#shook black horror anthology | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arg-machine · 11 months ago

Text

Comics at machine HQ

According to the machine HQ blog schedule, it’s almost time for a new list of comics and/or graphic novels that arg’s been reading lately… and so here it is – a new Comics at machine HQ post! In between the last such post and this one, arg has been quite active: he composed new music, posted on Instagram and compiled several monthly playlists.

And comics! arg also read a lot of comics – he read fiction too, but that’s a post for another week! – and here are some that he, like, really enjoyed…

Funnybooks! We got funnybooks! Here are the comics/graphic novels arg has read and enjoyed in the last few months. All titles are arranged alphabetically, and related titles – or titles from related genres – are listed in the Also recommended sections. Keep in mind that a few of these titles are suitable for mature readers only.

“During a golden moment in the early 1950s the stars aligned, and EC Comics lovingly adapted 25 classic Ray Bradbury stories into comics form. Al Feldstein scripted, and all of EC's top artists brilliantly illuminated Ray’s tales: Johnny Craig, Reed Crandall, Jack Davis, Will Elder, George Evans, Frank Frazetta, Graham Ingels, Jack Kamen, Roy Krenkel, Bernard Krigstein, Joe Orlando, John Severin, Angelo Torres, Al Williamson, and Wallace Wood. This special collection features all 25 official adaptations plus an additional ten related stories, with stunning art...”

Also recommended: Death Strikes: The Emperor Of Atlantis, The Bitter End And Other Stories and Dark Ride.

“More than a decade after a disastrous explosion, young Hailey is dropped off by her mum at a holiday camp in a dilapidated shopping mall. Alienated from the other kids, she connects with an eerie older teen named Jen… but soon dark horrors awaken, and the two new friends are caught up in a cataclysmic battle between two terrifying creatures who have been lying dormant all this time.

One of Australia’s most acclaimed young graphic novelists, Chris Gooch expertly crafts a taut and intimate thriller about mothers and daughters, the monstrous and the mundane, and the power of friendship in the midst of catastrophe.”

Also recommended: Complete Ballad of Halo Jones, Alien: Thaw, Indigo Children and Kaya.

“Deep within the walls of Castle Dunsinane, a seed of madness begins to bloom. Spurred on by the prophecies of witches and the whispers of his scheming wife, Lord Macbeth plots the death of his friend, King Duncan. This one cruel act soon spirals out of control, and murder after murder erupt into a wave of chaos and violence that threatens to consume all of Scotland.”

Also recommended: Creepshow, Shock Shop, and Shook! A Black Horror Anthology.

“When the sun goes down, our minds invent all manner of horrors that may lurk in the darkness. Danish cult illustrator John Kenn Mortensen draws inspiration from this shadowy realm, and his pen skillfully conjures these eerie visions on paper.

Open this book (if you dare) to encounter a frightful horde of sepia-toned spooks — witches, wraiths, goblins, giant spiders, wild boars, evil clowns — and countless other unspeakable creatures. Hairy, hooded, or horned, they peer at you ominously through dead eyes, their fangs bared.” Highly recommended!

[Y’all know who the “horde of sepia-toned spooks” above reminds arg of? Of course – his Copiers of Hindustan buddies from Mastodon! And don’t worry, they’ll probably take this comparison as a compliment!]

“In a climate crisis-ravaged future metropolis, a grumpy, smoke-belching, cigar-chomping, hotrod-racing robot is a twelve-year-old girl's only hope. Together, can they outrace the chasing Robo-Cops with an invention that might just save humanity?”

Also recommended: Sap Hunters, Under-Earth and The Colonized.

“Tom Gauld returns with his wittiest and most trenchant collection of literary cartoons to date. Perfectly composed drawings are punctuated with the artist’s signature brand of humour, hitting high and low. After all, Gauld is just as comfortable taking jabs at Jane Eyre and Game of Thrones.” An absolute favourite, this one!

Also recommended: The Site, Flung Out Of Space, Lomax - Collectors of Folk Songs, Whistleblowers..., Yazidi and The Dyatlov Pass Mystery.

The dynamic crime-writing/drawing duo is back! “A boarding house full of druggies. A neglected housewife. A young girl who thinks she's a superhero. A cop who wants to be left alone. And a private detective looking for a runaway girl. These stories collide one fateful summer in Where The Body Was, a tale of love and murder in the suburbs, told from a dozen different points of view. All the neighbours on the block have an opinion about the murder and how it happened, but which of them is telling the truth?”

Also recommended: The Reaper And Other Stories, Oswald's Body and Slash Them All.

…and now, here’s machine HQ’s Retro Pick for this post, a freaky little book straight from 1990:

“What happens when a scientist discovers a way to make cloning easy?; Nothing good as the inventor discovers when his invention is used on him! His quest to stop the conspiracy-minded thieves and retrieve his invention makes this one of the wildest suspense tales yet!”

Phew! That’s it for this new comics/graphic novels list, visit The Apocalypse Project on Mastodon, twitter/X and on tumblr, and don’t forget to check out the machinstagram [links elsewhere!] too!

Header image features artwork from Army of Darkness Movie Adaptation [30th Anniversary Edition] and from classic 1990s Predator comics.

#comics

0 notes

dark-ethereal-visions · 1 year ago

Text

Kylie’s Reality - Short Story Excerpt

I can’t say where each element of Kylie’s Reality came from or what inspired me to write this story. I do remember that Julia’s part of the story was inspired by a local urban legend in my WNY state hometown. Briefly, the legend involves a couple of 20-something men who pick up a hitchhiking coed. She asks them to drop her off just outside of a cemetery and, as she flees from their vehicle, she leaves her purse behind. Seeking to return the girl’s purse, the driver looks for her driver’s license and returns the purse to the address on the license. Upon knocking on the door, an elderly woman answers the door and claims the purse as belonging to her daughter who was killed in a hit and run accident on that very highway 25 years earlier.

Otherwise, I would have to say the rest of the story is entirely a figment of my imagination. I will say that Kylie’s part of the story was challenging to write. While I can usually throw myself into any character, I found it difficult to form the dialogue of a gay, black, teenage girl. I rewrote her journal entries several times before I ended up with prose that I could be happy with in completing the story.

Here’s a brief look into Kylie’s Reality:

Halfway up to the fourteenth floor, the cabin lights flickered. It had been barely noticeable and happened only that one time, but, after all she’d seen lately, that little disturbance unnerved her just a bit. She tried to pay it little attention…until her senses peaked. The stoic stare at her reflection straight ahead was now the only shred of reality she had left to grasp. Chills ran up her spine and spread to every inch of her flesh, she shook with fear and confusion so intense that it almost drove her into a fugue, and she could already feel her bladder threatening to release its contents. All of this before her mind had even registered what her eyes were seeing. Just behind her reflection, she saw a second image; the image of a person.

It was her.

The same girl she’d seen last night. The same dark skin, the same dreadlocks, the same face…the same scars on that face and neck. It was definitely her.

Julia wanted to turn. She wanted to either confront her or prove to herself that the girl wasn’t really there. She wasn’t sure which option would have been more relieving. Her mind fought her body’s resistance, turning in one quick motion. She’d hoped the spasmodic turn would have startled her visitor, but what Julia saw shocked her. The vision terrified her down to the deepest depths of her soul. She’d turned completely around -180 degrees- yet the reflections in the mirror told her that the girl still stood directly behind her. The worst part of it was how clearly the reflection appeared; this was no hallucination. She could see the anger in the girl’s eyes and she could feel her hot breath against the nape of her neck. It didn’t matter which direction she turned. That girl always stood behind her, like a guardian…or a stalker. Too frightened to carry through with the scream she felt building up in her throat, she swung around to face the doors. She looked at the girl’s reflection, both anger and fear swelling up within; her fists were clenched so tightly that she could feel her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. “Leave me alone!”

The bell chimed and the doors swung open. She found herself greeted with the befuddled stares of the secretary, her fellow paralegal, and the two lawyers that headed the office. Everyone in the office had heard the scream. There was no hiding her shame, either; she felt her face grow hot and her mirrored image told her she’d turned three shades of red. She walked onto the floor, carrying herself as professionally as the situation would allow, and smiled. “Bad break-up.” She quickly produced her cell phone. “Sorry.”

Experience all nine stories in Whispers From Hell: An Anthology of Horror & the Supernatural.

Follow these links to get your ebook or paperback copy:

Amazon Kindle

Amazon Paperback

Barnes & Noble Nook

#horror #fiction #books #readers #authors #short story #book excerpt #free samples #book boost #ebooks #kindle #nook #reading community #reading challenge #book challenge

0 notes

witch-hazels-musings · 4 years ago

Text

nightmares

Includes: Childe, Albedo, Xiao

Warnings -> STRONG emotional images (panic attack, spectral hands grasping at character, feeling of overwhelming fear and dread) -> leads to comfort

Synopsis: Nightmares plague the characters sleep and they wake up startled - the reader comforts them

I’m a SUCKER for painful things man - I want to put them through hell just to pull them back up again ...

Anthology

Childe

He was drowning, suffocating by the thousands of hands pulling him deeper into the terrifying darkness he ran from. Their nails dug into his skin, pulling it back to reveal the horrors laying underneath. The thousands of vile acts he had done in service of the Tsaritsa, for the Fatui, now pouring from him and feeding the hunger of the hands, urging them to dig deeper into him until there was nothing left.

He reached out toward the distant light, gasping and desperate.

Childe...

The light called to him, speaking his name as if he were worth more than being a simple tool, a means to an end. The dirty hands grabbed at his face, he struggled with every ounce of his strength to get away. The fear of seeing what lay beyond the reach of the light spurring his determination. He screamed and nothing came out, instead his mouth filled with bloody fingers.

Childe violently awoke, lurching forward with incredible force and urgency. He was drenched in sweat and fiercely forced air into his lungs. When he felt a hand on his arm he jerked away stumbling from the bed in heartbreaking distress.

“Childe …” he heard your voice, saw your hand reaching out to him, saw how you looked at him as if he were some wild animal: fearfully. “It’s me … do you see me.” he watched as you moved the sheets from your legs. “You’re safe, it’s okay.” you moved toward the edge of the bed, “Put the knife down.” He looked down into his hand and saw he was gripping onto the knife which he kept in the nightstand. His fingers wrapped so tightly around it that they had turned a painful shade of white.

The beating of his heart continued to race even as he straightened himself out, even as he rubbed the sweat from his forehead.

“I’m okay …” he spoke the words more to himself than to you, like a montra he recited every day. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.

He heard the bed creak and, returning his attention to you, he saw you making your way toward him, hands open in an attempt to show him you didn’t mean any harm.

“Is it okay? Can I come to you?” the words are covered in honey, and he knew you were trying to cover up the hesitation of your steps. He placed the knife on the windowsill and nodded, making sure you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

The feeling of your arms wrapping around him was akin to a drug. You provided him with comfort he’d never known, the sensation of your face resting against his chest, he reveled in it. Your voice had this magical power of reaching him no matter where he was, or what he was.

“Your heart is beating so fast. That must have been one intense dream.” your lips connect with the space over his beating heart.

“You can’t imagine,” he breathes into your hair, resting his face in it’s wild locks. He lets your scent fill him up, and this connection helps to calm him.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” you shift your head making him lift his own, you stare at one another in the moonlit room before he finally answers your question.

“I don’t want to make my fears your own,” he places a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m pretty tough, I can handle it.” you squeeze your arms around him in a playful manner which elicited a chuckle from Childe. “But, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’ll always listen, if you ever change your mind.”

His heart rate slowed, thanks to the proximity of your own giving it the ability to match it’s pace.

“Thanks,” He scooped you up and led you back to the bed, and once you got settled in between the sheets he slid down to rest his head against your chest. There he was able to drift back into a peaceful sleep by the rhythmic thumping of your heart and the movement of your fingers in his hair.

Albedo

There was a long hallway, incredibly long, unending. His footsteps echoed off the walls and when he glanced upward he couldn’t find the ceiling. A child was laughing further down the passage, and he followed after it until he reached a blinding light, without hesitation he stepped through it.

On the other side was a bustling city filled with laughing citizens weaving between one another, going about their day under the warmth of the sun. As he walked through the streets, he noted how the citizens didn’t seem to mind him. A woman stumbled before him and he reached out his hand to help her, when she turned to thank him her face contorted into uncomfortable, inhumane shapes. She screamed causing Albedo to stumble backwards and, in unison, every citizen stared at him, their mouths open, screaming. Their voices culminated into an unholy sound which unraveled his soul.

Suddenly, shackles appeared around his wrists, his ankles, his neck. Their icy touch seeping into his skin. When he touched them the screaming only grew louder which caused him to cover his ears, tears falling from his eyes onto the stones below, which were now covered in snow. He looked up and saw burning buildings. Screaming families desperately trying to hold onto their children as the walls crumbled around them. He looked onward, and without warning the ground beneath him opened up and swallowed him whole.

Albedo, in a hysterical fit, pushed himself off of his chest and onto his knees. His arms extended to keep him from the mattress and he watched how it became damp from the sweat dripping off of him. His heart was beating way too fast, he couldn’t breath, his chest felt tight and it began to make him panic.

“Albedo?” a voice called to him, but the beating in his ears made it impossible to hear. He felt a hand slide along his back and it caused him to sit up suddenly, smacking the hand away from him. When his eyes saw you in the darkness he wondered what face he must be making based on the way you looked at him.

“Albedo …” you called again. He grasped at his chest hoping he could find a way to pull the invisible weight off of him. His breathing still erratic. “Hey, look at me.” you told him, and when he looked at you he saw you were now sitting closer to him, your hand extended to his chest. The warmth of your fingers broke through the chill smothering his body and he watched as you pulled his hand to your chest.

“Do you feel my heartbeat? Feel my breathing.” and he did. The even in and out of your chest, the steady thump of your heartbeat. He felt them. “That’s it, match my rhythm.” You placed your other hand on his shoulder, which provided him another way to ground himself. The images started to fade from his mind and were replaced by the outline of your frame, illuminated by the soft light from the bedside table.

You looked at him and gave him a warm smile. “Keep breathing, I’m here.” You stroke his face and that’s when he learns he had been crying. He pressed his face into your palm, breathing in the sweet smell of your skin. “I’m here, and I’ll be here until you’re ready to sleep again.”

You stayed with him even as the sun started to fill your room and birds chirped out morning salutations.

Xiao

An epic battle raged around him, the sounds of victorious and pained screams mixing with the clashing of swords and heavy claymores. He was running quickly through the mass of bodies thrusting and flying through the air. His mind focused and clear, it had to be if they were expected to win.

To his left he saw the flash of red fabric, to his right he heard the booming voice of another and when he found the source he smiled to himself. It seemed that even through all of this the yaksha’s were able to relish and live. He felt his heart move at their elegant movements, how they used the strength of one another to quell the mania of the world. Xiao continued to run, his movements turning into a blur at the speed. In fact, he ran so fast that time seemed to move with him until he came skidding to a stop in an open field.

He looked behind him confused as to how he got here, wondering if he had passed through some portal or door. He was alerted to a shriek and turned forward only to feel a sharp stabbing sensation pierce his chest. It propelled him backwards and as he fell, red strings claimed him. They wrapped around him, completely enveloping him and held him suspended. Again, there was a shriek. He turned his head and wished that he hadn’t. He saw the face of his kin pleading and begging to another before being struck down violently. Their body ripping in half before him. The yaksha decorated in purple garments turned and with a great thrust of their weapon impaled another. Xiao watched as their body, bathed in blue light, went limp and with the flick of the wrist were tossed into oblivion.

Xiao writhed and pulled at the strings capturing his limbs, he spat and yelled but couldn’t escape. His head shook violently, unable to deal with the scene in front of him, and unable to do anything to stop it. He closed his eyes letting his angry tears drop into the black water slowly rising over his body.

“Xiao,” a voice called out and when he opened his eyes he saw the dangling bodies of his yaksha family impaled against the nothingness which drowned him.

He awoke in a fit. He felt the scream spill from his throat as he lurched upward. Around him things began to fall to the floor, toppling back to the ground as if a huge gust of wind had picked everything up all at once. Before his eyes a piece of paper fluttered past him before slipping under the trunk next to the window. Something touched his shoulder and in a second he had the perpetrator in a tight hold, one hand viciously wrapped around their wrist and the other gripping onto an arm.

“It’s me, it’s me!” his eyes were clouded, but he knew the voice. “Come back … it’s me.” The breath in his lungs was hot, almost as if he had been standing next to an active volcano. His mouth was heaving in an attempt to grasp back to reality, to still his overworked mind. The sound of humming filled the room, it’s soft, slow tone pulling him in. He focused on it, taking the tune in as if it were a lifeline, the only light in the dark space which surrounded him. After a bit, his eyesight began to clear and when he saw you, eyes closed humming to him, and his hand digging into your wrist he quickly let go.

“You’re back,” you whisper, sending him a soft, ‘i’m relieved’ smile.

He crawled off of the bed and made his way to the window, desperately in need for some fresh air, and an escape.

“Whatever you saw in your dream, must have been very frightening.” your voice stilled his movements. “I’ll be here when you decide to come back,” he looks back at you, your legs crossed, hands resting in the blanket. The moonlight illuminates the space there, casting white shadows along your chest and face. You look like an ethereal being in this moment, and there is a call in his chest to return to you.

His heart is still so heavy, and even though his breath has returned to a normal state, buzzing energy continues running through his veins. He looks at your wrist and can see a bruise beginning to form. He can’t risk letting his energy out with you near him, it’s too dangerous. Even though he feels the stab in his chest, he slips out the window and into the night sky.

In the morning when you wake up you find qingxin flowers resting on the table next to the bed. You lift them and inhale their scent.

“How did you sleep?” you turn to see Xiao perched in the window, his eyes downcast.

“Alright,” you sniff the flowers again, “you came back.”

He huffs at you and looks back out the window. His back resting against the windowsill, one leg bent so he can rest his arm on it, the other dangling over the edge. Sliding out of the bed you make your way over to him, taking up the space at his side. He looks at you and you can see he is looking at the bruise on your wrist. Placing his head in his palm he reaches down and grabs onto your wrist with the other. His fingers brush over the darkening skin.

“Welcome back.” you whisper into the wind.

#genshin impact #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #genshin impact X reader #childe X reader #genshin childe #childe #albedo x reader #genshin albedo #albedo #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #xiao

2K notes · View notes

little-miss-dumpsterfire · 4 years ago

Text

I think I made you up in my head - chapter two

Ah, yes, here it is. Part two of the total drama horror anthology no-one asked for. This chapter has already been posted on Wattpad (as have two others) but fuck it, I like it here.

Fair warning, it does get pretty deep pretty quickly. So, let’s get into it.

Chapter Two - I stared at my mirror; the mirror stared back

Trigger warning - eating disorders, self-harm (mentioned briefly) and blood/gore.

If you're not comfortable, please skip. 💛

******************************************

Axel's complexion lightened as his eyes bulged from his head. His head was spinning, and the confined basement he was in was not making the situation any better.

"Someone... someone else's turn? What are you going to do to me? Fuck, I didn't tell anyone I was coming out here. Oh god, oh god. No-one's gonna find me..." Axel panted, his body aflame with anxiety as he felt his heart pounding in his head. The slight weight of a dainty hand on his shoulder broke his haze and brought him back into reality. He shook her hand off, backing away from Izzy slowly with his hands held up in surrender.

"Don't touch me! Please... wha- what do you mean? What do you want from me?!" he pleaded, his earlier arrogant façade cracking to reveal a vulnerable, scared young man.

Izzy looked at him, the flicker of the flame reflected brightly in her dull green eyes. She sighed before backing up to the brick wall, sliding down before falling in a lump on the cold floor. Her thin index finger traced over the scars on her wrist she had hidden behind her jacket and whimpered.

Izzy spoke softly, barely audible to her frightened guest. "They never stop screaming. I try to close all the doors in my brain to silence them but they still haunt me. Slowly creeping... like a dense cloud blocking out the sun. Nothing will stop them, at least nothing I do will stop them."

She raised her head again, eyes obscured by dishevelled strands of copper hair. Axel stared at her quizzically as if he had wandered into the psych ward accidentally. Clearly, he was standing in the basement of a schizophrenic hoarder who couldn't let the past die, and he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Listen, lady," he started, regaining his air of arrogance, "I've about had it up to here. I make a podcast about cursed movies and conspiracies to earn money, not to end up in a knock-off Warren's Occult Museum."

"You don't understand. You don't feel the darkness we felt," Izzy replied, staring over at the shelves. "The paranoia, the pain, the conviction that we lived in a sick man's simulation. But everything in here was bathed in the depravity of Total Drama, and like a cancerous tumour it infected us all."

Their eyes met - soulless against suspicious - and Axel took a step towards Izzy, crushing a fragment of broken glass in his wake. Kneeling to her level, he roughly took her chin in his hands and raised her face to look at him.

"You killed them," he accused Izzy, malice dripping from his voice.

Weakly, she responded, her voice getting caught in her throat. "N-no. I didn't. But I know what did."

She lifted her slim arm and gestured towards the shelves. "Those relics are tombstones. Go and pick your poison, if you really want to know what happened."

Axel stood up, wiping the glass fragments from his knees and cautiously wandered over to the winding labyrinth of shelves. His fingertips barely grazed the aged wood of the shelves, tracing the grooves and divots with his index finger. In the corner of his eye, a dark shadow passed him by, and he quickly whipped his head around to investigate. Turning to the shelf in front of him is when he saw the imposing dark figure: himself. Situated in his eye line was a sparkly pink hand mirror intricately embellished with golden sculpted roses. He leant in closer to the mirror; his reflection was a shell of himself, with black pits for eyes and a pitiful smile.

"You ought to be careful with that one, kid," Izzy warned him, rising to her feet and dusting the grime from her pants. "If you look too long, the darkness grows eyes. This I know all too well now."

Izzy walked up to Axel, slightly caressing the edge of the mirror. She sighed deeply.

"We all knew she was the prettiest from the moment she stepped onto that dock... But in a world of lions, you didn't want to be fresh meat."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was no secret to anyone that Chris didn't cast Lindsay for her personality. The shark had smelt blood when he saw her audition tape. Looking back on it now, her fate was sealed in those fleeting seconds.

Lindsay sat atop her bed cross-legged, her dog perched in her lap. Her hair had been brushed to be its silkiest, and the photos on her dresser cemented the point she was making.

"I have bikinis for every season, even the ones not listed on the calendar," she chirped, reflecting her archetype of the dumb blonde.

She was the dream girl for any man: honey blonde and curvy. Her 'assets' warranted attention from creeps shrouded in anonymity behind their computer screens and TV executives alike. Unsolicited strokes and caresses were handed to her regularly, and she lavished in the attention that her looks had bestowed onto her. The early bloomer with the IQ of a thumbtack was a thirst trap for the reality TV crowd, yet the elephant in the room was never addressed.

No one seemed to care that she was sixteen.

For those of us in her different teams, we witnessed these infidelities and stood idly by, our mouths wired shut by clauses, contracts and never-ending fine print. Lindsay may not have been the brightest bulb in the bunch, but the correlation between her body and the positive attention she was receiving was crystal clear to her. She felt the pressure of public scrutiny if she gained weight, had a pimple or even covered up her chest. It was during Action that the red flags appeared... I'd give anything to go back and change it all.

Half-empty bottles of lip gloss were scattered on the bunk bed as Lindsay struggled to find a colour that brought out the highlights in her hair. In her left hand, firmly grasped, was an antique hand mirror that she had repainted herself to match her personality. She applied a liberal layer of rosy-pink gloss onto her lips and puckered them together, staring at the shine in the mirror. A sharp gasp escaped from her lips as her blue eyes widened like saucers. Her gaze was transfixed on her mirror as she moved it around, attempting to shake what she saw away.

"Um, guys..." Lindsay started, a slight panic present in her voice. "There's someone in my mirror."

A bald girl scoffed and rolled her eyes, resettling her focus onto her nails. "No shit, Sherlock. It's supposed to be there. That's a reflection."

A faint, obnoxious voice could be heard from out the open window of the trailer.

"Actually, the presence of a reflection is due to photons coming off of an object to strike the smooth surface of the mirror, which subsequently causes them to bounce back at the same angle, ergo creating a person's reflection." Harold corrected from afar.

"Shut it, dweeb!" Heather called out, throwing a hairbrush at the boy.

"That hurt, GOSH!"

Lindsay became visibly more and more terrified by what she was seeing. Small tears began to pool in the outer corner of her eyes as her lips trembled fiercely. The mirror slipped between her fingers and landed with a muted thud on the orange carpeted floor as the blonde held onto her face protectively. A hairline fracture snaked its way across the glass, briefly eclipsing a dark smudge that quickly disappeared.

None of us girls took Lindsay's claims to heart. She always said that someone was looking at her through her mirror; hardly a surprise from the girl who couldn't remember her boyfriend's name. Something in Lindsay changed that day, and all of us were in the dark. She still fell victim to the paedophilic adoration of Chris McLean and his lackeys - submitting to every squeeze and fondle - but something in her eyes showed that her comfort in her own skin had dwindled.

The water tap squeaked as a thin stream of water dripped out, moistening her toothbrush. She brushed violently, minty foam spilling from her mouth as she desperately washed the taste away. It had consumed her waking thoughts; her mind constantly flashing back to what she had seen. Fear enveloped her in its heavy blackness, picking at her deepest insecurities. Her throat burned from the acid and the bitterness of the bile seemed to stain her tongue.

She stared at her mirror and shook her head, lightly tracing the crack on its surface.

"I can't become fat like Hannah. I'll never win my trip to Paris that way."

In the mirror, her reflection began to warp and distort, but Lindsay placed it back on the counter face down. Her hand wavered over the handle for what seemed like hours, and when she tentatively picked it up again, etched in what looked like blood spelt out an ominous message: EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.

In the weeks following Action's conclusion, images of Lindsay in her Wonder Woman costume were plastered on every tabloid site, every fan page and in every pervert's special photo folder. Her next two seasons played out very much the same, with sideways glances from the production crew eye-raping her on every occasion and her appearance being flaunted for more ratings. Gone was the girl with the backbone of steel who had stood up against Heather in a passionate act of defiance. In her place was an airhead overcome with fear and self resentment.

The click-clacking of her boots against the pavement was all Lindsay could focus on as the world went by around her. Wolf-whistles and cat-calls plagued her at every corner she walked past. She would usually stare into every shop window she passed by, gazing dreamily at purses on sale or new makeup products, but nowadays she scarcely looked twice. Not because she wasn't still obsessed with fashion, as she would always be. She never looked at her reflection because 'it' would be there. Every mirror, every window stared back at her.

She sat anxiously in the waiting room, fiddling with the hem of her skirt as she avoided the stares from the man next to her who was blatantly looking down her top. Her chest, whilst still well endowed, had shrunk, as had the rest of her body and it was starting to become obvious to those closest to her.

"Lindsay Marriott?"

Lindsay rose from her chair silently and followed, being lead down a short hallway into a room. Posters of the food pyramid and anatomical models were plastered on the walls as the strong scent of sanitiser attacked her nostrils. She sat down lightly, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and forehead. The usual small talk took place before the woman placed the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope onto Lindsay's back. Her vertebrae were prominent through her skin, sticking up tall like mountain peaks. The doctor breathed out a small sigh before sitting down across from her.

"Lindsay, would you mind standing on the scale for me?"

She timidly nodded her head, rising and walking towards the scale. Lindsay removed her shoes and stepped onto the scales, the doctor over her shoulder writing down the number. Settling back into their seats, the doctor stared into the eyes of her patient and how their bright blue hue was a stark contrast to her fatigued, gaunt face.

"Honey, you've lost five kilograms since your last visit. You're bordering on becoming dangerously underweight. I think it's time we seek psychological intervention. When was the last time you ate a proper meal without purging?" the doctor asked, an air of concern apparent in her voice.

Tears began to drip down Lindsay's cheeks as she spoke between sobs. "Months... I can't eat... it won't let me eat."

"Who won't let you eat?" the doctor looked quizzically at the young girl who was averting her eyes now.

"The person in my mirror," Lindsay answered matter-of-factly before lifting her head. Behind the doctor's head was a wall-mounted mirror, where she could visibly see herself and the back of the physician. A slow ripping sound filled Lindsay's head as the back of the doctor's shirt split into letters written by an unknown force.

"Lindsay, are you okay? You've gone quite pale. I'll take your blood pressure."

As the doctor turned around, red, pointed letters were emblazoned on the doctor's back.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.

Lindsay jumped from her chair with a yelp and ran for the exit, bypassing the crowd of people in the waiting area.

That was the last anyone saw of Lindsay in public before... well... it's hard to put a word to what happened. Text messages to her phone went unread as she slowly slipped into her own self-imposed isolation. Her sister Paula would visit weekly and give us updates, but they were never anything to ignite our hopes or positive outlooks. On her last visit, she recalled that the stench of vomit would follow you around as plates of fly-blown, half-eaten meals were stacked up on the benches. Any mirrors in the apartment had been covered with blankets or covered with masking tape and the windows were blacked out with newspapers. Something had gotten its claws into Lindsay's head, and it was not going to let go.

The porcelain was cold against Lindsay's exposed thighs as she sat on the edge of her bathtub. Her pink mirror sat just within reach on the edge of the counter. The abyss. She had been holding in her hands the view into the abyss. Slowly, her skeletal fingers reached for the mirror, clumsily grabbing it before raising it to her face. Time seemingly stopped as she stared into the mirror, analysing her face; the sunken eyes and teeth slowly yellowing and corroding from the years she had spent purging. Before her eyes, the mirror once again warped until it showed what years ago her peers thought she had falsely identified as her own reflection.

Staring back at her was a decrepit woman with a face as bloated and waxy as a waterlogged corpse. Brown matted hair was plastered onto its face, slightly obscuring its eyes. Two large white orbs with pinpoint black pupils bore into Lindsay's soul as a grotesque smile crept upon its face, stretching its width from ear to ear. A silent scream left Lindsay's lips as black liquid began to seep from its eyes, nose and mouth, pooling at the base of its chin. In front of her was the shadow that had haunted her since she was sixteen, staring at her endlessly in every reflection, punctuating how ugly she perceived herself to be. Edging closer and closer towards the mirror, Lindsay couldn't tear her eyes away, paralysed in terror as faint whines wafted from under her bathroom door.

Paula found her three days later. The poor thing, I don't think the sight has ever left her, and in God's graces, I don't think it ever will. There's not enough therapy on this fucking planet that can erase that from the human psyche.

Paula walked into the apartment, distracted by a low buzzing sound. As she walked towards her sister's bedroom, calling out her name, the sound began to crescendo and a singular fly flew past her head. A distinct smell of rot and decomposition filled the air as she advanced slowly to the closed door of the bathroom. Her perfectly manicured hand gripped the knob strongly as she turned it, opening the door slightly. A swarm of flies buzzed through the open door, obscuring Paula's vision in a haze of black. As her eyes settled, they landed on what the flies had been inhabiting: Lindsay's corpse. Paula tried and failed to suppress gags as she saw her sister's dead body, eyes gouged out by her own hand in an attempt to stop what she had seen. A tacky layer of old blood surrounded Lindsay's head as hundreds of squirming bugs wriggled around in her empty eye sockets. Laying ornamentally atop the pink hand mirror were two eyeballs; their blue sparkle dulled and glazed over.

Scrawled in lipstick all over the walls of the room was one simple phrase.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER. EYE OF THE BEHOLDER. EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"In my head, Lindsay didn't fall victim to herself," Izzy concluded, staring at her appalled guest, "she fell victim to the industry. The sharks in suits who groomed her and fed her insecurities until the societal norms of beauty ate her from the inside."

Axel stepped wearily away from the shelf, in way over his head now. What had started as a cash-grab to use as a clickbait-eqsue podcast had now escalated to a trip to hell... and once you're in hell, only the devil can help you out.

#total drama #td lindsay #sorry it got a bit deep

7 notes · View notes

weirdletter · 5 years ago

Photo

Arthur Machen: Collected Fiction (3 Volumes), edited by S.T. Joshi, Hippocampus Press, 2019. Cover artworks by Matthew Jaffe, info: hippocampuspress.com.

This is the first complete edition of the fiction of Anglo-Welsh writer Arthur Machen (1863–1947) ever published. It includes the totality of his short fiction, novelettes, novels, and prose poems. While there is some debate as to what actually constitutes a short story in Machen’s work—especially given his bountiful array of journalism, some of which borders on fiction—the works in this volume are unquestionably narratives that feature one or more elements of fictional composition. A substantial majority of these works are tales of horror and the supernatural—a genre in which Machen has made a lasting and ever-expanding impression. The edition has been prepared by S.T. Joshi, a leading authority on weird fiction and the author of The Weird Tale (1990) and Unutterable Horror: A History of Supernatural Fiction (2012). Joshi has prepared textually corrected editions of the work of H. P. Lovecraft, Ambrose Bierce, and many other weird writers.

Volume 1: 1888–1895 This first volume contains his charming picaresque novel The Chronicle of Clemendy (1888), an exquisite imitation of the medieval narratives of Chaucer and Boccaccio. At this time Machen was a young journalist who had moved from his native Wales to London, and he wrote a number of humorous and slightly risqué sketches for fashionable London magazines. But then he published “The Great God Pan” (1894), one of the pioneering works in the entire range of weird fiction. It was condemned by contemporary reviewers as the work of a diseased mind. Machen followed it up with the episodic novel The Three Impostors (1895), containing the brilliant segments “The Novel of the Black Seal” (which features the Little People, a sub-human race lurking on the edges of civilization), “The Novel of the White Powder,” and other vivid narratives.

Volume 2: 1896–1910 This second volume of Machen’s collected fiction begins with Machen’s most accomplished novel, The Hill of Dreams (written in 1895–97 and published in 1907), which H. P. Lovecraft called a “memorable epic of the sensitive aesthetic mind.” It features Lucian Taylor, a young man from the country who struggles to become a writer in London. His ruminations on life, love, and authorship are extraordinarily poignant, and at one point he engages in a lengthy dream of being back in ancient Rome, in the town of Isca Silurum, near his birthplace in Wales. Later in 1897 Machen wrote a series of exquisite prose poems that were later published as Ornaments in Jade (1924). These ten vignettes display Machen’s luminous prose at its most evocative, and they touch upon the possibility of strange and wondrous phenomena concealed behind the outward façade of the mundane world. Machen’s most accomplished weird tale, “The White People,” is also found here. Its account of a young girl insidiously inculcated in the witch-cult, told entirely from her own perspective as she jots down her thoughts and impressions in a diary, achieves the pinnacle of clutching fear. A very different work is the short novel A Fragment of Life, telling of how a seemingly ordinary couple rediscover their sense of wonder in the world around them. The novel The Secret Glory (written around 1907) is a discursive novel that searingly condemns the British school system for destroying the imaginations of its pupils. The entire work—including the final two chapters, first published only in a limited edition in 1992—is included here.

Volume 3: 1911–1937 The third volume of Machen’s collected fiction begins with a tale, “The Thousand and One Nights,” that has never before been reprinted. It continues with a succession of tales that Machen wrote during and just after World War I, a cataclysm that shook Europe to its foundations. The most famous of these is “The Bowmen” (1914), a narrative of medieval soldiers coming to the rescue of besieged British infantrymen in France was widely believed to be a true account, in spite of Machen’s repeated protestations to the contrary. Machen’s final war tale, the short novel The Terror (1916), is an imperishable depiction of the revolt of animals against humanity’s rulership of the earth. In the 1920s Machen resorted to humor and satire to convey his dissatisfaction with the increasing secularization of his era, which he felt was robbing the imagination of wonder and mystery. He also began contributing to anthologies of original weird fiction edited by Cynthia Asquith and others, producing several memorable tales as a result, including “The Happy Children” and “The Islington Mystery.” Machen’s final novel, The Green Round (1933), is a subtle tale of supernatural menace, narrated in the blandly repertorial prose that Machen had developed in his later work. He then published two final volumes of weird tales, The Cosy Room and The Children of the Pool (both 1936), which contain many memorable tales, including “The Bright Boy” and “N.”

#book #collection #arthur machen #s.t. joshi #weird fiction #horror fiction #gothic fiction

34 notes · View notes

anomalyhorror · 2 years ago

Text

Henry Gader’s A Bird From Last Sunday (1995, completed 2002.)

The notorious, unfinished poem as originally written by author Henry Gader (1946–2003), partially reconstructed and finished based upon his scribbles and personal notes by individuals close to the author.

This poem began life sometime in 1995, based on an event that originally took place in the ‘particularly hot’ summer of 1993, per Gader’s own words before his passing. According to family members who cleaned Gader’s home out, many notes and letters were found recounting that event over and over, much of which related to finishing the as-of-then incomplete piece. An amended conclusion was attached to the poem by restorers based on the found notes to complete the poem.

The poem has been the subject of much speculation and debate online, with some claiming the poem itself took the life of Gader, with others alleging the poem was a self-admission of substance abuse. This is especially doubtful, with those close to Gader assuring he never struggled with serious addictions, and noting the officially reported cause of death as natural causes.

A sort of “curse” has seemed to follow the physical version of the poem, however, which includes the restored ending—an addition that is seemingly not exclusive to digitized copies. Those who have possessed the physical poem—including family, archives, and several others—have all passed away or suffered significant and unexplainable tragedies. Sudden passings, buildings burning down; a litany of strange events have followed in the poem’s trail, which many believe to be the reason for the popular notion that the poem itself is “cursed”.

A digital copy of the poem is included below:

“It was a bird I saw, that last Sunday, smash itself up against the window.

It flew into the smudged window, trying to come through like a gate into some other world open for the curious.

I heard that thud first, loud enough to shake me in my seat, but I would not yet find it.

It was sick with something I’d reckoned. Bill from down the street thought the same thing too, before he let loose Wilbur on it.

There was not much left to it, except for bones and dried blood, and wings all fading off and jittering in the wind with the grass around it.

There was some kind of darkness in it. Smoldering a black space, even in the bright hot sunlight. I didn’t get to see it very long before Wilbur shook it all over the yard, the stupid mutt.

It sat there for five days, cracked open and leaking some type of ooze into our world and nobody knew about it. Took me a working man’s week to stumble across it, and by time I came back to toss it, it was gone.

I saw it another time after that, just once, in a gutter across the street from Casey’s, crumpled in with the trash and rotting filth that leaked that same deep sludge.

I grabbed a hunk of broken metal and scraped it against that odd thing. Its feathers were a tan color, near to white and slicked with an oil that shined a beautiful, mesmerizing array of colors in that best kind of sunlight.

The kind of sunlight that strikes something just as you need it to, just enough to see something truly, simply, fulfilling.”

This work is conceived as a part of Anomaly: The Horror Anthology Series.

#writing #horror #horror fiction #sad poem #poems and quotes #poetry #author #creative writing

1 note · View note

itsalliepg · 7 years ago

Text

Domestic Life (Drabbles) - Zig x Scarlett (MC) Fanfic

SUMMARY: An anthology about the life of ZIg and Scarlett in their apartment

PAIRING: Zig X Scarlett (MC)

RATING: Everyone

WORDS: 2.968 in total, divided into 9 drabbles (I swear I put the “Keep Reading” but I’m afraid it won’t work on mobile app, sorry for that)

NOTE: Hey! My post today is a bit different. Based on this post here and the fact that we almost had no moments of MC and her LI living together because we got too busy being manipulated by Nathan, I wrote some drabbles about their life together in the apartment. I really enjoyed writing these short stories and it might be that I write again like this!

English isn’t my native language. I write to practice and learn, so please sorry any mistakes. I hope you like it, and if you do, I’d appreciate if you like/comment/reblog!

Tagging @seawhite-seafair @maxwells-nut @flynnomalleys @purpledinosaur4ever @ziggy-o @writtenbycandy

-Person A falling asleep watching a movie with Person B so B carries A to their bed. Bonus: Person A wakes up in B’s arms but pretends to still be asleep so they can be carried to bed.

Words: 385

_What are we going to do now? – Zig asked Scarlett while they washed the dishes after dinner.

_Well, it’s Friday night, tomorrow we don’t have classes…we could watch a movie! – he snorted – what?

_Don’t you remember what happened the last time we watched a movie after dinner? You slept in the middle.

_But it was at the end…

_In the middle, Scarlett.

_Okay, but I woke up and kept watching.

_You slept again and I had to tell you everything that happened – he laughed.

_Well, it’s not my fault if you chose such a boring movie that I fell asleep – she frowned, and he kissed her temple, still laughing.

_My stubborn girl. Okay, today you can pick a movie. A very hectic then you don’t sleep.

_Fine, and I already know what movie we’re going to watch – after finishing cleaning in the kitchen, they sat on the couch and Scarlett chose a horror movie on Netflix – I read some good reviews about this movie, they said it’s really scary.

_That’s nice. This will keep you awake, because if you fall asleep, you’ll have nightmares – she rolled her eyes and leaned in him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

_You know I don’t have nightmares about horror movies, Zig – she tapped his nose, grinning and pressed the play button on the remote. During the first minutes, they made a few comments about the movie, but after a while, they stopped talking. Suddenly, a jump scare made Zig bounce in the couch, and Scarlett was strangely quiet. He looked to the side and saw her sleeping soundly. He shook his head negatively, smiling as if to say “I knew it”. He clicked the pause button and cautiously stood up to cradle her in his arms. He rested her head on his shoulder and slowly took her to the bedroom. Zig didn’t notice, but Scarlett woke up. When she realized where she was, she just pretended to be still asleep, feeling his warmth and scent. He gently placed her on the bed and covered her with a blanket. He caressed her cheek and kissed her forehead.

_Good night, Scar. I love you – he whispered and silently let the room and closed the door. She smiled and snuggled into the bed.

Good night, Zig. I love you too.

- Person A and B going grocery shopping together and Person A ends up holding B up to grab something off the top shelf.

Words: 250

_Where could this be? – Scarlett muttered, staring at the shelves.

_I think we have everything we need, let’s go to the cashier?

_Wait, Zig, I need some tomato paste.

_Tomato paste? – he grimaced – for what?

_Do you remember I said I wanted to cook my grandma’s Neapolitan ragù for the weekend? I can’t do it without the tomato paste.

_Couldn’t you use tomato sauce? I picked some cans.

_No. This is an old family recipe, and the secret ingredient is the tomato paste. The textures are different, I’ll show you when I’m cooking – they walked a few shelves then Zig stopped.

_It’s in there, Scarlett – he pointed to a high shelf with some cans of tomato paste.

_Great – Scarlett crossed her arms – when we’re in the cashier, I’ll talk with the manager. Why do they need such high shelves? I’ll never get there.

_Or, you can if I do this – with a swift motion, Zig grabbed her waist and lifted her in front of the shelf. Scarlett gasped in surprise.

_Zig? What are you doing?

_Now you can get what you need – she quickly glanced the cans and took one.

_Okay, babe, you can put me back on the floor – Zig lowered her, and she turned to him, smiling – my hero, you deserve a gift – Scarlett kissed him, sweetly.

_Well, maybe we shouldn’t complain to the manager about the high shelves – he winked and she giggled, nodding. She put the can in the cart and they went to the cashier.

- Person A and B going to a shelter/pet store and looking carefully at each of the animals trying to decide which one to get. Bonus: They keep pointing out which dog/cat looks like the other person most.

Words: 314

_Too bad our apartment doesn’t allow dogs and cats – Scarlett sighed, watching a group of kittens playing with a little ball – I’d love a cat, they’re so cute.

_I know – Zig squeezed her hand – I wanted a dog, I always had dogs at home… - he noticed she was laughing – what’s so funny?

_See that German Shepherd there? – she pointed to a dog laying on the ground. His head held high, observing everything around – he looks like you.

_Me? – he widened his eyes – what do you mean?

_I don’t know, he’s strong, watchful, and I’ve read they’re smart and good guard dogs, but they also get along with kids – she turned to him, giggling – I think if you were a dog, you’d be a German Shepherd – Zig smiled and kissed the top of her head.

_Well, if you were a dog, you’d be a Labrador, like that – he pointed to a white dog playing with another of the same breed, but black – they’re gentle, intelligent, and hardworking, they help blind people, and also in rescues, drug detection…they’re as kindhearted as you – Scarlett smiled and hugged Zig – but that pair of cats there looks like us during our tickle wars – he pointed to two kittens rolling together, lightly tapping their paws on one another, then chasing each other around the cage. Zig and Scarlett burst out laughing.

_Absolutely– she turned around and saw an aquarium full of different species of fish – and these colorful little guys here looks like the kind of pet we could have in our apartment – holding his hand, she walked over to the aquarium.

_Look at that blue and red, it’s beautiful!

_And this golden too… – she glanced at him – but they don’t look like us…

_How not? We just said how beautiful they are! – they laughed.

_Okay, you have a point. Let’s find a seller to get them for us.

- Person A trying to pay bills while Person B watches them. Person B gets fed up with A looking miserable and frustrated so they drag them away and watch TV together.

Words: 389

_Hey, babe! – Scarlett locked the front door and wandered to Zig, sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by papers and a calculator. She leaned in to kiss him and noticed a concerned expression on his face – what’s the problem?

_The bills this month…we had some extra costs…

_Are we out of money? Dad said we could ask him if we needed – she said as she picked up two mugs in the cupboard

_No, Scar, we don’t have to, but we’ll be in our boundaries. Look, this month our washing machine broke, and I also had to do some repairs on my car. And maybe we need another fridge soon…

_I know. Buying a second-hand fridge wasn’t a good idea – she sighed while filled the two mugs with coffee from the thermos and sat in front of him. He was so concentrated to his calculations that he even didn’t notice.

_Mom also said we could ask her, but I don’t want to. We can handle things by ourselves. I just need to find a solution.

_Maybe we could borrow from our savings account…

_No way, Scarlett – he interrupted, still looking to his notes – we’re saving that for our summer.

_And also for emergencies like that, Zig! We can replace it next month.

_Scarlett, don’t worry. We can live on less money this month, I still don’t know how much, but I’ll find out – she noticed how tired he was when he sighed

_And…since when are you here doing it?

_I don’t know, since I came in from class – she glanced to the clock on the wall.

_You’ve been here for almost four hours! I’m not surprised you’re so annoyed! – she got up and stood behind him, massaging his shoulders and feeling his tension – why don’t you put these bills aside and we go into the living room, then cuddle on the couch while we’re watching a TV show marathon?

_I’m busy, Scarlett.

_Are you rejecting a chance to do something fun with me, Zig? – she leaned over and kissed his jaw, then ran her hands in front of his chest. He finally sat upright, grinning.

_Right, what I was thinking? – he turned and kissed her deeply – these bills can wait – they shared a smile and headed into the living room with their mugs of coffee and a jar of cookies.

- Person A sleeps in late and wakes up to Person B cooking breakfast in the morning. A walks into the kitchen and just wraps their arms around B while they continue to cook.

Words: 295

Scarlett opened her eyes and felt her head heavy. That’s what happens when I sleep in late, she thought. She rolled onto the bed and saw Zig wasn’t there. She looked at her phone and saw it was eleven in the morning. She wasn’t an early bird, but never woke up so late. She got up and opened the room door, only to smell bacon and eggs filling the apartment. She walked to the kitchen and saw Zig, wearing only his pajama’s pants, frying some eggs in a pan. Scarlett went to him and looped her arms around his waist. He smiled.

_Good morning, my princess.

_Good morning. Why didn’t you wake me up? It’s so late!

_You were so relaxed and peaceful, I didn’t want to ruin this – he put the eggs on a plate and the pan in the sink. Then he grabbed another pan to make French toasts. She was still hugging him – besides, you needed to rest. This whole week you went to bed late.

_Yeah, I had some essays to finish plus some articles for the newspaper. This week was crazy – she kissed his back – have you been awake for a long time?

_Actually no. I got scared with the time too, and I decided to do something special for our breakfast – she finally pulled back to see what he did.

_Bacon, eggs, French toasts, orange juice…wow, that way we're going to have lunch at four in the afternoon!

_That’s what I thought, this’s actually a brunch, not a breakfast – they chuckled – and it’s Sunday, we won’t go anywhere, and since when do we have the right time to eat?

_You’re right, my angel – she kissed him – and I want to eat now, waking up so late makes me hungry!

- Person B has to get dressed up for a nice event. B is struggling with their tie/dress/suit and can’t get it right. Person A is surprisingly good at fixing it and Person B asks them how they did it.

Words:414

_Oh, no!

_What happened, babe? – sitting on the bed, Zig looked up from his homework.

_My dress button fell off – Scarlett looked in the mirror at her dress, half-opened on her chest – damn, I wanted to wear it so bad…

_Nothing that I can’t handle – he reached a drawer on the nightstand and took out a sewing kit – can you find the button?

_Yes – she saw the button on the floor and picked it.

_Great. Bring it and your dress to me – as he asked, she gave them to him, and within minutes, he was skillfully sewing the button back on the dress. Scarlett was gaping.

_Okay, that’s impressive. I knew you’re full of talents, but this is new…

_I know only the basics – Zig chuckled – I've lost count of how many clothes of mine and of my sisters' I've already fixed. Just do not ask me to work with a sewing machine! – they smiled.

_Well, you know more than I do. I’d love to know how you do it.

_Remind me to teach you someday.

_Sure – she suspired – are you sure you’ll be fine by yourself tonight? I wish I could take you with me, but they said it’s an exclusive event for English majors…

_Don’t worry, Scar. I’ll be busy with this bunch of homework to do. And you won’t be alone, James will be there as well.

_Yeah, but I feel bad for you anyway…

_I’ll be okay – he put the needle on the nightstand – and voilà! – Zig gave the dress back to Scarlett and she dressed again.

_So, how do I look? – she spun, and his eyes flashed.

_Perfect. As usual – he stood up, beaming, and kissed her.

_Thank you so much for fixing my dress, Zig. I don’t even know how to thank you.

_Well, you could bring me some of that fancy appetizers they have at these events – he joked.

_And why do you think I chose this purse? �� she picked her clutch on the bed and they laughed. Hand in hand, they walked to the front door.

_Have fun tonight and make some good contacts. Who knows, one of these editors may offer you a job after graduation.

_I really hope so – they shared a kiss and she was about to go down the stairs when suddenly rushed back to him – I forgot something! – Scarlett kissed him again – I love you – Zig giggled.

_I love you too – he waved while she walked down the stairs.

- Person A leaving Person B little notes all over their house/apartment that say stuff like “Reminder: I love you.” and “Hey, you’re the best!” Person B then responds by leaving sticky notes for Person A around. Bonus: The notes that B leaves say stuff like “Of course I’m the best.” and “I love me too.”

Words: 325

While dressed to meet Reyna and talk about her next article, Scarlett noticed a yellow post-it on the inside of the wardrobe door.

“This note is a reminder that I love you <3”

She smiled and pulled out a coat from the wardrobe. When she opened the drawer of her desk, she saw another note taped into her notebook.

“You’re the best girlfriend in the world :)”

Scarlett giggled and picked a post-it pad to write down her responses.

Zig got home and found a pink paper pinned on the TV. He approached and read it.

“You’re right. I am definitely the best “

He chuckled and walked into the room. He saw another note stuck in one of the pictures on the wall.

“I love me too. We have this in common”

Laughing, Zig looked for his yellow post-its in his stuff.

While storing groceries in the kitchen, Scarlett opened one of the cabinets and found a new yellow note pasted into a box of powdered chocolate.

“You’re really conceited, you know that?

She giggled and was about to put the box back in the place, as her hand felt another note on the back of the box.

“But I like you anyway”

She returned to the purchases thinking where she could put her notes this time.

During a morning before classes, Zig was in the bathroom and opened the drawer to get his toothbrush. He saw a pink note there.

“I was joking. You’re also the best boyfriend in the world”

Grinning, he left the bathroom after brushing his teeth. After dressed, he was walking to the front door and his eyes caught another pink post-it by the side of his keys on the wall.

“And I love you too”

He heard footsteps behind him and turned. He saw Scarlett smiling to him. Zig dropped his backpack on the floor and pulled her into a kiss before they left home to their classes.

- Person A and B buy their first house together. When they finally start to move in Person B is in shock and just wanders around the house marveling at what they’ve just done.

Words: 291

_Scar, can you give me that box of screws? – Zig asked while attached a shelf in the living room. She just walked into the kitchen without realizing what he said – Scarlett, did you hear me? – he called but she didn’t responded. She came to the room again – Scarlett!

_Oh! – she startled – what’s up, Zig?

_I asked for that box of screws – he pointed to the floor and she handed him what he requested – sorry to yell at you, but you were so distracted…

_I know. Sorry about that too, but I was organizing our room and I realized something.

_What?

_Zig, we’re moving in together! – she grinned and he arched an eyebrow.

_Uh…yeah, so?

_Can’t you see how amazing this is? – she paced around the room, giggling – this is our first home together! Our relationship is getting stronger!

_You’re right – he put down the tools and came close to her – now I understand your trance – he kissed her cheek – and, what did you mean when you said “our first home together”? – he smirked.

_Did you really think we would live here in this little apartment forever? When we get married, we’ll need a house, big, for our children…

_Scarlett, one step at a time – he interrupted, taking her hands – we just moved in together, don’t you think it’s too soon to talk about it?

_Hey, wasn’t you who carried me over the threshold today morning when we got in with our stuff? – she tickled him.

_Fair enough – Zig snorted – and, well, when you’re willing to practice to have our children, let me know – he winked and Scarlett chortled.

_Yeah, I don’t think we need a lot of practice, but it’s nice to be prepared – she tilted her head to kiss him.

- Person A makes lunch for both them and Person B. B doesn’t like crusts on their sandwiches so A (even though they don’t really like the crust) eats it for them.

Words: 305

_Mmm…do I smell hot cheese and ham? – Zig asked while locked the front door and saw Scarlett making sandwiches in the kitchen.

_Your sense of smell is right – she answered while he sauntered over to kiss her – I went to the grocery and decided to do something simple for our lunch.

_Great, our fridge was kinda empty – he opened the door of the fridge and took a bottle of apple juice –you remembered to buying the peeled bread, right?

_Damn… - she tapped her forehead – I knew I was forgetting something. I’m so sorry, Zig, I forgot you don’t like the crusts…I saw we had bread, and I didn’t even imagined it wasn’t peeled bread…

_That’s okay, Scarlett. Once doesn’t kill me.

_No, that’s my fault. I forgot, so I should solve this – she picked a knife and cut the edges of some sandwiches, and then ate the crusts.

_Oh, Scarlett, you’re a sweetheart… - Zig kissed her temple while she chewed. He picked one of the sandwiches she cut.

_No problem. As you said, once doesn’t kill me. I also don’t like the crusts, but I can make this sacrifice for you – he almost choked on the food.

_You also don’t like? So why we keep buying the crusty bread?

_Well, it’s you who always buy it!

_I buy because I thought you liked it!

_Exactly, you’re so sweet thinking of me that I’m uncomfortable asking you not to buy – they stared at each other for some moments and burst into laughter.

_Are we a couple of dorks? – Zig asked while put the sandwiches and the juice on the table.

_For sure – Scarlett put two glasses and they sat down together. On the table, she squeezed his hand – I love you, Zig – he took her hand and kissed it.

_I love you too, Scarlett.

Thanks for reading!

Do you want to be tagged in future fanfics? Let me know!

#fanfic #choices fanfic #drabble #the junior #tj #zig ortega #zig x mc #zig x scarlett #choices #playchoices #long post

28 notes · View notes

slasherbetty · 7 years ago

Text

Haunted Mansions: The Horror & History of the Filming Locations from House 1 & 2

Ding dong, you’re dead

The 1986 horror classic House, directed by Steve Miner and produced by Sean S. Cunningham, was released on Blu-ray for the first time ever last year, along with it’s quirky sequel House II: The Second Story. Both films feature some very familiar faces from the 80s, including William Katt, George Wendt, Richard Moll, Bill Maher, and John Ratzenberger. The creature effects are creative and iconic. The story was based on a 15-page Twilight Zone script written by Fred Dekker, the writer and/or director behind some all-time favorites like Night of the Creeps, The Monster Squad, and a handful of HBO’s Tales from the Crypt episodes.

But the real stars of these films, as you can glean from their titles, are the huge and massively creepy haunted houses in which these epic battles against supernatural evil take place. Though interiors were built on sound stages, the houses used for exterior shots for both films are real and have fascinating histories.

HOUSE: Mills View Mansion, Monrovia, CA

This Eastlake style mansion was built in 1887 as a wedding gift for Milton Monroe, whose father the town of Monrovia was named after, and his wife Mary. The couple later divorced and, in 1899, Milton was killed tragically in a railroad accident at the age of 33.

When Col. John H. Mills retired from public service in 1983, he and his wife Elizabeth bought the mansion. On a clear day they could see Catalina Island from the third floor windows, which is how the house got it’s name. But just three months after moving in, the colonel died of heart failure. Elizabeth continued to live there until her death in 1905. The house had a handful of owners after that, and was up for sale as recently as 2015.

Mills View as seen in House

Including House, Mills View has apparently been used in 20 productions since 1980. It can also be seen in a 1992 episode of Picket Fences, in which I’m sure it wasn’t nearly as ominous. While it may not have any real ghosts, I would still be cautious of the closets at midnight. And maybe try to avoid the upstairs bathroom medicine cabinet.

HOUSE II: Stimson House, Los Angeles, CA

The imposing stone mansion from House II, which looks more like a medieval fortress than a swanky Los Angeles abode, was built in 1891 for lumber and banking millionaire Thomas Douglas Stimson. When the “Red Castle” was completed, the Los Angeles Times wrote that it was “the costliest and most beautiful private residence in Los Angeles.” But, of course, that kind of notoriety often comes with a price. A private detective attempting to blackmail Stimson bombed the residence in 1896. The explosion tore a hole in the wall, but even dynamite couldn’t bring the house down.

Stimson died of heart disease in 1898. His widow lived in the house until her death in 1904. Beer baron Edward R. Maier bought the house, moved his family in, and used the labyrinthine, catacomb-like basement to store wine and other spirits. In the 1940s it served as a fraternity house for USC’s rowdy Pi Kappa Alpha. After years of loud parties and other annoyances, neighbor Carrie Estelle Doheny bought the house from the fraternity and donated it to the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet for use as a convent. From 1969 to 1993 the sisters allowed Mount St. Mary’s College to use it as school housing. The nuns moved back in the fall of 1993, just before the Northridge earthquake of 1994 shook California and caused considerable damage to the house.

In a 1976 episode of The Bionic Woman called “Black Magic,” the Stimson House became the location of a remote island home for Vincent Price‘s wealthy inventor character. Price later returned to the house to utilize it’s acoustics for some of his own productions.

The house also appeared in the 1989 horror anthology After Midnight, as a mortuary in the series Pushing Daisies, and most recently in an episode of Mad Men.

The Stimson house as seen in House II: The Second Story

I’m guessing the original blueprints did not include alternate dimensions like the prehistoric jungle bedroom or the Mayan temple, but I like to think they’re in there somewhere.

Slasher Betty

Big Ben returns from the grave

Originally published here: The Horrific Home of House 1 & 2

#horror #film #filming locations #horror movies #architecture #fred dekker #vincent price #los angeles #monrovia #history #80s horror #1980s horror #1980s movies #haunted house #mansion #twilight zone #steve miner #80s movies

17 notes · View notes

yasbxxgie · 7 years ago

Link

On Tuesday, Spike Lee shook up the Cannes Film Festival all over again. The last time he rocked it this hard was in 1989 when he was here with “Do the Right Thing.” This time, the film is “BlacKkKlansman,” which tells the weirder-than-life true tale of Ron Stallworth, a former intelligence officer with the Colorado Springs Police Department who in 1979 infiltrated the Ku Klux Klan. The twist? Mr. Stallworth is African-American, which is only the start of a story that finds him making a fool of the white supremacist David Duke. The less-surprising twist is that it’s very much about the American present — a direct, furious protest against the Trump era.

Ron is played by John David Washington, who can sound uncannily like his father, Denzel, the star of Mr. Lee’s “Malcolm X.” Ron infiltrates the Klan with the help of a colleague, Flip Zimmerman (Adam Driver), who pals around with Klan members in person in scenes that are by turns surreal, absurd and hair-raising.

I met Mr. Lee the morning after the film’s premiere on the terrace of the Carlton, one of the grand hotels that look out over the Mediterranean. Wearing a black ball cap and denim jacket, he was in a good mood, often breaking into deep, rolling laughter. “I’ve always had fun at Cannes,” he said, soon after sitting down. “This is the world’s greatest film festival — it’s like when people come to Madison Square Garden to see the Knicks — this is the mecca.”

Mr. Lee has now had five movies at Cannes, but he hasn’t been in the official program since 2002 and the anthology feature “Ten Minutes Older.” When “Do the Right Thing” played at Cannes it didn’t win any awards, and the jury led by Wim Wenders bestowed the festival’s top honors on Steven Soderbergh’s “sex, lies, and videotape,” causing Mr. Lee to famously assert that he had been robbed. A prize might have been nice, but he didn’t need the festival’s blessing; “Do the Right Thing” became a cultural touchstone, an essential work in Mr. Lee’s enduring, electric career.

In 2017 he was in the middle of production on the first season of the Netflix series “She’s Gotta Have It” (based on his film), when he received a call from Jordan Peele, the director of “Get Out,” about the project that became “BlacKkKlansman.”

“Spike, I’ve got this script,” Mr. Lee recalled Mr. Peele saying. “I want you to take a look at it.’” Mr. Lee said that there was a lot that already worked in it (Mr. Peele is among the producers of the film) but that he along with one of his co-writers, Kevin Willmott, had to put their stamp on it. “Jordan Peele and his guys came to me because they wanted a Spike Lee Joint.”

To do so, Mr. Lee continued, he and Mr. Willmott had to link Mr. Stallworth’s story with the present. “It cannot be just a history lesson,” Mr. Lee said. “It has to be contemporary. So that was the hip thing that we did. Otherwise it’s a period piece. We had to connect David Duke to Agent Orange today.”

This is the name Mr. Lee uses to refer to President Trump, whom he did not mention by name during our conversation. Mr. Lee happily credits the musician Busta Rhymes for the nickname Agent Orange, a toxic defoliant used by the American military during the Vietnam War: “Shoutout to Busta,” he said, laughing.

Mr. Lee worked with colleagues who have helped him turn his vision into cinema before, including Terence Blanchard, his longtime composer. For this film, though, he brought on a new cinematographer, Chayse Irvin, who shot Beyoncé’s “Lemonade.”

“BlacKkKlansman” has a great, strange story that keeps you off balance — you seek footing as it shifts between comedy and horror — but it also has moments of serene loveliness. When a guest of the student union, Kwame Ture (a.k.a. Stokely Carmichael), begins speaking about black beauty, Mr. Lee folds in floating close-ups of men and women whose halo-like Afros create a sense of near-holiness.

“I wanted to show black is beautiful,” Mr. Lee said. “Not to denigrate anyone else, but white America has been told through 100 years-plus of cinema that white people are the epitome of beauty, the standard.”

Cinema is a critical, intellectual touchstone in “BlacKkKlansman.” Pointedly, the film opens with a legendary scene from “Gone With the Wind” (1939) in which a stunned Scarlett O’Hara walks past a multitude of wounded and dying soldiers as the camera moves up and up, finally stopping on a tattered, still-flying Confederate flag. Mr. Lee also incorporates images from D. W. Griffith’s “The Birth of a Nation” (1915), which he saw when he was a student at New York University.

“What got me mad,” Mr. Lee said, “is that they only talked about Griffith and not the effect that film had. ‘The Birth of a Nation,’ undeniably, led to the rebirth of the Klan. So you can see, directly or indirectly, people were killed because of that film. It never came up.”

While he was a student, Mr. Lee made a short, “The Answer,” about an African-American screenwriter who’s hired for a remake of “The Birth of a Nation.” Mr. Lee said that his teachers weren’t pleased with his film and that he was almost expelled. He is now a tenured professor at N.Y.U., and while he doesn’t show “Birth” to his students, he thinks it should be seen with the right historical context.

Mr. Lee had finished shooting “BlacKkKlansman” when a white nationalist rally in Charlottesville, Va., last August grew violent. He turns sober as he speaks about that weekend and President Trump’s divisive response. “That’s his definitive moment,” Mr. Lee said. “That’s going on his tombstone. He had the opportunity to show the moral leadership that we need,” adding, “He would not repudiate the Nazis, the Klan and the alt-right. He did not do that. That’s what the president is supposed to do.” Mr. Lee then added, “All these Jewish people supporting him, don’t they understand that he’s aligned with the people who tried to wipe them off the face of the earth?”

The intensity with which Mr. Lee spoke about Mr. Trump and Charlottesville finds a corollary in a section of “BlacKkKlansman” that incorporates some of the rally’s most agonizing images. These include the death of Heather D. Heyer, who had been part of an anti-racism counterprotest.

“I called up Heather’s mother, Susan Bro,” Mr. Lee said. “I was not going to put that in unless she gave me her blessing.” He gave her his sympathies and then said, “‘Mrs. Bro, I want to end ‘BlacKkKlansman’ with the murder of your daughter,’” Mr. Lee said after a silence, she told him: “Spike, put it in.” The film, he continued, opens in August, a year after Charlottesville. “That’s what this film is about,” he said. “It’s about today. Are we going to go forward or backward?”

2 notes · View notes