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, July 30, 2012


Nightmare #52:
by: DeeVious

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?
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 so 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.

~ The End ~

Monday, July 23, 2012


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.

~ 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:

Friday, July 6, 2012


"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.