...IT IS DOING THE IMPOSSIBLE THAT NOBODY EVER SEES ...
I guess I should have thought about the children, rather than the adults. I should have written the most funsy-wunsy story I could come up with, that reflected my personality at the time, while I was living on the streets, Harry Potter was living in a closet--Tough Break, Kid. But then I wouldn't write a story about a boy flying on a broom-stick in ANY point of my life--maybe a boy and a magic-carpet; but that is for mother's and children mostly--I tried to write for the rest of the group--for mature young adults, and mature adults; giving my work basically a N-17 or "R" rating.
Harry Potter outsold Stephen King because there are more children and mothers than adults; and there will always be more children and mothers, than adults. And they will always be spoiled more than adults. I know, I have kids and a wife as well..
As a child I was full of magic, wizards, dragons, kings, and super-heroes.
It went all down hill from there...
Princes Lea caught Han cheating
Luke Skywalker cut himself in half with his light-saber
The droids exploded
And Chewbacca laughed...
But as I became a man, the world and her thieves--by the child's interpretation--hatedly violated and stole away all the magic of the man, all his dreams, all his hopes, and all that seems and is seen and unseen, and left him with all contrasts of each.
But then that is the world for you. That's her bag. Not mine.
No--I didn't write a story about a boy and his owl. I wrote something considerably different---not' for Prime-Time.
My work was for adults who haven't lost that heart of a child.
I wrote as authentically, and with as much imagination and eloquence as I could, and with all the magic that I might still possess.
After all was said and done, it was very costly..
An inscription on the wall opens a veil between worlds. Beyond the veil is a dimension of unmitigated evil and diabolical perversity. In this realm there reside Dark Gods that challenge the other in a war, where the victor lays claim to the planet. Entities enter our world at the bidding of the Gods, to acclimate it for the coming of The Darkness.
PAGES TUSSLED IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES
At the age of sixteen Joshua Caldwell was in the midst of a
Sunday School class known as the Young Lions, listening to a relatively young
and forward-thinking teacher talk about Revelations. Discussing the breaking of
the Seals and the plagues unleashed on those left behind following the Rapture
Words spoken in a literal context. For
the Holy Bible was the infallible word of God; and only symbols recognized
blatantly were not to be taken literally, such as was the case in the visions
that Josh attended was known as the Apostolic Unity of Jesus, and those in the
church believing tongues to be evidence of the Holy Ghost, waited—even as those
that waited in the upper room on the day of Pentecost, for those to speak in
tongues before the infilling of the Holy Spirit was fully recognized. Joshua,
although having attended the church for a little over two years, and having
prayed nightly at the altar following service, seeking for the promise of the
free gift which was the Holy Spirit, had yet to speak in tongues; even though
he cried fervently a river of tears to receive the promise of God.
at church Joshua would pray for the Holy Ghost—each night believing that he
would come away from the altar spiritually satiated and altered, and each night
he came away from the altar, humbled and discouraged. He could not express in
words the devastation he felt, despite the encouraging words of the
congregation—or at least those filled with the Holy Spirit.
so close Joshua.”
“You just have to believe it.”
“It’s a free gift.”
“Just reach out and take it.”
“God wants you to have it.”
night Joshua would try and reach out and
take the free gift of Christ. But despite all his fevered supplication and
surrender, there would be no tongues, no evidence of the infilling of the Holy
Spirit. No promise fulfilled. And Joshua really didn’t understand why.
With slow deliberation the thing
that was Jhata’baoth rose from the pool of darkness. The creation was an awful
shapeless bulk of immense proportion, horrifying and preternatural. An
unutterably hideous mass of amorphous putrescence, which filled the throng that
was standing and watching with a sensation of unimaginable terror and
helplessness. It was slimy, morbid,
ghoulish. Seething, surging, stewing forth; with long tentacles and grotesquely
twisted appendages that moved with a repulsive kind of writhing, protruding
from its horrid bulk of potted pustules that glittered sickly with a diabolical
light of dark imaginings. A collection of eyes, some sunken and suppurated,
others floating on stalks that wriggled and undulated horribly, covering almost
the entirety of the vile epidermis of the abomination in a multitudinous
presentation—looking, peering, seeking, in multiple directions simultaneously,
and glistening with a certain kind of malefic glee. While many mouths filled
with fangs separated by spiny teeth and serpentine tongues, babbled with the
voices of the damned, screaming with torment and sanity lost.
Two blocks north of the intersection and Junction 4, where
the speed-limit turns from 45mph to 35mph, there was a second intersection
leading into Sanford. To either
side of the 3-way intersection was a Marc’s Chrysler sales and service, and the
Center. Marc’s Chrysler was set approximately 25
yards west of the intersection, its plethora of cars on display for sale; while
the Sanford Shopping
Center sat approximately 100 yards east of the
3-way intersection, nestled in, and surrounded by, a vast parking-lot
Shopping Center wasn’t a mall—Sanford had no malls, however it tried very hard
to act like one; with its small community of shops, places of business, dining
and entertainment—including, but not limited to—Smitty’s Dining Theatre, Shaw’s
Supermarket, and Applebee’s Restaurant .
middle of the 3-way intersection the ground trembled without the aid of an
earthquake of conventional application. The rain had stopped briefly, although
there was a sheen of water that mirrored the street keenly before the pavement
rose up suddenly like a wave-swell, running diagonally across the street, from
Marc’s Chrysler to the decline and entry that led to, and finally into, the
parking-lot of the Sanford Shopping Center. A fracture in the wave split the
pavement apart , sounding like the whip-crack of Doom’s Death Knell, widening
to make a rift in the concrete swell.
observed stone towers surrounding the plantation, edifices that spiraled toward the dark ceiling of
stone beyond sight, reaching, and some even merging with the protruding
stalactites, and connecting to one another by long, spanning bridges.
The group noticed not just a few
platforms—like small mountains, supporting wide, squatting structures,
surrounded by thick walls within the midst of the city.
A waterfall, to the east of the
vegetation—perhaps three hundred yards away, cascaded down from an aperture in
the rock wall, two hundred feet from the cavern floor. It split into two
columns, and spilled into a wide lake that branched out into several streams,
some winding through the city itself, and crossed by foot-bridges.
There were hundreds—maybe even a
thousand denizens milling about the stone structures, seemingly engaged in
prosaic activities, and not just a few dozen tending the field of mushrooms.
To the west was another field of a
sort, where a large pond of brackish liquid was surrounded by towers as well.
However, unlike those solid structures that encircled the vegetation, these
constructs were skeletal in appearance, having an unfinished look about them.
They also seemed to have a direct relationship with the pond. They appeared
active in this relationship, going through a siphoning or filtration process,
in which the towers pumped the foul-looking element from the pond, and
distributing the oily substance into a large vat. The vat in turn had several
faucets and tubes that filled standing barrels. The latter was loaded onto
crates by the workers, and moved by giants onto wooden mobile carts.
Bovine-wolfish quadrupeds were reined-in by more workers, which took the
containers loaded on the carts to various areas of the city.
The landmark, not to be outdone by
any of the wonders of the conurbation, or overlooked by the team, lay to the
west of the waterfall.
It was carved into and,
simultaneously, carved out of, the rock face itself, almost level with the
waterfall. It was a brooding and massive edifice—reachable by a twisting
stairway of stone. The top of the flight stopped at a cliff’s edge, which
spread out into a platform, directly before the gaping maw of the carved
sculpture, which was formed into the likeness of—what the group would guess,
represented the visage of a demon. It protruded from the face of the cavern
wall, a truly awe-inspiring and diabolical presentation. The daemonic edifice
stared with huge eyes, the size of bay windows, looking for the entire world as
if they had been fashioned from polished ruby, glowing with a dim, inner
The monument of hellish declaration
was mostly a wide-open mouth with protruding fangs that appeared to be carved
from alabaster, as was the four horns that jutted from the top of the baleful
visage. The whole of it looked to be fashioned and formed from obsidian or
opal, with crimson veins, like the cracks of marble, stretching throughout the
entirety of the visage.
It loomed high above the city and
its ruins, glowering over it, radiating malevolence in its station above those
that moved below.
stated objectively. “Don’t tell me we have to go inside that thing.”
“Not if it can be helped,” Jessie
The visage was currently guarded by
several tall and lean humanoids upon the platform to either side of the
edifice. Their stature wasn’t enough to reach the upper jaw of the daemonic
countenance. Their appearance was as horrid as it was grisly in presentation,
and they brandished objects that looked keenly like weapons resembling pikes or
The group gaped in horror,
momentarily forgetting their place on the plateau. The sentries watched the
area around them, scanned the cavern and the city below them, and looked—
Suddenly the young women—moving as
one, were pulling the men back, away from the plateau. Drawing them into
whatever shadows they could find in their surroundings, away from the sight of
“Oh shit—“ Jessie exclaimed.
As if on cue the sphere almost
instantaneously doused its brilliance, becoming nearly invisible.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Jessie
whispered between clenched teeth.
“Do you think they saw us?” Debra
said, her voice laced with concerned.
“We’ll know in a minute,” Tyler
“What the hell were they?” Becky
wanted to know.
No one had an answer.
They all waited.
Listening for some likeness of an
alarm that would indicate that they had been spotted by the sentries.
When nothing was immediately
forthcoming the assembly believed themselves to be safe.
However, a moment later, there
followed a piercing wail.
It was the sound that a falling
angel might make, having been cast from the bosom of heaven; no more horrible
or unutterable could the hellishly and horrid declaration have been, if the pit
of hell itself had opened, and spilled forth the agony of those damned
It was, by Tyler’s definition, an
abominable chorus, as unimaginable as it was disturbing; in that moment of dark
and sinister dissonance there arose an inconceivable resonance; a cacophony of
terror and despair unnatural to human senses—that in turn led the group to
wonder, albeit abstractly, if the noise had issued from something of animate
and corporeal nature.
The assembly held their hands over
their ears, trying to protect themselves from tumbling into the abyss of
Jessie realized that he had almost
peed himself, and wouldn’t have been surprised or judgmental if someone else in
the group had fully committed to the venture of voiding one’s self as well.
“Holy-fucking-shit!” he exclaimed,
shaking uncontrollably. “What in the fuck was that?!”
“A…Banshee, I think.” Tyler
answered. His tone made it difficult to tell if he were being serious or not.
It really didn’t matter, when you got right down to it; their path had led them
to this destination, and like it or not, there was no going back.
Of course they didn’t like it! That
was a no-brainer. Following further circle-logic, there were countless
activities that they would rather be engaged in right now. However options were
a minute resource and luxury at the moment.
Okay, so now they quite possibly
had to deal with a…Banshee? Whatever
that might mean. And they were led to ponder just what a Banshee might be. Was
it corporeal? Or was it ethereal, like a ghost? Or could it be a combination of
both, like the succubae? Probably the latter, with the way their fortune was
running. And the cry of the Banshee was likely to instill madness—or at the
very least palpable terror.
At the very least…
At fifty-miles per hour AJ hardly had time to maneuver his
Harley appropriately before the four-foot wall of pavement rolled up to meet
him. The wheel and forks were bent crazily with the impact of the wall, and AJ
was sent flying over the twisting handlebars of his Hog. He flew through the
night air, abstractly conjuring a series of thoughts; his first initial thought
was: What the holy-fuck!? This was
immediately followed by: The hog is going
to be half the size it was when this all washes out…if it doesn’t explode… What
the fuck did I hit!Well…It doesn’t
really matter NOW…I’m flying through the air and…this can’t be good. Gonna’
wind up in traction…if this landing doesn’t kill me…it probably will though…and
what have I got to say about that? I’m one high-strung mother-fucker, a Billy
Bad-ass, who just took a Knievel-header—without a helmet… See kids, this is
your brain on dope…watch what happens when it hits the concrete without a
helmet…this isn’t going to be pretty…
And it wasn’t.
At the same
instant that the gas-tank ruptured and an explosion illuminated the darkness,
it engulfed what was left of the Harley, AJ was still air-borne.
If he had been wearing a helmet, it
would have cracked in half, like an egg, or pumpkin as soon as he touched-down
with the pavement. It might have still saved his life—if he still wanted to be
alive after all things ran their course.
Without a helmet, his head cracked
open instead, forehead splitting right down the middle of his nose which in
turn splintered and sent bone and cartilage pin-wheeling into a brain that was
heartbeats from death—blood washed out over the pavement, painting the face of
the animated corpse as it rolled and twisted heels over head. AJ’s neck snapped
instantaneously, as did his spine—he bounced and cracked his left shoulder, and
then rolled some more; three separate bones in his body broke for every foot
from the wall that he cleared. One hundred and fifty-three bones total,
including pelvic and right thumb. When he was done tumbling, he looked like a
broken and bloodied horror, a rag-doll that was not ashamed to show the bones
beneath its flesh, a pulverized mass of pulp, with bones jutting out at odd
angles; AJ’s right knee and left elbow were exposed, as were three knuckles on
his left hand, and the arm and leg were bent in an otherwise unyielding
From beginning to end there had
been no pain for AJ. One might say that, whatever angels that may have kept a
watch out for him, showed their mercy poignantly.