Twisted Imaginings

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