Tag Archives: blood

Good Little Doggie ( Part Two )

04 Friday Jan 2019

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , ,

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 in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

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 in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , ,

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 in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

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 in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

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.

Murder Of Crowes

08 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by in poems, stories

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

‘Jesus Christ,is that freaking clock going backwards?’

It is the last day before the summer break.

And the clock in the classroom decides to mess with my mind.

 

Has time stood still?

Has the second hand frozen in place?

Finally the school bell rings and i race outside.

Summer vacation is my favourite time of the year.

Six weeks without homework and teachers.

Six weeks of sunshine and fun.

 

Three of my friends are waiting for me by the school gate

Kyle Coogan,Brian Jones,Dennis Steele and i have been friends since

kindergarten.

But next year we will be going to different high schools.

So this could be the last break that we spend together.

 

My name is Charlie Osborne and i am twelve years old.

I am almost a teenager but not quite.

If this is to be the last summer break i get to be with my friends.

I want to make the most of it.

 

My friends and i are just like any boys our age.

We like to go swimming,fishing and camping out in our backyards.

Sometimes we will collect tadpoles and pick blackberries.

All the normal boy stuff.

 

Today we decide to explore the bush land behind Kyles place.

Sometimes we will come across a kangaroo chewing on grass.

Or a goanna climbing up a tree.

But this time we see something different.

 

A black crow is on the ground running around in circles.

It has a broken wing and cant fly away.

I tell Kyle to go back to his house and get a box.

Maybe we can look after this bird until its wing heals.

 

Kyle looks at me like i am crazy ‘Fuck that it is only a crow’

He bends down and picks up a rock and throws it at the crow with all of

his might.

He misses but Brian and Dennis also start to throw rocks and stones at the crow.

 

Rock after rock hit the target and the bird falls to the ground.

They keep on throwing until that bird is dead.

I cant believe that my friends just did that.

But they are laughing and giving each other high fives.

I cant do anything for the bird so we run towards a water hole.

 

Up in the trees about twenty black crowes watch as the boys run away.

They fly from tree to tree following the boys as they wander down the

dirt track.

The crowes all have two things in common,they are all black.

And they all have murder in their eyes.

 

After a few hours of  swimming and skylarking around we decide to head home for something to eat.

All except Kyle who decides to stay behind and do some more swimming.

We wave to Kyle and tell him that we will be back in about an hour.

 

Kyle strips down to his underwear  and dives in head first.

As he swims and splashes around he doesn’t notice the crow’es gathering in the trees

above.

He continues to swim for a while but soon becomes bored.

So he decides to rest up and wait for his friends.

He spreads out his towel and starts to bake in the sun.

 

One of the crow’es lands on a branch just above Kyle and sizes up the situation.

Than without warning in lands on Kyle’s face with talons extended.

Kyle screams out in panic and tries to fight back but he has been taken by surprise

and he soon tires.

And before he knows what is happening both of his eyes are plucked out and swallowed

down whole.

 

By now Kyle is hysterical as the crow attacks his face.

Soon he goes into shock and offers little resistance.

The other crow’es descend onto Kyle and start to strip the flesh from his body.

Kyle’s body shudders as the black birds have their way.

They peck and claw at his body until he is nothing but a pile of bloody bones.

 

After lunch i meet up with Brian and Dennis and we make our way back to the water hole.

When we arrive Kyle is nowhere in sight.

All we see is his beach towel and his baseball cap floating in the water.

Beside the cap floats a single black feather.

 

We run home as fast as we can to get help.

My mother calls the police and we wait for them to arrive.

The area around the water hole is cordoned off and the police send for divers to

search the bottom.

And soon Kyle’s body is brought to the surface.

 

There is a gasp from the onlookers when the body comes into view.

His mother tries to run forward but is held back.

 

How has Kyle’s body been reduced to a skeleton in such a short time?

Was he attacked by a pack of wild dogs or is there a madman on the loose?

The police hold a police conference and tell everybody that until an autopsy

is performed.

It is best for people to be on their guard and for all of the neighbourhood kids

to stay indoors.

 

Brian Jones is home bored out of his mind.

It has been a week since Kyle was killed by who knows what

Brian feels sorry for Kyle,but it is summer break he needs to go out and play.

So he decides to sneak out and see how Dennis and Charlie are going.

He climbs out of his bedroom window under the cover of darkness.

 

Dennis only lives a few blocks away,so he will hang out for a while.

His parents want even know that he is gone.

As he walks under a street light he senses movement over his left shoulder.

When he looks back something slams into his face.

He staggers around in bewilderment with a bloodied nose and cut cheek.

 

Another black crow swoops down and attacks Brians face and neck.

Brian shit;s his pants and runs away in shock.

Straight into the path of a semi trailer.

 

The driver cant bake in time and he hits Brian full on.

The truck skids to a stop a hundred metres down the road.

The driver jumps out and races back hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

And the worst it is,

He cant believe that what he is seeing was once a living human being.

He looks away and vomits up his dinner completely covering a single black feather.

 

Dennis Steele is in his room crying into his pillow.

First Kyle was killed and now Brian.

Why are his friends dying?

It is school holidays we should all be having fun not cooped up inside.

When will his parents let him outside to fucking play?

 

Dennis knows that he has just  said the F word out loud but he doesn’t care anymore.

All he wants is for things to go back to normal again.

So that everybody can start to feel safe again.

 

Everything is getting to be too much for Dennis.

His nerves are shot to hell and his stomach is playing up.

And for the fifth time that day he makes his way to the bathroom.

 

He pulls down is pants and takes a seat waiting for nature to take its course.

When he hears a noise coming from the water below.

He looks down between his legs and sees a black bird heading for his scrotum.

 

He tries to jump up but he isnt quite fast enough.

The crow pecks open his ball bag and his testicles disappear down the throat of that

crazes bird.

His screams could be heard from twenty five miles away.

 

Inch by inch Dennis is pulled down into the toilet bowl.

His bones creak and crack and finally break as he is swallowed down into the sewers.

 

As Dennis enters his watery grave his parents are frantically trying to kick down the bathroom door.

And when they finally do all they see is a broken toilet

.And a single black feather.

 

Holt fucking Christ on a crutch.

I cant believe it.

First Kyle than Brain and now Dennis.

Who or what is killing all of my friends?

 

As i sit with my parents watching some TV i remember the cops telling them about finding a black feather in Dennis bathroom.

My mind goes back to that day at the water hole.

Surely it cant be about that?

Do crow’es have good memories like elephants?

They  say that elephants never forget but what about crow’es?

 

I tell my parents that i need to go for ride.

They try to stop me but i am gone in a flash.

I jump on my bike and race back to that waterhole.

And i soon arrive at the spot where we stoned that crow to death.

 

So i am so nervous my goose pimples have dimples.

I sit down in the middle of the track and wait.

All of the leaves in the trees shake and fall to the ground.

Soon i am surrounded by a green carpet and a thousand naked branches.

Is the devil coming to take me away?

Or are the black crow’es on the warpath?

 

I am guessing the latter but i don’t really know.

Soon the sky is full of black wings and an eerie silence.

Then twenty black birds land at my feet and start to do a war dance.

Or maybe it is a rain dance? One can only hope.

But the sky i clear there isn’t a cloud in sight.

So war it is.

 

One of the crow’es rushes in and attacks my left foot

I look at that crow as it grabs my little toe and tears it from my body.

And it flies back up into the trees with my twinkie in its mouth.

 

As i am distracted another bird attacks my other foot and another toe is swallowed

down.

It looks like these crow’es are going to kill me very slowly

Toe by toe bit by bit.

 

The remaining crow’es continue to walk around me in a clockwise direction.

What body part will they attack next?

‘God don’t let it be my eyes i don;t want to be blind’

And Jesus don;t let it be my willy.

I haven;t had sex yet please don;t let me die a virgin.

 

While i have been sitting in the dirt thinking another bird has flown in and taken a chunk out of my ear.

I don’t dare to fight back because i know that if i do the birds will go into a feeding frenzy.

So i cover my nuts with both hands put my head down and pray.

And through the pain i try to relax and hopefully the crow’es will fly away and leave me

in peace.

And not pieces.

 

 

But no such luck.

Another chunk is taken from my body

Blood is pouring from deep groves and starts to pool on the ground.

I pray to God and whisper goodbye to mum and dad.

 

But you know what ? Fuck that.

I jump up and scream at those fucking birds.

I tell them that i am sorry that their friend died but enough is enough.

I close my eyes and count to fifty and when i open them the birds are gone.

I turn back and start to limp home.

Than the crow’es are back.

 

These freaking birds swoop down in attack mode.

And they attack my head with venegance tearing out my hair strand by strand.

Holy fucking crap i am getting scalped by a bunch of birds.

Or should i say a murder of crow’es.

 

I cant see a thing as my blood streams down my face.

I wait for another attack but it doesn’t come.

I wipe my face with my shirt and scan my surroundings.

There isn’t any sign of the crow’es.

I pick my self up ans wander towards home.

 

Than a crow lands on the track just in front of me

He is obviously the ring leader.

With his chest puffed out he struts around like a peacock.

I look down at that black bird and once again i apologise for my behaviour

I will never ever harm another crow as long as i live.

 

The crow looks up at me with disdain.

Than he flies up and lands on my shoulder he walks over to my bleeding ear

and whispers ‘Don;t forget i know where you live’

 

 

THE END.