Stone Ruins

Down, down the swerving mountainside we ride, handlebars grasped tight. I fear, "We're going a little too fast, man!" But he continues to ride his bike ahead of me, several hundred feet in front. SHOOM! BAM! ...CRASH! Just in front of myself a car drives from hidden beyond the next bend across and through the guardrail of the corner I am approaching, and drops helplessly over the edge. !!! I coast quickly to the corner, the cliff. My friend stops in his tracks and flips over the handlebars; I'm too blown away to really notice. When I peer over the edge of the cliff, I find a old bridge structure, ruins really, with large stone pillars. The ill-fated vehicle had driven off and straight into one of these two standing pillars, the rear sticking outward towards me, the front completely in the partially-crumbled pillar. Other vehicles have more minor damage around the scene, and a few people seem to be OK and making their way to the pillared car. I make my way down the site, and attempt to offer any assistance possible. I walk behind the wall, made up in part by the large pillars, and hear voices, "You need to leave." "This is none of your business." "Get out of here!" A gunshot is fired in my direction and hits some of the stones near my head. I duck in cover and wonder what in the world is the deal. I use my cellular phone as a weapon, a feature I had never previously discovered. I retrieve a shotgun from a fallen pursuer. At this point, my only chance for survival is to take them all out, at least until they give up. I breathe. It may be last. I breathe. A window is above my head, and the enemy is just on the other side. I take a breath. Quickly I stand up and smash through the window with the butt of the shotgun into the face of the first man I saw, glass slicing his face, his eyes, his head. One down for the count. I instantly go for the next guy, smashing the gun into his face as well with great success. It appears I've taken out 2 of 3 men who are still out to get me, the third right there next to them. He is frightened and I continue to utilize my element of surprise to my advantage. He fires his weapon, and luckily, misses. I retaliate hastily and smash the last face in with my almighty shotgun. All three of them are down, out cold, dead for all I know. The battle seems to be concluded as a I cautiously snoop around the scene, checking for others, and finished it is. It became known that the identity of the victor that day was unknown, and that he was never to be hunted again. It was me. And I would set out to discover the secrets kept by the dead that day, but they were never revealed to me, and thus will remain a mystery until the day I am also dead.

The Night Terror of March 17

What do we do. What do we do. What is going on. Where are we doing. Why are we even doing this. What do we do. Aimless thinking. Planning without direction. Done. "Let's go here!" She excitedly suggests. But why? Why would we go there. A western style building, wooden pillars across the porch, stood in the near distance, glowing faintly from the dim torches mounted on its walls. It stood back in the darkness. We stand in the parking lot outside. OK! We run hurriedly toward the structure. What is holding me back. I slow. She runs on. "Come on!" Wait. I must run. Something is very strange. She comes back to me as I back away. I look around bewildered. There is something very horrible about this place. It's getting blacker. Darker. Evil. I try to kiss her and hold her in my arms. But she shrinks, ages backward, into a small infant. Lips touch, and I am confused, scared, and mystified. What. Is. This. I set the infant down and wonder. People in that car. What are they doing. Three of them. Threesome. I look in disgust. They return the stare, and the faces shapeshift into frightening, demonic expressions. The eyes stretch back and sink in, darkness swallows their being, mouths widen and turn black as hell, skin turns ashy and lined, and a shrieking inner squeal is heard in my head. I must run. I must leave. Get me out of this dark, creepy place. I must get out. I wake. I open my eyes. Fear rages within and evil swarms without. Must wake up. Black figures flashing all around the room. They fill up every space, hording, squealing, swarming all around me. There must be 100 or more flying all over. I cannot move. I have to wake up and rid of these demons. I see no angels, only demons. I shake. I fear. I panic. I wake.

W/O Mustard

"Her name is Jill." he interjected. I had gone to McDonald's to snag a few double cheeseburgers, one with onion, the other without, and both without mustard.  The line took a very long time, and everyone in front of me was rather impatient. People were crowded around the counter like it was a Wendy's. I'm finally one person away from ordering, and Richard is ordering already from the other line. Some American chic walks straight past in front of me and places her order. I get pissed. Richard and I meet up standing side by side at the counter waiting, after the above order is placed. I had a little trouble explaining it to the register though, and asked a uniformed girl to check to make sure it was right, Richard interjected, "Her name is Jill." I instantly looked at her name tag. "Jill" I laughed, "Oh really, do you know her?" I'm chasing down the head cook now, making sure he knows no mustard on either dollar burger, because I'm still not convinced they understood. He acknowledges and I leave in peace. I see that cutter girl in her car in the parking lot, tinted windows, and I flip the bird, then hurriedly stroll to my car. I drive away. I want my food.

The Dead

I walk into a barn. I am having a nightmare. Why am I shaking? Why do I feel a desperate need to pull out of reality, to some alternate world? These feelings begin faintly, almost unnoticeable at first. I cross the threshold. It is dimly lit in the barnhouse. The cow stalls are empty. Life has fled from the old place. Something draws me in, while yet something elsewhere beckons me away. The former something, though, is stronger, and I enter in full curiosity. Words are entering my head, eager to escape audibly into the stale air of the small barn. They are not English, nor are they any language I have ever heard before then. It was from beyond. The shaking increases, the need to pull away is shooting upward inside. I speak. I shout. The words I say are completely strange to me. This is when three, then four, then five or six men rush into the room. "Stop! Stop speaking!" The shuffling sound of the hay on the ground against their frantic feet, their screaming voices, are fading away. I see a haze settling and appearing all around the room. "It is the language of the dead!" Figures are forming in the haze, as darkness sets in as well. They are faint figures of old men and women, so very vague, a child or two as well scattered among them. The Dead. Their voices are also growing in volume, and they speak in unison, and in full synchronization to my own speech. They pull me hard as I feel now that there is nothing to be considered but simply getting the hell out of here. And that I did, or so I thought. With one strong final pull of the men on my body, forcing me out of the barn, I also pulled out from the dream. I had escaped. But this is often the hardest part, the scariest, the most frightening, and also always the very most curious. I had indeed escaped the dream, the images of that unreal dimension of the wood barn, the figures, the hay, the men, the windows, but sleep I had not. I was trapped, again, in that place where I can see some other form of reality or dimension, but had (usually) no ability to move. Always do I shake, so very much, from the inside out, frightened beyond measure, a feeling as if my soul were being stolen, and I am striving hard to not let it go. I can see the window in my room, it is, in all waking reality, here just a foot of distance from my hand. I want only to wake up. My eyes are open, but sleep has yet to be overcome. I can see images, such as a person of some form, whether human or otherwise I do not know, standing on my bed, leaning on the window. I must wake up! More shaking, attempting to move my body, never accomplishing.  My eyes will not stay steady; they are out of my control. Then I awake. My eyes already open. Seeing the very same view as that of seconds ago. The window. The blinds. The blankets over my body. But no person. No figures. I can no longer see the Dead.

Boys of Both Sides of Life

When will the so long-lasting trip come to and end? Seriously, are we almost through? Obstacle after obstacle. The final obstacle. This mansion off the side of the road, a long winding driveway to the front door, covered in trees and surrounded by a brick wall swallowed in greenery. There is something creepy about this place, something eerie, beyond the natural. Catch that dog! Shoot. Mom let it go again. I really hate that little beast. It ran straight, without hesitation, through the front door, over the threshold, and up the outside bricks of the chimney. Yes, up the vertical column, as if on flat ground. She chased it inside, a very open structure on the interior. The chimney column, directly beyond the door, shot straight to the ceiling, up 40-50 feet, and out the roof. She ran up the stairs as the dog ran up the wall, I watching from below. The dog then fell down the center core of the chimney, all the way back down to the floor. And that was over. But this house. This mansion. Why are we here? Why is it here? A driving, unstoppable curiosity overtook the whole group of us. What is it about this place? There is something to be discovered, and we will search until it is found out. The feeling was accompanied also be a kind of entrapment. We were stuck here, not allowed to leave. There were no barriers, no stones in the path to leave, but nonetheless, we weren't going anywhere for a time, maybe forever it might seem. It wasn't long before a wrapped paper was found on the front porch. Wasn't there a few hours ago. It is marked with Father's name on it. Someone has set it up for us to be permanent here. They want us to stay. We've got mail.

...People live here. Another family. They were unnoticed until now. Who are they? And why would they live in this crazy ol' place? They speak of spirits and the possibility of the dead living among them. Previous owners? There are spirits in the house. Together we investigate. Brother has computer games that might give us understanding and insight into what to do, two of such. The computer is not working. Where is that little boy, the young child of the second family? Out in the yard, playing in the sand. He is speaking as to another being, but no one is there. Someone is there. He plays with this other boy, an invisible friend. Together they are building a sand castle, as the many of us stand still watching in shock and wonder, I in curious amazement. They are building a sand castle. The boy natural and the boy supernatural are building a sand castle together.

Extraneous

I wonder what this wart-like growth is on my finger. It's been here for many months now and doesn't seem to be getting much larger anymore. Hmmm, I wonder...oh but wait. It appears it has grown! Now that I look at this way, it really has, it is much larger! I have got to get rid of this thing. It could be cancerous, or harmful in some kind of way. I pick at it from time to time until it bleeds, but now I am ripping it open, slicing it from the surface of my body, despite the blood. It seems to have created a crevice into the core of my finger, a large opening that most certainly should not naturally be present. Where does it lead? I dug deeper, trying to open up the deep crack in my finger. The blood had really stopped pouring, and things were surprisingly visible. Pain was, naturally, searing through my finger and hand. I dug on. I see a little something green. ...?... It was some kind of fuzzy green thing originating deep within the crevice. What in the world is that? I dug on. I tried digging it out and pulling it up, but it seemed to retaliate weakly, as if it were alive. I finally got a hold on it (at this point there were a few more green, leafy outshoots, coming from the inners of the finger), and held on to it as I pushed open the crevice to reveal a most disturbing sight. In my finger, deep within the core (really where the bone should have been), lived a tomato, or a spider, or a tomato spider. And these green offshoots were in fact its legs of sorts. It was planted inside me, and the wartness visible on the outside of my body was some kind of outlet for it. It was resting in there, feeding off the nutrients and insides of my very own body. And when I saw it, I felt very shocked, and sick. The spider had a tomato for a body, and green stretchy leaves for legs, and was sitting very attached to me inside my finger. I did not feel well seeing this thing eat away at me comfortably, knowing that he had been in there for a very long time, feasting upon my ignorance. Well, ignorant no more, I pondered no longer, and quickly detached the detestable beast from my inners and ended his hidden dynasty. The mystery of the growth on my finger had been finally solved, and the tale was to told to many others, for the pictures would not leave my mind. In this dream, I was even convinced it not a dream, telling those in it that it were not. There were also two other things found embedded into my skin elsewhere on my hand, upon the discovery of the tomato spider, such as a miniature gas mask. My sister said something about the spider being a mayonnaise animal, whatever that meant. This all happened, and was a very shocking, revealing experience, but as usual, something and somewhere completely foreign and new was my new destination shortly after. I was now playing euchre with the Green family. And that was that.

[there really is a strange growth on my finger that has been there for many months that I have no idea what it is. All day I have been obsessively wondering what it really going on under the surface of my skin.]

Knives

Falling into a dream. I wonder where I'm going this time. A garage, cars parked outside the house, one on the lawn. A party of some kind with a few people is taking its place. Music plays, but it does not sound good at all, just a load of fuzz and non-melodic sounds. Everybody is barely happy, and nothing is really happening, just a lot of standing and miscommunicating. The atmosphere is becoming instantly intense. The heat is building. Darkness is invading. My face is getting very hot, and numb, sizzling with heat. Knives. People are going to start dying very soon, most violent deaths. (I kind of like these movies. This should be sweet.) I can feel it. Can they feel it? Where did they go? I am alone. And I do not like this anymore. This is real. I must escape. But I cannot move. I am bound to the floor of the garage, in the dark. Knives readied to be covered in blood flashing through my mind. I am going to die a most violent death. I can feel them coming. My face is burning hot and tingly. I am in the face of death.

You won't get me this time. Not tonight.