. She definitely wasn’t kidding about it. I was faced with gut-wrenching knowledge that my wife had just been unintentionally unfaithful to me. Immediately her whole countenance changed from seeing my mortified reaction. I just turned and walked away in a panic.

She incorrectly assumed she had hurt my feelings about the ‘old man’ insinuation. She tried to apologize but I had to find a non-verbal way to explain my mortal disheartenment. My disgust wasn’t aimed at her. It was related to the surreal situation. One that I was at a loss to explain. I didn’t even know where to begin. How do you tell your spouse she… I couldn’t even finish the thought.

“It… wasn’t me honest. I just came downstairs.”

She looked at me with abject horror. I had just pointed out that she had sexual relations with a look-alike stranger who just happened to be lurking around our house! Her lower lip began to quiver. Obviously her consent hinged on the fact that she believed it to be me. I had a hard time accepting that this imposter was so similar that she couldn’t tell the difference. I was about to call the cops and file a report when she started crying hysterically.

I assumed my wife was dreading all the personal questions she would have to answer over the incident. It would definitely be embarrassing for her. She’d be poked and prodded and given a rape test. I don’t think she felt like being interrogated over the whole sordid affair. I was sick to my stomach as well. What if he had diseases? What if she became pregnant? I was freaking out almost as much as she seemed to be.

Still, I couldn’t believe I was having to comfort her over an accidental infidelity against me! It bordered on ludicrous; and on top of that, we had a damn creep lurking around our home! Since my wife seemed to want to keep it a private matter, I went to grab my pistol. The SOB was going to eat a bullet if I caught sight of him.

To my horror, my gun was gone! I checked the hiding place three times. Somehow he knew exactly where it was hidden and got the drop on me. I was livid; but also very frightened. How did he know where it was? Did he know about the wall safe with our valuables? What were his dark intentions? He’d already seduced my wife and stolen my firearm. This shadowy figure always seemed to be a dozen steps ahead of us. I told my wife that we needed to leave, immediately. He might still be lurking around the homestead. We had to get away. But instead of heeding my logical advice, she looked at me with prolonged worry and deep suspicion in her eyes.

“What is it? We need to go. Now!” Anger rose in my blood. In a move I never expected in a million years, She started backing away. I couldn’t fathom what was going on. Then I saw ‘him’. He was standing directly behind me, with the barrel pointed right at my face! I was tempted to lunge at the stalking bastard to save both of us but I knew that was a suicide move. He only had to pull the trigger. I’d have to traverse more than ten feet of space in an instant to wrench it away from him. Instead of heroics, I was forced to be polite while staring down the barrel of my very own gun.

I couldn’t help but marvel at how much this imposter resembled me! Finally it made sense how he had fooled my wife and caused us so much grief and earlier confusion. We were spitting images of each other. To add insult to injury, she slowly crept past me. I thought she was going to run out the front door and go for help. Instead she walked right past me and stood beside HIM! It was surreal. “Shoot him!”; My wife screamed to the doppelgänger.

I was stunned. My wife was talking about killing ME! I reached out toward her. I pleaded for her to trust me. I tried to reassure her that I was the man she married. I was the one she slept beside each night. It was I that asked her to marry me. Not this pale imposter threatening to shoot me in my own basement. Somehow this evil Svengali had hypnotized her. I was having to defend my life against the very fiend who had usurped my life.

“He’s clearly crazy!”; My wife said to him about me. “He really believes he is you. That sort of delusion of dangerous. There’s no telling what he might do if we call the police again. He’ll get out on bail like last time and break the new restraining order. This is the fifth time he’s broke in here. It’s not going to stop. The legal system just doesn’t work. You’ve just got to take him out. Otherwise we’ll never be free of him!”

Her words cut me to the bone. She had fully accepted the charlatan in my clothes as her real husband! It was a betrayal that I knew I’d never be able to overcome. I decided to goad this thief of hearts into killing me. Eventually she’d realize the huge mistake she made in choosing the wrong person, but by then it would be too late. That would be a painful lesson she’d never forget. For whatever reason, the intruder decided to call the authorities. It was probably not the first mistake he’d made that day. When they arrived, I assumed I’d be able to quickly prove my identity and they would take him away.

Considering how painful it was that she sided with him over me, I wasn’t sure what our living arrangements were going to be after that. Even my laminated driver’s license didn’t seem to convince her. She claimed it was a fake. I demanded the police examine his ID. That would surely settle who the real master of the house was; even if my wife was too disoriented to recognize me. Unfortunately, the authorities took too long to recognize that I was the authentic man of the house. I began to grow agitated and impatient. As more time wore on, that level of frustration turned to outright anger.

They took me away for observation. They said our home environment was too toxic and I needed to be temporary removed, to avoid any chance of domestic abuse. I scoffed at the idea. I’ve never laid a hand on her; in all of our years together. My fury was focused squarely at the bumbling officers who couldn’t recognize it was my home; and she was my wife. It only hurt worse that she was unable or unwilling to corroborate my real identity. To be honest, I mostly resisted the escort out of my house because I worried what the imposter might do to her, once I wasn’t there to protect her. You believe me, don’t you Doctor?

Posted in Controversial topics, creepy, Different Perspectives, Fiction Stories, Horror, Macabre, Mystery, Science Fiction, Thought provoking, Thriller, Twilight Zone Inspired, Uncategorized, Utopia & Armageddon, Whimsical | Leave a comment

‘Phoenix house’ (edited)

Deep in the woods at the edge of the Conasaga river lies the charred remains of a cursed dwelling. Over a hundred years ago, it was reportedly reduced to ashen rubble by the manifestation of determined flames. Despite this judicious outcome, the mortal danger therein wasn’t completely eliminated. The purifying fire didn’t fully exorcize the evil that is said to dwell within.

Between dusk and dawn on ‘All Saint’s Day’, the bewitched ruins are said to rise up from the ashes. Like the mythical Phoenix, ‘it’ assumes its previous form and tries to lure unsuspecting victims. During those enchanted hours; any foolhardy soul who ventures through the threshold is said to be doomed to be stranded in the haunted past. All-too-soon; the unholy structure returns back to the mystical realm of spirits. The trapped occupant or occupants wander its labyrinth-like passageways and corridors forever.

“Like everyone else in town, I’d heard all the local wide-eyed tales. The ‘spectral mansion at the edge of the wilderness’ was one of the most popular, spellbinding yarns among the old-timers. Being a skeptic, I scoffed at hearing the fairy tale and dismissed it as being pure folklore. Any logical-minded person would have done the same, for that matter. About the only danger in such a remote area is the indigenous bear and snake population. At least those were my own words of wisdom when I originally heard the fanciful story.

Years later however, I happened to wander into the nearby woods and stumbled upon its fabled remains. At the very edge of the charred ruins I found a weathered tome; a stones-throw from the eastern wall of the razed dwelling. It was apparently penned by a man given to flights of diabolical fancy, or burdened by a terrible truth. I’ll let you decide which is true. I can only vouch for the authenticity of the ruins. It is most definitely there.


I, Samuel Archabald Hain have a cautionary tale to impart to you, my attentive reader. Many, if not all; will scoff at what I am about to reveal. I implore that you consider my words with an open mind. It may just save your life. It is too late for me.

I was on a hunting trip in the forest when I ventured into the Conasaga river valley; in search of my intended prey. Nightfall slipped up on me sooner than I expected. I set up camp for the night in a clearing at the edge of the creek. It was my hope that the hypnotic sounds of the swiftly-flowing water would lull me into an instant slumber. Unfortunately, the gleaming moonlight was so bright that it shined through my closed eyelids. I should have suspected that the glowing orb was luring me to my eternal demise but I was still ignorant to its malignant nature. Immediately I fell prey to its evil mission. My vision was drawn to the rays it cast on the opposite side of the creek.

To my utter disbelief; a stately mansion stood perched atop the river bank! There had been nothing but a shallow clearing in its remote location a few moments earlier. Of that I would sworn to anyone. I rubbed my eyes but the curious vision remained sharply in focus.

I was immediately reminded of the old folktale of the spectral house in the woods. I openly considered that I was only dreaming about the long-forgotten legend, but it all felt so real. I wasn’t willing to dismiss it as unconscious fantasy. I had to know.

Of my state of consciousness, I was uncertain. The fact was that it didn’t matter at the time. I had to see what was beyond the threshold. The heavy price I paid for that natural curiosity was eternal damnation. In this nightmarish limbo of lost souls that I dwell; I have cursed my fatal impulse a thousand times. About the only consolation I have left is that I may be able to help others avoid my fate. If you are reading this warning, it is you that I wish to save.

I staggered across the cool stream with hopes it would shock me awake; but I had no such luck. Once I stood upon the other bank, I was but a stone toss from the front door. The ominous structure bore the illusion of solidity but there were hints to the contrary. An occasional glimmer of moonlight shined through the walls to betray its spectral status. I could feel the hair on my neck stand on end as I sought the courage to step forward. A chilling wind at my back seemed to propel me toward it.

After an eternity of indecision, I stepped up to the door and turned the rustic knob. It offered no resistance to my intrusion. In my nervous stupor, I failed to recognize the implicitly accommodating mechanism of a trap. Although I didn’t know it at the time, my fate was sealed forever when the door closed behind me.

Once inside, I had a surreal feeling that the outside world I came from, no longer mattered. Reality began to slip away. Time itself held little meaning. The only thing that separated me from my freedom was just three inches of resistant wood and yet, I didn’t care. Strange feelings compelled to explore the mysteries of the upper floor. I marveled at how solid the banister felt as I walked up the spiral staircase of the damned. It was as if I was floating in a vivid, ethereal dream.

Each step creaked of aged timber but the expected echo of my footfalls was curiously absent. In retrospect; I realized the walls were not solid enough to produce an audible reflection. ‘Ghost houses’ have ‘ghost walls’; I reminded myself. The stairs creaked not because of my weight. They creaked because my solid body intruded upon it’s semi-solid mass.

In a large room upstairs, I found the glorious treasure of ten kingdoms scattered from the floor to the rafters. It was only awaiting a fool to happen along and claim it all. I’m ashamed to admit that I became that greed-intoxicated fool.

The trove of riches sparkled in the moonlight with an alluring glint.

There were golden goblets and ornate pieces of jewelry littering the floor in waist heigh piles; along with precious gems as large as a man’s fist. I stuffed my bulging pockets until they were spilling over. Then I hung a dozen golden chains around my neck to flee the phantom house with as much booty as I could escape with. In all the chaos and monetary lust, I was in deep denial about my fate.

As I went to depart, I was aghast to see that the staircase was nothing more than a faint reflection. I could actually pass my hands through the railing at the top. Frantically I sought another avenue to escape the second floor but there was none. A painful realization quickly set in. All the material riches in the world mean nothing to a man trapped in the lost realm of spirits. As if to put even more irony in my salted wounds, my bulging pockets were now full of worthless river sand. I could almost hear the unknown master of the house laughing at my predicament.

The spirit of the determined can be hard to kill. Although disheartened, I still hadn’t completely accepted my fate in ‘Phoenix House’. The survivor in me sought an alternative means to the ground floor. What first appeared to be a survivable leap; changed when I witnessed that the downstairs floor was nothing more than a hazy mist. I could see the foundation; two dozen feet below. A fall from that height would mean almost certain death. At the time I still had a fleeting hope of survival.

Even that desperation was about to fade; along with all evidence of this accursed place. A new level of panic set in to my sinking resolve. I watched as the house burst into phantom flames and slowly faded away. Soon I was the only physical entity left in the smoldering ruins. Fear of the unknown brought me unprecedented anxiety. I couldn’t fathom what my future held and I wouldn’t wish that empty feeling on my greatest enemy.

The truth is, there is no future here and there is no past. I’m just a part of Phoenix house now. One cog in a very complex, entrapment machine. Time has no meaning within these walls. I am uncertain of how many years has passed since I fell prey to it. What remains of my former self is subject to the same arcane rules that all parts of the mechanism are bound by. I cease to exist for all but one brief period per year. Upon that anniversary, I spring into action and attempt to document this woeful tale in my journal. Each entry brings me closer to completion of my truthful testimony; before the cycle ends. It is my hope that soon, no one else will ever have to share my wretched fate.

If you’ve found this testament on the riverbank, then I must have found a portal to the outside world; to toss it from. Please consider and accept my dire warning! You are very close to unimaginable danger! I can’t implore you enough to avoid the accursed place and to flee from here immediately. Save yourself before it is too late.


The trapped entity who was once
Samuel Archabald Hain”


That was the final entry in his compelling tale. Of the sanity of the author I can not vouch, but as stated before, I would be willing to testify that the ruins do indeed exist. I would also swear that I did find his discarded diary near the riverbank on the east side of the dwelling. I must confess that the previous dark mystique and his chilling words did hasten my departure. I didn’t dare stick around to see if the rest is true. Judge me a superstitious fool if you desire. I decided to err on the side of self-preservation.

Posted in Children's Stories, creepy, Different Perspectives, Fiction Stories, Ghost stories, Gothic horror, Horror, Macabre, Mystery, Science Fiction, Supernatural, Thought provoking, Thriller, Twilight Zone Inspired, Utopia & Armageddon | Leave a comment

‘and to all, a good night’

You know, I’m the one who shouts out in a crowded movie theater that monkeys can’t fly. Well, they can’t. They aren’t born with wings and even if they were, they would have to be huge to support their body mass. At least I was that guy until I found myself surrounded by a mob of anal, ‘rule accountants’ who were obsessed with not breaking the so-called ‘fourth wall’.

How dare I point out the obvious? We were all sitting in a dark movie theater pretending to be unaware that we were pretending. It was a coordinated effort to be obtuse and my stubborn refusal to play along was apparently distracting to the throngs of zombified participants. I was ostracized for this rebellion but I still found hilarious irony in it. They also had to break ‘the 4th wall’ to recognize my little anathema. I was dragging them out of ‘the matrix’, one red pill at a time.

Naturally those who liked the cushy realm of fantasy they droned in, were very resistant to my charitable efforts. You know what? That only made me more obstinate and determined. They were once like us. They had hopes and dreams. They had good days and bad days. They had bills to pay and demeaning jobs to attend. I try to remind myself of that before I break into their homes and dispatch each of them.

Just watching the milky-haze leave their glazed-over eyes should have be enough. I was helping them escape a black pit of cluelessness. Strangely, I found myself envying their counterfeit oblivion! It would have been far more peaceful to float in a dystopian delusion than to be mired down in the gritty murk of the real world. Life is too hard for some and I’m there to help. I travel all over the world to deliver the precious gift of lucidity. Especially to the ones who believe in ‘good will to all men.’

There’s usually a little resistance at the beginning. It’s as if they realize I’m about to snuff-out their opiate infused fantasy cloud. They struggle with a half-hearted effort but deep down I can tell they are relieved it’s about to be over. Once the blade punctures into their atrophied brain, the cataracts of delusion fade away quickly. Then a sincere smile comes over their quivering lips. They slowly mouth the words: ‘thank you’ and then drift ‘away’.

At least that’s what I think they are saying. Each time, I feel a certain sense of personal satisfaction. I have to believe they would do the same thing for me if I was the one confused about things. And now, to shimmy back up the chimney. Ho Ho ho; and ‘to all a good night’!

Posted in Controversial topics, creepy, Different Perspectives, Fiction Stories, Horror, Macabre, Murder, Mystery, Science Fiction, Supernatural, Thought provoking, Thriller, Twilight Zone Inspired, Utopia & Armageddon, Whimsical | Leave a comment