I like the idea. I’m currently working on it. Thanks for your help.
Horror / Jerky Boy
The oddest memories are the ones that cut through the muck of everyday existence. They pour themselves into your subconscious like honey suckle fragrance on a spring day. Macabre wonders that invite the bizarre and play tricks on your mind. Memoirs, that if given the chance, would shine through movie theaters and play houses with enthusiasm. What a wallop. These phantom images that want life, as troubling as they are, usurp your thoughts and leave you wishing the sight had not been seen at all.
Such as the winter night, one year ago, today. The window of my perception was slowly pulling itself shut when I saw it. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I had to look again. The horror that looked at me was mind numbing. I remember looking at the image and gasping. Jesus himself was a far better sight, after crucification, then the ominous creature hovering before me.
A large pole, or monolith reached into the moonlight drenched sky. Anointing its point was flesh. A small creature, perhaps fifteen months or so, outstretched so tight that its bones nearly pushed their way through the skin. Flailed wide open and drying. Perhaps for jerky. A small child. There was hair visible, but not much. Someone had skewered its arms so they would stay outreached at each side. Its legs were pinned tightly to the pole. I looked at the creature, it resembled a young boy, but I could not tell. Its entrails wrapped around and down the pole like a barbershops post. Even the blood that stained the wood, followed this twisting candy cane pattern.
The smell of old meat, rotten flesh danced with each nostril like wafts of smoke to a flame. I wanted to look away. I would have questioned my sight, but the putrid smell kept reminding me of the silhouetted figure above me. The air, as cold as it was couldn’t keep the fumes of decay from floating on the breeze. I wanted to close off all my senses, but the terrible sight keeps reigning me in. Haunting me with sickening discussed. I looked into its eyes and found empty pits that stole my curiosity. The image pushed itself deep into limbo and my thoughts became mixed emotional riptides of hate, anger, rage and the slightest taste of excitement lay bitter on my tongue like a bee sting. I spat at the ground.
My mind began to wonder with a curiosity that cut through the stagnant air. I thought about who could have put this here and why? The images of a devil cult dancing around a pyre of dead wood, burning. Their chanting echoing like distant thunder. My heart beat like a drum to the words they were saying. The image is too clear to be imagination, but I cannot see the tribal rites being performed with my eyes. It seems it’s a sight just beyond any humans vision. Paranoia has captured me with malicious intent and I cannot escape the hoard of phantom images playing with my mind.
I screamed. I could not bare the intense beating inside my chest and those damn mantras were getting louder and louder inside my head. I had to run from this inevitable doom that had succumbed my soul into madness. Even the screaming was a torment that bound my head like a vise. I dropped to my knees and held my head. Tears streamed from my eyes and chilled my cheek with cool wisps of wet inertia. I was doomed, or so it felt. I knew I was the next to fall onto the impalement’s of deity sacrifice.
I staggered to my feet and ran. I let that blanket of misery pull away from me like the veil of some tormented ghost. I could still hear the distant thundering and the sky was echoing flashes of tattered lightning from somewhere behind me. I had wished I had never been at the place or seen that horrible sight. I wanted the agony of the this winter night to wash away like the melting moons glow as the clouds cast their shadows like some foreboding that has yet to come.
Even now, the thought torments me and the memory is burned into my mind. In my dreams, the sight stirs the cauldron and refreshes itself. I wake with the malodor suffocating me. I cough and gasp. I want nothing more, than to forget about what I had seen, but my mind cannot let go. I cannot escape the memory of that night and I feel as though madness has set in…
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This was a very odd and interesting piece. I really liked your comment about Jesus being a better sight, even after death, than the creature outside. It evokes many vivid, mental images for the reader. I think with a little work, it has plenty of potential.
You had a couple fragment sentences that could have been made changed slightly to be complete ones, or all added together to make one complete sentence.
“after crucification” spelled ‘crucifiction.’
“Even the blood that stained the wood, followed this twisting candy cane pattern.” I would remove the coma. Read the sentence again, it is not needed.
“beyond any humans vision” I think you meant humans’
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I have a few suggestions for you. The first being simple grammatical stuff; spelling, run-ons. But that stuff is fixable. As a horror writer myself, I had to learn the hard way that gore and violence alone don’t make for a good scary story. What you have started falls more into the Lovecraft camp, with unspeakable creatures and gory scenes of impalement. I like this, I just hope it gets another rewrite and you add some meat to it. Because I do think it has some potential.
I liked it. I really got this creepy kind of vibe from it. Where were you when this happned? A graveyard? A dead forest? Or was it just black? It’s definately publishible (sp? sorry). I hope you continue writing, because you definately have talent. As for the somewhat low score on Best Horror…I’m not sure. I would say yes, but then again you never really know, you know?
Ooh, by the way, I LOVED the ending. Where it just drifts off, and everythnig fades away in black…that was great. I liked the line “I feel as though the madness has set in…”.
That was one of the best pieces I ever read.
Pretty disturbing pictures painted in my head, especially the “entrails/barber shop bit, reminded me a bit of the Tool “Sober” music video. The narrator’s voice seemed genuinely tortured, full of anguish, which reminded me a bit of the vibe I get when reading Edgar Allen Poe, or Joseph Conrad’s Kurtz from “Heart of Darkness” (or watching a Tool music video.)
I would have liked to have heard these 3 distinct voices blended together rather than apart, so that maybe the tone wouldn’t quiver as much and remain in a constant state of horror. The Horror! Good Stuff.
I must say that I loved the descriptiveness in this peice, such as “I let that blanket of misery pull away from me like the veil of some tormented ghost. I could still hear the distant thundering and the sky was echoing flashes of tattered lightning from somewhere behind me.” it’s very poetic.
but I must say that if you’re going for the creepy kind of horror, gore isn’t the best way to do it. The best scares are the psycological ones, although some scenes in movies are scary because they look painful, but that’s another subject.
it’s a very nice, smooth work and you show a lot of talent.
favorited.
It’s quite descriptive if a bit repetitive. Write from your gut not your brain. This is the best thing I’ve learned. Write what you’d want to read not what you think others will read.
Keep going.
In the first paragraph you have many strong sentences to describe what what the oddest memories are to you, but in all honest you only need one strong image to get your point across. You have four and that will put more images in teh readers mind than you really want. You should pick your favorite and work with that, but don’t over do it because the rest of your story is a lot to take in and it’s worth it. I loved your discription. Another thing, I imagined this person in a bed that you can find in any home, so when they say that they’re next to be tortured and they run I’m confused. A more descriptive setting would help clarify for the reader where the character is and why they may be next.
This story did keep me reading, because the physical description was great. I did not see any typos, and it had a nice flow.
There needed to be something more in the eyes that told were he came from, what his purpose was, or who he really was.
“I looked into its eyes and found empty pits that stole my curiosity. The image pushed itself deep into limbo and my thoughts became mixed emotional riptides of hate, anger, rage and the slightest taste of excitement lay bitter on my tongue like a bee sting. I spat at the ground.”
I looked into its eyes and found eons of evil drowning in bottomless black pits, that stole my curiosity. The image pushed itself deep into limbo and my thoughts became mixed emotional riptides of hate, anger, rage and the slightest taste of excitement lay bitter on my tongue like a bee sting. I spat at the ground.
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