The apparition (the hunch)

Deep freezing temperatures had plagued the ground. In the early hours of the morning, Danny Johnson was the only being alive in the Rosecourt cemetery. Taking a slow stroll among the stones, he would keep an eye to make sure that no grave robber would disturb the eternal guests. Suddenly Danny saw movement out of the corner of his eye. With his heart on his throat he turned to see a dark being standing few feet away.

“Hi there, mr Ghost. Please don’t hurt me.. I have a hunch, so I can’t outrun you.” “No you don’t,” – whispered the dark being. “Yes, I do,” – insisted Danny. “Nope. You don’t!” – the being whispered again with its disembodied voice. “But I do!” Danny insisted again. “Stretch yourself,” – ordered the ghost.

Danny stretched and to his surprise, his back felt straight as a pencil. “Thank you, mr Ghost! Thank you very much!” Danny cried with joy. He was overwhelmed from the astonishing feeling of youth one more time. “Don’t mention it,” said the dark being. “You have been good to us all these years. Take some time off, go home, rest some more.”

Grateful, Danny followed the dark beings’ advice and went home that morning. He woke up later in the afternoon. The room was filled out with beautiful hue of crimson red from the setting sun. Danny walked out to the balcony of his town home so he could enjoy a full stretch and soak in the marvelous views.

Steve, his next door neighbor was drinking a beer while he spotted Danny. Not believing his eyes, Steve asked Danny what happened to him. Danny explained to Steve in detail what unraveled in the early hours of the morning. He also told him the location of the grave where the apparition materialized from.

Few years ago Steve had suffered a freak accident, which left him with a limp. As soon as the hour hit midnight, Steve decided to go pay the entity a visit. He wanted the limp gone. Through a mix of excitement and nervousness, Steve inched his way closer to the particular stone. “Hello mr Ghost! I have a limp, so i can’t outrun you if you hurt me,” Steve called in thin air.

The night got darker… Thunder and lightning pierced the sky….. A disembodied sound boomed…… “Forget about the limp, sir. You got the hunch you gotta worry about”

Funeral Rookie….

I arrived at the site a little before my scheduled appointment of 9:00 in the morning. I had been to a couple of wakes, but I needed some research for my book, so I wanted to see everything that happened behind the curtains when it comes to the business the afterworld. Well, caring for the departed, better said.

The location where I was asked to go was one of the three owned by the mini conglomerate of four successful undertakers. Made up of a three story superstructure, the building looked more like a mansion, than the place where the departed make a pit stop before they get boxed to ship underground.

I was to meet with Dean, one of the assistant directors and shadow him. A fearless man generally, my hands started to tremble as they made contact with the cold copper of the door handle. I pushed in, but it wouldn’t budge. I rattled the handle several more times, still it wouldn’t open… Maybe, I was wrong… Maybe, I wasn’t meant to be here….

“You might want to pull, before you break it.” The raspy voice of an old dude that looked older than the earth itself was the little incentive that I had to make me jump up and scream: “Shut up demon!”

“Dean… not Damian! You must be Lance…. So pleased to meet you!” The man himself… what an embarrassment… I haven’t even started yet and here I am screwing up from zero hour. “Take a walk inside, make yourself comfortable while I make a couple of calls.” Dean motioned for me to sit on a couch in a small room that apparently was a used as a viewing room, judging by the rose gold casket placed on a pedestal. Within it contained a lady of old age. Impeccable permed white hair adorned her impeccably made up face as she seemed to rest in eternal sleep…

Left alone, with nothing to do but wait… I kept staring at her… My emotions were a turmoil of curiosity, anxiety and adoration. Curious for the process that leads to that grandeur esthetic finesse, anxiety for the inner doubt that she might get up and eat my writer ass, and adoration for the calm energy that surrounds a viewing room…

Five minutes pass by and no sign of Dean… Having seen too many Zombie movies, I decide to make friends before making enemies… Maybe that will save my behind from getting devoured… “Hi, I am here for a job interview. What about you?”… nothing…. “I am sure you have lived a fulfilling life and have made every moment of it worth it.”…. still nothing….. “Maybe I am boring you, but to be honest I am here sitting scared shitless, but I bet you don’t even care…” Thud!

Holy fuck… the hair in the back of my neck lifted like billion antennae pointed up towards the sky… my vision turned dark… I lost my pheripheral… “I… I.. am sorry for… disturbing… you…” God, it was becoming so hard to breathe… I could not really tell if she had moved or not. Slowly, I got up from the couch and sliding along the wall… I began my way out of the room…

“Fuck, I cracked my brand new iPhone!” Dean walked in the room rubbing his devices screen as if he would rub a cat’s scratch on his arm. “What’s the matter? You don’t look so good…” Dean was surveying me attentively, more like a psychiatrist, rather than a man who spends the rest of his life sticking wet cotton up the departed’s butthole.

“I am fine. Too much coffee, I guess…” I lied. Pretty sure he didn’t fall for it. After all, the man has had his share of newcomers into the field.

The Awakening (dedicated to the spicy senorita who awakens the Beast)

There is a sweet aroma tickling Lancelot’s senses as he squints his eyes open to the first rays of the morning Sun. He reaches instinctively to his left, and feels Julia’s petite shape sleeping soundly next to him… with her head propped on his chest. With a gentle touch, he brushes her jet black hair, tucking few loose strands behind her ear. She stirs a little as a smile forms on her lips.

“Shhhhh…,” Lancelot whispers gently as he nibbles a smooth kiss on them. “Hey you!” Julia retorts as flickers her ocean blue eyes open. “What time is it?” “Somewhere between sex and heaven,” he teases as he massages her chin with his thumb. “Wait… you’ve got something in here!” A little white lie that allows him to steal an everlasting deep kiss.

“Liar!” She teases as she punches Lancelot’s chest with a feminine finesse. “I gotta shower though.” As she attempts to rise, Lancelot wraps his arms around her and they both roll over. “You can not wash something that is not dirty yet,” he whispers. “Can you now?”

“Oh yeah?” She questions as she looks deep into his eyes… “Mhm…” he responds unconsciously for the truth reflects as a growing mass between her thighs. “No, no, no…,” she teases as she hangs tight onto his shoulders…… “Mmmm,” he growls as he softly presses his alpha presence in a nonnegotiable dance that tend to rub Julia’s sensations from head to toe. Unable to resist the excitement, her thighs part wider and more accepting… “You wish!” Lance teases as he slows down the foreplay. “Gimme!”, she begs, but Lancelot continues to play his slow excruciating denying tricks that drive her crazy beyond comprehension. He kisses her slow and deep again while she whines her needs and wants.

“Ahhh,” escapes her lips. Brisk and sharp as he finally gives her what she wants. The beginning always hurts. The deep thrust of ecstasy.

“Too big?!” He teases in rhetorics…. “Mmhhmmm, she nods her head…. “Ayyyyah.”

“Shhhhh….,” he teases as he points down motions down as he intensifies the thrusts deeper and heavier. “You will wake them…”

“Don’t you….., she gasps breathlessly between moans that keep getting louder and louder. “Wishhh… I… didddd?” Her brow risen in defiance. An image so angelic, it never ceases to misfire the coils of his existence. It always brought him to a grand finale not too long after her. Entangled together, breathing heavily in a meek attempt to recover their wonderfully wasted energy, he pulled Julia on top then they lost themselves in a deep kiss. Their minds billions of miles away tucked deep within the energy rays emanating from Venus.

“Shit, I gotta run!”Julia lifted her head from Lance’s chest for the second time this morning. It was a little past nine – thirty am, and she did not realize that they had dozed off again after the morning sexercise session. She has to be at the clinic in less than thirty minutes. Being the only one veterinarian for the county, requires her to open briefly on Sundays as well. With a roughly 3500 dogs and cats under her care, It is very hard to keep regular doctor office hours and not feel a burn out. Dressed in a plain Hanes tshirt and tights, she put on minimal make up and was on the way out the door.

Sitting in bed with his arms propped behind his head, Lance watched her as she got dressed and ready so very efficiently in so little time. “Love you,” he called after she closed the door. He was about to dive in for a few more snoozing minutes, when the door opened up again…

“Love you too! Actually would love you more if you could come down and take a look at my Cherokee? It doesn’t look right.”

Aha! Julia’s truck is in impeccable shape. She cares for it, just the same way that she does for her own well being. “You’re funny, smartass!” Lance chuckled as he got up and wrapped his arms around her waist.”How about we rephrase your statement… Say… Babe, would love you more if you could walk me out, since there is a body laid out and ready for viewing in a few hours and I can’t get past it without a little screaming and panicking!” Lance burried his face on her neck, smelling the nectar of her feminine aroma. “Thank you for reminding me!” He nibbled her neck, “Let’s walk you out, and yes in my boxers.”

Sit Down with the Genius behind “If Only, My love”.

A few weeks ago I finished reading “If only, My love” by Brandon Pawlicki for a second time this year. What’s even better, I have here the mastermind behind that immaculately written novel. Hello Brandon, what pushed you to write such a beautiful content?

The push? It was an idea I had for a while, generally just writing a romance that is. I’ve always been sort of a mush ball, so wanting to tell a love story of my own was a natural development. As for what the story was, that all came at random really; no distinctive push. It all fell into place naturally, I think.
Pieces came day to day, through dreams, etc.

Sounds like you are able to back up your creativity by cosmic energy. Was it based on a real life celebrity crush?

I’d certainly hope so. As for a reality base, there wasn’t one. It’s shocking honestly, just how much I thought up from thin air now that I really look back at the story. I suppose I should be proud.

Did it come across as a real story at any point? I really wrote it that well?

As a matter of fact it did. Lets say 80%.
Browsing through the available library under your name, I noticed that you also tried your hand on the horror genre. How did the jump from romance to horror turned out for you?

That’s amazing! I’m so happy my work had gravity to it. Yes, I took a crack at horror as well. I’ve always loved horror, and I thought it would be beneficial to my craft to branch out and see what happens. Many of the short stories in that project were based on nightmares I had over the past few months prior to writing. Eventually, I remembered enough of them and just said “Hey, I should use these for something”.

The transition was surprisingly seamless.

That sounds great. Speaking of nightmares: what scares you?

I could say lots of things for that one. But what really scares me is darkness within humanity; the people that refuse to hear anyone else’s voice but their own; the people who take out their anger on innocent others; the potential for how bad we can truly be and what can come of that, that’s what really scares me. And in that potential fear comes great storytelling potential as well.

Of course, the bad is a minority. Most people, I believe, are good. But knowing there’s bad at all gets to me sometimes.

I agree. Once an old man told me: the worst animal on this planet are us.
How do you think storytelling would change the world?

I think storytelling, as it has, does, and always will changes US, and that’s where it has to begin. We read books, watch movies, listen to music or play games to escape for a while or to find inspiration. Once we’ve had our fictional adventure or found that creative spark, we can apply it in real life; hopefully with brighter eyes and a more colorful imagination. The world is harsh and, as I’m finding personally, making our way through it, and certainly in attempting to change it for the better, taking that break every here and there is important and even unavoidable. Life without a good story would be pretty awful, I’d say. Whether it’s creating one or following one already created.

That’s an awesome perspective. Only if the politicians would see it that way. What drives your creativity in general?

I think I’m driven by wanting to help people, as silly as it sounds. The healing power in that escape is something worth noting. Connecting with fictional worlds and characters can reveal things to us that perhaps couldn’t be revealed otherwise. Maybe it’s a new point of view that happens to relate to what’s going on in our real lives; helps us figure things out or better handle a situation.

I want that random person that might be going through a hard time to happen on one of my stories and feel better after reading it. It doesn’t have to be something where they learn some grandiose lesson or anything like that. Maybe it’s just the being entertained that helps them.

If I can offer an escape, then that’s fulfilling for me.

That’s selfless of you. In today’s world, few people think about others. Everyone tries to fend for themselves.
Now there’s something mysterious as grandiose as the Bg Bang. Is Pawlicki your true last name or is it inspired by your love for Pabsy?

I feel like most people want to be selfless, but fall into the trap of self preservation. That’s just society now. A lot of people are trying to make it day to day and I understand how giving can get difficult within that context. But still, making an attempt says a lot about one’s character. My name is my name haha. Pawsbie didn’t inspire it. Though the fact that Paw is in both of our names is curious. I’ve never thought about it before. It’s no wonder the little feline means so much to me.

Tell us a bit more about Pawsbie. How does it affect your writing?

Pawsbie is a stray cat that I took in. I’ve named her for her distinctly white feet. She doesn’t really affect my writing, but she does inspire me every day. She’s my pet, but means far more. She did however end up in my romance novel as my character’s pet Mitty. I suppose I wanted to immortalize her in a way.

Sounds as a fair tribute for her. What struggles do you face as an indie author?

The biggest struggle by far is a lack of guidance. As great as it is to not have anybody dictating what I can and can’t write, having to do everything on my own is rather daunting a task, especially when it comes to marketing. I’ve been lucky so far to get as far as I have. However, the next steps aren’t clear as far as really getting my books out there. It seems that, until I have a small fortune to blow, my best bet is social media.

What are some of the helpful tools that take the weight off of your shoulders pertaining the indie publishing?

First and foremost, Amazon offering self publishing. It’s accessible for anybody and that’s amazing. Before I wrote my first book, I was afraid there wouldn’t be a way to do something like this; to create; to become an artist of some sort without spending tons of money that I don’t have. And then, as I mentioned, there’s social media. You can go on YouTube and find an infinite amount of information and resources from other authors and readers as well that offers clarity on moving forward. You can make your own channel and promote yourself. You can just add a handful of hash tags to a post about your book on Twitter or Instagram and there’s a good chance someone may find your work.

The fact that the door is wide open for authors as long as you really dedicate yourself to things is a beautiful thing.

That’s pretty awesome. Why not step into traditional publishing world?

I’m sure I will at some point, however, I like knowing that there’s no middle man involved in my work. If I want to tell a story, I can do it exactly how I wish and release it whenever I please. And if it’s not well recieved, then I’m only more motivated to learn from that and tweak things; given that, again, it’s all on me.

There’s pressure to it, but also a grand sense of fulfillment.

Sounds like bliss. Thank you for taking the time to sit down with me.

Absolutely. You were one of the first to give my work a shot, so I’m more than happy to share a chat. Lots of interesting questions.

Black Eyed Kid (A terrifying encounter)

Disembarking off the midnight train at the Forest Hills terminal, I scanned the information screen for the public bus departure estimations. Nothing seemed to conform to my taste. The short escalator ride explained the delays: a slight snow storm that was working its way into heaviness with each minute that would pass. “To hell with it,” muttered to myself. “Seven minutes will not kill me.” Thus I rounded the corner to the end of the upper busway, released my precious companion of a Nicaraguan maduro cigar out of the cellophane wrapper and off I went into the dark, being enveloped by a white blanket of fresh snow. As annoying as the wet snow is when it hit your face, it becomes beautiful once you start to power walk and the snowflakes with the help of wind seem to pass you by like stars at warp speed. But the fun was just about to get started. Crossing Washington st at the light would happen to throw my entire journey home around one hundred and eighty degrees. A dozen steps after I passed by the door of the ex Harvest Co-op building, my ears tuned to the weirdest frequency. A voice stranger than the night. Almost mechanical…
“Sir, I need some assistance. My car is parked over there.”
Half startled, half attentive with my hand on my right hand pocket where my tactical pen rests peacefully to never be deployed, I turned about one hundred degrees. I was greeted to the image of a young man, ten years younger than me. Long emo rock hair and thin lips. Facial hair seemed non existent. Strange outfit as well… bomber jacket and tight skinny jeans. He tended to stare at the floor. Judging by the location, he seemed to have been hiding in his stakeout behind the bike park of the Harvest building.
“Kinda late for a young fellow to be out at this hour with no purpose. Don’t you think?”
“Sir I need your assistance. My car is parked over there.” Same mechanical voice; same spiel. He now was pointing in the back of the lot.
“Ok.. I am not a car mechanic. All I can do is make a call to the police or emergency personnel.”
By the time I finished the sentence, the young man seemed to lift his head. Everything seemed different. An aura of uneasiness was steaming out of his entire being.
“Sir, I am here to collect you!”
They say the eyes are the window to a man’s soul and his eyes were the most abundant source of evil that I’ve ever seen. As a matter of fact i don’t recall seeing any eyes at all. Because the sockets were two pitch black caverns. The young man commenced to take several steps towards me. The instinct of fight or flight was surrounding me. I began to back off while looking at him. Just me and snow as my witness against this force of evil. Three more steps, then I was right by the first few headstones that make up the small fake cemetery advertisement of Davis Monuments.
“We make a deal,” I said as new ideas popped up on my head. “You have a chance to collect only if you lead the way to your car.”
The young fellow seemed to agree with me. He pointed on the back lot one more time and set ahead.
During the entire interaction, it came to my attention that there were no cars (neither civilian nor police) driving around. “Smart kid,” I muttered as I put my hands on his shoulders and used my entire being’s will to bash his head on the nearest granite head stone.

To be continued….


Alright. This will be tough to write, but something seems to be really wrong with my website. Either the copy paste feature, or the theme that I am using. Will test it further on with several other themes and see what the deal is. As of right now, ‘Something intriguing’ is a total mess. the body of the post should be longer and the sentences should be structured in a way that it makes more sense. It might also be a problem steming from google docs software. I apologize for the inconvenience and for making you think that i tyoed the last post while having a seizure.

Something intriguing…

First feeling that came upon John Ramos is the rigid complexity of his back. Frozen in time. As if someone recently pulled him from the reefer. With every second that is passing, John can feel every nerve end spring to action. One million and one needles pricking him on his back. Next it’s his vision. He can not open his eyes yet because the eyelids feel shut tight against the skin of his upper cheeks. But he can see. He can make out the dark red or purple hue that penetrates our eyes when we close our eyelids anytime that a strong light pierces our vision. That is a good sign. So far there is light. Solid matter on his back… powerful lights to create a hue… John is deducing that he is being held captive in some type of a warehouse. Next item in the body’s checklist of prickling feelings manifests itself on his extremities. The fingertips begin to prick. then it moves over to the cuticles, alongside the fingers and the back of the hands.

The torture is just getting started with him, though. As the feeling returns to the heel of his hands, prickling multiplies horrendously. The heels are on fire. Oh god. If John could only open his eyes.

If John ever broke his atheist beliefs, now is the right time. Somewhere up there. Deep in the vastness of the abundant universe, the higher being that governs our lives answered to John’s woes and enabled him to open his eyes. First it was the powerful halogen lights overhead. The happiness of getting his vision back turns out to be short lived because John realized that the overhead lights are too powerful for his comfort.

He is forced to squint hard so the smallest percentage of light penetrates his recently awaken vision as he takes his surroundings for the first time. He turns his head right and sees the weirdest version of a kitchen set up. Below the countertop there was a long cooler with three or four doors. Just like the ones that adorn the back of the house on every deli restaurant. Weirdly though, together with the counter top it created one unit. Every inch of the surface seems to be impeccably polished and shines against the overhead lights.

As John scans above the countertop, he finds some strange machinery… A cast iron tiny cabinet with thin shelves. Next to the cabinet there is a strange microwave oven. As a second thought, it looks more like an autoclave. What the hell is this place? Even the blender does not look normal. It has two long cables protruding out of it. All the forced stretching is getting John dizzy. He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds so he can get his bearings right again. After all, in his field, success is reached by strong focus and mental precision. Both require a well calibrated brain.

To be continued….

A witness

Graveyard shift. The night was still. Prolonged radio silence was making it eerie. Officer Kraken sat on the wheel while his partner, officer Beaucomb snoozed softly on the passenger seat. With no reports to write and no nearby plates to run, Kraken decided to tune in to his favorite show. “Coast to Coast” with a well-known space and time travel theorist. A little late-night gem that saturated the night atmosphere with a light coat of menacing feel.

Tonight’s theme was the Black-Eyed Children. The moderator was getting in a powerful debate with several guests. A gentleman with an Asian drawl was insisting that those cringy beings were the souls of the dead children. The next guest was a Muslim man. He was proclaiming to have read both, the Bible and the Quran. He was debunking the Asian guest by counterclaiming that neither of the holy scriptures talked of ghosts. He insisted that those beings were demonic that impersonated young children. A pastor kept backing the Muslim man up by reciting the appropriate verses on the Bible. When the audience thought that the pastor and the Muslim gentleman had the Asian man backed against the wall… another voice joined the conversation. The voice sounded confident and had a pronounced southern drawl.

“Gentlemen,” the voice interrupted. “You do realize that all the sightings of these darn boys got done seen in the California and Nevada desert, no?”

“I have not thought about that before,” the moderator chipped in the conversation. “But it all makes sense if you read all the accounts posted on the internet.”

“Thus,” the voice concluded. “Chances are, those menacing looking beings might as well be extraterrestrials. And you, father! You should be the first to accept that fact. Both you and I know that in one way or the other, the Holy Bible insinuates their existence in more than thirty-one different parts. That’s only in the First Testament.”

Old mamma Jeanine was sitting crossed legged on her sofa as she moved her nine-inch knitting needles lazy between her fingers. She was more focused on the sarcasm that the show’s host was throwing around toward the audience. He seemed to agree with the man with the southern drawl. He seemed to defy the other guest’s religious claims and kept insisting that those beings were alien greys. “Chances are”, he said. “They had managed to have obtained human masks. As for the folks in Washington… they were in knowledge of their existence and had no other choice but to back them up one hundred percent.” Mamma Jeanine had been roaming this earth for way too long. She has realized by now that politics were a refined joke. To her, it all seems like the politicians strive to compete with Hollywood, so they can provide the American public a much better daily show. From her sofa, Mamma Jeanine could see her front door well. Suddenly something interrupted the weak glow of her porch light. Something else is reflecting on the front door… Or so the old lady thought…

Her heart to her throat. She realized that someone is rotating the handle to her front door… A quarter of a turn left. Then halfway right. Such a stressful situation, she felt warm liquid running down her aging thighs.

“Is anybody there?” she asked with a quivering voice.

“We are lost. We need to call our parents. Let us in.” the voice on the other side of the door sounded monotone and ridiculously strange.

Mamma Jeanine opened her door halfway. There in front of her stood two children. One taller than the other. Both were looking down. Strange was the way they were dressed. Heavy winter coats. Stranger their haircut… Emo style jet black hair that brought their skin tone to a pale grey. Or was it bluish?

“The police station is around the corner. They might be able to locate your family or give you a ride there.”

“You do not understand.” the taller kid spoke with a beautiful grammatical order. Still, his voice remained monotone as continued. “We need to call our parents. Let us in.”

Mamma Jeanine is a tough nail to beat. She stood her ground still.

“If you can give me your parent’s phone number, I will be more than happy to give them a call for you.”

“Let us in. They will come to pick us up in here.” The last monotonic part is lost in Mamma Jeanine’s conscience as she now noticed that both boys had lifted their heads up and they were looking at her. Tough as a nail, Mamma Jeanine locked her eyes with the children, so she could do her best effort to intimidate them.

Once she established eye contact, she realized that something was wrong… Everything about their eyes was black. Even the sclera area. Dread washed over her, and she began to tremble with fear when she realized that she was staring into two black holes. “Get the hell away from me, you demons!” Mamma Jeanine reached for the cross that she religiously wore on her neck for most of her life.

But the children did not flinch… Neither did they back off. The taller one repeated his monotonic speech about their parents one more time. “You do not understand. You must let us in.”

Kraken was focused to the radio and he was listening so intently. In this job that he loved so much, he had seen almost anything. Still… He got a chill down his spine. Followed by the need to scan the outside of the cruiser. His sheer panic was brewing into something more sinister. To avoid any possibilities, Kraken woke Beaucomb up. He brought his partner up to date with the conversation in the show.

“What’s up?” Beaucomb stretched wearily in the passenger seat.

“How would you react if one of those fellas walked right up to you?”

“Bro, we are the highest force in the town of Frighville. We have guns and the authority to detain. If they set foot in this town, they automatically trespass.” Beaucomb’s eyebrows shot up full of authority. “They either get jailed and turned in to the military installments such as Area-51, or they eat lea….”

At the sudden the polcom radio went off:

“All available units, there are reports of many domestic disturbances along Beech Avenue. Two subjects ranging in age of teens have knocked on several doors with the claim that they need to go in and use a phone so they can call their parents. Both subjects are donning in heavy winter coats. One resident that had come to contact with them, described their skin tone as bluish grey. They are also sporting black spectacles.”

“Those aren’t no damn spectacles,” Lance Morgue muttered to himself as monitored the polcom from the comfort of his 1995 Deville hearse. Lance was the most interesting resident that the town of Frightville had. A true asset. No one knew where he came from… What the folks know is the fact that he bought the failing funeral home. Nowadays it has been thriving in business. To this day, the town folk cares more about the fact that Lance is the most reliable person when it comes to solving problems. Other than providing a reliable and affordable funeral service, that is… And one of the things that he thrives on: Ass kicking. bonus points if the opposing subject belongs to the supernatural spectrum. Excitement for a new adventure began to swirl through his veins like a raging tornado. Lance wasted no time before he fired up the ignition and lurched the hearse toward his destiny.

“Fuck me!” Beaucomb exclaimed. “Pray that this is a prank…”

“Code three or one twenty – eight?”

“Code three and we beat it in the opposite direction. Declare flat tire emergency and let that Morgue boy deal with this.” Beaucomb seemed tenser than usual. something that caused Kraken to wonder where did all the tough guy talk crawl to?

“Copy that, partner!” Kraken plastered a full-on sneer on his face.

A short time later Kraken and Beaucomb had pulled over on the side of the main road. They were ready to undo the rear passenger wheel of their cruiser. All the sudden they noticed headlights approaching from a short distance away. A few minutes later an American made SUV speeded past them in the direction of Beech Avenue. Inside, Kraken spotted two well-dressed men in suits and fedora hats. No more than a quick glance at Beaucomb gave them both the mutual understanding that shit was about to get real. It was best to follow up and see what dish of monstrosity the Universe was about to serve Frightville tonight.

Less than three minutes later they broke chase and detoured towards the secondary road that leads to the hilly terrace. Located on an elevated part of the neighborhood, it allows the officers on duty the best reconnaissance view. Both Frightville’s finest unpacked their respective binoculars and began scanning the scenery…

“You do not understand. You must let us in.”

“In where? In your mother’s womb?” Asked Lance as he stood right behind the children. Simultaneously both children turned to him. “We need to use the phone. We need to call home.” “And where is home? Mars?”

The entire episode had Mamma Jeanine bug-eyed and flabbergasted. How come the boy that arrived didn’t even flinch at the sight of these ungodly creatures. Through her aging eyes she might have seen a slight wince of pity, but no signs of horrification.

Feeling made, the shorter boy lurched to grab Lance’s leather jacket. As he snarled at him, revealing a set of sharpened metallic teeth.

To be continued….

Cemetery Gates

The air was warm and damp. The clock was two minutes to striking midnight. All was quiet in the small town besides the rhythmic shuffle of James Brock. Once a bull master; he now tended to horses on the Rocking Galloper ranch that almost took his life a decade past.
Under the pale moonlight, the vast deserted flat terrain shrouded him in a fine calmness which was a bonus, when he emptied his mind from all the stress and synced with the good energy that emanated from the humongous Universe high above. He loved moments like this. He usually let the powers that be to guide him home. Although, tonight something didn’t seem right. There was a shadow perked up in the middle of the road. About eight hundred yards away ahead of him.
A soft roar that ended with a groan. James recognized the confused bellow of a brown bear. The beast didn’t seem hungry but James figured that it wouldn’t say no to harassing him just for the kicks.
Hope was not lost. The same good energy was pulling James through an alternative way. The old cemetery where his parents were buried. After all, if the beast gave chase, common sense would dictate that it would be unable to climb the iron gates.

As James is shuffling in a rush inside the holy cemetery gates, he hears a faint voice. “Hey man! Why do you shuffle for no reason?”
The poor guy feels very spooked to atrocity. “Be… beca… because I’m damned,” said James with a quivering voice.
“No you don’t!” The voice sounded like it emanated from the underground. In a graveyard, that would mean from the nearest plot.
“But I am…,” whimpered James.
“Go home. Check yourself in the mirror. Enjoy the rest of your life in peace”.
Suddenly after a short test, James realized that the shuffle was gone and to make things better, he was able to walk faster. He even broke through a power walk.
“Thank you, good man of the afterworld!!!” He couldn’t thank the man enough for that miracle.

All the way home James thought about many different ways on how to pass the good deed to someone else. He remembered that his fellow foreman Tim, at the Rocking Galloper ranch had a slight hunch. He decided to phone him immediately and tell him about the good deed that happened to him. James pushed his front door open and picked up the phone. Then he explained to Tim what happened and exactly where to stop once inside the cemetery.

It was just past midnight as Tim Collins was betting with himself as which side of his hunching body would give him sweet dreams tonight. As sweet and welcoming his bed seemed to be, he was looking for a thrill. Something menacing to trash his sleep for once.
Suddenly the phone shrilled its’ outdated bell. The device had been hanging on that wall for more decades than Tim had been roaming this earth. He lifted the handset reluctantly. After all, his wish for a thrill seemed to have received an answer. Without the faintest chance to throw an hello, Tim’s ear was getting occupied by a barrage of rapid firing from his fellow James.
“Say what?” Asked confused Tim.
“Go to the old graveyard and go now! There’s a good spirit there waiting to do miracles. Trust me man, you will lose your hunch!”
“Says who? Cause you don’t exactly sound like the James I know.”
“Says James that is walking shuffle free now”, the line clicked and the touch dial tone resumed.
Tim thought about it for a minute, and then he got dressed and made his way toward the old graveyard.

“You arrived!” Came the voice from the underground.
“I did, indeed. Will you help me?” Asked Tim with a massive excitement in his voice.
“You’re a shuffler!”
“I am afraid you got that wrong! I am a hunchback!”
“You’re a hunchback and a shuffler!”
“Who says that?”
“Me! Try and walk!”
Tim smirked and took a few steps. With each off step his right shoe screeched on the gravel….

Wishful Thinking – Pt. 1

I can jump from the Earth’s surface to the rest of the eight planets when the time is right.This sounds so great if you think about it. But all of it is just Wishful Thinking.How beautiful would it be though, if you imagine for a moment, as all the planetary orbits would have a totally different arrangement which would bring them feet away from the Earth’s surface. We could jump on Mercury and take a ride closer than ever to the Sun as we hide behind the Rocky Mountains while they get scorched to coal from the intense heat.Or we could enjoy sunbathing in the sulfurous rusty sands of Mars.Why not get ourselves lost in the clouds of Jupiter as we fall through the foggy madness and then try to get ahold of a meteor and hang on it while it viciously vagrants through space until it gets arrested by the giant rings of Saturn?What do you say? Just you and me racing each other through different rings?…..until we let go and have the inertia throw us upon the cold blue icy surface of Neptune…. Can’t wait to come back to Earth….