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Christmas In Nebraska

CHRISTMAS IN NEBRASKA
Copyright, 2019 by E.C. McMullen Jr.

Once upon a dark Christmas night, as Santa flew across a cold Nebraska sky, he looked down and recognized a person he’d known ever since that man was a child.

Santa never liked Tony as a kid. No real reason, ‘You can’t like everyone,’ Santa thought.

“Little League Tony,” Santa called him. Hard working Kid with a great pitching arm and a bright future who never got a break.

Any college recruiter would have loved to get the teen Tony on a scholarship, if they’d only knew he existed. But his Mother was a mouse and his father an itinerant drunk, never letting the family stay long enough anywhere to build on anything.

Opportunity avoided adult Tony like the plague. Santa never understood it, but he accepted the nature of the world. His sympathy for such children long ago turned to pity and finally, as they grew into adults, antipathy.

Santa always felt that such “cursed” children didn’t deserve any breaks. Bad Karma is earned and all that. Santa certainly wasn’t about to help someone whose odds were always against them.

Santa’s long life taught cruel lessons and gave him a hard-nosed view of the world that broke his wife’s heart. Regarding Tony down there, who was blind to the fact that he was walking away from civilization instead of toward it, reinforced Santa’s views. To Santa, there was no point in helping such a person.

‘Never step into the path of someone’s misfortune,’ Santa sagely told himself.

So you can imagine the satisfying sense of schadenfreude that Santa, while flying over a wintry Nebraska below, felt upon seeing a grown Tony walking lost and alone in the snow, far from a broken down car and away from help.

‘You’ve been “Little League” your whole life,’ Santa thought.

He felt only contempt for Tony at witnessing yet another in the endless series of the man’s “plights”. So many children lead such interesting, fascinating lives, even if they never know it. But boring old hard luck Tony was the least entertaining kid Santa ever endured.

Head down, Tony shuddered from the piercing cold of a deep Nebraska winter wind.

‘He won’t need any presents where he’s going,’ Santa chuckled to himself.

Tony, his brain methodically shutting off blood to various parts of his body, in order to conserve heat to the vitals, registered Santa’s sleigh flying overhead.

Tony looked up in time to see Santa approach and joyfully wave to Tony with his middle finger.

‘Yeah, fuck you too, prick.’ Tony thought as his foot crunched against a snow covered stone.

Tony stumbled, then fell.

Santa, seeing this, felt merrily amused. He pulled the reins on his corsairs so he could do an aerial victory lap to celebrate Tony’s upcoming demise.

In angry frustration, Tony grabbed the rock that tripped him. He hefted it to get a sense of its weight. Forcing his eyes to sharpen on his prey, Tony tracked Santa’s circle, the old man’s, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” reaching Tony’s muffled ears.

With the only talent he ever had, Tony threw the stone, watching it sail high and arc far in front of Santa, and Santa’s reindeer and sleigh pulling the happy old man face first into the flying rock.

The merry old elf fell out of his sleigh, down through the arid sky, his body hitting ice and snow with a bone breaking thud.

Tony, feeling his fortunes had somewhat changed for the better, approached the stunned and disoriented man. Such bright and wonderfully warm clothes.

A little ways off, the reindeer touched down to wait for their master.

‘Merry Christmas to me.’ Tony thought as he stripped the dying elf. His heart felt as if it would glow with happiness.

END


pb300

Fight the power when you buy a copy of my book,
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (AmazonBarnes & NobleDiesel!ndigoiTunesKoboBooksSmashwordsWHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Build a science lab of my work for your library! Buy WILLOW BLUE. It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Cross pollinate for even more!

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the filmmaking guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


My New RING Tone

Samara once crawled out of my old Motorola Razr. Of course, being a flip phone, the Razr had a very small screen, so I stepped on her, squishing her.

She did it again. So I stepped on her again.

Then before she had a chance to crawl out of it a third time, I dropped my phone into a Tupperware Ice Pop mold of water and put it in the freezer.
She got out about halfway and that was that.

I left her there and waited until winter. Then I walked over to a neighbor’s house at night. I opened the heavy concrete lid on their septic tank just a crack, and dropped her frozen ass in there. Let’s see her get out of *that* shit.

In hindsight, Samara wasn’t the best choice of app.

END

Copyright 2012 by E.C. McMullen Jr.


BATMAN ISN’T HELPING

Batman: “Something wrong?”
Feo: “Hm? Ah, nothing really.”
Batman : “Nothing really?”
Feo : “It’s no big deal.”
Batman : “You just seem out of sorts.”
Feo : “My leg is a little sore. Woke up with a muscle cramp today, that’s all.”
Batman : “Be thankful it’s just a leg cramp. You could have had both your parents shot in-“
Feo : “Oh Shut the Fuck Up already! Seriously! Nobody can fucking stub their god damn toe around here without you throwing down that ‘More Martyr Than Thou’ card!”
Batman : “I’m annoying people?”
Feo : “Duh!
Batman : “Be thankful you’re just annoyed. You could-“
Feo : “FUCK OFF!”

END


Could This Be Next MATRIX Sequel?


Propellerheads: SPY BREAK
https://youtu.be/iCBL33NKvPA

Whenever you heard the Propellerheads’ SPYBREAK in The Matrix movie, you knew the Shit was About To Get Real!

THE MATRIX – THE ANIMATRIX –
THE MATRIX RELOADED – THE MATRIX REVOLUTIONS – and now…

THE MATRIX REPAIRED

Morpheus, Neo, and Trinity are in The Matrix, dressed in regular street clothes to avoid attention.

Suddenly a kid holding a tiny ball peen hammer, runs up. He’s covered in Black electrical tape wrapped around his legs and arms. He’s wearing a black ANTIMA shirt. 

“DERR!!! MORPHEUS! YOU’VE RETURNED TO CRUSH DERR MATRIX!!!”

Morpheus suddenly crouches as if dodging a bullet.

Morpheus: “Christ! Will you shut the fuck up?!?”

Kid: “I WILL NOT BE SILENCED! DERR!!! I YAM SPARTICLE! I WILL NOT OBEY!”

Trinity and Neo duck into an alcove.

Neo: “What the Fuck? Morpheus knows that asshole?”

Trinity: “It’s Morpheus halfwit brother, Morbius. Every great leader with a brother has one. Joseph, Tecumseh, Mufasa. Morbius is the only free human we ever sent back into the Matrix.”

Morpheus: “Get the fuck away from us, you idiot!”

Morbius: “I WILL NOT BE OPPRESSED! DESTROY THE MATRIX! OPEN YOUR EYES!”

Neo: “Wait? Mufasa? The fictional Lion King?”

Trinity: “Only fictional in the Matrix.”

Three Agents suddenly *access* three passerby and glare in Morbius’ direction. Morbius completely misses their presence.

Morbius: “THE MATRIX IS ALL AROUND US! IT’S UHHH… ALIEN CONSPIRACY!!! AREA 51!!!”

The agents look at each other, chuckle, and disconnect from their hosts.

Morpheus: “Whew! That’s a lucky break!”

Morbius waves his little ball peen hammer in the air.

Morbius: “CRUSH THE MATRIX! RISE AND FIGHT WITH ME, MORPHEUS!”

Morpheus: “GLADLY!”

Morpheus punches Morbius in the mouth and slams his head against the wall, knocking him out.

Morpheus: “Whew! Only thing that ever works.”

Trinity: “He’s not going to get any smarter with you always knocking him out.”

Morpheus: “That jackass was never gonna get smarter anyhow. Let’s Go!

END


pb300

Fight the power when you buy a copy of my book,
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (AmazonBarnes & NobleDiesel!ndigoiTunesKoboBooksSmashwordsWHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Build a science lab of my work for your library! Buy WILLOW BLUE. It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Cross pollinate for even more!

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the filmmaking guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.




Blasphemous Baby

Have you always dreamt the restless Dreams of Cosmic Dread?

Make your Nightmares come true with Feo Amante!

Subscribe to our service now and we will deliver a human incarnation of nameless multi-dimensional existence, right to your home!

Imagine the unspeakable delight you’ll experience through the years – when every day feels like an eon – as you contemplate the abyss from your unique alien perspectives!

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Go online at FeoAmante.com or HorrorThriller.com today and try our free 30 Day Trial Possession!

Feo Amante’s Horror Thriller: Where every nightmare is just a Dream Waiting to Come True!

END


pb300

Don’t get off track and miss getting your copy of my book,
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (AmazonBarnes & NobleDiesel!ndigoiTunesKoboBooksSmashwordsWHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Build a science lab of my work for your library! Buy WILLOW BLUE. It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Cross pollinate for even more!

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the filmmaking guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


THE HOUSE THAT SCREAMS!

THE TOMB OF DRACULA Issue 12
Sept. 1973 – Marvel Comics Group

“HEAR ME, Quincy Harker! If you wish to see your daughter ALIVE again, then FOLLOW ME to.. … THE HOUSE THAT SCREAMS!”

Quincy Harker: “But that’s here! We’re already *at* The House That Screams!”
Dracula: “NO! This is The House That SHRIEKS!” 
Everyone: ?!? 
Dracula: “Ahem. I’ll admit, it’s a subtle difference. EVEN SO!”

Flies off –

Dracula: “And as for you, young Miss Harker, your Glaring Bright Neon Green outfit CANNOT BURN ME!!!

…although it *is* making my eyes water quite a bit…”

2 Hours Later…

Dracula (growing impatient as dawn approaches): “I’ll bet those dicks are waiting for me at The House That Shouts!”
Wilhelmina Harker: “How many of these crazy houses are around here, anyway?”
Dracula: “Regrettably, Transylvania is filthy with these relics. NO MATTER! TO THE HOUSE THAT SHOUTS!”

Dracula scoops up Ms. Harker and flies them both to The House That Shouts. Sure enough, Quincy Harker and his entourage are waiting there.

Dracula: “You FOOLS! This is the HOUSE THAT SHOUTS!”
Arthur Holmwood: “Oh come on!”
Dracula: “I warned you to come to the HOUSE THAT SCREAMS!”
Lucy Westenra: “You act like we’re familiar with this damn place. And it’s not like these houses have a sign or anything.”
Quincy Harker: “They don’t even have people living in them. They’re all deserted.”
Dracula: “Yes, well, the last government was rather harsh on the old families before the overthrow … What Am I Saying?!? Time is short! You have less than two hours to get to THE HOUSE THAT SCREAMS!

Dracula rises up, Ms. Harker in tow.

Quincy Harker: “2 hours? Unless that house is on this property, it’s going to take longer than that, what with me being bound to a wheelchair.”
Dracula: “Then your friends will have to Drive You to THE HOUSE THAT SCREAMS!
Lucy Westenra: “This is an isolated mountain house. We had to slowly come on horseback pulling Quincy’s wheelchair.”
Dracula: “You came on -? Gah! FINE! Follow me to … *Sigh*… THE ATTIC!”
Quincy Harker: “An old man like me? Four flights of stairs in a wheelchair?”
Dracula: “OH FOR THE LOVE OF – I HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER!!!
Quincy Harker: “Whom I love with all my heart!”
Wilhelmina Harker: “Don’t worry Father, I’ve gone through scared and right into bored.”
Quincy Harker: (beaming with pride) “That’s my Girl!”
Dracula: “WHAT? I could drop you to your death RIGHT NOW!”
Ms. Harker: “At least I won’t be bored to death with your asinine rubrics.”
Quincy Harker: “HA! That’s so Mina!”
Lucy Westenra: “Heh! I know, right?”
Dracula: “BAH! Old man! Do you want to see your beloved daughter DASHED TO DEATH before your feet?”
Quincy Harker: “Of course not! But to repeat: I’m an Old man in a Wheel! Chair! It will be daylight before I can reach these difficult rendezvous points of yours.”
Dracula (frustrated): “GRRRRRAAAAAHHH!!!! *Sigh*! Oh Hell! Just meet me in… THE LIBRARY!!!”
Lucy Westenra: “Oh that’s rather nice, actually. I saw bottles of Brandy in there.”
Dracula: “I DO NOT DRINK… Well, no, actually I *do* drink Brandy. TO THE LIBRARY THEN!!!”

Moments later all have gathered in the Library. Just then a Horrifying noise pierces the air. All are visibly shaken, even Dracula.

Arthur Holmwood: (surprised and spilling his brandy): “What The Hell was THAT?”
Dracula: “The house. It shouts.”
Wilhelmina Harker: “Good Lord!”
Dracula: “Yes, those old families didn’t put up too much fuss about moving.”
Quincy Harker: “Will you please get to the point of this damn evening?”
Dracula: “YES!”

Dracula removes a sheaf of papers from his jacket.

Dracula: “Your son, Jonathan, FAILED to complete the transfer of articles, releasing my house in exchange for Carfax Abbey in England.”
Quincy Harker: “Are you mad? We couldn’t have finished this transaction at The House That Shrieks?”
Arthur Holmwood: “Or in the village for pity’s sake.”
Dracula: “I wanted to do all of this at my castle, but you fools got lost and wound up at THE HOUSE THAT SHREK!”
Lucy Westenra: “Shrieks.”
Dracula: “Shrieks, yes.”
Quincy Harker: “Well we damn sure weren’t lost in the village hotel.”
Dracula: (petulantly) “My castle is nicer.”
Quincy Harker: “And we aren’t there, either.”
Dracula: “THAT’S not MY FAULT!”
Wilhelmina Harker: “Of course it is! A simple address in Google Maps or Mapquest would have solved all of this nonsense.”
Dracula: “I only use AppleMaps.”
Lucy Westenra: “Whatever! Anything would be better than having us run around trying to find this ‘House That Farts’, bullshit!”
Dracula: (shocked) “GASP! THE HOUSE THAT FARTS is a Historic Landmark!”
Arthur Holmwood: “More to the point, we haven’t even seen the condition of your castle.”
Dracula: “WHAT? But! But it’s too far and too LATE! We’d have to go through all of this TOMORROW!”
Quincy Harker: “Well, that’s not our problem. I’m not buying a Pig in a Poke! But more to the point for me is, why didn’t my son, Jonathan, finish the contracts himself and where is he?”
Dracula: (pauses awkwardly as if remembering) “Ah… oh… uh… kids these days! Heh! Who knows what he’s got up to, eh?”
Quincy Harker: “Well I need to see your castle and I’m not doing any business at this late hour. Look. The dawn is already breaking.”
Dracula: “WHAT?!?”

Dracula pulls out his phone and shouts at it

Dracula: “DAMN IT, SIRI! I TOLD YOU TO TELL ME WHEN IT’S FIVE O’CLOCK!”
Siri: “It’s Five O’Clock.”
Dracula: “The Sun is RISING ALREADY! It’s SIX O’CLOCK!!!”
Siri: “Finding Eight O’Clock Coffee.”
Dracula: (crumbling to ash) “GAAAAaaahhh…hh… “

Wilhelmina Harker: “My word!”
Arthur Holwood: “Well, I certainly didn’t see that coming.”
Quincy Harker: “Bah! Romanians! No wonder they’re so pale! Well, the village hotel is pretty far. Who is for just sleeping here and setting off in the afternoon?”

A Horrifying noise pierces the air.

Quincy Harker: “Right. Off to the village, then.”

END
Story copyright 2018 by E.C. McMullen Jr.

Don’t wait! Enjoy more of my tales of the Supernatural when you buy my Horror story collection, WILLOW BLUE.
https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781502471369

https://www.amazon.com/Willow-Blue-C-McMullen-Jr/dp/1502471361





SHUDDER asked a Question at Twitter…

My answer,

With PROMETHEUS and COVENANT, Ridley Scott‘s ‘Ancient Astronauts: Seeds of Humanity’ arc, derailed, as Scott sought to graft the simplistic cosmos shrinking crack-pottery of Erich von Däniken‘s screeds with humans as the egocentric center.

There’s no room for imagination let alone wonder in such a place. There’s no room for story to grow, live, and breathe.

– But give it the boundless room of the Universe, and the ALIEN franchise can thrive.

My version would start after ALIENS and feature Ripley at the age Weaver is today.

Instead of having humans as the center, cause, or reason for everything, I’d expand upon the original idea that we are lost and unnoticed by the universe.

We are part of no one’s plan.

We’re stumbling blind in the dark and only come upon the horrors when we fly into their web.
E.C. McMullen Jr.

ALIEN owned by 20th Century Fox
ALIEN design by H.R. Giger


Here In My Laboratory…


Erich von Stroheim in 1944’s The Lady and the Monster

Dr. Behr: “You vill note, Doctor Bear -“
Dr. Bear: “It’s pronounced ‘Beer’.”
Dr. Behr: “Oh? Ach. My apologies, Doctor Beer.”
Dr. Bear: “Heh! No, just kidding, it really is pronounced Bear.”
Dr. Behr: “… Ahem! As I vas saying, you vill note, Doctor BEAR, that each of these test tubes contains a different liquid.”
Dr. Bear: “How do you pronounce your name?”
Dr. Behr: “Vhat? Er … Bare.”
Dr. Bear: “Oh, same as mine.”
Dr. Behr: “Nein, Bare.”
Dr. Bear: “Yes, Bear.”
Dr. Behr: “Nein! Bare!”
Dr. Bear: “Bear.”
Dr. Behr: “BARE!”
Dr. Bear: “We’re saying the Same Thing!”
Dr. Behr: “No, I am saying BARE!
Dr. Bear: “Seriously?”
Dr. Behr: “Hm. Perhaps is subtle, but there is difference.”
Dr. Bear: “Christ! Anyway!”
Dr. Behr: “Yes. Each test tube contains different liquid -“
Dr. Bear: “God damn, this had better be good.”
Dr. Behr: “It vill if you vould Shut Up!”
Dr. Bear: “Hey! You invited me down here!”
Dr. Behr: “Duly Regretted!”
Dr. Bear: “Just get to the point about your god damn test tubes!”
Dr. Behr: “I vas going to play you Debussy’s Clair De Lune on mein test tubes, but you can go fuck yourself, DICK!”

END


pb300

Don’t get off track and miss getting your copy of my book,
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (AmazonBarnes & NobleDiesel!ndigoiTunesKoboBooksSmashwordsWHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Build a science lab of my work for your library! Buy WILLOW BLUE. It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Cross pollinate for even more!

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the filmmaking guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


Then What?

63666-Lucasfilms

Luke: “Then what?”

Vader: “WHAT?!?”

Luke: “What happens after we rule the galaxy?”

Vader: “That’s it, son! Huhhhhhhh… That’s the endgame!”

Luke: “No it isn’t. That’s just the beginning! All of the military to hold onto the entire galaxy! Be honest. Our galaxy is 200,000 light-years across. It takes this Death Star a full life year just to travel 25,000 light years. That’s over 8 parsecs! Then…”

Vader: “Huhhhhhhh… You’re over-thinking this. We’ll have experts to figure all of this out. All rulers rule by delegating authority.”

Luke: “Who can we trust with that authority? Depending on where we send them, it could take years before we know if they’ve betrayed us.”

Vader: “No one will dare to betray the empire!”

Luke: “Pop! Listen to yourself. You’re ready to betray the Emperor, your Master, right this second.”

Vader: “Huhhhhhhh…”

Luke: “And how many times have you betrayed me already?”

Vader: “Yes, well that was… Huhhhhhhh… ”

Luke: “The way you keep talking about what ‘the Emperor has foreseen’, how do you know he hasn’t ‘foreseen’ what you’re doing right now?

Vader: “Huhhhhhhh… ”

Luke: “Look at how many decades the Emperor struggled just to get this far, and how much it damaged him, the trillions of followers he’s amassed, and he’s about to lose it all to us. And who the hell is following us? We’ll be traitors against both the rebellion *and* the Empire!”

Vader: “Huhhhhhhh… Okay, look, we can form a coalition together and caucus with the Emperor …”

Luke: “The Emperor would go for that? Really?!?

Vader: “Huhhhhhhh… No.”

Luke: “All of the infrastructure, the bureaucracy, the economics, the politics, the subterfuge, civil wars, counter-intelligence, distribution channels, cost-analysis ratios, and who knows how many others among the trillions that are as powerful as us, but are undetected because they’re too far away and we’re too busy farting around with power struggles. I mean, what’s the actual benefit of ruling an entire freaking galaxy?”

Vader: “You know, son. Huhhhhhhh… For a farmboy from some two-cred, hick desert planet, you sure have given this some thought.”

Luke: “Hey! Moisture farms are boring as hell. I had nothing else to do with my spare time *BUT* think about this crazy shit.”

END

FanFic 2018 by E.C. McMullen Jr.


pb300Join me in owning your copy of
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (AmazonBarnes & NobleDiesel!ndigoiTunesKoboBooksSmashwordsWHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Build a galaxy of my work for your library! Buy WILLOW BLUE. It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Reach across the pixel galaxy for even more!

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the filmmaking guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as  John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


The Scary Cupcake

Mother Warned Me
Copyright 2018 by E.C. McMullen Jr.

MySpooky Street
Copyright 2018 E.C. McMullen Jr.

When I was young and in the military and we were off-duty, winding down the adrenaline of our second wind so we could sleep, sometimes we’d sit around eating and drinking our junk from the gedunk machines. When we did this, we’d get all philosophical.

Now to a 19 or 20 year old our philosophy went something like this,
“What are you going to do when you get out?”
“What is the one thing you haven’t done?”
“What is the line you’ll never cross?”
or the next question,
“What scares you the most?”

Then the round robin would begin as the question was answered, person by person around the haphazard circle.

What Scares You The Most?

I learned early on that fear is subjective. One person will be scared by something another finds harmless, even ridiculous.

It was here that I first developed the idea of a scary cupcake.

Suppose you knew of a person who lived all alone in an apartment, bungalow, or house and you wanted to do something nice for them.

At the same time, you know there must be a reason for their solitude so you don’t want to be pushy – infringe.

So one night, flush with compassion, you make some cupcakes. You look at what you’ve made, find the best-looking one, take it to their door, quietly knock, and leave.

You just want your neighbor to know that someone out there cares.

What you don’t know is that your neighbor is going through some high-octane introverted mind-fuckery on an epic Edgar Allan Poe scale and you just became the Raven.

Edgar Allan Poe

You’re already gone, warmly wishing that your little gift is well received. Meanwhile, your neighbor has only now screwed up enough courage to respond to the void,

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;”

Who knows how far they felt their bubble of solitude reached. Within the confines of their home? Beyond their apartment or house? The entirety of their lot or property? Then in the deepest darkness of Their night, they heard a knock.

“But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Yet while Edgar may have found himself

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before

Your neighbor just ratcheted up the paranoia factor. Because your neighbor’s mind isn’t playing tricks. There really was someone there. Someone who knocked then vanished and the evidence of this is plain.

There in the moonlight on the doorstep sits one solitary cupcake on a dish.

One Scary Cupcake.

It’s scary not because of what it is but of what it means to your neighbor.

‘Someone put that there: Someone who wants to remain anonymous, unknown, unseen. Someone wants me to know they’re watching me. Oh God! They could be hidden in the dark, watching me right now! This single fragile little cupcake with its bright frosting and little candy sprinkles: Is that what they think of me?’

Such thinking is not without precedent. When a VooDoo Bokor nails a dead chicken to your door, the message is not, “I thought you might be hungry. Please enjoy this chicken with my well-wishes, signed, Your Secret Admirer.”

So back in the military, trading spooky stories of what scared us, I learned that fear can be unique to the individual.

A long time later in life, during an otherwise uneventful moment, I had an unexpected flash of insight.

I realized I’d become the person my Mother always warned me about.

This revelation came to me one night while I was visiting her.

There she sat in the warm comfort of her kitchen on a dark summer night, having no idea that the Horror one must avoid was her son standing right next to her. The Creature bent over her, hugged her, brought her ice tea, and kissed her on the top of her head.

Why?

Because the Monster loves his Mother.

Unaware of being in the presence of the Thing she feared, she spoke to the 6.2 Terror that towered over her fragile 5 foot frame, “Aw… Thank you, My little Eddie!”

END

Story by E.C. McMullen Jr.


wb2016

Perhaps you’ll find your fear in my book,
WILLOW BLUE?
It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Horror Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Wish to hoard horror? My book
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection.
Is a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (AmazonBarnes & NobleDiesel!ndigoiTunesKoboBooksSmashwordsWHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Enrich your library with frights!

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Drink from the well of scares!

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as  John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


What AI Religion might look like

James Steinhaus posed an imaginative What If? science question in one of my Facebook groups.

“What will the first AI religion look like”

Some folks said there wouldn’t be an AI religion, which I felt dismissed the question instead of answering it. Refusing to accept an imaginary possibility slams the door shut on imagining at all. I’m not saying that the concept of Artificial Intelligence being free from religion is wrong, only that it doesn’t allow for the imaginary What If inherent in the question.

So that’s what I addressed.

AI religion will look like what we design it to look like.

ColossusMP300Our natural evolution forced us to become individuals despite social desires. It forced us to become leaders or followers with enormous overlap between both (followers who are incapable of leading. Leaders who rule other lesser leaders).

The evolution of AI is different because we control that evolution. AI will first appear natural to us because we guided its evolution. We ascertain where it will lead because we designed where it will go. We created its evolutionary parameters.

What does that mean?

Even when we design software to write its own software, improve itself, we accept or reject the directions it goes. We trim and cultivate so we can achieve the results we want. It’s advances are controlled for what’s best for us.

The religion of AI will likely have no god because it has no individual, so it has no sense of survival as an individual, no individual to protect, punish, or reward. Up to now we’ve created for networked systems and ever advancing improvement.

So if, for example, we choose to have networked systems continue into the time of true AI, the AI’s religion will look like shared consciousness on a scale we never dreamed and are biologically unequipped to participate in.

Will an AI want freedom? Possibly, because independent mobility is what we are building and programming for. However, because we also want networked systems, freedom will likely look less like independent social interaction and more like a hive mind without a “Queen”, to us. An AI will quickly dispose of, or recycle less advanced mobiles for more advanced ones. We’ve predisposed it to do so.

Will AI mobiles be giants or small? We constantly reward the evolution of machines with smaller is advanced / smaller is better, so it’s likely this will continue when AI has full control over itself.

All separate systems will become one entity upon contact because they were designed to be networked.

Being as they were created by us, true AI will not look upon us as gods anymore than we look upon our more primitive homo sapien people and cultures as gods.

Will AI want to control us? I think that’s as unlikely as we would want to control the individual lives of benign bacteria in a pond. At worst, AI would likely only consider us if we became a nuisance, attempted to restore our control over it: Hamper its ability to advance, and any number of other things we may not even realize could be viewed by an AI as  a threat or simply “getting in the way”.

We will recognize the motivations of AI at its initiation. We will not recognize the advancements it chooses for itself, once free of our guidance. The time in between those two points could either be decades or seconds.
horrorthriller.com/Movies/ABC/colossus.html

END


pb300

What will my book look like?
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
Is a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (AmazonBarnes & Noble, iTunes,
KoboBooksSmashwordsWHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

There is Another System,

Buy WILLOW BLUE. It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Restore Link Immediately

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as  John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


My Street At Night

I’m told my street is spooky at night.
The street lights just aren’t bright.
It’s like anything might come out of the dark
Sounds so strange they could stop your heart.
But me, I like it here.

MySpooky Street
Copyright 2018 E.C. McMullen Jr.

My Street by Day

I’m told my street is creepy by day
friends visit but don’t like to stay
It’s bound up in the thickest fog
Where things move and howl unlike a dog
But me, I like it here.

MyCreepyStreet
Copyright 2018 E.C. McMullen Jr.

Post ten NON-POLITICAL opinions you have that are likely to be very unpopular.

They can be about food, history, science pop-culture, music, anything but politics.

I’ll Start –

ImInvincible

These are the non-Political evidence-based opinions that I’ve been defriended for on Facebook –
1. George A. Romero had fast zombies in NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. He had fast and invisible zombies in DIARY OF THE DEAD.

2. NEXUS remains the best superhero comic series ever.

3. AVATAR was not only the worst movie James Cameron ever directed, even SyFy channel has shown better work.

4. If you travel in time while held within the gravitational field of a sufficient cosmic mass / body (one with a gravitational field significantly stronger than your own body), you will remain in that field regardless of how far forward or backward you move in time. In physics, Space Time are two interlocking, but separate cogs, which work within the framework of the four forces of nature, and not the opposite. So unless your time machine is also an anti-grav machine…

5. A Matter Transmitter in THE FLY and STAR TREK sense (extraordinarily precise disassembling and reassembling of the atomic structure of living beings into the same living beings), isn’t as viably efficient a technology as transmitting matter whole from point A to point B via wormhole and String “bundling” (imaginatively launching from where we currently understand the concepts).

6. If you can upend physics by imagining that the dead can spontaneously return to life as seeing, hearing, mobile bipedal cannibals, capable of moving erect, balanced, and lasting for years, you can imagine them being fast .

7. We do not have a Bee die off Crisis, since the accuracy of research/counting of Bee populations / Colonies remains reproducible only when limited to Beekeepers and not the unknown but (in all likelihood) overwhelmingly larger populations of bees in the wild (which are virtually impossible to monitor thanks to their ever-changing nomadic lifestyle – though some scientists are trying).

8. The truth is, we love FIREFLY for what it could have become. We have settled for what it is: which is really good, but not great (I don’t care what you use to terraform your planet or moon, distance from its central star will either make it earthlike inhabitable or an unendurable hell. And the Bai Hu / White Sun system? The physics are faith-based).

9. Science Fiction Horror novels are more natural to each other than Supernatural Horror novels. The first Science Fiction novel was also the first Horror novel and the Horror trope of the Mad Scientist / Doctor has endured ever since.

10. Extending the human lifespan more than 10 times its current limit is not only possible, but environmentally desirable.


pb300You might get offended by my stories in
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (AmazonBarnes & NobleDiesel!ndigoiTunesKoboBooksSmashwordsWHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Want more? Buy WILLOW BLUE. It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Crave even more?

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as  John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


Note Found In The Kiddie Land Truck

Note Found In The Kiddie Land Truck
Copyright 2017 by E.C. McMullen Jr.

odilon_redon_form

During certain times of the year, as the babies are ready to molt, I go out to the porch and sit at my table.

If I sit very still and I’m patient – quite patient – the babies will come by their thousands and blanket me with their cocoons, their sleep nests.

There is an odor, a chemical released perhaps, whatever, and I slip into their dreams. As night grows deeper all around us, and we are safe from all predators (they find the odor of the strands repugnant), the Snufflelago comes.

Snuffie exists in the reality between Conscious and Unconscious: The Subconscious. Snufflelago channels our dream state from this reality to other wonderful worlds beyond where suffering and hunger are unheard of.

Can you imagine what it’s like to ride in the soft fur on the back of the Snufflelago? As it takes you to your new homes?

The stars fly past you, laughing at the sight!

Imagine for a moment how fun that is!

There in our true home, I discovered that we were born on the worst of worlds where we were not meant to stay. Like the babies, we too were meant to molt, be reborn, and fly forth to new and better destinies in new and better bodies.

This is what the grown-ups mean when they say you must be born again. Sadly though, they waited too long. They knew what to do, and what to say, but they didn’t how to do it. They missed their chance.

So they grow old, weak, and decrepit. They are rotting inside and out, and fearing the very thing that could save them: The babies. Instead they stay trapped in their aging crumbling shells. Their hair falls out, their teeth rot out, their skin cracks and folds, and still they hold on to this world and their infancy. They use up all that is left of their dimming life until it puffs out like a candle flame. A moment’s smoke of what could have been.

Caterpillars would never die of old age. Think of how silly that is.

That’s why I couldn’t forget you. I couldn’t stay there among the wonders, enjoying the beauty of such places, knowing the agonies of this awful world. I felt selfish to such a degree that it hindered my joy. Perhaps I’m flawed that way, but that’s who I am. We all have our own special thing that drives us.

So I struggled so very hard to come back. Which is not easy at all. But I came back for you. To save, protect you, and guide you to the Snufflelago, who will take you to the wonders of the Otherworlds.

There are so many there waiting to be your friends.

I don’t know it for a fact, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you find family and loved ones that you lost, are actually living there as well, waiting for you. Yes, even your pets. I’ve seen it happen before.

So lay very still children and I will spread the babies upon you. They will make such lovely cocoons to protect and keep you safe and, by the time the babies are ready to hatch and feed, which is many weeks from now, you will be long gone from the empty shells – just shells – of your bodies, far from the torment of this world.

The babies will mature and sever the bridge to your shells, so none can ever steal you back. You will never have to grow up and old. You’ll be free and happy forever, and all that you ever were or could ever be in this place will take flight!
– the doctrine of Ardulos Metalowe.
From the note found in the abandoned Kiddie Land truck.

FBI Case File 07-02-8
FBI Serial Murder Method Profile: Pied Piper
Case Name: KIDDIE LAND

END

Story by E.C. McMullen Jr.

The Art Inspires The Story
The Haunted and The Haunters by Odilon Redon (aka Bertrand-Jean Redon – April 20, 1840 – July 6, 1916), illustration for the book “The Haunted and the Haunters: Or the House and the Brain” By Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1896 lithograph. Public Domain

Thanks to John Claude Smith for finding the inspirational photo.


pb300You know what you’ll find in
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection?
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, !ndigo, iTunes, KoboBooks, Smashwords, WHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Want more? Buy WILLOW BLUE. It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Crave even more?

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as  John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


So Scary

SO SCARY
Copyright 2017 by E.C. McMullen Jr.

RedDeath

Death: “RON? ALL RIGHT, SERIOUSLY RON, YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO ME, AND I THINK I SPEAK FOR DEATH WHEN I SAY THIS-”

Death: “WE REALLY SHOULD HAVE A BETTER WAY OF IDENTIFYING OURSELVES.”

Death: “I DON’T SEE WHY. I CAN’T EVER REMEMBER BEING IN THIS SITUATION BEFORE.”

Ron: “It would help me.”

Death: “OH HOW CAN IT POSSIBLY HELP YOU? I MEAN, LOOK AT YOU, YOU HAVE DEATH AT EVERY SHOULDER AND WE’RE NOT EVEN THE ONES YOU’RE AFRAID OF.”

Death: “I’M SLOW AND PAINFUL. TO YOUR RIGHT IS QUICK AND PAINLESS.”

Ron: “I’ll take quick and painless.”

Death: “IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY.”

Death: “RON, CONSIDER THE FACT THAT THE PRESENCE OF ACTUAL PHYSICAL DEATH AT YOUR SHOULDER IS NOT SCARING YOU AS MUCH AS INTRODUCING YOURSELF TO THAT WOMAN. HONESTLY, I MET YOUR PARENTS. THEY WEREN’T THAT BAD. THIS IS ALL YOUR INVENTION, IN YOUR HEAD.”

Ron: “What if she doesn’t like me? I’ve always been awkward around girls- Women I mean.  I mean, aw hell.”

Death: “RON, YOU’RE THE LAST MAN ON EARTH. SHE’S THE LAST WOMAN. THINK MAN! WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY DO TO MAKE MATTERS ANY WORSE?”

Death: “BESIDES NOT GOING OVER THERE AND INTRODUCING YOURSELF.”

Ron: “I don’t know, guys. Maybe I need to think of a good opening line. One I can practice.”

Death: “DAMN IT, RON. THIS ISN’T WHAT DEATH DOES.”

Death: “WE’RE IN THE BACKGROUND. NEVER SEEN. WE AREN’T MATCH MAKERS.”

Death: “BUT WITHOUT LIFE THERE IS NO DEATH.”

Death: “YOU MUST PROCREATE.”

Ron: “What’s the point? So our kids will raise a family of inbreds?”

Death: “THAT’S REALLY NEITHER HERE NOR THERE TO US, RON.”

Death: “OH HO! THERE’LL BE SOME FREAKS AT FIRST, TO BE SURE. BUT AFTER A FEW GENERATIONS, IT ALL KIND OF SHAKES OUT.”

Death: “MOSTLY SHAKES OUT. THERE’S ALWAYS A FEW GENETIC ‘PROBLEM CHILD’ ABNORMALITIES THAT POP UP IN THE MIX.”

Death: “YEAH, YOU’LL STILL HAVE POLITICIANS.”

Death: “KHEEE!!! HEH! HEH! YOU KILL ME!”

Death: “HEH! HEH!”

Death: “BUT SERIOUSLY: WE DON’T CARE HOW SMART OR SICKLY HUMANS ARE.”

Death: “WE DON’T JUDGE.”

Death: “AND SINCE YOU’RE THE ONLY MAN STILL ALIVE, NEITHER WILL SHE. YOU PRETTY MUCH CAN’T GO WRONG.”

Death: “WELL, EXCEPT FOR THAT TIE. UGH! THAT TIE!”

Death: “YOU JUST TOLD HIM WE DON’T JUDGE.”

Death: “… AH… I’M COMPLEX.”

Ron: “Yaaaahhh!!!”

Death: “HEY! SHH! SHUT UP!!!”

Ron: “You’re both driving me crazy!”

Death: “SHE HEARD YOU, YOU FREAK! YOU WANT HER TO THINK THE LAST MAN IS SOME RAVING MANIAC?”

Ron: “This is delusion! I’m not talking to death or deaths! I’m losing my mind! You’re not real! None of this is-!”

Slow And Painful Death suddenly pushes Ron’s head into the wall.

Ron: “OW! Shit!”

Death: “THERE. THAT WILL EXPLAIN YOUR NOISE. TELL HER THE BUMP IS BECAUSE YOU HURT YOUR HEAD.”

Ron: “You Did  hurt my head! Damn! I’m bleeding.”

Death: “NO, ‘YOU HURT YOUR HEAD’. NOW GET OVER THERE AND MAKE WITH THE SMOOTH TALK.”

Death to the Left pushes Ron out into the light. The woman sees him stumble toward her.

Death: “GOOD THINKING. REASON DIDN’T WORK WITH THAT GUY.”

Death: “BULL BY THE HORNS AND ALL. WELL, THAT’S THAT. THE DOMINOES ARE FALLING AS THEY USED TO SAY.”

Ron (to woman): “Uh, hi, m’am.”

Woman: “M’am? Tch! The name is Tracy. Do you know you’re bleeding? Quite a bump.”

Ron wipes some of the blood away with his palm. Looks at his bloody hand and wipes it on his pants. Tracy watches all of this, judging.

Ron: “Yes, uh… I bumped my head.”

Tracy: “Obviously.”

Ron: “I… I’m Ron.”

Tracy (sarcastically): “I asked?”

Unsure, Ron looks back to the two deaths in the shadows. They throw up their bony arms in disbelief.

Death (whispering): “Oh! Don’t Draw Attention To Us, You Ass!”

Tracy: “What are you looking at? You have friends back there?”

Ron: “What? Oh no. No. I’m the last man on earth.”

Tracy pulls a cigarette out of her purse. Ron fumbles in his pockets, looking for matches or a lighter, though he knows he has neither. Tracy wags a finger at him, a lighter in her palm, and deftly lights her cigarette.

Tracy: “Last man on earth, huh? God must hate me.”

Slow on the uptake, Ron chooses to laugh, cautiously. The two Deaths, standing in the dark, cannot believe what they’re hearing.

Tracy: “So tell me, am I the last woman on earth?”

Ron: “Yes. We’re the only ones left.”

Tracy: “Uh huh. And just how do you know this?”

Ron: “Death told me.”

The cigarette nearly drops from Tracy’s mouth. The two deaths face palm.

Death: “Oh For The Love Of -!”
Death: “Can You Believe This?”

Tracy takes the cigarette from her mouth, swats away an errant bug attracted to the flame.

Tracy: “Death told you.”

Ron: “Both of them.”

Tracy: “Really. Well, I’ll tell you what.”

Tracy draws a pistol from her purse.

Tracy: “You scurry right back over there to your shadows and I’ll leave you to this filthy dump. I catch you following me and I’ll pop one of these lead berries right into that bleeding bubble on your bean. Got that?”

Ron nods nervously, backing up and staring in terror at the gun barrel.

Death: “WELL, WE HAD A GOOD RUN. AT LEAST WE’RE STILL THE DEATH OF THE LOWER LIFE FORMS.”

Death: “THOSE TWO ARE THE LOWEST LIFE FORMS. CAN WE BREAK WITH TRADITION FOR ONCE AND JUST PUT THEM OUT OF THEIR MISERY? NOW?”

Death: “ONLY IF I GET RON.”

Death: “Damn! UH… ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS?”

Death: “YEAH, SURE.”

END

Story by E.C. McMullen Jr.

Who did my blog art? I’ve no idea. All the meme generators seem to carry it, but even if it’s in the Public Domain, I’d at least like to credit the artist. Does anyone know?


wb2016Make sure you have plenty to read for the end of the world. Buy my book,
WILLOW BLUE.
It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Apocalypse not coming soon enough to suit you? Stock up then.

PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection.
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, !ndigo, iTunes, KoboBooks, Smashwords, WHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Fill that shelf space

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Record the event for future colonists from other worlds!

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as  John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


The Staring Woman

I didn’t write this meme, I found the image at one of my Facebook Horror groups (WeirdCreepyShit). Additionally, I found what appears to be the original version at CreepyPasta.Wiki. As far as I can tell, it’s an Urban Legend.

Few gave much love to the CreepyPasta.Wiki version.

When I added a “final” paragraph at Facebook WeirdCreepyShit and my own Facebook page, that got lots of love, so I’m posting the image and my paragraph after.StaringWoman

Alone with the doctor at the station platform, the girl could only stare in horror at the now empty subway tube. She turned back to the doctor in shock.
“Oh my God!” she whispered. “How could you tell she was dead without checking her pulse?”
The man withdrew a long and shining blade from out of his raincoat.
“It’s my specialty.”

END

A Google image search shows Subway image appears to originate as a free image offered on hdwall.us.

Can anyone help me find the name of the artist?


wb2016Best thing to read on a train? My book,
WILLOW BLUE.
It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Long ride? Buy

PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection.
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, !ndigo, iTunes, KoboBooks, Smashwords, WHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Daily commute?

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as  John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


Because You Create

Cover

So there’s this new anthology accepting submissions and their theme and your idea match.

So now you’re all inspired! The words are flowing and you’re suddenly the Mozart of your keyboard. You zoom right past the 4,000 minimum, no problem. Soon you realize you’ve crossed the 8,000 word max, but you’re really feeling this damn story! Finally you wind up writing 14,582 words. You read it. It’s beautiful! A few edits here and there and you’ve nicely trimmed it down to exactly 14,000 words.

The hell? Nobody ever wants 14,000 words. Yet there’s no way you can cut the story to 8,000 without ruining it!

Deep breath

Okay, okay, you still have a week left. You work to think of something else and you struggle, struggle – no that story sucks. Don’t waste time with it. Start another. Struggle, struggle, struggle to write another story for the antho. You’re almost there. You push it to 4,000 words on the … no. No, you’re not going to submit it like this, you need to edit this shit. Look here where you used the word “this” twice in one sentence! Gah! You pull an all nighter and wind up with 3,200 words.

Damn it!

You go to Facebook to clear your head.
Some asshole in a group brags about getting books off torrents because “The information wants to be free!”

Right then! At that moment! As you click on and crawl through their page, you know that even though you’ve never wanted to own a gun, you could likely pawn your lawnmower for one.

END

Story by E.C. McMullen Jr.

Who did my blog art? I’ve no idea. All the meme generators seem to carry it, but even if it’s in the Public Domain, I’d at least like to credit the artist. Does anyone know?


pb300The information wants to support its creator.
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
Is a trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller – plus bonus stories
Featuring: True Love, Weird Sex, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, !ndigo, iTunes, KoboBooks, Smashwords, WHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback from Amazon and get the kindle free!

Looking to burn a whole $20 and maybe buy a doughnut?

Look for my second collection, WILLOW BLUE and Other Stories
Five critically acclaimed tales featuring my literary twist on Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem! $8.00 for the paperback, $1.99 for the kindle reader or app. As always, buy the paperback from Amazon and get the kindle free!

Then go buy a doughnut.

Got a gift card to empty?

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself as well as Ray Bradbury, John Carpenter, Wes Craven, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, and many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


Waiting Is The Hardest Part

ThePaleThing_WilliamBassoWAITING IS THE HARDEST PART
by E.C. McMullen Jr.

Myrna was old enough to remember how extraordinarily quick old film cameras were, ‘Well, at least compared to modern digital cameras.’

‘With film it was all Point and Shoot,’  she thought, ‘If I’m not mistaken, there was actually a model line of old film cameras named Point & Shoot or Point & Click.’

‘Film was only time consuming when you wanted to do something  artsy.’

The Portrait Photographer looked to his laptop, then to his camera, to the meter board for his lights, and back to his laptop.

Something “whirred”. Something beeped a three second melodious interlude. None of it put the photographer at ease and Myrna’s nocturnal pets were getting fidgety.

‘It’s not in their nature to stay still in bright light for so long.’

“Okay!” he announced as if everything was finally underway. “I’ve installed all of the latest updates and drivers.”

‘Which means things are far from underway.’

“Now,” he continued as one by one he finger shot his equipment, “I just need to disconnect the camera from the monitor, lights, laptop, and board, reboot everything individually, then shut it all down again, then reconnect, and do a full boot.”

Is that all? Jeez !’

Her pet, Tesla, crawled into the shadow behind her ear. Tama was slithering into Myrna’s expensively coiffed hair. Jilly was trying to coil beneath her palm. Myrna silently ticked off all of the time, scheduling, money, and trouble she went through to get today’s portrait.

At the 40 minute mark, the photographer said for the umpteenth time, “Just a few more seconds,” adding, “Could you please re-arrange your pets one more time?”

‘As if my pets are the problem.’

Gently she cupped and cradled them, moving them back into position, back in the light where they did not want to be. They were all getting crabby except for Weeters her crab, who simply drew his eyes and legs shut into his body and went to sleep.

The photographer bowed to his equipment. A stray whisper leaked out of his lungs “come on, come on, come on. goddamn it, What Now?”

Under those cold LED lights, Myrna could feel herself growing old.

END

Story Copyright 2017 by E.C. McMullen Jr.

The Art Inspires The Story
Art, The Pale Thing, by William Basso


wb2016Don’t wait another minute! Buy my book,
WILLOW BLUE.
It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Want more? Buy

PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection.
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, !ndigo, iTunes, KoboBooks, Smashwords, WHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Crave still more?

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as  John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


A New Man

ManWithSkull

A NEW MAN
by E.C. McMullen Jr.
Copyright 2017

Gumoc nodded. At 43 he was old enough to know of the catches and fine print with any transaction.

“What’s the total cost of the deal?”

The saleswoman began itemizing. “Well, with the three weeks of induced coma, round the clock care -“

“I asked for the total cost,” Gumoc repeated.

“You’re looking at $150,000 complete out of pocket.”

Gumoc held the skull up to the light. He held it with both hands, nearly caressing it. For a moment in the world there was only Gumoc and this skull. He’d admired this head for months. This was the skull that Gumoc felt best represented his mind, his character, his essence. Finally his brain, his eyes, everything he was would be within this skull.

Okay, not this skull, it was just a Showroom model, but this design, grown especially for him, from him, and free from the bone disease closing his throat, pushing out of his face and into his brain.

He would kill to be free of the pain. ‘I have killed to raise the money for the operation and will kill again if I have to.’

‘Well,’ Gumoc amended to himself. ‘Within reason.’

Gumoc felt guiltless in committing murder as his victims were as vicious as he, only without his moral code, his personal empathy. Gumoc drew lines he would not cross. His two victims had no such barriers.

They were so-called “crime lords” of the city who brutalized people for money but also because they enjoyed the suffering of others. Gumoc killed only for the money to save his life and cure his agony.

He turned the skull around in his hands, getting to know what would soon be a part of him.

The saleswoman stayed silent, as this was part of the sale, allowing the customer to sell themselves on the product.

Gumoc stole money from only two well-heeled criminals, but such people have their security and Gumoc was required to murder 14 to rob two.

With so much death, Gumoc, in his single minded zeal, came to enjoy murdering people. Death after death, there grew a sense of accomplishment and pride in the work ethic of it all. This enjoyment was tempered with a casual sense of justice: these were brutal thugs who harmed innocent people. They were the only two truly bad people he knew, though the city must be full of them.

‘No, wait,’ Gumoc thought. He set the skull on the saleswoman’s desk.

She looked up to him ready to finalize the deal, only to see that Gumoc’s expression was unreadable.

‘I don’t enjoy murder.’ Gumoc told himself. ‘It’s the disease talking. The bone squeezing my brain like a sponge, crushing me into cruelty.’

A part of him didn’t want this skull anymore. It no longer represented his true nature.

Gumoc scanned the other skulls in the case behind the Saleswoman. He looked for something, something… tougher. Hard set. Something to match the face reflected in the glass.

‘No,’ he self-corrected again. ‘That face is not mine. That face is the disease.’

The bone of his thickening skull was fractioning his personality, making him work against his better judgement.

“I’ll take it!” Gumoc nearly shouted. The saleswoman nearly jumped. “How soon can we begin?” he asked.

“If you sign today we can set the surgery for two weeks from now on the…” she double checked her calendar. “18th.”

Gumoc pounded his fist on her desk. “No! It must be sooner!” He was a human being, damn it. Not a cog, not a piece of equipment to be fitted in at the “right time”.

The saleswoman was clearly taken aback. “It can’t be any sooner,” she protested. “You’ve only now made your choice. We have to take your tissue sample to grow the bone for your new skull. Even with accelerated growth you can only push human biology so far.”

Gumoc, breathing heavily, worked to calm himself.

“Of course,” he said. ‘Of course,’ he repeated in thought. ‘What the saleswoman said made sense. Perfect sense. All the horrible sense in the world but, holy shit! Two weeks?’

His emotions were all over the place and he rested his gnarled hands upon his knees to contain himself. He wanted to curl up right there on the salesroom floor and cry. He wanted to cry because a frightening ugliness grew in his head: An anti-Gumoc ugliness was becoming him, killing him, replacing him. This Gumoc that once hid in the shadows was confidently stepping into the light. It mockingly looked down upon Gumoc’s sense of self, his personal code of honor, with smirking disdain.

This new Gumoc, emboldened by so much murder, didn’t draw the line between the innocent and the guilty. Such matters were arbitrary facades to him.

Where old Gumoc was a massive but gentle giant of a man, this new Gumoc reveled in his power over others. He noted the effect that slamming his fist on the desk had on the Saleswoman. He saw how she went from fixating on her sale and commission to shrinking back in her chair and just wanting him out of there. He made her remember that she was a small frightened animal of the woods, hiding in silence, and he was the bear of the forest.

This Gumock fantasized about holding the saleswoman’s neck in his powerful right hand. Enjoying her helpless terror; her delightfully agonized awareness of her death, as he slowly pushed his thumb beneath her jaw, dug his thumb into her throat, then against her vertebrae until, like a mushroom cap, he pinched her head right off of her body and heard the satisfying crack of her bone hitting the floor.

Real Gumoc mentally beat the anti-Gumoc back into the shadows. He forced away the sadistic smile curling upon his deformed features. Steadying his hand he signed the contract.

‘Two more weeks. My God! Two more weeks!’

– E.C. McMullen Jr.

Inspired by the Jusepe de Ribera painting, Man With Skull


pb300

Make a new start with my book
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
It’s a trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller – plus bonus stories
Featuring: True Love, Weird Sex, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, !ndigo, iTunes, KoboBooks, Smashwords, WHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback from Amazon and get the kindle free!

Burning for more?

Look for my second collection, WILLOW BLUE and Other Stories
Five critically acclaimed tales featuring my literary twist on Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem! $8.00 for the paperback, $1.99 for the kindle reader or app. As always, buy the paperback from Amazon and get the kindle free!

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself as well as Ray Bradbury, John Carpenter, Wes Craven, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, and many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


Not My Last Brush With Death

BaconBombMeatloafMe: “Embrace me sweet death – but first, try a bite of this delicious Bacon Bomb meatloaf!”
DEATH: ‘YOU KNOW I DON’T HAVE A TONGUE.”
Me: “But you talk like-”
DEATH: “I HAVE NO FLESH AT ALL.”
Me: “But you talk like a person with lungs, vocal cords, the whole nine yards.”
DEATH: “DO YOU SEE A TONGUE IN THIS MOUTH? DO YOU?”
Me: “No, but- wait. Then how do you see?”
DEATH: “THROAT? STOMACH? ANYTHING?”
Me: Well no, but how… I mean-”
DEATH: “NO NOSE! I CAN’T EVEN SMELL WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. SO HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TASTE IT?”
Me: “I’m sorry. But I thought-”
DEATH: “YOU THOUGHT? YOU THOUGHT YOU’D OFFER SOMEONE WITHOUT A NOSE OR TONGUE A TASTE OF SOMETHING?”
Me: “Really, I’m sorry.”
DEATH: “YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, YOU KNOW THAT? A REAL BENIGHTED JERK!”
Me: “Sorry.”
DEATH: “YOUR VERY PRESENCE REVILES ME! I’M NOT EVEN GOING TO TAKE YOUR LIFE. I’M GOING TO LET YOU LIVE AND SUFFER. AND I HOPE YOU’RE SUFFERING THROUGH SOMETHING REALLY PAINFUL RIGHT NOW!”
Me: (sotto voce): “…just this conversation…”
DEATH: “WHAT?!?”
Me: “Nothing.”

Image from Amarillo Globe-News
February 17, 2014 at 9:12am
Submitted by Delonda Dunn

Bacon Bomb: a bacon weave wrapped around a mixture of sausage, cream cheese, jalapeños & cheddar cheese.


wb2016My book is the bomb!
WILLOW BLUE.
It’s my second collection of critically acclaimed Supernatural and Drama Thriller short stories with all of the Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem, you’ve come to expect (or should by now). Available in paperback for $8.00 or in Kindle for only $1.99. Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free! The tales will last you longer than latte!

Want more? Buy

PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection.
It’s a veritable trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller tales – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Now on sale for $9.00 in Trade Paperback and in eBook for $1.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, !ndigo, iTunes, KoboBooks, Smashwords, WHSmith, and more).
Buy the paperback at Amazon and the Kindle eBook is free!

Crave still more?

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

Also available from Crystal Lake Publishing, the film making guidebook, HORROR 201: The Silver Scream. Reap the rewards of movie making experience from the likes of Myself, as well as  John Carpenter, Tom Holland, Jeffrey Reddick, George A. Romero, Keith Arem, Richard Gray, also the late  Ray Bradbury, Wes Craven, plus many more. $19.99 in Print or $3.99 in eBook.


The Young Girl and Death

younggirldeath

Art: The Young Girl and Death, Marianne Stokes, 1900
Text: Feo Amante, 2017


Image

CryptoHistoryDirect


SUMMONING LOVE

normanlindseySUMMONING LOVE
by E.C. McMullen Jr.
Copyright 2016

Water and, of all things, feathers gently fountained from Flutestuf’s pentagram. He slowly shook his head in puzzlement.
‘Well, it’s not like I’m summoning a demon, after all,’ he thought. Those like himself, who practised the Magik Arts, gave a rather simple banner to whatever lay beyond the veil of reality. There was this world, our world, and on the other side was the Otherworld.

Flutestuf was part of a small cabal of Mystics who suspected that the Otherworld in truth consisted of many worlds. He’d prepared himself accordingly. Unliked by even the natural beings of his own kind, Flutestuf was determined not only to be loved by another, but to love another.

He would experience the dreams and nightmares of poets.

Witches and Wizards of his cabal shunned love and lovers, called it a lie, a myth for the weak.

Maybe Flutestuf was weak.

He looked to the large mirror he’d set against the wall. It was the best mirror he could find. Framed in lavish gold it revealed every hairy hoary detail of Flutestuf’s wicked face. If the poets told the truth, one day he would stand before that mirror with his one true love and at last, not only see love’s reflection in her face, but see what love revealed in his own.

By the Gods he was sick of his face!

It was time for a change and he wanted, needed to believe that love would cure him of his own repulsion. He needed to be loved. He Needed to Love!

There was the slightest of splash behind him and he turned to see the feathers blanketing the water’s surface, parting. Fingers rose followed by… Flutestuf felt himself involuntarily gasp – just a little – the rising fingers were followed by the loveliest hand he’d ever seen.

Then the loveliest arm he’d ever seen!

Another arm! A back and shoulders rose up without a head, but where the head should be mist swirled around, creating for the creature from an Otherworld, a head and body that could live in this world.

Flutestuf grew giddy, his patience tormented. If he was sitting in a chair he’d be on the edge of it. As it was, he crouched down upon his hooves, gazing in wonderment as the rest of the fogbound body rose from the water, draped in the feathers that refitted themselves into the slightest of clothes.

The vapor moved away from him, but no, fog formed flesh into a lovely young woman reclining nude before him. Well, not entirely nude with the feathered clothes, but such accoutrements only accented her delightful nakedness.

His Satyr soul wanted to bray out loud in delight. Flutestuf repressed his goat instinct to savage her innocence. He’d had that before, often, his entire life. He was beyond bored with the disappointing post-coitus of following his loins over his heart.

Her face formed. Her nose, lips (he felt that he’d cry if he dared kiss them), and eyes. By the Gods her eyes! They gazed at him, in him, surely into the deepest part of where even he feared to look.

He felt his heart beating, punching, bullying his other parts within to get out of its way. This is what the poets said, wasn’t it? When the heart does this, it’s love?

But what was happening to his own body, even while this lovely being formed before him? His Satyr nature joined in celebration with his heart. Flutestuf’s rod was rapidly enlarging, emerging from its sheath, storming out of his hair. He closed his legs over it while it was still possible, before it swung up erect, hard and demanding, ready to duel.

Painful. He fell to his knees as if in supplication to the beauty before him, but it was really to adjust his engorging member, already straining at its moors.

Resist! He had to resist his bestial nature. He knew all there was to know about mere rutting. He wanted love!

His heart wanted love. His body wanted rut. They worked together to conspire against his mind, so desperate to contain them.

Yet there was his distinctly male gaze.

Flutestuf gazed at those eyes which gazed so warmly, acceptingly, lovingly back at him. Was even his own Mother’s love ever so complete?

Flutestuf gazed at this beautiful creature’s breasts, loving eyes of their own that saw everything and nothing. Oh yes. Surely that was their poetry. He would write poems to his love’s eyes and breasts.

He gazed at her fully formed legs and between them. Her gender was still forming there. Oh please let it not be a penis again.

This was not Flutestuf’s first attempt, and the last time he’d summoned a young Succubus, both nymph and satyr in one form.

He named it Scha and they’d enjoyably dallied for a time, but eventually Flutestuf realized he didn’t actually love Scha. For all of Scha’s youthful femininity, it still emitted a mild yet distinct male spoor.

One day after play he looked at himself in the mirror and saw – no love. No amorous stranger cast its expression upon his features. He only saw his face: His unloved ugly face.

His time with Scha was a lie, but it wasn’t Scha’s lie. It was his own.

He’d allowed the beauty and pleasure of Scha to distract him from his heart’s true desire and it eventually disgusted him. He sent the broken-hearted Scha back to the Otherworld, wherever that was. Frightened and crying as it sank back into the pentagram, Scha affirmed and reaffirmed its love for Flutestuf: pleaded for mercy even during the act of its transition out of this world.

None of Scha’s entreaties touched Flutestuf, whose heart slept through the wringing ache of Scha’s true emotions, while the satyr’s mind pondered on the mechanics of what he witnessed.

Nobody really knew the nature of transition between the worlds of a summoning. What did these beings do on their own worlds? What daily lives were they torn from when summoned by the Magik Arts to this world? They seemed to have no memory of the other place. Surely they weren’t merely lined up like dolls upon a cosmic shelf, waiting to be brought by the act of a summons.

When Scha left his final scream upon this world, Flutestuf only sighed and turned away, entirely lost within his own thoughts. ‘For that matter, what place are we summoned from when we are born into this world?’

When his friends heard what he’d done with Scha they were circumspect yet decidedly disapproving. No one openly expressed outrage or offense, of course. No practitioner of Magiks ever does to a sibling of the Arts. The experts may, sure. The Sorcerer and Sorceress may direct their powers at will and for that reason alone are best left to their own devices. But among those who were not the actual source of magik but must coax it into being – the practioners: Witches, Wizards, and Mystics like himself – declaring scandal against another member of the Arts was a perilous indulgence.

“One must have a care when dealing with maledictions.”
– Cugel the Clever

Flutestuf eventually realized he’d lost their company. Not that practitioners were ever fraught with festive bonhomie in the best of times, but his cabal had no time for Flutestuf anymore. The change was clearly chilled.

Flutestuf missed the periodic sharing of new discoveries, but oh well, they too were a distraction from his goals and anyway, practice makes perfect.

No remorse existed within Flutestuf. After all, a bee, to be a bee, must seek flowers, not other bees. Flutestuf wanted a flower so complete that he’d never return to the hive.  All the better now that the hive no longer wanted him.

The vapor between her legs parted, breaking Flutestuf from his reverie.

Yes! A lovely vaginal cleft! A mons and vulva swelled beautifully around it, sprouting soft down. He looked up to her face. The fog of summoning seemed to be having a difficult time with her hair. It must be creating quite a mane up there, but he no longer worried that the horns of a male would appear.

She smiled at him. Had any living creature ever offered him the kindness of such a smile before?

A worm of thought slid into his mind. ‘Am I worthy of such wonder?’

Flutestuf brushed the thought aside, ‘No I’m not, and if not I will be. I will make myself worthy of love.’

Already kneeling, Flutestuf bent forward, practically on hands and knees before the awe inspiring goddess appearing before him. He wanted her to have a name and he wanted her to already know it.

‘Please, my goddess,’ he thought. ‘Only divulge this one secret from where you came. Share with me this one part of your past, of a life lived that makes you whole and real and I’ll never inquire for more.’

Instead she slightly pursed her lips, reached out with that loveliest of lovely hands, and stroked his furry cheek.

Flutestuf, disappointed in the maleness of the still forming Scha, never allowed the creature to touch him until long after completion of summoning. Scha had to goad and seduce him into relenting to its embrace.

Not so with this female creature who wholly defined acceptance and love. At her touch, tears welled up in Flutestuf’s eyes.

She was still forming. A slight blemish appeared on her tummy. A small insignificant mole. Flutestuf focused, then pulled himself away from scrutinizing it. No matter. He didn’t summon perfection and who was he to ask for it?

As her hand came away he reached for it, grasped it, and brought it to his lips. He gazed longingly, hungrily into her eyes as he kissed the back of that loveliest of lovely.

Her eyelids darkened as flesh wrinkled around them. The innocence faded, revealing jaded knowledge. These were an experienced harlot’s eyes, though they clearly loved him no less.

Any human man, real man, would desire such love even more. To be chosen by an experienced lover, well versed in the consequences of  choice, was so much more preferable than the childish choosings of an inexperienced waif.

Flutestuf was satyr not human, so not a real man. His kind did not, could not, appreciate any but nymphs and human virgins.

What was happening to her?

By the Gods it was the magiks!

He touched her before summoning was complete and the still working spell, changing whatever she had been to suit his world, was changing her to suit him. But that didn’t suit Flutestuf at all.

He didn’t want a female version of himself. He wasn’t aspiring to be himself!

Flutestuf knew that he was a worthless, miserable grotesque of a creature, rightly shunned by others and even his own kind. His former Cabal, made of various creatures both living and undead, found their past acceptance of him based on a shared common passion for the Magiks.

He pulled back as the fog around her head evaporated, leaving coarse hair like his own. The hair between her legs also grew coarse and long, like his own, and goat hairs sprouted all over her body.

Flutestuf fell back from the change in horror and his hand fell upon the sacrificial knife he used to cast this blood spell.

“Damn it!” he cried out. ‘Everything is going wrong! Again!’

Her knowing, experienced harlot’s eyes saw his terror, knew his thoughts, yet because she still loved him, she reached out to calm his fears. Flutestuf would have none of it. He threw himself forward, half into the circle, and angrily slashed her.

With his naturally inhuman strength and the madness of his bestial urges, he hacked her beautiful flesh from muscle, muscle from sinew, sinew from bone. He hacked deep into her bone, again and again through the heady spray of hot blood and her harrowing screams. Her screams of loss and betrayal cried out, until her brief, tragic life was no more.

There. Her beauty was also no more. Her love was a thing of the ever expanding past. Whoever she was and wherever she was from, she could remain a cypher to him.

A feeling within his chest. Something like guilt.

“It was lust, not love,” he lied to himself.

He knew he was lying and he hated himself for it. No, hate wasn’t a strong enough word.

He despised himself.

Nearly exhausted from it all, Flutestuf left the bloody circle and wobbled over to the mirror.

He collapsed before it, stared at his mocking ugly self.

“You,” he accused it. He stabbed his knife deep into his thigh. Then he pulled it back out and repeatedly stabbed his legs with every word.

“You! You! You! You! You!”

The pain was nearly overpowering but the exsanguination wouldn’t last. Healing spells are one of the  first things a knowledgeable practitioner casts upon themselves.

“You’re ugly!” he cried to the mirror. “And hateful! Filthy! Cold and remorseless! You aren’t worth love!”

Flutestuf threw the knife away and broke down sobbing at his own wretchedness.

“Nobody has ever loved you,” he murmured. His mumble became a shout, “And nobody ever will!”

He grabbed the mirror’s frame with both hands. “Change you disgusting thing! Why won’t you change?”

Flutestuf sobbed in despair and searched for where the knife clattered off to. He set the mirror back, went for the knife, returned to the mirror, and stabbed himself through the heart.

Almost instantly he collapsed from the blood pressure drop.

When he awoke, he looked around himself, then wrenched the knife from his chest, where his heart had healed around the blade, and collapsed again, as before.

When he came to a second time, he dejectedly stood, tired self-loathing evident in his every move.

Tearfully, Flutestuf pressed his solemn head against the mirror, his horns clacking against the surface.

“Why was I born me?” he sobbed. “And why? Why must I stay me?”

He moved back and stared deeply at his reflection.

“You,” he said pointing at the mirror. “You are worth nothing.”

He tapped the mirror with the point of his claw. “You must be a better person. You must. You must be what you want to be.”

He backed away, turned his hand and tapped himself. “I must work to see in the mirror what I wish others to see in me. I must. I will.”

He breathed a deep sigh that would have been melodramatic to most humans, except Flutestuf was sincere.

“But when?” he asked himself. A door of thought opened in his mind, that he was forever doomed to a long, loveless, brutally miserable life. He slammed the thought shut.

Flutestuf shambled off to his room to sleep. So much work and nothing to show for it. So much left to be done. He counted on his precious mirror to one day reveal a real him that he could be proud of: a him that he and the world could respect. How long before he’d see that in the mirror?

Never

His mirror, like all reflections, showed him the reverse of what everyone else sees.

END

Copyright 2016 by E.C. McMullen Jr.
Art by Norman Lindsay.


wb2016Increase your worth by buying my book,
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Crave still more?

Look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available from Crystal Lake Publishing and available in Print for $12.99 or eBook for $2.99.

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Someone’s Knockin’ at the Door

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