“I can’t remember in detail how it all came about.
I found myself inside never wanting back out.
The rugged and sturdy beams of solid wood are strong.
They’ve been tested, never bested suffering long.
This mighty ship is relentless and tenacious heading to God’s land.
Stubborn and unchanging like her captain who leads us by his hand.
I may stumble and fall as the waves crash against the walls.
But pray my soul to keep and always heed my captain’s call.
Ark of salvation guide us safely through life’s storms
Ark of salvation in dead of winter keep us warm
Ark of salvation though you be battered and tried
Ark of salvation pillar of truth you will never die”
“Please I…I don’t have much time. I can feel it coming on again….I should have listened. She tried to tell me, no she tried to WARN me. But I was a stupid young know-it-all. They say “mothers know best” but it is truly a universal constant. Growing up in what some would call a religious fundamentalist household I was barred from many activities and entertainment most people my age would recall with warm fondness. Trick-or-Treating, Harry Potter, hell even the Gargoyles cartoon show. Sure there were times when I felt I was missing out but for the most part I internalized the same convictions and began to echo my mother when questioned by my peers. “Why aren’t you dressing up for Halloween?” and many such inquiries were always brought on during this time of year. Eventually I was old enough to say “I’ve never done that so by now I just don’t care. I’ll buy my own candy.” And I meant it. But over time my convictions in such things softened and I evolved from rigidity to general apathy towards entertainment and “holidays” which exuded an occultist or spooky energy. There was always one restriction though. Always one which even as a youngster I found to be particularly ridiculous. I see now the evil one, that prince of darkness was waiting to play his cards at just the right time.
Count Chocula cereal. The chocolate flavored, marshmallow adorned, sugar filled breakfast cereal with that goofy looking vampire which is obviously meant to be a caricature of the Dracula from literature. My mother was insistent on banning that from our home. Sure Cinnamon Toast Crunch was king in my culinary kingdom but the mere fact of a prohibition existing made me want to rebel! Cookie Crisp was perfectly acceptable and those characters were robbers! The hypocrisy was astounding. Eventually time passed and as prohibitions on other such things like books, tv shows, and movies were lifted my desire for it simply ceased. It didn’t look all that tasty to begin with so why bother with it now? But to hear as a child that “Count Chocula is demonic” sticks with you even as an adult. Now I firmly believed such statements were complete nonsense. Well this is where we find ourselves. I was enjoying the Halloween season and saw that Count Chocula was displayed at my local Walmart. That’s when the sinister thought seeped into my mind: “buy it and finally move on.” I should’ve resisted. I should’ve recognized the devil’s whisper. But instead I grabbed it, checked out, and was on my way home.
Please forgive me…..It’s growing stronger now. Soon there will be no “me” left to write this warning out. You see the moment I swallowed my first spoonful….no……let’s start from first pour. I got home and was in no particular hurry to have myself a bowl so I put the other groceries away and lazily browsed through facebook and youtube until my damned sweet tooth overtook me with desire. I opened the kitchen pantry and….”wow it’s cold in here!” I didn’t recall it being so cold in the pantry. The rest of the kitchen was normal temperature. How strange. Oh well, I spotted my new chocolatey prize and although it was well into the evening I was having cereal for dessert. I fetched the bowl, spoon and milk and as I began pouring the Count Chocula I felt a faint but real, dark presence fill the kitchen and surround me. I became cold and I thought I heard a distant scream or screeching, what one would imagine a banshee to sound like. I shuddered and chalked it up to neighborhood kids at play. But the cold, the shivering cold….
I had a full bowl and the milk was at the perfect level. Time to kiss childhood prohibitions goodbye! The moment I swallowed my first spoonful I knew something was wrong. Something in me was wrong. Like a long slow bear hug from behind, I felt and sensed clawed hands and long arms wrapping around my insides. “W-what…what is this!?” I exclaimed out loud but before I could utter another word my throat seized up and I began retching. I vomited up the entire day’s meals and drinks but not the Count Chocula I had just consumed. How was this possible? This was some serious form of food poisoning I had never encountered! But then I heard it. No I felt it. It wasn’t an audible sound but a feeling more real than a first kiss. The feeling SAID “No.” No what? What was happening? No it wasn’t food poisoning. It was my master. Without thinking my body seized so hard I thought my spine would snap but my arms inexplicably grabbed the bowl still full of the sinister brew and I plunged my entire face into the bowl and lapped up the contents like a starving dog. “What is going on!?” I thought as I could no longer speak. But just then as if in response to my confusion a malicious audible sound crawled it’s way from the innermost caverns of my soul and out of my mouth. A deep growling so guttural and primal slithered out, for a split second I wondered if a grizzly bear had broken into my home. Then the unthinkable happened; I began gnawing and chewing at the bowl! It broke and snapped to pieces and I kept chewing as it cut into my tongue and sides of my mouth. My teeth were loosening as blood gushed out all over the kitchen counter. But I kept chewing until I swallowed the shattered pieces against my will. The room began changing color and tunnel vision was creeping in from my peripheral as I began stumbling about the kitchen. The last thing I saw before blacking out was that stupid expression on Count Chocula’s face. But wait! Did he just move his eyes and look at me!? *THUD*
I won’t go into the details of the next few days as it would take time I simply do not own. You see Halloween is tonight and I feel an inevitability. Count Chocula’s demonic frenzy of my body and soul will crescendo tonight in my sacrifice. That was the plan all this time. I wonder how many others the Count has claimed on Halloween night and the story was never told. Or perhaps the dots were never even connected? Please stay far away from this cereal. For your life and soul you must not touch it. My mother’s religious warnings were right. Count Chocula. Of all the damned things. Count Chocula. Lord have mercy on my soul.”
Thanks for reading! I had to come up with this in 45 min or so before bed so apologies for the rushed nature of it all. Stay safe this Halloween. 10/31/18
This is based on a few things. Tonight I felt sadness and decided to let it take me. I also found the perfect song to inspire me to write. And finally it is based off a dream I had when I was just a little boy. Enjoy:
“Yet another night looking up to the stars. Just sitting here waiting for you. My cosmic girl. When you first came to me I was just a boy. Why did you come to me? What did you see in me? How long were we together before you returned to your celestial home? You left with the promise that you’d come back for me one day. But now all these years later where has that promise gone? So much has happened since you were here. I had to change to survive the world you left me in. Cosmic girl, would you even recognize me? I learned all the things daddy couldn’t teach me.
I learned how to hate and fight. I can rage and bite.
I became cruel in order to live. But am I alive if I have nothing to give?
Cosmic girl I loved you the moment I saw you. You showed me your heart and told me soon you would crush it in your hands to disappear. I watched you do it. You hugged and kissed me then died in front of me. You turned to stardust in front of me and rose to the night sky. And my eyes have not left that night sky since. For 27 years I’ve watched the constellations hoping you’d descend back into my life. My world is full of liars but you couldn’t do that. Could you? So many lonely nights have passed waiting for you. Cosmic girl did you lie to me? Or did the pure and happy boy you promised to come back for die long ago? Who am I now?
Always searching for something more. Spiritually begging like a whore.
No words can express like my fists can. I beat meaning out of my fellow man.
Mommy didn’t show me this. I had to adapt to this environment. And now here I am still waiting for you. Would I even love you now? So pure and shining like the heavenly bodies, would I know how to love you? The boy that was me knew he loved you instantly. So why didn’t you take him then. Why didn’t you take me with you then? Cosmic girl here I am still waiting for you. Looking up to the stars tonight begging to be a boy again.”
Have you heard it? In the dead of night have you felt it? You are laying restless when a quivering begins. Not a manifestation of your body but in the house. Of the house. A rushing fluttering about but not as from the gentle brush of a butterfLy’s wings. More like…the wings of bats? Thousands or no, millions! They do their work making my walls come alive with a rhythmic pulse not conceivable by the minds of men. It is a guided rhythm. This does not brIng me solace however, because I do not know the source or the destination. It just is. I once scraped the recesses of my soul and Gathered enough courage to get out of bed and investigate the extent of this force. The house is dark as it should be. All the accouterments I’ve acquired are still in their place. But the sound! It’s almost as if it will burst through the walls of house and mind and violently take me to darker places still. I never found tHe source. I didn’t really want to. After passing through the hallways and finding every room to be as I left them I quickly hurried back to bed, like a child. I desperately wrapped myself in the safety of bed sheets. Perhaps you’ve experienced these strange night happenings as well? Surely…surely I’m not the only one! Just wait for iT one deceptively winsome evening. Stay awake longer than you were meant to.
I believe there’s a Void
A great nothing comes to call
An inky blackness roams the halls
It reaches through time and space
It cares not for love’s embrace
Why it wants me I cannot say
Will I be consumed or simply obey
With each passing hour light dies until day has waned
And with night’s dark we see our knowledge is feigned
I believe there’s a Void
I believe in the Void
It’s come again. Here we are again. This time I feel the pull of destiny. I am still frightened beyond comprehension but I won’t run this time. There is one place I never looked. Whether subconsciously or consciously I knew it was in there I would find the source. The Basement door. How appropriate. I make my way past all the rooms knowing them to be unaltered except with the sound of beating wings. I drag my finger tips along the walls as I slowly walk step by step towards the basement. I feel the vibration through the walls. It’s tangible! That same haunting rhythm pervades… The soft pale glow of moonlight oozing through cuRtains and windows is the only form of a guiding light. Just mere steps from the door. The beating is growing louder! And more numerous..maybe a millIon fold! As if whatever is behind this door is aNticipating me! My trembling hand reaches out for the door knob.. I grasp it violently to stop myself shaking. It doesn’t work but altogether the sound ceases! The walls are dormant once aGain. The only sound is the doorknob rattling as my nervous sweat-soaked hand squeezes it. It’s odd how intention-ed the most mundane of actions can becomE. A simple turn of a doorknob. It is flippantly done without a second thought every day. But this night I turned it with everything I am. I hear the metal pieces sliding and feel the soft click as it opens ever so slightly. I let the door slowly open itself and myself to the darkened descent of basement steps. The moonlight impotently illuminates just a few steps before the black shuts it out like a wall of ambiguity. I stand theRe frozen in place just waiting….waiting for anything. A sign, a sound. Something! Just nothingness…. Wait! What is that? What is that?
Full moon shone all about
Chastity void within and without
Pretty girls all flowing in white
Mockery of all that is right
Dancing and twirling to the beat of drums
Losing themselves to the hypnotic hums
Giving themselves to the god of wine and sex
The dying and rising god marks them with the hex
Swimming uninhibited in unnatural delights
Blinded by the flood of ecstatic lights
I drink them in until they are used up
I swallow them like wine from my cup
Innocence and purity can not hold you down
Dionysus is here to give you the crown
Scream for unholy pleasure scream just for me
Scream until you’re dead for the world to see
I’ll love you ferociously and make you bleed
I”ll take your soul which you no longer need
I will have you drunk as your being is in crisis
I will kill you with pleasure for I am Dionysus
I thought it best to start this personal blog/website with an introduction for any potential readers. Being introduced to the writer may help you decide whether the written works are worth your time or not. A dear friend advised me to create this website because I have grown weary of publishing my stories/poetry on facebook which finds a readership of perhaps 1 person every now and then. So hopefully this has the desired effect of exposing the stories in my mind to a wider and more dedicated audience. What kind of writings are you in for? Well I can honestly say my writings like myself are a bit of a paradox.
ME: I am an Eastern Orthodox Christian, lover of fall/winter, the macabre, HP Lovecraft is my literary king, I enjoy certain types of horror media, musical tastes span classical/orchestral, heavy metal, new age, electronica, rock, select gangsta rap, film and videogame soundtracks, Orthodox and Catholic chant as well as neo-pagan folk, coffee is always a good idea, cats are best, and my Harley Davidson is my therapy on two wheels. As for myself I have been told I have a dry sense of humor. I am not the brightest bulb when it comes to intellect but I am sharp as a knife when it comes to witty conversation and smart remarks in general. Well I think that’s enough about me. What can you expect from my online stack of writings?
MY WORKS: Mostly poetry. I don’t write as much as I used to mainly because the timing is just never quite right. I am usually feeling a burst of inspiration on my way to work but by the time I am free I have forgotten or the inspiration has passed. A shame really. I also like to write the occasional short story. And historically speaking they’re usually horror stories. It just seems to come so easily. Some of what I have written has at times shocked even myself as far as subject matter to be perfectly honest so I must put a READER BEWARE from the start.