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The Rather Macabre Tale of Augie Jorgensen

For his entire life, Augie Jorgensen had been told that he should be "seen and not heard". Granted his had not been a very long life. You see Augie was only seven years old. And truthfully he could only remember the last four and three-quarters of his brief existence. Yet of this portion, Augie was sure that, by their admonishment, the Tall Folk did not want him around.

The Tall Folk, as you may have guessed, consisted of those members of his family that were both older and taller than he. Of which all of them were. There was his Dear Mum & Dad, Brother John Jr. (21 years), and Sister Valarie (14 years). Not that he felt hated or despised by his family per-say... just unwanted. Nearly every day consisted of the same recital: "Don't play in the house", "Pick up your toys", "Go to your room", "Don't make noise". Over time Augie grew to not mind being unwanted, for all he then desired was to be let alone to his thoughts, for he had the most wonderfully vivid daydreams. Little did he know that very soon he would be granted his wish.

One day, late in autumn, when the air had turned crisp and chill and the sky was a particularly bleak shade of gray Augie's Dear Dad had taken him and Brother John Jr. out to help chop down a tree to provide firewood for the coming winter. It was on this day that Augie held an axe for the first time as they chopped down an olive tree that grew in the high woods near their house. However this was no happy Father & Sons bonding experience for as soon as the first strike was made Augie could sense that what they were doing was not at all right. Though he could not quite grasp the depth and severity of their actions, he was sure that they were taking the life of a conscious living being.

Later, that night, Augie's dreams were filled with images both violent and disturbing. For you see, he felt his body being hacked and mutilated, his limbs rent from their sockets and his soul torn from his corpse. He awoke in a cold sweat, realizing that he was no longer alone inside, for the spirit of the tree had taken possession of him during the night.

What once had been a kind, life-giving spirit now raged inside Augie - for She sought vengeance over the wrong that had been done to Her. The first thing She required Augie to do was to recover the axe from the tool shed in back of the house were his Dear Dad kept it under lock and key. Said key, hung on a hook in Dear Mum & Dad's bedroom. To this end, Augie cautiously entered and crept on tip-toe, past his slumbering Dear M & D, recovering the key. Not once did they stir, for Augie was quite good now at being neither seen nor heard. Down the stairs, through the kitchen and out to the shed where in he found the axe resting against the wall where his father had left it. As he held it again and felt it's weight he heard the spirit, inside, laughing to Herself.

Augie now set to cutting down the Tall Folk the same way She had been felled earlier that day. Sister Valarie was first - he found her in the stables, playing her favorite game with the stallion. With a chop to the throat she died gasping, gurgling and gushing. Next came Brother John Jr. - he was in the study, as per usual, entertaining himself to a book of French etchings. One quick swing and the blunt end of the axe buried deep in B.J.'s skull as bits of grey matter splashed all across the floor. Finally, it was time for Dear Mum & Dad. Entering again, just as silently as before, Augie set to giving his sleeping parent's a grisly farewell. In a matter of moments their boudoir was coated, ceiling to floor, with blood, bone, flesh and gore.

Her work now done the spirit left him, returning Augie to full control of his body and awareness of his senses, leaving him to confront the horror that now surrounded him. It was not until several days later that another living soul was aware of the tragedy that had befallen the Jorgensen family. It was a Tuesday (or at least it felt like one), when Augie was found by a neighbor still clutching the bloody implement, his eyes wide and his body shaking. The Constable was called immediately and when he arrived he pleaded with Augie for an explanation to the bloody chaos that surrounded them. All that Augie was able to offer were four words: "The tree is dead".

For the next seventy-three years, until his own death, Augie was remanded to a nice quiet (and padded) room at the Lake View Home for the Mentally Unhinged. There he remained, finally let alone with his thoughts and his most wonderfully vivid daydreams, and rarely was he ever seen by anyone or heard from again.
Across the vast reaches of space
Traveled a Dranzalquian flaying ace

Upon the toilet he squeezed and clenched and strained
When finally his bowels unleashed he felt quite drained

Into the harsh vacuum of space he ejected his green, glowing radioactive shit
It floated and flipped till Earth’s gravitational well caught hold of it

Far below a boy named Fredrick was playing with toys
He liked dinosaurs and cars like most little boys

Alone in the playground at the park he sat
Until the grean glowing shit hit with a loud SPLAT!

The Doctors worked with all of their might
But poor little Fredrick died later that night

At the funeral his Father and Mother cried out their eyes
Little did they know that their deceased son would soon arise

All my friends run away...

All my friends run a way
By my side they fear to stay
I don’t know why they run
It’s not like I’ve got a gun
Perhaps its my appetite for human flesh
As you may know its best when eaten fresh
I don’t mean to fill their minds with dread and gloom
Yet they always run and hide when I begin to consume
First I bash their skulls with a stone
Then I eat them skin and bone
Sometimes I cut them open with a hacksaw
Always sure to eat their insides nice and raw
Maybe eating my friends is bad
It does seem to make their parents sad
In fact I would stop if I could
Trouble is they taste so damn good

(This was part of a series I started featuring a character named, Frederick Zombie. He was a boy of 8 years who had the unfortunate occurrence of being turned in to one of the undead. He lived in a cemetery with a number of other strange and macabre characters. Like so many things, I never got around to finishing it…)

Something dark and unfinished...

The day begins anew, yet I remain in the dark
Lying cold and alone in my bed
No escape from the voices in my head
Minions of Hell have clawed at my flesh and left their mark
Deep inside is a large, gaping hole
A place that once held my eternal soul
Demons from out the Abyss torture me in my sleep
Even though I try to run they always pounce and win
Their sharp teeth and claws rip into my skin
Night after night they laugh at me as I weep
Left to swim in a pool of my blood
Pain and agony crashes down like a flood

A Slightly Dark Fairytale...

Once upon a time there lived a very beautiful princess in a far away magical kingdom.

There also lived, in a nearby, slightly less magical kingdom a rather mean and scary wizard who had long fancied himself a suitor of the aforementioned princess.

One fateful spring day while the princess was enjoying the company of several attractive young men, at the same time(*nudge* *nudge* *wink* *wink*), the evil wizard attacked them with goblins and ogres and trolls and all manor of foul and disgusting creatures of the night.

All the suitors, being bread to be the most attractive suitors in the land, were unequipped to fight this unholy force, as they had never gotten around to learning the art of warfare as it conflicted with their classes in hair maintenance and “glint” smiling...

So they died. All of them.

The evil wizard took the beautiful young princess back to his slightly less magical kingdom, locked her away in the dungeon and did all manor of vile, depraved and sadistic things to her for many, many years.

She enjoyed every minute of it.

the end

All I Want For Christmas...

"Now, if you don't go to sleep Santa will never come."

"Ok Mommy."

"Good night, Sweetheart."

"Good night", replied Tommy as his mother turned out the light and closed his bedroom door.

The snow was falling gently outside his window, leaving a soft blanket of white powder. Tommy pulled the covers a little tighter as he continued to stare out the window. The lights he helped his Daddy string up on the roof blinked on-an-off casting a rainbow of colors into his room. He looked over at the clock that sat on his dresser, 10:13. He could hear his parents were still downstairs, still entertaining friends. He turned back to the window.

Watching the snow fall was so peaceful, so relaxing. His eyes started to get heavy. He sank deeper into the covers. Just as he was about to fall asleep the sky lit up, bright green and there was a loud *CLAP* and then an orange sparkler fell to the ground. I looked like it fell just a few blocks away. There always was someone shooting firecrackers off on Christmas...



Tommy blinked his eyes open. It was still dark, save for the blinking lights on the roof. It had stopped snowing. He looked over at the clock and saw that it was just approaching Midnight.



Santa Claus! Tommy threw his blankets off and hopped out of bed. He quickly opened his door and bolted downstairs.


There it was again, it must be him, Santa Claus. Tommy couldn’t wait to see what Santa had brought him. Hopefully Santa had remembered to bring him that sled he'd been asking for all year long. Tommy had been dreaming of riding it when he had been woken up.

Tommy rounded the corner off the hall in to the living room expecting to see a kindly old fat man all dressed in red placing presents under the tree. But there was no one there. No presents, other than the ones his parents had put there. And the glass of milk and cookies Tommy had left sitting by the tree were just as they were earlier that night. No one had touched them. But if Santa wasn't here then what was that...


There it was again. What was making that noise?


It was not coming from the roof, as Tommy had first thought. It sounded like it was coming from outside, in the yard. There must be something banging against the side of the house.

Tommy was a little scared as he approached the window. Whatever it was was getting louder.

The curtains were drawn so Tommy crept over to the pulls. He started to open the curtains when he heard something new outside. Sounded like a whine or a moan.


Maybe there had been an accident out on the road. Maybe an animal had been hit and was in their front yard. Maybe it needed help.

Tommy pulled hard on the cord and the curtains parted.

There was nothing there.

The snow in the yard turned colors as the lights blinked of and on. Tommy moved closer to the window. There must have been something outside. He got close and pressed his face against the glass. The next few moments all seemed to happen in a blur.

A dark figure slumped against the glass. It was a man. He was moving slowly. He raised a hand against the glass.


His hand smeared red liquid against he glass. He continued to beat against at the glass as Tommy backed away.


The dark figure stumbled in to the room through the window. Tommy tripped back over the toy train he and his father had set up on the floor.


It was Old Mister Jenkins from down the street! But he looked strange. His eyes were dull and lifeless. He was covered in blood and his clothes were torn. As he stepped into the house Tommy noticed there were other figures in the yard, approaching the house.


Tommy scrambled back across the floor as several more creatures came in through the living room.


"TOMMY!" cried his mother as his parents ran down the stairs.

Tommy ran to her as his father ran to the fireplace and grabbed one of the pokers. He swung it hard at Old Mister Jenkins, striking him hard in the shoulder. Old Mister Jenkins caught a hold of the poker and pulled Tommy's father towards him. He opened his mouth and lunged for Tommy's Father's shoulder. He sunk his teeth in and took a bite.


Tommy pulled away from his Mother and ran towards his Father. He started beating at Old Mister Jenkins. His Mother came up and tried to help Tommy's Father, he was bleeding everywhere. More of the things had entered the room. Tommy's Father fell to his knees. His Mother started to cry. Tommy was scared but didn't know what do.


"Get the FUCK away from them you Goddamn Sons of Bitches!"

Tommy turned to see a Large, Bearded Fat Man all dressed in red standing in his living room, holding a shotgun. He had several belts of ammunition and grenades slung over his shoulders and around his, rather large, waist there were even more guns.


The creatures had started to come in through the other doors and windows. The Large, Bearded Fat Man unloaded his shotgun at them.


Bits of bone and flesh and blood splattered across the room and onto the walls. Tommy's mother tried to hold his head down and protect him from the gore. The Large, Bearded Fat Man popped open the gun, ejecting the spent cartridges, loaded more rounds and spun the gun in front of him, cocking it. Tommy closed his eyes, tight.


When the noise ended Tommy opened his eyes again. There were bodies and guts everywhere. Pools of blood were soaking in to the cream carpet. Tommy looked over at his Father and started to cry. He was bleeding a lot and Tommy's Mother was pressing her hands into the wound to try and stop the flow. The Large, Bearded Fat Man went to check the perimeter of the house for more creatures. He tossed several grenades out the windows to blow up the remaining creatures in the yard. When he was sure there were no more he came back.

"Did he get bit?" asked the Large, Bearded Fat Man.

"Yeah" replied Tommy's Father.

"I'm sorry son, but everyone I've seen get bit, ends up like one of those things. There's only thing for it. I'm sorry."


Tommy's Father's body fell limp and lifeless to the floor. His head was blown half-off.

"Noooo!" cried Tommy.

His Mother fainted.

"I'm sorry son. It had to be done. There was no other choice" said the Large, Bearded Fat Man.

"Take this, just in case." He then handed Tommy a small handgun and a belt of ammunition.


The Large, Bearded Fat Man, downed the glass of milk and cookies that Tommy had sat by the tree.

"Oh, I almost forgot something" said the Large, Bearded Fat Man. He reached in to a large red bag that he had brought in with him and pulled out a bright, shinny new sled with a big green bow on it.

"Merry Christmas, Son"

With that the Large, Bearded Fat Man wrinkled his nose and in a flash of light, disappeared up the chimney...

Tommy's Mother awoke not long after the Large, Bearded Fat Man had gone.

No more of those creatures came that night. Eventually the police arrived and claimed the body of Tommy's Father. They asked who had given him the gun and Tommy told them about the Large, Bearded Fat Man. They said they had been getting other reports of someone matching the description of the Large, Bearded Fat Man helping families that night. They helped Tommy and his Mother board up the house, just in case.

The next morning, as Tommy's Mother made calls preparing for the funeral of her husband, Tommy took his new sled out in to the yard and played in the freshly fallen, red snow.

Needless to say it was a Christmas that Tommy would never forget.

The End.


An Intimate Horror

It's dark now.

It must be half past three.

No moon tonight, just this damn fog. Clinging to everything.

Makes it hard to see.

Can barely tell where I am anymore.

I'm not from around here. Just visiting. Nice place though. Friendly people.

Truth is, I'm bored as Hell.

I guess that's why I came here. To escape. Thought that maybe starting over in a new city would make a difference, maybe fill some of this empty I got in me.


I'm sick of this hollowness. Maybe I need to get out of here. Get out, get my mind off of things, have some fun.

I go for a walk down some dark, lonely street. I’m looking for some... entertainment.

I've been here before. Once on my way back to the hotel. I walked past this block, saw the girls, saw them on display. They looked good. Awful good.

Truth is it wasn't just one time. I've been back, several times, looking, thinking, fantasizing, lusting... I suppose that makes me a sinner. If not of the flesh then certainly of the mind. What was it they used to preach in Sunday School? Christ said something 'bout thinking a thing is just as bad as doing a thing, maybe even worse on account of you wanting to do it so bad that it takes over your heart and mind... Shit, I guess I am a sinner.

I suppose, if I'm already damned for thinking about sinning then I might as well have the fun of sinning before God gets around to damning my soul to all eternity.

I stroll past a group of them. Kink-tarts. All dolled up, looking mighty pretty.

One of them, a tall, slender young redhead notices my stare. She calls me over. I'm nervous. She sees it. She puts her hand on mine and leads me back in to an alley. It's dark. Darker than the street was. And dank too. She tells me her name is Susan. She's not from there either. Just came here to make it big in the city.

Here she is.

She tells me how much it will be to have the ride of a lifetime. I pay her. She puts her hands on my chest, moving them up, taking my collar in her grasp. She pulls me close. Kissing me hard on the lips. Then she presses me up against the cold, wet brick wall and goes to work.

It's strange at first. Being with someone I don't even know. All manor of thoughts start racing through my mind. Is 'Susan' her real name? How much of what she said to me was true and how much was just her way of calming my nerves? Does she make up a different story for every guy? What did she expect when she moved to the big city? Become famous; get her name in all the papers? I suppose that's why they all come here. I wonder how many end up working the streets like her...

Being with her is strange at first. But I get over that. She starts pressing in harder against me. Moving faster. It won't be long now. She arks her neck back to let out a moan of ecstasy. Her throat catches the light from a streetlamp. It's very pretty.

My mouth starts to water.

I place my hand at the back of her skull, taking her hair and pulling it tight. My other hand scoops her back up and brings her to me. I kiss her lips, hard. Then I kiss her cheek. I kiss under her jaw, then down the side of her neck. I hold on tight and sink my teeth in to her soft flesh. She jerks in pain at first but I hold on tight and in a moment she looses her self to the sensation. Her blood fills my mouth. It tastes fresh and vibrant. I can taste her youth, her hopes, her dreams. It's intoxicating. I loose myself in the rush. This is what I needed. Her life fills me, completes me.

Her body starts to go limp as I drain her life. She has hardly and life left in her. I let her sweet and sweaty body drop to the stone below. I fix my clothes, preparing to exit back to the street. She looks up at me. She is scared now; she can feel what is happening. She can feel herself passing. I kneel down next to her and take her head in my hand. She is overcome with fear. She realizes what I am, a creature of the night, her own, personal horror.

I kiss her softly, one last time.


She is gone. I let go of her head and her limp neck drops back to the ground. I rise and walk back out in to the night, leaving her corpse behind.

I head back to the hotel.

The next evening the front page article of the local papers tell the story of the body of a young girl, Susan Waverly, being found dead, drained of all her blood.

Poor girl. She was only barely 18.

But hey, she finally got her wish. Got her name in the papers and everything. She's famous.

I think I'm going to like it here...

A begining

I hate blogs.

I hate the idea of blogging.

Why should I inflict the mindless, stupid, nonsensical shit that comes in to my head on other people?

If someone has something really important to say to me why don't they just tell me - email, phone, talk to me in person?

I hate blogs.

And yet here I am, blogging.... *sigh*

But there is a twist. This is the first an last post that will be based on reality. From here on out I will only post fiction. I intend to conduct an experiment on myself.

I David Milano shall use this as a forum to write one short (very short) story every day. To make myself compleete a creative writing project every day.

Hopefully folks will be interested in reading a bit of fiction over hearing about the boring crap that happened to me today.

I still hate blogs.