Roadkill ( Mantle Piece of Death )

11 Saturday Apr 2020

Tags

america, bald eagle, blood, cannibalism, cougar, murder, roadkill, taxidermist

As soon as the sun disappeared below the horizon a family of raccoons scampered from the safety of their burrow on the endless search for food.

The mother raccoon keeps an eye out for predators while her two youngsters dig for worms and grubs whilst the male raccoon runs over to a nearby creek in the hope of catching a fish or two to feed his hungry brood.

After ten minutes the father raccoon grows increasingly frustrated when he fails to catch anything but then he suddenly remembers a spot downstream where he caught a huge catfish a while back.

But to get there he has to cross a gravel road , he has traversed this road on many occasions but this time the little rascal is in mortal danger.

Just as he stepped onto the road a pickup truck travelling at speed hits the tiny creature killing him instantly.

The raccoon is one of man animals that will killed on the roads across america today, roadkill on a massive scale.

58 year old Myron Oxenford has been employed at Bilford county Mississippi for just on forty years and he takes great pride in his job.

Every day except for the lords day he drives his pickup around the county scraping roadkill from the streets and depositing them to the side so other animals don’t get killed as they eat the kill.

Myron is a big man who some say resembles Kenny Rogers having a very bad day.

Today Myron is is a good mood as he picks up his keys for another day of keeping the streets of Bilford county clean and tidy and even though he probably wont admit Myron has a strange fixation for roadkill.

An hour into his shift Myron is cruising down a backwater road when he spots a dead raccoon in the middle of the road fifty yards ahead.

The raccoon is still relatively fresh and its skin is undamaged perfect for Myron’s weird hobby.

He is an amateur taxidermist and this critter will give him hours of stuffing pleasure.

At 3.30 pm Myron heads home with another collection of animals to keep him fed for weeks.

Most of them are to mangled to be stuffed and mounted except for the raccoon who looks like it could still be alive if not for a broken neck.

Myron skins the motley crew of squirrel, rattlesnake,gopher and groundhog and chops the meat into bite size pieces and throws it into a huge pot along with a few cups of broth and salt and pepper.

As he waits for his meal to cook Myron places the unfortunate raccoon’s pelt onto an armature stand and begins to stuff it with materid’s that are supposed to bring life back to dead animal but Myron’s taxidermy skills are below par so now the raccoon resembles a misshapen creature from an Edgar Allen Poe novel.

After decades of drinking over proof moonshine Myron brain has turned to mush and now he believes that if he talks to all the stuffed animals that decorate his cabin that one day they will all come back to life and run back into the woods alive and kicking.

So he always leaves a window open in case that day eventuates.

What Myron doesn’t know is that for a few months a tiny field mouse has been coming into his bedroom while he sleeps and has been drinking the pools of drool that collect on his pillow every night

Homer Simpson himself would be proud at the amount of saliva that dribbles and the mouse takes great joy in drinking the liquid and running out into the living room feeding the precious fluid into the mouths of the stuffed and mounted animals that sit on shelves and in particular the rodent feeds a bald eagle and cougar that sit on top of a mantle piece.

After indulging in a few too many jars of moonshine Myron wakes with a throbbing headache and a mouth dryer than the Saraha Desert.

So Myron drinks another jar to keep the gremlins at bay then after a shower he feels healthy enough to go about another day.

He grabs a glass of water before leaving the house but stops in his tracks and stares long and hard at the bald eagle on the mantle piece that he stuffed and mounted a few months ago.

His eyes must be playing tricks but he could have sworn that the eagle moved its wings a second ago but Myron has a laugh when he feels the breeze coming in the open window so he closes it and goes off to work.

26 year old Sally Nulksteader is out enjoying an early morning run along a back road grateful for an opportunity to get out in the sun while her husband Brett looks after their twin boys who turned one back in July.

Her track shoes hit the road hard as Sally runs around a bend but she doesn’t hear anything but the soothing sound coming from her ear bubs.

Sadly She will never touch her boys or hear their laughter ever again.

Myron is still feeling a little queasy as he drives a too fast around a sweeping bend.

His eyes widen is dread when he notices the lady running on the side of the road and he screams in horror when he feels her body under the wheels of his pickup.

‘Holy fucking shit’ Myron whispers not quite believing what has just happened.

He can still taste the alcohol on his breath and knows that he would be well and truly over the limit so he puts his foot down to flee the scene.

But than a voice whispers in his ear ‘What are you doing Myron? I prime piece of roadkill is there for the taking so go back and take it home and it will become your masterpiece’

Myron slams on his brakes reverses back and throws Sally Nulksteader’s body in the back of his pickup.

And to give himself an alibi he calls his boss and tells him that he has the flu and will spend the day in bed.

Myron spends an hour carefully removing the skin from the body of his first human display item.

He drapes the skin over an armature stand and leaves it to dry while he cuts her flesh from her bones and throws the tidbits into the pot with a few carrots and onions .

The unused meat in placed in sterilized jars and placed in his pantry where it will come in handy when the cold weather hits.

After eating his first meal of human flesh Myron grabs a jar of moonshine and goes into his room for an afternoon nap.

After waiting an hour to make sure it is safe the rejuvenated eagle swoops down from the mantle piece and begins to rip pieces of meat from the human skeleton littering the living room floor.

As the eagle eats gaining strength with every bite the cougar stays in place because it has another victim in mind.

A few hours later Myron staggers from his bedroom with the taste of human flesh still in his mouth and he is eager for another meal.

Then from its perch on the mantle piece the cougar springs down knocking Myron to the floor.

The big cat could just bite the back of its victims neck killing it instantly but the cougar wants this human to suffer so all it does in sit on the stunned man.

The eagle swoops down and using a piece of sinew it sews Myron’s mouth closed and ties his hands behind his back.

Then the raptor tears both eyeballs from their sockets and swallows them whole.

Myron writhes on the floor in agony as the raptor and cougar begin to feed.

The pair eat slowly at first but the blood soon awakens their taste buds and they get down to business ripping Myron apart eating him alive.

The amateur taxidermist screams in silent agony as the animals that he stuffed and mounted months ago finally put him out of his misery.

Now Myron Oxenford is the one who is well and truly stuffed.

THE END.

Incognito Mosquito

19 Saturday Oct 2019

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

blood, disease, malaria, mosquitos, murder, nuclear blast, scientist, smallpox, sweden

It is 8 pm and Dr Stefan Johansson is checking his emails before calling it a night.

58 year old Johansson is a world renowned genetic scientist who is minor celebrity in his native Sweden after he won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2016 after he developed a simple blood test for the early detection of certain cancers.

A breakthrough that has the potential to save millions of lives worldwide.

For the last few months he has been working on a new treatment for malaria and the results so far are very promising.

But on the Wednesday evening Stefan is feeling a little apprehensive as he reads an email from his superior at Stockholm’s Centre of Genetics and Disease Control Professor Marke Pietermann.

Stefan is certain that Pietermann is jealous of his success so getting summoned to the Professor’s office at 9 am tomorrow morning can be nothing but bad news.

Stefan arrives a few minutes before nine the following morning and knocks on Pietermann’s office door ‘Good morning Dr Johansson I trust you slept well? Would you like a cup of coffee before I get down to business or shall I begin?’

Stefan looks at the mousy little man and nods for him to continue ‘Dr Johansson what I am about to tell will come as a complete shock to you but I am sorry to tell you that because of a huge cut to the Centre’s budget for the next financial year you have become excess to our requirements’

It takes Stefan a few seconds to comprehend what his asshole boss just said but when the words finally sink in the explodes out of his chair in rage.

‘Excess to your requirements! You really are a pompous prick aren’t you? I have won the Nobel Peace Prize for god sake and I am on the verge of a huge breakthrough in the treatment of malaria and you tell me that I am excess to your requirements! what a prize cunt you are Pietermann’

‘Calm down Dr Johansson there is no need for the foul language’

A scientist of your standing and reputation will have no trouble finding a new position’

‘Please clean out your desk and vacate the premises before 11 am Dr Johansson and make sure that any documents and research papers you have in your office stay here at the Centre because I am sure that I and a few of my colleagues will be able to finish what you started. Good day Dr Johansson’

Stefan cant believe what he is hearing and before he can control his rage he lands a vicious punch to the jaw of his former boss ‘See you in hell asshole’

Rubbing his knuckles Stefan rushes to his office and tosses any documents relating to his research into a wastepaper basket and sets it on fire than after wiping the hard drive on his computer clean.

After a quick look around to make sure he hasn’t left anything that Pietermann and his cronies can use he strides towards the door than it a fit of madness he opens a sealed glass cabinet and removes a vial of a virulent strain of malaria and slips it into a coat pocket.

A loud knock on the door startles Stefan and he turns to see an armed security guard standing on the threshold ‘ Sorry Dr Johansson but I have been ordered to escort you off the premises immediately’

Humiliated and despondent Stefan follows the guard out to the carpark and into the unknown.

Later that same day Stefan is arrested for assault and battery and is consequently sentenced by a judge to thirty days in prison.

Because of his status in the scientific world his arrest and imprisonment make headline news across Sweden.

All networks cover the story and the nation hears the sad tale of how a former Nobel Peace Prize winner can be reduced to nothing but a common criminal all because of Pietermann’s jealousy and greed.

Stefan was going to use his new treatment for malaria for the common good of people across the globe but now with a heart full of black is quest now is to wipe humanity from this planet starting with Professor Marke Pietermann but it will have to look like an accident because he would be suspect number one in a murder case.

Stefan is released from prison a month later and there was one good thing to come out of his confinement and that was that it gave him plenty of time to think and the one thing that he constantly thought about was using the mosquito’s that he has in his laboratory in his garage at home to create the ultimate murder weapon.

Working day and night Stefan hardly eats and survives on three hours sleep a night as he concentrates on creating a mosquito with wings that beat silently so they can approach their victim in slealth mode.

Also the incognito mosquito’s will possess a titanium outer shell that will make the mozzies virtually unsquashable.

And almost twelve months after his release twelve matt black Mosquito’s hover noiselessly over a petri dish than they settle on the edge of the dish and dip their tweeters in the blood and begin to feed.

The blood is laced with the nasty strain of malaria that Stefan stole from the Centre on the day he was fired.

Now he watches his proteges drink with hungry eyes knowing that the day of reckoning is fast approaching.

Any day now his squadron of modified mozzies will be ready to seek and destroy.

At his house in one of Stockholm’s most prestigious suburbs Professor Marke Pietermann is enjoying a rare evening without any paperwork to attend to so he opens a bottle of cognac and pours a snifter of the amber liquid and settles down to watch the opera on his huge ass TV.

After the fourth glass Pietermann wouldn’t have noticed if a herd of elephants entered the room so he never saw or felt twelve twerking tweeters pierce the skin on the back of his neck and start to drink his blood as they pumped him full of poison.

Watching through binoculars from across the street Stefan smiles in triumph when Pietermann collapses to the floor as the murderous mosquito’s continue to bleed him dry and fill him with malaria.

Satisfied with a job well done Stefan places a petri dish full of his own blood on a nearby window sill and a few minutes later his dozen accessories to murder land on the dish and the thirteen murderers head on home.

A week later Stefan is relaxing at home getting used to doing a whole lot of nothing when his thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of his landline ‘Good morning Dr Johansson my name is Greta Gunn and I know that you and Professor Pietermann didn’t exactly see eye to eye but I thought that I should call you and let you know that the Professor died last Friday’

‘I am sorry to hear the sad news Greta but who are you exactly?’

‘Oh I am sorry Doctor I really should have introduced myself better, I was Professor Pietermann’s assistant here at Stockholm’s Centre of Genetic’s and Disease Control and I don’t wish to sound insensitive but the Professors untimely death has created a vacancy here T the Centre and the board wants to know if you would be interested in filling the vacancy?’

‘Why thank you Greta could you please tell the board that I would be delighted to take up their kind offer’

‘I will certainly inform the board of your acceptance would you be available to begin your tenure here first thing Monday morning?’

‘Sure thing Greta I shall see you then’

Stefan can’t help but smile at the irony it seems that murder does pay.

Out in the garage the twelve masquerading Mosquito’s are having a snack on their masters blood as they dip their tweeters into another petri dish.

They are all grateful for the meal but they are growing increasingly bored by the lack of action

They like drinking blood like any other Mosquito but these mozzies were bred to kill and kill and so far business has been slow.

As his squadron of killer mosquito’s wait impatiently out in the garage in his plush living room Stefan is getting ready for his first day back working for his former employer.

How sweet it will be to sit on Pietermann’s office chair and enjoy the trappings as he bathes in the glory that he so richly deserves.

Killing Pietermann turned Stefan’s life completely around going from dust to diamonds and dreams into reality or so Stefan thinks.

Because sometimes a diamond can actually be a fake and the best dreams and turn into your worst nightmare.

At home Stefan’s pet mozzies have gone completely stir crazy.

They desperately need a fresh blood meal evertday not the stale out of date liquid their master expects them to drink plus their tweeters are aching to stab and slash a new victim.

The leader of the troop is a large mosquito named Fletcher Christian who has a blood lust greater than a vampire on heat and he takes it upon himself to organize a mutiny.

A vote is taken and it is agreed that their master is no longer fit to control their destiny so the twelve desperado’s decide that having outlived his usefulness Stefan has to go

As the mosquito’s plot his demise Stefan is in his new office struggling to with the role he played in the killing of Pietermann, he doesn’t regret the murder itself but the constant fear that the police will come knocking on his door in the middle of the night and drag him off to prison again.

Just after 2 pm the dozen mutinous mozzies land on a window sill at Stockholms Centre of Genetic’s and Disease Control and their leader Fletcher Christian orders his troops to fly inside and immobilize anyone that they come across while he will search for their master and dispose of him.

The twelve incognito mosquito’s fly silently from office to office feeding on their victims as they inject their payload of misery.

Some of the unfortunate’s receive a lethal dose of malaria while others will live to fight another day.

Stefan is busy working and has no idea that his twelve creations has staged a mutiny with him being the priority target.

He is concentrating on his computer screen and doesn’t sense the presence of Fletcher Christian hovering behind him.

Christian lands on the back of Stefan’s neck with the intention of killing his victim but at the last second he changes his mind and pushes his tweeter which is now the size of a hypodermic needle in between C4 and C5 vertebrate leaving Stefan immobile for life he will never walk again.

Christian hovers in front of his victims eyes so he can see who inflicted the damage and is now the new master.

Stefan can do nothing but watch as one of his creatures flies off to inflict more damage.

Christian joins his squadron on the window sill.

They have all drunk so much blood over the last couple of days and have grown to an enormous size for a mosquito.

The twelve now resemble sleek stealth bombers with the menace of a pit bull and I pity anyone who gets in their way.

Before they head home Christian decides to fly a final mission down to the lower just to make sure that they haven’t missed another human full of fresh blood.

Dr Frank Gruber a German scientist on loan to the Centre is working alone in his sealed laboratory unaware of the carnage upstairs.

He is wearing a full body protective suit and draws oxygen from a tank strapped to his back.

Before on a counter is a petri dish containing smallpox 35687 one of the deadliest diseases known to mankind.

When the dozen mosquito’s reach the lower level Christian immediately notices the human in the laboratory.

They congregate around a small glass panel searching for access but the glass is two inches thick and the walls of the lab are twice the thickness but made from top grade titanium designed to withstand a nuclear blast.

Surely enough to hold up against a strike from a dozen stealth mosquito’s?

Christian spends an hour searching for a way inside but the laboratory is sealed tighter than a gnat’s asshole.

Desperate to gain access to the blood source Christian flies twenty yards back from the small glass panel.

He takes off as fast as a ballistic bullet and slams into the panel.

At first the glass holds firm but after the third attack a small hairline crack appears than when Christian slams into the glass for the 25th time the glass shatters and the twelve thirsty mozzies fly inside.

Dr Gruber has been watching in horror as the metal creature repeatedly slammed into the glass panel but he was confident that it would withstand the attack.

But the mosquito is relentless and when the glass finally shattered Gruber could do nothing to prevent twelve marauders from entering his lab.

All he can hope for is that his protective will do its job and lucky for Gruber it does.

After wasting time and energy for over ten minutes trying to get to the humans blood Christian calls a halt to the attack and the twelve mozzies land on a petri dish to rest and hopefully a drink.

But the petri dish holds no liquid just a shitload of small spores that hold little interest to a blood sucking mosquito so after a brief rest the twelve take to the sky unaware that they have all ingested enough small pox to kill every man woman and child all over northern Europe.

Perhaps enough to wipe out humanity on earth.

THE END

Who will save the day?

Maybe time is up for mankind.

To find out if anyone on this planet will survive past 2019 you will need to come back and read part two if you and I are still alive.

‘Ribbons Of Blood (5) The Final Chapter’

14 Saturday Sep 2019

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

blood, murder, olivetti, police, supernatural, typewriter, virginia

This story began about a year ago when acclaimed novelist Victor Bradstreet suffering a terrible bout of writers block drove to his cabin in the woods in rural Virginia to gain some inspiration.

Close to his destination he stopped at Alberts General Store to buy some supplies.

As he wandered the aisles Victor noticed an old beat up Olivetti typewriter sitting on a clearance table.

Thinking that the typewriter might be a lucky charm and inspire him to write again he bought the machine and went on his way.

On the first night while Victor slept the Olivetti typed a novel that went on to become a bestseller .

Afraid that the typewriter would steal his thunder Victor set fire to the machine in his backyard and despite being badly damaged the Olivetti refused to die and after recuperating it attacked Victor .

Unleashing it’s ink ribbons the typewriter strangled Victor than consumed his body without leaving a single drop of blood behind.

Over the following weeks the typewriter also disposed of Victors publisher Penelope Clutterbuck his daughter Abigail plus the investigating officer Detective Mike Peterson.

The Olivetti also killed a brave K9 dog named Monty owned by Trooper Clyde Ybanez.

The Olivetti was eventually captured by the FBI and imprisoned.

It was executed by firing squad than smelted down and recycled into steel cans.

But once again the Olivetti wasn’t ready to die and tiny pieces of steel detached from the cans and travelled along the highway all the way to Springwood Virginia and into the basement of the house owned by none other than Trooper Ybanez.

There the tiny pieces of steel melded together and three days later the Olivetti was back with a vengeance.

Startled to see the Olivetti in his basement Ybanez decides to use the murderous machine for his own selfish needs.

When his K9 dog Monty was killed by the typewriter Ybanez was tormented by two of his fellow officers,Detectives Kevin Godley and Lionel Crème.

Luring the two Detectives to a motel on the outskirts of town Trooper Ybanez waits down in the carpark and watches the two Detectives enter room 6 where they were ambushed and consumed by the hungry machine.

Feeling ashamed by what he has done Clyde and feeling the need to get rid of the evidence he wraps the unsuspecting typewriter in duct tape.

He loads the machine into his car and drives to a campground that he used to visit back in his younger days.

Feeling distraught and frightened Clyde failed to notice that the duct tape was beginning to fray.

He carried the Typewriter to the edge of a long drop shitter and threw it deep into the brown.

Rubbing his hands together thinking that his ordeal is finally over turns away to return home when he is taken by surprise as the typewriter unleashes the ribbons of blood.

They wrap around his throat and pull him down into the poo of turds.

‘Oh shit’ were Clyde’s last words before hit the surface and sank.

The Final Chapter

When he hit the murky water Trooper Ybanez had the good sense to close his mouth and hold his breath.

As the typewriter and Clyde sink deeper and deeper into the muck luckily for the trooper the Olivetti releases its stranglehold and wraps the ink ribbons around a tree root six feet below the surface.

Clyde has been holding his breath for over a minute and he knows that he hasn’t much time before he succumbs so using his police training plus hundreds of sessions spent in the gym he manages to grapple up the ribbons and stand on the root leaving only his face above the surface.

He just hopes that no one comes to use the shitter because he is right in the firing line .

But at the same it might be his only chance to escape from this hell hole.

Travelling salesman Dave Jenkins is in a happy mood because he is heading after ten days on the road , he nods his head to a classic Deep Purple song as he thinks about seeing his wife and kids again.

His stomach is full after pigging out on a huge bowl of chilli at a truck stop a half hour ago.

But as Purple gives way to Aerosmith Daves stomach starts to grumble and complain.

At first he isn’t that concerned because he has eaten chilli a thousand times before and it has always been a case of winding the window down and letting a few go and all in well in the world .

But now Dave knows that he doesn’t find a restroom soon than things could turn messy.

Dave clenches his butt cheeks tight as he desperately search looks out for a rest stop sign .

As his gut screams for mercy Dave realises that maybe he shouldn’t have eaten the chilli so fast but having not had anything to eat all day he scoffed down the bowl in record time and now he is paying a heavy price.

Than a huge sign catches his eye ‘South End Campground ‘ two miles ahead.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief Dave parks close to a shitter and walks inside loosening his belt and dropping his pants before taking a seat above a long drop.

Feeling exposed Dave just wants to do his business and be on his way but nothing is happening.

‘That would be right ,I am ready to launch a torpedo but the hatch is closed’

Below Dave’s lily white butt Trooper Ybanez was close to giving up hope of being rescued plus half expecting the Olivetti to grab him by the ankles and drag him down.

‘HELP’ he screams up to the nasty looking crack blocking the sun.

Peering down between his legs Dave is surprised to see a face staring up at him ‘What are you doing down there son ? Did you fall in ?’ Never mind just hang on and I will go fetch some rope’

Pulling up his pants Dave grabs a length of rope and hurries back to the trapped shit covered soul.

In all of the excitement his bowels have turned to concrete and it will probably take a jackhammer to gouge out his next stool.

But he can’t worry about that now,he has a man to save and there and there is no time to lose.

Trooper Ybanez is down to his last reserve ‘s of strength when the rope is lowered down into the abyss .

He quickly ties the rope under his arms and gives it a yank’OK pull me up before my entire world turns to shit’

Dave yells’Hang on buddy,i will tie the other end to my bumper and get you out of there’

And a minute later a brown water logged figure is pulled from the hole.

Dave appears with a blanket and a bottle of water but the stench stops him in his tracks. ‘Holy shit buddy ,you smell worse than a dead skunk left out in the sun too long’

Clyde wants to scream at his rescuer ‘Well I have been stuck down in a shitter for over seven hours’ but he just smiles glad to be alive.

He peels off his shit soaked clothes and shivers in shock as the good Samaritan hoses him down from head to toe ‘There you go buddy almost as good as new ,now wrap yourself in the blanket and I can be on my way’

The two men embrace “Thanks for saving my life Dave ,my name is Clyde Ybanez by the way,if you are ever down near Springwood call in and I will buy you a beer’ Dave waves farewell and drives away,

Clyde waits a minute to compose himself before climbing into his car and heads home hoping that he never sets foot in that campground again.

Before he joins the highway he glances back at the shitter and screams at the Olivetti ” Die motherfucker die’

Fifteen feet beneath the fetid water a muffled voice replies “see you soon Trooper Ybanez see you soon’

Three months later

Trooper Ybanez has returned to the Springwood police department in the K9 unit.

His life is somewhat stable after his ordeal with the crazy typewriter and his dip in the shitter.

He still feels guilty about his role in having his two colleagues Detectives Godley and Crème killed by the Olivetti.

Now his main issue is personel hygiene , he showers at least three times a day and applies deordorant hourly.

But that is a small price to pay to still be alive and even though he might smell better and has returned to work he cant quite shake the feeling that he hasn’t seen the last from the blood thirsty Olivetti deep down in the shitter.

Back at the campground a big truck emblazoned with ‘We Suck Shit So You Don’t Have To’ down both sides backs up and parks ten meters from the shitter.

The driver a huge bear of a man with more tattoo’s than a Mexican drug lord climbs down from his rig.

Percy Hollister has been sucking shit for 35 years and he is happy to do so .it might be a stinker of a job but someone has to do it plus the pay is pretty damn good.

He drags a huge suction hose to the edge of the long drop and throws it into the cesspool.

As the hose sucks up the liquid turds Percy lights a cigarette to help pass the time ( even though there is enough methane gas in the air to launch a space shuttle ).

As he draws the smoke into his lungs he listens to country music blaring from the rigs sound system.

Between drags he sings along with ‘Someone Stole My Dog ( But Left My Girlfriend Behind ) oblivious to the danger nearby.

If he knew what is lurking down among the turds he would throw his cigarette away and get the fuck out of there.

A loud crunching sound coming from the shitter grabs his attention ‘What in the fuck now’ he mutters as he strides towards the shitter.

He peers down and is surprised to see a square object blocking the hose sabotaging his chance to finish the job and go home and have a few beers and maybe have a snuggle with his wife Cindy Lou.

Despite his best efforts to remove the object it reuses to budge so with no other option Percy hauls in the hose to remove the object by hand and when the hose reaches the surface Percy recognizes the culprit as a vintage Olivetti typewriter.

Having worked in the effluent business for many years Percy is no longer surprised at what some people throw into the sewer system.

His home is full of discarded items that after a wash in hot soapy water gave them a new lease on life.

And Percy is positive that with a good scrub the Olivetti will become a great addition to his collection or fetch top dollar at auction.

Holding his breath places the shit covered typewriter into a burlap sack and he leaves the campground completely unaware that he is travelling with the stowaway from hell.

Percy arrives home two hours later and is happy to see his wife waiting for him ,he climbs down from his rig carrying the foul smelling sack ‘Christ Percy what have you brought home this time? It smells like death warmed up’

‘Sorry Cindy Lou it is an old typewriter that I retrieved from a long drop over near Springwood’

‘Well don’t you dare take that chunk of crap into the house ,put it in the mudroom straight away before my nose falls off my face in fright’

Percy shakes his head in annoyance but he does what his wife asks and takes the machine into the mudroom for a good scrub down and twenty minutes later the discarded Olivetti shines like a diamond in the rough.

Pleased with a job well done Percy heads inside for a well deserved beer or two but unfortunately there was no snuggle for Percy that night.

Cindy Lou loves Percy dearly but she is tired of all the stinking crap that he brings home from work everyday.

But she has to admit that she is intrigued by the typewriter that he brought home yesterday so once her husband goes to work she enters the mudroom and is immediately dazzled by the Olivetti’s brilliance.

The machine must have been manufactured over forty years ago ,now it looks like it just rolled off the production line so Cindy Lou vows to apoligise to Percy when he gets home because she is certain that the typewriter could fetch up to $1,000 on Ebay.

She is deciding whether to buy a new pair of shoes with the money or spend big on a complete makeover when

kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk

‘Huh?’ Cindy Lou blinks in astonishment as the keys on the typewriter go up and down. ‘What in the fuck?’ Still no quite believing what she is seeing Cindy Lou peers in for a closer look and sure enough the keys are moving so she leans in even closer.

Typewriters were invented to create words but this Olivetti prefers action and it strikes with deadly force.

Cindy Lou is taken completely by surprise and offers little resistance as the ribbons of blood choke off her airways and pull her into the machine.

It has been a long time since the Olivetti ate a decent blood meal and it savours every drop as Cindy Lou’s body is pulverised into a pulp that will sustain the typewriter for weeks.

Ten hours later Percy arrives home hungry and also hoping that Cindy Lou has thawed out a bit because he really could do with some loving tonight.

He is wearing a watch that someone lost down a shitter ,sure it might be a bit on the nose but it keeps perfect time .

Feeling lucky Percy calls out to his wife ‘Hey Cindy Lou how about we go to that fancy Italian restaurant that you like than come home and fool around a bit?’

Percy is a little puzzled when his wife doesn’t answer because it is late and she is usually home ,maybe she is having a lie down?’

But upon entering the bedroom his wife is still nowhere to be found.

Now Percy is really starting to get worried because Cindy Lou is usually home to greet him when he arrives from work.

Feeling frantic Percy again looks at the clock and decides that if Cindy Lou isn’t home in two hours he will call the police.

Than he remembers that he hasn’t checked the mudroom yet ‘But surely his wife would have heard him calling out?’

Hurrying into the mudroom Percy calls out his wives name but the room is empty except for a shiny Olivetti looking like the cat that swallowed the cream.

Percy is amazed at how brand new and pristine the typewriter appears to be ,he only gave it a spit and a polish but this Olivetti looks like a spanking new machine.

Percy notices a small blemish and on closer inspection he gasps at the sight of a single drop of blood ‘Did Cindy Lou cut herself and go to the hospital?’

Concerned for his wives welfare Percy loses focus for a second and the Olivetti strikes.

Hungry for another blood meal it shoots out the ink ribbons that wrap around his wrist and pull his hand into the mechanism.

Soon Percy’s whole arm is chewed and swallowed like scraps disappearing down a garbage disposal.

He fights and pleads for his life but he soon loses strength and is devoured limb by limb until every morsel of meat is eaten so now Percy is nothing but a memory.

The disappearance of Percy and Cindy Lou Hollister continues to baffle the authorities to this day,Did the couple run away to start a new life somewhere? Were they abducted by aliens?

How can two people just vanish without a trace?

The case soon goes cold and six months later the family home is sold to a couple from New York looking for a sea change while the furniture and appliances were sold to a local dealer for a song.

The Olivetti unwanted by the dealer was passed on to Albert Finnegan the owner of Albert’s General Store.

The very store that Victor Bradstreet the acclaimed novelist first encountered the typewriter twelve months back.

The Olivetti once again sits on a clearance table gathering dust waiting for a new owner to buy it and give it a home.

The typewriter could have easily killed Albert or any of the customers that came into his establishment but the Olivetti has bigger fish to fry.

It plans on eating one last Mac Happy meal before going into hibernation for a century or two.

And that meal will be Trooper Clyde Ybanez.

Ten miles away Clyde is doing a spot of fishing on the bank of the Shenandoah River but he isn’t having much luck.

The trout aren’t biting and Clyde is having a hard time concentrating on his favorite past hobby all because he just cant shake the feeling the crazy typewriter that he threw in the shitter has somehow escaped and is looking at wiping the late clean.

Knowing that the only fish he will ear today will be covered in batter and deep fried Trooper Ybanez packs up his rods and drives his Subaru into town.

Twenty minutes he pulls into the carpark in front of Albert’s General Store but as soon as he opens the car door the same weird feeling he had back at the river settles in the pit of his stomach.

Drawing his service revolver Trooper Ybanez enters the store where he is greeted by the owner ‘Whoa what is going on Clyde? I don’t think my prices are that bad.’

‘Sorry Albert but I thought you had a situation here my mistake,but I have to tell you that your frozen turkeys are a bit on the expensive side.’

Holstering his weapon Trooper Ybanez shares a laugh with Albert but the strange feeling remains.

He orders his lunch than decides to grab a few essentials while waiting for the fish to cook.

Deciding whether to buy a loaf of sourdough or rolls Trooper glances up and his world falls in.

Sitting thirty feet away staring back at him is his nemesis the evil Olivetti typewriter.

Surely there is more than one Olivetti in the world Clyde tells himself but deep down in his bowels he knows that this is the same typewriter from the shitter.

kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk

Looking back he screams ‘Albert get the fuck out of here right now and lock the door behind you NOW ALBERT NOW’

‘Hello Trooper Ybanez so we meet again’

I have been waiting for you Trooper Ybanez because I have to return to hell soon and I plan on taking you with me so I can have a snack on the way’

‘Or better yet I will keep you alive and torture the shit out of you for eternity’

‘Buckle up buddy cause you are going for a ride’

Trooper Ybanez knows that there is only once course of action open to him, he needs to killer the mother fucking typewriter and this time for good.

No more Mr Nice Guy.

‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on you key tapping dinosaur ,I don’t like the heat so tell the devil to go fuck himself’

Knowing that his words with enrage the typewriter Trooper Ybanez braces for what is to come and he isn’t disappointed.

The ink ribbons might be the Olivetti’s weapon of choice but they are also its biggest weakness.

When the Olivetti unleashes the ribbons of blood Clyde grabs them and ties the murder weapons to a support beam than using a crowbar from aisle three he jams the tool into typewriters mechanism.

Now the machine is disarmed and ready for the taking but the fucking thing can still type ‘Well done Trooper Ybanez see you on the flip side’

Clyde watches in amazement as the typewriter liquefies and flows through the cracks between the floorboards as it travels towards earths core.

The evil Olivetti is now back in hell where it belongs.

‘Home sweet home asshole ,don’t come back anytime soon’

THE END

Goiter

10 Saturday Aug 2019

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

australias got talent, blood, doll, dummy, horror, knife, ventriloquist

I haven’t been feeling quite like myself in the last few weeks.My stomach is bloated and i have been experiencing nights sweats plus i have a strange craving for anchovies on with ice cream.

So i am either pregnant or going through menopause but i am a 35 year old male so i can safely rule out both of these options.

After a weekend of more pain and discomfort i was glad when i woke for work on Monday morning i was feeling like my old self again even though my stomach is distended and sore.

I put on a shirt a few sizes too big ,brush my teeth and head out the door.

But as i open my car door i double over in agony and barely make it back inside.

I frantically try to call 000 but in my panic i cant find my mobile phone so i stumble into my bedroom and collapse on the bed hoping like hell that the pain will pass.

But the pain gets even more intense and i watch in atonishment as the buttons on my shirt pop and my stomach swells like a watermelon.

Than with surprisingly little pain my belly button opens and a baby of sorts enters this world.’Hello my name is Audley Creed are you my daddy?

‘Holy shit’ not only have i given birth but the little fucker can talk’Um hello Audley my name is Bernie Torrence and i suppose i am your daddy.

Audley yawns with indifference and promptly falls asleep.

As my newborn sleeps a thousand questions echo around my brain.

If i wasn’t pregnant than where in the fuck did Audley come from?

How in the hell am i supposed to look after a talking baby?

Plus how can i explain my situation to all my family and friends?

As i ponder these thoughts i am just grateful that Audley didn’t come out through my pee hole because that really would of hurt.

Audley wakes up demanding to be fed’Jesus being a new dad is hard work’

I cradle Audleys head as i carry him into the kitchen where i put a straw into a carton of milk and and put it in his gob.

He suckles greedily for a few minutes before letting loose a huge burp that shakes the rafters.

‘Daddy i know my name is Audley Creed but can you tell me where i actually come from?

I feel sorry for the little tike and i get a little emotional’Audley i wish that i could answer your question but i cant’

‘We were literally joined at the hip so until i work things out we will just have to do the best we can’

But that isn’t good enough for Audley and he continues to ask question after question.

In frustration i go to put him down on the couch and hopefully he will quieten down when i realize that he is stuck.

Audley and i are still literally joined together and whether him or i like the situation he is now permanently a part of me.

Just then my mobile rings and it is Tery Connelly my 2IC at work.

I am the manager at the local supermarket and right now i wish i was at work instead of standing here arguing with an annoying goiter.

‘Hi Terry sorry i didn’t call you but i was in a car accident this morning and i am OK just a bit shaken up but i should be back in a couple of days’

As i tell Terry a load of bullshit to keep him off my back Audley continues to argue and holler in the background.

‘Bernie i thought that you lived by yourself ?is someone with you?

What? Oh no Terry i just have the TV a little too loud’

‘I will call you tomorrow afternoon to let you know when i will be back ,bye’

I have a hand pressed over Audley’s mouth to keep him quiet and i am tempted to leave it there but when his face goes a little green i relent.

‘Listen up Audley and listen good,i am in charge of this household not you so please keep your mouth closed until you learn some manners’

For once in his short life Audley has nothing to say but i can see that he is seething.

His eyes are burning with fire and i feel his anger towards me.

At that moment i remember a movie i saw years ago called ‘Chucky’s Revenge’

It was about a creepy doll that came to life and went on a murderous rampage.

My balls tingle and my throat constricts when i realize that maybe i have my own Chucky on my hands.

There is no way that i can return to work anytime soon so i ring my area manager and tell him that i need to take some long service leave to sort out a family problem.

‘Torrence if you aren’t back at work first thing tomorrow morning don’t bother coming back at all because your services will no longer be required’

Well i don’t take to kindly to threats so i tell the arrogant prick to stick his job where the sun doesn’t shine.

So now i am unemployed with a mortgage to pay plus i am attached to an argumentative growth who thinks that he is Charles in charge.

After a few weeks of bonding and getting to know each other the tension between us lessens and we become kind of close.

But in the back of my mind i can still see the image of Chucky the killer doll .

Even though it is good to be able to sleep in every day i still have bills to pay so i need to get a new job and quick.

But as i browse the job vacancies i come to the conclusion that there isn’t a great demand for a retail manager with a built in special helper.

Then i have a light bulb moment.

Audley might not be suitable for my old profession but he is perfect to become a built in ventriloquist dummy.

All i have to do is convince Audley Creed.

‘I ain’t no dummy you arsehole so go and fuck yourself’

Oh come on Audley all you have to do is say a few words every now and then so we can make some money’

Because remember that if i don’t eat then neither do you’

Audley’s tiny head wrinkles in concentration as he ponders my statenent but when he realizes that he has little choice he reluctantly nods his head.

We practice our routine over and over for days on end until we get it down pat.

Audley is a natural comedian with what i would call a dark sense of humor.

So after a few try outs at some local pubs where me and Audley get a great reception i decide to audition for Australia’s Got Talent.

The audition goes better than i expected so i am excited to say that ‘Torrence & Creed’ will soon be appearing on national television.

I celebrate the occasion with a few friends at my favorite Italian restaurant where i enjoy a huge plate of lasagne with a glass of red.

Audley has his first taste of pasta and seems to be having a good time then the mood turns sour when he annouces’Bernie i think that our act needs a name change’

‘Torrence & Creed just doesn’t sound right i think that we should be known as ‘Audley Creed& Friend because i am obviously the star of the show’

I can’t believe what i am hearing’Why you ungrateful bag of shit,i literally brought you into this world and you have done nothing but bitch and moan ever since’

Now you have the hide to order a name change unbelievable’

If i wasn’t in a public place i probably have strangled the turd there and then.

Instead i order a shot of tequila and slam it down’Get that into you Audley you annoying little puppet’

I stumble to bed around 3 am drunk but still wide awake and i am pleased to say that Audley is looking a little green around the gills.

‘Jesus Bernie how much did you have to drink last night? i feel i shit’

Just a little mexican ju ju juice Audley and if you don’t start behaving yourself i will feed you a lot more and completely fuck you up’

Audley doesn’t reply and i notice that he has fallen asleep so i to succumb to the inevitable and close my eyes.

But i am soon awoken by a excruciating pain in my stomach.

Audley is clutching a huge knife in his grubby little hands and has used it to slice me open and separate his body from mine.

Now he stands on my chest as a ugly little monster then he slides in my blood and wraps his hands around my throat and squeezes’Thanks for everything Bernie but you have lived out your usefulness but now it is time for you to say goodbye’

I am desperately trying to break the stranglehold as the crazy as bat shit little turncoat continues to talk and squeeze the life out of me.

Luckily i manage to grasp a pair of nail clippers from the bed side table as my breath slips away.

I look into Audley Creed’s eyes as he continues to squeeze and ramble on and i know that i only have a moment before he crushes my Adam’s apple.

The clippers are slipping from my grasp but i manage to keep them in my grasp and plunge them into Audley’s right eye.

He screams in agony and curses me in every language known to mankind.

Then he scampers away leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

His blood glistens in the moonlight like a beacon and i am tempted to follow but i haven’t got the strength plus who knows what other weapons the one eyed midget might have at his disposal.

Then another thought enters my head.

Will the little fucker flee or return to finish me off?

To find out come back and read part two.

Because if you don;t then Audley Creed wont be pleased not pleased at all.

THE END

‘Ribbons of Blood (4) Dented and Demented’

08 Saturday Jun 2019

Posted by stevenjohnno in stories

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

blood, murder, olivetti, revenge, sewage, shit, strangle, typewriter, USA, virginia

This story began about a year ago when the acclaimed novelist Victor Bradstreet suffering from a severe case of writers block retreated to his cabin in rural Virginia in an attempt to clear his mind.

Close to his destination Victor stopped at a general store to stock up with the essentials.

While walking the aisles he spotted an old olivetti typewriter sitting on a clearance table and on a whim he purchased the machine.

A decision that Victor would soon regret.

As he slept on the first night at the cabin the olivetti came to life and typed a novel that would go on to become a bestseller.

In return the typewriter demanded a taste of Victors blood and on refusa the murderous machine strangled Victor with its ink ribbons and ate the evidence.

Victors publisher Penelope Clutterbuck after hearing about Victors demise drove up to the cabin where she was also dispatched by the olivetti and devoured.

A local detective Lucas Peterson was sent to the scene to investigate but he along with Victors daughter Abigail were both also killed by the typewriter leaving not a trace behind.

Detectives Godley and Creme rushed to the cabin when their colleague failed to report in and after searching the cabin found it empty so they summoned a K9 unit.

Trooper Clyde Ybanez and his trusty German shepherd Monty arrive and the dogs nose picks up the scent of the missing policeman

Monty bounds straight inside to the kitchen where the olivetti sits looking all sweet and innocent.

Godley and Creme tease Trooper Ybanez ‘Well Clyde your stupid mutt has sniffed out a typewriter you must be proud of yourself?’

But the tune soon changes when the when the olivetti who cant resist the tang of fresh meat attacks Monty with its ribbons of blood and eats the canine there and then.

A SWAT team storms the cabin and restrain the blood thirsty machine with chains to the kitchen table and transport the murderer to a maximum security prison in Langley.

After a few days held in isolation the olivetti sweet talks a prison guard into its cell with the promise of good conversation and a cigarette.

But the demon machine reneges on the promise and eats the guard to ease its hunger pains.

The prison is thrown into lock down and the warden orders that a firing squad be assembled and at 6 am the following morning the olivetti is bind folded and blown to smithereens.

To make sure that the typewriter never gets the chance to kill again the metal shards are collected taken to a nearby steelworks where the shrapnel is thrown into a furnace and melted down into steel batons.

A few weeks later a steel Campbells soup can falls from a shelf in Denver Colorado and a small piece of steel breaks away and is blown towards Springwood Virginia.

PART FOUR

Trooper Clyde Ybanez is at his house training his new K9 unit newbie a six month old Beagle named Buster who after only two weeks training is showing a lot of potential.

Clyde is still grieving the lose of his beloved German shepherd Monty who was devoured by a hungry olivetti.

Ybanez will never forget the day when he lost his loyal companion and most of all he is still pissed off over being ridiculed by the two cruel Detectives Godley and Creme.

Later that day Clyde visits his local bar in Springwood Virginia where he drowns his sorrow and pain with shots of Tequila and his mood turns sour when Godley and Creme enter and take a seat.

Ybanez knows that if he is spotted the asshole Detectives will make a scene so his downs his drink and disappears into the night.

As the trooper makes his way home 2000 miles away the small piece of steel that detached from the soup can in Colorado luckily gets stuck in the tread of a passing trucks rear tyre.

The driver of the semi has just delivered a load of vegetables and is now heading home to his home near Springwood.

All over the mid west thousands of tiny pieces of steel travel the highways and byways on a pilgrimage to Virginia.

Some of the shards are blown toward their objective by unseasonal winds while other bibs and bobs of steel hitch hike or travel by any available means until all 2309 pieces of steel reach Virginia and gather together in the basement of 25 Lowry Lane Springwood the very address of Trooper Ybanez.

Inside Clyde is sitting in the dark nursing a large whisky sour still steaming over his treatment at the hands of Godley and Creme.

The alcohol enters his bloodstream like a thunderbolt destroying any semblance of peace that remains in his body.

All Clyde needs is revenge against his tormentors all he has to do is come up with a foolproof plan.

After polishing off the bottle of liquid fire Clyde goes to bed with the dark thought embedded deep in his brain.

When his head hits his pillow a sinister smile lights up his face.

He will torture and maim Godley and Creme until they beg for mercy and once he is satisfied he will blow the two fuckers away on a bullet train to hell.

As Trooper Ybanez sleeps the 2309 slithers of steel begin to meld and intertwine in a macabre dance of metal as the tiny fragments become one.

Clyde wakes with a mouth as dry as the Sahara and a pounding headache.

After a quick visit to the bathroom he swallows a few aspirin and a cup of coffee he begins to feel a lot better.

But that soon changes when he arrives at work and runs into Creme in the change room of police headquarters ‘Well well well if it isn’t the master dog trainer himself’

‘How is your new dog coming along?

‘I hope he is better than your last mutt who couldn’t find a turd in a asshole’

Ybanez can feel his blood boiling as he listens to the Detectives words.

All he wants to do is squeeze the life from the loud mouth but police HQ isn’t the right place so he pushes past the cop and calls out to Buster his new K9 dog.

Buster is good but he isn’t in the same league as Monty but Clyde knows that the dog is still capable of becoming a good K9 unit dog .

While Clyde is at work a resurrection of sorts is happening in the basement of his house.

A misshapen form has taken its first breath of a new beginning.

If you look closely you might just recognize the shape as an olivetti typewriter.

The machine is bent and twisted out of shape but it is still a very dangerous beast.

Trooper Ybanez arrives home from work exhausted and after a quick meal and shower he goes to bed for the night.

kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk

Clyde’s ears prick up at the sound of pure evil.

He sits up in bed willing the sound to go away but it doesn’t.

kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk

How is it possible for that typewriter to still exist?

The murderous olivetti was blown apart by a firing squad then smelted down and turned into a steel can.

Maybe it is just a nightmare and he will wake up and all will be well in his world.

But Clyde knows that he is wide awake and that he has a huge problem on his hands.

He puts on his slippers and ventures down stairs to his basement where the sound is emanating from.

As soon as he turns on the light Clyde knows that he is in the middle of a real life nightmare.

Because sitting on his workbench is the olivetti looking a bit rough around the edges.

Even though the machine is twisted and dented the typewriter is mad and slightly demented.

Kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk

Clyde’s heart is beating double time in his chest as he watches the keys tapping madly.

But with no ink ribbons intact no words appear.

Then a diabolical thought enters the troopers mind’Maybe i can use this killer typewriter to my own advantage’

‘Why should i kill Godley and Creme when i have a manic machine at my disposal?’

The olivetti is still chatting away as Clyde creeps away’Don’t worry Mr Olivetti i shall return with brand new ink ribbons and you can help me deal with a little problem’

Once upstairs Clyde goes online and goggles olivetti ink ribbons and after a quick search he purchases a set of ribbons for $29.95 plus tax.

And two days later a parcel is delivered to his door.

The olivetti has killed and eaten four people plus his precious Monty so he is very wary as he descends the basement stairs’Her you go Mr Olivetti i have brought you new ink ribbons so now we can have a proper conversation’

Clyde ties the ribbons onto the end of a long fishing rod and very carefully lowers the ribbons of death into the mouth of the olivetti.

kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk

‘Hello Trooper Ybanez ,so we meet again’

‘Let me begin by saying how sorry i am about the death of your dog but he was delicious’

Do you have anymore tasty treats for me?’

Clyde blood begins to boil as the reads the words but he swallows his rage and talks directly to the crazy machine’Yes i do happen to have two more treats for you i just have to find them and bring them to you undetected’

With that Clyde storms away leaving the typewriter frustrated and hungry as hell.

Three days later Clyde enters his basement empty handed and in a filthy mood because Godley and Creme are away working on a case.

While he was at work the typewriter has been busy and Clyde picks up a sheet of paper that the mangled machine had spat out onto the floor

Clyde picks up the page and hurries back upstairs”I am glad that i managed to find you Trooper Ybanez because i think that we could become the ultimate deadly duo,the new Bonnie and Clyde if you will’

‘I know that you harbor a deep hatred toward two of your colleagues at work Detectives Kevin Godley and Lou Creme’

‘After i help you eliminate your enemies we will travel the country from coast to coast killing anyone who gets in our path’

Clyde reads the letter over and over throughout the night and comes to a decision.

He has no intention of joining the olivetti on a killing spree so once the two Detectives are taken care of he will dispose of the typewriter and return to a normal life if that is possible.

He opens the basement door and calls down’You have a deal Mr Olivetti ,first we kill Godley and Creme and then i will join you on a road trip that will tear this country a new one’

Down on the workbench the olivetti rubs its brand new ink ribbons in glee.

It can almost taste the blood of its next meal and at midnight the typewriter shuts down for the night safe in the knowledge that tomorrow promises to be a very good day indeed.

Upstairs Clyde has tossed and turned all night and at 5am he stubles out of bed weary and wired.

As he eats his breakfast his mind is doing cartwheels as he struggles to figure out how he and the olivetti can kill the Detectives without raising any suspicions.

Then suddenly the answer pops into his head.

If Mohammad can’t go to the mountain than take the mountain to Mohammad.

He enters the basement silently and as the typewriter snoozes he picks it up and carries it out to his car and straps it into the back seat.

He drives away in a daze until he reaches his destination a seedy motel on the edge of town.

After placing the salivating machine on the coffee table he phones the Springwood police department’My name is Carlos and i have information regarding the murders that happened up at Victor Bradstreet’s cabin’

‘I will only talk with Detective’s Godley and Creme and tell them to come alone or i will leave’

‘Room 6 Desert Sands Motel now’

After haging up Trooper Ybanez addresses the typewriter’Okay Mr Olivetti your next meal is on its way ,please eat at your leisure and clean up after yourself’

Leaving the door unlocked Clyde walks out to the car park to wait for the two victims to arrive.

Monty will be avenged.

Ten minutes later a squad car squeals to a stop outside room 6 and the occupants race inside without knocking.

A apprehensive Trooper Ybanez waits for half an hour before he to enters room 6.

The walls are spotted with droplets of blood but the ink ribbons are busy soaking up every last drop and five minutes later no trace of the Detectives remain.

On the coffee table the Typewriter burps in satisfaction and the meal has done its job because now the machine looks all ship shape and brand new.

Clyde is tempted to leave the murderous machine behind and go home but he doesn’t want put any innocent people in danger plus his fingerprints are all over the machine.

So he picks it up and drives home unseen.

On returning to his residence Clyde carries the olivetti downstairs and throws it into a dark corner of the basement.’I leave you now Mr Olivetti ,this basement is now your tomb so may you rot and rust for eternity you good for nothing chunk of metal’

kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk

The olivetti is furious as it pounds away at the keys but with no paper in the mechanism all it is doing is talking to itself so the irate machine shuts up to live and fight another day.

The disappearance of Godley and Creme hits the headlines nationwide and the FBI is brought to help with the investigation.

Trooper Ybanez is at home surviving on whisky and cigarettes half expecting the feds to break down the front door or the carnivorous typewriter to creep upstaies and strangle him in his sleep.

This goes on for three weeks until Clyde can’t take it anymore.

If he is to keep his sanity the olivetti will have to go away and this time for good.

Before opening the basement door Clyde takes a deep breathe sincerely hoping that the evil fucker is dead.

And as he descends the stairs it looks like his prayer has been answered because the typewriter looks deceased covered in rust and cobwebs.

Clyde quickly wraps the olivetti in three layers of duct tape to ensure that the deadly ribbons of blood cant escape.

Once again he carries the machine out to his car and drives for 15 miles until he reaches an isolated campground that he used to visit with his parents when he was a kid.

The one thing that Clyde hated about the place was sitting on the seat of the stinking deep drop shitter.

He had nightmares about falling 100 feet and landing on a steaming pile of prehistoric crap.

As Clyde nears his objective he has failed to notice that the layers of duct tape are beginning to fray and tear at the edges.

He pulls into the empty car park of the campground and retrieves the bundle from the back seat.

The stench from the shitter hits him like a ton of bricks but Clyde pushes on and a few minutes later he arrives at the temple of poo.

Opening the door he lifts the typewriter above his head and throws it down into the stinking effluent.

Satisfied that the machine is deep in the muck he turns away to begin the next chapter of his life when he hears a muffled

kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk kerclunk

‘OH SHIT’ he screams and desperately tries to run but the ribbons of blood wrap themselves around his throat and Clyde is pulled towards the temple opening and silently he vanishes into the brown.

Will Clyde survive his ordeal or will he succumb to the fecal stream.

To find out come back and read the next installment and bring lots of toilet paper.

THE END

Good Little Doggie ( Part Two )

04 Friday Jan 2019

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

blood, dog, dog attack, hospital, knife, survival

After six operations and a three month stay in hospital I am finally ready to go home.

Because of the injuries to both ankles I now walk with the aid of a walking stick.

But I am determined to lead a normal life.

I was hospitalised after being attacked by a vicious Chihuahua whilst out walking in my local park.

The part devil part cujo cross set upon me without warning and chewed through my tendons like a great white biting a seal.

And I would have died if it wasn’t for the help of a bystander who stopped the bleeding until the paramedics arrived.

Now at home I am popping pills like candy and drinking way too much.

The drugs dull the pain in my ankles but do little to silence the demons living inside my head.

I know that you are all thinking that I should have been able to fend off an attack by a small Chihuahua but I have a history with dog attacks so once the Mexican mongrel started to chow down my mind just shut down.

The first attack happened when I was five years old and I was walking home from kindergarten when a german shepherd jumped a fence and took a chunk out of my left ear.

Then ten years later I was mauled by a mates afghan called sasha who broke his chain and honed in on me like I was a bag of kibble.

I tried to fight the mutt off but he was too big and he bit down hard and gnawed off the little finger on my right hand and swallowed it.

And now the Chihuahua attack makes three.

I don’t know the reason but dogs of all breeds and size seem to think that I am a human lamb chop covered in gravy ready for a taste.

But before I go any further let me introduce myself.

My name is Percy Lupe and I am 25 years of age and I reside in a southern suburb of Sydney.

I live alone because I don’t want to put anyone else in danger .

I know that another dog attack will happen sooner then later

When or where I don’t know.

I have now been home from the hospital for 28 days and I still haven’t ventured outside.

My food and alcohol is delivered to my front door and a nurse checks on me every two or three days and I pay all of the bills online.

But I crave the sunshine and the great outdoors and I hope one day to be able open my front door and walk outside.

Plus none of my neighbours own a dog so that day may happen soon.

And on the morning 35 days after coming home I wake determined that today is the day.

There is still a dark presence in the back of my mind but I push it aside and make a cup of coffee to calm down.

I swallow a few painkillers and sit on my couch to wait for the mailman to arrive.

My nurse usually brings my mail but to collect my own mail gives me a good reason to go outside.

Then at ten o’clock I hear the familiar sound of the postman’s motorbike and I watch as he pushes an envelope into my letterbox just fifteen feet past my front door.

I lean on my walking stick and just stand there looking out at the world listening to the birds and I hear one of my neighbours mowing his lawn.

My feet refuse to budge for fifteen minutes before my right hand reaches out and opens the front door and I step out onto my porch for the first time in months.

I look up and down the street about twenty times before I take a deep breath and venture out towards my letterbox.

I grab the mail and turn back when I hear a dog barking nearby.

WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF

Panicking I see a kelpie baring down on me from across the road but my walking stick gets stuck in the grass and I crash to the ground.

The dog hits me and takes a chunk out of my arm before I somehow manage to scramble to my feet.

But the dog still has a hold on me ‘Good little doggie if you let go of me now I promise not to kick the shit put of you’

But the kelpie pretends not to hear me and bites down even harder but then I realise I am still holding onto my walking stick and I swing it as hard as I can and connect with a crack.

“Hey you fuck wit what have you done to my dog?” I look over to see an old lady approaching from across the road.

The dog in question has recovered from my blow and runs away whimpering to its master. ‘ I have a good mind to ring the police or report you to the RSPCA’

I hold up my arm to show her the damage ‘Are you blind you old bitch? Your dog attacked me and I was only protecting myself so fuck off before I call the police’

I make it inside and slam the door on the old fool and her dog and I am tempted to call the cops but I don’t want to attract attention so I bandage my arm and take a few more painkillers.

I lay down on the couch waiting for the pills to kick in and close my eyes knowing that I am safe behind closed doors.

But I only snooze for about an hour before I am woken by a knock on my front door.

I lay hoping that the person will just go away but no such luck ‘Jesus Christ why cant the world just fuck off?’

Looking out through the blinds I notice the old bitch who’s dog just attacked me.

I want to ignore her but she is holding a huge chocolate cake in one hand while she continues to knock with the other.

Well I am addicted to chocolate so I relent and open the door “Sorry I have brought you a peace offering, I don’t know what got into Daffodil she is normally so gentle’

Daffodil? I cant believe that she has named the vicious creature Daffodil but I can almost taste the chocolate cake so I invite her inside.

After I brew some coffee and slice the cake I introduce myself ‘Pleased to meet you Percy my name is Ruby Conner and I am glad to see that Daffodil hasn’t hurt you too much’

‘Thanks Ruby but I didn’t even realise that you owned a dog’

‘Oh I have only had Daffodil and she is an indoor dog so you weren’t to know and I must say that I was surprised to see you outside and you have a walking stick were you in a car accident?”

I want to tell her to mind her own business but I can see that she is genuinely concerned so I open up and tell her about the dog attacks and how the Chihuahua ripped out my tendons so that is why I use a walking stick and have a fear of dogs.

Oh you poor thing if I had known I would have come over earlier and introduced myself but I thought you just preferred your own company’

Ruby and I are getting better acquainted when we are both startled by the sound of a dog howling and rush to the front window and see Daffodil howling to the sky.

Ruby is shaking her nerves are shot ” What is happening to Daffodil? She is usually a quiet gentle dog that is why I picked her.

‘It is me Ruby, Daffodil to howling to the dogs in the neighbourhood and once they form a pack they will be coming for me’

And sure enough Daffodil is soon joined by a Doberman a bull Mastiff and a huge Irish Wolfhound.

I push Ruby towards my bathroom ‘Ruby stay in here and I will call the cops and don’t come out until they arrive’

Once I know Ruby is safe i walk into the living room to call the cops but my phone isn’t on the coffee table where i usually leave it but then i remember that it is on charge in the kitchen.

I grab it and try to swipe the screen but i am shaking so much i drop the phone on the kitchen floor and before i can retrieve it the front window explodes in a shower of glass and the four dogs scramble inside.

All i can do is grab a knife off the counter and turn to face my fear ‘Alright motherfuckers bring it on’

They attack in silence and surround me in a vicious circle nipping at my ankles to bring me down.

I slash and cut with the knife and soon the Doberman and Bull Mastiff back off and retreat to lick their wounds so that leaves the Wolfhound and Daffodil.

The Wolfhound attacks from the front while Daffodil continues to worry my tendons and because they aren’t fully healed they snap and i collapse to the floor.

‘Holy shit’ I know i am now in a whole lot of trouble so i just thrust the knife back and forth hoping for the best but the Wolfhound manages to get a grip on my throat and shakes its head trying to finish me off.

I am losing a lot of blood and the knife slips in my hands but i manage to get a grip and i stab up and luckily the blade pierces the mongrels heart and it drops dead.

But in the commotion i had completely forgotten about Daffodil but she soon had my whole attention.

She has chewed through my left wrist and it hangs like puppet with broken strings.

The pain is unbearable and Daffodil runs around my prone body nipping and tearing at my flesh before she too moves in for the kill and bites down on my already destroyed throat.

‘No Daffodil stop’ I am barely conscious but before i surrender to my maker i see Ruby swing my walking stick and send Daffodil to hell .

Then my heart says enough is enough and the blackness takes hold.

It is Christmas and i have just got home from hospital where i stayed in the same room i had last time.

Ruby is looking after me and tending to my needs she has become a good neighbour and a great friend.

I sit in my wheelchair and listen to Ruby as she tells me again that the doctors gave me nine litres of blood and for a week it was touch or go if i would pull through.

I smile but don’t answer and not because i don’t want to but because i cant.

My throat is to badly damaged and the doctors have told me that in all likelihood i will never talk again.

But they managed to reattach my hand so at least i have one limb that works.

So i am sure that with a bit of rehab and some TLC i will be almost as good as new.

THE END

In the distance if you listen closely you can hear a menacing howl and it is getting closer.

Snowman

10 Friday Aug 2018

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

blood, carnage, horror, murder, snow, snowman, thredbo

It is a bright sunny day on the snowfields in Thredbo New South Wales and twenty eight year old Macy Wellings is enjoying her vacation away from the hustle and bustle of Sydney.

Macy first saw snow when she was six years old on a family holiday and from the start Macy was a natural skier.

She took to skiing like a duck to water and now twenty years later she is back doing what she loves

But her stomach is grumbling so Macy navigates her way through the tourists towards her motel room.

Entering her room Macy is glad that it is hot and toasty the sun might be shining but it is still bloody cold.

After kicking off her boots she makes herself a coffee and ponders whether to stay in her room or go downstairs to the bar.

She cant make up her mind so she runs herself a bath to think it over and while she waits for the water to fill Macy goes out onto the patio to smoke a cigarette

She lights up and takes in the view and is surprised to see a snowman standing in the middle of the carpark three floors below.

‘What a strange place to build a snowman’ Macy takes a last drag and flicks the butt out into the night then she goes back inside for a long soak.

Down in the carpark the snowman takes a few steps forward and extinguishes the cigarette and with a murderous glance up to the third floor he is ready to get down to business.

As Macy relaxes in the hot suds she decides that she will go downstairs who knows maybe Mr Right is down there waiting for her.

She is heading home tomorrow so she might as well have some fun on her last night.

But as she dries off with a fluffy towel Macy thinks about the snowman in the carpark.

There was something about that snowman that made her skin crawl but Macy tells herself that she is being stupid so she gets dressed and turns off the bathroom

But when she enters the living room Macy stops dead in her tracks and starts to tremble in fright.

The living room carpet is covered in huge wet footprints going from one room to another.

Macy steps back into the bathroom in shock maybe if she can make it to the door she can run down to reception and have them call the police.

But before Macy has another thought she is grabbed from behind and dragged into the shower recess.

Macy tries desperately to escape the clutches of her attacker but she feels herself losing strength fast.

She catches a glance of her attacker in the bathroom mirror and isn’t surprised when she sees a snowman choking the life out of her ‘But how can it be it is a snowman for fucks sake’

The snowman’s hunger is so strong so he doesn’t wait for his victim to die.

He starts to feed on Macy’s flesh and bone and soon there is nothing left except for a few toenails and some shattered teeth.

Then the snowman melts down into the drainpipe taking his meal with him.

At 11am o’clock the next morning the manager of the Thredbo Motel is getting annoyed the guest in room 308 was supposed to check out at 9 am but so far she is a no show don’t these people realise I have a schedule to keep.

She has rung room 308 six times already but the calls have all gone unanswered so Mrs Carruthers presses a bell on the counter and a bellboy wanders over.

‘Mr Jenkins please go up to room 308 and see if you can wake up Mrs Wellings she was supposed to check out this morning but she isn’t answering the phone,if there are any problems let me know right away’

Eighteen year old Jake Jenkins or JJ to his friends is pissed off it is Saturday morning and he would rather be hanging with his mates instead he is suck at work ‘OK Mrs Carruthers I will ring if there is a problem’

Jake rides the lift to the third floor and knocks on the door to 308 but gets no reply.

It isn’t the first time a guest has overslept so he knocks a little louder but still there is no answer.

Using the house key Jake enters room 308 ‘Hello Mrs Wellings it is past your check out time’ Jake goes from room to room but there is no sign of Mrs Wellins.

Then Jake notices the wet footprints all over the carpet ‘What the fuck?’ He knows that he should call the old dragon and let her know about the footprints and that there is no sign of Mrs Wellings ,but he doesn’t want to look like a wuss so he decides to have another look around.

There is luggage in the bedroom and dishes in the sink but Jake doesn’t like the look of those footprints they are too big to come from a human so now he is scared and doesn’t care if he looks like a wimp.

He walks toward the phone on the wall near the front door then he hears a noise coming from the bathroom

Jake knows that he should get the fuck out of there but he enters the bathroom and notices blood on the tiles in the shower

He has a closer look and almost throws up when he sees what appear to be toe nails and some bloody teeth.

Then Jake hears a noise coming from down in the drain,Jake feels his bowels loosen as he listens to what sounds like an animal chewing on a big bone.

He rushes over to the toilet drops his pants and releases a torrent of shit that calms his bowel but does nothing to calm his nerves.

The noise from the drain in the shower is getting louder but this time the sound is a growl and it is getting closer.

Jake yelps and runs towards the bathroom door with his trousers still around his ankles but he doesn’t get far before he feels an icy hand grip his ankle

He has a quick look behind him and screams to the heavens when he sees a snowman emerging from the drain

Jakes screams intensify as he feels the snowman chewing on his leg but soon quieten to a whimper as he is quickly eaten alive

But mercifully Jake dies before his remains are pulled down into the drain to be consumed at the snowman’s leisure.

Down stairs at reception Mrs Carruthers is getting worried there is no answer from room 308 and she hasn’t heard a peep from Mrs Wellings or Jake who even though he is young he is a good employee with a lot of common sense so Mrs Carruthers knows she can’t wait any longer.

So she picks up the phone and calls the police.

Twenty minutes later a couple of uniformed cops turn up to investigate and Mrs Carruthers explains the situation.

The policemen take the lift to room 308 and are surprised to find the door wide so they are immediately on their guard

They notice the footprints then they are hit by the stench coming from the bathroom and go to investigate.

The shower recess and tiles are covered in blood and pieces of flesh and bone it looks like a vicious crime scene but there is no signs of a body.

Constable Hughes stands guard on the door to 308 and calls dispatch to report two missing people possibly murdered and the grisly crime scene.

While Constable Coverdale goes downstairs to have the motel closed so no one can come or go.

Detectives Wagnells and Funk arrive and go straight up to room 308 where Constable Hughes is waiting.

They notice the footprints in the carpet as they make their way to the bathroom where the alleged crime scene is located.

Even these two seasoned Detectives are shocked by what they see,the bathroom and especially the shower recess is covered in blood and human flesh but as the Constables reported there are no bodies.

Detective Funk bends down for a closer look and notices that the drain cover is a little bent out of shape plus there are what appear to be human toenails and teeth on the shower floor.

He hears a noise down below in the sewers and puts his ear over the grate and hears what sounds like an animal chewing on a bone and sucking out the marrow.

‘What in the fuck is that?’ Detective Funk knows that he has to close down Thredbo before the shit really hits the fan.

Six year old Kimberly Frazer is oblivious to all the police activity at the Thredbo Motel only two hundred metres away.

She is playing in the snow with her three year old brother Ben while their parents ski nearby.

Then Kimberly sees a snowman only ten feet away Kimberly frowns because she is positive that the snowman wasn’t there a minute ago so where did it come from?

But she also notices that it has a piece of licorice for a mouth and Kimberly loves licorice so she walks closer to grab that licorice before her brother does.

As she reaches out her hand is grabbed by the snowman and before Kimberly can scream she is swallowed down whole.

Then the snowman and his meal melt down into the snow leaving behind nothing but a little snow boot and a tiny patch of blood.

Little Ben screamed in terror and his parents rush over .

Ben points to the patch of blood in the snow and whispers ‘snowman took Kimberly’

Mrs Frazer screams in horror and starts to dig in the snow hoping to find her daughter but Kimberly is long gone.

But parents scream out to Kimberly and soon a crowd gathers to see what is happening.

And that is when the worst massacre in Australian history occurs

One hundred and twenty five people have gathered to search for little Kimberly unawares that they are about to die a horrible death.

All around them Snowmen sprout up like Mushrooms and converge on the people in a feeding frenzy.

They are all ripped to shreds and devoured on the spot.

In room 308 Detectives Wagnells and Funk race out onto the patio and witness a carnage that will haunt them forever.

They watch as people are murdered before their eyes by what appear to be snowmen.

Both Detective finally kick into gear race downstairs but they know that by the time they reach the site of the massacre it will be way too late to stop the carnage.

Their is complete panic on the slopes as people run to escape the murderous snowmen.

They stampede down the mountain in their panic blocking the way of the Detectives who when they finally arrive discover nothing but patches of blood and gristle with not a snowman in sight.

I am writing this story ten years after the Thredbo massacre occurred on 10 August 2008 and to this day no bodies of the victims have been located despite intensive searches.

And so the legend of the killer snowmen lives on.

THE END

Ribbons Of Blood ( Two )

23 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

blood, murder, olivetti, typewriter, USA, virginia

In the first part of this story i introduced you to Victor Bradstreet the world renowned writer who was visiting his cabin up in rural Virginia to try to cure a severe case of writers block.

And while getting some supplies from the general store he noticed an old olivetti typewriter gathering dust on a clearance table

Victor bought the old typewriter and took it back to his cabin where the olivetti wrote him a best seller

But Victor got greedy and demanded more and more from the typewriter and the olivetti went on strike refusing to write another word until Victor fed it a meal of his blood.

The final showdown happened on a cold winters day in December 2017.

Victor carried the typewriter outside to his backyard doused it in lighter fluid and set that fucker on fire.

But the olivetti wasn’t ready to die just yet and it got its revenge by wrapping its ink ribbons around Victors throat choking him to death.

PART TWO

The CEO of Unicorn Press Penelope Clutterbuck is chairing a meeting at the companies head office in New York.

She is in a good mood because Victors last novel made her company a shitload of money with sales exceeding six million worldwide.

Penelope is just warming up when the phone on her desk starts to ring cutting off her report.

She gives the phone an icy stare just daring it to keep on ringing

Penelope isn’t a happy camper because she told her secretary to hold all calls unless there was a national emergency or the sky was falling

‘Excuse me but i need to take this call’ She turns her back on her audience and whispers into the phone’This better be good Sally or your ass is out of here’

‘Sorry Mrs Clutterbuck but i have a Detective Peterson from Virginia on line two who needs to speak with you urdently’

Penelope is a hard nosed divorcee who likes to be charge and the one thing that she doesn’t like is surprises’why would a detective from Virginia be calling her?’

Then she remembers that Victor is over in Virginia writing his new novel’God i hope that Victor is alright i cant afford to lose my cash cow.

She takes a seat and presses line two ‘Hello Mrs Clutterbuck this is detective Peterson from Springwood Virginia and i am sorry to tell you but i have some bad news’

I am here at Victors cabin just outside of town and well it looks like an intruder broke in and murdered Victor in cold blood’

Penelope cant believe what she is hearing,Victor her biggest seller and largest earner is dead.

God detective this is quite a shock i was only talking to Victor a couple of days ago i cant believe that he is gone,murder you say?

‘Yes we are have a murderer on our hands i am afraid,we have informed his daughter about her fathers death and she didn’t take the news well’

‘If you of any body who would want to harm Victor could you please let me know,i have left my number with your secretary’

When Penelope hangs up she doesn’t give a single thought about Victors grieving daughter.

As usual all she thinks about herself and Unicorn Presses bottom line.

She knows that she will have to travel to Virginia right away before the daughter has a chance to get her hands on a manuscript finished or not.

‘Sally please tell Calvin to bring the limo around out front i am flying to Virginia on the next flight,Victor has been murdered and i need to be there’

Penelope always has a bag packed in her office in case of emergency and what could be more dire then losing future earnings to a meddling daughter.

An hour later her limo arrives at JFK Airport and Penelope boards a flight to Arlington Virginia.

Then after a ten hour flight she reaches Arlington and hires a car and drives for an hour until she reaches Victors cabin.

And after making sure that her hair and makeup is correct for a woman of her stature she walks up the steps and knocks on the front door.

The door is opened by a uniformed cop who gives Penelope the once over’Sorry but no reporters are allowed in here the detectives will release a media statement later in the day’Excuse me young man but do i look like a reporter?My name is Penelope Clutterbuck and i am here to meet Detective Peterson.’Sorry lady i will see if he is available’

Detective Peterson soon arrives’Mrs Clutterbuck i didn’t expect to see you here’Sorry detective but i was deeply saddened when you told me that Victor was murdered so i grabbed the first flight available to see if i could help’

When she is escorted inside Penelope is surprised by the amount of blood that is sprayed all over the living room’Please Mrs Clutterbuck don’t touch anything this is still a crime scene’

‘Just have a look around and tell me if you see anything missing or out of place’

I have only been here twice before but if i see anything amiss i will surely let you know’

As she is escorted from room to room Penelope’s beady eyes scan the room like a piranha hungry for blood

It would be nice to discover a manuscript all boxed up and addressed to her but Penelope knows that that is wishful thinking

Then when Penelope and Detective Peterson enter the kitchen Penelope is surprised to see a typewriter sitting on the table.

Victor was up to date with all the latest apps and technology so why would he need a typewriter?

The olivetti senses movement nearby as it sits on the table acting all sweet and innocent like butter wouldn’t melt in its mouth.

Its ink ribbons quiver with anticipation it has been two days since it fed on Victors blood.

And now it is ready to feed again.

Before the olivetti had its first taste of blood it survived on the words that were typed onto its ribbons.

Nouns verbs objectives upper or lower case the typewriter didnt really care it swallowed them all.

But that all changed in 1974 a few after it came off the production line.

Twenty year old Samual Montford a budding writer took the typewriter home to begin his first novel.

His fingers flew over the keys and the words flowed with abandon.

Three chapters in only two hours was beyond Samuel’s wildest dreams.

But around dinner time he was pushing the letters a little too hard and gave himself a paper cut.

And as his blood dripped into the mechanism of the olivetti a beast living inside was awoken.

Over the years the typewriter killed and devoured ten unsuspecting budding novelists without leaving a trace.

But now with the advances in technology the olivetti was pushed aside as computers took over.

For over twenty years it sat on the shelf eating nothing but dust motes and the occasional cockroach or mouse.

Now the typewriter has emerged from its forced hibernation and has had its first solid meal for a long time.

Victors blood has given the machine a new lease on life and now it needs another meal and it wants it now

Penelope has no idea that Victors murderer is sitting only five foot away from where she is standing.

All she wants is to find a manuscript and go home

‘Excuse me Mrs Clutterbuck ‘Detective Peterson says’But Victors daughter will be arriving soon would you like to stay and talk to her?

The last thing that Penelope wants is to talk to Abigail Bradstreet so she declines the invitation and leaves the cabin empty handed.

A month after Victors murder Penelope is working late in her office doing the books and crunching the numbers.

Her company is doing well at the moment but what Penelope really wants is another best seller.

She hasn’t had a good nights sleep since Victors death.

Not knowing if Victor has written a manuscript and left it somewhere in his cabin has been driving her crazy so she decides that another trip to Virginia will give her some peace of mind.

She phones Detective Peterson and he tells her that they have no suspects at the moment and that while Victors murder is still being investigated it has been put on the back burner until new leads develope

Penelope smiles at the news because now she is confident that no police officers will be present at the cabin so she will be able to take her time and search the cabin from ceiling to floor.

A few days later Penelope arrives at Victors cabin to find it locked and the front door covered in police tape.

Penelope walks around the house looking for a way inside but all the windows are locked up tight.

So in frustration Penelope picks up a rock and smashes a side window then with a final glance to make sure she hasn’t been heard she climbs inside.

After an hour of searching the cabin from top to toe Penelope is growing more and more frustrated.

Surely Victor wrote something before his demise but where could it be?

It would be nice to find a finished manuscript and give his fans one last novel.

But more importantly it would earn Penelope and Unicorn Press millions of dollars.

Penelope enters the kitchen to get a glass of water and notices that the old typewriter is still sitting on the kitchen table.

She still cant understand why Victor would own an ancient olivetti.

But at the same time Penelope is strangely attracted to the machine.

‘I wonder if all the keys still work’muses Penelope’If they do i will take the typewriter home and put it in my den’

So she feeds in a sheet of paper to test out the old contraption.

But before she can press a key

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

‘What in the fuck?’ Penelope jumps back in fright as the typewriter begins to type words.

And even though Penelope is scared out of her wits she is desperate to know what the olivetti has typed’Do you want to make a lot of money Penelope? Feed me and i will make you a millionaire ten times over’

‘I will write your debut novel and make you a star’

Penelope is spellbound as she reads what is written on the page.

She knows that she really should run away as fast as she can and tell the police about her discovery.

But at the same time who doesn’t want to be a star?

So Penelope types’OK i will take up your offer write me the first chapter and if i like what i read we have a deal’

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

Ha ha ha good one Penelope but i survived on nothing but dust and rodents until i tasted Victors blood and now i need another meal’

‘So feed me your blood Penelope and i will write you a masterpiece’

As Penelope reads the words she now knows that she is in deep shit and turns to run.

But her ship has already sailed and she didn’t buy a ticket.

She screams out and almost makes it to the kitchen door when the ink ribbons fly out and wrap around her throat and Penelope is reeled in like a flounder.

The ribbons around her neck squeeze tighter and tighter and Penelope fights desperately to save her life but she quickly loses the battle.

The typewriter chews on Penelope’s blood meat and bones until it is sated.

For a week the typewriter feeds on Penelope’s body and its ribbons scour the kitchen floor picking up every morsel and mop up every drop of blood until there is nothing left

At her home in Colorado Victors daughter Abigail is still recovering from the death of her father.

But the time has come to settle her fathers affairs and get on with her life .

So she climbs into her Corolla and drives towards her dads cabin in Virginia.

When she arrives she is surprised to see a car parked out front.

She calls out and when she doesn’t get an answer she pulls aside the police tape and enters the cabin.

She notices the broken window and a rock on the floor and again calls out but no one answers so Abigail has a look around.

The cabin looks neat and tidy and the TV and stereo are still in place so Abigail relaxes and after using the bathroom she enters the kitchen and is surprised to see a shiny typewriter on the table.

She takes a step forward to get a closer look and can’t believe how spick and span the old typewriter.

It is almost like it has had a transfusion.

Abigail takes a seat and admires the trusty old machine but then she thinks to herself’Why would my father own a typewriter in this day and age?

Abigail turns to go back to her car to get some packing boxes when

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

Abigail almost pees her pants when she reads

HELLO ABIGAIL

THE END

Part three is coming soon so don’t buy a typewriter at any yard sales’

You have been warned.

Ribbons Of Blood

26 Friday Jan 2018

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

blood, murder, olivetti, typewriter, writers block

This is a story about writers block and a killer typewriter.Enjoy

Everyone has heard of Victor Bradstreet,a multiple award winning author of crime and suspense novels.

He has been the master of the genre for over 25 years with over 100 million books in publication.

Eight of his novels have been adopted to the silver screen with ‘Death Before Awakening’ winning an oscar.

But that was four years ago.

Today Victor is sitting at his desk in his private hideaway in Springwood Virginia the perfect spot to get away from it all and write.

But Victor hasn’t written a word in months,he went to Virginia to try and cure a bad case of writers block,but so far it hasn’t worked.

He thought that going up there from L.A would give him some inspiration,but all he has achieved since arriving is sit around full of self pity while drinking bottle after bottle of the finest bourbon.

As he takes a long pull from a glass of the amber liquid Victor sighs in desperation and despair.

Since he started writing when he was a teenager he has never had any trouble writing,usually his fingers fly over the keyboard as his thoughts turn into words.

Victor doesn’t know what he has to do to defeat his writers block ,so he sits at his desk as the day turns into night.

At midnight after polishing off another yet another bottle Victor staggers to his feet and goes to bed.

In the morning Victor wakes up with a huge hangover his head is throbbing and his stomach churns threatening to bring up its contents.

He stumbles out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom and as he stands there emptying his bladder he pears at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and he doesn’t like what he sees.

Victor is a proud man and has always tried to look his best but now as he looks at himself in the mirror an old man looks back at him.

Victor knows that he has been drinking too much because of his inability to write,he looks at the old man and mutters ‘Where have all the words gone?’

Around lunchtime Victor decides to drive into town to pick up some supplies,anything to get away from the confines of the cabin and get some fresh air.

So he jumps into his BMW puts on his seat belt and listens to Tom Petty sing ‘Free Falling’ on the radio,and for a few minutes Victor forgets all about his writers block as he sings along.

But when the song is over he remembers an email he received from his publisher about a week before he drove up to Virginia’Dear Mr Bradstreet,this is your final reminder about the manuscript for your new novel that is now six months overdue.If said manuscript isn’t delivered to our office within 30 days you will be in breach of contract.

Therefore we will begin legal proceedings to recover the five million dollar advance we paid you’

As Victor continues to drive his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel,he has earned his publishers a lot of money and they threaten to sue him?.

Maybe he should send the advance back to the ungrateful assholes and retire down to New Zealand or Australia.

But no goddamn it i am a writer and i need to write so i will write again.Fuck em.

When he arrives at his destination he enters the general store where he is greeted by the owner.a friendly old man named Albert Finnegan.

Victor and Albert exchange greetings in passing as Victor picks up a basket and wanders the aisles picking up essentials like milk bread cheese and of course a few bottles of bourbon.

As he places some canned beans and pork into his basket an object in the corner of the store catches his eye.

Sitting on a rickety old table gathering dust is a beat up old olivetti typewriter vintage 1070 or so.

Victor rubs his hands over the machine like a teenager in lust,he has to have this typewriter and he will have it.’Hey Albert do you have any paper for this old olivetti?

‘Sure do Mr Bradstreet,i will throw in ten reams for nothing if you take that thing off my hands’

Something in Alberts voice concerns Victor and he looks over at the old man behind the counter but he seems to be okay.

For a moment there it sounded to Victor that Albert was almost afraid of the dusty old typewriter.

At home Victor packs away his groceries and goes back outside retrieve the olivetti from his BMW.

He opens the rear door bends down to pick up the typewriter but it isn’t there,Victor scratches his head he could have sworn that he put it on the back seat,maybe he left it back at the store?

Then he notices the typewriter sitting loud and proud on the front seat,how can a typewriter change seats?

Then Victors skin crawls as he takes a closer look not only has the olivetti changed seats but it has transformed.

It is no longer an old beat up dust covered machine,now the typewriter is shiny and gleaming like it was made in the factory last week.

With some trepidation Victor carries the typewriter inside and places it in the middle of the kitchen table.

Then he opens a ream of paper and feeds a sheet into his new typewriter and types a title that has haunted him for months’Graves Of Murder’.He pours himself a drink and settles down to write his new novel.

But after an hour not a single word has been typed,Victor empties his glass then throws it at the wall where it explodes in smithereens.

Victor wails at the moon than he hangs his head and starts to cry.

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

Victor looks up in surprise as the keys on the typewriter go up and down of their own accord,typing at about 100 words a minute.

Victor looks on in wonder and feeds page after page into the machine as it continues to type for the next three hours.

When the olivetti stops typing Victor pulls out the final page he gathers the manuscript together and starts to read’Holy shit! This is good,it is some of my better work’

‘I haven’t written this good in years’

Victor sends the manuscript off to his publisher and a week later he received a reply

‘Congratulations Victor ‘Graves Of Murder is your best novel to date and it is sure to top the bestseller list from coast to coast.

We here at crondon press were worried there for a while but now i can see that our worries were unfounded because you you are back with a venegeance,look forward to your next novel

Victor beams with pride and looks over at the typewriter.

And the typewriter looks back.

‘Graves Of Murder’ is published to instant acclaim world wide.

Victor does the talk show circuit where he soaks up all the praise and applause.

No way will he retire,now that he is on top of the game again,he can’t wait to get back to his hideaway so that his olivetti can type him another best seller.

When he arrives back at his cabin the first thing he does is feed a sheet of paper into the olivetti,he types in the title Dead Forever’ than he runs upstairs for a qick shower and a change of clothes.

But as he walks downstairs after freshening up he is instantly hit by the sound of silence,he enters the kitchen where he unleashes on the machine’Come on you fucker write me another best seller and write it now mister or there will be hell to pay’

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

‘Why you ungrateful piece of shit,I have turned your life around you are on the best sellers lists all over the world and all you do is abuse me and threaten my existence’

‘Because i am telling you now that unless you feed me and treat be kindly only one of us will survive and it wont be you’

‘So shut the fuck up and feed me feed me now’

Victor leans forward and types’Feed you what?

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

‘Feed me your blood right here and now or i can guarantee that you die a horrible slow death’

Victor reads the words with horror Who does this fucking typewriter think it is.I am the master in this relationship’

But he is desperate to remain on the best seller list so he grabs a knife and pricks his little finger and watches as his blood drips onto the typewriter ribbons.

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

What the fuck? I don’t want a snack i want the main course so give me a good feed or face the consequences’

Victor takes a deep breath rolls up and sleeve and opens up his left wrist,his blood flows into the olivetti and is swallowed down and in swallowed down with satisfaction.

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp

Victor feels himself going into shock as he listens to the typewriter digest his blood.

The cut on his wrist is deep but not life threatening,he opens the first aid kit and applies a pressure bandage.

And his blood ceases to flow.

Victor is scared as he eyes the evil typewriter he likes being a great writer again and achieving worldwide fame.

But he doesn’t want to die to satisfy the thirst of a olivetti,so he decides that he will ditch the typewriter and go back to writing the old fashioned way.

So he sneaks up behind the typewriter and carries it out to the backyard where he throws it to the ground.

He goes to the shed and returns with a can of lighter fluid,he sprays the typewriter and sets it alight.

‘Burn olivetti burn’

Victor goes back inside glad that he is now free from that blood sucking typewriter,he pours himself a large bourbon to celebrate and settles down to write.

With his favourite mont blanc fountain pen in hand and a calfskin pad in his lap Victor is confident that the words will soon fill the page.

But after hours of willing and pleading to his pen to start writing another best seller nothing is written not even a title.fVictor enters the kitchen to make himself something to eat and to occupy his mind for a while.

And as he cleans up the cant help but to notice the smouldering typewriter out in the yard.

Part of him wants to run out and put out the fire,but instead he goes upstairs brushes his teeth and retires for the night.

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

Victor wakes up so fast he almost bounced out of bed

Was that really the sound of a typewriter that woke him up? He puts on his dressing gown and creeps down the stairs in dread.

The smell of burnt metal hits his nostrils like a sledgehammer and the back door is wide open.

He peaks around the kitchen door frame and his eyes open wide in terror because sitting in the middle of the kitchen table sits a burnt twisted hunk of metal.

One look is all that Victor needs he grabs his car keys from a side table and races toward the back door and he is only a few feet from freedom when his airways are blocked off.

The olivetti seeing Victor trying to escape throws out its blood soaked ribbons like a fisherman casting his net.

The ribbons from hell wrap around Victors throat and pull him in foot by foot.

Victor struggles as hard as he can,but he can’t himself being pulled back toward the murderous typewriter.

kerclack kerclack kerclack kerclack

‘I warned you Victor but you chose to disobey me,so now you can go to hell and burn for eternity like you burnt me’

Victor no longer has the strength to resist the typewriter and now he stands near the machine as the ribbons squeeze tighter and tighter.

Then with a final show of power the ribbons tighten like a vice and Victors head is separated from his body and lands on the thirsty typewriter where his blood satisfies the hungry olivetti.

After its meal the typewriter sits on the kitchen table savouring the blood while it waits for the police to arrive.

And even out here they surely will even if it takes a week.

The flies will make sure of that

THE END

I hope you enjoyed my story and don’t mind waiting awhile because part two Tie A Red Ribbon’ is coming soon.

I Cut

04 Sunday Jun 2017

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

anxiety, blood, cutting, depression, despair, desperation, knife, razor, suicide

I cut myself this morning.

I cut myself deep.

My skin starts to tingle.

And my demons start to creep.

I cut a little deeper.

And i kind of like the pain.

I stare into my bathroom mirror.

And i cut myself again.

My cutting tool of choice.

Is a sharp little pocket knife.

I cut because i am always afraid.

My knife is my one and only friend.

I will cut until the bitter end.

I cut myself one more time.

And a line of blood appears on my face.

I look into my mirror.

But i stare into space.

I cut a little deeper.

And hope that my memories will disappear.

My blood runs down my face.

And mingles with my tears.

I don’t usually cut my face.

But my life has become a living hell.

I had to deal with a lot of people.

And i don’t do that well.

I cut myself again.

With my trusty little blade.

And i watch my blood flow.

I love my fucking knife.

It gets me through my life.

I know that i am a huge failure.

I never do anything right.

I try my best but it is never good enough.

Why do i even get out of bed.?

Who is that person living in my head?

My favourite colour is blue.

So why do i like blood so much?

Just a little nick.

And i feel some pleasure.

A pleasure that cuts through the pain.

I feel some sort of release.

Some well earned peace.

A few of my friends at work.

Asked me about the cuts on my face.

I told them that i got scratched by my neighbours cat.

They laughed ‘Was it a fucking tiger?’

I tried to laugh with them.

But i could barely manage a smile.

While beneath the table i fondle my trusty blade of steel.

Only my knife knows how i feel.

I cut for the first time when i was thirteen.

I thought i was just your normal schoolboy

But the other kids thought different.

And they let me know in no uncertain terms.

I was constantly on my guard.

With a belly full of worms.

I was called names had my hair pulled

And some of the other kids even spat on my face.

That is when i retreated into my mind.

And went to a better place.

So i bought myself a pocket knife.

And started to cut.

The best places to cut.

Was my inner arms and thighs.

I cut and cut with silent cries.

When i was fourteen.

I was brutalised so much at school i could barely

function.

I struggled home a broken little boy.

The other kids had taken all of my joy.

That night i ran myself .

To try to drown away my sorrows.

As i washed myself my eyes were drawn to my fathers razor

sitting on the edge of the tub.

I picked it up and gave it a tender rub.

The razor was a wilkerson sword of unknown vintage.

Old and rusty but sharp just the same.

As i held that razor.

I heard it calling my name.

One deep cut.

And all of my pain would be gone.

But o couldn’t do it.

I didn’t want my parents to find me in a bath full

of blood.

So i just gave myself a shallow cut.

And marvelled at the drops of red.

I smiled at the sight.

And toddled off to bed.

I cut because i feel like it.

I cut because i can.

I cut to free myself.

I cut to be a better man.

They say that the first cut is the deepest.

But my deepest cut is yet to come.

It might be tomorrow or the day after that.

But my deepest cut will be one day very soon.

Of that i can give you a guarantee.

So listen really well.

Because this is my final plea.

I CUT.

THE END.

stevenjohnstonblog

~ Short stories about anything and everything

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I Cut