Christmas Red (Rough Draft)

•December 23, 2007 • Leave a Comment

I hear the train a comin’
it’s rolling round the bend

Dad crumbled up the last wad of wrapping paper and threw it gently into the over sized fireplace. “Big enough to roast a pig,” he’d always said when talking about that fireplace. The paper quickly caught fire and erupted into a ball of bright colored flames.

Dad was always the last one to finish unwrapping gifts. Probably because he was so meticulous about the whole thing and partly because he found more joy in watching us – my mom and me – open our gifts first. He’d use his pocket knife, the same one he used to save his best friends life in Vietnam, to pop the tape. He’d run the blade gently down a seam cutting the tape away, then he’d slowly pull off the wrapping paper and fold it into a large square. He’d hoist his gift before his failing eyes and proclaim his joy. He’d stack his unwrapped gifts neatly to his right, then wad the paper up haphazardly and toss it into the fireplace.

By this time Mom would be running around the kitchen like a mad woman on a crazy mission. She wouldn’t be cooking or cleaning or performing any other of her wifely duties. No, she’s be tearing up the house – starting with the kitchen – looking for the pile of gift cards that she’d inevitably misplaced.

About ten years ago she’d sworn off gifts and asked that we simply give her gifts cards for Christmas. Her reasoning was that she was too old for gifts that only ended up in her yearly Yard Sale. She’d much rather have a nice gift card, preferably an American Express Gift card in which she could easily purchase liquor with. If it were a store gift card she’d have to take the time to sell it at a discounted rate for cash. She swears that she doesn’t drink, but the two sheds full of empty liquor bottles say otherwise.

Eventually she would find them right where she left them; in the bathroom vanity hidden behind the bottle of douche and next to the dusty boxes of tampons. For whatever reason she continued to employ the idea that her nether region is still fertile and not the dusty dry desert that we all know her 75 year old body to be.

but that train keeps a rollin’ on down to San Anton.

It’s a shame that I had to kill them.

For effect I’ll let that sink in for a second.

It really is a shame that on arguably the second most joyous day of the year (your birthday being the most joyous) I had to snuff the life from them.

I don’t know, call it my gift to myself.

I’m not stupid enough to think that I won’t be caught. In fact, I just started a small fire in their bedroom. I used one of mom’s bottles of 151 rum to soak her bed sheets and then I lit it. Soon enough the fire will consume the bedroom and then work it’s way out into the hallway where the smoke will set off the smoke detector. The smoke detector is tied into the security system and when it goes off, as it should in just a few minutes, the Central Monitoring Station will call here. When I don’t answer they will dispatch the local fire department. When they arrive they will find the blaze form the bedroom has spread into the living room. I’m hoping by that time that the fumes will have overtaken me. I don’t care to face the firemen eye to eye. They simply aren’t a match for the lead slugs in my .45.

I bet there’s rich folks eating in a fancy dining car
they’re probably drinkin’ coffee and smoking big cigars.

If I am unconscious then they will drag me from the house. It is then that they will notice a second fire has engulfed the sun room — and that would be Dad.

He was the easy one.

It was habit that after opening his last gift that he’d light up the most foul smelling cigar known to man. In past years I’d joked with him that he was in fact not smoking a cigar, but the dried and rolled ears of the many North Vietnamese soldiers that he and his war buddies had killed. This year I skipped the formalities and caved in the back of his head with the nearby fire extinguished.

I guess you could call that irony in light of the current situation.

I’d tossed his limp body into the fireplace like a wad of wrapping paper. He snapped and crackled like a damp log and filled the house with a smell almost as bad as his cigar as his body began to ignite.

Well I know I had it coming, I know I can’t be free
but those people keep a movin’
and that’s what tortures me

Mom, the slippery snake that she is, was a much more difficult project. She’d eluded me in the kitchen on her mission to go find either her stash of gift cards or the reserve bottle of tequila that she kept hidden in the hall closet. Upon further review, it was neither of these tasks. She had sneaked out the front door to smoke a joint on the front porch.

Are there any bad habits that this woman does not have? I wouldn’t be surprised at this point if she were banging the mailman.

I opened the front door and caught her in the act. Her eyes, wide and dilated, expressed shock. She denied getting high. I half expected her to say that she was holding it for a friend, but I didn’t give her the chance. “Some thing’s wrong with Dad,” I told her.

She ran inside towards the back room. I followed quickly behind her. I caught the back of her shirt when we got into the kitchen. I put my arm around her neck and slit her throat from ear to ear.

At first nothing happened. It wasn’t until she put her hands up to her throat and tried to talk that her new opening burst apart. She slipped and sloshed in the pool of her own blood that had quickly formed at her feet.

If it weren’t such a tragedy it would almost be humorous.

The firemen would find her there. Fat Tony Ionucci would slide threw the pool of her blood and knock his head on the corner of one the cabinets. The gash would require 40 stitches to close. One for each year of my life that I spent living in their moldy, musty basement.

Well if they’d free me from this prison,
if that railroad train was mine
I bet I’d move just a little further down the line

In the end, the paramedics would revive me. The police would arrest me. A jury of my peers would find me guilty and a judge would condemn me.

Here in prison Christmas isn’t so bad. We get an extra serving of mystery meat and no work detail. I spent my extra time getting fucked in the ass by some new con, but it’s much better than smelling those damn cigars.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE

Think that there is any chance that this replaces one of the worn out specials on TV??? LOL

H-Day Part 3: Tuesday Night is Scheduled Sex Night

•October 29, 2007 • Leave a Comment

Remember, these are a very rough draft and not even close to final. They are more like the initial ideas I get and quickly spew out. I hope you enjoy it for what it is!

R
WARNING: The story that follows is full of senseless violence, gratuitous sexual descriptions, and blood; lots and lots of blood!

Oh, how I love Halloween!

Another booming round of thunder shook the Washington house. The lights flickered, but remained on as Cybil Washington stood inside of her walk-in closet and slipped out of her clothes.

Moments earlier she had finally been successful in putting the twins, Joshua and Jay, into their cribs. The constant flashes of lightning and crashes of thunder had made that a difficult task this evening, but the twins had finally succumb to closing their eyes for the evening.

Outside of the large walk-in closet, Tony Washington lay on his bed wearing only his black boxers with the gold Star Trek logo on the front right. In front of him, mounted on the wall, the 42″ plasma TV pumped out visions of naked women in different stages of sexual activity.

It was Tuesday night and that meant it was time for some sweet loving with his wife. Having newborn children and a full time job left little time for Tony and Cybil to enjoy much of anything and the weekends quickly became filled with errands and playing catch-up. After the birth of the twins they had made a pact to make love, hell, fuck like rabbits, every Tuesday night.

Down the street the animated figure of Gunther Sinclair strode into the down pouring rain. His movement was herky and jerky, but his destination was clear. His eyes, those black orbs of death, focused on the light in the upstairs window of the Washington house and he body followed the orders sent down from his mashed up brain.

Cybil Washington turned and twisted in front of the full length mirror as she checked out her body one last time before clicking off the light and exiting the wardrobe.

She exited the closet, looked at her husband laying on the bed, and began her strut. With each step, her long legs poked out of the slits in the long black gown.

“Permission to board, Captain?” Cybil asked Tony as she neared the foot of the bed.

“Huh? This ain’t a boat.”

“Aren’t you the Captain of the Enterprise?” She asked jokingly and seductively.

“Well, the Enterprise wasn’t a boat. It was an interstellar spaceship capable of –”

She quickly cut him off. “Well Captain, either shut up or prepare for a long night of solo maneuvers.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but it didn’t sound good and he shut up. “Permission granted,” he said as Cybil climbed slid on to the bed and began making her way north.

Whaaaaaaaa-BOOOOM! went the thunder. The house shook as if it were at the epicenter of a small earthquake.

“What was that noise,” asked Cybil. Her hand was on the waistband of Tony’s boxers as she was about to pull them down. “It sounded like glass breaking.”

“I’m sure it was nothing, baby. Now, you were about to show the Captain how well you handle a light saber.”

“I thought that Star Wars had light sabers,” Cybil questioned.

“Damn it, Cybil. It’s space. They all knew each other. Play along.” He grinned as he positioned himself so that he could still see the TV while his wife removed his boxers and lowered her head towards his pelvic area.

As her lips touched the head of his throbbing “light saber” another crash of thunder exploded. The TV momentarily went black before coming back on. The screen was blue and read “DVD Unreadable”. “Son of a bitch” exclaimed Tony Washington jerking backwards looking for the remote. “I swear tomorrow morning I am returning this damn thing. It’s always messing up!”

CREEEEEEAAAAAAAk

“Now, tell me you didn’t hear that?” Cybil questioned. “Tony, it sounded like someone was coming up the stairs.”

“Cybil, no one is in the damn house. Did you see how hard the rain is out there? They’d have to be Aquaman to survive this shit. There — there, now we got it,” Tony said as the DVD player came back to life. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Cybil Washington sighed as she turned back to her husbands waiting member.

The sound of the door being ripped from the hinges was nothing that either of them had heard before. Cybil screamed as they both stared at the figure that was now standing where their bedroom door once hung. The figure dripped and dropped mud and rain onto the carpet.

The figure was slightly illuminated in the glow coming from the TV “Gunther? Is that YOU?” Tony asked.

Cybil quickly jumped up and ran towards the walk-in closet where the lock box containing Tony’s pistol sat high on the top shelf near her assortment of Sunday hats. She got two steps off of the bed before Gunther cut her off. He reached out with one old hand and snared the back of her satiny gown. He pulled her sharply towards him and in one quick motion he placed one hand on either side of her head and began twisting. She tried to scream, she really did try, but the sound wouldn’t come out. Her neck made painful sounding noises as if someone were breaking an armload of kindling wood. SNAP CRACKLE POP — Off with her head!

The body of Gunther Sinclair stood and raised his left hand high in the air. The head of Cybil Washington rose with it. For a moment it appeared as though her eyes were actually looking out and seeing her horrified husband as he sat motionless and terrified on the bed. His cock no longer hard. His ass sitting in the wetness of his own piss.

“You want some head?” The old man croaked out. The voice was grumbled and weak, and most certainly not the voice of man who Tony stared at. He heaved the head at Tony. The forehead of Cybil crashed into the bridge of Tony’s nose. Blood exploded and splashed onto the lifeless head that came to rest in his lap. The old man sprung to the bedside and quickly snatched back the head. Tony was in shock and unable to move. His muscles tightened and his body remained motionless. With his fingers tightly grasping the hair on Cybil’s head the old man began to repeatedly pummel the face of Tony Washington until he was unrecognizable and lifeless. Then the old man turned and headed to the doorway.

Just down the hall, the twins each lay in matching cribs. Their little bodies were coddled tightly inside cottony soft blankets.

The body of Gunther Sinclair stood in their doorway —

H-Day Part 2- Soul Stealer: The Kiss of Death

•October 26, 2007 • Leave a Comment

Remember, these are a very rough draft and not even close to final. They are more like the initial ideas I get and quickly spew out. I hope you enjoy it for what it is!

R

WARNING: The story that follows is full of senseless violence, gratuitous sexual descriptions, and blood; lots and lots of blood!

Oh, how I love Halloween!

“God damn it, Myrtle. What are those Maigny kids up to now?” crowed Gunther Sinclair from reclined position of his favorite chair.

“What? I didn’t hear a thing and neither did you. That TV is up so loud the Maigny’s are probably wondering what we’re up to! Put your hearing aid in and turn down that TV!” Replied Myrtle Sinclair from within the confines of her remodeled kitchen. She stood at the kitchen sink finishing up her dishes and watching as the rain came down in buckets. The drops races by the back porch light, which was on and casting eerie shadows (Are there other kinds of shadows in a thunder storm?) across the back yard, and they looked like small tracer rounds shooting down from the heavens.

“What, Myrt? Did you say something?”

“Crazy old man,” she whispered under her breath.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky and with it the body of a large man coming from the bushes between the two back yards. Myrtle saw him as clear as day and dropped the dish she had been drying. “What the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks was that,” she gasped.

WHAAAAA-BOOOOM! Another round of thunder that shook the house and startled the 83 year old Myrtle Sinclair.

“What now, Myrt? Can’t you let me watch TV in peace?”

A series of lightning flashes once again lit up the sky and gave Myrtle another look into the backyard at the — at the man who was no longer there. “Oh well,” she said to no one. “I guess it was these old eyes playing tricks on me again.”

The old woman placed the dish in the cupboard to her right and turned back just in time to see a hulking mass of a man dive through the kitchen window landing on the sink in front of her and falling onto the cold ceramic tile floor.

“God damn it, Myrt! What the hell do you want? Either come in here and ask me or leave me alone!” Old Gunther said as his ears strained to pick up what he thought his bride of 63 years might be saying. He decided it was nothing and went back to reclining the night away.

Myrtle Sinclair’s heart raced with fear. She attempted to scream, but the man was on her before she could take a breath. His large hands encompassed her throat and squeezed like a vice. She looked deep into the eyes of the man and saw nothing; not a flicker of life, just two black orbs glaring back at her void of emotion.

The old woman’s heart stopped beating at roughly 10:39PM Saturday, October 20th. Her body dangled lifeless from the hands of the killer. The man cocked his head to the left in an awkward
jerky motion and pulled the womans face tight to his. His lips like two wet, sticky slugs pressed firmly against the womans old, dry, parched mouth.

Just then the mans body went limp and slumped to the floor. Myrtle Sinclair stood tall. Her ears perked up as she heard the booming volume from the TV where Gunther Sinclair relaxed. She adjusted her sagging bosom, pulled up her flowered skirt, and checked her makeup in the stainless steel refrigerator door. Two black orbs stared back at her. She licked her lips and went off towards the living room where her husband awaited.

Startled by her sudden appearance, Gunther almost fell backwards in his recliner. “Damn it, Myrtle. What in tarnation are ya doin’ out there? Did you break a glass or something? I thought I heard a ruckus.”

Myrtle flung her right leg over the recliner and in an instant she was on top of Gunther. She straddled him, her hips began to slowly gyrate as her hands tore her blouse and bra from her body. Her ancient breasts flopped flat against her stomach, wiggling and jiggling to the swaying of her midsection.

“Fuck me, your old man! Give it to Momma like you used to! Take that old prick of yours and fuck me hard. I must feel that cock deep inside me. Let me ride you until my hips break, then turn me over and stuff my ass. You know you want too you filthy old fuck!”

Myrtle, or who ever she was, grabbed on of her floppy tits and lowered it into Gunther’s mouth. She/He/It felt the raspy surface of Gunther’s tongue slowly flicking at the nipple. The thing thrust the tit deeper into his mouth with enough force to crack his jaw. Gunther instinctively bit down hard taking the erect nipple off in his mouth. Warm, thick blood flowed into his mouth as he began to gasp for air. Deeper and harder the tit was jammed into his mouth until it formed a perfect seal cutting off any possible air flow.

Less than a minute later Gunther Sinclair’s body went limp as his bowels relieved themselves one last time. Urine and lumpy shit filled his already stained boxers.

Myrtle lowered her head down to his and took his lips with hers. Her body slouched to the right and came crashing down taking out a floor lamp and popping the bulb in the process.

Gunther’s body rose from the recliner and marched off towards the door. He ripped the 3 inch mahogany door form the frame and headed out into the ensuing downpour. His eyes, black as the night scanned the streets back and forth until the stopped and focused on the only other house on the block with a light on; the house of Clarice and Ben Washington and their twin infants Joshua and Jay.

Gunther stepped off of the porch. The rain instantly soaked him to the core. The wetness mixed with the piss and shit in his pants and created a brown trail that quickly washed away. Lightning flashed once again. The Washington house went dark…

H-Day Part 1: Pray For Mercy

•October 26, 2007 • Leave a Comment

Remember, these are a very rough draft and not even close to final. They are more like the initial ideas I get and quickly spew out. I hope you enjoy it for what it is!

R

WARNING: The story that follows is full of senseless violence, gratuitous sexual descriptions, and blood; lots and lots of blood!

Oh, how I love Halloween!

Ding Dong

From inside the house Dominique Maigny reached for the cold hard steel doorknob. The large wooden door creaked and groaned as it swung open.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” She asked as she stepped outside and closed the door all, but a crack.

“You said your parents were going out tonight so I thought you might like a little late night Pete treat,” He said as a grin came over his face.

“My parents are gone, but my sister is still awake,” Dominique said. Small bits of her French accent poked to the surface as she stood and squirmed in place and hoped that none of the neighbors were watching especially the Sinclair’s who lived right next door.

“Dom, is that Mommy?” The voice was muffled and coming from just inside the door.

“You have to get out of here,” she whispered. “Call me later!”

Peter shook his head and turned around slowly.

“No, Sara. Wrong number — I mean it’s just a salesman at the wrong house.” Dominique watched as Peter walked down the sidewalk, his ass looking fine in his black jeans. She felt her insides warming up, she gave one last look, turned and walked back inside.

“You, Little Missy, need to go get you pajamas on.” Dominique said as she playfully chased her 5 year old sister up the front stairway.

Ding Dong

“I’ll get it,” she said. “You finish putting these on and then go brush your teeth. I’ll be right back.”

Dominique rushed down the stairs to the front door and flung it open. “Peter, you better –”

The wind was beginning to pick up and there was a chill in the air; the kind of damp chill that happens just before a thunder storm arrives. In the distant she heard the faint rumbling of thunder.

She wrapped her arms around herself to fend away the chill as she looked all around the front yard for her teenage lover, Peter. “Where are you, Peter? Stop messing around. The neighbors are going to get pissed if you step on their flowers. Peter? Are you out there?”

Dominique took one last look down the street in both directions. A small plastic Wal-Mart bag road the wind up, up, and away before getting snagged in the crooked old maple that stood tall and proud in the Washington’s front yard. Once again she closed the door and turned back towards the stairs.

“Sara, I don’t hear the water running –”

Ding Dong — Ding Dong — Ding Dong went the doorbell in rapid succession.

“What the hell,” she said at the midway point of the stairway. “That boy is going to get it good!” She thought to herself.

Once again she grabbed the cold steel doorknob and turned it to open the door. “Peter this better be –”

She felt a warm, almost hot, sensation where the dull edge of the cleaver split her sternum in two.

He braced his left hand on her ample chest and removed the blade. It made a loud, wet SQUISH sound when it left her body. The tip snagged on her black Fallout Boy t-shirt. The same one that Peter had given her over the Summer. The hulking figure before her grabbed the shirt and ripped it open from the neck down to her pierced bellybutton exposing her stark white bra that was beginning to absorb the thick, dark red blood that rushed from her open wound.

She reached up with her right hand and felt the syrupy fluid. With her left hand she touched the new hole in her chest and then raised both hands before her face. She slowly felt the life running out of her body as it pooled on the cold concrete steps below her. A slow rain began to fall and the drops splashed in the red puddle.

Her last thought was of Sara. She turned to go back inside, but it was over. Her last ounce of energy, her last bit of life drained away mixing with the the rain, the wind, and into the night.

She was gone.

Her lifeless body fell fast to the ground and her hands left the classic trail of smeared blood down the front of the door.

Young Sara Maigny stood at the base of the stairs. “Dommy, you out there? I’m telling Daddy if you’re out there with Peter.” She crept slowly towards the door. “Dommy,” she said as her small hand grabbed the cold steel doorknob and pushed outward. The door moved about a foot before clunking into something solid. Sara cautiously slid her head through the crack and into the cool night air.

Her scream pierced the thunder that was now not so far away. Sara saw her older sister in a crumpled pile. Her white bra was no completely red and she was wet from the rain that had grown stronger in the last few minutes.

Sara quickly slammed the door and ran towards the back of the house as far away from the carnage as she could.

WHOOOOO-BOOOOOOOM!

Thunder shook the house. The lights flickered, dimmed, then died.

Sara froze in her tracks and stood in the darkness of the kitchen.

With the lights out she could see almost perfectly into the backyard all the way to her tree house, although the steady rain blurred the lines.

Another crack of lighting flashed illuminating the surrounding area. In that brief instant Sara Maigny, who just five minutes ago had been brushing her teeth and preparing to go to bed, saw the lifeless body of Peter Wilson swinging from the tree in the backyard. The tire on her swing had been cut off and replaced with the neck of her sister’s boyfriend. The wind pushed and spun his body in slow circles like a macabre pinata.

Sara collapsed on the ground. Her Little Princess pajamas became saturated with urine as she passed out on the cold tile floor where her head hit with a thunk; the same sound a watermelon makes when you thump it for freshness.

In the hedges that separate the Maigny yard from the Sinclair yard stood a large figure. The rain cascaded down his face. Steam rose from his head as he stood breathing deep, almost orgasmic, breathes. What little light there was reflected in the thick steel of the cleaver that he held up to his face. He brought the blade up to his nose and smelled the death that dripped and dropped off of the edge and down onto his worn work boots.

Ack! Sorry it’s been so long!

•October 26, 2007 • Leave a Comment

Hello Friends,

Where did the time go? This Summer was a hectic one at the Master’s home. Between work, swimming lessons, weddings, class reunions, etc, we had lost touch. Seems like just yesterday it was July and now we’re almost into November!

My available writing time has also taken a hit, unfortunately.

BUT, I was able to put together two part of a three part series of Halloween inspired story pieces. They are very ROUGH at best and not what I would normally publish here, but I thought you might like to check them out nonetheless.

I hope you enjoy them and come back early next week for the third installment!

R

July Update

•July 14, 2007 • Leave a Comment

Hello Everyone!

It has been a very busy period since we last chatted. Ryan has had several positive reactions to his submitted stories, but, to be honest, no acceptances yet. There has been a lot of praises and some excellent constructive criticism, but we’re still batting .000.

We need a hit! LOL!

This is a great learning experience though. We’ve seen the negative attitude and inflated egos of certain publishers. The biggest shock has been the non-professional manner in which some publishers choose to do business. Our thought is, not only are we submitting work on a professional level, but chances are we are also going to be purchasinging the publication. Unless, of course, they choose to take a non-professional attitude with us. At that point why would any sensible person continue to purchase their goods? They’ve now lost at least one customer, if not more.

It boggles the mind.

Work has continued on the novel. A very helpful Editor was kind enough to make some really great suggestions that just made a lot of sense. So the old idea was scrapped for now and the newest idea is in motion. We’re really happy with this and progress is coming along nicely.

On the side work is being put into two different short stories. Cross your fingers that these are the “hits” we’ve been looking for!

On top of all of that, it’s summer time! The 4th of July was great. Who doesn’t like fireworks and BBQs? Good times!

Take care and be watchful of the things that lurk just below the surface. Was that seaweed tickling your toes…or something with teeth?

May 30th

•May 30, 2007 • Leave a Comment

Hello Friends!

I wanted to update you on current project status.

Two new stories were submitted to magazines for publishing consideration.

Also, more work is being done on the outline for the novel. As it stands right now, it is going to be the tale of a man who is not only haunted by his past, but TERRORIZED by it! All of the things that go bump in the night are set to make an appearance in this chilling account.

I hope everyone is doing well and that your Memorial Day weekend was great!

Love, kisses, and vampire bites!

RM