Talent

Found image on pinterest

There  is so much
truth in this statement.
This ability is what defines talent.
This is what separates the professionals from the rest of the pack.

Creep on.

Write on.

Have you always been a writer of the macabre?

It strikes me kind of funny, for when I started, I never once thought about writing anything that could be classified as the macabre.  I started out writing newspaper articles and movie reviews.  When I first branched out on my own, I wrote stories about love and goodness and life.  My first novel ~ that still remains hidden away in the closet ~ is about career, growth and struggle, a real coming-of-age book about trying to find a place in this life.  Through that book, I guess I was also trying to find mine.

I'm not sure what turned things around for me.
One day I was all pink and posy ~ and the next, dark and defective.
I remember hearing an author make a suggestion to write about what you know, and I thought I had written that way.  But the truth is, I was never really honest with myself or my work ~ and I think it showed.
I woke up one day and realized I was a fake.  Okay, maybe that's a little harsh.  After all, we all have two sides, just like a coin.  And I had used up all my good.
Now, I needed to pursue the other side.
The dark side.
The one who had been calling to me since my youth.
And I try my best to give it a voice.


Creep on,
~dpb~

Creepy Pics

Contest Time

***Update***

This contest is closed.

We have our winner!!!

I found this novel at an airport book stand last year.  It was a quick purchase because I needed my reading fix and this was in my line of sight.

Now, this isn't the best book I've ever read in my life but it can definitely hold its own.
Even after a year, I still find myself trying to repress some of its darkness from my mind.  So, I guess it did its job.

Now, I pass it on to you...to the winner of this contest.
Which Creepster will it be?



Just be the first to answer the following trivia question and it's yours!






Who does this quote belong to?  

"A book is a gift you can open again and again."


(Be the first to answer correctly in the comment section below
You must be in accordance with our Contest Rules.)

Imagine Dragons - Monster

Such a good one ~

Indeed.

Found image at Indulgy

Cursed

Nightmare #177

Anna Weston was awkward.

Always had been.

Always had that black cloud swarming about her head.
Ever since anyone could remember.

Ever since that day.
The day of the incident.

That's what her family and the town refer to it as ~ the incident.
It happened years ago when Anna was four and still trying to figure out this gift.  Some say she was born with it; others felt she taught herself that kind of darkness.
Anna couldn't quite figure it out herself.  She knew not what it was or where it came from or why it had chosen her.  But Anna knew she was different and tried desperately to hide it.  Had done a good job of it too, until that day.  Well, until that night.
That night she had been shunned from everyone and everything, her family made sure of it.  They felt an obligation to the community to protect it, no matter the cost to their own daughter.
Anna was, after all, different;
peculiar;
cursed.

At school~
Her classmates heard rumors of her abilities; her sacrilege.
They feared her presence among their classes and locker rooms.
Kept a close eye on her in the hallways.

The school board banned her from most school activities, such as dances and social gatherings and sporting events and her very own graduation.  The Principal even failed to mention that she should be the valedictorian.  She was, after all, smarter than all of them put together.  Anna knew it.  And what was worse was that everyone else realized it too.
The teachers resented her knowledge; secretly hated having to teach her what she already knew;
Classmates loathed her for being astute; for acing every test given; for her brains and raw beauty.  Anna was growing up to be quite the looker.

At home~
Dinner was always served to Anna in her bedroom~ which was little more than a cubby-hole in the attic. Anna would listen with great intent at the popularity of her sister; at the laughter that poured from the supper table she was not permitted to sit at; at the smells of warm bread and succulent meats that she never got to see be created into a meal.  She was only given leftovers - unwanted scraps of fat and gristle; half-chewed pieces of cold, hard bread ~ sometimes with the mark of leftover lipstick stained on its crust.

At night ~
Her father and mother would visit her, both heavily armed with rosary beads and garlic.
They were barely able to look at her as they completed the task of chaining and binding her to the bed.
She would laugh ~ out of spite and sadness, knowing that the shackles they bestowed upon her would not-- could not -- contain the energy she held; the energy she could use to summon her friends from the dark side. She laughed, demonically at them, these people she had to call family.
It wasn't till after they left her room, that she permitted herself to sob.
She would cry into the wee hours of the morning, cursing her own self, wanting nothing more than to be treated like a human being.
Just once to be in the limelight;
Just once to be admired and respected.
Or simply loved by another.

Even her own, older sister, Emma, was forbidden to speak to Anna since the incident.  She was taught to fear her; loath her; wish her dead.  Her whole family shunned her for something that wasn't even her fault.   They all lived in tensions, afraid that she would summon Them again; Afraid she would try and offer up another sacrifice ~ maybe succeed this time around.

But Anna never got her chance.  She was destined for greater things, no matter what the past had held against her, she would shine.  She would shine even if it were for only a moment.  She would prove she wasn't a monster; a conduit of evil; a freak that needed to be hidden from society.  So what if her past was speckled with mischief.  She hadn't asked for this curse
For this gift;
For this damnation.

Anna was sad and sorry.
So sorry;
Sorry for it all.
Sorry for scaring her parents;
For being different;
For being bad.
But it wasn't her fault and she didn't know how to turn it off; didn't know it was wrong;
And surely she couldn't be held accountable for something that happened in her youth!

But she was still paying some sort of price; still being hated by those who were to love her.

She thought back and cursed the one known as Dark Heart; those voices; the shadows.  She knows now that it was wrong.  But how was she to know then?  She was only a child.  A four-year-old conduit of some darkness she did not know how to fight.  She remembers it clearly.  Too clearly.

That night ~
She crept into her parents bedroom with a steak knife that had been left in the kitchen sink.  She crawled into bed between them, slit her own wrists (horizontally) and chanted some peculiar language that sounded more like music than anything else (her mother later stated).  Then, Anna held her bleeding wrists above their faces, ordering them to drink the blood of the Dark Heart.
Needless to say, the Weston's never felt safe again.  That is until the day that Anna graduated from Dudleyville High.  It was also the day Mr. Weston handed her a suitcase full of her belongings, a bundle of fifty dollars bills and ~ with a clear conscious ~ wished her well on her way out the door.

Anna was completely alone now.  And quite comfortable with it.  She shrank into the shadows she knew all too well, and although she came and went as she pleased, she knew she wasn't in control of her self.  She only had to suffer her own temporary existence.  And then, one day ~ soon ~ she would be called to offer her body as a gift to the Darkest of Hearts.  So, she moped around town;  cursing her fate;  killing her time between data entry and old movies.

And then, one day, about six years later, she got the call.
Her sister was to be wed and her presence was requested ~ and she was certain ~ objected profusely by Emma and her parents.  But they eventually succumbed to the pressures and charms of the priest of the ceremony, who assured them that family was the skeleton key to the House of Righteousness.

The reverend should have done his research and taken the family's accusations seriously.  For even though the ceremony went off without a hitch, the reception was to be most memorable.
Even to this day, the people of Dudleyville won't speak of it.   But the rumors about that night have made the town iconic and renowned for its dark aura that the townspeople still insist lingers today.

That evening, after the ceremonial wedding of Emma Weston to Joseph Dudley, things turned rancid. At the reception hall, a succulent dinner was served; the finest booze was distributed; and the merriment of guests abounded among the walls of the Dudleyville Town Hall.

It was about two hours into the celebration that Anna became giddy.  She licked the last of the bubbles from her champagne and stood up.

It was time.

She walked out onto the dance floor.  The guests fell silent.

Anna never danced. She was way to self-conscious for that kind of attention.
She had spent her last 25 years trying to become invisible.
She preferred books over people; music over conversation; and hardly ever left her cat, Griffin, and their one-bedroom apartment.
The only reason she was here ~ had to be here ~ was because of her sister. And she was hoping to be accepted before she had to go.  She wanted to finally be part of the crowd;
Part of something normal.
Just once to be accepted as human.
But she wasn't.
And deep-down she knew she never would be.
But she had to try.  And this was, of course, her last chance.

And so what if everyone there refused to speak to her.
Who cares if they only spoke about her in hushed tones.
She thought she'd give them a show anyways.
One last sentiment before she brought down the house.

The wedding band played and she let the music take hold of her;
Move her;
Possess her.

Others, who were on the dance floor at the time, took notice and slowly cleared the floor, giving way to her solo performance.  It was an amazing routine ~ breath-taking by all accounts.  Her family gasped; Emma cried out for her to stop.  Others just watched in silence.  Some women whispered among themselves with a green tongue; others couldn't look away.  The men at the reception - groom included - salivated, unable to hide their want.
All who were there that evening still remember it.
The performance;
The desire;
The blood.

Anna spun around and around the hardwood floor.
She was graceful;
mesmerizing;
sexual.

She danced with the elegance of an angel in flight;
She spun an intricate step of all genres of dance, from ballet to hip hop to folk;
She truly rocked the Town Hall as though it were the performance of her life.
And it was.

The band encouraged the affair and played to her movements.  They howled a beat that was somewhat of a cross between rock-n roll and a tribal march.  But after awhile, they too needed a break.

The spell had been broken.
Or so they thought.

Still, Anna continued to dance as if to her own music ~ a music only she could hear.

But a faint tune was gathering;  gaining sound among the whispers.
And within minutes, the band's music was replaced by another melody - a darker, more callous tune - later described by some of the guests as a sort of jewelry-box-music, and it rang loudly throughout the reception hall.

All eyes returned to Anna as she dominated the dance floor, sweat rolling off her gyrating body.

She was in a trance now, becoming one with music and oblivious to the crowd gathering, that now began to seep concern ~ not really for Anna, but for themselves.

Anna's dance exuded a rhythm from deep inside of her.
It needed to escape.
It had to be released.
Along with her curse.

Words formed and spewed from Anna's lips.
A chanting of some long-ago verse.
And she had no idea she even knew the words.

She ripped off her magenta-colored bridesmaid dress.

The crowd gasped.
No one looked away.
Not yet.

Covered in nothing but her own sweat, Anna swung her body to and fro, possessing every movement with grace and ease.  She twirled around the dance floor like a pinwheel on the wind.

She was hovering just above the floor ~ in a twist spin ~ when the first bone broke.
It jutted out of her calf.
Her screams told the tale of how excruciating the pain was to her.
A few ran to her aide;
tried to soothe her;
console her.
Somewhere someone called for help.

But she wouldn't let anyone near her.
She wouldn't stop dancing.
Maybe didn't want to stop.
Maybe couldn't stop even if she tried to.
So, she kept on twirling.

Another bone protruded from her thigh.
Blood sprayed across the wooden floor.

She stumbled a bit, yet, she continued to dance.  The tune changed slightly, to accommodate her limp and the jewelry -box-music picked up a pace that invoked Anna to perform a solo tango.  She was dragging her one leg to the other side of the room, when the next bones broke.
It was both the left and right humerus that sprung out of flawless skin in her upper arms, like a set of wings put into motion.
The crowd - all but a handful - ran from the reception hall, screaming of the terror that they couldn't even trust that their eyes had seen.
Later, many would even question what they saw and shrug it off as one too many 7 & 7's.

But a few brave souls hung in the reception hall a little longer, only to snap some pics and video on their phones for future evaluation.  Images that later would be too obscure and too out of focus to make out.

By now, Anna's face was beginning to distort, her face rippling like a wave.
She was beginning to lose consciousness.
Her body had betrayed her;
It was no longer her own;
She had no control over it.
It was being sacrificed to the Dark Heart and she could do nothing but dance and comply to its musical tyranny.
And she was okay with that.
At least someone wanted her.

The minutes rolled by, with that tinkle of eerie music that controlled her.  It forced the rest of her skin from her body.  It melted and trickled off her bones like wax off a candle.

She was, literally, a walking skeleton.  Or rather, a dancing one.  And her skin lay upon the floor like a discarded pile of clothes.
Next to it, blood and tissue gushed like water and formed a neat pile up along side of the skin.

Anna and her bones clanked on dancing to its own private, primal tune.
Her jaw bone opened and from it came a yell so excruciating that even the hounds of hell whimpered in their dwellings.

Her screams rocked the room; shook the tables to their sides and broke every last glass and bottle in the joint.  The last of the onlookers ~ whose shock finally jolted them free ~ bolted into a mad dash for the exit.

She laughed a horrendous, evil clown laugh.  A laugh so deep and twisted it shattered the windows, bathroom mirrors and fractured Anna's own bones into fragments.  These fragments crumbled.  Bone dust sprinkled to the floor like glitter.

The music stopped.



If you ask anyone in Dudleyville ~ to this day ~ most still hold their silence about the incident at the Town Hall that night of November 12, 2001.
Others, who spoke openly about the events have long been forgotten by some freak accident or untimely death.
No video or picture from the reception has ever been recovered.
The rest of the people in town remain silent.
The people of Dudleyville know how to keep a secret.
The Weston family buried the dust remains of Anna in the local cemetery.
Once buried, they never stepped foot near her grave again.
A keeper of the cemetery grounds insists that he hears a kind of jewelry-box-music emitting from her grave site whenever the moon is full.


~written by: Deevious~

Update

Hey Creepsters, just a quick update to keep you posted (and to keep me in check) on what's happening around here.
Within the next week, we will be doing some extensive updating to our website, blog and other accounts.
Our website will be incorporated with more nightmares and links; our blog will be adding an Index for easier navigation around the site; And on Twitter, expect more video and photo uploads.
Also next week, be on the lookout for our monthly contest.

Tomorrow, another Nightmare is coming your way.
I am running the last edits on this short and am very pleased to share it with you.
The darkness has spoken and tomorrow I will unveil the tale:  Her Last Dance.
(Unless my last few edits invoke a title change ~ it's always a possibility.)
UPDATE to the update :)  Renamed the short to: Cursed.
If you don't yet ~
follow our darkness on Twitter, and facebook 
and bookmark our webpage.

And, as always, my Creepsters...

Creep On  :)

Guest or Ghost

Well, if this doesn't make the hair stand up on the back of my neck!
What are your thoughts?
Real?
Fake?
Undeniable?
Staged?
Scary?

Crawling Around

Find image here

Blood Flash

Double Trouble

Be careful out there Creepsters.

Seems like it's Friday the 13th AND a full moon!

Creep safely.

Find and buy at Shirtigo

Sing To Me

And if you hear as the warm night falls

The silver sound from a time so strange

Sing to me, Sing to me.

Let me forget

If the castle is made of sand...

What makes you think the princess isn't?

A Little Light

"What makes night within us may leave stars."

~Victor Hugo~

Un-ique ?

Have you always known you were a writer? 

I have always felt inadequate in my writing.
Unsure of what I was doing;
Unsure of what to do next.
Unable to determine who I was and how I wanted to be perceived.
I felt my words were unbelievable;
My nightmares unimaginable.
My goals unattainable.

And then one day, I woke up, looked around and said Fuck It.
I started to own who I was and who I am.
I embraced my nightmares;
Began honing my skills;
I owned up to my realities.

Now, this is me.
This is my work.
This is what I love to do.
And I hope you're enjoying the ride, Creepsters.
I know I am.

~dpb~

The Nameless Thing of Berkeley Square

The following is a detailed history of this legendary creature.
The clip is a bit longer than most videos I post, but after viewing a number of them on the topic, this is ~by far~ the best and most informative.

It is worth the 15 minutes, if you seek the truth.  Or should we chalk it up to BS?
Let me know your views.  Post your comments below.
(And thanks, Travis for bringing this one to my attention.)

A Quiet Conversation

"Hello Darkness, my old friend.

I've come to talk with you again."

~Paul Simon~

Night Noises

Find this and more flash fiction clips @ the Imgur.com gallery.

Safe and Sound

I cried my intentions to the sky.
It laughed with thunder and mocked me with lightning;
It turned the sun into night and rained down blood upon me;

Found image here

And I ran all the way home.
Not because I thought it was safe there ~ because it wasn't ~
not with all of the anger and darkness which wells up within the night ~
but because it had walls and windows.
A door I could lock;
A blind I could close;
A corner I could cower in.
And here I could hide ~
Hide from the blood;
The nightmares;
The fear.

Or so I tell myself.

And still I sit here
With my rosary and my prayer;
With my false hope
and my candle;
I sit and I wait...
Wait for the shadows to come and snuff out my light.
~dpb~

Study the Enemy

"You can't stand up to the night 

until you understand what's hiding in its shadows."

~ Charles De Lint ~