Twisted Imaginings

As dusk approached on that cold Xmas Eve in our quiet little neighbourhood, we all settled down for the yearly festivities. Lights and decorations of all shapes sizes and colours adorned the picturesque houses. Little were we prepared for the madness that was to unfold over the next few hours. Not all of us believed before and many still couldn't after but it was horrifically real. A lone killer dressed in red was to visit us. This year, as with others, gifts were promised but all we received was death.  It began at midnight on Christmas Eve, when police were called to a domestic incident. Three people had been slaughtered mercilessly, their innards strewn around their home in a nightmare of crimson blood and internal organs. More reports followed, each more brutal than the last. The killer was in a blood lust, a psychotic frenzy of murder. But worse was to come.  By now most of us were gathered just outside our homes, the fear palpable. Mid conversation we were stunned into silenc

"Are you sure it's him?". The younger man's brow furrowed but his nodding head was grave. "I'm sure Father", he replied. "Medok is here". Father Joseph McGregor sighed as he regarded Eyre Square in Galway. He knew the time would come, but had hoped it wouldn't be here. He wasn't sure he was ready. "So, the usual fee?", Brendan Kelly, his informant asked. "Yes, always the same", the priest said and sat back as the ginger haired man smiled and headed back to the same train station he had come from. It was a crisp but reasonably warm early spring day in Ireland, but it gave the priest little comfort. For thirty years he'd hunted and slain vampires. He'd been hunted too and tonight would see and end. Father McGregor rose slowly and made his way back to his church. The private number rang three times before being answered. That was normal, but nonetheless Father McGregor wasn't in the mood to wait. "Yes?&

"Silently". Now and then a thought occurs. A forgotten memory of someone you knew. More a glimmer perhaps, fleeting and brief. "Silently". Once they were friends, partners, family. Their lives echoed yours, which makes you consider. For those who were will never again. "Silently". There was a wrapping around them, slowly yet menacingly. An insidious cloak of velvet, erasing eternal. "Silently". But the call is remembered, no more or less. A tauntingly sung word, light yet cruel and vile knowledge. That it was the end of all, the sand had run out. "Silently". So if you should ever hear such a dire call. Over the wind perhaps, or in the hubub of life. It is coming for you, there is no escape! "Silently". The word is its method, that's how it creeps up. And that chills the marrow when finally it ends you. For after you hear it, all becomes void. "Silently".

View The Twisted Imaginings Facebook Post It is with great sadness that I report on the death of Stan Lee aged 95. Stan was a comic writer and co-creator of iconic characters, including Iron Man, The Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, Daredevil and X-Men. Stan revolutionised the comic book industry, making the characters complex and believable. He was also known for various cameos. RIP Stan Lee and Excelsior.

As the car pulled to a stop Joe Harrington straightened his tie and breathed nervously. Joe was on the brink of a career defining moment if all went well. The concierge who met him was suitably attired for a Halloween event, while still pointedly being polite about it. Invitation approved, the entrance to Beech House was opened. Joe stopped just inside the stately home and marvelled at its Gothic interior. If he'd been able to, he would have sneaked a camera in. He was deliberating using his smart phone before an elderly gentleman approached. "Ah, Lord Huxley!", Joe beamed enigmatically. "Thank you for the invitation!". Lord Huxley regarded Joe keenly before proffering his hand. "Welcome to Beech House", his rich voice opined. "May I present Lady Huxley?". A petite yet very imposing woman smiled thinly at Joe. "Now, please do come to the dining room", Lord Huxley gestured. "It's almost time". Entering the dining room J

Discuss your Halloween plans on Facebook! This is the night when the gateway between  our world and the spirit world is thinnest. Tonight is a night to call out those who came before. Tonight I honor my ancestors. Spirits of my fathers and mothers, I call to you, and welcome you to join me for this night. You watch over me always, protecting and guiding me, and tonight I thank you. Your blood runs in my veins,your spirit is in my heart, your memories are in my soul. With the gift of remembrance I remember all of you. You are dead but never forgotten, and you live on within me, and within those who are yet to come.

As Matt loaded the van he wiped sweat from his forehead. He loved his job but the heavy lifting was back breaking. He turned once more to look at the warehouse. It looked even more barren in the pale of the moonlight. It was once a thriving industrial estate, but now it was as dead as the woman he had just slaughtered. They might find her, he sniggered as he turned to the van. There was a Jaguar. Not more than ten feet away! Matt barely had time to register confusion before hearing a polite cough behind him. Turning, Matt jumped back a step. "Oh, no!", the amiable old man smiled. "I'm not from the Met.", he chuckled. Matt instinctively reached inside his jacket before freezing. "That won't be necessary", the strange elderly gent said, a little less amusedly. "Allow me to explain.". In a flash he threw a hood over Matt's head. Matt groaned as his senses swam. He struggled to recount what had happened as he realized his hands and feet w

I was at work, sifting through emails, when I heard the crash. It was a window at the opposite end of the corridor from my office, so by the time myself and other confused staff got there whatever had strewn glass and left a viscous looking trail of slime was gone. Those nearest began to panic, so I turned and made for the stairs. I'm noted for my calm under pressure but sprinting down four flights of stairs to the sound of what can only be described as utter chaos from my floor and the outside world marked a point where my nerves were severely tested. The scene outside pushed me a little closer to the edge. There were people and vehicles everywhere, as though a hurricane had visited! Those that could stand were mostly staring in the direction of the city centre, wide eyed and open mouthed. It appears the a series of what were thought to be small rocks, possibly meteorites,  had landed. We were soon to discover they were some sort of pod from which some sort of creatures had emerge

Directed by Werner Herzog, and starring Klaus Kinski and Bruno Ganz, this German horror film from 1979 is also known as Nosferatu: Phantom Der Nacht ("Nosferatu: Phantom of the Night") and is based on Bram Stokers book Dracula. It is available in the original German language and English. Set mainly in Wismar and Transylvania, the film is considered a remake of the 1922 film Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens, which stars Max Schreck as Count Orlock. Jonathan Harker ( Ganz ) is sent to Transylvania by his boss, Renfield ( who is maniacally played by Roland Topor ) to complete the sale of property with Count Dracula. Leaving his wife Lucy, he arrives in Transylvania, only to be received by locals who are highly suspicious of The Count and plead with him to not visit the castle. On arrival at the castle, Jonathan is met by a grim, sinister looking Dracula. The deal is completed after Dracula becomes entranced by a picture of Lucy. Jonathan is plagued by nightmarish dreams in

Read  Zombies - An Overview  the first part in the series. The English word "zombie" is first recorded in 1819, in a history of Brazil by the poet Robert Southey, as "zombi", really alluding to the Afro-Brazilian renegade pioneer named Zumbi and the historical underpinnings of his name in "nzambi". The Oxford English Dictionarygives the cause of the word as West African and analyzes it to the Kongo words "nzambi" (god) and "zumbi" (fixation).  In Haitian legends, a zombie (Haitian French: zombi, Haitian Creole: zonbi) is an animated corpse raised by mystical means, such as witchcraft.  The idea has been famously connected with the religion of voodoo, however it has no impact in that confidence's formal practices.  How the animals in contemporary zombie films came to be classified "zombies" isn't completely clear. The film Night of the Living Dead made no talked reference to its undead opponents as "zombies",

Click here to see lots of zombie pictures on the Twisted Imaginings Facebook Page! Zombies. One of the best known, recurring characters in horror film. From George Romero's shuffling corpses in his 'Dead' franchise to the infected, nightmarish crazies of "28 Days Later", everyone has a favourite type of zombie too. This is the first in a series of articles which delves into the origins of the once dead and traces how a zombie turned ( pun intended ) into a staple of the horror genre. A zombie (Haitian French: zombi, Haitian Creole: zonbi) is a fictional undead being made through the restoration of a human corpse. Zombies are most normally discovered in horror and fantasy genre works.  The term comes from Haitian old stories, where a zombie is a dead body vivified through different strategies, generally commonly magic. Present day portrayals of the revival of the dead don't really include enchantment yet frequently invoke science fictional methods such as carri

Horror has played a significant role in my life. At the age of five I enjoyed the first of many visits to The London Dungeon and while other boys my age played with their Action Men I had a Frankenstein and Wolfman figure to enjoy. In many ways I was that strange kid! So why do I spend so much time engrossed in the creepy, gory and macabre? For various reasons fear played a huge part in my life as a kid and a shy awkward teen. So much so that, on watching my first horror film ( Lon Chaney's 'Wolfman' ) it seemed perfectly normal to be scared. In fact I didn't find it scary at all. I was hypnotised by the events unfolding on the screen and trying to figure out how they transformed Lon into a lycanthrope. I also immersed myself in the mythology as I was introduced to Dracula via Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff as Frankenstein. But what really began my rather warped obsession with all things depraved was returning home late one night, aged about nine, and watching the Goat O

Visit The Meet The Author Page I'm a horror fan and have been since I was a child. In fact, I'm a  total creep, with a penchant for all things morbid, gruesome and bloodthirsty. My creepy life began at The London Dungeon as a child and soon after I had a collection of horror dolls, such as Frankenstein and The Wolfman.  My first film memories were of Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee, Vincent Price and Hammer films, as things that go bump in the night became my idea of a fun couple of hours. By my teens, the 'video nasties' were in the news and I'd developed from an odd hobby into an obsession with the dark and disturbing. It's not all about film as, through the terrifying tales of Stephen King, Clive Barker, James Herbert, and other notable authors, I found myself drawn into nightmarish journeys that fascinated me. Of course, no horror fan worth their Zombie Apocalypse would be without an interest in Gothic architecture and I love that sort of thing, along with a lo

I was at work, sifting through emails, when I heard the crash. It was a window at the opposite end of the corridor from my office, so by the time myself and other confused staff got there whatever had strewn glass and left a viscous looking trail of slime was gone. Those nearest began to panic, so I turned and made for the stairs. I'm noted for my calm under pressure but sprinting down four flights of stairs to the sound of what can only be described as utter chaos from my floor and the outside world marked a point where my nerves were severely tested. The scene outside pushed me a little closer to the edge. There were people and vehicles everywhere, as though a hurricane had visited! Those that could stand were mostly staring in the direction of the city centre, wide eyed and open mouthed. It appears the a series of what were thought to be small rocks, possibly meteorites,  had landed. We were soon to discover they were some sort of pod from which some sort of creatures had emerge

Mesmerizing dots of light, unleashing a prism of light from the dank, grotty streetlights, along the slabs of warped and broken paving. A cloud filled sky brewing with ire for the ground below, its viscous drizzle cloying and heavy, as it hangs in the air, as if some cloak of marrow freezing poison. Against symmetrical shapes of identical buildings erupt the skeletal trees, their empty branches jagged and violent against the blur of brick. But!.....Underfoot, what draws closer with each grimly determined step? Pulsing, throbbing until quiet, with the lacerating, semi regular spray of water? For it calls, the humdrum and dazzling neon of busier paths, a bristling mixture of muted and violent, struggling to make themselves known. As the furnace of that noisy vein, it's life slicing across murkier depths, rushing in opposite courses. It's lurid neon streaks, against a blackened sky, bursting in eruptions of liquid. Too much, until gone from whence, the dark envelopes once more. Th

Click here to read Jack The Ripper - Part One There are five murders, also known as the "canonical five", which are attributed to Jack The Ripper. That said the large number of attacks against women in London's East End during this time period means there's a lot of uncertainty as to the exact amount. From April 1888 to February 1891 London's Metropolitan Police recorded eleven murders, also known as "The Whitechapel Murders", which were at one time thought to be Jack's work. There is much speculation and debate about that. Most experts point to deep throat slashes, abdominal and genital-area mutilation, removal of internal organs, and progressive facial mutilations as the distinctive features of the Ripper's modus operandi. The first two cases in the Whitechapel murders file, those of Emma Elizabeth Smith and Martha Tabram, are not included in the canonical five. The canonical five Ripper victims are Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth St

Just imagine. It's late 19th century London, an unpleasant enough time to be in anyway, but somewhere in the shadows a murderous stranger lurks.  He could be any one of thousands of random strangers you see, the time and location completely random.  So, who is Jack The Ripper? Jack The Ripper is the most commonly known name given to London's infamous serial killer of the late nineteenth century. To this day his true identity is unknown and the subject of intense speculation. He is also thought to have been one of the first known serial killers. In 1888 Jack is believed to be responsible for the slaughter of at least five prostitutes in Whitechapel, an area in the east end of London, although at one point as many as eleven were thought to be connected.  All of the victims had their throats cut and abdomens mutilated, with three having internal organs removed. This gave rise to the popular theory that the killer had some surgical or anatomical knowledge. What is most frightening

So; what to do? He had pondered it all morning and into the early afternoon. It was quite the puzzle he smiled ruefully. He wasn't one for a hearty lunch but his musings had distracted him and he had not realised how full he was until his eyelids started to become heavier. The whole incident had started off quite normally when he had returned home late and quite fatigued from his day. Deciding that one more before retiring led him to pour a generous amount of Scotch and he was just about to settle into his chair when he spotted them. There was an awkward pause, a look of confusion from all three of them before he shook himself and smiled pleasantly. "Hello my cherubs," he murmured. She seemed more nervous than he did, being the younger and more curious of the two he smiled. "Now then, lets get you of to sleep!". Well that's where it had gone downhill. She made such a fuss, frantically repeating her negatives as he patiently yet studiously repri

Humans are strange.  We spend our lives trying to understand their complexity, their nuances and their foibles. They can confuse us with their behaviours, startle us with their veracity and inspire us with their passion. Not so with monsters. They are always there, predictable, loyal and regular. They comfort us in those twilight ours, while the world sleeps, become our lovers and confidantes. Especially the monsters in our head.

l awoke, sweating at four in the morning. More than sweating; the bedsheets were drenched. This wasn’t right and my escape, while easy in theory, meant getting past the various checks at Gatwick. If I was successful I’d be home free. Oh, I’m Steve. On the surface I’m an ordinary guy, smart but forgettable. That’s the point you see, because I’m a con artist. I dabble in fraud too. Normally I keep business and pleasure desperate, but this job means I’m set for life. Let me explain…. A childhood friend, let’s call him Jay, had recently come into a fair bit of money. I shan’t relate how, as I’m in enough trouble already, but I almost managed to relieve him of his not inconsiderable fortune. I say almost, because Jay found out. The night before I was due to leave for America. That’s why I did it, why I knocked him out and set his home on fire. I don’t know if he’ll live, but there’s no turning back now. I acquired a fake passport via the usual channels and there’s a green card, plus a job,

Ma rching they are, with intentions of war. Hard footfalls, the silence of purpose ever still. Charge! It has always been. Leaden sky, an icy chill does roar! Onward! We lead to ruin and glory. For them we are as one! 

As they continued through the universe their tentacles rilppled through the fabric of space time. They existed, yet not in any quantifiable form, thus their presence went largely unnoticed. It also created sufficient mystery to their exact number and form as to be acceptable.  They could, for example, resemble a rudimentary octopus and spider hybrid but their exteriors quite menacingly concealed the detail. Prisms of light were rarely chanced up though.  Their desire was such that the could exist in multiple realities far beyond any reasonable explanation. It defined them. It also made the transfers at the sub atomic level that much more efficient.  Which is what they were improving upon as they found our solar system. While it resembled a mere primordial soup to them it was also the reason they chose us. Any more advanced and we would have been a lot less pliable but our system created almost the perfect blend.  As the adaptation, and resulting conformity commenced, a fleeting murmur

Taken deep below, this virgin come of age. To chasms deep and dark, amongst the stench of putrid flesh. The markings, carved deep into dank walls, tell the story. Incantations of yore are they, now chanted by all. The Followers, ever bowing, await The Time. The drumming, ever pounding, signifies the wait is almost over. Hail Dark Priest! Ever spewing forth his blasphemous venom. For he knows, oh how he knows! The Book, rent of flesh, shall spew Them forth. The Priest has read and he has seen Those who are to be summoned.  The candles of deepest black choke her with their sulphurous fume, her lungs filled as she is lashed upon the altar. Silence now descends as The Priest shrieks his final incantaion; all shudder at Its guttural roar!  Beast Infernal; He Rises! Now chained to the altar, she screams as Its Priests eyes drip venemous red, malevolence assured.  A stinking black tongue penetrates Its new prize. An eruption as purity is tasted. The blade flashes down, visceral blood spurts a

Dr Wilson scrubbed up for his last autopsy of the night. It was late, but this could not wait until morning. Eric sighed heavily as he rued the missed dinner date, yet again. Dinner with Katie would have be exceptional but duty called. Tonights John Doe was a Caucasian male, late thirties, and the fatality of a particularly nasty road traffic accident. Actually it probably wouldn't take too long as glass and metal had ripped open the main areas he needed access too. The victims extra paleness was caused by excessive blood loss, no doubt from one or more of the main arteries. He did catch a sort of translucence to the body, which, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, he dismissed as fatigue. He was too experienced to be played pranks on anyway; that was for the grad students. He chuckled as he started to weigh the main organs, noting every detail fastidiously. It always paid to be accurate, even with such standard cases. Which is why at first didn't notice the body was glowing slig

The Equinox was approaching and with it The Game. As Saul contemplated the sunset he felt that his time was approaching too. The Elders could not deny him once he had returned because they knew what he would return with. After that no man, alive or dead, would be able to refuse Saul.  For now he rested there on the balcony, at peace yet as sharp as a blade. He would attend The Dead Eve, where those before him were remembered and sung of and about, but not yet.  Dawn broke on the day of The Game as Anya sighed and rolled over. No invite for her, a female, to the previous nights celebrations or the pomp and majesty of entering The Labyrinth but nonetheless a busy day. As she sat up she looked across the bedroom at her books. Years of study had made her wise for someone so young as she and, later than her peers, she had blossomed physically. Not that Anya cared much for pleasures of the eye; words on paper were her lovers. She got up, stretching, and began to prepare. Of course no mere wo

Pulsating with contempt, Grey, with no little malignant fire, Crawling, heavy and oppressive weight, On, forward is it's path! Grey, grim, pregnant gore! No scene of colour here! Ethereal laceration yearning! Arterial spray of freedom! March! Forcing on with bile, Crawling, shoving, oozing through! No relief, no rest from they! Whose army know no fatigue! Lurking, draining, defiling all, How is this here? Far, long and wide it is, It shall never yield!

It all started about a fortnight ago. I was cycling home from work, as usual, and I didn't see him until it was too late. He crumpled to the floor with no resistance, his belongings scattered around the street. I flew over him, because of my speed , landing perhaps a few metres away. It took me a few moments to recover myself, but once I regained my composure I stood up and turned to face him. His eyes are what will stay with me, the deepest black with a flashing malevolence. Oh, he was an older gentleman, and a reasonably well cut figure he made. But his eyes! They did not waver, in fact I'm sure he didn't blink, as he slowly stood up. He took two steps forward and then, pointing at me, began to speak in a language I am not aware of. One word I did recognize was his last. Before, smiling, gathering up his belongings and walking away, he said, "Infected!". Aside from being a little shaken I left the scene relatively unscathed, a few grades and bruises aside. My wi

A very special guest of Twisted Imaginings has very kindly offered a story, which I am very proud to share with you all! "As the darkening, meloncholy clouds passed through the deserted sky, I looked at the dull; boring and rusty amusement park in front of me. The amusement park was once a joyful and fun place to be; now it is a lifeless place. As i walked towards the haunted and abandoned amusement park; I shivered, it was like i had a bad feeling about the park; also it was like as if something there was making me shiver through my whole body. It was about 4 o' clock in the morning when I was going into this dark, meloncholy place." Many thanks, and full credit, to the author J. Murphy.

Buffalo Bill, aka Jame Gumb or John Grant, is the skin suit wearing serial killer superbly played by Ted Levine in the film "Silence Of The Lambs". Not much is known about Bill, but there is a little info. For example, he was the son of an alcoholic sex worker, who misspelled his name as "Jame", who abandoned him at the age of two. Buffalo Bill lived in foster care until the age of ten, before being adopted by his grandparents, who are also his first victims. As the film starts, Bill is a wanted serial killer, having earned the Buffalo Bill nickname because "he likes to skin his humps". We learn that Bill believes himself to be transgender, despite having been refused gender reassignment because of his unstable past. In a now infamous scene, Bill records himself to the song "Goodbye Horses", wearing his 'suit'. When the film was first released new methods of identifying serial killers had begun in America. Bill is organized and smart, wei

Sad news today as Bruce Campbell, who most of you know as Ash of Evil Dead fame after 39 years... Evil Dead is a classic amongst horror fans and a legend of the 80's 'Video Nasties'. Bruce Campbell Facebook Post This is the end of an era...

In folklore, a ghost (sometimes known as an apparition, haunt, phantom, poltergeist, shade, specter or spectre, spirit, spook, and wraith) is the soul or spirit of a dead person or animal that can appear to the living. In ghostlore, descriptions of ghosts vary widely from an invisible presence to translucent or barely visible wispy shapes, to realistic, lifelike visions. The deliberate attempt to contact the spirit of a deceased person is known as necromancy, or in spiritism as a seance. Click Here To View The Facebook Album #ghosts #spooks #apparition #haunt #spectre #poltergeist #soul #spirit #seance #necromancy

The devil is the personification and archetype of evil in various cultures. Historically, the Devil can be defined as the personification of whatever is perceived in society as evil and the depiction consist of its cultural traditions. Click Here To Visit The Facebook Album #TheDevil #Satan #AntiChrist #666 #TheNumberOfTheBeast #Horror #Film #Book #TwisImage #TwistedImagining #Satanico

From Greek mythology, Cerberus, often known as "The Hound Of Hades", is the monstrous multi-headed dog that guards the gates of the Underworld to prevent the dead from leaving.  Cerberus was the offspring of the monsters Echidna and Typhon, and usually is described as having three heads, a serpent for a tail, and snakes protruding from parts of his body.  Cerberus is primarily known for his capture by Heracles, one of Heracles' twelve labours. View The Facebook Album #twistedimaginings #cerberus #facebook #page #album #photos

Matt had always stood out. His lithe, ungainly build made him look different to others, which made him insecure and introverted. Puberty only exacerbated matters, with unusual hair growth being the more serious. By the time he was fifteen, he not only resembled a Goth some said he epitomised the gothic style. To top it off his deep, piercing eyes, with the steely blue eye colour, unsettled just about everyone. Which was what he was sullenly pondering as his sullen gaze chanced upon her. My, but she was beautiful! As she sauntered in his direction, he realized he wasn't the only one captivated by her exotic looks; she was getting both male and female attention as, hips swaying seductively, she drew ever closer. He tried to smile and offer a greeting but he realized not only was his mouth dry but his heart was pounding and he was sweating. Finally he managed a quick, nervous smile as she slowed long enough to hand him a scrap of paper, before speeding up to enter the college doors. H