Tuesday, 20 May 2014

Maid Madeline

There was a mad maid named Madeline,
She was a lunatic and a dunce,
She played with guns and a horse's spine,
And obeyed her elders not once.

Madeline's teacher asked her,
'Do you wish to go to Heaven?'
Madeline said with great fervor,
'Yes, yes, I wish to go to Heaven!'

"Then be a good girl and answer,
What is three times eleven?''
This for hours Madeline did ponder,
Then stabbed the teacher with her pen.

'You'll never go to Heaven!'
the horrified teacher said,
Madeline took her AK-47,
And shot the teacher dead.

Saturday, 12 April 2014


They weep, they cry.
You ask: Why?
For You, they reply.
You ask again: But Why?

They weep and cry and and wring their hands.
And say: Behind you She stands.
Who? You ask and turn around.
A Whisper- and your head falls to the ground.

Tuesday, 1 April 2014


Second part of the Tea Party Series. 

Teashanks had been reclining at a corner table at the pub. He waved them over for a chat when they entered.

"It must be the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life!" he  exclaimed after introducing himself, putting down his glass. "Building houses on Shelly's Lane, what's more, at the site of the Shelly hell hole itself! Raving mad you must be!"

"Are you done Mr. Teashanks?" asked Nathan, bored with the same old conversation.

"Oh, come on Nat!" said Leslie, playfully punching him on the shoulder. "What if he's right? What if that place is really haunted?"

"Listen to your girlfriend!" said old Teashanks, "She seems to have a lot more sense than you! Heed my words boy! Demons inhabit that place!"

"Yeah right." chuckled Nathan, sipping his coffee, "I suppose we'll just have to evict the demons then, since the land belongs to our corporation now." He grinned. "Or they can buy the new houses if they're so dead set on staying there."

"Don't joke about this, young man." Mr. Teashanks said sternly. "There is great evil in that place!"

Leslie smiled, "What is so evil about it? What's the story of Shelly's Lane?"

Teashanks leaned back in his chair.

"My Father told me this story when I was a child-" he began.

"A story." snorted Nathan "That's all it is!"

"Nathan! " frowned Leslie,  "Don't interrupt! "
Nathan sighed and drank his beer.

"So as I was saying," continued Teashanks, "Before it was called Shelly Lane, that place used to be called Lemon Lane. The Shellys had a large house there, the husband was a businessman of some sort.
So the Shelly woman, whom the children call Helly Shelly, see, she was crazy. People say she practiced witchcraft. Horrifying she was. Don't know what he saw in her.
Well she got rid of him soon enough . Used witchcraft to kill him soon after their daughter's birth.
And the daughter, my, what a horror! A squint-eyed abomination named Cynthia, born with horns!"

"Seriously? " asked Leslie, a bit amused.

"That's what everyone says. " replied Teashanks. "Well what happened next was, Helly Shelly killed her own daughter for some reason. Ate some parts of her as well. Then she stowed her down in the basement at a tea table, and went on as if nothing had happened.
She secretly started killing poor little innocent boys and girls as well, and seated their corpses at the table to keep her daughter company!"

"Whoa!" Leslie whispered.
Nathan shook his head in exasperation.

"And then when the townspeople finally caught her, she reverted to her true form." Teashanks lowered his voice. "Shelly turned into a demon and flew away! That very night, lightning struck her house, and half the street burned down...
The priest who arrived to cleanse the site with Holy water collapsed and died!
Even years after all this, the people living on Lemon Lane kept dying from mysterious illnesses. There was such a stench th-"

Nathan interrupted him, "That was because of the gases rising from the nearby marsh. We've already drained and filled it up, and the health inspectors have declared the area safe."

"Never knew a bit of marsh gas to drive men insane." said Teashanks, lighting a cigar, "Well.... pretty soon, the whole Lane was abandoned. No one would even dare go there. Those who did came screaming back without their wits.
And now here you are with your bulldozers and machines and your talks of building houses on that accursed land!"

Leslie turned to Nathan. "There had to be some reason why you got that land cheaper than dirt."

The old man turned to Nathan with a serious look on his face.  "Leave Shelly Lane and go back, son." he said, "I'm saying it for your own good. People will get hurt. '

"For God's sake, nothing's going to happen to anyone!" Nathan exclaimed in anger. He got up and walked away.

Leslie looked at Teashanks, then got up and followed  Nathan.

"For your sakes, I hope you are right." said Teashanks quietly.


Leslie and Nathan went outside after sometime and walked towards their car. Leslie, an art student, had met Nathan an year ago at a renovation site he had been supervising. It had been love at first sight.
Nathan's father owned a construction company, and Nathan had been supervising the building of new houses in the town of Summerhill. He hadn't expected such a high degree of superstitious fear in the townspeople though.

"Baby, do you think there could've been anything in what he said?" Leslie asked Nathan.
"Of course not!" exclaimed Nathan. "It's just a local myth! There was probably a mad woman named Shelly there at some point, but the story's been blown way out of proportion!"

"Yeah. I wonder when these superstitious rumors will stop." sighed Leslie.

Nathan turned to face her.
"I'll tell you what we'll do." he said,  "We'll move into the very house which is being built at the site of the Shelly house." He held her hands. "We'll put an end to these rumors once and for all."

Leslie nodded.
He bent down and kissed her.


"That was that new architect, wasn't he?" Mr. Morris, the owner of the pub, asked Stella.

"Yeah." said the barmaid. "Weird couple though."

"How so?" Morris asked her.

"Well-" answered Stella, polishing the glasses, "They were behaving really odd, you know having this strange, broken conversation. Really, just Disconnected sentences, staring at the empty chair. And... They were sitting at that table."
"What table?"
"You know... " she said, "Teashanks' table."

Morris suppressed a shiver.
"Yeah. " said Stella, wiping the tabletop, "No one's sat there since he went crazy on Shelly Lane and killed himself."

Monday, 31 March 2014

Bed Time

The doorbell rang.

"Honey, could you answer the door please?" Claire shouted.
"Sure!" answered her husband John.

He walked out of the living room into the hallway. The clock read 10:37 pm.
Who could it be at this hour? he wondered.

He opened the door.
A cold blast of wind rushed in.
There was nobody outside. John went out onto the porch and looked around.

"Hello?" he shouted. "Anyone there?"
There was only silence and the cold wind.

Weird, he thought, going back inside and locking the door.

"Who was it?" asked Claire, coming out of the kitchen.

"There wasn't anyone out there." said John, "Some kids playing a prank I suppose."

"Odd." said Claire.

Claire glanced at the clock. "It's getting late." she said, "Could you put Sarah to bed?"
"Okay. "

John walked to Sarah's room. He could see that he light was still on.

"Sarah, it's way past your bed time!" he said, entering her room.

"I know." replied Sarah from her bed, completely hidden inside her blanket.

"Sarah, honey, why are you hiding inside your blanket?" asked John, a little tired.

"I'm scared."

"Why sweetie?" asked John, moving to the side of the bed.

"Because there's a monster inside my closet!"

"Oh, my sugar plum, there's nothing to be scared of!" said John, "There's nothing in there but your clothes!"

Then he heard the rustling.
From inside the closet.

John turned towards it, his heart beating faster.
For he moment he stood still, thinking. He picked up a vase and silently moved towards the closet.

He could hear more rustling.
John yanked open the door.

Sarah was sitting inside, half hidden among her clothes.

"Daddy" she whispered, "There's something in my bed." 

Friday, 28 March 2014


It hadn't seemed such a bad idea.

Carl had been jogging through the park on his endurance run that morning when he saw her.

She was lying on the ground near a bench, gazing up towards the sky.
An old, old woman, probably in her nineties, with wavy white hair, wearing a green cardigan and faded skirt.

Oh God, is she all right? Carl thought as he rushed towards her.

Her face was lined with sorrow and exhaustion, eyes looking around dazed.

He lifted her right hand to help her up, but she wouldn't, or couldn't, get up.

"Ma'am, what's the matter? Are you all right?" Carl asked her, worried.

She slowly lifted her left hand.
"Please" she whispered in a voice that seemed near death.

Carl felt her pulse become erratic.

Something on her hand caught his eye. A ring. Silver or platinum, with a huge grayish diamond set in it. Black lines etched on the band. Alternating black and gold stones surrounding the diamond.

Carl's mind raced. He was in desperate need of cash. Jason had told him that the next dose of steroids would cost him eight grand. Judging by the size of that diamond, if it was real, the ring was probably worth several times that.

He debated whether to do it. She wasn't going to need the ring when she was dead, was she?

"Please, I beg of you-" she whispered.
Carl glanced at her face. Diamond earrings. Silver necklace. Rich. Her family weren't going to suffer too much for one ring, were they? If she even had family.

Her eyes pleaded with him, her breath coming in wheezes. She was not going to last long.

Carl decided.
"I'm sorry Ma'am," he murmered, easing down her right hand and taking hold of her left, "There's nothing I can do for you."

He slipped the ring off her bony finger. It was cold. He slipped it inside his pocket.

"I'm sorry." he said again, standing up and looking at her. Tears were streaming down her face. She was trying to say something, but couldn't.

Carl took one last look at her,  then sprinted away, feeling a heaviness upon his soul.


She watched the man jogging down the track. 
The tears of relief still flowed down her cheeks. 
She finally found her voice. 
"Thank you." she whispered, "Thank you so much..." 

She felt her burden ease. She was finally free of it! After all those years, she was free of that accursed ring, and she was free of It. 

She watched as It grinned at her one last time from the shadows of the bushes, looking at her with its dark, eyeless sockets. 
It turned its broken, twisted neck completely around and snuffled at the air through Its bleeding mouth and nostrils. It saw the man. 

It hoisted its torn, white decaying body onto the path, in pursuit of Its new prey. 

Even as she watched, Its broken, slimy skin grew fainter and fainter. Soon It would be visible only to the man. 

She was so tired. 
She closed her eyes. 

Wednesday, 19 March 2014

Patient #0017893

Source: Unkown

Data bank feed 976539856¦BX59


1.) ADMISSION FORM, PATIENT #0017983 – 11/18/05 15:12
Involuntary admittance requested by patient’s relatives in response to apparent self-destructive behavior cycle. Self-harm evident in physical exam: signs of past abrasions on head and neck, apparently due to self-inflicted scratching, and both fresh and partially-closed surface lacerations on arms and legs. Signs of extreme fatigue also evident – in examination patient admitted insomnia for, as quoted, “longer than you’d believe.” Patient unable to give exact time for length of insomnia, likely due to extended period of insomnia itself. Confusion and moderate delerium evident. 
PRELIMINARY MEDICATION ISSUED: Triazolam 0.25mg for insomnia, topical Bacitracin for wound care.

2.) ADMISSION EVALUATION, PATIENT #0017983 – 11/18/05 16:56
PERFORMED BY: Dr. Emil Lafayette. Self-harm confirmed. Patient removed dressings from arm lacerations, reopened wound while waiting for interviewer. Definite evidence of somniphobia in patient justifications for harm; patient refers to sleep with anxiety, and consistently acts against self to cause pain in response to lengthy periods of silence or other lack of stimuli. Issue of insomnia needs immediate attention, given evidence of exceedingly prolonged duration. Likewise possible agoraphobia. Patient requests an isolated bed, becomes withdrawn/agitated when request is denied, refuses to cooperate further with interview. Offers vague suggestion of hostile “She” in justification, but will not elaborate, as quoted, “because you’re not going to believe she exists until she hurts someone anyway.” Evidence for likely paranoid schizophrenia. Recommend further interview with full psychological spectrum testing for exact diagnosis. 
FINAL RECOMMENDATION: ADMIT PATIENT. PRELIMINARY MEDICATION ISSUED: Cancel Triazolam, instead 5mg Diazepam twice daily for insomnia, anxiety, and probable sleep disorders.

3.) FINAL ADMITTANCE REPORT, PATIENT #0017983 – 11/18/05 17:13
Patient issued bed in Room 409. Current occupant(s): Patient #0017802, Patient #0017983. Clothes from admission remanded to family of patient, three sets of common dress issued for immediate needs. Further psych eval scheduled for 10:00 11/19/05, determining future length of stay.

4.) WARD EVENT REPORT – 11/18/05 17:30
During routine new patient room check, Patient #0017802 places request with staff for transfer to, as quoted, “some other room.” Appears agitated, claims Patient #0017983 has been disturbing him. Patient #0017983 likewise requests transfer, to isolated bed. Both requests denied. 
ORDERLY NOTE: Followup room check suggested to avoid possible intrapatient conflict.

5.) WARD EVENT REPORT – 11/18/05 19:00
Followup room check. Patient #0017983 claims Dr. Lafayette has ordered him moved to Isolation. Patient #0017802 backs claim. Administration records demonstrate no such order. Upon informing room occupants, Patient #0017983 attempts to assault staff and Patient #0017802 becomes uncontrollably agitated. Additional personnel required to contain incident. Both patients restrained, sedated, forced into early lights out. 
ORDERLY NOTE: Exercise caution in all future room checks for 409.

6.) WARD EVENT REPORT – 11/18/05 23:57
Staff on Hall 1, Floor 4 report loud sounds from room 409 after facility lights out, disturbing other rooms and patients. Patient #0017983 found awake, extremely agitated and struggling against restraints. Demands lights be turned back on, as quoted, “before She comes.” Self-sustained injuries to wrists and ankles at points of restraint. Patient attempts to struggle against staff during trade to more comprehensive restraint, requiring additional personnel to contain incident. Additional sedation required for Patient #0017983. Patient #0017802 does not respond during course of event, likely due to sedation from earlier incident. 
ORDERLY NOTE: Maintain restraints on Patient #0017983 until further notice. Sedate patient before removing restraints for any reason. Recommend anti-psychotic be considered in future psych eval.

7.) WARD EVENT REPORT – 11/19/05 00:20
Staff on Hall 1, Floor 4 again report loud sounds from room 409. Patient #0017983 found catatonic on floor, with severe self-inflicted scratches on head and neck. Restraints are severed at connection points, with severe bruising on limbs possibly indicating more severe injury at restraint points with patient. Patient #0017802 is found deceased. Severe disfiguring wounds to face, complete with destruction (ORDERLY NOTE: Ingestion?) of patient’s eyes. Moved to room 101, locker 2, awaiting autopsy. Patient #0017983 transfered to Isolation, room 626, given injected dose of 100mg Zuclopenthixol on attending physician’s orders to control acute psychosis. ORDERLY NOTE: Recommend video observation to allow better control of future outbursts. Stay at least an arm’s length away from patient upper body restraints at all times. Just in case.

8.) AUTOPSY REPORT, PATIENT #0017802 – 11/19/05 09:44
PERFORMED BY: Dr. Julius Tweed. Ragged lacerations prominent around subject’s head and neck, increasing in severity and depth on the regions of the face itself – at several points, the flesh is cut to the bone. More disconcertingly, subject’s eyes appear to be violently removed from their sockets and are missing. 
CAUSE OF DEATH: Exsanguination from wounds. FINAL JUDGEMENT: Homicide. 
CORONER NOTE: Recommend consideration of Patient #0017983 as dangerous to staff and facility residents. Urge continued maintenance of restraints and isolation from contact with others in patient population. Also recommend digestive endoscopy to determine fate of missing tissues for staff cohesion purposes – orderlies from Floor 4 suspect cannibalism, promise to refuse Isolation shifts until such belief is disproven.

9.) MEDICAL REPORT, PATIENT #0017983 – 11/19/05 10:07
PERFORMED BY: Dr. Antoinus Cayle. Patient is cooperative, if withdrawn, during examination. No outbursts or threats. Current drug regimen appears effective. No unusual tissue or objects discovered in digestive endoscopy. Radiology tests discover hairline fractures in tibia, fibula of right leg. Severe abrasions evident on skin of restraint points, also head and neck, necessitating topical treatment. Troubling instability in vitals – BP is acutely elevated, pulse rapid and weak for patient’s size. Extended stress from anxiety, elevated mood, and insomnia likely cause. PHYSICIAN NOTE: Patient must sleep to begin recovery process. Recommend elevated dosage of Diazepam to encourage this result. Firm contact-point restraints not recommended for this patient due to risk of further injury. Full-body restraint must be considered as alternative.

10.) PSYCHIATRIC EVALUATION, PATIENT #0017983 – 11/19/05 10:39
PERFORMED BY: Dr. George Tulling. Definite evidence indicating disassociation of identity from actions. Patient expresses remorse for death of Patient #0017802, yet refuses to admit responsibility for actions in said event. Instead externalizes blame into antagonistic female “She.” Same figure, apparently referenced in prior evaluation, seems to be central actor in patient’s paranoid psychosis. Behavior and actions of said “She” justified through magical thinking, despite recognition of depicted individual’s illogically-defined capabilities to sustain reported antagonism. As quoted, “I don’t know, you don’t know, and she doesn’t care.” Patient requests observation of room be terminated, grows agitated when request is denied, makes threats, refuses to continue interview. 
DIAGNOSIS: Paranoid schizophrenia manifesting in somniphobia, violent psychosis, and disassociative episodes. 
MEDICATION ISSUED: Up dosage for Diazepam to 10mg twice daily, on 11/24/05 begin issuing 2.5mg doses of Haloperidol twice daily for psychosis. INTERVIEWER NOTE: Utilize patient observation protocols and ward rounds to check for possible drug interaction effects, followup immediately if found or on 11/30/05 otherwise.

11.) WARD EVENT REPORT – 11/19/05 14:32
During standard rounds Patient #0017983 requests that observation of room be terminated. Warns staff of perceived threat inherent in observation protocol. When request is denied, begins struggling against restraints and screaming warnings to staff, observation camera operator regarding disassociative, antagonistic “She.” ACTING PHYSICIAN NOTE: Reject recommendations from orderlies to sedate Patient #0017983 unless medically or procedurally sound. Sedatives are not a safety blanket. 
ORDERLY NOTE: They say this guy is at his sedative limit, and he was nearly pulling his bed off its bolts. Use double staff if at all possible when dealing with him. Whatever’s in his head… it’s strong.

12.) STAFF COMMUNICATIONS – 11/19/05 16:53
FROM: Charles McKinney – Head of Patient Care Division
TO: Patient Care Staff List
SUBJECT: RE:FWD: Patient #0017983
This has officially gone far enough. I did not intervene in this matter before, because I was under the impression that the men and women under my supervision were beyond such things as this, but circumstances have proven me to be mistaken and I will not allow these rumors to progress any further. The only thing “wrong” with Patient #0017983 is that he is seriously ill and dependent upon us for care and assistance in his recovery. He is not the first patient with explosive episodes we have treated, he is not even the only one currently in our facility, and he will not be the last. It thus pains me to discover that one singular breach of safety, which WAS properly addressed by facility protocol, has left my staff whispering superstitions to one another and accepting the delusions of our patient as truth. We are better than this. There are indeed risks inherent in this profession, risks we all knew about upon assuming it, but that is the burden we bear to render aid to those who find themselves in our beds.
Until otherwise noted I will not approve of any shift changes from scheduled Isolation hours. Our staff counselors are always available during standard hours for those who need to consult with someone in light of the recent event and associated workplace anxiety. It is a fringe benefit of working in mental health, and I suggest anyone having difficulties make use of it. This matter is closed, and I want to hear no further mention of it. As previously stated, I expected more from all of you.
- Charles

13.) WARD EVENT REPORT – 11/19/05 20:44
During standard rounds Patient #0017983 requests that lights be left on after scheduled lights out time. After consultation with attending physician and therapist, request granted. Room check proceeds uneventfully until staff move to depart, at which point request is made for observation to be terminated. Upon denial of request, patient instead requests for lights to be doused as usual. Request granted. Another request is made, now for red-bulb sleep lights to be doused during scheduled lights out time. Patient understands that low-level light is necessary for room observation – as quoted, “that’s why I want them off.” Warns observation camera operator against Her. Attending therapist denies request. Sorry Jacob…

14.) STAFF COMMUNICATIONS – 11/19/05 21:12
FROM: Dr. Emil Lafayette
TO: Patient Care Staff List
SUBJECT: Lights in 626
I happened to notice tonight while in final checks that the sleep lights in Isolation 626 were turned off after standard rounds – without my knowledge, or consent. As I am sure you are all aware, this is a SEVERE breach of facility protocol. When video observation of a patient is recommended and approved, there is a reason for such a decision to be made. Patient #0017983 has violent episodes and MUST be monitored to minimize the risk of him causing further harm to his already precarious physical state. You have ABSOLUTELY NO authority to override decisions made by the medical personnel of this, or any other, facility. NONE.
I have been hearing talk around the halls that some of you are AFRAID of this man. He is bound to a bed, under the highest sedation we can medically provide, and both physically and mentally suffering from acute fatigue. Do you also jump at shadows? Regardless of the reason, I will NOT permit untrained orderlies to begin interfering in the care provided to our patients. If such an event occurs again, I will inform Mr. McKinney and see the entire night’s orderly staff barred from the premises. Do I make myself clear?
- Dr. Emil Lafayette MD, FACEP, MHSC

15.) WARD EVENT REPORT – 11/19/05 23:27
[PATIENT #0017983, NAME REDACTED] won’t stop screaming. It just won’t stop. Hours of it. It echoes in my ears, in my skull. Whenever he’s coherent he begs us to turn the camera off, or the lights off, or just make everything go away. I’m sorely tempted, poor [SOFTWARE CENSORED], but Doc Lafayette pulled Jacob from observation and is watching everyone from the video room for the rest of his shift thanks to Michael’s business with the lights earlier. Last I saw of him, he was headed for the elevator with his jacket saying he “just can’t do this to my kids.” I don’t know why I’m here anymore. I just keep staring up at the cameras. Is that [SOFTWARE CENSORED] busier watching his patient, or us?
I’d only need one needle to stop the screaming…

16.) WARD EVENT REPORT – 11/20/05 00:01
It stopped. Just… stopped. No one’s willing to check why. I think [PATIENT #0017983, NAME REDACTED] is gone. I pray She is gone.

17.) STAFF COMMUNICATIONS – 11/20/05 00:04
FROM: Dr. Emil Lafayette
TO: All
SUBJECT: Patient #0017983 AGAIN
i will be good mommy
please not the belt please
hE iS dEAD i aM dEAD sHE iS dEAD wE aRE dEAD aND
we. all. fall. down.

18.) ADMISSION EVALUATION, PATIENT #0017986 – 11/20/05 9:25
PERFORMED BY: Dr. George Tulling. Former staff. Patient discovered in locked observation room setting fire to equipment and recordings. Attempted suicide in flames before rescue by staff. Claims to be antagonized by same female “She” as former Patient #0017983. Possibly involved in death of said resident. If so, evidence obvious for disassociation of self from actions. Likely paranoid schizophrenia. Patient will not respond to further questions – as quoted, “Don’t go looking for her. She’ll find you.” 
FINAL RECOMMENDATION: ADMIT PATIENT. PRELIMINARY MEDICATION ISSUED: 2.5mg doses of Haloperidol twice daily for schizophrenic psychosis.

19.) STAFF COMMUNICATIONS – 11/20/05 9:36
FROM: Dr. George Tulling
TO: Charles McKinney – Head of Patient Care Division
SUBJECT: I’ve just heard.
Seal him in Isolation, wait Her out, cremate both bodies. As far as the relatives are concerned, Patient #0017983 died in the fire set by Lafayette in committing suicide. That’s all anyone needs to know.
Let’s just hope the rest of us don’t wind up needing time in these beds as well.

Tuesday, 18 March 2014

Tea Party

Once there was a little girl named Cynthia Shelly. Brown hair, green eyes, beautiful smile. She loved having tea parties. With her friends, with her family members, with her dolls and teddy bears, with her imaginary friends.
One day, in the month of April, when Cynthia was nine years old, something odd happened:
She died.
Oh it wasn't anything violent, mind. She wasn't chopped into pieces by a lunatic, drowned, strangled or otherwise killed in any other horrible way.
She died of pneumonia. She always had delicate health, poor Cynthia. And the poor fool, just a few days before her death, the maid had found her in the cold, cold basement, having a tea party with her imaginary friends.
"Freezing cold it was", The maid, a Mrs. Brown, had been heard saying. "No wonder the poor little lady got a chill. And always so delicate too! Died of the fever, she did."

Soon afterwards, the disappearances began. In a week, all three of Cynthia's best friends; Judy Finch, Carla Smith and Jill Tucker, disappeared. Then, other girls of the same age went missing too. In all, seven girls, all of them about the same age as Cynthia, disappeared. 
The townspeople searched frantically, but no trace could be found.

It was Micah, the baker's boy, who noticed it. Each day, Mrs.Shelly would go to a different bakery, and buy cake and cookies. One fine Friday, when the silent, smiling Mrs. Shelly had bought two pounds of cake and six packets of cookies from his father's bakery, Micah's curiosity was completely piqued.

He decided to follow her to her house and see how she managed to eat all that cake herself.
She closed the door after her. 
Micah waited five minutes.
Indecision hung heavy on him. But curiosity won.
He climbed the steps. The door was unlocked.
Heart thumping, he entered the house.

Everything was covered with a layer of dust, like no one had bothered to clean for a long time. He heard Mrs.Shelly's lilting voice in the basement. Again, curiosity and terror competed for control.
Micah was a very curious boy.
He slowly, carefully, descended the steps to the basement.

First, the smell hit him. A mixture of sweetness and horrible decay and perfume.
Then he saw the girls.
A large table stood in the middle of the basement. And on the chairs surrounding it, were the missing girls.
Their corpses had been carefully, artfully arranged, sitting in the chairs for a ghastly tea party. Their clothes were bright, their faces rotting to pieces. 
On the table in front of them were teacups filled with steaming hot tea, and plates served with large slices of the cake Mrs. Shelly had just bought from the bakery.

A small radio played cheerful, happy music in the corner.

He saw Mrs. Shelly near the head of the table. 
Cynthia was seated at the head of the table. Or what remained of her, at least.
Dressed in a bright gown of dandelion yellow, there were blue ribbons tied in the brown thatch that was her hair. Her green eyes were nothing but lightless stones, oozing slime.
Mrs. Shelly was crooning to her daughter's corpse, serving her the largest slice of cake.

Micah tried unsuccessfully to hold back his scream. Mrs. Shelly turned towards him. There was madness in her green eyes.
"Cynthia must have her tea party." She hissed. 
She continued talking, as if to the air, "My poor little girl was so lonely, so I brought home all her little friends!" A ghastly smile appeared on her face, and she kissed Cynthia's cheek. The tea cups steamed merrily.
Micah started backing up the stairs.
"Now she can have all the tea parties she wants!" Shelly crooned. Suddenly she seemed to notice that Micah was moving back up the stairs.
"Cynthia must have her tea party!", she screamed and ran towards boy.

Micah fled up the stairs, screaming in terror. Shelly caught hold of his ankle, but he kicked and twisted free. He threw open the door and ran out into the street, the crazed woman behind him.

"HELP!" he screamed, "She's a murderer! She killed all the girls! HELP!"
He fell. Mrs. Shelly was upon him- she bent down to gouge out his eyes- and then somebody pulled her back. A large group of people had gathered in the street. Four of them somehow managed to hold her, trying to restrain her.
In broken, terrified sentences, Micah told them what he had seen in the house. A wail of anguish went up from the crowd. The group of people moved towards the Shelly house.

When the people crossed the threshold, she gave an animal howl and broke free of her captors. Screaming in a horrible, horrible voice, she tore out her throat with her own hands.
The people gasped in horror.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There was great mourning in the town. The girls' bodies were carried out. Mothers cursed Mrs Shelly as a demon. That night, the Shelly house was burned down. 

No one could explain one thing though.

When the group of people had gone down to the basement, the cups had been empty, and the slices of cake were gone as well.

Part Two: Superstitions

Bad Dream

Another one from Creepypasta. Good luck sleeping at night after reading this.

"Daddy, I had a bad dream."
You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness — it is 3:32 AM.
"Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"
"No, Daddy."
The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room.
"Why not, sweetie?"
"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."
For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you cannot take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Got this one from Creepypasta.com. I've edited and fleshed it out a bit.

A young girl named Amy was playing in her bedroom with her toys.
She heard her mother call to her from the kitchen, "Amy, dinner's ready!"
Amy ran down the stairs, and entered the hallway. She started feeling a strange sense of unease, of foreboding.
As she was running through the hallway, the door to the cupboard under the stairs opened, and a hand reached out and pulled her in. The door shut.
Amy was about to scream in horror, but then she saw who had pulled her in.
 "Shhh", whispered her mother, "Don't go into the kitchen. I heard it too."

Wednesday, 29 January 2014

Messenger of Death

I don't think anyone knows for sure when he first came to our locality. But I'm almost sure that he wasn't born here.
When did he first amble down the long roads shadowed by Gulmohar trees? When did he first show his ugly mug near the garbage dumps? When was that instant that he entered this area, to bring ruination and sorrow down upon us?
I don't think anyone remembers when he came here. The few who might have remembered are all gone. Perhaps the stray dogs know, but they can never tell us.

Stray dogs have a strange position in our area. Whilst they are pups, the children adore them, beg their parents to let them be kept as pets. But as these pups grow older, unmanageable, scarred with the life of the street, the cuteness starts to wear away.
And then children no longer like them. They stop sneaking out biscuits and rotis for them. Then begins the hunt. Children are cruel, the younger ones oft the cruelest.
First it's only small pebbles, cautiously, then some stones, and finally rocks and broken bricks.

Whenever a little boy sees a dog, he'll shout at it, then bend down, pick up the nearest rock, and lob it at his prey.
This is done almost as a rule, until the time comes when a dog only has to see someone bending down to flee for his life. They become dead scared of the humans, even the aggressive males knowing that they are living at the mercy of man.
Not him though.
He looks at his attacker straight in the eye, showing his horribly large and misshapen fangs. And then he rushes forth.

The stray dogs would all get names- Tommy, Queen, Boss, Black Panther, Pinknose, Shadow et al.
I don't know what lunatic named him though.  'Pokya' the kids on the street named him. Pok-ya. What the heck is that even supposed to mean? Though I suppose an inexplicable name can be explicable for an inexplicable beast.

An unholy beast he is, horrible to behold. His fur was originally brown I suppose, but most of it is gone now, his skin a sickly rotten gray, an ear and a portion of his tail bitten off. And his eyes, oh the eyes! Blind in one eye with a pure white cataract, pure malevolence seems to pour out of them.

All the other dogs despised him, and lived in mortal terror of his approach. None would go anywhere near him, fleeing as soon as they saw him. Even a pet Rottweiler, famous for its ferocity, would start whimpering and try to hide when it saw Pokya.

An intriguing thing that none paid attention to at the time of these events was his strange absence after sunset. During daytime, he would limp through the streets, or sleep at the old abandoned park. But at night, he seemingly vanished. No one could recall seeing him after sundown.

The first incident occurred an year ago. At around an hour past midnight, Pokya arrived outside the house of Mr Patil, near the little pond.
He sat down facing the house. And then he began to howl.
I've heard dogs howling before, at each other, marking their territories, or in pain. But this sound was nothing like that at all. It sent a creeping sensation down the skin, filling the mind with a sense of dread, of impending doom.
That howling is filled with sorrow and hatred, a darkness that envelops your mind.

Mrs Patil was alone at home. Her husband and son had gone to Mumbai that night.  She tolerated the horrible nagging noise for about an hour, then she came outside to shoo away the damned dog. She threw stones at it to drive it away, but to no avail. Pokya wouldn't budge.
Finally, she gave up and went back to bed. Pokya kept howling till around five in the morning, then he got up and limped away.  The silence seemed even more unnerving.

Mrs Patil got the news that day. The neighbours heard wails of lamentation from her house. Her husband and son had died in an accident in the ghats, their car hurtling down the side of a canyon.
People remarked upon the inauspicious nature of dogs howling.

The second incident was a month later.
Mr and Mrs Dhanovar were an elderly couple who lived in a sprawling house near the park. They sat talking in their garden that evening. The time was 8 pm. Pokya arrived outside their gate.
He sat down facing the house.
And he began to howl.

Annoyed by that horrible noise, Mrs Dhanovar got up to drive the dog away. She threw a large stone at Pokya. He quickly dodged it, then sat down again and resumed howling.
Exasperated, the old lady moved towards the gate. She slipped on the stairs and fell down, breaking her neck.

These incidents continued over the months. Pokya howled at three other houses. Seven people died. He gained the reputation of being a messenger of death.

The Municipal Corporation was contacted, and told to take him and the other strays away. The dog catchers arrived and caught most of the other dogs without much difficulty. After much hesitation, five of them working together managed to catch Pokya and take him to their vehicle.
He remained silent. But as soon as they put him inside, the other dogs started howling and crying piteously in terror.
The dog catchers drove away. When they opened the van at the pound, half the dogs were dead, their hearts having stopped from fear. And Pokya was not there.
He was sitting in the abandoned park, looking balefully at his surroundings.

The sixth incident took place a few months ago.
At the end of a long road, there is a row of old tenements joined to each other, with common walls and ventilation.
Due to the proximity of the houses, the people there were close too, a happy community. They had a leader of sorts in the charismatic Mr. Khadke.
 That evening, like most other evenings, the people were gathered outside talking and laughing. The children were playing nearby.
The electricity suddenly went out.
Pokya arrived.
He sat down in the middle of the road, facing the houses.
He began to howl.

The people looked at him first with dismayed horror, and then in growing anger. They decided to finish the accursed beast once and for all.
Khadke and a few other men came towards Pokya, armed with rods and Lathis.  Khadke struck the first blow. The men beat that dog to death, almost bludgeoning it to a pulp.
They threw the body at the nearby garbage dump.

Morning came.
The milkman knocked at every door, but no one answered.  The same with the newspaper man.
Eight o' clock. The maids started arriving. The doorbells wouldn't ring without electricity. After knocking at the doors of the tenements for more then ten minutes, they began to get alarmed.
Then one of them noticed the smell. Gas.
The police were called. They carefully opened the houses. Gas had leaked from a cooking stove in one of the houses.
Due to the common ventilation, or had somehow spread to all the other houses in the tenement.

47 people dead from gas poisoning. Nine families. You might have heard about it in the news.
It turned out that the gas had leaked from Mr. Khadke 's cylinder. But the police couldn't explain how a leak from a single cylinder could cause death in the whole tenement.
And Pokya's body was gone.

He came back a week later.

Very few people live in this locality now. I am one of them. 
All the others are gone- dead or driven away by the malevolent threat of that hellhound.
I couldn't move away from here though, I have nowhere else to go.

He came here a few hours ago. He's sitting outside my gate. Howling.
I have no idea what tomorrow will hold.
 Perhaps I will die.

I plan on leaving this record though. People should know what happened here.
Oh, how he howls.