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Willem Indigo
Bio
I spend substantial efforts diving into the unexplainable, the strange, and the bewilderingly blasphamous from a wry me, but it's a cold chaotic universe behind these eyes and at times, far beyond. I am Willem Indigo: where you wanna go?
Stories (71/0)
Ode to the Inspiration that Launched it All
My name was on it, but not much else. The heroic soul who went out of their pretty little way to save my package from the clutches of a conniving postman who desperately tried to get a peek as she claimed neighbors should look out for each other. “Is that why a piece of your press-on is stuck under the tape,” I said, not honestly expecting an answer despite her immediate and silent eye roll as I shut the door in her face. I gather the box in a box is a better defense, although looking at it, I couldn’t imagine what I ordered that would need a thick iron casing. A five-by-four-inch cask with no label stamp or company name. Without my address under my elegantly stenciled title, it’s no wonder it sat in the lobby of my building with a Thieving Thelma. Where’s the handle, latch, or thin flush line that indicated this wasn’t a poorly measured, unfinished die? Sharp edges and corners left me looking at it like an oversized Rubric’s Cube lacking the where with all of a first move. Amid contemplating whether a box cutter blade would be thin enough to probe for a hidden prompt built within, it snapped open so hard the twenty-pounder leaped against gravity’s direct order, landing in a thud that left scratched on the lazily done wood finish. “I’m calling Chelsey.”
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
The Walter Experiment
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.… “You are as hateful of my surprise as your friend, Mr. Fang.” Detective S took it upon herself to get in his car without his permission, the beginning of her intrusions into his peacefully isolated day.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
Ask nothing, Guilty of nothing
Simple drops were always scheduled for the evening. The last three were the easiest fifteen grand Shaun ever made, and although cryptic, he deciphered the coding to follow the directions to the letter. Never open the bag, carry it everywhere but draw no attention to it, and look out for the next Staples sticky note for instructions. Staying focused until the drop was complete managed to be his biggest struggle. Then again, the threats he received while stopping for an energy drink on the first round smoothed that hiccup to tempered glass. The directly deposited fee for this one had been tripled; cryptic riddles with sinister overtones be damned, he thought, picking up the bag from the trunk of the ’87 Cutlass Supreme. He even held on to a lotto scratcher to justify any excessive spending as a result of his job well done. Pretending his expensive California move had been a stumble into a gold rush became a farcical endeavor the moment he was left to his own devices. The collection of criminally worded positive spin in letters home finally reached the level of light bull shit following the clues to his fourth carry.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
Janet and Jimmi
Hits never last as long as you want them to, no matter your personal poison dishing them out without the decency to hop back or put up defenses. For months, Jimmi and Janet have been looking for the longest high they could, telling themselves that it’s only until the pain goes away. Only until their world’s splattered with events poisoning futures to blackened ooze seems a little less bleak. Only until the past was something they could laugh about on a beach, where drinks are brought directly to you, and the ocean caresses your feet as it comes to steal away the land. For now, their beach will have to just be a hotel room paid up for the next three months, unlimited cable television, and opioids with MDMA glittered amongst each of the 23 smugglable packages. Didn’t matter what form it came in, just as long as the shit cooked their minds.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
Only the Wicked Slumber Here
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. If there was a driveway leading through the trees to rundown shelter, even autumn couldn’t disparage the overgrowth swallowing the land in sharp, sturdy branches and decades of leaves. It’s said every now and again a vagrant would squat for a night, with the towns surrounding the lakes and rivers known for rogue campers and hitchhikers, but the local law stopped cleaning up after the place in the late eighties. If last known sightings were between mile markers twenty-three and twenty-four on the scenic highway 49, they didn’t bother following up. The residents spread throughout the Uwharries had no less than an acre distance from the property and were the few people in the forest area worried about double-checking their door locks and armories at night. Knocking on the door and sprinting for your life had become a high schooler’s obnoxious source of bragging rights; however, since Bass mouth Jack’s vanishing after peeking through the cracked door, it had been six years since teens have gone the distance. When the distorted high-pitched snarls frightened a motorist stopping for a piss under the stars, he noticed the candle eight days later, flickering yet unphased. It was the only thing in the report ever known by the authorities about that abandoned vehicle.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Horror
Inversion
What sound-minded people reported from the Manhatten shoreline is astonishing. However, as the military trucked my colleagues and me towards the anomaly in the back of a deuce and a half, I found myself trying to start a conversation, any conversation outside of our fields of study. As they dropped us off, barely staying long enough to let us unload our equipment, we watched the falling objects during the eighteen-mile boat ride to Long Island, waiting for the notions that made this more than just a frightful exploration mission. From the fog above, dark objects fell with no apparent pattern, but we barely caught the video of the ascension of a few things disappearing in such a way the Captain demanded double on the spot. If we couldn’t get the federal government to accompany us on THE research endeavor of Physics rewriting horror, this man would have to go down braver than any of us. Breaking through the dense fog that formed as the anomaly came to be, we realized our team may have been foolish. Our education spurred curiosities shedding light on human fears and would now be responsible for reporting on a dimension nightmare. Long Island now had a graciously settled twin mirrored island above, an inversion event but was the screaming of undoubtedly confused citizens, dropping, rising, or victims of some kind of rift exchange.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
First Date
Many who know of me and the niche of study my journalistic integrity endures wildly brings me into the faces of many broken, twisted, unstable, intriguing, or plain freakish oddities in human form. I remain crude to remain social leveling with their off-centered biases, upsetting others in my field who can’t take the risky behavior that radiates poor outcomes with every question I pose. These Rock stars, eccentric Nascar drivers, or agoraphobic architects winning awards but call to say they’re in a DMT coma and can’t pick it up until the Titan’s orbit reverses the tides. These tasks I’ve taken to bring to light the strange, the unknowable, the fringes, ugly cursed stepchild have been to broaden the horizons of the dark and fanciful that exist inches from your daily lives. Not all of it pans out to anything more than some coo-coos with talent no one needs, according to readers of my last few stories, but the wait is over. It’s been three years since my time wrestling with the unfathomable antics of The Whiskey Hotel during their Witchy Bombardment European tour, and now I’ve finally got in contact with another bonified anomaly. She’s known as Detective Alice Scarlett.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
In the Ring
Drunken punch choke-out sex is not for the faint of heart. She may want you to choke her, but you have to retain the low enough self-esteem to not only let her beat you like a rowdy slave but also to still finish when she does, just cause; like it makes a fucking difference. You go to work the next morning bloody, with scars and bruises, ignoring the rumors birthed from sheer speculation alone, and do your daily routine like a good worker bee. Explaining that the so-called love of your life finds it fun to inflict pain on you tends to draw a lot of unwanted attention. You tolerate her for a few reasons. One, because Sonya can score the best opioids from “work,” so pain is nothing more than an afterthought, but more importantly, she keeps you from feeling alone. Something that tends to cause you to overreact even as a lonely kid.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Filthy
Cult of Ded Moon
Cult of Ded Moon There weren’t always dragons in the valley. However, romanticizing the good old days doesn't solve the infestation problem for the occupants of Ded Moon. Despite being nestled between two mountain regions, vast lush fields surrounded the city, rising from plateau to plateau amongst the mountainside, and the tip was all anyone could see. Tourists of Crazy Peak can look down at the canyon below to witness the unexplainable lights and seismic activity, referring to the vacant fog as ‘All Fears from the Nothingness. Recent fire breath accompanied by roars with visible sound waves deafening those in a three-mile radius happened quarterly, yet attempts to suss out the source forever fall short. Venturers rarely come back from a half a day’s hike down without several weeks missing upon their return; they described the city as peaceful with modern amenities and even a few cell towers at opposite ends of the canyon that the state of Montana approved if never sanction. According to the state’s representatives, Crazy Mountain, the most eastwards of the Rocky Mountain area, there’s nothing to acknowledge about the dark spot so void-like that satellites have never picked the lights witnesses to claims lie below. It’s a position the governor must share with which ever sitting president is dodging the questions or shifting the conversation away no matter the context. This has led to a hundred and twenty-three disappearances throughout the last eight presidents as the anomalies are effectively charted by brave private citizens while very poorly vetted.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
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