Archives for Horror

Plagiarism

I walked up the stairwell of my new apartment the rooms were all hardwood, the ceilings raised, big windows open and all fresh and cool I looked inside the freezer and the women’s bodies had all been delineated into select cuts of roast, loins and strips a head was in the crisper complete calm first thought, “get rid of the head” I began to carefully pick through the crisper nimbly looking for the head and I got a ‘tap-tap’ on the shoulder and it is some guy from high-school and he is holding the head in his hand with a
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On Apocalypse Now

Three guys went skydiving over the South Pole. They were the first ones to attempt the dive. Three utterly loaded businessmen who were so confident that none of them bothered with a thing known as an altitude meter. If they had had an altitude meter, the parachute would have pulled when they got too close to the ground. Instead, the sky-divers ended-up imbedded in three meters of ice. Why? There is no perspective over the South Pole: it’s all white. There’s no distinction between earth, horizon and sky. A fist goes smashing right on through a glass mirror and the
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Highway To Hell And Back.

I was hitching a ride somewhere on the south side of the U.S. of A.when I got a thumbs up from a somewhat soused geezer in a ten gallon hat. Old, countrified Earle took me out for a whirl in his custom, black Caddie. He had a set of long horns mounted on the hood, and a lead foot infected with elephantiasis mounted on the gas pedal.  We blew through endless hick towns, much faster then JFK’s limo on its hospital run from the Dealy Plaza tragedy. Billy Carter beer cans rattled all over the floorboards, while Dolly Parton busted out a tune literally, something called 9 to 5, but we were doing 95 easy. He let me out in Bum-fiddle Texas, at a bar called The Dew Drop inn, and drove off with a wicked grin.
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Tales of the Imp – Meet the Imp

I have an imp on my shoulder. He’s always there, whispering malevolence into my ear. He’s three inches tall, with olive skin and two tiny horns on his forehead. His hair is bright red hair. His teeth are small and sharp. He reeks of burning sulphur, which like him, follows me everywhere. He says he’s here to protect me, that I am someone special. What can such a diminutive creature protect me from? He doesn’t answer my questions, but he enjoys telling me things. Like whom I should kill. I don’t listen to him. Not yet.
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Never Underestimate a Southern Bell

  woman on the jury finds defendant not guilty   Portfolio | Become A Fan The putrid smell burned her nose. Her breakfast was quickly coming up her throat. The darkness of the room disoriented her as she felt around for a light switch. “Where the hell am I?” asked Charlemagne Brochette. Her grogginess added to her confusion as to how she was brought here. “Me, of all people, the Madame from New Orleans, was brought here by my limousine driver?” She quickly reviewed what she remembered. I was chosen as the only female juror in a serial killer’s trial. He was called “the
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Mother Nature’s Revenge.

Mother Nature’s Revenge. ©-MFB III <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The black bird waited outside her window, each day at dawn, pecking hard on the glass, rattling her panes, and screeching loudly. Its green-blue eyes glaring inward, as she scrambled to dress and free herself from its daily attacks. It had built a nest up in her backyard tree, just above the spot where where she had buried her newborn unwanted child just two weeks before, and ever since it had plagued her. She scribbled a quick note to the police a week later, And handed it to a traffic cop on her way
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How Would You Make The Call? -plus my (9/11-chronicles.)

/////////////////\\\\\\//////////\\\\\/////////////// /////////////\\\\\\\\\//////////////////\\\\\/////// How Would You Make The Call ©-MFB III-The 9/11 CHRONICLES-2001   It was the window or the 1000’s of degrees of heat melting the nylon stockings to her legs her dress bursting into tiny blue flames and her hair reeking as it crisped beyond any curling iron damage she’d ever known. Sure her dress would blow up and she would look so ridiculous in mid-air but the heat, the God awful heat melting her barrettes to her skull panties like hot glue around her waist molten metal in her brassiere straps “Please God forgive me? she begged as
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The Jack Attack

Sure it was Halloween, but things like ghosts never scared me before. I just assumed they were nothing more than stories or glitches of the mind. But there it was floating a few feet from me, and the malevolent face carved into it was my own doing. I always felt jack-o-lanterns looked much too child-friendly, so I made mine sinister with jagged rows of teeth, a v-shaped brow, and eyes that appeared to be forever blazing with hatred. The trick-or-treaters had gone home. Most jack-o-lanterns had either been extinguished or went out of their own accord. But not mine. Mine
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