Shadows will breathe

Shadows will breathe
"Careful. Evil has a way of making friends with the good and dragging them into the darkness." ~ Dr. Al Robbins

Monday, December 31, 2012

The Ripple Effect

Nightmare #38
And she chokes in the pond-
arms flailing-
lips blue-
water churning-
body stuck like glue-
down she goes,
until she's you.
  
    ~Deevious~


Saturday, December 29, 2012

Walk Softly


Tread carefully into that dark room of blood and gloom.
                                                                                                                       ~dpb~

Pic from Desktop Nexus


Friday, December 28, 2012

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Who's Ready For A Zombie Apocalypse?


Britain Is Ready For A Zombie Apocalypse: Britain has survived many wars, the reign of King Edward II and the end of the Spice Girls. Now, British government officials want the world to know that in the event of a zombie apocalypse, they've got it covered.


Monday, December 10, 2012

Whispers in my dreams

"I'm sure the late hour has helped,
add to that the dim light in my room, or how poorly I've been sleeping, going to sleep but not really resting, if that's possible,
though let me tell you,
sitting alone,
awake to nothing else but this odd murmuring..."
~Mark Z. Danielewski

Sunday, December 9, 2012

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2


                                               Best battle ever.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Fester




And the nightmares became real.  
They took on shape and dimension.
And they came to collect their due.
                        dpb







Monday, November 19, 2012

Life after death

"Only when you drink from the river of silence 
shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, 
then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs,
then shall you truly dance."

~Kahlil Gibran

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Twist it


The best twist endings in movies? Those that enhance the film's previous two hours without rendering them moot.


Monday, November 5, 2012

Entwined

"You cannot separate the just from the unjust 
and the good from the wicked;
For they stand together 
before the face of the sun 
even as the black thread 
and the white are woven together."   
                               ~Kahlil Gibran (The Prophet)

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

All Hallow's Eve

"Nothing beats a haunted moonlight on All Hallows Eve...
And on this fatal night, at this witching time, the starless sky laments black and unmoving.  
The somber hues of an ominous, dark forest are suddenly illuminated under the emerging face of the full moon."  ~ Kim Elizabeth 


Thursday, October 25, 2012

The Sleeper

"Above the closed and fringed lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid
That, o'er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts,the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?"


Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Repent

"A cross won't save you from your fallen soul."
~Billy Corgan


Wednesday, October 17, 2012

A thought


"How would you live?  If you could not die?"
~Chuck Palahniuk


Monday, October 8, 2012

Octoberfest


Leaves are falling
they exit their nest
Autumn's calling
and soon will rest


The strong winds come mauling
in from the west
and strike with an appalling
fist to the chest
and out with a gust, hauling
the Wicked's best
leaves the weak bawling
and stranded
and abandoned
and unblessed.
~dpb~ 

pic taken by dpb

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

To be haunted

"One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place."
                               -Emily Dickinson

Monday, September 24, 2012

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Imagine

"You see things; and you say, 'Why?'
But I dream things that never were; and I say, 'Why not?' "
                                                                         ~George Bernard Shaw

Could this not be applied to the paranormal realm as well?
Isn't it true that we simply have to think it and it can be?

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Strictly Soul

Does a soul remain young?
Or does it age as we do?
Can it convert itself into a time capsule or a cocoon of sorts?
Is it strong enough to elude even Time itself?

Or does it wither away
a little more
everyday?

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Rise above

"Though my soul may be set in darkness, 
It will rise in perfect light,
I have loved the stars too fondly
To be fearful of the night."

~Sarah Williams


Sunday, September 16, 2012

What is it you see?


Pic taken by dpb

Mirrors never really show our true reflection, do they?


Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Her Secret Stash


Nightmare # 11:
Gigi knew she held on to things for too long.

She knew things had to change - would change - with or without her.

Sooner than later, there would be no place left for her clothes, no more room for her keepsakes, not another spot available for even a single newspaper.

She never thought it would come to this.
Never once in all of her 72 years would she have imagined it could get this bad - this cluttered.

But it was bad.

Bigger than bad.

And it was growing.

After all, the newspaper came every day; mail piled up on the germ-infested floor; and although her trips to the market were dwindling, she still managed to gather and cram as much as she could into that Chrysler from flea markets and supermarts.

If only he hadn’t left her.  That's when the condition worsened.  If only he had kept his promise.  “I’m right here, baby,” he had assured her numerous times throughout their 44 years together.  “I love you and I’ll always be here with you.”

Gigi flung her dirty teacup onto a mound of garbage that used to be a kitchen counter and headed to bed.  She needed to rest; clear her mind; dream away the misery of the day.

She needed to let go.

Let go of everything. 

But it was too hard.

It was too damn difficult. 

This trying-to-change idea just made her anxious and crazy - crazier than she was now.

It broke her heart that he couldn’t hug her and let her know everything would be okay; it crushed her that he would never again give her a peck on the forehead to soothe her; it killed her that he lay beside her –lifeless and swollen – unable to comfort her anymore. 

Sure.  His lump of decaying flesh was better to hold onto than nothing, but she missed him – his voice; his laugh; his heartbeat. 

His skin was melting now, no doubt from the humidity of the past few days.  And from the smell, she knew his body was beginning to feed upon itself, and soon, he would be unrecognizable - even to her.

She knew it was wrong.  Not like the cheating on a math test kind of wrong, but a biggie-kind of wrong.  The wrong that you don’t bounce back from; a wrong that people will never understand; the kind of wrong that follows you not only through your life but long after your death. 

But she didn’t care – not in the least.

She’d stay here with him, just a little while longer -just until it was her turn to join him.

She nuzzled his chest and draped her arm over his torso.

“I'm right here, baby,” she sighed.  “I love you and I'll always be here with you.”

~Deevious~


Saturday, September 8, 2012

The Witching Hour

morguefile pic

The darkness creeps in
smothering the light

the moon winks
and slips behind the clouds

feeding time is near.


                                                                                                                dpb

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Broken

morguefile pic

The glass screamed and smashed to the floor
and it wasn't so funny 
anymore.

dpb

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Lights out...

The darkness is creeping in
snuffing out the light
holding me down
stealing my breath
and leaving my soul
to wither
away.

~dpb~

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Spellbound


“The charm of horror only tempts the strong”


Sunday, August 26, 2012

Face to face

And I stood at the window
staring,
fearing,
trying to distinguish 
the horrific features
of this creature
that dared
to stare
back at me.

dpb

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Don't let go...


"All you need to do is hold on tight...and believe."  
~Stephen King


Friday, August 17, 2012

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Bee-cause

"Every one of those bees could have descended on me like a flock of angels and stung me till I died, and it wouldn't have been the worst thing to happen. 
 People who think dying is the worst thing don't know a thing about life." 
~Sue Monk Kidd~

Monday, August 13, 2012

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

House for Sale




Nightmare #41


It wasn’t until the third mortgage payment, that Johnna knew for sure.  She knew things had to change.  That’s when she began to work longer hours; leave the lights on all night; pray a bit more.

After six months in, Johnna knew she had to move.  There was no more denying it.  She realized this when the ceilings cracked and splintered without cause; when the various power outages could no longer be explained; when the shadows started to play peek-a-boo.

She could feel the eminent danger swelling up in that haunted house like hot air in a balloon.  So, she called the realtor and made arrangements.  Then, she called a friend and packed what she would need for the next couple of weeks.  She went to bed that night, pleased that she would be free of this awful place by morning’s light.

Hours later, Johnna awoke with a jolt.  She sat upright in bed, surrounded by darkness, unable to focus.  Her mind wrestled with a faded dream; or nightmare; or noise?

What happened to the lights?
Or her backup lanterns?
Everything was on when she fell asleep.
Everything was working then.
Was there another power outage?
Maybe a storm?

She knew better.
But what was it that woke her up?
What was it that got her attention? 

An odd, gurgling sound answered her.  This awful sound filled up the room, sounding like an army of bullfrogs by their pond.

Johnna gasped.

The noise stopped.

A minute of silence passed.

She heard it again.

The gurglings were back and this time they were closer to her.

Johnna’s heart raced, smacking against her chest like a hammer to a nail.  Beads of sweat trickled down her hairline and before she could grab for the flashlight on the nightstand, it grabbed her.

A hand - from out of the darkness - took hold of her forearm.  Its grasp on her was firm and cold - freezing, in fact - as though someone had placed a frozen slab of meat against her skin.

Johnna shook her head furiously, like a child refusing to eat vegetables, hoping to rid herself from the nightmare.

But this was no dream.  She was awake now, wide awake, and she was not alone.  Whatever lived here before her wanted her gone.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she screamed into the darkness.  "Just let me go."

She struggled, trying to pull her arm free of the cold grasp.

Johnna whimpered.
She begged.
She cried.
She pleaded for her life.
Through her tears, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.
The beginnings of a scream gathered in her voice box, as a huge, decrepit figure came out of the wall behind her.  It was an enormous creature with hollow eyes and a jelly-like form.  It spoke not a word out of its drooling mouth. Rather, it reached around her shoulders with its numerous, bony arms and placed one of its hands over her mouth to keep her from releasing that scream. 



~Deevious~

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Wrong Impressions

It's always the unlocked door that won't open ~
the unloaded gun that fires ~
the silence that deafens the ears.
dpb


Monday, July 30, 2012

Hush


Nightmare #52:
What used to soothe her now became an unbearable current of pain to her ears – the crickets stirring up their racket; that dog yapping in a distant yard; even those bullfrogs by the pond would not stop talking, not for a second. 

The day was slipping away and still those birds flew back and forth, back and forth, back and forth – their incessant chirping echoing like a grocery store check-out scanner.

All the sweet sounds of summer that used to comfort her now infuriated her.
It was because he was gone.
And what joy was there in anything now?

Krista wiped her eyes and stared-down two rabbits playing on the lawn.  Their stupid game of cat and mouse annoyed her, and she was sure if she had to watch them for another minute, she’d go mad.

Or was she already mad?

Crazy, yes.  But also angry.  Angry that he left her here all alone.  That he had lied to her, promising that he’d always look out for her.  Angry at herself for loving someone so much.  

Maybe she was just numb?
Dazed?
Had been ever since he passed on.  Ever since that gunman snuffed out his breath.  That's who she was mad at.  That's who should be suffering.  Not her.  

She needed to go back inside.  She shouldn’t have come out here to begin with - not yet.  
It wasn’t safe.

She wasn’t ready - no matter what the therapist told her. 

She ran to the door, slammed it shut and locked herself in. 

Still, the buzzing in her ears wouldn’t let up, not even in the quiet of the house.  She cried from the pain that resonated in her head; the ache that jutted to the back of her neck; she choked on the sadness of her heart; and she prayed for it all to stop ~ begged the God she was angry at to make it all stop. But the ringing would not let up, just kept on like a finger stuck to a doorbell. 

It was all up to her.
She had to silence it. 

With an eerie calm, she searched her pocket for the razor. 

A tear of relief trickled down her face as her fingertips felt the cold metal shaver.

She pulled out the shiny object, stared at it and promised herself this would be the last time.

Krista started in the crease of her arm. 

With each cut, the ringing in her ears got slightly softer; the tightness in her chest let loose.
She sawed and sawed at her skin - each cut deeper than the last - until she fell onto the tiled floor, like a drunk, broken after a three-day bender.  The silence was golden.  She sighed with contentment and sucked on one of her gashes - the taste of blood made her woozy. 

“I miss you, Eric,” she whispered and licked another wound.

~Deevious~

Monday, July 23, 2012

Shush.


Hidden in the brush, among the rocks and between the trees are gray shadows with ash faces. 
They speak but one word. 
And they repeat it over and over and over again.
Shush. 

~ Deevious ~

Friday, July 20, 2012

And the time draws near...

Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour
when every one has to throw off his mask?
Do you believe that life will always let itself be mocked?


Do you think you can slip away a little before midnight
in order to avoid this? Or are you not terrified by it?
I have seen men in real life who so long deceived others
that at last their true nature could not reveal itself;...
In every man there is something which to a certain degree
prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself;
and this may be the case in so high a degree,
he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life
which extend far beyond himself that he almost cannot reveal himself.
But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love,
and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.

- Soren Kierkegaard

pic found here

Monday, July 16, 2012

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Double Take


Nightmare #68:
The two were inseparable.

That was the first thing Paul noticed about them.

His second observation was the way the two would communicate with each other.  It was a specific low-moaned caw that intimidated him somehow; jerked at his nerves like the sound of fingernails down a chalkboard.  But he didn’t let that stop him. 

Retired and alone, he passed his days between lawn care, old reruns of westerns and this voyeurism.  He was obsessed with these two identical blackbirds; planned his entire morning around the two conspirators.  This was the only time they came to visit Paul and he was always ready, with his 6-pack of light beer and a bag of pretzels.

This is how he started his day ~ and he would sit out-back on his lawn chair, sip his beers, munch on his salted snack and follow their movements like a P.I.  
If asked, he wouldn’t be able to remember his days before they flew into his backyard.  In reality, it had only been a few months since they started coming to visit Paul. 

And what Paul couldn’t see, even when he watched them frolic and hunt and kill for their morning breakfast; what he wasn’t able to comprehend as they flew by and soared high, squawking their song; and what he surely missed while he was choking down that last warm brew, was that they were watching him too…





It happened in the middle of July, early evening as Paul sat down at his supper table to feast on some leftover chicken.

This last day, Paul heard a loud cawing echo from outside his window. 

He studied the clock. 

Way too late to be my buddies. 

Another caw.

But it had to be…

In disbelief, he rushed to the kitchen window and pushed back the blind with the back of his hand.  He saw only one of his blackbirds fly in and perch itself on his neighbors' shrub.  It belonged to old lady Gibson who had been in the neighborhood long before Paul even took root here.  The blackbird hopped a few limbs of the bush and stretched its neck to peer into the women’s window. 

Odd, Paul thought to himself.  And then instant panic rushed through him and settled into his chest; an immediate sorrow for the well-being of the second blackbird haunted him. 

Why is there only one!?

And as if to answer, the blackbird turned to look at him, its beady eyes locked with Paul’s.  The creature tilted its head. 

And as Paul watched that blackbird from his window, it actually changed its form---
interchanged tail to head and back again ---while its buddy snuck in Paul's back door.

And Paul wasn’t heard from anymore.

written by: Deevious

Photos found at Wikimedia

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Sunday, July 8, 2012

What do you see?

It's all a matter of perspective.



Is what you see, defining who you are?


(Pic from: http://www.muntedsnail.com/interesting/good-and-evil/)

Friday, July 6, 2012

Ideas

"The lightning flashes through my skull..." ~ Herman Melville

find photo here


Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Terror Types


"The 3 types of terror: The Gross-out: the sight of a severed head tumbling down a flight of stairs, it's when the lights go out and something green and slimy splatters against your arm. The Horror: the unnatural, spiders the size of bears, the dead waking up and walking around, it's when the lights go out and something with claws grabs you by the arm. And the last and worse one: Terror, when you come home and notice everything you own had been taken away and replaced by an exact substitute. It's when the lights go out and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around, there's nothing there..."     --- Stephen King


Sunday, July 1, 2012

Once inside

You had to chain the door open in that place - or you'd never get out.    
dpb

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Asleep

"Dreams melt into the darkness and become nightmares."   
-dpb-
photo taken by dpb




Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Believe

“I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?” 
 John Lennon

Friday, June 15, 2012

Tick tock

"You know, there's this thing called Karma, and then there's something called luck.  People talk about boogeymen and ghosts.  You know what's scarier than all these things?  Time.  Father Time is really the one to worry about..."   ~ Phishy

pic taken by dpb

"When Time stops on your clock, Karma will have dealt its last hand; your luck has officially run out; the boogeymen will have to find other souls to torment and, if all goes wrong, you just might have to face your ghosts."   ~ dpb


Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Inevitable

pic compliments of  Morguefile



What you resist,
                      you become.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Downpour


Nightmare #157: 
It was a good day for a storm.  The clouds rolled in and hovered, almost like a spaceship, over the small, forgotten town.  The late afternoon grew muggy and the air hung damp and electric. 

Devin pulled the weathered hoodie over his head.  It felt good on him, soft and familiar.  He was relieved to find that he still appreciated something, even if it was for a brief moment.  He checked the front pocket for his smokes and slammed the door shut behind him.  He shuffled through the narrow hallway and down a flight of steps, the untied laces of his boots clinking against the chipped linoleum.  Once outside, he breathed life into a cigarette and tossed the used matchstick to the wet pavement.  It sizzled.

He pulled the strings on his sweatshirt, tightening the hood around his face - eager to hide his bloodied lip and black eye - and took off in a near sprint.  He scurried down the street, wasn’t sure where he was going, but sure he needed to put as much distance between him and that shabby apartment – and his ridiculous father – as he could possibly put between them.   

A slow drizzle blanketed the town; this added to his misery.  The last of the sun was snuffed out by storm clouds and an insatiable rumble roared over the mountains.  In the distance, lightning fell from the skies.   

As he ran from one storm towards another, thoughts raged through his mind.  How long would his father continue to use him as a punching bag?  When would his mother come back for him?  How much longer until he broke?  How much more could he stand?  Only a couple more years and he’d put this whole stupid town behind him.

“Only a couple more years,” he spoke the words out loud, trying to believe them.

On the outskirts of town, Devin finally paused to catch his breath, and coughed another cigarette to life.  The rain came heavier now – turning into a deluge - and he fought with the ground beneath him as it turned from sidewalk to open field.  He slipped a few times, almost wiped it once, but caught himself on the corner of a sharp turn sign.  He chuckled aloud.  It seemed he always had to fight to keep from falling.  It was a constant struggle to remain grounded these days. And he wasn’t sure how much fight he had left in him. 

If any.

He was so tired of fighting.  Every single day there was a fight he had to show up for…

He had to fight his teachers because he could never clear his mind long enough to concentrate; had to fight his classmates because he didn’t have the right kind of clothes, the right attitude, the newest technology; had to fight his father simply because he continued to breathe.  He was an outcast.  And he was so tired of always getting it wrong, when everyone else always seemed to be getting it right. 

A horn blasted him back to reality.  Devin jumped as a dark-colored sedan flew past him.  He tossed a middle finger behind them, hoping the driver would see it in his rear-view mirror, turn around and confront him.  Then, Devin could put the boots to him.

Or her.

And hopefully there would be a family in the vehicle and he could put the boots to them too.

All of them.    

And if he failed?  Even better.  Then they could beat the shit out of him.  Maybe beat him near death or even cause his death.  Then, he wouldn’t have to hate anymore.

It seemed that’s all he could feel.  All he could relate to these days.  And the anger swelled up in him like a balloon taking on helium.  It was the only emotion that killed the numbness. 

He wanted to cry.

Wanted to break down right there on the side of the road.

Let it all pour out of him like a fevered sweat. 

Perhaps someone would stop and take pity on him.  See all the bruises he hid so well.  Call him out and take him away from his asshole father and locate his mother.  Then - with his mother at his side - all would be right with the world. 

A long, deep-throated horn blasted past him again.  Devin jumped higher this time; his heart racing with the speed of the coal truck as it whizzed past him.  He threw his soggy cigarette at the back of the coal bucket, its tires kicking up shale and tossing dirt into Devin’s eyes.

He coughed the dust from his lungs.

Spat the dirt from his mouth.

And in that exact moment - for some reason announced only to Devin - he snapped.  

He had had enough. 

Enough of the damp air and the cold rain; the loud coal trucks with their filthy exhausts.

He had enough of people.  Couldn’t understand them or their hatred towards him.

Had it with his dumbass father;  his bleak future;  his mother, who wasn’t coming back for him.

He lifted his face up and out of the hoodie, letting the cold April rain hit against his skin.  It burned his fresh cuts.  It stung, but felt good. He closed his eyes and nodded to an unknown accomplice.

He heard the roar of its engine.  The banging of its bucket as it hurdled the potholes of the curvy roadway.  He fumbled for his smokes; shook only slightly as he lit its end.  He breathed deep, refused to cough and bellowed out a yell.  He screamed out as loud as his lungs would allow him.

Maybe it was his one last effort to be heard.

Maybe he was just tired of holding it all in.

He could smell the diesel exhaust.  It was close now.  He hoped its driver wouldn’t grieve too long.  He thought of his mother.  Bet she’d miss him now. 

The truck barreled up and over a slight embankment.  Devin took one more drag from his smoke.  He exhaled and stepped onto the road.

                                                        ~ written by; Deevious ~                                                                                                                    


Thank you, Jane for the pic you shared at Morguefile.  It was perfect.