Happy St. Patrick's Day all!!!!! Here's the new edition. Hope you enjoy it! Please comment below to let me know your thoughts.
Index
CEO
Vice President & Cover Artist
Editor-In-Chief
Articles:
Sloss
Furnace by Thom Futrell
Lore’s Corner: Leprechauns by LM David
The She-wolf of Lake Wildwood: Part 8 by Ronald Edward
Griffin
Dead Love Part 5 by Samuel Southwell
The Worm Farm by Helen Bishop
Detective Goodson: Fight for a Friend Part 2 by Brien
O’Raighne
2016 All
rights reserved, including the right of reproduction of this ezine in part or
in whole.
THE HELLFIRE IN THE SLOSS FURNACE
THOM FUTRELL
THOM FUTRELL
From 1882 to 1971, Birmingham's Sloss Furnaces transformed coal and ore from surrounding acres into the hard steel that would pave the way for the industrial revolution.
From skyscrapers in New York's
glittering skyline to automobiles being built in Detroit, America came to rely
on Birmingham and Sloss Furnaces for providing materials needed to produce
thousands of products. Birmingham grew
to a metropolis almost overnight, earning it the nickname of "The Magic
City".
But as with all progress, a price was paid. In the currency of blood.
But as with all progress, a price was paid. In the currency of blood.
In the early 1900's, James
"Slag" Wormwood, was foreman of the "Graveyard Shift", the
period between sunset and sunrise, where a skeleton crew of nearly 150 workers
toiled to keep the furnace fed.
During the stifling summer months, temperatures throughout the plant would reach more than 120 degrees. Lack of sleep, the heat, and low visibility made working the furnace literally a "living hell" and only the poorest of workers, desperate for employment, would work it.
These workers, mostly recently arrived immigrants, were forced to live in cramped housing located on the furnace site, and could be forced at any moment to return to work. To impress his supervisors, Wormwood would make his workers take dangerous risks, forcing them to speed up production. During his reign, 47 workers lost their lives, ten times more than any other shift in the history of the furnace. Countless others lost their ability to work due to accidents, mishaps, and even a recorded explosion in the small blowing engine house in 1888 that left 6 workers blind from the burns.
There were no breaks, there were no holidays, there was only the furnace. And its constant hunger for more and more coal.
During the stifling summer months, temperatures throughout the plant would reach more than 120 degrees. Lack of sleep, the heat, and low visibility made working the furnace literally a "living hell" and only the poorest of workers, desperate for employment, would work it.
These workers, mostly recently arrived immigrants, were forced to live in cramped housing located on the furnace site, and could be forced at any moment to return to work. To impress his supervisors, Wormwood would make his workers take dangerous risks, forcing them to speed up production. During his reign, 47 workers lost their lives, ten times more than any other shift in the history of the furnace. Countless others lost their ability to work due to accidents, mishaps, and even a recorded explosion in the small blowing engine house in 1888 that left 6 workers blind from the burns.
There were no breaks, there were no holidays, there was only the furnace. And its constant hunger for more and more coal.
In October of 1906, James
"Slag" Wormwood, lost his footing at the top of the highest blast
furnace (known as Big Alice), and plummeted into a pool of melted iron
ore. His body melted instantly.
It was reported that
"Slag" must have become dizzy from the methane gas created by the
furnace and lost his balance--but Slag had never set foot on top of a furnace
during his years of employment.
Many thought that the workers had
finally had enough of Wormwood's slave driving, and fed him into the
furnace--but no workers were ever brought to trial.
Sloss Industries soon discontinued
the graveyard shift, citing numerous reports of accidents and "strange
incidents" that decreased steel production.
Haunted History
Haunted History
The legend of "Slag" grew
each year after his disappearance. Workers complained of an "unnatural
presence" they increasingly encountered throughout the work site.
A night watchman in 1926 sustained
injuries after being "pushed from behind" and told angrily by a deep
voice "to get back to work."
The man, upon searching the grounds, could find no sign of any other
living person.
In 1947, three supervisors turned up
missing. Found unconscious and locked in the small boiler room in the
southeastern part of the plant, none of the three could explain exactly what
happened to them. All agreed they were approached by a man whose skin appeared
badly burned and who angrily shouted at them "to push some steel."
Probably the most horrifying tale
occurred in 1971, when the night before the plant closed, Samuel Blumenthal,
the Sloss Night Watchman, who was nostalgically taking a last look about, found
himself face to face with "the most frightening thing he had ever
seen." He described it simply as
"evil", a "half man/half demon" who tried to push him up
the stairs. When Blumenthal refused, the monster began to beat on him with his
fists.
Upon examination by Dr. Jack Barlo,
Blumenthal was found covered with intense burns. He died before ever returning to Sloss.
There have been more than 100
reports of suspected paranormal activity at Sloss Furnaces recorded in
Birmingham Police records. From minor incidents such as steam whistles
apparently blowing by themselves, to major sightings and the rare physical
assault. It is interesting to note that
the majority of these reports happen in the months of September and October at
night, during the old "graveyard shift."
Some merely dismiss the occurrences
as Halloween hoaxes; others believe it is the restless of spirit of the
sadistic foreman, Slag.
In 1988, a study was conducted by
the Center for Paranormal Events (CPE) in St. Petersburg, Florida on Sloss Furnaces. While no events out of the ordinary occurred
during the study (which occurred in May), many of the team members, including
two psychics, claimed that due to the "violent disregard for and loss of
life" Sloss Furnaces should be a considered "a location rife with
restless souls."
In the year 2000, Sloss was studied
once again by the Paranormal Team of Fox's Scariest Places who concluded that
it was one of the highest rates of unnatural energy they had encountered.
In early 2002, a skeptical investigative
team from CBS Affiliate WJTV investigated the site--they left frazzled and
convinced that Sloss was haunted capturing amazing footage that can been seen
on their site.
In addition, another investigation
was held in 2003 by the Alabama Foundation for Paranormal Research who quoted
that "There is no doubt that Sloss is a hotspot for paranormal activity.
During our investigations we pulled data that confirms through our scientific
methods and approach that energies are present that cannot be explained. Sloss
is one of the most paranormally active places our team has investigated."
On October 4 of 2003, another assault
happened to one of the crew members who had worked at Sloss for many years,
suddenly caught fire after seeing a "strange shape." He suffered
burns up and down his body and was taken to the hospital--he still cannot
recall what happened.
Strangely enough, this was almost on
the exact 32nd anniversary of the Samuel Blumenthal burn attack (night watchman
from 1971).
In 2005, two psychic investigators
from the TV show AIRLINE! investigated Sloss Furnaces, in the middle of the
taping, one of them began to spontaneously bleed from a cut that appeared on
his right hand, halting the investigation. But not before the camera crew
caught images of spirits on their cameras.
The workers were badly mistreated;
the mules were given more respect. One supervisor was quoted as saying
"Don't lose the mules, they cost twenty-five dollars. The men we can
replace."
You walk through the place, and it
just feels wrong. It feels like something is just off. Of course, a lot of it
was my imagination, but someone, or something is watching from the shadows.
Slag wants you to get back to work. And he will walk out of the fires of hell
to make sure you do it.
Author Bio:
Thom Futrell is a horror
writer living in Jackson Michigan. He has been in more than sixty publications
and has four films under his belt. He writes under the name T.G. Reaper.
Leprechauns.
Leprechauns,
what are they? Well let’s see what the world of literature says.
A leprechaun is a type of fairy in Irish folklore
and usually depicted as a bearded little man, wearing a coat and hat, who
partakes in mischief. They are solitary creatures who spend their time making
and mending shoes and have a hidden pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. If
captured by a human, the leprechaun has the magical power to grant three wishes
in exchange for their freedom. Like other Irish fairies, leprechauns maybe
derived from the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Leprechaun-like
creatures rarely appear in Irish mythology and only became prominent in later
folklore. Modern depictions of leprechauns are based largely on derogatory 19th
century caricatures and stereotypes of the Irish.
The name leprechaun is derived from the Irish word leipreachán, defined as "a pigmy, a sprite, or
leprechaun". The further derivation is less certain; according to most
sources, the word is thought to be a corruption of Middle
Irish luchrupán, from
the Old Irish luchorpán, a compound of the roots lú (small) and
corp (body).
The leprechaun
is said to be a solitary creature, whose principal occupation is making and
mending shoes, and who enjoys practical jokes. David Russell McAnally referred
to the leprechaun as the son of an "evil spirit" and a
"degenerate fairy" and is "not wholly good nor wholly
evil".
What does a
leprechaun look like? Originally it differed depending on where in Ireland he
was found. Prior to the 20th
century, it was held leprechauns wore red, not green. Yeats referred to them as
solitary fairies, like the leprechaun, wear red jackets, whereas the
"trooping fairies" wear green. The leprechaun's jacket has seven rows
of buttons with seven buttons to each row.
The modern
image of the leprechaun sitting on a toadstool, red beard, green hat, etc., are
clearly more modern inventions or borrowed from other European folklore. The
leprechaun is related to the clurichaun and the far
darrig in
that he is a solitary creature. The clurichaun are considered by some to be
merely a leprechaun on a drinking spree.
So think of the
little guy when partying on St. Patrick’s Day because you might have an
opportunity to meet one of the miniature men. And while you are at it, share a
pint with him because he’s probably thirsty from lugging all that gold around.
Author Bio:
LM
David has been writing stories since Jr. High School after taking a Creative
Writing class. Initially drawn to the genre of Science Fiction, a fascination
with Paranormal/Urban Fantasy/Romance drew her back into the dark erotic world
of vampires. The more she read about the subject of the ‘undead’, the deeper
dark erotic world of folklore and legends of the vampire became. You can reach
her at:
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/authorLMDavid
Twitter:
@LMDavid54
The She-wolf of Lake Wildwood
Part 8
Kurt wakes from a loud knocking on the front door. He
leans up from the couch noticing that Dr. Phil is on the T.V. with a pair of
twins that have been living as prostitutes to support their drug addiction. He
shakes his head back and forth while rubbing the back of his neck which is now
stiff. The knocking continues and he finally stands up.
“Hold on
I’m coming.” He says while walking to the front door.
When he
opens the door he is surprised to see Tabetha standing there wearing her skin
tight jogging outfit again. He gulps hard not knowing exactly what time it was
or how much longer it will be before Diane gets home.
“Hey I
am sorry to bother you I just really need someone to talk to.” She says.
“Yeah
I’m not sure that this is a good time. My wife could be home any minute.”
“Please
I promise I won’t be long I am just really worried.”
He looks
out the door and doesn’t see Diane coming from either direction so he
reluctantly steps outside closing the door behind himself. He sits down on the
steps and pats the spot next to him.
“So
what’s going on?” he asks.
He keeps
his eyes down knowing that he’d seen the detective there earlier but didn’t
want to bring it to her attention. She sits down beside him wrapping her arms around
her knees as she draws them to her chest.
“I don’t
know what’s happening around here. Ever since I moved here it seems like people
are dying all around me. First Bobby and then that girl that night of my
interview and I have been having bad dreams.” Tears begin to well in her eyes.
“The police think that I did it. They won’t straight out tell me that’s what
they think but I can tell. Why else would they send a detective to ask me
questions?”
“I don’t
know, maybe they are just searching for every possible lead.”
“All I
know is that I can’t stand this. Another thing I don’t understand is the dreams
indicate that maybe I have had something to do with their deaths.” She says.
“You
couldn’t be capable of doing that can you? Besides don’t they think it’s some
kind of animal that killed them? Things like this happening could cause anyone
to have nightmares.” Kurt says trying to encourage her.
“I have
had these dreams before I even knew they died.”
Kurt
grew silent after hearing that.
“See now
even you think I did it.” She says.
“I
didn’t say that.” Kurt says.
“Your
silence speaks for you.” She says while standing. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have
bothered you with this I should go back home.”
She stands up and walks towards
next door and at that moment Diane pulls into the drive way. Kurt swallows hard
and covers his head with his hands. Diane stops the van in front of Tabetha.
She slams the door hard as she gets out.
“I come home from work to see
this! What’s this little hussy doing here?”
Tabetha turns around facing
Diane.
“Who are you calling a hussy?”
she asks.
“You are for coming over here
and bothering my husband. Don’t you know that he is a happily married man? Why
do you insist on causing problems with my marriage?” Diane says.
“I don’t want your husband nor
am I trying to cause you any problems. I just needed someone to talk to.
Neither of my room mates are home yet.”
“Well you run on home and wait
for them before I drag you home.”
Tabetha
rolls her eyes in disbelief.
“Okay
sure whatever.” She says while turning around and continues to walk home.
Diane
turns to face Kurt with her hands on her hips glaring at him.
“Now
honey before you get too upset. Nothing was going on.”
“Why
should I believe you?” Diane interrupts.
“Diane
if anything was going on why would I make sure that we were outside? If I
wanted anything to happen it would be inside and I would sneak her out the back
or something like that.” Kurt explains.
“Oh so
you have thought about it?”
“No not
at all I am just telling you that.” He lets out a deep sigh.” I was just trying
to show you that I didn’t want to be alone with her or trust her myself to be
alone with her inside so that is why I came outside. I would never want you to
come home and catch me with a strange woman in our house.”
“You
know I would kill you.”
“Exactly
my point so why would I be outside with her?”
“To keep
me from seeing you in our home with her.”
“Exactly,
now can we go inside and stop making a scene?” Kurt asks.
“Well
that depends on two things?”
“What’s
that?” Kurt asks.
“If you
can forgive my jealousy again?” Diane asks.
“Of
course I can. What’s the other thing?”
“How
much time we have left until the kids get home from school.” She says with a
sly grin.
The two
of them rush into the house shutting the door behind them.
Later that evening.
Tabetha
is out at a bar hanging out with her roommates trying to get her mind off of
things. Once they start becoming obnoxiously drunk though she calls a cab to
come pick her up. They follow her out to the parking lot where she stands
waiting for the cab.
“Hey you
don’t have to go home yet hang out with us a little longer.” One of her
roommates says.
“Nah,
you guys go ahead and have fun without me. I am going to go home and call it a
night.”
“Are you
sure?”
“Yeah I
will be fine.” She says.
“Don’t
wait up for us.” The other roommate says.
“I
won’t”
The two
roommates go back inside the bar leaving her outside. She stands waiting for
the cab and starts rubbing her arms feeling a cold uncomfortable feeling.
A few hours later
Tabethas’
roommates are the last people leaving the bar. The quiet night makes them
uncomfortable as they walk to the car. A growling noise makes them feel uneasy
as they look around the vacant parking lot for a dog.
“What
the hell is that?”
“I don’t
know but I don’t want to find out.”
The
werewolf drops down on top of them and within moments the air is filled with
the sounds of their screams. Which are soon silenced by wet gurgling sounds as
they choke on their own blood.
To be continued…
Author Bio:
Ronald Edward Griffin is a native of Macon, GA where he
was born and raised. He is an accomplished Author in his own right and is
always working hard on something. He has two children whom he hopes to pass his
writing bug on to them.
DEAD LOVE
BY
SAMUEL D SOUTHWELL
PART 5
1
“An
8.7 earthquake just hit the west coast...”
Jane
poked her head out toward the living room. The picture on the TV was showing
many areas of California in ruins. She grabbed her phone and dialed quickly.
“Please be alright. Please God let him be alright!”
“You
have reached the voice mail box of... Mike Roth... Please leave a message.
Beeeeep!”
“Mike
my love please tell me you are alright. My god I wish you were here with me.
Why didn’t you listen to my warning?” She dropped the phone and fell to her
knees. “Please oh my lord bring him back to me.”
2
“Mike
wake up!”
Mike
opened his eyes as the vision of Jane disappear and the strange reality he is
in reappeared. He was staring into the eyes of Heather. Sam was holding his
arm.
“You
were talking in your sleep.”
Mike
sat up and saw John holding Martha’s hand as he wiped her forehead with his
handkerchief. Next to him was Steve with Emily and Sam.
“What
was I saying?”
“I’m
not sure something about an earthquake.”
Mike
looked around they were inside a restaurant. On the wall was a large clown
holding a hamburger and fries. He stares at it for a second and then glances
out the window. It was quiet out there maybe a little too quiet. They had walked
a few miles before stopping here to rest. They had seen nothing but destruction
and an empty street devoid of life. Not even a stray cat or dog. It was just
damn strange. The wind whipped a paper passed the window and he watched it for
a minute or two before turning back to Heather.
“So
what do you think? Should we continue on through this wonderland?”
“Do
we really have a choice? After all, there has to be someone else out there,
right?”
“I
don’t know. There usually is in the movies.” Heather smiled at him.
Mike
looked at the clown again. Staring into he’s evil grin wondering how it made
kids happy. Then he turned to Sam who was also staring at the clown. Sam was
smiling. That’s when Mike notice the picture had changed. The clown had moved
and was no longer smiling. Suddenly a hamburger flew by his head. He looked
back and the clown was standing in front of him.
“Cool!”
“Sam
get back behind me.” Mike grabbed Sam and pushed him toward Heather. Heather
took him and held him close.
The
clown studied them all one by one. As they all watched not knowing what to do.
Then the clown laughed a hardy laugh. Sam laughed with the clown.
“Yes
the boy gets it.” The clown began to walk toward Sam.
“Hold
it right there!” Mike stepped between the clown and Sam.
The
clown sized him up. “Oh and what if I don’t Michael? What are you going to do?”
“What
are you?”
“Yes
there is the question is it not?” The clown did a little dance.
Mike
and the others watched him as he danced around the room smiling and laughing
merrily. Sam and Emily smiled and laughed with him.
“What
am I you asked? Well kids tell them what am I?”
“A
clown!” Sam and Emily shouted together.
“Very
good children! Yes, I am a clown. But am I a sad clown?” He made a sad face.
“Or a happy clown?” He smiled big and twirled in a circle. “What do you think
Michael?”
“I
think I fell and hit my head and this is all a dream.”
The
clown laughed another hearty laugh. “Oh Michael you are a card.”
“What
are you then?” Jean stepped forward.
“Oh
Jeanie you already know what I am.”
“What’s
that?” Steve pulled Emily closer to him.
The
clown laughed again. “Come now Steven my boy. I am the mascot of this beloved
burger franchise.”
“Yeah
and I’m the CEO of Sony.”
“Johnny
is that you. Me oh my it is like a family reunion. And Martha? Oh my is she
hurt bad.”
“She’ll
live. But you didn’t answer our question. What are you and how did you get
here?”
“Ah!
And now we come to the meat of the matter.” The clown pranced over to the wall.
“I came from there and ended up here!”
“Yes
clown but where is here?” Mike started at the clown with anger in his eyes.
“Yes Michael.
Where is here? Well if English teaches us anything. Here is where we are
presently as opposed to there where we were recently.” The clown smiled at him
sticking out his tongue.
“Listen
clown I don’t know who you are or why you are here...”
“Oh
but you do. You all do. That is why we are having this discussion.”
“Fine
you win. So why are you here then as in why now?”
“Good
Jeanie. Leave it to the young strong woman to ask the right questions.” The
clown walked up to her and whispered in here ear. “I’m here to warn you.”
Jean
jumped back away. “Warn us about what?”
“Oh
wouldn’t you like to know?” The clown jumped at the wall and again he was just
a painting.
Steve
covered Emily’s ears. “OK! What the fuck was that?”
“I
wish I knew.” Mike turned to Heather. “We’re not on another plane.”
Heather
covered Sam’s ears, “I know we’re in the fucking twilight zone.”
3
Mike,
Heather, and Sam rounded the corner of the bank building carefully. Behind them
were John and Steve pushing Martha with Emily and Jean taking up the rear. Mike
held up his hand and they all stopped.
“What
is it Mike?” Martha reached out and grabbed John’s hand.
“Not
sure yet. You guys sit here for a minute. Heather and I will check it out.”
Jean
came up and took Sam’s hand. “Be careful.”
“We
will.” Mike turned to Heather. “Ready?”
“No
but let’s do it anyway.”
Mike
and Heather stopped at the edge of the pit. It sides went all the way down into
the darkness.
“What
do you think?”
“I
don’t know maybe the opening to Hell.”
Just
then flames shot up out of it engulfing the pit. Mike and Heather were knocked
off their feet landing on the pavement behind them.
“Please
stop saying things like that.”
The
flames had receded back down into the darkness. Mike stood up and helped
Heather to her feet.
“Sorry
I guess it could have been a gas main that exploded.”
Heather
looked at him with weary eyes. “Yeah let’s go with that.”
4
Mike
and Heather came up to the rest of the group.
“What
was that explosion?” Steve walked up to them with Emily.
“Not
sure. We think a gas main might have blown. So we need to move out of here just
in case.”
“Roger
that.” Steve took Sam over to Heather.
Mike
walked over to John. “How’s she doing?”
“I
don’t know. She keeps fading in and out.” He wiped his forehead with his
handkerchief. “I’m worried she is...”
Mike
puts his hand on John’s shoulder. “We’ll get her through this.”
“I hope so.”
Mike checked her pulse it
was low but strong. “There is still hope. Martha still has you. Take a breather
and let me know when you’re ready to move.”
“Thanks Mike.”
A few minutes later they
were on the move again.
5
Mike lead his motley crew
through what remained of L.A. His mind wondered back to his beloved Jane.
Thousands of miles away without even knowing if she was alive or dead.
“Hey Mike!” Sam was
pulling at his arm.
“Yes, Sam! What is it?”
“I don’t know I was
hoping you can tell me.” Sam pointed toward something in the shadows.
Mike stared at the mass
that was moving toward them at a rapid rate. It was like a sea of blackness.
“Oh my God!” Emily
screamed. “Rats!”
They all stared in horror
at the sea in front of them.
“We have to get above
them.” Steve shouted.
“Good idea!” Mike scanned
the area. “There up the fire escape quickly!”
Steve lifted Emily up
over his head and she reached for the ladder as the others circled around them.
“Hurry Emily you can do it.”
“Got it!” The ladder shot
down with a loud crash.
“Everybody up.”
One by one they climbed
Emily, Sam, Heather, Jean, Steve...
“Your next John.”
“No I can’t leave Martha
to those...rats.” He held on to Martha.
The rats were closing.
“John we don’t have time
to argue.”
“Then go I’m not leaving
her.”
Mike and John stared at
each other briefly. Then Mike grabbed the ladder and pulled himself up
disappearing up the wall. Followed by the screams from Martha and John.
6
Mike sat with his hands
in his face tears in his eyes.
“Come on Mike it wasn’t
your fault.” Heather put her arm around him while the others stood staring down
below.
“No but I should have
done something. They were a part of us.”
“Yes they were and still
are and always will be. John knew what he was doing. Martha was everything to
him.” She put her hand on the side of his face. “You brought us this far.”
Mike looked down at Sam
who was holding on to his leg. Sam looked up at him and smiled. “How you doing
little man?” Mike put a hand on his head and Sam hugged his leg.
“Mike come look at this!”
Mike patted Sam on the
head. Then he walked over to Jean. “What is it?”
“Look!”
Mike looked over the
side. Below him stood Martha and John. He watched in wonderment. “John!”
They did not move as if
they were in a trance. He stared at them as the others came up to look as well.
“What’s wrong with them?”
“I don’t know Emily.”
“What are we going to do
now?”
“Can we help them?”
Mike just stared down at
them asking himself the same questions everyone else was asking. Then he saw it
and the world went black.
‘Help my mom mister she
is ill.’
Author
Bio:
Samuel
holds a degree in English Literature from the University of South Florida and
has been published a dozen or so times. He published his first book “Twisted
American Fairy Tales” on Lulu.com and it is still available there today. He
currently lives in Florida where he cuts up dead bodies for a grocery chain and
spends his free time writing and collecting books.
The Worm Farm by Helen Bishop (Ch. 11 & 12)
11
When I got back to the farm,
I did my chores and fed and watered the worms. Then while I swept up I thought
about how to get justice for Denise. When I was good and ready I went down to
him.
I went right up to him and
with my knife cut off his underwear. He had soiled it, and although I knew he
would hurt with it on longer, I wanted him to suffer, not me. I rolled up the
soiled clothing in a bunch of newspaper and put some new stuff down. I looked
up at him as I did that, and he was playing possum. I could tell from his
breathing that he was awake.
"Are you ready to tell
me why you hurt your wife?" I was close enough to spit on him.
He shook his head and said
nothing. I wanted to have a response, so I reared back and slapped him, as hard
as I could. I bet he saw stars like in those old cartoons I saw while in the
hospital.
"Okay," I said,
"I guess you've made your choice."
I went over to the shelves
and picked up a utility knife, sort of like a box-cutter. Jerry's eyes got
really wide and he seemed to shrink back to the wall when he saw it coming. I
laid it on his inner arm, right below the shoulder and carefully and quickly
turned it and brought it across his bicep. His responding howl was muffled by
the tape I quickly slapped over his mouth. He was shaking as much as his ties
would allow, and was screaming into his gag. Then I reached over to the cut
bicep and carefully pried up the sliced edge of skin and quickly pulled it up
then down, tearing about a three-inch-wide piece of skin all the way across his
now exposed inner arm, then off his arm completely. I picked up the knife
again, and he sagged in his ties. I waited for him to come around, because of
course; there can be no lesson if he was unconscious. I guess I was a nicer guy
than he was, because according to all the reports, whoever had beaten his wife
had kept the beating up long after she fainted.
Jerry pretended to be out for
a while. I watched him ease his eyes open and look around, then quickly shut
them again when he thought I was looking. I took a piece of paper from my
pocket and unfolded it, facing me. I read, from memory now, because the paper
was blank-"multiple contusions, old fractures, 5 broken ribs, 2 fingers
broken on left hand, broken wrist on right...guess you have quite a lesson to
learn, don't you, Jerry?" I said as I ripped the tape off his mouth.
"How do you know my
name?" he blurted out, all faking apparently over.
"Oh, I know all about
you, friend, and those like you. You feel justified to beat your wife, because
she made a bad choice."
"Yeah, well, she makes
me do it; I don't want to hit her! She's stupid, she makes bad choices like you
said, and I get tired of showing her how to do everything every day! I only hit
her when I need to make a point. Then she gets it!"
"The bad choice I was
talking about, was marrying you. I guess she didn't understand that 'for better
or worse' meant no better and only worse," I said.
He glared at me and shook his
head as much as he could. "You're wrong; I'm the best thing that ever
happened to her. She was lucky to catch me!"
"Have it your way, once
more Jerry, but for the last time. Now, let's get started."
"Started? What are we
starting?"
"You are going to be the
husband you should have been, a good husband. A good husband protects his wife,
right? So now, you will protect her by taking her beating. Not that we can take
her beating back, but we can make sure you know exactly how she feels." I
went over with fresh tape and slapped it over his mouth.
"Let's start with
something easy."
I went back into the tunnel
for the tools I had arranged there. Taking hold of the small sledge hammer, I
came back and hit him a good one in the right wrist. I swear I could hear him
scream around the tape. While he was focused on his wrist, I took the hammer to
the fist he had made of the other hand.
"Okay, that's the wrist
and probably most of the fingers on the left hand. What's left?" I said as
I consulted the paper again. "Are you beginning to understand how she
really felt, Jerry? Is it getting through?"
Jerry was hanging in the ties
and moaning. Blood from the piece of skin I had removed was starting to clot. I
had done a job on the wrist because there were shards of broken bones coming
through the skin. Good.
I decided to let him try to
come to terms with his pain.
"I'll be back later.
Maybe you can convince me that it was right to beat her. Maybe we can talk about
the baby."
"There's no baby,"
he mumbled around the tape, "not anymore. I made sure."
I stopped just outside the
room. I had figured he would deny his role in her lost baby, just like he had
denied his role in her beating. I turned suddenly, and lashed out with the
sledge. I swung wildly, but got him right in the crotch. This time he screamed
so hard the tape ripped off his mouth, taking skin off his lips and off the
bottom of his nose when it did.
I pressed my hand hard over
his mouth to shut him up. I stood there and pressed, leaning into him while I
did it. I looked him straight in the eye.
"Now we don't have to
worry about any more babies, do we?' I said, and dropped the hammer onto the
shelves and walked out, taking my chunk of skin with me.
Outside, I took a couple of
deep breaths to get his stink out of my nose.
I walked up to the worm bed
and laid that skin right on top of the pile. If I had blinked, I would have
missed it leaving. A mass of worms seemed to separate and suck it in. Gone.
12
Thank goodness I had thought
to put the dungeon so far down under the barn! I stayed away for overnight to
give him time to do whatever he had to, bleed out, get numb, or get a handle on
it, whatever. The fact that he was proud of the fact that he had 'taken care of
the baby' screwed me up. I myself had apparently been an unwanted child, and
while it was true that I had it bad, and very bad, but at least I had it. This
guy had murdered that baby before it even got to be a baby, and he was proud? I
had to stay away. I couldn't give him a lesson and the time to learn it, if I
just killed him outright, and I was mad enough to do just that now.
I knew, of course I knew I
was going to kill him. That was the whole deal. But I was hoping to get him to
admit he had made a mistake, before he had to go.
I mean, I too, was a killer,
at least technically. Is the executioner responsible for killing those he
kills? It is a job, like being a soldier, isn't it? Aren't I just a soldier, or
just like a guy weeding the bad stuff out of his garden? I want these people to
see what they are before they try to explain to the guy upstairs. I'm not
killing them for a thrill, not like those guys on the news, I am trying to help
the world, or at least my part of it, have a happier future.
It wasn't as if I enjoyed
giving them pain and then feeding them to the worms, in effect making the whole
circuit of the food chain. These people were only going to cause someone
somewhere pain. That was their role in life. I was only here to interrupt the
cycle.
His wife would have a happier
future, if she lived. And if she didn't at least she'd be with the baby that
she'd tried to protect, that had to be worth something. He wouldn't be with her
and their child; I don't think there's a bright, welcoming light when your path
goes through worms first, but I could be wrong.
For that matter, I don’t think there’s one if you’re exploded out of
existence either, especially if you were bad first.
I did my chores, emptied the
old worms out and dipped out some new ones. During the dipping, one of the
hugest worms attached itself to my gloved thumb and made a pretty good try to
get through it. Apparently the mass was starting to know that I meant food.
That reminded me; I wanted to go into town for some heavier gloves. Before I
did that though, I went down to check on my guest.
He looked a little grayer,
hanging there in the ties. Apparently sometime during the time I was gone he
had come to, and vomited all over himself. The vomit had run down his body and
mixed on the front of him and on the floor with the urine and feces from before
and the blood. He looked like something I imagine a first-grader could do with
finger-paints and oatmeal. The stench was kind of thick, so I went off to
connect the hoses. I rolled out a thick newspaper covering onto the floor below
where he hung and ran the papers out to as far as I thought the splash might
go. I decided to use the nozzle with the hard spray, so the cleaning off would
go fast.
He came to as the water first
hit him, and he roared out a word so guttural that it wasn't until later that I
actually recognized it. He had called me a prick. He had stood there, attached
to the wall with his ruined prick and called me one! I didn't know whether to
be amused or upset, so I decided just to be thorough in my cleaning.
I stood pretty close to Jerry
and sprayed the cold well water all over him. Some places didn't want to come
clean, so I scrubbed at them with the carwash brush, and then sprayed more
water. He kept up the screaming for most of his wash, and it was hurting my
ears. I stopped the water.
"Do you want some more
scrubbing? I can keep this up as long as you can," I told him. "Your
screaming is getting old fast. Face it, the water isn't warming up anytime
soon, now tell me, more scrubbing, or do you think we are done?"
"Done," he said,
weeping. "Please, please, can't you stop?"
"Okay," I said,
"You only need to ask."
I put the hose away and
rolled up the soaked newspapers and carted them outside and around and into the
grinder. They got sort of mashed together, being all wet, but I forked some of
the compost into the grinder with it, and eventually everything was ground up
and mixed together. I threw buckets of the mixture onto the top of the worm
beds and suddenly the beds came alive with worms rolling over and through the
whole mass.
When I went back down later
that day, Jerry was awake. He stared at me from his place against the wall, and
mumbled something from inside his ripped up lips. I got closer to hear him, but
was careful not to get within grabbing distance.
"Is she dead?" he
mumbled, "Please God, tell me she's dead. I did love her, I think once I
loved her, but I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't realize what I was doing, or I did
realize, but didn't care. She always forgave me; she always came back. Tell me,
is she dead? Let me go to her, let me apologize. Untie me, and let me go, and
she'll give me another chance."
I leaned toward him, hanging
there on the wall. He stared at me and waited for my answer, when it didn't
come, his eyes got wild-looking and he mumbled again. I had to get closer to
hear him.
"You had her, didn't
you? That’s why you think you have to do this!
Right! I knew she was a whore, I guess she thinks I will just take her
back, the lying whore."
"Wow," I said,
"your apology didn't last too long, did it?"
"I've been trying to
think why you'd care about her, why it matters to you about the damn baby, all
I can figure is that it was your baby that I killed. Good, the lying shit.
Screaming out that it was my baby, screaming even though I nearly beat her to
death. I knew she was a liar! Well, she's done it now, the ungrateful bitch! We
are over, over. My mom was right! She wasn't good enough for me-the lying
small-town cunt!"
At that word, Jerry screamed
out his rage, his wide eyes seeing his wife's imagined cheating. Understanding
deep down that all the stuff he had accused her of had at last been proven.
I went up very close to him,
and slugged him in the cheek as hard as I could.
"Ass! The DNA testing
said the baby was yours! I never met her before I read about your crime in the
newspaper. I see where you get it; your mother is obviously brain-damaged too.
Who are you to offer then change your mind about taking her back? Why would anyone
want you back? I want you out of here! You stink up the place!"
With that, I went to the
storage shelves near the doorway, picked up a tool and returned to Jerry.
Jerry's eyes got really big
as he focused on the tool in my fist. He started to say something, but his
words were drowned out by the gushing noise his blood made spewing from the
side of his neck. I brought the box-cutter across his stomach then, pushing
hard to slice him wide open.
As Jerry bled out, I kept
pushing more and more of the newspapers under him. He wasn't done dripping when
I began to remove parts of his flesh, putting them into a trashcan to take out
to the worms.
Over the next few days, I
took Jerry out, a few pieces at a time, and gave him to the worms. It was a
treat for them to get the meat fresh and not from the grinder. I sliced off as
much of the boneless bits as I could, knowing the heaviest stuff would need to
be ground up.
A few days after Jerry left,
I went into town to get new gloves and stock up on supplies. While there, as
usual I looked in on the Sheriff. We talked about this and that, and then I
asked about the lady in the hospital.
"Oh,' Dan said,
"she never regained consciousness, and passed yesterday morning. Doc said
that she had too many internal injuries. Damn, I'd like to find that no account
husband of hers and rip his head off!'
"Don't worry," I
said, "That guy is probably long gone by now!"
Author Bio:
Helen Bishop is a native of Pennsylvania and a
true fan of the written word. She works as a litigation paralegal; reads on
average 20 books a week; writes book reviews for an internet blog; writes
stories, poems and novels in various genres; and-just to fill out her dance
card-contracts with fellow authors to proofread and copy-edit their work before
it goes to the publisher. You can check her out at
thttps://www.facebook.com/HelenBishopAuthor?ref=bookmarks, and
thttps://www.facebook.com/HelenBishopAuthor?ref=bookmarks, and
https://www.writerreadr.wordpress.com
Rand’s Story: Fight for a
Friend pt.2
A Southern Hospitality Companion Story
By
Brien O’Raighn
DUNGEON • DARK TOWER • SHEOUL
Rand contemplates the offer
brought to him by Lucifer. He sighs. He knows that it is not an offer that he
can refuse. He rubs the burn mark in his chest. A frown crosses his face.
“Damn it!” Rand shakes his
head. “I do not want this! You hear me! I DO NOT WANT THIS!”
“No need to shout, Randall.”
A melodic voice says from behind him.
Rand turns and glares at
Lucifer. There is a smile on Lucifer’s face.
“I am not really giving you a
choice, Randall. You do this or I wipe you from existence.” Lucifer is quite
calm in demeanor.
Rand breathes a sigh of
relief. “I figured as much. I am not ready to die.”
“Good. Good.” Lucifer says.
“First thing you should know; I will not tell you how to run your clan. You
will not ignore my requests though. Second thing, I know what lies deep in your
heart. Don’t forget that.”
“Oh, I am well aware of you,
Lucifer.” Rand tells him. “And what you can do.”
“Good. Make sure you keep
that at the back of your mind.” Lucifer says. “Now follow me. We have work to
do.”
Rand shakes his head.
Reluctantly he answers. “Yes, my lord.”
METAPOL HQ •
DOWNTOWN STORM CITY
There are multiple Agent
Superiors meeting here today. Barnabas, an ancient immortal sorcerer, walks
into the conference room. Walter Carpenter taps a pen on the table in the
conference room. He sighs.
“Thank you all for coming.”
Barnabas says. His silver hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
“We have a major problem.
There are new and more powerful groups beginning to emerge in Storm City and
the surrounding areas. Quite a few are from out of town.” Barnabas paces back
and forth. He taps the clicker in his hand.
A picture of three sisters in
dark robes is up on the screen. Barnabas points to them.
“These are three immortal
witches from the ancient town of Wardok on the Isle of Mann in the British
Isles. They are very powerful. Do not engage these witches point blank. You
will need the help of an arch mage or two before you intend to engage these
witches.”
Barnabas hits the clicker
again. The image of Club Chaos appears. There is a man in the photo. His skin
is nearly as black as night. His eyes glow. “This is Szin Diablos.”
“Sir, there’s nothing new
about this guy at all. He’s been around for decades.” Walter interjects.
“That is correct, Carpenter.”
He clicks the button again.
“However, this is true image.”
There is a gasp amongst the
Agent Superiors. They all know who this is. The Prince of Darkness himself,
Lucifer Morningstar.
“Are you sure about this,
sir?” Agent Superior Sorensen asks.
“Positive, Sorensen. There
has been a rise in supernatural activity at Club Chaos.” Barnabas continues to
pace back and forth. “I am going to need your teams to send your best agents,
in disguise to Club Chaos tonight.”
“Sure you got the right
place, boss?” A female Agent Superior named Helena Rickman asks.
“Positive. There are registered
supernatural beings that work there.” Barnabas places both hands behind his
back. “Any other questions?”
“If this is all you got,
then, why call us all here?” Walter asks.
“I need you to fill out the
paperwork in front of you. Afterwards, you will receive packets for every
member in your offices.”
“What’s the paperwork for,
boss?” Helena asks.
“HR needs the information
filled out.” Barnabas reminds them.
“All right, boss.” Helena
says.
Barnabas walks out of the
room with his hands behind his back. He gulps as he walks over to the doors
leading to the patio. As he walks out onto the patio, he looks up into the
night sky and sighs. I hope I am doing
the right thing.
SYRACUSE GROVE APT 212 • CYPRUS FALLS
Matt lies in bed with Elise.
She is sleeping soundly as he strokes her brunette curly locks. He sighs and
smiles as his phone rings.
Matt rolls over and picks up
his phone. The caller ID states WALTER.
He swipes his phone right to
answer the phone. “Hello, sir.”
“Thomas, I need your services
tonight.”
“Tonight sir?”
“Yes, tonight. I need you to
infiltrate Club Chaos. You will be reimbursed. You will meet the others there
in 30 minutes.”
“30 minutes? That means I
need to get dressed and leave now.”
“Then, I suggest you get
moving.”
“Yes, sir.”
Matt rolls over and gets up
out of bed, He grabs his jeans and throws on a tight black tee. Elise rolls
over. Groggily, she looks up at Matt. “Matt, baby? Where you going?”
“Got to go into work.”
“But you are not in uniform.”
“Undercover work.”
“Be careful.”
Matt finishes dressing. He
walks over to Elise. He bends down and kisses her on the forehead. “I will be,
darling. See you in the morning.”
Elise smacks her lips.
“okay.” She falls back asleep.
Matt shakes his head and
smiles. I hope nothing goes wrong.
Author Bio:
He is a connoisseur of sci-fi and paranormal films and books. He, also, lives in Houston with his son.
https://www.facebook.com/groups/DRBStreetTeam/
*Anyone looking for a GREAT editor/beta reader should
contact Jessica Sawa (same name on Facebook) or at her email: jessisawapromotions@gmail.com. She does excellent work and is even offering specials for
Nano pieces!!! Check her out!!!
******If
you'd like to contribute an article or become a columnist, please contact me at
darknesswithin.jpierce@gmail.com. Also, please feel free to leave a comment
here letting us know what you think of the e-zine! We love to hear from our
readers!!!!
Keep
Writing/Reading!
Jodie
Pierce
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