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Category Archives: Horror Genre

For those writers and bloggers who have steadfastly followed the last two stories I’ve posted, I would like to say thank you for reading them. After I published my collection of short stories in 2010 I decided to take some time away from writing and figure out a new direction. Finally, I decided to write a novella that was a Lovecraftian, Cthulhu Mythos story – The Scourge of Wetumpka. That took some time to write but turned out quite well. Coming off of that I began writing Psychological Horror short stories. When I use the term Psychological, I am using it in the true sense of the term as having to do with Psychology. I have a Master’s in Psychology and I really enjoy Psychological thrillers with horror or dark fantasy overtones. The first couple of stories were “Alone” and “Shockley House”. I was very pleased with “Shockley House” but wound up re-writing “Alone” in order to make it deliver the right effect. After those two stories, I began to get interested in the use of Symbolism and the techniques used in Impressionism. The last two stories, “The Land of Nod” and “The Murklor”, explore using those techniques in writing weird tales. What makes them really work on a blog is that each day (or every couple of days) a new glimpse or vignette is added to the overall impression of the piece. In “The Land of Nod” I tried to do that by adding more bits of symbolism to the canvass of the story. In “The Murklor”, I tried to do that by adding new vantage points – usually in the form of different writing techniques. Overall, I’m really liking this new direction of Impressionistic Weird Fiction. It’s fun and offers so much freedom.

BTW, I can’t take credit for inventing it. Here’s a really good interview about what I’m trying to achieve in my writing:

The Insomniac Propagandist

One final note – the ciphers in the story “The Murklor” are very much real. They aren’t just thrown together to make the story weirder than it already is. Each one was methodically designed and does have a real solution.

Here is a good article about what this blog is all about!

Storytelling

 

The cover of the first book I wrote (Intertwined in Limbo) had absolutely nothing to do with any story in the book. The firm that created the cover just used a picture that was “ghostly”. So I decided to write a poem that told her story.

Limbo

 

The White Lady

 

Little Mason Morbid was a melancholy lad

While the other kids were playing, he sat brooding, looking sad

His cloths were black and gray and his heart was a hole

And the only thing ‘twas darker than his mind was his soul

 

On the thirteenth of the month he would adjourn unto a tomb

In an old forgotten graveyard under darkness of the gloom

He’d commence to crank the handle of a tiny music player

And then the strains of Moonlight Sonata would drift upon the air

 

Somewhere from the blackness an apparition would appear

A radiant diaphanous figure who was draped in gossamer

She would float about the graves as little Mason Morbid crooned

“White Lady, white lady, tell me of your doom.”

 

“It was in the dead of winter and the snow was falling down

Like little drops of clouds to form a blanket on the ground.

The people of the village were all huddled with each other

And the young Reverend Smithe had stopped by to pray for Mother.”

 

“He sat and read his Bible and then he joined us in our meal

Then he told my worried Father how his faith would help her heal.

He was smitten by my beauty and I was taken by his charm

Before I knew what happened, he had lured me to the barn.”

 

“The passions of the flesh overcame the strictures of the mind

The reverend’s Puritan values gave way to pleasures for a time.

I was left defiled and the guilt would take its toll

Darkness and depression were like weights upon my soul.”

 

“Consumed by misery and ashamed for being so beguiled

But the real scandal was when I found that I was with child.

And all about the gossip started that descended upon me

The Reverend Smithe could not be charged, it must be sorcery.”

 

“They drug me through the village with curses that were vile,

Accused me of witchcraft and held a mockery of a trial.

And so it was, betrayed, abused and blighted in the soul,

I was made to pay the reverend’s sin on the rope of the gallows’ pole.”

 

Little Mason Morbid heaved a heavy sigh of grief

The White Lady’s tragedy was sad beyond belief

He watched her go back to her grave then he mused aloud,

“Life is futile and so unfair, and we are wrapped within her shroud.”

 

This is a story I wrote and did illustrations for about the adventures of a Voodoo doll.

IMG_2877

Popinjay

Dark Muse

I’ve plumbed the depths of darkest mire

Drug back hellish creatures with twisted tongues

And scrawled the words with blood and fire

That bellowed from their blackened lungs

 

Words that wiggle like a maggot or worm

Or creep and crawl on nimble spider legs

Into the mind they scurry and squirm

To spin their webs and deposit their eggs

 

Once they’ve infected they hatch and spread

And grow into creatures corrupt and vile

They taunt and haunt and spew their dread

Sleek and shadowy with bewitching guile

 

Too late to change the fate they’ve wrought

Too awed to stand against their might

Too shocked to fathom what they’ve brought

And much too scared to put up a fight

 

Their infernal words have come to blight

And by my conjuring I’m to blame

For I’m the wizard of the terrible night

Who knows each creature by its name

Time and Death

Eyes that grope the haunted cowl

And strokes the strings of a thin lined scowl

Unruly jest made with gleeful mock

And howls the strain of a ticking clock

You slinking wraith that moans and sighs

And whispers laughs through hated cries

The clunking clank of weighted toils

The clotted filth of graveyard soils

Wincing faces of Time and Death

Marked in rasps and ticking breath

Till the final knell rings loud and clear

And the death rattle echoes with every tear

Oh sweet life that has burned so bright

And flickered long with ghostly light

What sad charm we recall to sight

The melancholy affair that conjures night

Soliloquy of the Torturer

How shall I burden thee thou vacant shell?

Whose forlorn spirit can no longer in thee dwell

Abused, contused, such a shredded form

That shirks thy joy beyond the blighted norm

Confused, misused, rebuking clotted clay

Can no longer cower like the dogged prey

O’ how they used to dance upon thy skin

Tools of torture that cajoled blood within

A sanguine medley of raucous outpouring

Thy melodies took to air and then went soaring

That delightful voice so full of passion

That stirred emotions in a poignant fashion

Thy pleading crescendo that wrenched my heart

Hath sang its encore and fled the part

With nary a credit to the conductors skill

Without whose flair to thy struggling will

Would not have brought such fiery drive

To a tedious creature just barely alive

With distressing sorrow I bid adieux

For another apt instrument awaits my cue

The Will-O’-The-Wisp

Lying listless on a lonely, loam lake shore

Framed by fog and the bitter, brine bog air

Curse the cruel fangs of fate that flung me here

My body beaten down by the black brood of despair

T’would take a thousand years to tell the tale

Of the madness, misery, and mischievous calamity

And I pray not ponder upon my past hell

Lest I beat my brain from my brow in insanity

Then lo, I spy through the gloom a green, glowing globe

Floating, flying, bouncing, and bobbing right at me

Too weak to worry with rising to run

I anxiously await its arrival and abhor the agony

What would it want with a wretch with no will?

Then it howled by my head and halted and hovered

And an enigmatic energy possessed my person

Slowly sinking; subsumed, consumed and now covered

I cheated in a couple of places with spelling, but these were still fun to write.

 

Enclosure

ENCLOSURE

Nothing gets out, nothing gets iN

Confined within space specifiC

Locked up body and souL

Open up!  The answer’s nO

Stripped of freedom’s blisS

Unable to break thrU

Release me!  The answer’s neveR

ENCLOSURE

 

Alphabetic Explanation of the Undead

A Beetle Clawing Dirt Entered Forgotten Graves. He, Incidentally, Just Krept Last Month Near Other Places Quite Radioactively Saturated. This Unusual Visitor Would X-plain Your Zombies.

Ode to the Moon

Come join us, won’t you?

Take part

With festive heart

With dancing feet

To a restless beat

Sing

An ode to the Moon

A plump, pudgy, corpulent Moon

The kind that makes lovers swoon

Just right for a honeymoon

Makes ocean tides swell

Drives wolves to yell

The kind that silhouettes a witch

Or makes a lycanthrope twitch

Oh fullest Moon

So golden clad

So voluminous

So luminous

Yet daytime hath forbad

So magisterial

So ethereal

To it magic cannot add

How is it that you drive

A sane man mad?