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lollytea · 5 years ago

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Some Moomin OCs! (Above art by @ask-artsy-oncie who was sweet enough to draw my kiddos!!)

My original thought for Moomin and Snufkin’s future together was that they would have no children, as canonically Snufkin has made it very clear that he’s not sure if he likes kids. However, Moomin was kinda tricky to think about. He does come from a family that’s famous for adopting any lonely little creature that seeks a home. So, maybe this sort of thing is in his nature. It’s possible that when he’s older and more mature, he may wish to start a family of his own.

( A ton of stuff under the cut about how Moomin and Snufkin decided to adopt them and some info/HCs focusing each of the kids individually.)

When Too Ticky shows up at their doorstep with three escapees from a rotten ol’ children’s home, the couple are hesitant but welcome them with open arms regardless. While she was willing to care for them herself until she found them a permanent home, she had urgent business to attend to (invisible moose turf wars up south.) and left them in the care of Moomintroll and Snufkin for a week or two until she returned.

Moomin becomes fond of the children almost immediately. They’re a handful, obviously, but their spirit is incredible. He begins to feel quite comfortable and content in this parental role and even though he tries not to show it, he’s devastated when Snufkin reminds him that they’ll be leaving soon. He’s come to realize that he does want children but is also aware of how Snufkin feels about it. He would would never want to force him into that sort of thing if it’s not what he wants.

Meanwhile, Snufkin has been thinking. Though Moomin has been doing his best to hide his feelings on the matter, Snufkin knows just how attached he is to the kids and how upset he’ll be once they’re gone. He’s in a difficult position here as his conscience is reminding him repeatedly that Moomintroll had always let him choose the life he wanted. He let him wander whenever he pleased and never forced him to stay. Would it not be worth it of Snufkin to return the favor and not stand in the way of what Moomin wanted out of his life?

They discuss it one night after putting the children to bed and they let themselves be honest. Moomintroll adores the kids and wants to raise them. But under no circumstance would he ever pressure Snufkin to do the same. Because he loves Snufkin.

Snufkin admits that he feels uncomfortable with the title of Papa. He likes the kids, he wouldn’t mind sharing a home with them and spending time with them and watching them grow. It’s just that thinking of himself as a father makes him very anxious. But more than anything, he wants Moomin to do whatever makes him happy. Because he loves Moomin.

So, an odd sort of agreement is reached but nonetheless, it’s an agreement both are happy with. Moomin will adopt the children. They will be Moomin’s children. Snufkin will continue to be Moomin’s husband. They will all live together in the same house and they will all love eachother as families do. But the children will not be Snufkin’s. At least not now. If he’s ever ready to be a father alongside Moomin, the kids will still be there. But there’s no rush. The agreement is silly, of course but it puts Snufkin at ease.

It doesn’t happen right away, but within a few years of raising the kids, Snufkin finds himself warming up to the idea.

The Children

Torben - The Witch. Oldest of the three children, Torben is extroverted, witty, charming and a true rowdy boy at heart. He has a hard time juggling responsibilities with immaturity, as while he’s a fiercely protective and nurturing older brother, he’s usually the driving force of mischief that tends to get them all into trouble.

- Is excellent at annoying Moomin. Not that he doesn’t love his papa dearly and vice versa but that boy is the most prominent reason that the poor ol’ troll is going grey. Despite this, Moomin always trusts him with the job of taking care of his siblings. It’s the one thing he has 100% faith in him in. Maybe they’ll cause a bit of mischief but at least he knows that with Torben, they won’t be hurt.

- When he first came to Moominhouse, Torben suffered from frequent nightmares. He was five years old at the time and having cared for his siblings alone until then, he had a hard time accepting that he could finally relax. It was Moomin who pulled him into his lap and sang him back to sleep every night. Nowadays, Torben is very embarrassed about these memories and it’s a silent agreement between himself and his papa to keep it a secret

- Absolutely Idolizes Snufkin. Ever since he was little, Torben has been enthralled with the stories Snufkin tells from his youth, and wants to be just like him one day. Naturally, Snufkin receives an earful from Moomin the first time they have to collect Torben from a holding cell. Not that Snufkin would say it but he was beyond proud that day.

- Torben adores music. Instruments, singing, dancing, he’s invested in all of it. Another reason he looks up to Snufkin so much is his talent with a harmonica, which he eventually teaches to Torben. As he gets older, he picks up a wide array of instruments, his favourite being the violin. If there’s ever a party/social gathering at Moominvalley, either Torben planned it himself or he had some part in it. You will most definitely see him encouraging everyone to dance once the party gets into full swing too.

- Makes his own clothes. Enjoys knitting, sewing, crocheting and embroidery. Cloaks, coats, ponchos, hats, gloves, quilts, whatever he pleases, all decorated with the most showy of patterns. Moomin jokes that they could never survive hibernation without Torben’s blankets to keep them warm.

- Wants to smoke like Snufkin but Moomin won’t let him until he’s older so he just carries around an empty pipe to pretend to puff on and look cool.

- Grows to be far taller than his Papas and his siblings.

- Isn’t aware of his witch heritage just yet. He learns in his early teens by pure accident when roaming though the woods and encountering an older Alicia. She tilts her head at him curiously, commenting that he bears a striking resemblance to a witch she was friends with long ago. With a little encouragement from her, they manage to find some trace of magic in him over a cup of tea. He realizes with great fear and great excitement that there’s been this whole side of himself that he went all these years without noticing.

- Moomin is shocked by this development while Snufkin takes it in stride, saying that it’s no wonder Torben would always nick his hat as a small child. Every witch needs a hat!

- Though Alicia handles most of Torben’s witch training, Snufkin also pitches in by teaching him how to read tarot cards. Meanwhile Moomin tells his son that it’s okay if he believes in the cards but if they tell him to leave home before he’s ready if he catches a certain amount of fish or something silly like that, then they’re wrong!

Birch - The Woodie. The middle child. Two years younger than Torben and three years older than Essi. Primarily the voice of reason among his more reckless siblings. However, he is still a child and loves a good adventure and a laugh every so often so he’ll usually tag along without question. While the trio have been thrown in jail several times, it’s worth mentioning that there’s plenty of times they haven’t gotten arrested and Birch’s quick thinking is usually to thank for that.

- Birch is quite the introvert. Calm, reserved and a bit shy around strangers. But that does not stop him from having a tongue sharp as a pinprick when he’s around those he’s comfortable with. He’s good with a snarky retort to any of Torben’s comments and will gladly dish them out at any opportunity.

- He and Torben bicker constantly. They are always a word away from launching at each other into a full blown wrestling match over the kitchen table. They disagree on all trivial things. They’re also best friends and there is no force in this world that can tear the brothers apart.

- Keeping Essi safe is usually their top priority but Birch often forget that he’s also a younger sibling and Torben is always looking out for him too.

- Likes to collect the things he finds, especially funny shaped rocks and seashells. He’s always carrying around a little pouch to store his treasures. The shelves in his bedroom are packed tight with everything he’s gathered over the years, which he polishes every day.

- Doesn’t like affection from just anyone but will allow it from his family and actively seeks it from Moomin. His papa gives very good hugs and Birch often finds himself needing a specific kind of comfort that only Moomin can give him.

- He’s cleaner than the average Woodie, bathing twice as regularly as is required of him. He then has to scrub the shedding moss he left in the bathtub.

- The little flower patches that grow on his body tend to wilt and fall off during the colder months and burst into bloom again in Spring. The older he gets, the more flowers he accumulates.

- Birch is a dreamer. He’s the musing, pondering sort who likes to fall away to his own imagination. He likes reading and enjoys writing and while he’s tried out a variety of different types, such as stories, plays and memoirs (at Moominpapa-…or rather moomingrandpapa’s insistence) he finally finds that he’s best suited for poetry.

- When Birch and Snufkin first met, his future father was sceptical. Seeing a Woodie child again brought back a mix of nostalgia and an instinctive urge to back away before the confounded little one imprinted on him like last time. And true, while as a young child, Birch was a lot more touchy and clingy but much to Snufkin’s relief, he had an obvious favouritism towards Moomin.

- Snufkin was astonished as Birch grew older and it became clearer with each day that they had a lot in common. Birch often needed his space too, he needed alone time, he didn’t like large crowds and he got grumpy when he wasn’t left alone when asked. And while his siblings didn’t always get that, Moomin and Snufkin understood and allowed him his solitude when he needed it.

- One year, Birch’s heart tells him he needs to leave. Not forever but just for a bit. He doesn’t understand the urge but every inch of him is suddenly screaming “we need to go!” and he has no idea how to react to it. Eventually, he realizes that this is the exact feeling Snufkin always described as he hugged them goodbye every winter. It was something he simply needed to do.

- He’s very anxious about telling Moomin, knowing how family-oriented his papa was and how worried he could get over his childrens’ wellbeing. But once he finally works up the courage to announce his plans over the dinner table, his two papas share a shocked look but the response from both of them is surprisingly supportive. Moomin explains that if it’s what he must do, then do it. Though he had never gotten that feeling himself, being with Snufkin so long has given him a lot of insight on wanderers and the way their souls are. Snufkin says nothing on the matter but Birch catches his smile from across the table and the proud gleam in his eye.

- Birch is the first of the children to go a winter without hibernating. He’s not entirely sure if he’ll do this every year but maybe once in a while would be nice. When the time to leave finally came, Essi clings to him and weeps as Birch holds her close and assures her that he’ll be back again in no time. He can tell Moomin wants to burst into tears too but he holds himself together as not to hold Birch back. Torben is doing the same thing but Birch suspects that more on account of his own self-pride.

- For his first time vagabonding, it’s not as nerve-wracking as he thought it would be. He’s alone of course, but every so often he and Snufkin would cross paths on their respective journeys and share a campfire and talk into the night. It’s only every few weeks but it’s comforting to know that no matter how vast the woods seem to be, his father is out there somewhere. And he doesn’t always need him there. The peace he gets in the weeks between is quite nice. His journal bursts with poems in a way it never has before. Birch believes he might do this again next year.

Essi - The Mumrik. The baby of the bunch. An exploding ball of sunshine and an unstoppable force of nature fused into one tiny form. Often considered the second generation Little My due to how small and rambunctious she can be. That being said, while the similarities are certainly there, there are plenty of differences between the two in the personality department. Essi was put on this planet solely to have fun and play and love, love, love with every beat of her heart.

- Essi has never spoken a word in her life but that doesn’t stop her from having plenty to say. Since she was a baby, her family has caught on to her way of communicating which she does through her paws, facial expressions, whistling, body language and the thump and swish of her tail. Her tail tends to be reserved for her more intimate sayings. When referring to Moomin for example, she bats her tail twice against the nearest surface, producing a little ‘pah pah’ sound.

- Has absolutely no idea how to pace herself. Essi bursts from the house every day to go play, her brothers in hot pursuit and once she’s out, she’s go, go, go. Never stops running, jumping, climbing, swimming, fishing, whatever. She can never make it home on her own as she’s always burned out and snoring in the meadow by sundown. Torben carries her home on his shoulders.

- Does not like baths and prefers to simply groom herself. However, she falls in the river at least once a day when trying to swipe for fish. Snufkin believes that to be an adequate form of bathing. Moomin disagrees. He also does not appreciate it when Snufkin helps Essi to hide when Moomin is hunting her for bath time. Meanwhile, his husband and daughter consider this quite a fun game.

- Is extremely cuddly, especially where Moomin is concerned. He hardly gets a chance to sit down without Essi hopping on her papa’s stomach and curling up to the warmth of his fur, purring happily. When content, she’ll knead her paws and when affection is being demanded, she will bash her head into Moomin’s nose to receive the cuddles she wants.

- While Birch sometimes finds her nonstop energy annoying/draining at times, Essi looks up to her big brother unconditionally. She doesn’t understand his rock collection or why he’s always writing or locking himself in his room but he’s good! He kisses her scratches when she gets hurt and he hugs her, even if he doesn’t want to and shares his lunch with her he tells really good stories! He even includes more knights at Essi’s request. She tries to thank him for everything he does by bringing him dead bugs but for whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to like it.

- Torben dotes on Essi and he always has. Whether it be by tickles or funny voices or throwing her up in the air, he loves to make his sister laugh. And when Birch isn’t in the mood to join in their nonsense, they make an excellent crime duo. He’s not the greatest influence sometimes but he loves her. He also doesn’t enjoy dead bugs as gifts, which Essi can’t wrap her head around at all.

- Like Snufkin, Essi has an inexplicable bond with nature. She attracts beasts of every sort, who have followed her home on several occasions. Though of course, she isn’t half as annoyed as Snufkin. She’s absolutely delighted by all her new pets! She’s on the lookout for a dragon of her very own though. Like the little one from her papa’s stories. She is a knight after all and what’s a knight without a dragon. (Birch tends to leave out the part of his stories where the knight slays the dragon. Essi is far happier with the interpretation of them being best friends.)

- She found an old sword washed up by the riverbank once and it has become her prized possession. Her family have tried everything but simply cannot talk the little one out of giving up her sword. Torben believes she’s entitled to keep it under the ‘Finder’s, Keepers’ rule. So, she has a sword now and that is that.

- It took Snufkin a while to accept being a father. At first, he didn’t want anything to do with that title at all. Of course, he lived with them, they were his home, he cared for them but it was always Moomin who was the father. Snufkin was just Snufkin. They called him by his name. That’s all he was and all he wanted to be. But one night, he was feeling particularly night owl-ish. Moomin had retired to bed and Snufkin was sitting by the stove, basking in the heat. Silence was then disturbed by the pat pat pat of little feet down the stairs. A tearful Essi, stricken by a bad dream, was welcomed into Snufkin’s arms as he gathered the child into his lap. Little paws going wild as she recounted it all, she was finally soothed by Snufkin’s stroke of her hair and the way he rocked her back and forth. All was quiet, as she began nodding off against his chest, when her tail batted once, then twice, against his leg. ‘Pah pah’ His breath hitched. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say, really, as everything seemed to click in that moment. He hugged Essi tight.

#moomin #moominvalley #moomin ocs #moomin oc #springdove children

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thecynicalm · 6 years ago

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Gerard Nolst Trenité - The Chaos (1922)

This poem is great for training your pronunciation if you’re not a native speaker of english and I love it. Dearest creature in creation Studying English pronunciation, I will teach you in my verse Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

I will keep you, Susy, busy, Make your head with heat grow dizzy; Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear; Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Pray, console your loving poet, Make my coat look new, dear, sew it! Just compare heart, hear and heard, Dies and diet, lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain (Mind the latter how it's written). Made has not the sound of bade, Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you With such words as vague and ague, But be careful how you speak, Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak ,

Previous, precious, fuchsia, via Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir; Woven, oven, how and low, Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

Say, expecting fraud and trickery: Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore, Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles, Missiles, similes, reviles.

Wholly, holly, signal, signing, Same, examining, but mining, Scholar, vicar, and cigar, Solar, mica, war and far.

From "desire": desirable-admirable from "admire", Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier, Topsham, brougham, renown, but known, Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,

One, anemone, Balmoral, Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel. Gertrude, German, wind and wind, Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,

Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather, Reading, Reading, heathen, heather. This phonetic labyrinth Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

Have you ever yet endeavoured To pronounce revered and severed, Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul, Peter, petrol and patrol?

Billet does not end like ballet; Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet. Blood and flood are not like food, Nor is mould like should and would.

Banquet is not nearly parquet, Which exactly rhymes with khaki. Discount, viscount, load and broad, Toward, to forward, to reward,

Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet? Right! Your pronunciation's OK. Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve, Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Is your r correct in higher? Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia. Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot, Buoyant, minute, but minute.

Say abscission with precision, Now: position and transition; Would it tally with my rhyme If I mentioned paradigm?

Twopence, threepence, tease are easy, But cease, crease, grease and greasy? Cornice, nice, valise, revise, Rabies, but lullabies.

Of such puzzling words as nauseous, Rhyming well with cautious, tortious, You'll envelop lists, I hope, In a linen envelope.

Would you like some more? You'll have it! Affidavit, David, davit. To abjure, to perjure. Sheik Does not sound like Czech but ache.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven, Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven. We say hallowed, but allowed, People, leopard, towed but vowed.

Mark the difference, moreover, Between mover, plover, Dover. Leeches, breeches, wise, precise, Chalice, but police and lice,

Camel, constable, unstable, Principle, disciple, label. Petal, penal, and canal, Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,

Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit Rhyme with "shirk it" and "beyond it", But it is not hard to tell Why it's pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron, Timber, climber, bullion, lion, Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair, Senator, spectator, mayor,

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour Has the a of drachm and hammer. Pussy, hussy and possess, Desert, but desert, address.

Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants. Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb, Cow, but Cowper, some and home.

"Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker", Quoth he, "than liqueur or liquor", Making, it is sad but true, In bravado, much ado.

Stranger does not rhyme with anger, Neither does devour with clangour. Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt, Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.

Arsenic, specific, scenic, Relic, rhetoric, hygienic. Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close, Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.

Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle, Make the latter rhyme with eagle. Mind! Meandering but mean, Valentine and magazine.

And I bet you, dear, a penny, You say mani-(fold) like many, Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier, Tier (one who ties), but tier.

Arch, archangel; pray, does erring Rhyme with herring or with stirring? Prison, bison, treasure trove, Treason, hover, cover, cove,

Perseverance, severance. Ribald Rhymes (but piebald doesn't) with nibbled. Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw, Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.

Don't be down, my own, but rough it, And distinguish buffet, buffet; Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon, Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.

Say in sounds correct and sterling Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling. �� Evil, devil, mezzotint, Mind the z! (A gentle hint.)

Now you need not pay attention To such sounds as I don't mention, Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws, Rhyming with the pronoun yours;

Nor are proper names included, Though I often heard, as you did, Funny rhymes to unicorn, Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.

No, my maiden, coy and comely, I don't want to speak of Cholmondeley. No. Yet Froude compared with proud Is no better than McLeod.

But mind trivial and vial, Tripod, menial, denial, Troll and trolley, realm and ream, Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.

Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely May be made to rhyme with Raleigh, But you're not supposed to say Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.

Had this invalid invalid Worthless documents? How pallid, How uncouth he, couchant, looked, When for Portsmouth I had booked!

Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite, Paramour, enamoured, flighty, Episodes, antipodes, Acquiesce, and obsequies.

Please don't monkey with the geyser, Don't peel 'taters with my razor, Rather say in accents pure: Nature, stature and mature.

Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly, Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly, Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan, Wan, sedan and artisan.

The th will surely trouble you More than r, ch or w. Say then these phonetic gems: Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.

Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham, There are more but I forget 'em- Wait! I've got it: Anthony, Lighten your anxiety.

The archaic word albeit Does not rhyme with eight-you see it; With and forthwith, one has voice, One has not, you make your choice.

Shoes, goes, does *. Now first say: finger; Then say: singer, ginger, linger. Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge, Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,

Hero, heron, query, very, Parry, tarry fury, bury, Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth, Job, Job, blossom, bosom, oath.

Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners, Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners Holm you know, but noes, canoes, Puisne, truism, use, to use?

Though the difference seems little, We say actual, but victual, Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height, Put, nut, granite, and unite.

Reefer does not rhyme with deafer, Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer. Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late, Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.

Gaelic, Arabic, pacific, Science, conscience, scientific; Tour, but our, dour, succour, four, Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Say manoeuvre, yacht and vomit, Next omit, which differs from it Bona fide, alibi Gyrate, dowry and awry.

Sea, idea, guinea, area, Psalm, Maria, but malaria. Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean, Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian, Dandelion with battalion, Rally with ally; yea, ye, Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!

Say aver, but ever, fever, Neither, leisure, skein, receiver. Never guess-it is not safe, We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.

Starry, granary, canary, Crevice, but device, and eyrie, Face, but preface, then grimace, Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.

Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging, Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging; Ear, but earn; and ere and tear Do not rhyme with here but heir.

Mind the o of off and often Which may be pronounced as orphan, With the sound of saw and sauce; Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.

Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting? Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting. Respite, spite, consent, resent. Liable, but Parliament.

Seven is right, but so is even, Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen, Monkey, donkey, clerk and jerk, Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.

A of valour, vapid vapour, S of news (compare newspaper), G of gibbet, gibbon, gist, I of antichrist and grist,

Differ like diverse and divers, Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers. Once, but nonce, toll, doll, but roll, Polish, Polish, poll and poll.

Pronunciation-think of Psyche!- Is a paling, stout and spiky. Won't it make you lose your wits Writing groats and saying "grits"?

It's a dark abyss or tunnel Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale, Islington, and Isle of Wight, Housewife, verdict and indict.

Don't you think so, reader, rather, Saying lather, bather, father? Finally, which rhymes with enough, Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough??

Hiccough has the sound of sup... My advice is: GIVE IT UP!

#linguistics #english #poem

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khelinski · 2 years ago

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The Michigan Multiplex Massacre

How I Spliced-and-Diced at the Movies!

My name is Norm Cain, and I sliced and diced people at the EYS theater in Buena Heights. I stuffed the body parts in theater seats. I was placed here because I got carried away with my last endeavor. She was...something special. Something...joyful! Her parents would be proud of her...she was raised well. And I had her, well done! I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Gosh, I hope I didn't offend Sunny Johnson's parents. She was quite...sunny side up!

Listen:

If you are reading this, you are as sick as me. I don't consider myself sick. For my liking, nothing I did was sick. According to everyone that had me committed, I am sick. That's their opinion. Unfortunately, their opinion forced me here. How did I get here, you ask? Or did you ask? Hmmm...

Most might suspect I had a dad that sexually molested me, or I was abused by my mother. Hate to disappoint the masses; I actually had a normal childhood.

Psychopaths, as I seem to be labeled as, had a troubled past that explains their psychopathic behavior. Those psychopaths inspired books, TV shows, and movies - the whole works. Could it be possible, though, my beloved readers, that I just loved what I did? Could it be possible that all psychopaths love what they do/did? I had such fondness cherry-picking those that were worthy enough to participate in my joyful theater, and be part of it. How I miss that jingle from EYS?

"There's more joy at EYS!"

1. My Humble Beginnings

Anywho, where was I? Oh yeah...here comes the tedious and boring but vitally important to the overall horror you desperately seek here: back story. I wasn't born as a collector of exquisite human artifacts. My childhood was as normal as any. My mom and dad didn't separate. As I said before, my dad didn't violate me. My mom didn't molest me either. Nothing weird or out of the ordinary transpired, folks. I grew up in Buena Heights. My father worked for the Aireon Universe. My mother crocheted Afghans as a hobby and sold them at various art fairs (including Gibraltar Trade Center).

I had an older brother. Had, being the keyword there. And no, I didn't kill him, if that's what you were thinking. He died in a gruesome car accident on 696 the same year EYS Buena Heights was built.

I was the shit in school. I ate up learning as much as I could about anything and everything. I wasn't an A+ student. I was more in the B range most of the time. Wasn't until high school that I excelled. That's when I joined the film club at Buena Heights High and learned how to edit video (which became crucial later on).

I wasn't very social, but I wasn't one of those quiet types that people always suspect would SNAP! No. I had a group of friends. Not too nerdy. Not the burnouts. The intellectual kind. I've dated my share of girls. Nobody serious, until that bitch cunt-face Courtney Green came into the picture.

I started working at Cinemark Warren in 1999. I was a concessionist. My first weekend was the opening of that mediocre animated fluff-piece about little creatures making orgasm sounds for 90-minutes: Pokemon! Dreadful shit!

I was very good at my job. I provided the best fake smiles in the business. I could pop kernels faster than anyone. Managers liked me. I became a supervisor the following year. Yay for me. 2000 was a good year for me, though. No mistake about that. It was the year I discovered the movie American Psycho. Unfortunately, Cinemark didn't showcase it on their screens. I had to go to the old (and discarded) Bates Theater in Buena Heights for that film. I wasn't old enough, so my big brother (who was a senior in high school then) took me.

The movie inspired the Norm Cain you are reading about now. But it was in 2001, the film Hannibal came into my cheery world. Wasn't exactly a great movie (or sequel, for that matter). But, boy, did it have a startling impact! Why you might have asked? I just don't know.

We can't describe the why's to who we were. We could only embrace ourselves.

But rest assure I didn't partake in my little hobby until I got myself the gig running EYS Buena Heights on my own. It was in 2002 (the year Red Dragon was released in theaters) that I got acquainted to the EYS company.

My father got laid off from Aireon Universe, so he took a job in Chesterfield as a car salesman (my family and I relocated there as a result). A fucking car salesman! He went from a multibillion-dollar firm to a mid-level car salesman.

I had to quit my job at Cinemark (obviously), which was a blow since I was close to getting a management position there (and I hadn't even graduated from high school, yet!) I applied at EYS in Chesterfield, and immediately got hired as a proj (short for projectionist). Of course, nowadays - the world doesn't need proj's! Everything is digital. Despite how quick technology improved in just a short amount of years, 2002 was still a time when there was a demand for proj's. And I was one of the best.

I could slice, ahem, splice, and build a film reel quicker than most. I was efficient, and I kept the booth clean all of the time. I was like Totò from Cinema Paradiso, passionate over what was presented on the celluloid screen (even if it was a shitty Adam Sandler weekday matinee or an unnecessary Friday night sold out horror remake). I spent most of my time at the theater.

After just a couple of years of being the best damn proj in the company, EYS promoted me to general manager at the Chesterfield theater. I was also becoming buddy-buddy with the owner of the company, Mister Rick Miles (who happened to be the nephew of the late great Ted Dozen, who was responsible for all the Dime-a-Dozen's). Ever noticed why EYS's were always near a Dime-a-Dozen? That's why.

Rick Miles came up with the idea of EYS (short for Enjoy Your Show) back in the late '80s. The first of its kind was built in Lincoln Park to compete with AMC and the old Bates' theaters (which slowly dwindled in Michigan by the mid-2000s). EYS caught on fast. Three were built by the mid-90s in different locations in MI (but illogically in close proximity from each other). Once I became good pals with Rick, I tried talking him into building theaters up north in small towns like Standish, Alpena, or hell - Hell, Michigan. He preferred the McDonalds, Subway, and Starbucks business strategy - one at every corner of every block, one mile apart – close by.

The fifth EYS, residing in Chesterfield, was built by the late 90s. After the old Bates' Theater in Buena Heights closed down in 2004, Rick Miles jumped at buying that land and build his sixth EYS. Because I was doing very well running Chesterfield (and charmed my way up the ladder), Rick Miles had in mind of me helping him construct the Buena Heights site.

Mind you, I never intended for my dark fetish of the grim gore to unleash itself. One could say I was conflicted with my feelings, almost like I was chained up in a closet. I was unaware of the many possibilities (and freedom) I had once the keys to a brand new theater, built for me was handed my way. So despite the disbelief, my readers, I didn't come up with the infamous 'kill room' right away.

My Buena Heights construction suggestions were, for the most part, granted. I had liked the idea of replicating the preview board EYS had in the lobby of the Chesterfield theater. But, I didn't want the green-pea soup color scheme. I wanted the classic theater look from the '40s. Yes, this was a multiplex. 20 houses (that's theater speak for auditoriums). At the time, we could only afford one digital projector. That was ahead of its time, but funny how it caught on quick. I do miss the nostalgia of the 35-mm projectors. The sound of cinematic-clickety-click-click and black pixels on the celluloid silver screen. But must get with the HD times, I guess. Oh well.

What I couldn't include in my own theater: a coffee cafe stand, a movie poster store attached to the theater, and a separate auditorium that showcased classic movies...limited in space, I suppose. Oh well.

By November 2005 - EYS Buena Heights Cinema saw its grand opening. The business was slow for the first few months. Even with the fourth Harry Potter film out, then, it was rough for us. No matter. We had modest ticket sales, and the concession was doing a solid run. Do I really need to continue with this, though? I mean, you didn't pick this book up to read about some boring shit about an aspiring theater manager - or the daily routines of running a theater. If you wanted to know what it was like to work at the movies, you should've bought a used copy of Enjoy Your Show by Wade Bradford on Amazon, or go online and check out the weekly comic-strip of Multiplex by Gordon McAlpin, or even Netflix search the independent film, Surviving the Rush. All of those are great for seeking out what theater life is like.

You sick fuck, you bought this book because you wanted to know in details how I did 'it'...when I started doing 'it.' 'It,' quotations, equals...gutting people and stuffing them in seats. Once again, I raise the question - who is the sick fuck here, me - writing this delightful joyful piece in my cell I call home; or you, reading this piece in the comforts of your home (I certainly wouldn't expect you to read this at a doctor's office). It would be in bad taste to bring this book to a movie theater, though, there are worst things to take (like a gun, in reference to those true sick fucks out there).

On the contrary to what you may (or may not) think of me, I loved movie theaters. There was something beautiful about a dimmed auditorium where the only light source is a projector, beaming its glorious magic on a screen. It's an escape from the real horrors of life. What I did may not be considered joyful, beautiful, magical, or even sane to most. But I never interrupted anyone's viewing pleasure in the middle of the showing. And I never intended to hurt the masses. Now that that public service statement is out of the way, let us fast-forward to the year 2007, shall we?

EYS Buena Heights was making a killing, ahem, in sales. The concession stand was doing well. Ticket sales were increasing, the weekend after weekend. We were competing with the AMC theaters in the area.

Enough of that shit. Moral of the story - roses are red, violets are blue; die bitch, die! But my first kill wasn't a bitch. Bitchin', maybe. But far from a bitch. His name was Jason. And it was his birthday. But his last name wasn't Voorhees. It wasn't Smith, either. No. His last name was Johnson. Jason Johnson.

2. Jason Johnson

Fun fact # 1: there are 2,211,773 people in the U.S. with Johnson as a last name. There were 2,211,775 people in the U.S. with the last name, Johnson. But I killed two of them (unrelated to each other). Statistically, Johnson is the 2nd most popular last name. That does hold true since I killed two Johnsons (unrelated). I've killed others, too. But none of them shared the same last name. It was odd that my first and last victim shared the same last name. Is it a coincidence or a forced connection a desperate author would write for no reason other than their own sick and twisted humor? Who's to say? But there you have it - two less Johnson's in the country. You're welcome!

Jason Johnson was an old fella that got laid off at a factory that supplied parts for the Big Three. What parts exactly, I can't say. I'd like to think of something useless, like turn signals - since no one uses them anymore (I guess you need an app for something to use it properly - since most don't use turn signals anymore, but rather have a phone in front of their faces while driving). Gosh, I hope you aren't reading this on your I-Phone 7 while driving on 1-75. I had already killed 13 people - maybe 14 (the 14th is debatable). I hate to be the cause of any accidental deaths.

Anyways, his factory folded as a result of the Big Three deciding it was more efficient to have those same parts made by Mexican hands. And no, that is not an alternative fact. It's simply called the reality of Corporate America. Remember Jason Johnson, and his old employer, next time you argue over the misconception of 'buy American.'

I remember Jason Johnson as a free-loader patron at my EYS multiplex. He would come in, buy one single ticket - and hop theaters the whole day. He would sit through one movie for maybe an hour, then hop to another movie for another hour (and make an entire day out of it). He would walk to the theater every other day (he lived close by). He had no family or friends, just the movies. My useless ushers would just let him in, feeling sorry for the poor bastard. To me, he was nothing but a nuisance. And he caught me on a bad night. The night Rob Zombie killed Michael Myers on the silver screen. The Halloween remake was unleashed to the masses, and it was doing a killin' (pun glory there, folks!) It pissed me off that it was doing well.

I could go into details of why I hated the movie, and why it set me off, but you didn't purchase this book to read a critique of a shitty remake. No. You bought this book to hear about my mass, joyful, delightful, killings.

So Saturday night, while Halloween was doing well (countless sold-out shows), I caught Jason Johnson picking up abandoned popcorn off the concession stand counter, and eating them. Eww. How disgusting.

03. Courtney Green

Oh, and my girlfriend of four years dumped me that evening via text message. That may have set me off, too. Bitch.

04. Jason Johnson

I approached Jason Johnson as he was gobbling left-over's on the concession counter. Dare I repeat it, eww! For a second or two, I didn't know what to say to him, or what I was about to do. I had the sheer image of taking a Tensabarrier stand and bashing his head in. Or grabbing his head and pushing it up against the concession candy case. Or throwing him over the balcony upstairs.

He looked at me as I stepped toward his direction, popcorn kernels falling out of his mouth. Disgusting, pathetic, useless man. Society didn't need him anymore. My multiplex certainly didn't need him. Eww. But I didn't tell him what I was thinking. Instead, I smiled my fake, grade A smile - the same smile that helped me climb up the ladder to where I was - and –

05. Courtney Green

- the same smile that seduced Country Green to falling in love with me...before she gutted my heart out...that bitch –

06. Jason Johnson

- said to fuck-tard Johnson, "Good evening, sir. Are you enjoying EYS?"

He looked at me like a confused fuck-tard. I would consider calling him a retard, but that's an insult by definition. So fuck-tard will do. Fuck-tard Jason Johnson, or, Jason Johnson, the fuck-tard. However, and whatever you prefer was up to your liking, I prefer fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard!

Fun fact # 2: There were seven fucks, seven tard's, and one retard in that last paragraph - and still two less Johnson's in the country. Sorry folks. I am stalling here.

And I was stalling then, too.

I didn't know what I was about to do to Jason Johnson at that moment I asked him if he was enjoying EYS. And because he isn't familiar with social interaction - he didn't seem like he knew what to do, either. In most incidents when a manager at a place of business asks a paying customer (or, in theater terms, patron), how they were enjoying themselves at the place of business; the correct phrase would be, 'I am enjoying myself immensely,' or, 'I am having a dreadful time.' We call this interaction and dialogue. It's crucial in movies, and most undoubtedly essential when creating a story. I had no idea the story I was about to create for myself, involved the demise of fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard.

Jason mumbled something unintelligible and was about to walk away from me. I then took a few steps closer to him, introducing myself and asking if he wanted a private screening of The Simpson's Movie. Considering no one was seeing the 9:10 P.M. showing anyway, it was easy to arrange. Like a predicable free-loader, he took the bait, ahem, offer. I ushered him to theater 5 (which was toward the end of the theater, a small-house for movies that had been at the theater for a while). I waited near the door entrance of the theater as he plopped his fat, lazy, fuck-tard ass on the theater seat. A vision of his fat, lazy, fuck-tard ass - dead, came to my head. I turned around and went to the janitor's room. I closed the door and looked around. I was in uncharted territory with evil, gruesome, fucked-up thoughts in my head. I kept on having a tug-of-war with myself; should I, shouldn't I, should I, shouldn't I? And when I mean, should I, I mean, should I fucking kill fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard.

I was leaning more toward the left - which isn't toward the right. This doesn't reflect upon the left side of the brain, because in all actuality, I would be acting upon the right side of the brain. But in matters of should I, which was on the left - and shouldn't I, which was on the right; my urge of ending fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard - which was on the left. The left, should I - was now determined that I should.

Once I made my decision, I was now playing tug-of-war with how I should kill...

I glanced over at a garbage bag. I then looked at a broom-stick. How I should kill him, I wondered.

With Jason Johnson, or, as I have been referring to him as fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard, tucked away in theater 5 watching The Simpsons Movie - let's take a break for a moment, and go back to that bitch - because the talk of garbage bags and broom-sticks made me think of her.

07. Courtney Green

I met Courtney Green at a film class I took at Macomb Community College. That was back when I was climbing the ladder at the EYS in Chesterfield. We became good friends in class, started talking outside of class on a regular basis and ended up dating a year afterwards. We became serious. And man, we were great together. Friends and family would label us, 'perfect-looking couple.' She was the kind of gal I could see myself spending the rest of my life with.

We were planning on moving in together, but she decided to fuck someone else instead. I found out about it soon after. And once I found out about it, she broke up with me via a text message the same weekend Rob Zombie took his devil rejected ax and butchered a classic on the screen.

Fuck you, Courtney Green. And fuck you, Rob Zombie! Fuck you, both!

I imagine I am losing you here. Where was I?

Oh, yeah!

08. Jason Johnson

The black garbage bag that went over Johnson's head came from the janitor's room. The garbage bags were used strictly to wrap around broken theater seats. Made the theater look a little ghetto, but it worked. And the garbage bag over fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard, also worked. The sudden surprise of the bag left him gasping for air in less than a minute. Once he realized that his free-loading days were over, he kicked the theater seat in front of him a few times and then fell silent. I let go of him and backed away a few feet. I stared at my handy-work. An average person would freak out. Some would even cry, or yell, or faint. Me, I just stared. Stared. And stared some more. It was dead silent in the theater. Oops, mind my poor excuse of a pun!

The film ended - credits rolled - and because it was the last showing, no ushers came in to clean it. It was just me and the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard.

I admired what I did. I had no regrets then, and I have no regrets now. But how do I make a dead body disappear? I didn't want to dispose of him. But I knew in most cultures, displaying a dead body would be considered wrong. Though, if we go to any church, a displayed dead body on a cross was deemed to be holy and inspiring. But I don't think nailing Johnson on a cross would be holy and inspiring to today's standards of living (and dying).

I also didn't want to turn myself in. I will admit it officer that I am guilty. I did like my freedom.

I kept staring at the dead body in theater 5 with a black garbage bag over its head. I guess you could consider a dead body as an inanimate object. Certainly doesn't move on its own. And that inanimate object made me think of another inanimate object: a chair. A theater chair, to be exact. I could cut the body in pieces, and store those pieces in the seats. That's fucked up. But I was on the left side of things, in fucked up territory.

I created a temporary workshop in a spare room near theater 5. I worked, pun glory, graveyard shifts, chopping the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard, into little pieces. That was the easy part. Cleaning the pieces so there would be no gushing, slobbery, slimy, gooey, and juicy, liquidly blood oozing from the pieces was the hard part. I had to rinse every single piece (big or small) and freeze the parts. Once the various body parts were frozen, I unfroze the pieces and coated each piece with a popcorn scented cologne (it does really exist, look it up) - and started placing the pieces in the various seats in theater 5. I killed him in that theater. Might as well keep his body in that theater.

Each seat that had a garbage bag wrapped around it was being worked on by me. Each seat I selected to be worked on was a nice home for body parts. I would rip the seat cover from the bottom, taking out some cushion. I then wrapped cushion around the body part, and then place it comfortably in the middle of the seat. Once it looked pretty enough, I sewed the seat back together. I sat on it, making sure the seat wasn't lumpy or uncomfortable. It still felt like a seat to me. I analyzed, whiffed, examined, and making sure the seat was suitable for a regular patron. There was nothing to suspect that a body part was stuffed into the seat.

Holy shit, I might actually get away with it!

And so Jason Johnson, or, the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard, is scattered throughout theater 5. Other than the landlord of Johnson's apartment filing a missing person's police report - no one came looking for Jason Johnson. Oh, and I found out while looking in his wallet before I chopped him up - the day I killed him was also his birthday.

09. Sue Curtis

Though I wanted to lie low for a while - my second killing occurred sooner than I imagined it would. Sue Curtis was a proud member of the Red Hat Society, a religious nut-job, and a real big annoyance to my theater. Did you catch the word, was? Was was a keyword here. Was. She was. Sue Curtis was a person. Was.

Anyways…!

Each time there would be a Harry Potter film released, she would be outside the theater picketing it because of the evil nature of the films, I guess. She also picketed The Da Vinci Code, the shitty The Omen remake, and for some oddball reason - Tyler Perry movies. She once went into a showing of Brokeback Mountain (not realizing what the film was about), and soon after the infamous tent scene emerged on the screen - she ran out of the theater and into the bathroom, barfed up her medium popcorn, and then raced herself to the box office - demanding a refund. She then wanted to see a manager (me), only to bitch me out for, her own words: ‘showcasing God’s sin on the screen.’ She then picketed the film during its reign (with the Oscar prospects it had, she had to stand there outside the theater a good, long, while).

She was also very rude to my employees, always demanding a hand-out because she spread 'the word of God.' I had no patience for religion. Certainly had no patience for brain-washed religious nut-jobs.

What was odd about her, like Jason Johnson - she had no family. She may have had friends, but my impression was no one around her liked her. She would bitch about one friend in front of another friend. She then would bitch about that other friend to the friend she bitched about five minutes earlier. The Red Hat Society that surrounded her didn't seem to be pleased anytime her highness, Sue Curtis, was around.

I hadn't planned on killing Sue Curtis. Not at first. Her annoyance was nothing more than a pesky fly that would sometimes bother.

However, that soon changed when she started irritating me over a couple of horror movies coming out around the same time. She hated horror movies, and always picketed them. But this time - she raised more hell than just standing outside like a buffoon with an illegible sign over her head.

The Mist had a November release date. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street had a December release date. And she demanded me to cancel both. She then kept leaving inspiring pamphlets about saving your immortal soul in the bathrooms. Ugh. I don't know what disgusted me more - her persistent nut-job salesmanship - or the fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard's free-loading off the concession stand counters.

Once The Mist was released, she changed environments of picketing, going from outside the theater to outside the auditorium the film was being shown in. She paid for a ticket to a random movie (certainly wasn't The Mist, which would be insulting to her). She then stood in front of the theater with a sign in one hand, and pamphlets in the other. She kept pestering every patron that went inside the theater. The last straw was when the film started; she entered the theater and announced to everyone that they were going to hell. I don't think hell could be any worse than hearing her ear-piercing voice.

Each time Sue Curtis annoyed the masses, I would have to kick her out. I could've called the police. Maybe I should have to avoid the big mess that would soon occur. Instead, I kicked her out of the theater four times. She would not take the hint. So once she bought her ticket the fifth day of her strike against The Mist, I asked her politely if she could come with me to my office so we could talk about maybe, possibly, perhaps, banning The Mist in theaters. She smiled a big ol' smile, showcasing her yellow-stained teeth.

But I didn't usher her to my office. Instead, I ushered her to the room near theater 5. I think you may know where I was going with this. Sue Curtis, on the other hand, didn't know where she was going.

I opened the door and directed my hands for her to enter the room first. She complied. That would be her last time walking into a room. It would also be her last time entering the theater. I took a broom-stick that was leaning against the wall outside the room and jammed the plastic end of it into the back of Sue Curtis' ego-filled head. She screamed for a second and then quieted down. The world will no longer suffer from her ear, piercing voice.

She fell headfirst onto the floor.

THUMP!

Blood kept gushing out of her head. The stupid ass red hat was still attached to her head. I stared. Stared. And stared some more. A dead body was a funny thing to stare at. You imagine it would move like a live body. But it doesn't. It just laid there.

Fun fact # 3: The brain of a dead person still functioned a few minutes after that person was dead. However, for every minute, the brain did not receive oxygen, the brain would slowly die. But because there was a broom-stick jammed up Sue Curtis's noggin, I suspected the brain died a little sooner than a few minutes. I wondered if before I stabbed her senseless, she actually thought I would consider her illogical request. There was a "d" word that might come to mind. Oh yeah...delusional. But her delusions no longer exist. Her delusions died with her when I killed her!

It took a month for me to dismember her, and another couple of months before she was wholly scattered throughout the theater. Why? I had fun. Because she was such a pain in the ass and visited the theater often in her pathetic, useless existence - I wanted every piece of her to be all over the theater. Even a finger (or two) was placed under the cement outside the theater as a reference to her picketing.

The police showed up a few weeks after her death. I guess someone cared enough to place a missing person's report. I didn't feed the cops with too much information. I stated to them that she protested a handful of times in my theater, and I kicked her out each time. I fabricated the last part of the story - how she left the theater the last time she came in - and I haven't seen her since. Technically, that was true.

10. The Room

Between the time I finished spreading Sue Curtis's gospels, and body parts throughout EYS Buena Heights - and before the theater was introduced to digital projectors and a bar; I constructed the ultimate kill room. The temporary room that I used for Johnson and Curtis wouldn't cut it (another dreadful pun). It was too small.

The room located on the opposite side of the theater that held one-sheets (that's theater lingo for movie posters, folks) is slightly bigger. I decided that it would be a perfect location to fulfill my creative outbursts.

I also needed supplies. Saws, knives, a freezer, workshop table, a gurney. I slowly bought the tools, using EYS petty cash. No one suspected what I was doing. I guess it helped that EYS Buena Heights was becoming a busy theater.

By spring the next year, my kill room was complete.

11. The Rules

Like Dexter Morgan on the Showtime TV series, I needed to discipline myself on specific rules when killing so I could never be caught. Funny how that never, ever works out. But at the time, I actually thought I could get away with things. And by golly - I did - for several years!

Rule number one: thou shall not kill theater workers or anyone affiliated with the theater.

[I broke that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

Rule number two: thou shall not kill any minors.

[I broke that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

Rule number three: thou shall have a gap of time between kills.

[I didn't break that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

Rule number four: thou shall not kill my own family members, friends, or ex's (including that bitch, Courtney Green).

[I didn't break that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

Rule number five: once I kill a person, thou shall keep their body within the confines of the theater.

[I broke that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

12. There's more joy at...

Between the times I completed the kill room to the time Sunny Johnson started her employment at the joyous EYS Buena Heights, I killed a lot of people. If this was a movie right now, I suspect a montage of my killings would be shown with the Megadeth song, "Killing Is My Business... and Business Is Good!"

But I don't like that song. And I most certainly didn't play that song while I spliced and diced! Instead, I hummed the jingle to EYS while my full-of-life victims became lifeless as I killed them. Or, sometimes, I would hum the Outsider's Vengeance tune, "My Last Thought." Not because I liked the song, or because the band is from Buena Heights. I hummed "My Last Thought" because I thought it was a bit funny to hum a song about having a last remaining thought.

I perfected my kills since Johnson and Curtis. I invited unsuspected patrons to private screenings. I spiked their soft drink. And they never knew I killed them until their last few seconds of life-span.

Did I mention I killed a lot of people?

Let's see - after Sue Curtis - there was Kathleen Green, John Martin, Stephen Hill, Clive King, Robert Rowl, Margaret Baker, Jeff Mitchell, Kurt Harris, and Thomas Gut (I kid you not, his last name was Gut until he became, dare I say it, gut-less).

That's all the people I killed and scattered body parts throughout the joyous EYS.

No, wait. There was someone I am forgetting. Just give me a second, it will come to me.

Oh, yeah.

13. Michael Loomis

The god awful blogger of 'They're Here,' Michael Loomis. I killed him, too.

Fun fact # 4: Most of Loomis's body parts were in the theater seat 148, top row in theater 10. Some parts were placed in the butt-cushion part of the seat. Other parts were stored in the back-cushion part of the seat. No one noticed throughout the years that that seat was the most jammed pack out of all the seats I happened to insert body parts in.

14. There's more joy at...

Fun fact # 5: There were 13 people I killed all-together, but only 12 that I dismembered and scattered body parts in the theater. You might think I am being repetitious here, but I want to make sure that you get the point. I don't recall how many body parts I had all-together, but let's estimate that there were 50 body parts per body. 50 times 12 is 600.

There might be a little less or a little more than that (I am sure Buena Heights finest added up the exact number of body parts they recovered, hopefully; they didn't miss any). But let's go with 600, shall we? So 600 body parts scattered throughout EYS Buena Heights. That could fill theater 10 since 10 was the biggest auditorium (of, would you believe it, 600 seats). But I didn't want just one theater full of body parts. I wanted the pieces scattered throughout. That way, if I did get caught - it would be a disgusting treasure hunt.

To the Buena Heights Police Department: you’re welcome!

15. Temptations

Sunny Johnson wasn't the only poor unfortunate soul that I was tempted to...you know. But unlike Sunny Johnson, I didn't, you know, to those people.

Despite the rules I set up for myself (and then failed to obey at the end), I was tempted to kill my employees that stepped out of line. I was so tempted to end the lives of minors that always caused hell in my theaters (sneak in R rated movies, being noisy during movies, always making a mess). I had been tempted to kill another the very next day I had already killed.

Fun fact # 6: Courtney Green - my ex, the bitch - and the dearly departed Kathleen Green are unrelated to each other. Much like the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard and Sunny Johnson are unrelated to each other.

16. There's more joy at...

It was merely a coincidence that most (if not, all) of these victims I killed ended up at EYS at some point of their last known sighting before they disappeared (at least, that's what I tell police). "Merely coincidental." I had my share of police interrogations. A couple of times, there would be strong circumstantial evidence that I was involved in some way. But the edited videotapes I gave the police and fast clean up I had perfected always proved my innocence.

A tad bit before Sunny Johnson stepped into EYS as an employee - EYS theaters added digital projectors to their theaters. It was an exciting time. It's the biggest change since the introduction of widescreen format in movie theaters. 3D wasn't just hyped anymore - it was gaining appeal. We were crushing competition left and right. And if that wasn't enough, EYS was toying with the idea of adding a full-fledged bar. I was a little hesitant, not because it was a risky business. Because it might interfere with my joyful hobby (and the hobby room, which was near where the planned bar would go in the building). But it was decided to go for it. And I made sure the construction of the bar wouldn't cause a reveal of my kill room.

With all those perks that became selling points to keep our theater in business, there were nice distractions from the increased missing person's list - that sometimes revolved around EYS. Oddly enough, no one in corporate had any suspicions about me anytime the police sought questions. As long as the money was made, everything was just a mandatory routine.

"There's more Joy at…

EYS!

That's no BS, we confess!

…so enjoy your show…

at EYS!"

I probably would have continued to kill to this day if I was never caught. EYS probably would still be in business. That was until a chain reaction occurred. One would call it a domino effect.

Fun fact # 7: The Walt Disney Company bought Lucasfilm in 2012 for $4.05 billion. The Force Awakens was the first of many new films to come, with a release date of December 18, 2015. It was a huge event. To prepare for that event, EYS Buena Heights did its first job fair in a decade. It was that job fair in which Sunny Johnson was hired.

Soon after, things fell apart for me, and for the joyful EYS. But things didn't fall apart for Star Wars, or Mickey.

17. Fun facts

Fun fact # 8: There are 7 fun facts throughout this book. Now there are 8. Also, up to this point - I had killed 12 people - and spread their body parts all over EYS Buena Heights. And then, Sunny Johnson came into the picture. She made unlucky number 13. But her body parts weren't spread throughout the EYS Buena Heights premises. What I did with the body could make you disgusted if you aren't already.

If you are disgusted with what you've read so far, my invisible hat goes off to you, for you are a person with emotions. Emotions are good to have, I guess. I wouldn't know. I am a person, sure. At least, that's what they tell me. But I am also a monster. They tell me that, too. Who's they? Everyone.

If you aren't disgusted by what you've read so far, my invisible hat goes off to you, for you are like me, an emotionless monster, but also, a person.

Fun fact # 9: It's easy to kill a person you don't like (take my word for it). But it's much harder to kill a person that you do like. That's why Sunny Johnson was very unlucky. Not because she was number 13, but because I did really like her (take my word for it - or don't take my word for it).

18. Sunny Johnson

When Sunny Johnson was hired, I became obsessed with her. She just turned 17. She had dyed blond hair (but she was a natural brunette). She was perfectly petite. I think jailbait might come to mind. But my god - she was drop-dead gorgeous. Oops. Poor use of a pun. My apologies!

EYS had always employed youngsters from high schools. That was nothing new. And yeah - a good majority of the employees at EYS were attractive, male and female alike. I did attempt to force a 'NO DATING' policy in the theater, but let's be honest - no one followed that. Put a bunch of attractive, hormone-filled teens in a building together for a good period of time - you would see couples in a matter of weeks. You would then see boyfriends/girlfriends/ex-boyfriends/ex-girlfriends, and more boyfriends/girlfriends. In fact, it was pretty much musical beds at the EYS.

I never really paid attention to any of that or the gossip that came with it. Obviously, I was more attentive to how much cushion the theater seats had after stuffing it with random dead body parts.

But then, I started paying attention to Sunny Johnson. She didn't pay much attention to me. In fact, we hardly said anything to each other. She viewed me as an old boss. This was her first job. She was an usher.

I would watch her from the concession stand as she stood at the ticket podium, tearing tickets and directing people. She had a timid shyness to her, but I could tell that she was cracking from her shell.

On her breaks, she would always buy a cheese pizza from the concession stand - and go to a random theater. I was happy to make her pizzas for her. She would smile, say thank you to me, and walk away.

I don't know if it was a minor crush, love, or what - but my heart would beat a few beats faster when I saw her. But (!), she was 17. I was...well...a hell of a lot older. I tried to reset my mind away from naughty thoughts - but it kept creeping back. I couldn't handle it anymore - so finally, I asked Sunny to stay after her shift one random Saturday night. It was a month after the biggest Star Wars movie ever was released (until the next biggest Star Wars movie ever released - comes out).

After everyone left the theater, I invited Sunny to the office. I didn't know where or what or how or why or when or...huh? I just...wanted...her. I didn't even know what I would do if I...had...her. I...just...wanted...her.

When she entered the office, I locked the door. She was already in high alert. In fact, this would be a good example of a sexual harassment video. Except, this wasn't a video. And it got much, much, worse. The #metoos and #timesup crowd would be livid at this point.

I tried to force myself on her and kiss her.

She wore her EYS uniform, which consisted of the following: a black vest with EYS logo to the right, a black bow-tie, and white shirt underneath the vest, black pants, and black shoes. Everyone who wore the uniform looked like a penguin. Sunny Johnson also looked like a penguin in the uniform, but a sexy penguin.

Before I even approached her lips, she slapped me a few dozen times. Her parents taught her well. What happened next - didn't end well, though. More like, sunny side down.

Out of reaction - I choked her. After a few minutes, she fell over - dead. Even as a corpse, she was drop-dead gorgeous. I guess now was a perfect time to use that pun, but I suspect it's still slightly inappropriate.

I stared. Stared. And stared. Then I cried. Wait, huh?! I am a monster. Monsters don't cry. But this monster did. I got carried away and reacted without thinking. But thinking had to come quick. What was done was done. Now what?

I won't lie - dirty thoughts crept in my head for a few seconds as I stared at the dead corpse that represented Sunny Johnson.

'Since I had killed her, why not look under her...'

Disgust all you want - admit that the curiosity would creep in your head if you just killed a very attractive individual.

I didn't want to add her to my collection. For one thing, the collection of body parts symbolizes my annoyances. Sunny Johnson was far from an annoyance - though, the last few moments of her life might be a smudge of annoyance. Just a smudge.

But I knew I had to dispose of the body...somehow. I dragged her to my kill room, placed her on the table - and stared at her beauty. Such beauty. What a fucking waste - and it was my fault. I still feel bad about it...well, sort of. Well, maybe, partially. Well, perhaps, I feel completely and utterly bad. I don't know. When it comes to Sunny Johnson's demise - I have all kinds of emotions. And monsters aren't supposed to have emotion of any kind.

Back to the scene. I still have a dead body. A minor dead body. Wait, let me reword that. A dead body, which happened to be a minor. There - that reads better!

Sunny's cell-phone had just ringed. Uh oh. I didn't even know if she drove, or had a ride, or missed a ride. Shit. How do I get out of this one? I smashed her phone in pieces and then threw it in the trash.

Well - I had already killed her...so...I guess...it can't get any worse than that.

It did.

I slowly took off her clothes, not out of sexual needs. I usually have to take off clothes when I start to disassemble a body. That was just how it went, folks. Once Sunny was naked, a little paler than usual - I stared. I couldn't help it. And yes, those dark, dirty nasty thoughts invaded my brain. But I withdrawal from temptation, and went to work chopping her up to tiny pieces. That took some muscle!

I then placed Sunny's little body parts into poster tubes (postal tubes movie posters are shipped in). I had about thirty poster tubes worth of Sunny Johnson's remains.

If you think that's disgusting, it gets worse!

I took those poster tubes home with me - and had them all lying on the floor that night. Who knew an entire body could be de-constructed into thirty poster tubes. As I stared at the poster tubes on the floor, my stomach made a funny noise. Not out of disgust of what I just did. No. I was hungry. I realized I haven't eaten all day. I grabbed one of the poster tubes and walked toward the kitchen. I placed the poster tube on the table. I then took a frying pan from the cabinet and put it on the stove. I then grabbed hold of the poster tube and unscrewed the cap - dipping the tube into the frying pan. All kinds of gross, bloody body parts started dropping from the tube. I can't even tell you which body part(s) were what.

Anyhow, I don't know what inspired me to start cooking Sunny Johnson's parts - other than the realization that I had to get rid of the body somehow. At the time, it made sense.

If I had to do it over again, I probably wouldn't have invited Sunny Johnson into my office that night. But...here we are. And the second I choked Sunny Johnson to death - my future - as well as the future of EYS, also died with Sunny Johnson.

But she did taste very good. Her parents should be proud. She was concocted in a few different recipes. My favorite was a Sunny Johnson piece, with a few eggs on the side. Would it amuse you to know the eggs were sunny side up?!

19. ...there's less joy at EYS.

Things happened very rapidly, drastically, and abruptly soon after. The police came by the theater the next day - asking all kinds of questions about Sunny Johnson's disappearance. I wasn't as smooth-talking as I usually am. In fact, I don't recall what I was asked or what I said as a response. But I became under their radar. And soon, an investigation unfolded. An investigation that uncovered...oh my gosh, the body parts in the theater seats. I was then arrested.

As soon as I was arrested, EYS Buena Heights closed. As soon as I was put on trial, EYS - the company, filed chapter 11. As soon as I was found guilty of my crimes, good ol' Rick Miles (remember him - former-owner of EYS) committed suicide. He was found lifeless with two empty bottles of Tylenol PM.

Fun fact # 10: The drummer of Outsider's Vengeance died of similar circumstances.

I guess Rick Miles had a lot of pressure against him. I mean, not only did his company folded - but people held him just as responsible for the killings as me.

Though I only killed 13 people - I guess you could blame me for Rick's death.

20. Guilty

The trial was a perfect display of how infatuated the public was to disgusting, gruesome shit. All the ‘journalists’ talking heads reevaluated all the evil, unspeakable crimes I accomplished (though, I must comment – how is a topic unspeakable if one is speaking about such an unspeakable topic at hand?) They may (or may not) have uncovered my past, trying to analyze every little micro to why I did what I did.

I suspect the investigation was a lot like connecting the dots - once Sunny Johnson was realized to be missing - and was connected to me; that uncovered all the other missing person's in the area (which I am responsible for only 13). I can't imagine what it was like uncovering all those body parts at what was being called 'The Michigan Multiplex Massacre.' Clever, whoever thought of that title! I wonder, though, if someone had the brilliant idea of trying to identify who's who before the trial.

But it was when I was put to the stand, in which I swear on a fictitious holy book, that the truth behind my so-called 'crimes' would be clarified in wholesome, gory details. And boy, did I disgust them all in the courtroom. I think even the judge had a disgusted look. Yet - it made headline news for months. I guess the most disgusting equals the most newsworthy.

Sunny Johnson's pieces I chopped up and stored in poster tubes - ended up (regretfully) consumed by me. All of it. Once the poster tube was empty, I burned it. There were times I was quite disgusted with myself, eating pieces of Sunny Johnson. I never once considered myself a cannibal. But I also didn't leave any leftovers anywhere.

"What about the bones?" you might be asking. Did I mention I also had a dog? No? Well, I did...which took care of Sunny's bones. I could've been a real sick fuck, and used the bones as furniture, much like the home stylings of Ed Gein. However, that was too much to stomach - even for me.

I pleaded guilty, unashamed of what I did (aside from Sunny Johnson). And, would you believe it, the jury found me guilty. Who knew, right? They added the ages of all the victims I killed; the amount they came up with is the number of years I would have to serve in prison. Let me put it this way, it was in the triple digits - if that helps any!

Fun fact # 11: If I lived in another state that still had the death penalty, there was a good bet that would be my sentence. But luckily, I live in Michigan! The death penalty in Michigan was abolished in 1846.

Yay, Pure Michigan!

I now reside in a prison, somewhere between Alpena and Buena Heights. I can't really disclose that information. If you've seen the movie The Shawshank Redemption or binge-watched Orange is the New Black on Netflix, it might give you a sense of what my everyday life was like.

The plus side in things, I do get to read a lot - though, the book selection here sucks. Because it was prison, they push the bible very heavily. Ugh. All I can think about when I see a bible lying around - Sue Curtis. I wonder if Buena Heights' finest found all her pieces. Gosh, I hope they didn't miss the two fingers I placed outside the theater.

Anyway, I was able to find an old 1973 paperback copy of Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. It was stained to hell, had blue pages (weird), and page 1 & page 215 was missing (very weird), which happened to be the first and last page of the book.

Oh, well.

21. Courtney Green

I also get to see a little bit of TV in prison. When I started writing this book, I saw my bitch ex do an interview on Inside Edition in which she proclaimed that she suspected I was a psycho from the very beginning. And she was appalled that one of the victims I killed happened to share the same last name as her. Toward the end of the interview, she started tearing up - proclaiming that she feared for her life tail-end of our relationship.

What a fake bitch! Wonder if she realized that her cheating ass did inspire me to kill.

Oh, and Rob Zombie's shit Halloween remake. That also inspired me to murder.

22. In retrospect

Aside from Sunny Johnson, and dating that bitch Courtney bitch Green, the bitch (!) - I don't regret a damn thing. And despite how disgusted people are about my crimes - I am disgusted that the majority knows my name very well, but doesn't know any of the victim’s names. I know their names. Do you? Would you have to go back to previous chapters to remember?

Fun fact # 12: With most mass murders - the murderers are more well-known than the victims.

Why was that? Was it the media's fault? Was it the public's fault? Was it both?

Fun fact # 13: Back in 2011, there were constant fights outside of the courtroom of Casey Anthony’s trial in Florida. What caused the brawls? People were cutting in line to get free tickets to the trial.

I'll say it again...you people are as disgusting as I am.

I do know for a fact that my strange and bizarre hobby at the joyous EYS Buena Heights will be talked about in Buena Heights for quite a long time. The city is tainted. I tainted it.

And I suspect after you read this, you won't sit in a movie theater seat again without thinking how lumpy the seat seems. And then, you will wonder if that was just cushioning in the seat...or...something...else...somebody else…that…was!

K.H.; March 24, 2014 - February 6, 2017.

#The Michigan Multiplex Massacre #now seating...#movie theaters #short story #self written #horror #Halloween #stephen king #kurt vonnegut #robert bloch #h. h. holmes #black clouds & silver linings #fiction

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thewrittenpost · 6 years ago

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Twenty Questions Tag

I was tagged by @cohldhands; thank you so much! I’m gonna put this under a Read More to keep things small!

1. Is there any scene from any piece you’ve written that actually scared you? If so, describe the scene.

Scared, not so much. I was disgusted with the scene I did for Xavier and his necromancy, because he’s just not good. At all. Like, he kills a girl to summon a dead warrior for his army, and his biggest concern afterwards is that his robe is ruined. Like... dude. That’s your priority? Ick.

2. What genre do you feel most awkward writing?

Ooh... I’m not good at sci-fi. Or mystery really. And despite the fact that I seem to stick at least one romantic pair into my works, I’m not exactly... great at it. At least past hugs and innocent little kisses. I can do those. Anything more than that is just awkward.

3. How many different types of writing do you write? Types of writing include novels, short stories, poetry, song lyrics, etc.

Um... I did some short stories for class, and I’m attempting novels. I’m not great at poetry, unless you’re counting like... haikus (and even then...). So I guess two?

4. How old were you when you first started writing?

Ooh... I was in fourth grade when I really started, so I must have been like... nine? I wrote this horrible story about a girl and her dog for another classmate, whose reading level was far below “typical” levels, and gosh, I was so proud of it when I wrote it, but man, do I want to forget it now. I seriously hope my classmate took it home with her at the end of the year, and that my teacher doesn’t remember it. Unlikely, as she remembers me reading under the desk during class, but I still have hope that she forgot that part of the year.

5. How confident are you in your writing?

I’m... not. I mean, academic writing, like research papers and what not, I’m pretty confident in, but my fiction? Uh, yeah, I’m not so sure about that. I mean, I can’t get the images in my head down on the paper right and it’s just... ugh, I’m not good enough for it. But I’m practicing, and with practice I should improve!

6. Have you ever written and posted anything that was very personal to you?

Not really. I put some stuff in fanfiction that was more personal, but nothing very major. I’ve considered it, but when I’ve talked about those things offline, I got brushed off and some people told me it was no big deal and to get over it, so I just... avoid it now. Honestly, if I ever post something that came out of a personal place, I’ll probably write it as a fiction and never tell anyone.

7. What inspired you to start writing?

I was a huge reader growing up; my Nana always told us if we wanted to watch something based off a book, we had to read the book first, so that was a thing. And then I just wanted to write.

But as much as I say I try to forget that fourth grade “book” I did, that classmate was actually a huge part of it. Like, there was nothing that she could read/understand/test on in our class library. Keep in mind, she was at like... a kindergarten/1st grade reading level in fourth grade. And I wanted her to have something to read... which is how Suzy and her dog Bozo became a thing. Not sure if Suzy was actually the girl’s name, but it sounds write for 4th grade me.

8. Which of your OCs do you relate to the most?

Out of all of them? Probably Violet. I’ll be honest and admit that a lot of her traits are also mine. She’s not quite me; she’s a lot more assertive for one, and she’s not exactly one to back down from what’s right (in her eyes), but some of her backstory came from my life. (I’ll leave it to y’all to guess which parts as I post more about her)

If not Violet, then it’s probably Tobias. I completely relate to hiding the bad things behind a smile, so that’s a thing.

9. Have you ever written self-insert fanfiction?

I have, and nope, no one will ever know which one ever. Middle/High school was a bad time for me and fanfiction ideas, let’s just leave it at that.

10. What is your favorite piece you’ve ever written about?

Ooh, that’s a good one. I don’t actually know. I’m pretty fond of the ones I’m working on now, but... I tried writing out a script in high school (it’s gone, don’t ask) based off the Japanese Internment during WW2. It’s a really important thing for me to have tried, and I intend to go back to it one day, but that’s got to be my favorite because of how personal that time period is.

11. How frequently do you actually sit down and write?

I’ve been really good about sitting down and working on my stuff, whether it’s brainstorming, worldbuilding, or writing little bits every day! It’s my resolution for the year, and I’ve pretty much stuck to it!

12. How many hours at a time do you do research on your writing?

It depends on the thing I’m writing. Like... the Japanese Internment takes far less time to research because gee, I’ve got tons of sources already at home, and I’ve already done a bunch. But the less I know, the longer it takes. And because I don’t trust the internet sometimes, I double-check everything I find on it, so it takes a little longer.

13. Do you like to branch out in your writing or do you tend to stick to what you know?

I... tend to stick to what I know. Maybe one day I’ll branch out, but for now, I’ll stick to what I’m comfortable with. I have a hard enough time with that, you know?

14. What would your antagonist of your current WIP say to you if they saw you in person?

Huh. Frog Prince’s major antagonists are themselves, so they’d probably yell at me. Xavier from Death’s Eyes would tell me to make myself useful (in some way) or he’d just kill me. And since the antagonist in Villain’s Intern is technically a hero, he’d probably give me some inspirational speech or something.

15. Do you consider yourself your OCs’ god or just kind of a guiding hand (or other? If other, please list)?

Hahahahahahahaha, other. I’m the poor historian desperately trying to figure out what happened so I can make a reasonably accurate retelling of the events, I have no hand in any of this, help me

16. What do you think you’d be doing with your time if you’d never gotten into writing?

More video games. Probably more reading. Maybe more crocheting and sewing, because I’d have more time to do those!

17. Have you ever written a smut piece?

....Yes. I don’t remember if I ever posted it, it was awkward and horrible to write, I’m still not comfortable with it. I can read smut without much issues, but writing? That’s something I’m not quite sure practice will help with. ^^’

18. What was the first thing you ever wrote about?

Not counting school work? Suzy and Bozo. A girl and her dog. Silly adventures a 4th grader could think of.

19. What is the most creative creature you’ve ever created for world-building?

Uh.............. most of mine come from other things, but I suppose Matelus has these fire rock things that I haven’t talked about much. They’re rocks mostly, but they’ve got lava as the equivalent of blood, and can breathe fire, and they’re actually pretty passive. Some of them have gems that would be like... hair, but not all of them. They don’t attack people, except in defense (because people try to steal the gem hair) and they mostly just... make things. They’re more the smith part of Matelus than anything else, and I want to hug them. Except they’re rocky and hard and kind of spiky, so probably not a great idea.

20. Tell me one random fact about your WIP that you have yet to tell your followers.

Uh... I... don’t know. What’s not a spoiler? Um... so, relation-wise in the Frog Prince world, the major conflicts link back to the same family. Like, Gwen and Rhia are sisters. Scarlet has to face her curse because she’s trying to find Gwen. Rhia becomes Alba (Snow White’s) stepmother, and Gwen and Rhia’s grandmother is the one who curses Aoife (Sleeping Beauty). Like, they’re all connected and I feel like it might get too convoluted and messy, so it might change, but as things stand, that’s the way it is.

I also feel I might have said that before, but... yeah. I’m not going to tag anyone, but if you want to do it, please please tag me so I can see what you answer too!

#the writer speaks #thanks for tagging me!

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yogurtbattle · 6 years ago

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Because English pronunciation is random

Gerard Nolst Trenité - The Chaos (1922)

Dearest creature in creation Studying English pronunciation, I will teach you in my verse Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.