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| http://darkdreamspodcast.blogspot.com/ |
Friday, November 30, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
a podcaast
a podcast i'm trying out. i have the teaser up. just seeing how it all works.
http://darkdreamspodcast.blogspot.com/
http://animalmother16.podbean.com/
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Sold vampire story
MY STORY THE NIGHTMARE BOX HAS BEEN SOLD TO THE ANTHOLOGY
YOU CAN'T KILL ME, I'M ALREADY DEAD.
Friday, November 23, 2012
PUBLISHED STORY ON WEBSITE
Monday, November 19, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
PUBLISHED STORY
Friday, November 16, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
MERRY CHRISTMAS, JOO-JOO copyright2012 m.s.
“I need presents,”
Vance said through dried, chapped lips.
“I know what
you're thinking,” Brian shivered, clutched the flannel blanket
close to his neck.
The apartment was
cold, at least ten degrees, Vance was sure of it. He and Brian hadn't
the money to pay the electric bill, with Brian being the only one to
hold down a crappy job at Burger Hut. The apartment was a simple one
bedroom, the bedroom belonging to Brian, because he found the
apartment and his Father had paid deposit. Vance sat on his bed, a
green sofa with springs coming through, often poking him in his ice
cold ass. He had three shirts on,two pairs of dungarees, and his
True Blue mountain climbing coat with fur inside the lining. The
Oakland Raiders toboggan on his head still didn't keep his ears warm,
which irritated Vance to no end. It wasn't like Vance didn't want to
get a job. He just hadn't found anything he liked yet. His parents
were tired of floating him money and friends had dwindled to just
one, Brian, who was always broke.
“We can't keep
breaking into peoples houses and stealing their stuff. Anyway,”
Brian sighed. “We never get very much money at Ted's Pawn shop
when we sell things to him. Cheap crook.”
“No, man,” Vance
fumbled in his coat pocket for cigarettes, only to find his lighter.
“It's Christmas, right?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“We wait for the
mailman, or UPS or Fed ex, or whoever and watch to see if no one
get's the package.” Vance smiled and nodded like he'd just laid out
the plans to Fort knox and steal gold.
“That's
just....low, dude. I mean, steal Christmas packages from people. You
are a sick man.” Brian rose from the dirtiest, dingiest Ez chair
this side of the milky way. So many stains on a cream colored
furniture and cigarette burns, the cream color was now a rust brown.
''I'm making some coffee.”
“I'm a desperate
man. I need presents for mom, Janice, and Helen.”
Brian looked at
Vance. He blinked twice. “Helen Spotter doesn't even know you
exist.”
“She will after
the cool present I give her.” Vance rose from the couch, danced
in a crouching position, then sat down again. That was something he
did when he was excited, which was often. Vance' s mom admitted to
Brian that a quack doctor convinced her that Vance needed Ritalin to
calm down her six year old son. After six more years of this
medicine, that her child did not actually need, she noticed a
breakdown of a mental attention span, sporadic illusions, and an
inability to stay focused on one subject after more than ten minutes
of conversation. She said she had never told a soul, but felt she had
to confide in Brian.
“Sit down, you
fool! We are not stealing from the neighbors, okay? It's wrong,
especially Christmas. Only jerks do that crap.” Brian went into
the kitchen, turned on Luke-warm water from the faucet and dropped
four spoonfuls of instant coffee in a cup. “Furthermore,” He
reentered the living room and sat in his Ez chair, sipping the
coffee. “Helen Spotter will never know who you are, because you are
not friends with anyone she knows.”
“Oh....my friend,”
Vance said. “You are wrong. Tommy Longdale has a girlfriend who is
friends with Helen.”
“I'm trying to
dissuade you as gently, carefully as possible, Vance,” Brian told
him. “They go to Sparrow University. You are an unemployed looser.
What makes you think Tommy Longdale will set you up with his
girlfriend's friend?”
“I once gave him
some E at a party,” Vance responded after a long pause.
“Oh yeah. Now that
is the kind of logic that could fix this country's problems.” Brian
said.
“I think so, too,
man.”
“You don't even
have any money to take her out,” Brian slurped his barely warm
coffee and made a face.
“No! No, I don't.
But you do.” Vance raised an eyebrow.
Brian snarled at
him. He hated it when Vance did his Jack Nicholson impersonation.
“That's a lame
Jack impersonation, butthole.”
“You know it's
not....” He continued, now going back and forth between early
Nicholson and later Nicholson. “I want you to hold it between your
knees. What are you, on you're period?”
“He didn't say
that in THE DEPARTED. Ray Winston said it.”
“No, Jack said
it.” Vance insisted.
“You are a twerp.
Half the time you don't remember what you were talking about ten
minutes before.”
“I do too! God,
you can be so.....so...whatever!”
“Okay, what were
we talking about?” Brian prodded Vance. He knew the answer, he just
wanted to have some fun with him. He liked making him feel small.
“We were talking
about Jack Nicholson. There! Whoosh!” Vance threw an imaginary
basketball through a goal, net and all.
“No.” Brian
laughed. “I thought we were talking about stealing from the
neighbors again.”
Vance looked lost
for a few seconds. Then he remembered. He smiled as it came to him.
“Yeah, man. We could wait for the mailman, or...or..Fed Ex....”
“I'm not doing
that.” Brian said.
“You have to. In
three days, it will be Christmas. And you get paid next Wednesday.
Your mom will be disappointed.”
Brian made a face
again. “You are a turd.” He said. 'You use my mom all the time.”
“It's because you
know I'm right. She thinks you are the sweetest boy she ever knew.
She says it all the time.”
“Shut up.” Brian
was stewing, getting angrier at Vance just looking at him.
“Hey,” Vance
rose from his couch and looked out of the window, keeping the curtain
partly open. “There's Fed Ex delivering to Mrs. Hoppa.”
“No, we can't take
from an old woman. She bakes cookies for us and brings us her left
overs, Vance.”
“Yeah,” Vance
put a hand on his stomach. “That island food gave me the screamers.
It's too freakin' spicy.”
“What do you
expect, dummy. She is from Haiti.” Brian snorted.
“I'm going to snag
that box before her daughter brings her back.” Vance headed to the
front door.
“You jerk. You've
been scoping her all morning.”
“Be back. Wish me
luck.”
“I hope she
catches you!” Brian yelled to him as Vance slammed the front door.
Brian jumped up from
his Ez chair and ran to the window. He pulled the curtain a bit to
the left to view Vance 's theft.
Vance crept up Mrs.
Hoppa's slither of a driveway to her apartment door, past a small
bush that was turning a sick yellow. He looked around, smiling like
an imbecile.
He bent down, looked
at the small box. There was writing on a tag that even if Vance could
read past third grade level, he wouldn't be able to understand it. He
just shrugged, then snatched the box and jogged as fast as he could
back to the front door of their, quickly opened the door. He took one
step and his left foot clipped the molding in front of the door.
Giggling, Vance fell hard on his face. The box slipped out of his
hands and slid across the living room floor like a hockey puck.
Vance laughed hard,
rolled over on his back. He kicked the front door shut with both of
his feet. “That was too freakin' funny!” Vance yelled.
Brian stood over
Vance, his hands on his hips. He was giving Vance that “wife”
look, his head tilted to the left, a disappointed expression his
face.
“What?” Vance
was confused.
“Don't 'what' me.”
Brian spat at Vance. 'I told you not to steal from that poor woman.”
“So,” Vance 's
bottom lip drooped, hurt he was being told off. “I'm a free man. I
can do whatever I want!”
“One day,”
Brian wagged a finger at him. “You'll get caught and I will not be
there to bail you out!”
“Don't...You.....hey!
You know, you helped last two times. All that weed you stole from Mr.
Dillinger. That was a poor old man who has cancer, douche bag!”
Nothing more was
said for about fifteen minutes. Both were at their own places,
sulking, sitting on the sofa and the Ez chair.
Finally, in a spur
of the moment, Vance hopped from the sofa and retrieved the box. He
sat back on the sofa, began opening the thin layer of tape on the
box. He placed a hand inside the box. When he pulled his hand out of
the box, a yellow beaded necklace was caught in his grimy
fingernails.
“Yeah!” Vance
said, excitedly. He squated and did his little dance. “That's what
I'm talking about! Look at this, Bri.”
Brian laughed. He
shook his head. “Yeah, man, that's nice.”
“You know what it
is?”
“No,” Brian
scrunched up his nose. “A necklace?”
“Not just a
necklace,” Vance whispered like it was secret. “A Joo-Joo
necklace.”
“I don't
know.....what a Joo-Joo is, Vance.” Brian was tired mentally. Vance
always did that to him.
“Man, it means
good luck! And I heard on the History channel you can use it to make
people do what you want. You're own slave, dude.”
“You really
believe that?” Of course he does, why even ask, Brian thought.
“So...you want Helen Spotter to be you're own personal slave?”
“Damn right.”
Vance said. “I might even get laid.”
“Go for it, dude,”
Brian said, smiling.
Vance felt his coat
pocket vibrating. He took out his phone, looked at a text message.
“Hey....things going right for me finally. That was Tommy Longdale.
I got a date with Helen Spotter. Of course, Tommy and his girl will
be there. So what, huh?”
“Way to go, Vance.
I'm happy for you.” Brian rose from the Ez chair and patted Vance
on the shoulder.
“I'm gonna get
some and have a slave. Merry, Christmas, Joo-Joo!”
*******************************************************
There was a loud
rapping at the front door. Night had fallen and it was even colder
inside the apartment. Brian was groggy. He turned in his chair,
yawned. He didn't want to get up.
But somebody was
relentless with their knocking and the noise was hurting his head.
Brian clumsily got to his feet. He slowly ambled to the door. He bet
it was Vance. He probably forgot his key.
Brian opened the
door and saw a short old, black woman in a handmade dress and a
multicolored scarf on her head. It was Mrs. Hoppa.
“Where is it?”
She spoke in harsh island dialect.
“Where's what?”
Brian said, trying to wake up.
“My package!”
Mrs. Hopper lowered her eyebrows. Her nostrils were flaring, cold air
snorted through them. “You are a thief. The pair of you. I treat
you like my own sons. That package was from my own son, still in
Port-Au-prince. I may never see him.” She fought back tears, held a
handkerchief to her nose, looked away from Brian.
Brian cleared his
voice. “We didn't take that package.” He said.
“You didn't?”
Mrs. Hoppa looked at Brian suspiciously.
“No. We saw Mr.
Dillinger around your door. He was even talking to the Fed-Ex guy.
I'm not sure, he....might have took it.”
“Pity be him,”
Mrs. Hoppa said. “That necklace....bad....if worn, you become the
slave of whoever give you that necklace.”
“Oh....yeah?”
Brian was nervous. He began tapping his foot without knowing it.
“Oh yes. To pay
for the deeds you master or mistress wishes you to do, you have to
make a human sacrifice. Eat the flesh of the innocent.” With those
words, Mrs. Hoppa lunged at Brian.
Brian jumped back.
“We don't have it!” He screamed, slammed the door in Mrs. Hoppa's
face.
Brian paced the
living room. No, he told himself. That crap is not. It can't be.
There was another
round of knocking at the front door.
Brian hesitated. He
touched the doorknob, then withdrew. “We don't have you're
package.” He yelled at the door.
“Brian,” A
muffled voice could be heard. “It's me. I forgot my key. Open the
door, will you?”
It was Vance.
Brian was so happy
to hear that it was Vance at the door, he swung the door open
violently.
Vance was standing
there, smiling like an imbecile. He was covered in blood, his clothes
were torn. Still, Vance was on top of the world.
“Dude,” He said.
“What an evening!”
“What the hell
happened to you?” Brian threw his arms up in the air, shocked.
“Nothing, really.
Just wild time. You gonna let me in?” Vance tried go through the
threshold, Brian blocked him with an arm.
“You kill
somebody?”
Vance shook his
head. “No. God. Things got a little weird. I gave Helen that
necklace. I told her I wanted to make out. We did, she went nuts and
ate Tommy Longdale and his girlfriend.....about ten more people in
the restaurant.” Vance said non-nonchalantly.
It was too much to
take in. Brian leaned against the door. He rubbed his face a few
times with his hand. “Vance?”
“Yeah, Bri?”
“Where is Helen
Spotter?”
“Right here,
buddy!”
Helen appeared from
behind Vance, her dress was ripped in many places, olive skin
drenched in blood. She had deep dark circles under her eyes, and
pieces of flesh at the corner of her mouth. She was looking straight
at Brian, looking very ravenous.
electric chair podcast
http://electricchairshow.com/2012/11/the-electric-chair-029-edis-rehto-eht/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+ElectricChair+%28The+Electric+Chair%29
Friday, November 9, 2012
NEWBORNcopyright2012 m.s.
The cries from the
bedroom could be heard from any room in the apartment.
Those cries have
been heard for two days straight with no breaks in between. It's
been like that since my wife and son has come home from the hospital,
she just giving birth to him.
I sit in my chair
watching Matlock with the sound turned up loud to drown out those
cries. It's not working. I've already screamed from this chair for
that child to shut up until my voice was gone. I'm so hoarse, it
hurts to swallow.
My neighbor, Sharon,
pushed the front door open, and has been standing in front of me for
thirty minutes talking to me. I just sob loudly, shake my head. She
asked where my wife was. I point in the bedroom.
She starts for the
bedroom, I stop her, hold her hand tightly. “Don't go in there,”
I barely manage.
“I just want to
help. Maybe talk to Debbie.”
“Please,” I
begin to sob again. “Don't...I'm begging you....”
“Shhhh...”
Sharon touched my face with a hand. “It's going to be all right.”
She left me, headed
toward the bedroom. She turns the doorknob slowly, looks back at me,
smiling consolingly. The door opened, and there was a blast of my
baby's cries in stereo.
I waited a few
seconds, bracing myself for Sharon 's screams.
I know what she's
seen. Burned, charred dust that is the outline of a body that was
once my wife, Debbie. I'm not sure what happened. I do know that I
couldn't make myself get too close to the crib. Because from a
distance, I could see my son was not present in his crib. No one was
there. Nothing. Zilch. The crib was empty.
So I ran back in the
living room, turned on the TV, hoping something would broadcast some
sort of help, any kind of help, or understanding to the situation. It
is a quest I am still on.
I heard it. Sounded
like an electrical current running through wires. Sharon screamed
one last time. Then a zap. The lights dimmed for second, the TV
flickered off and on, Matlock was back on.
There is silence,
except for the baby's cries.
I dare not go into
the bedroom. Not on my life, will I ever go into that bedroom.......
BLOODY DREADFUL: DEATH COMES A-KNOCKING copyright2012 m.s.
BLOODY DREADFUL: DEATH COMES A-KNOCKING copyright2012 m.s.: Here in my bed, I await Death. I am a sick old man. I have lived a long and prosperous life, as good as I could be, and as bad as I co...
DEATH COMES A-KNOCKING copyright2012 m.s.
Here in my bed, I
await Death.
I am a sick old man.
I have lived a long and prosperous life, as good as I could be, and
as bad as I could be. I helped the poor when I was barely scraping by
myself, learning the law to help the suffering and make sure the
innocent was not persecuted. And when I passed the bar, I joined a
big law firm.
I defended the
innocent in my early days, and I always lost. So I started defending
the guilty. After that, I rarely lost a case. Soon, I was the Vinero
family 's only lawyer. I ended up starting a big law firm with
another lawyer. I stole my partner's wife. He committed suicide and
I became sole owner of the firm. I raised two children. A boy and a
girl. My son has left the family, never to stay in touch. I have no
way of knowing if he is alive, dead or has a family of his own. My
daughter has lived with me after burying two husbands, one dying of
acute alcoholism, the other in an unnamed war half-way across the
globe.
She has been been
taking care of me since my wife died ten years ago after a terrible
fall down the stairs. My daughter is good to me. Even after I am
horrible to her. She still worships the ground I stand on----
Wait.
What is that
scratching on my window?
It is Death. I know
it. He is scratching on the glass with his long boney finger. I see
his red eyes staring at me from out the cold,dark night. I hear him
hissing---
My bedroom door
creaks open. I scream, “Back, you fiend! Back to the land of the
dead! You'll never take me with you!”
It is only my
daughter to bring me tea and my supper.
She is good to me.
I smile at her, so
very glad she is here with me. I tell her that. She laughs, tells me
I am a silly old man.
She sets the silver
tray in front of me. I welcome the tray containing my plate of
scrambled eggs and tea with much excitement.
I pat my daughter's
hand. She smiles at me, says she loves me. In mere moments, I feel
her hand growing colder-----ice cold. I look down and see it no
longer has warm peach skin upon it.
It is now a long
bone white hand.
I look up at my
daughter. She is still smiling, endearingly, those horrible red eyes
staring me down.........
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
MY DOG copyright2012 m.s.
I have a new dog
named Charley.
I found him
wandering the streets, looking slightly disoriented and frail. I took
back to my basement apartment. For a week I have taken good care of
him. Sometimes Charley is a very bad dog, always trying to runaway,
making noise at night. I keep him in a cage as punishment and for his
own protection. I have to keep him a secret, my Landlady doesn't
allow pets.
The other day, the
woman next door knocked on my door.
“I'm looking for
my husband Charlie. He went out for cigarettes and is now missing.
Have you seen him?”
I told her I hadn't
seen him. I shut my door, looked at Charlie. He was
whimpering,cowering in the corner of the cage, his naked body broken
and bruised.
“She's not getting
you back,” I told him.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
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