Books, Dreams and Nightmares, Experimental, Fiction, short-short, Uncategorized, Young Adult

A Dream of the Rat

I was standing in line with a buddy of mine, and some bullies come up and cut in front. They push us back, and we know there’s really nothing we can do, no one we can appeal to.

He turns to me and says, “So take the example of the rat. A noble creature, the rat. Misunderstood, he’s the true winner, the true achiever of the world.”

I turn to him,”What in the world are you talking about?”

He smiles. We’re both really hungry. Rats equal cheese in my mind.

“Well,” he says, “a rat will forage for a piece of cheese, will sneak into the pantry of an unsuspecting family. Steal that cheese. Make off with it. Eat it up, and come back for more later.

“Well,” he continues, as the line starts to move, “soon the Noble Rat comes back, and he’s gotten bigger, stronger, and he steals more food. Right under their noses, sneaking here and there, never being anything more than a thief lurking in the dark, a little tittering shadow, a suspect…soon, Mr. Rat is big, strong; sharp little teeth for gnawing and biting. And one day the family discovers him, and he’s too much for them to handle. They’d call in an exterminator, but he’s got kinfolk, babies, and they’re strong, too; from eating all that free cheese. And so the family, not wanting to live with that infestation, pick up and move somewhere else. And now the Noble Rat has the space all for himself.”

We finally get to the serving counter, and the old woman with the hair net and the horrible THING on her chin ladles out mashed potatoes and mystery meat onto my plastic tray. I consider the Noble Rat, carefully; it all makes a sort of terrible sense.

I wonder what it feels like to be bitten by the noble, ring-tailed, furry-faced King of Pilfered Cheese.

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The Psychopath

This Fist and What It Can Claim

Passages

I’ll trap you in the silent cathedral,
a place of dour amusements,
with pick and rope and bone saw handy
to take your little ego to pieces
part by puzzled part,
with drill bit hammered through splintering door
into the dancing figure
of the unwilling hostess
who jibbers in the darkness
at the injustice of it all.

This love is a madness born within,
the sickness they say I can never shake,
and with hands in grubby pockets
I peer beneath beard to see the game
being played by Sacred Mother in the dust.
And this place they’ve set apart for us,
beyond reach of newspaper jackal
and tired blue suit eye
is perfect in the way that a thigh bone crushed
By the speculation of a weight imposed
is perfect in the way it pops.

I cower in the darkness,
crouched above booby trap,
swinging the noose,
waiting for…

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When I First Saw the Demon

Edited. Whoosh!

Passages

cloaked

I was thirteen years old when I first saw the demon.

It came to me in the darkest watches of the night. Waking up from slumber, I found I couldn’t move. I knew I had been away, somehwere, in a place that was dark and grey and dead. Upon coming back from that dismal, horrifying place, I would slowly open my eyes and see the immense form, the hooded shadow that a man has described as “blacker than the black.”

When it first came to me, it was invisible. I could feel it crawl over me, and the feeling was both overpoweringly exhilarating, erotic, and terrifying. I could feel it press down upon me, could feel its weight as the bed creaked up and down heavily…

I awoke that night in a panic, and had to be rushed to the hospital emergency room.

A year or two later, I saw…

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The Power Of “Greed”…And “McTeague”

Silent-ology

A few years ago I watched the hallowed classic Greed (1924) for the very first time. It was the shortest version, a fuzzy YouTube copy that probably makes Eric von Stroheim spin in his grave every time a viewer clicks on it (spinning while being immaculately dressed in his white Prussian uniform, mind you). And like any cinephile who makes an honest effort to appreciate film history…I liked it. It involved unusual characters. Its plot has interesting twists. It was obviously well-made. It was insanely dark. All in all, I was glad I watched it. I decided to put it on my “future re-watch” list, intending to study its skillfulness a little more at some point.

Now let’s fast-forward a bit to two summers ago. I was in North Carolina visiting friends, and one afternoon we decided to visit a used bookstore (they’re fellow bookworms). I was scanning some…

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Dreams and Nightmares, Experimental, Fiction, Short Stories, short-short, surreal, Weird, Young Adult

Pig Knuckles (Unfinished)

He holds the gun on me, his dirty little pig knuckles swallowing the handle, his fingers curling around, and I see that each nail is chipped, painted black, or maybe scarlet.

“Shoot me!” I implore. I stick my chest out as if I’m daring him to scuffle out in the schoolyard. He mumbles something. Not a man of many words. Behind him, a tree has grown up, thrust up like a rude finger through the gaping hole in the floor.

He’s placed an old-fashioned TV monitor on the trunk. Somehow got it up there, high up. On the screen, the only image is that ever-present floating eye, a motif that seems to be worked into every nook and cranny I lay eyes on, although not always in an obvious way at first.

“So shoot. C’mon, if that’s what you’re gonna do, DO IT.”

A knock at the door interrupts. Earlier, I had opened it up to a young girl that was, apparently, out and about house greeting for the new neighbors–

“Man you got stuck way out here. All the houses over here are a hundred years old!”

“Sure.” (How was I supposed to answer her?)

She is a tall, skinny brunette, maybe twenty years old. She is bubbly, a little too friendly, a little too eager.

“Man, not even a walk out here. Just that big court out there.”

She motions to the yard, which is tall and overgrown and deep green, and no doubt rutted by deadly holes, patrolled by seething, lazy ring-tailed iguanas.

“Sure. But I don’t mind. It’s quiet.”

“Yeah. Good to know, If you have neighbors that are annoying, it really gets to be hell, let me tell you.”

“Yeah. I have a particular tastes in music, too. I can’t just tolerate anything.”

Leave. Leave. I want her to leave.

While we are standing there talking, a young black kid comes up on the porch. He acknowledges us with a shake of the head, and it is then, for the first time, he notices the electronic device, like a heavy metal shoe-box attached to the side of the house.

“I just come to read the meter,” he states flatly. He supposes there is a digital readout on the face of the thing.

“Dollar ninety-nine a minute,” I say. “Better than phone sex.”

The kid looks at me, uncomprehending. The girl puts her knuckles on her hips, stands Superman-style, says, “After all, it’s your fantasy. Your dream, right?”

“Fulfilling the needs of the hungry Id,” I say, suddenly more talkative, but still wanting her to leave.

“An amusement park ride not dissimilar from the ride in China where the participants lie in a little box while colored lights and hot air blasts simultaneously, for them at least; supposedly, what it is like to be cremated. People will go to all sorts of lengths to experience something they could never experience, in a million years. At least, not while alive.”

“–While alive on this earth,” she agrees. “But something they can crawl back out of if they don’t like it. Something simulated. Something unreal. Life as entertainment.”

The girl looks wistfully off into the distance, as if waxing philosophic has taxed her, caused her an un- for-seen filip of embarrassment that has convinced her, finally, that she must be pushing on.

“Yeah, well, okay. I might stop back by later, but don’t count on it. I have to run. Nice to meet you, by the by.”

She gave a sort of little wave, left me standing there, feeling perplexed. We had never even exchanged names.

I close the door slowly, soundly. Pig Knuckles comes out of the shadows, still holding the gun on me.

“A person, could create an environment,” he say, “people it with representations of the sorts of things that turn him on, get him going. Get him awake and interested. Fire off those synapses. Like–”

And he pulls out a pair of undergarments.

“Do you see this? I bet you like the smell, right? I bet you fantasize the skinny young thing whose body once filled out this particular piece of wardrobe. But she’s not here. Not anymore. Did she stain the crotch of this particular pair of panties? What about her smell? Her DNA? Does visualizing a thing, with enough sensory aids to fool the conscious reasoning, make it a reality? If something is real for YOU, isn’t it real in fact? Since perception is finally all we have?” (Unfinished, 2014)

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Alien Abduction, Art, automatism, Books, Contactees, Dreams and Nightmares, Fortean, Ghosts, Hauntings, Holographic Universe, Monsters, Mystic, New Age, Spiritism, UFOs, Ultraterrestrials, Uncategorized, Urban Legends, Vampires, Weird, Young Adult

When I First Saw the Demon

cloaked

I was thirteen years old when I first saw the demon.

It came to me in the darkest watches of the night. Waking up from slumber, I found I couldn’t move. I knew I had been away, somehwere, in a place that was dark and grey and dead. Upon coming back from that dismal, horrifying place, I would slowly open my eyes and see the immense form, the hooded shadow that a man has described as “blacker than the black.”

When it first came to me, it was invisible. I could feel it crawl over me, and the feeling was both overpoweringly exhilarating, erotic, and terrifying. I could feel it press down upon me, could feel its weight as the bed creaked up and down heavily…

I awoke that night in a panic, and had to be rushed to the hospital emergency room.

A year or two later, I saw the demon.

I awoke and it was there. Blacker than the shadow which surrounded it, with a hood like a medieval monk. Burning red eyes, and NO FACE. Immensely long fingers, twisted tree branch-like. Curling. Someone has described the horror of having those long, twisted fingers reach out and touch you. I can attest to the fact that this is correct.

I awoke, screaming, my mother running into the room while I implored her “Can you see it? Can you see it?” I had broke the paralysis in terror. After that, I passed back into sleep.

The last horrifying time it visited me, I was in a childrens’ hospital. In my dreams, I was visiting the same grey, dead place, the same melancholy, dark world of rocky, muddy ground, dead trees, yawning caverns, and deep, filthy wet. I awoke, and the Hooded One had come again. Immense, dark, a being that could be seen through, but who was also distinctly defined–I could nearly make out the folds in his cloak. His long, claw-like pointed fingers were in my face; his eyes burned red in the darkness of his hood, but THERE WAS NO FACE.

As hideous as this phantasm was, standing beside it was a being so utterly beyond the pale of what could be considered “real” that it seemed to have escaped from some psychedelic nightmare. A twisted, starved body, like the body of a greyhound dog or even a starved old nag, and long, crooked,preying-mantis like arms that culminated in long, skinny, skeletal white fingers; like the bones of a skeletal hand. Perhaps there were four fingers.

The neck was a skinny branch. The head was huge, oversized; the mouth was a twisted, psychotic, slit-like grin stretching from one side of the huge head to another. But the eyes! They were the huge, black, almond-shaped eyes of the extraterrestrial abductor, the visitor.

I could not move; I could not scream out. I was paralyzed with fright, and could not breathe from the crushing weight of absolute spiritual terror suffocating me. Finally, I must have lost my mind, for I bolted up in bed, screaming more violently than I had ever screamed before or since.

It was almost as if, in sheer terror, I had left my body, and was outside myself, looking at myself. It was not me screaming, at this point; it was simply my body performing a motion to purge itself of some toxin.

I then fell back on the pillow, passing out. My last memory of that nigth was of a hospital attendant rushing into the room with a flashlight. “Oh, I heard this individual say, “he’s just having a nightmare.”

When I awoke the next morning, it was with a massive headache, and virtually no memory that anything unusual had even happened at all.

It took several hours before my memory was jogged, and the terrifying events of the night before started flooding back into my consciousness.

It was maybe a year later, when I was out walking with a relative, that I had my first close-encounter UFO sighting. Rounding a corner of an abandoned lot, across the street from a field and coming into the entryway of an apartment complex, my relative looked over at a strange, hovering object across the street, and asked, “Hey, what’s that?”

I turned, telling her, “it’s a helicopter.”

“Yes,” she said, “but it’s not making any noise.”

Sure enough, the huge, cigar-shaped object was hovering over the field across the street, near a huge radio antenna. Lighted brilliantly on each end, with a strobing, lightning-like blue flash on top, it went up, silently, at a 35 degree angle, before exploding into scarlet light and shooting into the stars. It moved faster thn anything I had seen before, or since. It was, quite obvioulsy, a legitimate, bona-fide UFO.

“That was someone a little off course,” I remember joking. “Like, about 35 million light years…”

Since then, I have had many, many paranormal experiences: visions of beings holding scrolls with strange symbols; episodes of missing time; bizarre, vivid, and often precognitive dreams; bodily scratches; beds that bounce as if some invisible entity were standing at the end, kicking them. And, of course, communications with SOMETHING else, via automatic writing, art, etc.

It was decades before I learned others also had similar “Night Hag” or shadow person experiences, or experiences with the “Hooded Man,” and Preying -Mantis entities. Some of these people described experiences not just similar to my own, but EXACTLY like my own, to the T. You could argue such experiences are simply hallucinations, but, then, explain why all of these people, throughout the history of the “Night Hag” phenomenon, have all had the same experience.

It has been many decades since I have seen the “Hooded Entity,” as far as I can remember. I expect to see it again some day, perhaps, I think, when I finally go to join that mysterious OTHER in the misty veil.

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