A Tale of Madness - part three

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He let himself out into the hallway. It wasn't so much a hallway as it was a crumbling, partially-covered path that led into the garden in the middle of the structure. The lush green oasis looked as if it had taken over the modest courtyard centuries ago. The building itself was only just over a one-hundred years old, but the garden appeared far more ancient than that.

Moss, grasping tendrils of thick vines, and layers upon layers of creeping foliage engulfed the open space. There was a narrow dirt path that took him through the middle of the courtyard. As he passed the green plants and luscious sprigs seemeed to shrink back, wizened by his presence. Tips of recently fresh, sprouting shoots curled back, browning instantly, and beds of bright, gaping flowers retreated into the dark recesses of their habitat.

The madman took no notice of the cowering plant life. He marched on with cold purpose, through another hallway, leaving the exposed courtyard behind him. He entered a tired, abandoned lobby with faded, curling wallpaper and blistered ceiling tiles that hung grotesquely, separated from the rafters. His worn work boots scuffed across the plank flooring where tatters of the green carpeting remained in whisps.

His stomach was fully healed now, glazed over with a sheen of oily new skin. His rib blade swung in one hand at his side. He kicked past some used needles and husks of skeletal mice and birds, his stride never faltering.

As he neared the gaping maw of the entrance--where the once-proud, oak doors hung, half-off their frames, splintered and moldy--the light shifted briefly as a shadow passed over his right shoulder. Whirling around with an unnatural speed the madman danced to his left and raised the curved bone saw. Halfway through his pinwheel his arm met a brief resistance, then traveled around through its wide arc. A hot splash of blood arrived on the rotting bebris that was once the check in desk.

The madman turned back to the door without glancing back, and left the building to its fresh meat. Back in the lobby a scared young man lay on the floor. A wide, scarlet opening stretched from his left hip to his right shoulder. His breathing stuttered as he looked upon his bright, slippery bowels. The intestines were beginning to unravel and slide down over his legs. He heaved two, final, hitching breaths, as his eyes rolled back into his head and the rest of his entrails emptied, steaming, onto the corroded floor boards.

The building sighed and shifted ever so slightly, straightening, as it hungrily absorbed the life blood of the unfortunate squatter. The man continued on away from the dark building, wanting to find more victims before the first blood dried on his blade.

...

A Tale of Madness - part two

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The sun beam that had moments before illuminated the window of the room of the building in Spiddle Fork where the deranged man sat, now crept back behind the clouds, snuffed out like a guttering candle flame.

He licked his lips, swallowing the last drops from the cup. The room darkened and he raised his eyes to the once-bright window. His eyes dimmed and lost the maddening sparkle that danced there. His mouth went slack. The hand that placed the tin cup back on the table reached into his corduroy jacket and parted the filthy flannel shirt beneath.

His dirty, tobacco-stained fingers, encrusted with days of dirt, food, and blood, dug into the skin of his stomach. They passed through the flesh, rending a hole near his ribcage. His hand pentrated deeper into his midsection, reaching and ripping. Finally his fingers found purchase.

With a terrible, wet sound, he withdrew his shaking hand. In it was a wickedly curved and sharpened blade-like weapon fashioned of his ribs. Its three blades twisted and forked out and were serated for maximum damage. The handle was a length of bone that perfectly matched the contours and lines of his anatomy.

As the gaping maw of his middle slowly closed and sutured itself, the three mute faces on the wall behind him writhed and shifted. The lines of gut that held them suspended shook and the tortured visages mouthed their protests. One face was a woman, young once and beautiful. Another face was a boy, his life shortened tragically but the ambition of youth still fresh. The third face was an old man, skin drooping more than the others, criss-crossed with deep lines of experience.

The madman pulled himself to his feet and shuffled over to the wall. After placing a delicate, almost mournful kiss, on the cheek of each hanging mask of living skin, he shuffled to the door and placed his stained hand on the brass knob...

Continued soon...

I Dream of Zombie

My dreams have been interesting of late...I am exploring my scary, demented subconcious on a too-regular basis.

The theme last night was: Zombies, How in the Hell Do You Get Away From Them?

Basically the dream was a series of running and evading zombies in different locales. I would be able to hide out in one place for a while, gather supplies, camp out, etc. I occupied an abandoned office building with a couple of people for some time. Then we saw the slow, steady advance of the zombie horde and we had to pack up and go.

Now these zombies weren't the old-school, shuffle around like elderly people looking for the nearest Home Town Buffet. These specimens were a bit faster, more aggressive, and they weren't as rotted as what you might expect. Perhaps they were newly dead, converted from the living only hours or days before.

So this ambling army of smelly, brain-sucking fiends came closer and closer. I had to make some quick decisions about what I was going to take from our hideout. I knew that I couldn't take as many clothes or as much food as I would ideally take. My bag was too heavy so I had to dump some supplies to make a quick getaway.

When we left I was with a couple of people; my brother and a girl that I really didn't know. We rushed out the front doors of the office building and saw them advancing on the hillside complex. We glanced around to find the best route and then rushed down a side street. Initially our escape route took us closer to the zombies which was scary, but then we veered off away from them. All the while we could hear their mournful moans and the scraping of their worn shoes and boots across the pavement.

Eventually I lost the girl that we were with. I don't know how it happened, but after several twists and turns it was just my brother and I. We found ourselves in the Japanese garden behind what appeared to be an old, sandstone, museum-like structure. We had to run past a group of zombies who were ambling around the back steps of the building. Again, these bastards were quicker than we thought, and as we ran, I had to fight them off desperately.

In one case I had to grapple with a smelly, overly-ripe guy who grabbed ahold of my arm as I was passing him. His strength took me by surprise and I was barely able to get around and stop him from clamping his yellowed teeth over my wrist and separating my flesh from bone like he was going after some tender barbecue ribs. I wiggled around and grabbed his head with one hand and slammed it into one of the sandstone statues that lined the garden pathways. His skull caved in as clear fluids spilled out of his ears and mouth.

Eventually the creature fell away and we managed to get past the rest with nary a close call. The dream ended there from what I can remember...but I know that I was restless all night, and there are vague snippets of violent, disturbing imagery from other dreams that remain largely unremembered.

Well, that was my zombie dream. I know, not very impressive or compelling, but nonetheless it was scary at the time.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

A Tale of Madness - part one

His transition from a thoughtful, careful, considerate soul, to a brutish, sociopathic madman, was one of little steps; small enlightenments if you will. Fortunately for the residents of the town of Spiddle Fork, not many were witness to the change. Oh, there were some, but they now occupy various shadowy copses, hidden river beds, and run down barns blotted with thick, overgrown ivy and hedge.

Those who never saw what happened went about their pedestrian lives, minding whatever it was that Spiddle-folk minded. Until one day, when our subject went quite mad...more mad than he had previously been, twice as mad as any madman had been before.

A sky full of low, charcoal clouds hung above Spiddle Fork as if on tiny wires. They had appeared suddenly, and they remained perched above the town, unmoving, even as the wind picked up and scattered leaves about the cobbled streets.

Some of the townsfolk were already turning on their gas lights in front of their homes and securing the shutters. Even the three old men who sat outside the cafe all hours of the day had pulled up their table and were huddled against the stuccoed side of the structure. They held their wool hats tight to their heads with one hand, and used the other hand to cup against their mouths, as they shouted unintelligibly to one another.

In a quiet room, a ways off of the main streets, tucked away inside a dark, miserable building, down a winding, dank alley, sat the man. Slivers of fetid light crept into his room, over the bedclothes, over his unmoving form, much to his annoyance. It was very rare when light of any real strength found its way into his shadowy corner of the world.

Outside, if any townsfolk were to look up at the strange sky, they would have noticed one small shaft of golden light, penetrating through the underbelly of the clouds. This sunlight centered itself directly over the twisting, brick and stucco row house, embedded in the forgotten alleyway.

The man picked up the tin cup in front of him and put it to his lips. He tilted his head back and felt the liquid spill down his throat, coating his tongue. The blood had coagulated slightly and it was becoming thick, like a coppery syrup.

Continued soon...