This Side of De'Monville

This Side of Demonville … a truth about Desire and Red Metal Stallions by RVAJr.2008©

Chapters/Stories: 1 thur

14 Allen Green 10 Way
Be Dammed if you do – Be Dammed, He Didn’t
Red Metal Stallions
When in the Dark it may come for Me
Moonlight Snack
Off the Deep End
Black Liquid Sand
Days of Terrifying Beliefs – Journal One, Sadness
Night Weave
Body Hunger
We
Wingless Flies
Shallow Waters
The Walk Home
How Many Moons I See
Healer’s Illusion
Lick’em…
When They Knew They Were in Hell - Journal Two, Sorrow

Introduction

Sometimes we find ourselves in search of something unfounded, but still we continue to look and look, and look some-more – we wonder how it began and when will it ever end. This would and could be an explanation to the soul of my beast – born in the late forties the world was still moving out of turmoil, the black culture greatly suppressed and others within this society living deeply within their own illusions. All my life things have been more odd then one would say difficult, and the road from boy to man grew from strange to just plain unbelievable. Moments of “that just can’t be…” or this can’t be happening…” Still I have seen, lived through (some would say ‘survived), hated and other times welcomed, been amazed, greatly frightened – a bit overwhelmed and even in some instances I have enjoyed, the events, the outcomes and the horrors.

14 Allen Green 10 Way

When I was about seven years old there was this over grown tree in the yard across the street, more like a vacant field you could say – surrounded by rotted timbers, and floor broads from the house that use to stand on the foundation now crumbling stone and a shallow shell .. this tree hideous and aging showed many signs and scaring of deaths rewards for living so long all over its twisted bough. My years of climbing the tree was a relationship that came to the mind as unexplained – in each moment I would feel such gentle rippling through my body and that of this tree .. alive, yet something more .. soft whispers in my ear as I pressed my head against the truck of my mysterious friend and for me this was the beginning of the tales to be told, and the events to be woven believed to be real or unreal. The name of my hometown is De’Monville, but many of the folks living here call it Demonville – you can see the difference and through the end of these pages you will understand the reasoning behind such a name.

That moment during the ending of the day we call twilight, a kindred to dawn – it is during these moments all hell comes to play on the streets, and people with good senses run for the indoors and other fools stand still waiting to see the beginnings of whatever. On the outer edge of town the old jail stood, ancient and haunted with tales of all sorts of things that the mind would care to believe in. The first and second floor had been laid waste to years of harsh weather and a more determined growth of nature, but in the basement of the building – covering the walls and floor was a slimy brownish-green moss much of the two-hundred and ten darken rooms, an odor greatly resembling rotted death clawed its way to and fro – this way and that from room to room. Most of the time a group of us guys would run the hallway, some daring to stop in a room or two, but always during the daytime – this time one curious nine year old boy walked the twilight by himself – in my older years I like to think of myself as a storyteller, in my younger years you could find me listening to the stories being told … but I always had a need for the truth, to find out for myself. – I slowly made my way through the catacombs of the basement in search of that one piece of proof. Keeping to the middle of the hallway, passing room one-nine-five, I came upon a corner – one not registering in my mind from time before – I look around and down the corridor, pitch black – so much so that it ate away at the beam of light that I pointed down its lengthy passage – why am I here? – this is the story, ever hear of someone living for over two-hundred years, it just ain’t so – from my reckoning that is. There was suppose to be a man down in the basement who for some say was a prisoner that committed a very horrifying act and when captured and sentenced was to be put to death, but did not die – his crime was unspeakable and I wanted to know what it was – hence my journey into the basement catacombs’, in this hallway of blackness. My flashlight was of no good as I continued to walk onward heading farther down its path. On either side of me I could small movements and the subtle hissing of whatever lurked in the dark, still I move on. I was shifting my light back and forth from side to side, from wall to wall looking to see an ending when finally the corners came into focus before me. I found a door, but not a door – nothing more then a strange black layer of film, from the top of the ceiling to the floor and from wall to wall – just plain weird I thought – young boys do foolish things, they pick up things they shouldn’t, they say anything and they wander where they should not be. I stood there for moments looking at the strange film and the more I eyed it the more inviting it became, the more my brain tried to wrap around it the closer my feet took me into it. Without reason I simply walked, a warm sensation gather around me, for what seem for hours I continued to walk – I realized I was nearing the end of the blacken hallway cause I saw a faint glow of light coming through the shadowy file of darkness and the closer I got, more of the eerie light expanded into view.

No matter in which direction I faced looking at the walls I saw it all, the comings and goings of the outside world, but never and exit to my escape – at times there were many things I believed too unreal though within the town I did recognize the people and places, and other time things just looked older and more worn. All this happened surrounding 14 Allen Green 10 Way, in the old district of town.


Be Dammed if you do – Be Dammed, He Didn’t

Maybe some day I’ll tell you a story, or maybe not – maybe I’ll give you just a taste, something to perk your ears, if you have a mind to listen … Be Dammed if you do – Be Dammed, He Didn’t – what a way to begin,


Red Metal Stallions

There was a story our Great Grandma would tell us – a legend if you will, and she often began the telling with this fact – “There is no knowing of when or where’s this tale came from or where’s it has begun. It has always been a part of us. It is a story of learning for the truth be told, then how’s and whys.” It is a telling that you be listening hard to from beginning to end, finding valued answers to questions in between.

When in the Dark it may come for Me

Much has fallen within the space of today and yesterday – things not easily confounded to my heart. I am not real just something that was thought of time and time again by this guy, who is unable to find his own way. He is thinking that life is not much in joy, wrong as we know but this is about him, and we are here for the ride. So let us begin, Joe has no home, most time nothing to eat and about all the time scared of the dark. Living off the trash of others and sleeping in any worn-out building Joe survives by his witless mistakes. Now you wonder how is it that I am here – I am the one that keeps Joe moving forward, I keep him in fear of the creatures of death– I make him afraid to give up and that’s the way of it. More than once Joe has granted the blood from his body to drip out, longing for the end. However, it was different as jumping in front of some moving car or bus(not enough pain)the lingering act gave him the willies, so he would slowly bandage the wound and start all over again… that’s where I came in – sitting in the dark corners waiting for my moments.
“Come now Joe, not again – let's talk about it some. Did I tell ya about this girl I know, you could get to know her too if you like?" “Com’on Joe let's get you cleaned up, find a drink and a snack then we can move on with the night, me telling you a few stories, and you're waiting for the end to come

When They Knew They Were in Hell - Journal Two, Sorrow

He…. Young, dark almost ebony with tight curly knotted yellowish hair, well trimmed to fit his head. He wore a bright red shirt, eggshell pants held with black suspenders. A warm smile hiding an even colder evil…. Surely they knew, each of them standing around with an illusion of concern on their faces.

Days of Terrifying Beliefs – Journal One, Sadness

The sense of believing that all things in your life began at the age of eight is in itself a wicket thing. The silence of one’s thoughts are shadowed by the constant flow of dry burning tears, still moving forward surrounded by fear and it’s accompany sorrow gives way to moving forward. This awakening seems it has taken a hundred years to come to light, it is a telling of null existence from beginning to ….well, lets put the start where it should be. Being a bit much older, very much older and still the lingering feeling of a tormented past, I find myself