Metaphor for a missing moment.

Paranoia grips the man as he is slowly stalking through the dark alley. The smell is awful, but he pays it no mind, it’s merely a quicker, safer, route. There is something following him, what it is, he has no clue, and for his sake it would be best if the answer never came. It does come, the smell that he didn’t notice before becomes strong enough to restrict his breathing. He stops, coughs into an old handkerchief, and continues to hold it to his face. He shouldn’t have stopped.
The air in the alley turns hot, and the smell of decay becomes stronger. The walls begin to warp, viscous black liquid covers the once red brick alley. Thick black tendrils emerge from the blackness, grabbing the man.
“How can it be so hot, and cold at the same time?” These are the mans last thoughts as he is pulled into the wall. Never to be heard from again. Not that it matters. There wasn’t anyone else. Everyone he’d cared about disappeared. Right down to that nice dog groomer he’d always leave a sizable tip for. She was cute, and hey, it was good karma, right?At least, as far he knew they’d all disappeared. For them, he’d been missing for weeks. One day he just vanished from his home. Before that, he has been acting very strangely. His boss had given him a week off due to work related stress. Not sure what kind of stress he’d been under to cause him to stop sleeping. He was often described as a man who had no cares in the world. Always friendly, always had a smile on his face. Then one night he just stopped sleeping.”Sleep is for the weak.” he’d often joke, or “no rest for the wicked” and then wink, depending on if he’d been talking to a cute co-worker.
No one knew his history though. He’d learned years ago that he had some kind of… problem. He’d talked to some doctors about it, and they gave him some pills, little, tiny round white ones, that made the problems go away for a time. They’d always come back though. During one of his last episodes, he thought he’d actually lost his mind. As he walked to work one morning, he’d see the usual signs for the different stores. Except, they weren’t quite right. The sign that usually said “50% of all mens apparel” said “200% mark up on all sweat shop made clothing”. Then the one at the grocery store, usually “We accept EBT cards”, “We’ll make sure you’re embarrassed to get welfare, ya goddamned slacker”. He knew it would only get worse, but he still had to make it to work.
For the rest of the walk he ignored the signs. Kept his head down, and just went forward. Finally he made it to work but, things weren’t right here either. Nothing was right, he must have slipped farther into the episode.There was his boss, but… not quite his boss. He was over weight and bald… and shirtless, holding a bull whip. The partitions for the cubicles were all gone, so were the desks. All replaced with benches, next to the walls, and there were handles coming out of the walls?
No, this isn’t right. It’s kind of like one of those old-fashioned slave ships, with the slave master holding a whip to make everyone go faster. A faint drum beat could be heard in the background.
At this point he stopped in his tracks, shook his head, and decided it was best to go home for the day. Of course, he could no longer find the door, being that he was now in the hold of a ship. His boss looked none to happy with his style of dress either.
Vertigo strikes the man, he feels like he’s being pulled up and out. He snaps to and he’s at work. His boss just caught him sleeping on the job. In his mind he can hear a whip crack as Mr. Bob Whitehead tells him he needs to “shape up or ship out”.
So he did, he asked for some “time to find himself”. His boss let him have it, the quality of his work had slipped, and if the pussy needed a week off, he was glad to have him gone, goddamned slacker, sleeping on the job.

During this week, he slipped again. Felt just like sliding down one of those tunnel slides you see attached to a jungle gym at the park. Nothing too bad though. He was at home, safe and comfortable. TV sure was odd though. The president was on, giving a speech about how he was actually part of a secret cult, and he didn’t give a “flying fuck” what really happened, as long as he got paid. Much more entertaining than the last speech he’d heard by that blow hard.
One thing happened during these small slips. A phone call from a co-worker. It didn’t make any sense. He had had visitors while on vacation. A man in a long yellow coat, who she described as looking like a throw back from the 50s, “real Dick Tracy shit, if you can believe it”. Then the other guy, “get this, in a fucking robe, like somethin outta braveheart n’ shit”. He found the 70 year old receptionists use of language quite amusing, especially being that one time he’d let a “naughty” word slip and she didn’t talk to him for several days. Whatever though, he’d learn to deal with people’s true nature, as he’d come to think of it.

On the morning he was going back to work, he slipped into another deep episode. This one different from the other trips. While in the shower, he started watching the water go down the drain, it fascinated him. Suddenly he felt a familiar head rush, and he was sucked straight down into the drain. Upon regaining his composure he realized that he was still in his bathroom. Nothing had really changed. He must have just passed out in the shower. Good thing it didn’t last long, he didn’t fall and hurt himself, or anything. He figured the cold water must have snapped him out of it. It was awfully chilly.
Exiting the shower kind of difficult for him. The doors felt, heavy, and when they finally gave the door emitted a scraping noise like something out of a horror movie. SCREEEEEEE. Grabbing his towel, he dries himself. The towel doesn’t feel quite clean, he looks down and noticed dried blood on it. “Today just turned into a really shitty day”, he thought to himself.

His clothes are where he left them. Thank goodness they’re clean. He dresses and gets ready for work, ignoring all the little things that aren’t quite right. Quite the shock when he looks into the mirror though. It’s him but, not quite. The him that’s staring back has a mad look in his eyes, like he’d finally snapped from all that’s happened. Little flecks of blood on his face, and on his torn shirt. The man shakes his head and the mirror image shifts back into his normal face, or whatever passes for normalcy for him anymore.

Leaving the apartment was a chore. The door just wouldn’t open. After some time concentrating on the word “OPEN” the door swung open and he was on his way. Too bad the elevator was out. The sign said “dragons be down thar” with an arrow pointing down. He wasn’t one to argue with dragons, so the stairs it was.

The stairs felt uneven, and unstable. Which is quite odd for cement stairs. Once again, he’d come to accept things like this as normal. What wasn’t normal was the lack of people in the lobby. Usually it was awash with people, children playing, adults… not playing, doing whatever adults do but, today it was silent. No door man, no kids, no old man playing craps and taking bets on the bottom step. Nothing. Empty, like the bottle of cheap scotch he’d drank the night before.

Even during his worst episodes, there were people. Sure, they may have looked different. The old man playing craps looked like a shark, the door man was built into the door, and was always too damn cheerful when he used him, but they were there.
Now the lobby looked desolate. Like no one has been there for at least a century. The carpets that lead out to where the door barely hung on a hinge were threadbare. A think layer of dust covered the front counter, where the manager never sat. The man was busy, and always had better things to do than actually be a manager. Like fuck his pretty girlfriend that lived for free on the first floor.
Everything had an old smell to it, like old dust mixed with the faintest hint of spices. It reminded him of when he’d go into the antique store that was a block away from work.

Outside of the building was similar to the inside. Dead. Dead like the dime store hooker his brother talked about popping his cherry with, and then burying the body somewhere out by the frontage road on the way to biggest city around. The smell hit him like a two ton brick, or an anvil in a Wile E. Coyote cartoon. Hot, cold and sour and not a body in sight, living or dead.

The man made his way across town to his job. He walked up to the building and realized that the building wasn’t there. In its place was a gaping maw with horrifying teeth all around the edges. He felt a slight sucking, as though at his soul.
He began to run, everywhere he looked he could see a darkness closing in. Looking down the different alleys he could see tentacles and eyes, or tentacles with eyes, or eyes with teeth. When the man was out of breath he chanced upon an empty alley. This one didn’t smell bad, and it felt safe. Until, of course, the dark caught up with him.


Silence Springs Back Story.

Working a lot on the back story of Silence Springs, which really ties into all five main stories.

It’s nice to write again. I’ve had a lot of issues with choosing which stories to work on. I have a number of other story ideas to work on. My science fiction outline keeps calling. I have to put the blame on that on The Discovery Channel. There’s also the 4 other stories that keep calling. No Haven, House on Hallowed Hill and Silence Springs all have extensive outlines mostly completed. I keep going from Silence Springs to Hallowed Hill. Both stories are so interesting, I just don’t know which one to do first. I’ve also completed significant work on No Haven.

I also have a short story based on a dream that my wife wants me to work on.

Writers block, how I hate you.

I’m currently suffering for writers block, and I’m pretty sure the reason is stress from trip planning/packing. I’m sure the housing situation isn’t helping. Plus I’m trying to do a bunch of research on some pretty deep subjects for the system in which a kind of “magic” is possible. I’m trying to base the “magic” system on old world religions, such as Esoteric Christianity, Kabbalah, Zoroastrianism, Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, and Thelema. There is just so much information that my brain is turning to mush.

Perhaps I need a writer’s palate cleanser of some sort.

Any suggestions?

I think I have story line ADD.

I’m watching a show called The Universe on Netflix and it always gets my creative juices flowing. All of the information on black holes and white holes and worm holes and supernovae and these things makes me want to write a science fiction story in the style of the movie Primer.

Something that can seem realistic, like say a researcher is studying micro-magnetic fields and how they affect quarks or strings, something at the quantum level.
Eventually they find that they’re actually creating micro worm holes and via the test equipment they’re getting a duplicate  SSID for their wireless network. When connected to this “new” SSID they find that it’s X amount of time in the future. Dependent on the spin or wavelength or amount of power of the magnetic fields they’re able to connect to different future times. Never being able to connect any further back than the first time the device is powered on. Something like this could go anywhere, story-wise.

Having these thoughts don’t really help when creating my horror series, but it’s nice to think about. Could always be the next project 😛

My writing process

Part of my writing process is to create a uni/multiverse for my stories to exist. One of the issues I’ve found with this style is that my horror fantasy and straight fantasy have a hard time existing in the same space. Like for example, I have my 5 horror fantasy stories that I’m focusing on. Originally it was solidly set in my straight/modern fantasy setting. Where the end part of Silence Springs directly influence the reality of the straight fantasy setting. Not to give anything away, but originally the end of that story would allow magic into “our” world which would set up a multitude of other stories going into a giant “war of magic” where all of current society is essentially destroyed. By the year 2300 a new reckoning of time has started and a council government is created from the chaos of 300 years of constant war.

Now I’ve completely scrapped that idea, mainly because it just doesn’t fit with what I want to do with the Haunted Sights series. While both have apocalyptic leanings, I’m much more interested in what I have planned with the hauntings and the different players in that. Currently it all comes down to choosing who I want to survive to the end… well, more like middle, but yeah.

On another topic, I’m trying to put together a Q and A about the traveling part of the Haunted Sights project. The main goal is to do a more artistic version of something like Ghost Hunters or Ghost Adventures. Not just artistic, more like… a multimedia project involving ghostly videos, photos, audio, what ever proof we can gather. I’m putting together a project to fund it, but I need to do a video to go along with the project and I honestly don’t know what to create. I mean I can try and just fabricate some ghostly introduction to the project, but I just think that’s dishonest.

looking for haunted sights?

I went ahead and moved Haunted Sights to it’s own wordpress blog.

Which you can find at

Now I can go back to having my personal stuff on here… so yeah 😛

Haunted Sights…

I’ve been working in earnest now and am looking forward to releasing a 10 page short story which tells the horrific tale of Samantha Jane Mather’s first experience with an unknown force.