Let me tell you a story. Something dark, dreadful, and gory. I shall weave you a world of pleasure and delights. Ones to accompany you on these ethereal nights. Join me as we voyage to lands unknown, some may just claim you as their own.
Taboo Section: Chapter 2
II Adam was mesmerized. The sound of his Aunt’s voice both terrified and captivated him. He had hoped when she had first proposed the idea, she was implying a horror movie marathon. However, he now believed no amount of A, B, or C list talent could compare to Ellie’s narration. It was as if she could slip from character to character at will. Only a subtle inflection here, a cockney accent there, and you were sitting in the front row in these tragic creatures' lives.
Taboo Section: Chapter 1
Adam laid back on the plush surface of the navy blue bed, unsure how to process his current situation. He felt like he had been abandoned, dropped off at his aunt’s doorstep like an unwanted puppy or something. He stared at the ceiling, wrestling with his emotions, when a gentle knock came from the door, followed by, “Adam? Hey, it’s me. Can I come in?” His Aunt Ellie’s voice broke him from his loathful wallowing. Sitting up and breathing, the remnants of his irritation bid her to enter.
The Witch in the Wolf’s Den
She poured the vibrant black liquid into the pot, stirring slowly, letting her desires seep into its murky abyss. From her dark red lips hummed the incantation. It was in a language she did not truly know, yet, that was of no consequence. For what she now planned, intention coupled with recitation would suffice. Feelings of guilt attempted to creep into her heart. She knew this was wrong, that this betrayal would poison any chance of reconciliation with her sister. She did not care. If a monster were what she was made out to be, then, a monster she would become. The bubbling concoction belched a mist of sparkling violet. Satisfied that her secret weapon was now complete, the only thing left was to lure her quarry to the trap.
As she stood staring into the dark rolling waves, she knew this was it, her last hope. A last-ditch attempt for liberation. She had tried to do things the right way. Endlessly working to better herself, to be the person they always wanted. The daughter her parents hoped for, the woman the man she loved had asked for. And the mother her son desperately deserved. He needed her most than any other, but sadly, it was hopeless. She was hopeless. No matter how hard she tried, she could not escape the demons of her past, so why try anymore? She was tired, so desperately tired.
In the Arena: Overcoming Resistance
I meant to write this two weeks ago. I had just got done listening to Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art for the 12th time and had an entire outline of not just this piece but, an entire series on overcoming resistance; learning to be fearless( a title I got from Curtis Jackson’s Hustle Harder, Hustle Smarter); and my beliefs on the Law Of Attraction. I went into my office, opened up my MacBook, and typed out the first line that went like this: Growing up, I always enjoyed stories of heroes, but none more so than those of underdogs. And just like that, I tossed the whole project out. I shut my MacBook, walked back into my bedroom, and turned on the TV. Just like that, I had been bested by my long-time frienemy and rival, myself.
His eyes washed over her body, taking in the sacrifice which offered herself to him. Even though it wasn’t entirely a willful act, it would nonetheless serve his ever-growing appetite. Her long black hair rested gently on her shoulders, nearly covering her breast. Her eyes were the color of pine in the dim light of the room. The scent of lavender, sandalwood, and arousal hung in the air.
Lady of Weeping Lake
He stared at the void of the blank document screen, infuriated by its plain, dreadfully white background. “ Why can’t I think of anything!”, he thought to himself. It had been this way for months now since the publishing of his bestseller. A story that had brought him the recognition he had so long desired from his work since boyhood. He had always dreamed of being mentioned among the likes of Koonst, Christie, and King as one of the great literary minds of suspense and horror. When his first story was published, he had seen it as the first of his rise to the ranks of those great authors, but as time passed the blank page that once held such promise, now turned into an ever-goading reminder of his inadequacy. What was worse than that, the money which had at one point been his ticket out of the desperate circumstance he was once so akin to, was nearly all dried up.
The Dark Serpent
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had strange nightmares. These are not like normal nightmares, these come in pairs and they only come every 4 years. These have been so real, that at one point, my girlfriend at the time had me taken to a hospital because, as she put it— I was being strangled! Yeah, that’s right. Not choking, her words to both the doctor and me were that I was coughing, struggling to breathe, and there was a shadow wrapped around my neck that kept getting tighter! To be honest I felt bad for the girl, especially after I broke up with her not too long after. That was right after the one which I am going to tell you now.
The street light at the corner flickered in its usual pattern. A painfully slow and steady on and off, like a zombie cashier, still ringing that can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle because he has quite figured out he’s no longer on of the living. Apart from that, Ellen’s Street was void of life. In a town like Halesend not much went on after dark. That statement was even more true at 3 am, the witching hour for most people, but for the folks of Halesend, it is more commonly known as Hellen’s Hour. For that was who this very street claimed its name. Ellen Hale, the wife of the town’s founder Arthur Hale, was rather infamous in these parts.