#it was pretty good- I love me a nice simple horror that isnt too over the top or complicated and has a decent enough monster design

[cerulean-crow]

seeing an actual trailer for an actual fnaf movie at my actual local theatre with my mom sitting a foot away from me was not the surreal experience I had on my 2023 bingo card

[marshmallowprotection]

Hii! I'd like a matchup please!

Im an aries, and about 4'10 in height, so tiny.

my pronouns are she/they!

Im also Pansexual!

pretty quiet and introverted, save for people Im more comfy with. I occasionally have a hard time putting things into words, or fumbling over them in normal conversation, but better-ish in a chatroom/in text format (fitting for this games universe lol) . random tidbit too but hugs are a rlly nice sensory comfort of mine, theyre nice and calming to me! funny things and internet humor also helps me out of rlly rlly bad moods.

Once I get a bit familiar with someone, Im more easygoing, or energetic. Im also an ok judge of character, even if I don't say it at first, if someone gives me a bad vibe, they...usually turn out to be well. not great. I like to give benefit of the doubt, which is why I dont say anything at first, but mostly its ended up that way for one reason or another.

Im not quite sure Im on Jumins level by any means, but I do love and care for cats a lot. Ive grown up with them, and often volunteer at a shelter to work with cats there, too. I am willing to compromise for other pets like preferably a dog, or some other alternative, but I just dont think I could give up having a pet outright.

Im a college student at the moment, but if I had to pick a dream job, it would probably be something related to writing maybe? Ive had a hard time trying to come up with ideas, but Id really like to find something!

In terms of hobbies or interests, I as I said before, enjoy writing, Im a decent cook, not really any good at games, (except for maybe SOME rhythm mobile games) but I play games occasionally! I dont have the confidence to wear lolita fashion, but I do enjoy looking at it a lot. Im also a bit of a horror fan! be it games, anime, or movies when I can stomach them, I think the aesthetic is neat. I also adore stuffed animals to this day, and have quite the collection going.

enough about that tho lol this is getting long. Im not particularly picky in who Im interested in!

I hope this isnt too long! thank you!

I match you with...

Yoosung!

You're the kind of person that really enjoys what you love but sometimes it's hard to share that with other people because you don't know if they're going to be into it or if they're going to have the same enthusiasm for the thing that you like. It's always hard opening yourself up to just about anyone because you don't know if they're going to be receptive. That's the hard part about making friendships and getting closer to other people. That's the hard part about relationships in general. When it comes down to it, you're just looking for someone that understands you and is willing to let you enjoy yourself as you are. For that reason, you need someone that lights up every time you open your mouth. That someone would happen to be Yoosung.

You never have to worry about your interests being really childish or being something that someone would shame you for. You can have as many plush as you want and you can collect whatever you want, as long as it makes you happy, he's very supportive of that. This boy would go out of his way to make sure that you had things that made you happy. He's probably prone to getting you something and getting himself something. So you both have something that matches. It's kind of cute in a very simplistic sort of way.

You don't have to worry about being the best cook in the world, she just wants to work with you so you both can make things together. It's an activity that you like to explore. He doesn't mind sitting on the couch, cuddling and watching whatever is on at the time. He likes being able to have that simple time with you. It's like nothing else in the world matters.

[scurybooween]

Would you answer all the autumn asks?

Going to try to do this...

AUTUMN ASKS

1. Apple pie: what’s cooking? (Or planned to cook?) 

Atm or Halloween??

I did a salad today, was easy and i’m lazy.  For halloween - Halloween cookies and maybe a huge fudge brownie.

2. Chilly air: are you a warm weather or cold weather person?

When i was younger i was cool weather, and since i live in the desert - i’ve become a warm weather person.  I do however adore the coolness of fall - and dream of moments waking up in crisp cool air.

3.Misty mornings: what time do you wake up? What for?

Depends, i dont have a set time.  I wake up super early for errands and cleaning atm.  So sometimes 4 am, sometimes 6 - and when i’m tired it’s like 10 am.

4.Oversized sweaters: what sweater weather outfit are you looking forward to wearing?

Definitely sweater dresses are a favorite item for me, but a fantastic jacket is also up there.

5. Carved pumpkins: what holidays (popular or pagan) are you celebrating this fall?

Halloween, Samhain, Dia De Los Muertos (Mexican Catholic, so it’s a family thing)

6.Ghost stories: what books are you reading?

The Invention of Murder: How the Victorians Revelled in Death and Detection and Created Modern Crime

7. Hot coffee: what’s your drink this fall?

I switch between my cafe latte, lemon grass tea, and hot chocolate

8. Cold hands: anyone to hold them?

Atm single and enjoying the freedom

9.Spooky shadows: any increased spiritual activity?

Nightmares or deja vu type dreams come to mind.

10. Crunchy leaves: what’s your favorite noise/sound to hear? 

Guess a tinkling of the piano, or some soft violin melodies

11.Scented candles: 5 favorite smells you love?

Usually any fall or autumn ones that contain apple, cinnamon, vanilla, pumpkin spice but very soft, and rose/flower ones.

12.Hurricanes: what do you do on rainy days?

Debating on when it’s raining or how hard - cause i actually live in fear of Hurricanes or heavy rains. 

When it’s a soft rain - i sometimes open the doors and windows to let the heat steamed water smell enter the house.

13.Cinnamon: what are your favorite spices?

Black pepper, nutmeg, cilantro, chipotle - too many

14.Boots: Favorite pair of shoes/boots you own?

15. Monster masks: what’s your makeup/morning routine?

I used to do a full face up of stuff when i was in high school and college - but now i keep it pretty simple.  Wash lightly with shea moisture bar, moisturize, simple products like lip balm or a fancy lip stick - vitamin e once in a while.

Then i get up and have water - which is my constant first drink.  Might make something to eat, which changes daily.

16 Black cat: what pets do you have/want?

Dont have any pets atm, though i had them for a lot of my life.  After my last cat disappeared i didnt want to own another pet cause it was hard to have a good enough space to keep them.

I want any animal, i would have a few different pets if i had enough room and a good financial situation.

17.September: What’s your favorite kind of weather?

A windy overcast day - like those that are cool enough to wear a jacket with - but not freezing.

18.October: Did you go trick-or-treating on Halloween when you were younger?

I went trick or treating for most of my teens - at first for myself only - then we took younger family members out during their time. 

19.Pumpkins: Have you ever carved a jack-o-lantern?

Yea - a few times.  I get that sorta hankering feeling that i want to both eat and cut one up.  We usually try to keep and use all the goods cut out - so we have to get things ready to make stuff with the seeds and the left over pieces.

20.Leaves: When the leaves change, what color looks the prettiest?

I never got to collect leaves - but when i was around Sycamore trees i wanted to.  I preferred a yellow green piece and also a pure orange one.

21.Rain: Do you wear a Raincoat or carry an Umbrella?

I dont have a raincoat or an umbrella.  I dont enjoy using Umbrellas - mostly cause i’m the fool that has one flip out when i’m walking around.  My state can have some really insane winds.

22.Caramel Apples: Favorite Halloween candy?

Can anyone only have one favorite Halloween Candy???  I guess a fight out between dark chocolate kit kat, twix, and taffy.

23.Candles: What’s your favorite way to cozy up on a rainy autumn day?

My favorite thing to do is curl up with a book by Barbara Michaels - she did sorta romantic crime solving stuff.

24.Pumpkin Pie: Share your favorite autumn recipe.

Cream Cheese Pumpkin Pie

25.Apple Cider: Do you drink your apple cider hot or cold?

Never had apple cider - cold or hot.  Been wondering if i should make my own this year.

26.Wind: Have you ever been outside your own country during Autumn? Tell us about your experience.

Only been to Mexico - but it isnt too far or different from my own Autumn.

It does get cool, but of course it’s usually hovering around 60.  There’s also rain on and off, it was much wetter in the 80s and 90s - but has become a lot more warm since then.

27.Books: What was the last book you read?

Ghost Children

I picked this up cause this was one of my childhood favorite books - i would check this out constantly and keep it for as long as i could.  Sadly the book i got didnt have the creepier tomb cover with the depressed child ghost on the cover.

28.Socks: What kind of socks do you like? Do you wear matching socks, fuzzy socks, tall socks, or no socks?

It seems like almost EVERYONE who adores Halloween has a million types of socks, from the witch black and purple ones, to the horror blood themed ones, or the bats and pumpkin covered ones.  I have any number which i sometimes mix and match when i’m in a hurry.  I dont wear socks when i wear shorts or dresses - so unless i flash my ankle at you - you wont see the silliness.

29.Coat: Is Autumn your favorite season?

Yes - followed by spring - as it is a nice cool time.

30.Jacket: how do you feel about pumpkin flavoured things in general?

Love so many of them.  Atm sad that Noosa isnt in my area anymore - as that was my favorite yogurt and they had an amazing pumpkin version.  I’m not a fan of all the pumpkin stuff - but there’s enough to cover everyone’s taste buds.

31.Gloves: Is the weather finally feeling more like autumn where you are now?

In the mornings i feel it - cause it’s usually around 60 or so.  During the day - NAH.  It’s from 50 to 90 every day, which is what happens in the desert.

32.Campfire: Do you like going outdoors for activities like camping, hiking, or mountain biking?

I want to like all of that stuff, as i used to love being in the woods.  Thing is - it depends on where you are going, what you have - and how close to people you are.  I dont feel i could be lumber-jacking it anywhere - but for a nice day thing i would be down.

33.Mini pumpkins:Best pumpkin design I’ve ever carved/plan on carving

Mine are simple cause i am sorta scared of knives - cant do a lot when i keep worrying about if i will cut too much or too fast.  I am not scared of people with knives - i’m scared of me using knives and cutting myself.  I did it fairly bad one time - and i get nervous about it.

34.Forest: What are five of your favorite things about autumn?

The smell in the air, the change of time and day length, how the plants will not burn as much under the sun, seasonal food, cooler days

35.hoodie: how different was your life five years ago?

Had a bit more money, was working out a lot more, had a few friends i was arguing with a lot, a certain orange wasnt destroying the world, was getting ready for Halloween festivities.

36. Tea: Favorite scary story or legend

There’s a few - La LLarona, Headless Horseman, Carved Mouth woman

37.Spices: Favorite character from a Halloween movie

Sam from Trick r Treat or Sadako from Ringu

38.Maze: Have you ever gone to a corn maze?

Have been meaning to go to one near me - though i went on a hay ride/corn maze ride as a kid.

39.Haunted hayrides: Tell a spooky campfire story (if you have one)

Had to look up what a campfire story would be or contain - and someone said the story of Bloody Mary.  I wonder if Elizabeth Bathory would work as one.  I’m the lame history loving person - so i might add in a ton of history tidbits to give more of a gore styled retelling.

40. Boo: Do you believe in ghosts? If so, have you ever had an experience?

I’m a spiritual person, so i cant rule ghosts out totally.  I have had an experience with something i thought might have been ghost like - it is hard to describe to anyone who didnt have it.  I also am not trying to convince anyone of it.

41.color: If you live in a climate where the trees change colors, do you like walking/driving around and looking at them?

Sadly none of my trees change - unless you go to a specific park where they planted these poor trees that shouldnt be here cause of our weather.  I dont see cactus and mesquite change - but they are nice plants.

42.Lights: Do you decorate your home for Halloween?

I do - i try to do it to the point where at least 70 percent of my house front is covered.  This year, i am not going to decorate as i dont want kids to trick or treat - i want people to be safe.  Atm though - i put up a wreath on my door with a spider and some bats.

43. Party: Do you hand out candy on Halloween, have/attend parties, or do something else?

My general Halloween day starts with me having family and friends come over, then handing out candy to kids, and at night going out to any clubs.  At 3 or 4 am i come back and spend time watching horror movies until we pass out from things.

Had been trying to change plans for 2020, i wanted to go to New Orleans - but that plan was scratched.

44. Movies: Favorite scary movie

Just like with music - my stuff changes every 5 years.  I would say atm i am in a toss up between the VVitch and Midsommar.  Before that was Let the Right one in.  Those are my favorite horror films, but my fav Halloween film atm is Paranorman.

45.Novel:Favorite spooky novel

I already know i need to read more, i dont know if i have read a scary enough novel that i have a favorite one.  I really need to get past my true crime and history stuff, cause those are scary to me.

[i-am-parsec]

She stands there, eyes fixed on his horrified expression, blood dripping down her chin.

"What did he do to you?"

She can feel his rage, his overwhelming desire to hurt, break her attacker. Revenge can wait, though, all she needs right now is some rubbing alcohol and a clean shirt. She tries expressing this in her usual cold way, but when she opens her mouth all it comes out is a ragged, sharp whimper. He hurriedly reaches out for her as the first tears fall down. Every muscle hurts, even his hands holding hers is too much, but she pushes through the burning pain and the window frame and lands on his bed. It takes all of her will to not scream, and she better fucking not, or things could get even uglier for her, given Charles is in the living room, and by the looks of it, already in a bad mood.

"Dolores", he begs, "tell me what happened."

She stares at the dirty ceiling. Where to start, she wonders. Does she go all the way back, to her mother first brushing with cocaine, or even further, to her devastating mental breakdown right after losing her husband? Or should she keep it simple and tell him about the night she met Diego? Maybe she should just explain to him why Diego lost it tonight after dinner.

Truth be told, she doesn't really feel like talking at all. She gets that from her dad. When shit gets tough, the Walters don't talk it out, they take action. Except that when you're a 13-years-old living with her junkie mother there isn't much action you can take. Chase's eyes go from the cut on her forehead to the bleeding lip to the many red stains all over her. She might not feel like talking but he's dying for a answer. She sighs.

"He tried to rape me. I resisted, he hit me and tried to choke me so I stabbed him. Throat. He might be dead."

The mix of absolute resignation and exhaustion takes away all sentiment from her words. She knows what she's saying is terrible, Chase's impotent crying and shaking hands is proof enough, but her brain is too busy processing the physical pain to focus on the undeniable trauma this will lead to.

"She's high as a fucking kite. The police won't be here for a few hours...any chance you can get me anything to eat? The asshole didn't let me touch the pizza he ordered. And something to...fix this" she says, gesturing all over her face.

He nods but stays sitting right by her side.

"He better be dead. I'll go and finish him off if he isnt."

With that he leaves and Stacy knows that while he truly wants Diego dead, he wouldn't dare. To take a life, to inflict such pain, it's not part of his nature. Not even all these years by his father's side has changed that. She's so different. So much colder. She wonders if her affection for the young Brody boy comes from genuine friendship or if, actually, she's just following him around in hopes of becoming more...human.

After a few seconds she concludes it doesn't matter. Either way, he makes her a better person, certainly not in the most conventional ways, but still. She knows, for example, that if wasn't because she really doesn't wanna go to juvie and lose him, she definitely would have ended Diego, she would have maimed him. Instead, she ran off into Chase's backyard, repeating in her mind over and over, "it was self defense."

It was. Everyone will agree on that. She just won't mention how long she has been waiting for a good reason to kill the son of a bitch.

Her friend comes back. Under his tshirt, a cream cheese sandwich; in his pockets, a bit of cotton soaked in alcohol. The stench is strong and it makes her headache worse. He tries to gently stop the bleeding while she wolfes down the sandwich. When they are both done, he gives her a big, old tshirt that gets to her knees.

"My mom got all these from that church she started going to a bit ago. They are used but still in pretty good shape."

She really doesn't have anything to say back. He knows that. He simply turns around, giving her some privacy and waits. After a minute or two, she lets him know he can turn around again. The first thing he notices is that both pants and shirt are on the floor, then, her naked legs. Her soft olive skin tainted with green, violet and blue. He wants to be strong, to be a man for her. His quivering lip betrays him. It's very instinctual how they fall into each other's arms. He's embarrassed for crying, she's glad not to be the only one. He breathes her in, the smell of iron and rubbing alcohol and cheap booze, but underneath it all, more importantly, her scent.

"I'm so sorry."

It's hard to tell who says it first. And it really doesn't matter what they are sorry for, because there's plenty to feel sorry about in their lives.

When they wake up the next morning, still holding onto each other, the first thing Stacy notices is the lack of red and blue lights. She puts her pants on and sneaks out as quietly as possible, ignoring Chase's pleading to stay . No patrol cars in sight. She walks into her house the way the horror movie protagonist walks into the haunted mansion, knowing she should probably, definitely turn around and run away.

She freezes on the corridor. Her mother, on her knees, scrubbing the floor like her life depends on it is certainly not what she expected to find.

"Dolores..." she lets out. She's smiling and crying and hugging and twiching, she's all over her, it's suffocating. "Yo sabía que tú estabas bien, que ibas a volver, I knew it!" she yells at God, or maybe their ancestors,"I knew my baby was safe, and that you would come back to me."

Stacy's eyes aren't on her mother though. She's looking at the floor, or rather at what is missing.

"Where is he?"

"It doesn't matter, he won't hurt you anymore. And if the police finds out and they take me, well, maybe it'll be for the better, maybe you'll end up with a nice family, huh?"

"If they take you?" Now she's paying attention.

"I will claim I did what any other person, any mother would have done in this situation." Her determination is extraordinary. She speaks the way extremist believers pray.

"Ma, I..."

"You suffered enough."

It's brief and heartbreaking, it's a glimpse into the past, the fearlessness in her voice, the love in her eyes.

"If someone has to pay for this, it's me, I'm the only one to blame."

It was enraging. It was beautiful. It was both the best and the worst her mother could have ever done for her. Are you allowed to hate your mother when she's the reason why you live in fear and poverty and almost get raped after she hides a body and decides to take the blame for you after you murder your abuser, who's also her boyfriend?

Stacy doesn't know. She does know this is not the kind of dilemma a 13-years-old should be dealing with.

"Mi amor..." whispers her mother holding her face, examining the wounds. Stacy caresses her cheek for a second, closes her eyes and sighs. Her hand drops.

"I'm going to my room."

As she walks away and hears her mother sobbing, she realizes the madness of it all. It doesn't move her. Her own mind scares her, but there's no time for fear when first period is about to start and she's still on her bloody pants.

❤️Tag list❤️: @amyxmiaplay @awkward-bullshit @beck-gh @closedworldofmathiel @darktrash-drash @fanfictionrecommendations-com @flyingfishflopsthings @fruitycasket @happysingingturtles @hiimizzyxoxo @hishex @kitnkas @mcomegalletas @mijako98 @mysterious-cupcake-ninja @mysticalanimallover @novasingalaxies @plutoandpolaris @probablyghosting @randomartdudette @saltyweirdbi @scarlet--raven @septicuniverse @skyewardlight @thevampireauthoress @youllnevertaketheskyfromme

[taakofromtaz]

wrong side of reality

Summary: 

taako has an imaginary friend named lup

Notes: (transposed from AO3)

For pyrrhlc.

this is my secret santa fic for tumblr user defcnestrate! (sorry if this was a little late. i had unforseen events impede my plans to write before the deadline)

(i had to do some investigating but i think i tagged the right person. if this isnt you, let me know, pyrrhlc!!)

happy candlenights!!!!

title from "young and meanace" by fall out boy

(did a little beta work. fixed some typos, added a few words)

[character study, introspective, vignette style sorta, trans taako]

Word count: 2256

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Ever since Taako was little, he had an imaginary friend. She was an elf like him and trans like him and looked just like him with the mismatched eyes and blonde hair except it was like a mirror. She knew everything he was going through because she was going through it too.

He’s too old for that now, but sometimes, in his weakest moments, he likes to pretend she’s still with him.

Her name was Lup and he liked to pretend he was a twin.

 Something about the Umbra Staff makes him think of his childhood imaginary friend. She would use something this ridiculous, he thinks one night when trancing is impossible. He wraps his arms around the staff and closes his eyes.

This is weird, he thinks. She isn’t real. The staff is warm and he likes to think that imaginary Lup would like fire. Useful fire for those cold and sleepless nights on the road. Useful fire for keeping raiders off his back it the scariest, darkest nights. Useful fire to cook something just right even without a professional kitchen.

Lup would play with fire and Taako would change the world to match.

 Taako doesn’t remember the last time he had a room to himself. A normal kind of remembering this time, instead of the weirdly huge gaps in his mind that made him sick and sad and lonely. The first thing he does is throw himself on the bed that’s big enough for at least three of him and roll around on top of the comforter until he can get over the fact that it’s perfect.

The next thing he does is scatter his belongings all over the room, followed by an incredibly brief bout of panic wherein he picks it all back up and leaves it in a heap beside the bed instead. The bathroom is next on his inspection tour. It’s a simple affair but fairly elegant. Taako is impressed and a little awed. (He learns over the next several days that the bathroom is his and his alone and he has a hard time not rubbing it into Magnus and Merle’s faces.)

When he finally collapses on the clean bedspread, still coming down from the high of having such nice new digs, he allows himself to think about Goldcliff, about Sloane and Hurley, about the truly massive fireball he’d managed that ended that fight.

His breath hitches and he shoves his fists against his eyes.

This isn’t what he wants to think about. He doesn’t want to think about the looks Hurley and Sloane gave each other all the way to the end, he doesn’t want to think about the hug that Hurley gave him, doesn’t want to think about how he melted so completely in her hold that he didn’t even notice that she was giving him her harness, doesn’t want to think about the way the silverpoint crept through their veins and turned their blood to ash right in front of him.

The thought sends a cold jolt down his spine and the irrational thought that he needs to find the Umbra Staff now.

He finds it hooked around the footboard and he snatches it quickly, pulling it closer before scrambling his way under the covers, still fully dressed. He wraps himself around the staff and presses his forehead against it. It’s warm, almost hot, and suddenly Taako’s reminded of how filthy he is, covered in a layer of sweat and grim from the battlewagon race and the battle with Sloane afterward.

(After the three of them finished their customary post-mission trip to the Fantasy Costco, they’d been stopped by Avi and escorted down to their new rooms, a private suite with its own elevator and a common room featuring a portal to hell—aka a giant floor window—overlooking the planet below. There’s a bedroom for each of them, already assigned, and a bathroom at one end of the hallway, opposite and excluding Taako’s en-suite. There’s a fairly large kitchen attached to the common room, separated only by an island bar with three stools. All in all, it’s pretty tight, but they hadn’t had the chance to clean up before being left to their new digs.)

Taako can’t bring himself to care that he’s getting the new sheets dirty. He’s already a disaster, what’s it matter what he gets up to in the comforts of his own room (and isn’t that just wild? His own room. Wow.).

“You did good today,” he says out loud, keeping his voice down just in case there’s someone standing outside his room. “You cast some bombass spells and saved a shitton of people today.” He sighs and moves the umbrella back to smack himself in the forehead with it. “But gods, Taako, you’re still a fucking idiot.”

The Umbra Staff quivers and Taako squeezes it tighter. For a moment, he imagines it’s a neck in his hands and he stares at his white knuckled grip. He takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes.

“You’re not real, Lup. You’re just something I made up because I can’t stand to be alone.” His eyes sting behind his lids and he struggles to keep his breathing steady. “But gods I wish you were.”

Taako lays long enough to almost fall asleep. He moves to curl into a ball and his ribs ache his clothes pull weird and he sighs, reluctant to leave his warm cocoon. He forces himself to get up and peel off the dusty, sweat soaked shirt and jacket and binder and he kicks his shoes and pants to the side with a growl. Luckily, whoever it was that set their rooms up managed to stock the dresser with his clothes.

Donning an oversized sweater and a pair of shorts, Taako crawls back into bed and tries not to think about Sloane and Hurley’s dying faces.

Taako’s never loved someone that much.

 L-U-P.

Taako tries so hard to pretend the letters on the wall mean nothing to him, tries so hard to pretend that L-U-P is a string of letters he’s never seen before, never uttered like a prayer in a moment of weakness, never crossed his mind or passed his lips or stuck with him as his only companion against horror and heartbreak and crushing loneliness.

No. The word means nothing to Taako. It’s not a name. It’s just a word.

There’s no mystery here, he wants to say. He wants to shake the boy detective, wants to turn him away from the letters, from the thought, the idea of Lup as an entity. She’s mine, he wants to say. You can’t have her. The words not again linger in his mind for far longer than they should.

 Madame Director calls Taako to her office the day after L-U-P. Taako tries really hard to ignore how worried he is that something’s going to go terribly wrong and forces himself to act as casual and put-off as he possibly can. He wants to pretend that this is just an annoying formality. He can’t. He doesn’t want Madame Director, please, dear gods, anyone but Lucretia.

She has her stern “I know you did something so don’t lie to me” face on and Taako feels his skin crawl with irritation. He hates her holier-than-thou attitude sometimes. Just because she has a magic jellyfish that can unmake entire lives doesn’t make her better than the rest of them.

“Taako,” she says, and sometimes he hates the way she says his name, too. He hates the way the syllables sound familiar coming from her mouth, the gentle way her lips wrap around it, like a suffocating hug from a bear that wants to eat him.

“Director,” he says back, just to be petulant. He knows why he’s here and he refuses to break. He’s allowed his secrets, his privacy. Sure this is the best gig he’s ever had, but by the gods does he feel trapped here more than some of the time.

“Care to explain what happened yesterday?” She quirks a brow at him and he gives her a deadpan stare, unimpressed.

“Oops,” he says with a careless shrug, entirely unapologetic.

“This wasn’t on purpose, was it? It wasn’t an act of petty vandalism?” She’s the picture of calm and grace and as much as Taako wants to keep poking this lion, the longer he sits under her stare, the more anxious he gets.

“Listen, I dunno what the whole deal with this ‘luhp’ thing is, but I have other things I’d rather be doing,” he says, forcing himself to mispronounce Lup’s name. The further away from her he can paint himself, the better the situation will turn out. Experience has taught him this time and time again.

Lucretia looks exhausted and for a moment he feels concerned. Smug satisfaction quickly takes its place and he moves as if to stand when she remains silently for a solid minute.

“Look, are we done here? Can I go?” Taako gestures to the door with the Umbra Staff.

The Director’s eyes lock onto the staff and Taako can see her shoulders tense. He moves the umbrella his other hand and crosses his arms in front of it. “Just tell me why.”

Taako purses his lips and considers his answer. He turns and strides for the door, uncrossing his arms to grab the handle. “Look, Director,” he begins, fighting back the urge to call her Creesh for reasons he’s not entirely sure of. “Whatever happened yesterday? That wasn’t me.” He twists the knob, pulls the door open, takes a step out. “And Lup is just something I made up as a kid. Don’t worry about it.”

He closes the door and leaves. He doesn’t look back.

 For only a second, Taako thinks he see Lup with him, there in that white space. When he turns to look, all he can see is the red dirt of Refuge and he doesn’t think about her again until he dies. I hope she’s not dying, too, he thinks, and then, but dying’s never stopped her before.

Every subsequent death, he finds himself searching for a glimpse of her. One time it’s a flash of blonde hair. Another time it’s the tips of pointed ears. Yet another is a ghost of a smirk.

The color red follows her and when he looks, it’s dirt and he’s in Refuge again.

Lup would have liked Roswell, probably, and definitely Ren. He hopes they can meet one day. He forgets he ever had the thought.

 The Umbra Staff tries to kill Kravitz and that’s just fucking rude. Why does it have to act up like this? Why can’t it just be like any other cool staff? (Taako thinks that if he could ever make a staff it would have a blade on the end. Not because he would use it like a sword, but it would look super intimidating and maybe an enemy will think it’s a melee weapon and assume he’s weak when he’s anything but.)

The whole thing about something undead makes Taako’s skin crawl. He doesn’t like the feeling of not being able to trust the Umbra Staff. He’s come to rely on its steady presence to ground him during his lowest points and he doesn’t want anything to come between that. Fuck the rest of the base if it means sacrificing personal comfort.

Why would a dark spirit risk being discovered to save Taako’s life so many times? If there is a lich—and gods, maybe there is and he just never knew because they used to own the staff before him—then the only thing he can do is hope it won’t escape and try to murder him. But, again, why save his life and help him get stronger? Why not just kill him immediately?

Kravitz may be hot, and he may be right about an undead spirit, but he’s wrong about it being a danger to him.

(Lup would never hurt him.)

 The fireball that Angus shoots out is huge, bigger than the little boy is capable of casting or even handling. When he speaks up, babbling excuses about how he couldn’t possibly have cast that spell, something clicks in Taako.

“I know, I know,” he says, and he hopes he doesn’t sound like a weirdo because honestly? He wasn’t listening.

He’s too busy thinking about how to free Lup from the Umbra Staff.

Why didn’t he think of this before? It’s a miracle it never happened on accident even, but here, and now, Taako realizes that he has to break her prison to set her free.

From the moment he drank the baby’s ichor to the second he snaps the Umbra Staff over his knee, he had managed to convince himself that Lup was still a candy-coated dream. She seemed too good to be true, too good to be real, she had to be fake, she could only exist in the imagination of Taako’s intense, lonely need to never be alone. There was no way she was real and somehow he’d managed to convince the others that she was.

But now she is. She’s real and wonderful and phantasmal and resplendent and—

Taako feels like he can breathe for the first time in over a decade.

Thank the gods, he thinks, eyes burning and tears rolling down his face faster than he can think to stop them. She’s real. Thank the gods.

And then she puts him on blast but he’s laughing and he’s happy.

She’s real.

[adambstingus]

Every Halloween, I Have A Story I Like To Tell

I liked Ben, I really did. I mean, he was a nice guy. We had some fun times together in college, messing around the dorm, going to parties, all the dumb shit that college guys do. He was cool and all, but he was a little pretentious. Well, I guess the word he used was artistic. He thought he was real smart, spent a lot of time trying to prove it to everyone. He had his own blog developed to film critiques not the big ones, though. Just little indie productions because nothing else was worth his time. When he got like that, he could be pretty insufferable.

Perhaps the most annoying thing that he did was performance art.

Now, I dont wanna be the guy who says that all performance art is dumb. But yeah, no, all performance art is dumb. Oh, look, youre on display painting a picture of Jesus from your own urine, how original and edgy! Maybe Im a little jaded, but it always seemed so contrived to me. Unfortunately, Ben really loved it. He thought there was something beautiful in art that was physically living and he devoted an embarrassing amount of time to it.

Anyway, I hung out with Ben a few times after college, but we mostly just met up to do some heavy drinking and maybe hit a strip club or two. He considered THAT performance art as well, which was just fine with me, it gave me an excuse to waste some ones. Since we didnt hang out very often, I had a bad feeling when he contacted me about a month before last Halloween.

He called me up at about seven in the morning on a Saturday, which is too early to even consider waking up, in my opinion. I answered in a daze and he started running his mouth like crazy, as though afraid that, if he didnt get it all out at once, he never would.

Mike, hey, Mikey, listen, buddy, I need your help, okay? Okay, okay, Ive got this idea for a performance and, well, its going to be , you know? So good! Its going down on Halloween. Can you come help? Look, Ill even pay you, man. Fifty dollars. So how bout it?

Now, Ive never cared much about Halloween one way or the other, and Im a pretty easy guy. Fifty dollars to probably just sit there and run a fog machine or some bullshit? For the right price, I could even pretend that I wanted to be there. Besides, what else are friends for?

A few days later, he gave me the details. To be honest, I was a little shocked when he sent the email. I know that performance art is intended to be edgy and can sometimes get a little dangerous, but this seemed downright negligent.

Mike:

Thanks for agreeing to do this for me! Ive talked to a few other people, but they werent really comfortable with it, for reasons youll probably be able to figure out. Of course, I understand if you want to back out, but I think you are probably the most reliable person I know. Its really not that big of a deal, Im sure youll agree.

As Im sure youve noticed, vampires have become very prominent in the media as of late. I say vampires because they are beginning to deviate so wildly from the traditional myths that they resemble forest fairies more than anything else. Altruistic? Sparkly? Whiny? Give me a break. We need more Dracula! We need more Carmilla! We need more death, destruction, and blood!

My performance will center on the theme of rebirthing the vampire. For the vampire to be reborn, he must first be buried. To turn peoples attentions back to the myths of old, I will be doing just that: I will be burying the vampire.

I have a group of viewers signed up already to participate in the performance, so you dont need to worry about that. Im going to plant a series of vampire-themed clues around town for them to follow. The clues should be pretty simple, and it will probably take no more than an hour to an hour-and-a-half for them to find me.

Here comes the somewhat controversial part. Essentially, for this performance to have any semblance of meaning, I need to be buried alive. Dont worry, its perfectly safe: I have a buddy from back home who is building me a coffin with a hole in the top. Ill be fixing it with a pipe that will stick an inch or two above the ground. That way, I wont run out of air. Ill also have a few necessities in the coffin in case something happens: food, water, and a flashlight.

Once they arrive at my grave which will be completely vampirized they will be provided with an array of shovels and will bring me back to life, a reincarnation of the true mythological history of vampires.

Here is where you come in. I need you to bury me. In addition, I need you to be my safety net: if they cant find me, if something goes wrong, if I become sick, I need you to be the one to get me out or call the police, if necessary. Ill also need you to decorate my grave, make it really creepy dont worry, Ill send you some blueprints.

I know this is a little stressful and it may take some time for you to decide, but, rest assured, this is a completely safe project. Theres no danger of suffocation and the coffin is sturdy, so its very unlikely that it will collapse. I really just need you there for support and the actual hard work of burying me.

What do you say? Id even be willing to up your pay to a hundred dollars, if thats what you need.

Let me know!

RIP,

Ben

I stared at my screen for a few minutes, completely dumbfounded.

Once I cut through all the bullshit about art and vampires and rebirth, what it came down to was death.

This guy actually wanted me to almost kill him.

I mean, sure, it probably WAS safe. But my mind went over the plan slowly. What if I couldnt get him out in time? One shovel and a pit of dirt wouldnt be a fast job. Furthermore, what if something happened to me?

Before making a decision, I sent him another email asking if he was really sure he was up for this. Of course he knew, he said. And then he said something that would always stick with me.

Art must be a little dangerous, my friend, for it to be real.

A month later, I found myself standing at the foot of a grave. It was six feet deep and perfectly rectangular. Sitting at the bottom was a tapered coffin covered with black lacquer, a white skull painted on the top. In the eye of the skull was a hole just big enough for the PVC pipe. Stenciled underneath was a line from Dracula: Denn die Todten reiten schnell.

I stood there like an idiot, waiting for Ben to show up.

In the end, Id decided to go along with his stupid gig. Ben was a stubborn bastard, and if I didnt help him, someone else would. At least, thats the justification I gave myself. But the real reason was that, deep inside my heart, his words were still echoing.

Id ended up doing a little more work than I had intended. For one, I had to place his stupid clues around the city. It wasnt hard work, but it took some time to get them all in the proper places. Luckily for Ben, they were pretty obvious clues. There was no need to worry that his participants would be unable to find him.

Ben had set up the grave and the coffin a few days prior to Halloween. It was out in the woods just on the outskirts of town, no chance of it being disturbed. Id tried to talk him out of burying it the whole six feet down.

If something happens and I need to get you out fast, what will I do? Cant you put it closer to the surface?

Ben had just shaken his head in exasperation. You just dont get it, do you? It has to be done right. Remember what I told you.

So I shrugged and let him mess around with whatever dumbassery would get him off.

I was just beginning to wonder if I should have brought more beer this promised to be a long night when Ben showed up.

I had to restrain my laughter when I saw his getup. A cheap Dracula costume from Wal-mart had never looked so pathetic, especially when topped off with those cheap plastic fangs. Hed greased his hair back and painted on a widows peak.

I couldnt resist. Wow, seriously, dude?

He gave me a stern look. Its a comment on the commercialization of vampires and horror as we know it today. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a walkie talkie. Here, take one. The range isnt very far, but my cell phone wont work that far underground. Youll have to stay nearby. Let me know if youre going out of range.

I shrugged and took it. Okay, but you brought your cell just in case, right?

Nah, what good will it do if it doesnt work?

This guys batshit insane, I thought. But he handed me the hundred dollars and, suddenly, it didnt seem to matter anymore.

I helped him into the coffin and shut the lid. He seemed pretty calm if it were me, I knew Id be having a panic attack. I fit the PVC pipe into the hole. It slid in perfectly snug. I climbed out of the coffin and grabbed my shovel, taking one last look at the shiny black peeking out from the dirt.

With a resigned shrug, I started to shovel in the dirt. Okay, well, he asked for this, I thought.

It took almost a full hour to get all the dirt piled in. The PVC pipe was just barely visible over the grave. I piled the earth around it to hide it as well as I could. Then, I set up the rest of the grave: a hideously gothic headstone made of Styrofoam, and cheap Wal-mart flowers. Once it was finally finished, I sat back against a tree and waited.

There was an awful lot of waiting to be done.

Three hours later, his participants still hadnt come.

Hed buzzed in on the walkie talkie a few times, asking if theyd shown up. I continually answered in the negative, wondering how long hed be willing to keep up this charade. He must be getting worried, I thought, staring at my watch. It was already 10 pm and not a soul to be seen.

Hey, Mike? Something must have happened, I dont think theyre coming. Can you get me out of here? Bens voice crackled and faded in and out of the static fuzz. I took another swig of my beer and heaved a sigh.

Of course they werent coming. They were frantically searching for the last clue. My hand crept into my pocket as I felt it folded there, the creases poking at the soft flesh of my palm.

Mike? Are you there? Did you go out of range?

I turned the walkie talkie off. I didnt need it anymore, anyway. Carefully, I picked up a handful of disturbed earth from the top of the makeshift grave. I poured it down the pipe and listened.

I heard the muffled exclamation, the series of expletives. I thought I could hear a thumping sound he must be hitting the top of the coffin. I smiled a little to myself as I poured some more dirt in through the pipe.

Bens struggles got louder and I felt a certain heat rising up in me. Oh, I knew it could be good, but I didnt know it could be good. This was incredible. This was perfect. This was .

Eventually, I grew bored of shoving the earth down into the coffin. I could hear Bens screaming and sobbing reverberating up the pipe. I yanked a handkerchief out of my back pocket and stuffed it inside. I made sure to plug it up good and tight.

It would only be a matter of time, now. Assuming he could regulate his breathing, he could possibly have a few hours. But I knew he was panicking. And that would simply serve to shorten his time.

The pounding grew weaker as I finished my beer. Once I was certain there was no saving him, I went to finish my work.

Ben was right everything really did go off without a hitch. I dont know what I was so worried about.

Id gone to find his lost sheep, the wayward participants who were scrambling in frustration for the last clue. I scolded them for making us wait so long, acted the part of the reluctant friend indulging his lunatic companion. I took them out to the grave. It was now past midnight.

They sat hushed as I gave the stupid speech that Ben had prepared for me. Everything seemed normal Id made sure to stow the rag before anyone could see it.

Friends, foes, and everyone in between. Tonight we gather to resurrect the ancient horror that has plagued mankind for centuries. Its tale, once a gruesome epic of blood and seduction, has become nothing more than commercialized fodder as society has aged. Now, the time has come for the phoenix to burn and rise again. So, too, shall the blood-soaked visage of the vampire! My voice resonated throughout the woods, and the morons in attendance clapped as they all reached for their shovels.

We dug him up in about half an hour. It was much faster work with his host of suckers. It was good that we reached the coffin quickly, because I could barely contain my excitement.

Two of the men opened the coffin and screamed. The women leaned in over the grave to peek as well, full of expectancy. There was something dreadful about the scene, to be sure.

Bens face had gone gray, sprayed over with a few specs of dirt. His hands were bloody, his fingernails pried off. Deep scratches decorated the top of the lid. The men who had opened his tomb dragged him out in a panic, unsure if this was part of the performance or not. A few moments of silent listening at his chest produced no heartbeat. The proclamation was definitive: he was dead.

They screamed. They called the police. They alternatively looked at his body and shielded themselves from its horror, enraptured yet struggling.

They ignored me.

But that was fine. It was fine because they were admiring my work, the work of the artist. Finally, I had been given this opportunity to prove my worth. Finally, I had found my sacrificial lamb. And it had been a rousing success. The heat raging in my body affirmed that much. I didnt even care if I was caught, so long as I could have this moment to hold for the rest of my life.

Ben was right. I should have known a man of principle never lies. And I owe him a debt of gratitude, for realizing the artist within me.

Art must be a little dangerous for it to be real.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/every-halloween-i-have-a-story-i-like-to-tell/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/172357360662

[samanthasroberts]

Every Halloween, I Have A Story I Like To Tell

I liked Ben, I really did. I mean, he was a nice guy. We had some fun times together in college, messing around the dorm, going to parties, all the dumb shit that college guys do. He was cool and all, but he was a little pretentious. Well, I guess the word he used was artistic. He thought he was real smart, spent a lot of time trying to prove it to everyone. He had his own blog developed to film critiques not the big ones, though. Just little indie productions because nothing else was worth his time. When he got like that, he could be pretty insufferable.

Perhaps the most annoying thing that he did was performance art.

Now, I dont wanna be the guy who says that all performance art is dumb. But yeah, no, all performance art is dumb. Oh, look, youre on display painting a picture of Jesus from your own urine, how original and edgy! Maybe Im a little jaded, but it always seemed so contrived to me. Unfortunately, Ben really loved it. He thought there was something beautiful in art that was physically living and he devoted an embarrassing amount of time to it.

Anyway, I hung out with Ben a few times after college, but we mostly just met up to do some heavy drinking and maybe hit a strip club or two. He considered THAT performance art as well, which was just fine with me, it gave me an excuse to waste some ones. Since we didnt hang out very often, I had a bad feeling when he contacted me about a month before last Halloween.

He called me up at about seven in the morning on a Saturday, which is too early to even consider waking up, in my opinion. I answered in a daze and he started running his mouth like crazy, as though afraid that, if he didnt get it all out at once, he never would.

Mike, hey, Mikey, listen, buddy, I need your help, okay? Okay, okay, Ive got this idea for a performance and, well, its going to be , you know? So good! Its going down on Halloween. Can you come help? Look, Ill even pay you, man. Fifty dollars. So how bout it?

Now, Ive never cared much about Halloween one way or the other, and Im a pretty easy guy. Fifty dollars to probably just sit there and run a fog machine or some bullshit? For the right price, I could even pretend that I wanted to be there. Besides, what else are friends for?

A few days later, he gave me the details. To be honest, I was a little shocked when he sent the email. I know that performance art is intended to be edgy and can sometimes get a little dangerous, but this seemed downright negligent.

Mike:

Thanks for agreeing to do this for me! Ive talked to a few other people, but they werent really comfortable with it, for reasons youll probably be able to figure out. Of course, I understand if you want to back out, but I think you are probably the most reliable person I know. Its really not that big of a deal, Im sure youll agree.

As Im sure youve noticed, vampires have become very prominent in the media as of late. I say vampires because they are beginning to deviate so wildly from the traditional myths that they resemble forest fairies more than anything else. Altruistic? Sparkly? Whiny? Give me a break. We need more Dracula! We need more Carmilla! We need more death, destruction, and blood!

My performance will center on the theme of rebirthing the vampire. For the vampire to be reborn, he must first be buried. To turn peoples attentions back to the myths of old, I will be doing just that: I will be burying the vampire.

I have a group of viewers signed up already to participate in the performance, so you dont need to worry about that. Im going to plant a series of vampire-themed clues around town for them to follow. The clues should be pretty simple, and it will probably take no more than an hour to an hour-and-a-half for them to find me.

Here comes the somewhat controversial part. Essentially, for this performance to have any semblance of meaning, I need to be buried alive. Dont worry, its perfectly safe: I have a buddy from back home who is building me a coffin with a hole in the top. Ill be fixing it with a pipe that will stick an inch or two above the ground. That way, I wont run out of air. Ill also have a few necessities in the coffin in case something happens: food, water, and a flashlight.

Once they arrive at my grave which will be completely vampirized they will be provided with an array of shovels and will bring me back to life, a reincarnation of the true mythological history of vampires.

Here is where you come in. I need you to bury me. In addition, I need you to be my safety net: if they cant find me, if something goes wrong, if I become sick, I need you to be the one to get me out or call the police, if necessary. Ill also need you to decorate my grave, make it really creepy dont worry, Ill send you some blueprints.

I know this is a little stressful and it may take some time for you to decide, but, rest assured, this is a completely safe project. Theres no danger of suffocation and the coffin is sturdy, so its very unlikely that it will collapse. I really just need you there for support and the actual hard work of burying me.

What do you say? Id even be willing to up your pay to a hundred dollars, if thats what you need.

Let me know!

RIP,

Ben

I stared at my screen for a few minutes, completely dumbfounded.

Once I cut through all the bullshit about art and vampires and rebirth, what it came down to was death.

This guy actually wanted me to almost kill him.

I mean, sure, it probably WAS safe. But my mind went over the plan slowly. What if I couldnt get him out in time? One shovel and a pit of dirt wouldnt be a fast job. Furthermore, what if something happened to me?

Before making a decision, I sent him another email asking if he was really sure he was up for this. Of course he knew, he said. And then he said something that would always stick with me.

Art must be a little dangerous, my friend, for it to be real.

A month later, I found myself standing at the foot of a grave. It was six feet deep and perfectly rectangular. Sitting at the bottom was a tapered coffin covered with black lacquer, a white skull painted on the top. In the eye of the skull was a hole just big enough for the PVC pipe. Stenciled underneath was a line from Dracula: Denn die Todten reiten schnell.

I stood there like an idiot, waiting for Ben to show up.

In the end, Id decided to go along with his stupid gig. Ben was a stubborn bastard, and if I didnt help him, someone else would. At least, thats the justification I gave myself. But the real reason was that, deep inside my heart, his words were still echoing.

Id ended up doing a little more work than I had intended. For one, I had to place his stupid clues around the city. It wasnt hard work, but it took some time to get them all in the proper places. Luckily for Ben, they were pretty obvious clues. There was no need to worry that his participants would be unable to find him.

Ben had set up the grave and the coffin a few days prior to Halloween. It was out in the woods just on the outskirts of town, no chance of it being disturbed. Id tried to talk him out of burying it the whole six feet down.

If something happens and I need to get you out fast, what will I do? Cant you put it closer to the surface?

Ben had just shaken his head in exasperation. You just dont get it, do you? It has to be done right. Remember what I told you.

So I shrugged and let him mess around with whatever dumbassery would get him off.

I was just beginning to wonder if I should have brought more beer this promised to be a long night when Ben showed up.

I had to restrain my laughter when I saw his getup. A cheap Dracula costume from Wal-mart had never looked so pathetic, especially when topped off with those cheap plastic fangs. Hed greased his hair back and painted on a widows peak.

I couldnt resist. Wow, seriously, dude?

He gave me a stern look. Its a comment on the commercialization of vampires and horror as we know it today. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a walkie talkie. Here, take one. The range isnt very far, but my cell phone wont work that far underground. Youll have to stay nearby. Let me know if youre going out of range.

I shrugged and took it. Okay, but you brought your cell just in case, right?

Nah, what good will it do if it doesnt work?

This guys batshit insane, I thought. But he handed me the hundred dollars and, suddenly, it didnt seem to matter anymore.

I helped him into the coffin and shut the lid. He seemed pretty calm if it were me, I knew Id be having a panic attack. I fit the PVC pipe into the hole. It slid in perfectly snug. I climbed out of the coffin and grabbed my shovel, taking one last look at the shiny black peeking out from the dirt.

With a resigned shrug, I started to shovel in the dirt. Okay, well, he asked for this, I thought.

It took almost a full hour to get all the dirt piled in. The PVC pipe was just barely visible over the grave. I piled the earth around it to hide it as well as I could. Then, I set up the rest of the grave: a hideously gothic headstone made of Styrofoam, and cheap Wal-mart flowers. Once it was finally finished, I sat back against a tree and waited.

There was an awful lot of waiting to be done.

Three hours later, his participants still hadnt come.

Hed buzzed in on the walkie talkie a few times, asking if theyd shown up. I continually answered in the negative, wondering how long hed be willing to keep up this charade. He must be getting worried, I thought, staring at my watch. It was already 10 pm and not a soul to be seen.

Hey, Mike? Something must have happened, I dont think theyre coming. Can you get me out of here? Bens voice crackled and faded in and out of the static fuzz. I took another swig of my beer and heaved a sigh.

Of course they werent coming. They were frantically searching for the last clue. My hand crept into my pocket as I felt it folded there, the creases poking at the soft flesh of my palm.

Mike? Are you there? Did you go out of range?

I turned the walkie talkie off. I didnt need it anymore, anyway. Carefully, I picked up a handful of disturbed earth from the top of the makeshift grave. I poured it down the pipe and listened.

I heard the muffled exclamation, the series of expletives. I thought I could hear a thumping sound he must be hitting the top of the coffin. I smiled a little to myself as I poured some more dirt in through the pipe.

Bens struggles got louder and I felt a certain heat rising up in me. Oh, I knew it could be good, but I didnt know it could be good. This was incredible. This was perfect. This was .

Eventually, I grew bored of shoving the earth down into the coffin. I could hear Bens screaming and sobbing reverberating up the pipe. I yanked a handkerchief out of my back pocket and stuffed it inside. I made sure to plug it up good and tight.

It would only be a matter of time, now. Assuming he could regulate his breathing, he could possibly have a few hours. But I knew he was panicking. And that would simply serve to shorten his time.

The pounding grew weaker as I finished my beer. Once I was certain there was no saving him, I went to finish my work.

Ben was right everything really did go off without a hitch. I dont know what I was so worried about.

Id gone to find his lost sheep, the wayward participants who were scrambling in frustration for the last clue. I scolded them for making us wait so long, acted the part of the reluctant friend indulging his lunatic companion. I took them out to the grave. It was now past midnight.

They sat hushed as I gave the stupid speech that Ben had prepared for me. Everything seemed normal Id made sure to stow the rag before anyone could see it.

Friends, foes, and everyone in between. Tonight we gather to resurrect the ancient horror that has plagued mankind for centuries. Its tale, once a gruesome epic of blood and seduction, has become nothing more than commercialized fodder as society has aged. Now, the time has come for the phoenix to burn and rise again. So, too, shall the blood-soaked visage of the vampire! My voice resonated throughout the woods, and the morons in attendance clapped as they all reached for their shovels.

We dug him up in about half an hour. It was much faster work with his host of suckers. It was good that we reached the coffin quickly, because I could barely contain my excitement.

Two of the men opened the coffin and screamed. The women leaned in over the grave to peek as well, full of expectancy. There was something dreadful about the scene, to be sure.

Bens face had gone gray, sprayed over with a few specs of dirt. His hands were bloody, his fingernails pried off. Deep scratches decorated the top of the lid. The men who had opened his tomb dragged him out in a panic, unsure if this was part of the performance or not. A few moments of silent listening at his chest produced no heartbeat. The proclamation was definitive: he was dead.

They screamed. They called the police. They alternatively looked at his body and shielded themselves from its horror, enraptured yet struggling.

They ignored me.

But that was fine. It was fine because they were admiring my work, the work of the artist. Finally, I had been given this opportunity to prove my worth. Finally, I had found my sacrificial lamb. And it had been a rousing success. The heat raging in my body affirmed that much. I didnt even care if I was caught, so long as I could have this moment to hold for the rest of my life.

Ben was right. I should have known a man of principle never lies. And I owe him a debt of gratitude, for realizing the artist within me.

Art must be a little dangerous for it to be real.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/every-halloween-i-have-a-story-i-like-to-tell/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/03/28/every-halloween-i-have-a-story-i-like-to-tell/