 Horror/Scary: October 23, 2024 Issue [#12799] |
This week: I Want Your Body Edited by: W.D.Wilcox  
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Each year, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere.
-Charlie Brown
Oh, how the candles will be lit and the wood of worm burn in a fiery dust. For on all Hallows Eve will the spirits come to play, and only the fruit of thy womb will satisfy their endless roaming.
-Solange Nicole
Believe nothing you hear and only one half that you see.
-Edgar Allen Poe
Anyone could see that the wind was a special wind this night, and the darkness took on a special feel because it was All Hallows' Eve.
-Ray Bradbury
There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.
-Mary Shelley
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The Voice Inside My Head
There's a man inside my head—a bad man. I can't remember how long he's been there, but it seems like a long time. He tells me things that most people don't even think about, evil things, disgusting and perverted. I don't want to do those things, but he makes me. I believe that he's driving me crazy, and maybe he is. It's like a storm turned upside down in my brain. Even when I was a kid he made me do stuff, stuff that sickened me.
I remember throwing a cat into a huge bonfire.
I had always been fascinated with how cats always landed on their feet no matter how high up they were dropped or how close to the ground. Then the man inside my head says, "I bet nobody has ever tried throwing one in a fire."
So I tried.
So I threw him as high and hard as possible. The cat landed dead center of the fire but what happened next surprised me.
I remember smiling, or he was, and the smile wasn't a bit pleasant. I suppose the cat ran out of there faster than any cat has ever run. He was probably searching his pea brain for the memory of being thrown into a fire before and what to do about it. He was shaking his legs as if they were wet and smoke was curling off his belly, where all the fur had been burnt off. His legs, too, were smoking and hairless. But at least he survived.
And the voice said, "Well I guess he landed on his feet then, huh?"
I felt so bad—that poor cat.
"Well that was fun. What do you want to do now?"
Happy Halloween!
W.D.Wilcox
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DEAD LETTERS
severed head 
I think horror relies on fear to some extent; how else could we acknowledge the horror, except to realise that what was out could get them? We are afraid for the characters, even if they aren't afraid for themselves, or else there is no real sense of terror in a story. At least, that's the way I write it. |
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