RealmsMasters Game Forge

Tales From The Void

Welcome to our collection of Short Stories, curious Visitors. Here you will find stories of the Living Dead, of Magical Beings and Fantastical Places, and of Worlds Beyond your Imagination. Once every two weeks we shall be adding a New Story for your reading enjoyment. So dim the lights and make yourself all nice and comfortable, grab a Milk and Cookies, and then enjoy our Tales From the Void... 

 

If you have a Tale you would like to Submit to our Vaults, please send it to JPerry@realmsmastersgameforge.com

FULL MOON

 

          The dreaded full moon: a false sun dredging up hidden evils better left concealed by the dark veil of night, its malevolent beam leading the unwary into dangers unknown. A few years ago I was one of the unwary. I was twenty-seven years old then. I’m thirty now, and I still have an aversion to that evil orb.

I’m going to tell you a story. I’ll tell it as best I can remember it, and I’ll make it short. This is one memory I don’t care to dwell on.

          Like I said, I was twenty-seven at the time and I was engaged to a wonderful vivacious woman possessing stunning beauty, two years younger than I. Donna was the daughter of a wealthy stockbroker and had chosen me, a simple writer, above all other suitors. She brought out the best in me and made me feel alive for the first time in my life. I was madly in love with her.

It was a snowy January evening at the time when we first heard it: that miserable howl. Donna and I were riding her father’s horses that evening along a well-kept trail through the woods. With sparkling snow on the treetops and fresh flakes on the ground, the radiant full moon made the snow glisten; truly a breathtaking scene to behold.

          We had stopped our horses side by side and dismounted. I held her close in my arms and we embraced. Our embrace was broken by that awful howl. We froze where we stood, our blood curdling in our veins. We waited, holding each other and listening, straining our ears as we tried to detect any further sound. A second later it came: another howl like the first, but more distant. We waited and listened for a long time that night, and though there were no more of those strange howls, the ones we heard set the tone for things to come.

          I awoke the next morning with a nagging uneasy feeling as I opened the front door to grab the morning paper. When I sat down to my usual breakfast of coffee, toast and honey, I saw my worst fears had been realized. I read the headline: ‘Man’s Throat Torn Out by Wild Animal.’ The location was in the vicinity where Donna and I had been last night when we heard the howls. The story went on to state that the police believed the culprit to be a wolf or similar wild animal. I couldn’t recall ever hearing of there being any wolf sightings in this area and my feelings of apprehension grew.

          My best friend Jack joined me for lunch that afternoon, having just recently returned from a hunting trip in Alaska, and he was anxious to tell me all of the details. I hadn’t seen him in nearly a month so we spent several hours discussing his trip and I made sure to inform him of the attack I read about in the morning paper. After lunch I remember seeing Donna for a short period to make plans for later that evening, then went to the library to check the town records to see if there had ever been any recorded sightings of a wolf in the area. After several hours of research I could not find a single report of such a sighting.

          When I got home Donna was waiting there for me. We’d arranged to take in a movie together that evening but I had a very different plan in mind, so I feigned sickness and told her I wanted to go to bed early. I felt terrible for lying to her but it did the trick and she went home soon afterward. My intention was to go take another walk through those woods alone. My curiosity was getting the better of me and I wanted to see more. I felt something was dreadfully out of place but I couldn’t put my finger on it and felt that another walk through the woods might help me to figure it out.

          When I left my house to go to the woods, however, I was not entirely alone: I took my 12 gauge shotgun with me. I wasn’t about to take any chances. Trudging through the snow on foot without snowshoes was time consuming, but within an hour I had reached the edge of the woods. I walked the same trail as Donna and I had taken the night before, the full moon again lighting my way.

          For hours I searched for tracks in the snow and stopped many times to listen for sounds I thought I heard that were never really there. Eventually I became weary and knew I still had a demanding walk home, so I headed back down the trail. I was feeling frustrated that I had found nothing to satisfy my curiosity or to ease my trepidation. Then, after just ten minutes or so of walking, I heard it again: that howl, louder and clearer than the night before, and much closer.

          I stopped to listen for more and a moment later I heard it again, at about the same distance. I ran towards the sound as fast as I could with shotgun ready, but the next sound I heard was not that of a howl but that of a girl’s scream. The scream died away quickly into a strangled shriek but I continued to run in its vicinity. No more sounds were forthcoming to guide me towards whatever had taken place, but I kept heading in the same direction. After running for several minutes and finding no tracks in the snow, I stopped to search the surrounding area. Although I searched for perhaps a half an hour or more I found nothing and was about to give up when I spotted a dark figure in a clump of brush several yards away. There was a young girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old, lying in the snow. Blood covered her face and neck and much of the ground around her. Her throat was torn open and she was unquestionably dead. I searched the body for any form of identification but found none, then realized my hands were now covered with the girl’s blood.

          All at once I became anxious and confused; I was unsure what I should do. I was reluctant to report it to the local authorities for I knew they were quick to jump to conclusions, and remaining with the body was out of the question. I stood up, frightened and trembling, and in my confusion I neglected to search for any tracks as I ran back onto the trail, out of the woods, and finally toward home.

          Once home I locked all of my doors and windows, started a roaring fire and sat with my shotgun in my lap. I fearfully stayed awake as long as I could but sleep eventually found me.

          I was awakened the next morning by a knocking on my door. Upon answering I saw Donna standing there, ready to take me out for breakfast. I told her I was too tired but she talked me into it anyway. While we ate, she told me that although I did not look sick last night I did now, and instructed me to go directly home and get plenty of rest.

          When I got back from breakfast that morning I took a very long nap and didn’t wake up until after lunchtime. I would have slept even longer if Jack hadn’t stopped by to have lunch with me. During lunch he handed me the paper. There I saw the story of the unfortunate murdered girl I had seen last night. Once again the story stressed the suspicion of the involvement of a large wolf.

          By that night I had strengthened my resolve to have another look around those woods and made preparations for my journey. Before I could leave, however, Donna was once again at my door and desiring and evening with me. Again I felt it necessary to lie to her that I was feeling ill and needed more rest. Eventually she left but it didn’t appear as though she believed me. I didn’t worry about it at the time since I wanted to hurry up and get back out to the woods.

          As was the case the night before I took my shotgun with me, and a few extra shells. I saw that the moon was again full and felt lucky for the light it gave me. Upon reaching the woods I followed the usual trail and spent hours looking for signs of a wolf with no success when, for the third night in a row, I was stopped in my tracks by the bloodcurdling sound of that terrifying howl. I continued to listen and it came again, closer and louder than ever before. I heard a branch crack to my left. I turned quickly and aimed my shotgun in the direction of the noise. It was Donna! I was taken totally by surprise and froze with the gun still pointing at her until I realized she was nearly hysterical and begging me to lower my weapon. I did and asked her what she was doing out here in the woods.

          Between frightened sobs she told me she thought I was lying to her about being sick, so she decided to wait by my house to follow me. Then she told me she thought something was following her and started to cry. I saw her need for me and began to move toward the woman I loved, but before I could reach her something happened. Something happened that I will never forget.

          A massive grey wolf jumped out from the shadows behind her, and in one swift movement tore into her throat with its glistening fangs. Blood instantly stained the powdery white snow and Donna fell into its soft embrace.

          When I got over my shock I pointed my shotgun at the creature but it was already leaping at me. I managed to just barely duck underneath its powerful jaws then I swung around and shot at it as it ran off in the woods. I knew that I missed it.

          I dropped my gun and I slowly walked over to my beautiful dead Donna. Tears poured unrestrained from my eyes as I knelt beside her. I gathered her limp body in my arms and held her there for longer than I can ever know. My whole world was crushed, my life ripped from me in an instant. I can still feel the agony and absolute emptiness of that moment.

          After a time I lifted my head from her shoulder and an indomitable thought began to overtake me: a thought of revenge. I would hunt it down and kill it. I walked over to my gun and picked it up. I reloaded it and began following the tracks the creature had made in the snow. I followed those tracks until the night began to fade and I could now see they led right up to the open door to the house of my best friend Jack. I couldn’t believe my eyes. First it killed Donna and then it had gone after Jack. As I walked those last few yards to my best friend’s door I prepared myself for what I expected to see: Jack lying there in his bed with his throat torn out. Perhaps the creature was still there, lapping up the last of the blood from its latest victim. When I reached the open door I hesitated, but only for a moment. I clung to my purpose as if it were a banner and entered the home of my doomed friend.

          And there it was: the wolf. But like no wolf I had ever seen. It stood in an erect position, with blood dripping from its salivating maw. It looked somehow human the way it stood there, studying me with its cold yellow eyes. I did not take the time to scrutinize it further. I raised my 12 gauge and pointed it at the creature’s head, ready to fire. Then a bizarre thing happened to the creature. As the sun rose, its facial appearance began to look more human. And as the moments slowly passed the more human it became, until finally it was no longer a giant wolf standing before me, but my best friend Jack.

          My eyes burned from what they had just witnessed. I fell back onto a chair, half dazed while my mind struggled to take in all that had happened the last few days. Jack began to speak, to plead his case, trying to explain everything to me so that I might comprehend, but my mind could hold no more and I barely heard anything he had to say. Again I faced a moment of indecision: I wanted to kill him for murdering my beloved Donna, but he was my best friend, my only friend. I stifled a cry and gagged back a curse. I knew my purpose. One last time I lifted my gun and pointed it at the creature, at Jack, and pulled the trigger.

 

 

 

Copyright (C) John J. Perry Jr.

1991

BILLY THE SLUG

 

I can see the pain on Billy’s face as he begins his transformation from a 12 year old boy into a 5’4” slimy grey slug. His features are twisted and he’s writhing in agony. Oh well, better him than me, that’s for sure! I don’t like the taste of that crap anyway. What do we put in it? Oh yah; toothpaste, hydrogen peroxide, a touch of nail polish, blended bird seed, ketchup, vinegar and one special ingredient to make it all work; in this case slug juice. That’s our special potion that allows us to transform ourselves into other things. Actually, the magic spell we cast on the potion is what really does it. We just follow the directions from our Grandfather’s spell book. Problem is, since the book doesn’t tell us what each special ingredient does, we have to experiment a lot.

Like last week when we added that catnip to the potion and Billy turned into a tiger and broke down the attic door and went downstairs and ate Aunt Rita. That was pretty cool. All she did was hang around the house anyway. Just yesterday we changed Billy into a pot belly pig and he kept shitting all over the floor. What a mess! I made Billy clean it up when he changed back into himself.

Billy’s finished his transformation. Yuck! That’s disgusting! He’s leaving slime trails all over the floor! I’d make Aunt Rita clean it up if she could get up off the floor. Huh? Did I say ‘Aunt Rita’ again? I guess I did. You probably want me to explain that, don’t you? Well, we have to keep someone around in case Billy turns into something that’s really hungry. He can’t eat me since I protect myself with an ‘Inedible’ spell whenever we think the special ingredient may change him into something carnivorous and we can’t have him running around outside chasing people so we get some old woman to come live with us, just in case. Sure, she may be lying on the floor drooling the whole time, but it’s not like she’s gonna starve to death or anything ‘cuz Billy always turns into something nasty within a day or two and eats her. I suppose we could get cats or dogs but that wouldn’t be quite as much fun.

Capturing old ladies is easy with our ‘Mindless Drone’ spell. We just cast it on some unsuspecting old hag that’s hanging around the woods and she turns into a senseless lump of flesh. It’s easy to bring her home after that. We always call them ‘Aunt Rita’ in honor of our own Aunt Rita, who was Billy’s first victim the time he transformed into a mad elephant and trampled and gored her for hours. I still miss her. If only we knew better at the time we might have been able to take precautions.  

Darn! Billy’s slamming into everything! He just broke a whole bunch of our brand new test tubes and now they’re smashed on the floor in a million little pieces. He knocked the whole rack off the table too, and now it’s broken on the floor.

These transformations usually last between fifteen minutes and an half an hour, but sometimes they can last for hours. Like the time Billy turned into that eagle and he kept flying around the attic smashing into the window, and when he couldn’t escape he kept pecking at me for almost three hours. The ‘Inedible’ spell I cast on myself didn’t stop him from doing that at all. I hope he doesn’t stay in this giant slug form all night; it might take weeks to replace all the broken stuff and I don’t even want to think about the cleanup!

Hmm, it’s been about twenty minutes so far and no change yet; just more broken stuff. I’ll give him another ten and if he doesn’t change back I’m going to have to do something about it before he wrecks everything, but what would I do? He’s too heavy for me to lift, so I can’t pick him up and put him in the closet. I can’t tie him up because he doesn’t have any arms or legs, and he’s too slimy for me to push out the door and down the stairs. My, this is a quandary.

Okay, it’s been thirty minutes and he hasn’t changed back into good ol’ Billy yet and I still don’t know what I’m going to do about it. The floor is almost entirely covered in that slime and I’m starting to get a bit tired having to move out of Billy’s way every time he comes slithering near me. No more slugs for Billy, I’ll tell you that! Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll change back soon. Wait ‘til he does change back and sees this mess, he’s not gonna be too happy when I make him scrub that slime off the floor. I need to think but I can’t with him roaming all over the attic like this and knocking stuff off the tables and everything. I guess I could hole up in the closet until I can come up with an idea. If I come with an idea, I should say.

Ah, nice dark closet—no slugs, just the way I like it. It isn’t always this bad; sometimes it can be a lot of fun to change Billy into something. When I changed him into a hamster he was fun to play with for a few minutes, and when he was a horse it was fun to ride him. So much fun I kept changing him into a horse and taking him in the backyard to ride him until he got sick of it. Ah, such good times, but this slug thing isn’t any fun at all. I can’t think—it’s too darn noisy out there. I guess my only option is to try to push him in the closet when he slithers by. It sounds like he’s near the middle of the room, so now’s as good a time as any to go back out there.

Yep, Billy’s still sluggin’ it. Alright now, Billy-boy, just a little closer to that closet door. I’m going to give it a running start. Here we go!

Hey! What happened? I feel funny. Everything is all dark. Oh my, I think he ate me! I’m in his stomach! Nooooo! Wait a minute, I can see. My eyes feel like they’re part of this giant slug monster. Oh no, my eyes are part of this giant slug monster! I must have been absorbed into the slug. That’s just great, now how am I supposed to get out of this one?

Hmm, it appears that I can control our movements. I’ve always been much more magically adept than Billy so my will must be overpowering his. This could be interesting…for a while anyway. I don’t want to be a giant slug forever…

 

Well, it’s been four hours since Billy’s transformation and we’re still one big giant slug. I guess we fell asleep, but now I’m hearing shouts coming from the road below. I’d better have a look out the window. Great: dozens of villagers coming up the road looking quite angry and carrying torches and buckets. Wonderful. Just what I needed to deal with right now. Well, this isn’t the first time this has happened. Every now and then they get upset enough that we keep taking their old women to overcome their fear of us, but I always burn them to a crisp with a ‘Fireball’ spell. I’ll have to go downstairs to face them and give them my special greeting to remind them why they shouldn’t come here. That’ll keep ‘em away for about a year or so. Yuck! We left a gross trail of slime on the steps and now on the kitchen carpet. When we finally change back to our old selves Billy’s gonna have hours of mopping up to do.

Where’s Aunt Rita? I distinctly remember leaving her here on the kitchen floor but now she’s gone. And why is the front door open?  

Okay, I’m at the door and getting ready to cast the ‘Fireball’ spell. Wow, they look really angry and they are getting quite close. Enjoy the barbeque everyone!

Ayem ohn feeyer!

Umm, no one’s turning into ashes yet. I don’t see any fire. Let me try that again…

Ayem ohn feeyer!

Still nothing. What gives? Did I say it right? Oh, no, you’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t speak out loud so I can’t use the spell. Wow. This is as close as they’ve ever gotten to our door—just a few yards away. Not to worry, though, that fire can’t ignite this slime and they can hit us with those buckets all they want but it’s never going to hurt this blob.

Hey! There’s Aunt Rita in front leading those villagers to our door! How did she get out and why isn’t she a drooling vegetable? Hold on, wait a minute! I thought I recognized her—that’s no ordinary old lady, that’s Esmerelda the Woodland Sorceress and she looks pissed!  Darn, I guess we’d better look a little more closely next time. I’ll bet she used her ‘X-Ray Vision’ spell and saw what we were doing upstairs. Well, it doesn’t matter any way. Like I said, their torches can’t burn through this slime and we’re too pliable and thick to be beaten to death by buckets. Oh, googlysnatchers! Those buckets are filled with salt!

 

 

 

Copyright (c) John J. Perry Jr.

2005

 

 

THE HARPY

 

          The magnificent winged creature flew down from the mountaintops in search of food. Its gold talons and beak glistened in the sun as it glided effortlessly through the clear afternoon sky. The Harpy, as the mountainfolk called her, was a composite creature of considerable size; possessing the upper torso of a woman with the hindquarters of an eagle. It was graceful and majestic and practically worshipped by the mountainfolk. The people from the village at the bottom of the mountain where the Harpy nested were cautious of her, as was there nature, but did not mind the Harpy’s presence because she brought in tourists, which helped to fill the coffers of the local businesses.

 Her sharp eyes scanned the ground below for any potential food sources. Usually, the Harpy would feast on small animals, such as squirrels, mice and rabbits, or an occasional sheep or cow, but this time she was looking for something else. She didn’t know what it was, and she couldn’t explain it, but a peculiar yearning beckoned from deep within her, a yearning for something different.  

          The great flying beast swooped down to the mountain road where her very keen eyes spotted an old farmer moving along his cows. When the farmer saw the Harpy he stopped what he was doing and looked up into the sky to admire her. He wondered at her grace and magnificence then moved one cow away from the rest as an offering; regarding her interest in his herd as a great honor.

          The winged creature moved in closer, flying in circles a hundred feet above the cow, and studied her prey. Then, in one swift movement she plunged downward, rocketing past the cow and piercing the old farmer’s heart with her powerful beak. The old farmer lie dying in the road as his cows scampered in all directions, confused and scared. The Harpy withdrew her beak from the farmer’s chest and grasped the bleeding man with her talons. For the first time in her existence the Harpy tasted human blood; then flew off to her nest to feed on her prey.

          A few days later, when the Harpy was hungry again, she once more left her nest to seek food. This time there was no question as to the kind of prey she would be hunting; she had had her first taste, and now she craved more. Now she flew further than the mountain road, closer toward the bottom of the mountain where she knew there to be a sheepherder. She flew at great speed and with excited anticipation, eager to make her next kill.

          When she arrived, the shepherd was out in his fields tending his flock of sheep. When he saw the Harpy, like the old farmer he, too, was overcome with admiration for the creature. She had come to him before to claim one of his sheep, and he moved one away from the flock for her now, pleased and honored that the Harpy would once again consider one of his animals for her meal. Unfortunately for the shepherd, however, this day the Harpy would not take of his sheep.

          She flew over the one sheep and hovered there for a moment, wondering how she could have eaten the flesh of such a creature, now that she realized what she was meant to feed on all along. Ending her thoughts abruptly, she ascended into the sky and circled about a hundred feet above the sheep. Then, repeating her pattern of several days ago, she spiraled downward, flying just over the sheep and ramming her beak into the shepherd’s torso. The force of the blow knocked him to the ground with the Harpy landing on top of him, her beak still embedded in his chest. The man was in shock, and cried in pain and dismay as the Harpy slowly withdrew her beak and stood there licking his blood as she watched him die. The sheep looked on as the Harpy clutched the shepherd with her great talons and soared into the sky, flying back up the mountain and to her nest, to feed once again on human flesh.

         

The village at the bottom of the mountain was blessed to have a jester, who made them laugh and made their work easier. He was tall and strong, but simpleminded and without a true name. To compensate for these misfortunes, the villagers affectionately called him “Happy”. Late one night, just a few days after the Harpy had carried off the sheepherder, Happy was heading home by himself after drinking and dancing in the local tavern. Happy lived on the outskirts of the village and was swaying from side to side in drunken pleasure as he attempted to navigate the road that lead to the tiny shack he called home. The Harpy was waiting for him when he arrived. It was roosting on the roof of his shack and rose into the night sky when it saw the jester coming down the road.

          Happy stopped his staggering when he saw the creature. He was in awe as he stared at it through drunken eyes. Not knowing what else to do to honor it, Happy began to sing it a song. The song got caught in the jester’s throat as the Harpy soared through the air with talons extended, aiming for him. Happy held his arms up to his face as the Harpy caught him square on the elbow with one of its talons, spinning him around in circles as he stumbled to hold his ground. The Harpy turned around to face him again and it attacked once more. This time it struck his shoulder, and this time Happy spilled to the ground in a miserable cloud of dust, bleeding badly. A moment later the winged creature landed on him and dug its razor-sharp talons into his back as he screamed in pain and terror. The Harpy then carried off the wounded jester to her nest for yet another meal.

 

Soon all of the people in the village began to talk about the murderous Harpy’s killing spree. They held a meeting and talked about hunting it and killing it, or even driving it away, but in truth they all were deathly afraid of the winged creature; not one man of all those present would stand to take this burden upon himself. There was one boy, however, who was not afraid to hunt down the winged beast and he rose to the challenge, proclaiming to the assemblage that he would do away with the foul creature. He then grabbed himself a great spear and immediately set out for the Harpy’s nest.

          It took the boy almost all day to follow the road until it reached its end high up on the mountain. From there he had an arduous yet determined uphill climb over stones and shrubs, but he was beginning to get tired. Before the boy’s body gave out, however, he managed to reach the Harpy’s nest.

          When he saw the Harpy in its nest he noticed it was eating what was left of poor Happy the jester. The sight of this made him sick to his stomach and he lost his breakfast on the rocks around him. Then the boy gathered himself and strode boldly up to the Harpy. She considered him for a moment then flew from her nest. The boy threw the great spear with all his might but the projectile missed its target and fell harmlessly to the ground.

          The Harpy flew at him and the boy ducked, trying to escape the creature’s talons, but it was too fast. She struck him on the head with her claws and blood streamed down his face as the Harpy slashed at the boy again from behind, knocking him to the stony ground. He began to crawl, to look for cover when the Harpy rammed him from behind with her sharp beak. The blow broke his back. It did not kill him but he was unable to move. The boy lay on the rocks, bleeding and crying. Then somehow he managed to turn himself over, and as the Harpy reached for him with her bloodstained talons he begged it for mercy. None was forthcoming as its claws dug into his flesh and lifted him high in the air. Its beak impaled him, and letting go with her talons, the boy fell dead to the ground below.

The Harpy picked him up and placed him in her nest, and as she picked away at the meat she pondered; if this mere boy had come to try and kill her, then others would try as well. The Harpy flapped her great wings and rose into the sky, and upon leaving her nest, she flew off the mountain, never to return.

 

 

copyright (c) John J. Perry Jr.

1991

CREATURES OF THE FOUL

 

          Many years ago, at the tender age of forty, on one of my several trips to London in search of old bookstores, I came upon a quaint little shop known as ‘Mischievous Enchantments’. Intrigued, my hand gripped the top of my silver wolf’s head cane as I entered the little hole in the wall with a bit of curiosity and more than a little empty pocket space in my trench coat for pilfering. I am a collector and connoisseur of sorts of old books; very old books. I find it more profitable to filch and sell, rather than to buy and sell, hence the large empty pockets in my trench coat for pilfering purposes and the silver wolf’s head cane with hidden blade for those who discover and disagree with my methods.

          Well, for such a small shop this bookstore seemed to have an endless array of old and very old books, manuscripts and letters of all variation. It didn’t take me long before I planned to spend the remainder of my day here, perhaps even the remainder of my visit to London. But where to start?

          After pocketing a few recognizable and particularly valuable volumes from a nearby stand I began digging through a pile of dust encrusted leather-bound manuals heaped in one corner of the shop when the shopkeeper came in from the lavatory. It was remarkable to look upon him, since no mortal man could be as old as he appeared to be. If he told me he was two centuries old I would almost have to believe him. Incredibly, he walked without the need of cane or other support and spoke with an air and voice of authority akin to a drill sergeant in his middling years. His mind was obviously as clear as a non-alcoholic’s and after revealing to him my interest in ancient volumes he directed me to a section of manuals on a far wall. Pulling one rather large but ordinary-looking volume from the shelf he handed it to me and instructed me to read.

          The cover would not normally have accosted my attention; there were many far more interesting covers simply strewn about the floor, but I decided to have a look if just to please the old shopkeeper. It had a plain brown color and its title, in Latin, indicated the book was called ‘Creatures of the Foul’. Turning the cover aside I discovered apparently centuries-old pages still quite legible and more white than yellowed with age. Now interested enough to scan a few pages I discovered that the book was some kind of encyclopedia cataloguing unheard of creatures hailing from distant and parallel dimensions. Deciding that the book warranted further investigation I located a nearby chair, flipped the pages until I arrived randomly on another, and proceeded to sit and read:

 

‘Slathering Dogs

          Vicious beasts hailing from the Dimension of Fire, these creatures are able to tear out the heart of any mortal man with a single bite from their huge jaws. Their jaws are packed with hundreds of razor-sharp teeth, each over an inch long. Ten legs support their massive frames which weigh nearly five hundred pounds. Their hairless and skinless bodies are covered in their own saliva, which they cannot stop excreting. These dogs usually travel in packs of twelve or more and the best way to stop them from attacking is to whistle. Stopping to take breath from whistling can prove to be fatal.’

 

          How absolutely enthralled I was. Slathering dogs indeed! Absolutely hungry for more I picked another page at random and read further:

 

‘Vitreous Floater

          A large eyeball the size of a cow caught between the Beads of Nexus and Plethora but visible at dusk and dawn from either Dimension. The back half of the creature is covered with a slimy purple mucus membrane that ends in a foot-long vein stalk. Although it is eaten as a delicacy when mixed with baked beans and porridge by those native to the dimensions of Nexus and Plethora, others not familiar with it may want to avoid the Vitreous Floater since its pupil can emit a fiery white laser that disintegrates any flesh it strikes.’

 

          Absolutely captivated by this manual of creatures I’d never heard of from places I’d never heard of I decided to read one more paragraph before I began to make my plans to abscond with the encyclopedia:

 

‘Sham Marrow

          Oft times referred to as the ‘Deceptive Soul’ this invisible entity wanders all the known Dimensions in search of physical bodies to inhabit. Once inhabited, the body is completely taken over by the Sham Marrow as it slowly feeds on its host by sucking dry the body’s juices and soul. It is believed that it can survive in this manner for a hundred or even two hundred years. When the body is run dry of juices and its soul is completely absorbed, the Sham Marrow searches for and inhabits another and then discards the previous carcass. Through the millennia it has come to be believed that once the entity has occupied a body it no longer knows its own self as the mind of its host body continues to operate as it had all along, unaware that it is being slowly sucked dry by the Sham Marrow’s infestation. However, when the host body has run its course and the Sham Marrow once again feels the hunger to feed, it once again remembers itself and begins its search for a new host. It is believed to have existed since the beginning of time and there is no known way to destroy it or avoid it once it has located its prey.’

 

          Incredible. That encyclopedia of unheard of creatures was simply priceless and had to be mine at all costs. Actually, at my cost: free! Slowly moving behind a wall of stacked books I hid myself from the shopkeeper’s unwary eyes as I emptied my vast pockets of the books I had filled them with just a short while ago. In their place I attempted to stuff ‘Creatures of the Foul’ but it would not fit in any pocket. Undeterred, I slid the encyclopedia partway down the front of my trousers and covered the top half of the book with my shirt. I pulled my trench coat tightly about me and after tying the coat’s belt I made my way nonchalantly out of the shop. Not unexpectedly, the shopkeeper stopped me at the door but only to ask if I’d enjoyed the book and were interested in purchasing it. I curtly informed him that I would never buy such a load of drivel and suggested that he burn it at once. At that, I turned on my heel and hurried down the street with my prize.

          At the end of the street I turned a corner and began to run a bit. I took a few more twists and turns to be sure I would lose the ancient shopkeeper if he decided to follow me or contact the local authorities once he discovered the book was missing. At one point a pair of bystanders noticed my hurried flight and suggested to each other that a bobby be called, but after exposing the hidden end of my cane to their throats the idea was quickly dropped. I made my way into a dead end alley where I could catch my breath and hide out for a while. At the end of the alley where the stink of piled rubbish and food scraps gathered, I sat down with my back against the brick wall and breathed my exhaustion. Soon, however, I slowly smiled from ear to ear as I pulled my priceless possession from its hiding place and held it in my lap, gazing at its cover in victory.

          I was quite startled then, when the tip tap of shoes came to a halt just a few feet away from me. Exhaling a short gasp I jerked my head up to focus on the face of the shopkeeper. I placed the book on the ground beside me and quickly stood up. His mouth was open but his face was expressionless and gave no hint of surprise, but mine must have betrayed its shock which quickly evolved into anger. I cursed the old man and called him a fool for following me. I pointed out to him that his life was worth more than that stupid book so if he valued it he should leave at once, but he just kept standing there staring at me openmouthed, as if he were examining me. At that moment the realization came to me that this was no shopkeeper; certainly no human. No man could ever look so ancient and yet still move about as though he were a tenth that age. It was the Sham Marrow and it had been living in the shopkeeper’s body for ages, and now it was here to occupy me.

 I cursed once and held out my cane. A press of the button released the hidden blade at the end and I gutted the old shopkeeper. He groaned and took a step back; blood dribbling from his cracked lips. Taking the other end of the cane I proceeded to beat him with the silver wolf’s head over and over until spattering blood obscured my vision and complete exhaustion overtook me, eventually causing me to collapse to the ground unconscious. When I awoke, the old shopkeeper lay on the ground before me in a bloodied, shriveled husk. After discarding my blood-soaked trench coat beneath the pile of food and rubbish I retrieved my cane from his corpse and my new encyclopedia from the ground. I dusted myself off a bit and went on my merry way.

          Since then my life has taken a turn for the better; after selling ‘Creatures of the Foul’ for a ridiculous amount of money I have acquired expensive estates, wealthy friends, and beautiful women. My story is one without a moral: all my life I have stolen a houseful of property from others and have committed the occasional murder, and yet, here I am; seventy –five years later and still with everything I could ever want, and I don’t feel a day over forty.

 

 

 

Copyright (c) John J. Perry Jr.

2005

DOCTOR CRAZE

 

          He moved like a hungry animal on the stage, energized by a hundred watchful eyes and practically salivating at their intentness. Tall, pasty and gruesome, he sported a blood-spattered white smock and wild facial hair. One foot was covered by a grimy black shoe, the other a filthy grey sock littered with air vents. As the untied smock suggested, it did not appear that any other clothing was present upon his person. Leering and posturing, he bellowed to them with a harsh crusty voice the perils of doctoring. He told the assembly of the blood, the guts and the terror.

          “You will faint at the sight of the blood,” he said. “You will choke and gag on the stench of a rotted corpse.” The audience cringed at the foul man’s gruesome predictions.

          “Have you ever dug into the chest area only to have the knife slip and pierce the heart?” he asked. “Then the lifeblood pumps into your eyes and your face and you fall down gagging and retching?” His audience was now shifting in their seats, afraid of what he might say next.

          He stopped moving about the stage and stood there breathing heavily with fluid leaking from his mouth, absorbing his audience with his crazy shifting eyes, inhaling every surreal moment.

          “Yes,” he breathed again, “if you want to become a surgeon you must be prepared for everything. I could not even begin to count the many times I’ve failed to save a life. Maybe one day one of you will become a victim of mine.” The audience gasped at the mad doctor’s insane remarks and got up as one to leave in protest.

          “You will all be sliced and diced by some doctor someday!” the madman roared. “It may as well be by my skilled and knowledgeable hands!” The audience spilled out of the auditorium in disgust, leaving the laughing maniac behind.

          The mad doctor, now standing all alone, gave a final, slight chuckle, then walked over to a nearby closet on side of the stage. He unlocked it with his key and looked inside. He saw what he already knew would be there; a frightened little boy. The doctor wrenched the tape from the boy’s lips and smiled, revealing a mouthful of unhygienic teeth, then spoke to him.

          “You look as fresh now as when I took you from the hospital this morning, Freddie.”

          The little boy struggled to break free of the ropes that bound him but it was no use; the doctor was excellent with knots. Dragging the frightened child behind him, the mad doctor placed him on a table directly under the bright stage lights, then, from underneath it, he pulled out his medical bag.

          “Freddie, I’m afraid that we’re going to have to remove that tumor in your chest.”

          The child began to cry, for he knew that he was in the hospital only for a bad burn on his shoulder. The doctor stuffed a bloody rag into the boy’s mouth to shut him up then began to cut with his scalpel, and cut he did. He cut little Freddie everywhere, leaving a shimmering pool of blood all over the stage. When he was finished operating, the doctor put away his instruments, and before leaving, made sure Freddie was dead. Satisfied that he was, the lunatic went to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands. He looked in the mirror and commented out loud to himself, “so many more patients to operate on, I must make a few house calls.”

 

          Early that evening, the crazed doctor drove his ice cream truck to Mr. Johnson’s house. He parked in the driveway, turned off the enticing jingle, and walked up to the front door carrying his medical bag. He knocked.

          “Hello, Doctor Mayhem!” Mr. Johnson greeted him at the door. “So glad you could make it. Come on in, my wife is upstairs.”

          “Is her fever any better?” the good doctor asked.

          “No. Actually doctor, it’s gotten much worse. Do you think you can help her?”

          “Well, I can certainly try, can’t I?” the doctor sneered.

          “You can’t imagine how terrible she has felt,” said Johnson. “Just go right on upstairs, doctor, she’s expecting you.”

“Thank you,” the doctor smiled. He loved to work on his patients. He proceeded upstairs.

At the top of the stairs he knocked on the bedroom door and went inside.

“Hello, Mrs. Johnson,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Doctor Mayhem,” she weakly replied.

The doctor stood over her and took her temperature, her pulse and several other things that doctors always do. He then pulled out a large syringe from his bag.

“Oh, Doctor!” Mrs. Johnson cried with widened eyes. “I’m afraid of needles!”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Johnson, this will help to reduce your fever.”

He plunged the needle into her, injecting her with a fluid that almost instantly put her to sleep.

“Now I can properly operate,” he said. “I think she really has a bad heart and it needs to be removed.”

Retrieving numerous sharp objects from his medical bag, he tore into her chest with his special selection of knives until he found her heart, which he plucked out with absolute gusto.

Placing Mrs. Johnson’s heart on her head, the crazed doctor wiped as much blood as he could off of his hands and went downstairs to see Mr. Johnson.

“Your wife will be fine sir, she just needs to sleep,” the doctor told him, then went out the door before Mr. Johnson could even thank him.

Driving away with the ice cream jingle blaring loudly and smiling from ear to ear, the lunatic doctor was feeling quite pleasant.

As the night wore on he made several more house calls, always leaving his patients in heaping pools of blood and their neighbors with the catchy tune of the ice cream jingle. Finally, the doctor had only one more house call to make. He pulled up into another driveway with his van, switched off his happy song, grabbed his bag and walked up to the door. He knocked once and the door opened slightly. He pushed the door open a little more and peered inside. It was dark. Thinking that someone might need his help, the good doctor walked into the house. As he passed through the doorway he was struck on the back of the head with a heavy object. He sank to the floor unconscious.

 

When the doctor awoke, he found himself lying bound on a dining table and suffering from a severe headache. He took a look around and was surprised to see Mr. Johnson, and Miles and Vera Brown; Freddie’s parents. He also saw several other relatives of the patients whose lives he failed to save that night.

“Is there a problem?” the doctor asked nonchalantly.

“Oh no, Doctor Mayhem,” someone answered in a calmly calculated voice. “You’re just suffering from cancer and we’re here to remove the tumor.”

“But I only have a headache!” the doctor protested.

“I’m sorry, Doctor, but it’s much worse than that,” the same person answered. “We’re going to have to remove several of your organs; then you’ll feel better again.”

“How did you know I would come here?” the doctor conceded.

Mr. Johnson stepped forward. “After I discovered that my wife wasn’t actually sleeping, not in the normal sense of the word anyway, I called up your secretary to see what your appointments were for the evening. I should have checked on her sooner, Doctor. We almost missed you.”

Everyone grabbed an instrument out of the doctor’s bag.

“Just grant me one last request before you operate,” the maniac pleaded.

“Yes, Doctor. Name it.”

“Please don’t use any anesthetic.”

They proceeded to grant the doctor’s request.

 

 

 

Copyright (c) John J. Perry Jr.

1991

THIS (quite literally) JUST POPPED INTO MY HEAD...?!

 

A piercing scream echoed through a long forgotten and barren forest as beautiful silver hair was ripped from a newly throbbing skull. The bloodied scalp with its veil of shining moonlight was dangled hypnotically in front of watery cerulean eyes.

One massive, black furred, hand tightened its grip around a frail woman's throat, as she dangled helplessly a good three feet off the ground, digging pitch black claws deeper into her esophagus. While the other hand tossed away her hair in an array of silken grace, the hideous creature brought the petite form increasingly closer toward its large and grotesque body. With the silently crying woman inches away from its face, its hideous yellow eyes sneering at her, the creature reaches a single, elongated, finger into her cerebellum.

Stepping out of the shadow of a large oak, the creature ten feet in height and 1000 year old Redwood in build, angles her exposed and raw head in the light of the stars to get a better vantage at the juiciest part of her brain. Finding its favorite part, it scooped and licked, savoring each delectable drop.

A whimper from beneath a weeping willow, mere inches away, causes the horned creature to turn its head to the side. A cruel smile, baring yellowed fangs dripping with a poisonous saliva and blood, spreads achingly slow across its sharply angled features. Licking its lips one last time it turns and starts walking towards two figures huddled in the dark.

"This... my dear little boys... is why you don't disobey," it not so much spoke as growled to the two frightened children cowering in the protective embrace of earthen warmth. Tossing their shriveled mother aside the demon of Penance crouched down so close to their shivering forms, that the children could smell their dearest mother's blood on his pungent breath. Her life's essence mixed with its swamp green saliva dripped onto the two boys knees, hissing as it burned their clothes and seared their skin. "A reminder..."

They tried to push further back into the trunk of the tree, praying to the gods that he would just go away. Tears lined their dirtied cheeks and their sobs were muffled in one another's shoulders, as the creature snorted and spit out the rest of the chunks of brain onto the grass beside them. Leaning closer so only the two of them could hear, it hissed deeply, "So you two had better... be good... or I'll be back for you..."

Deep and bitter laughter echoed into the night as the giant dispersed on the wind. The boys, frightened, cold, and now completely alone, crawled together to their mother's corpse. With a final kiss good bye from each of them, placed delicately to her blood streaked eyes, they proceeded to devour her; most likely to be their last meal for quite a while. A final gift from mother to child...

 

Copyright (c) Tamara Malay

2007

 

SUCCUBUS

 

She lay on the bed, naked yet covered in a fine streaking sweat. Her perfect apple-shaped buttocks glistened from the slow running droplets and a few fell, splattering on the bed sheets as she shifted her weight from left to right. She breathed a soft moan of pure pleasure as she tunneled her nude form deeper beneath the sheets. Moaning louder she ground her twitching pelvis into the folds of the sheets and thrust her ass up and down to enhance the motion. Only the pointed tail emitting from the small of her back and the stench of urine and dung permeating her body belied the fact that she was not human. And, rolling over, she revealed the remains of her food, which was once human, that she continued to pleasure herself with. When her pleasuring was done and she was fulfilled, she ate her meal.

 

Edward was a hard-working farmer who lived on the outskirts of the Village of Idleknot. He grew vegetables such as corn, tomatoes and cabbage, and raised livestock such as pigs, cows and chickens. He worked every day of his life and had little time for life’s pleasures. In his limited spare time he liked to sit on his rocking chair smoking his pipe and reading by the fire. His wife, Florence, would sit across from him, knitting and drinking hard cider. After enough cider was consumed, she would begin singing sweet songs, until too much of the liquid went to her head and she’d fall asleep in her chair. This pleased Edward as he was better able to concentrate on his reading when she was not singing. When Edward would grow tired he would put his book down and watch the fire die down, then carry his wife upstairs to bed (which wasn’t an easy task since she was a rather plump woman) and go to sleep.

Edward and Florence had two children, Milo and Viola. Milo was a handsome teenage boy who was more interested in reading and dreaming about fantasy and the occult than he was in the real world helping his father in the fields. Viola was an incredibly corpulent girl of twelve years whose face was always smeared with chocolate, which she consumed on a constant basis. She was too fat to help her mother around the house so Florence would just let her lie in bed all day and eat. Florence, herself, was only good for cooking, and thus Edward had to do all the farming chores himself, which caused him great consternation and left him exhausted to the bone day after day. To make natters worse, the bank had threatened to foreclose on his property if he didn’t start making his loan payments on time. This meant he had to work even harder, longer hours and left him little if no time for reading and smoking his pipe.

As time wore on things had become worse. Florence continued to spend her entire day cooking for her family but also had started to tap the cider keg earlier and earlier, until she was finally drunk on a steady basis before the noon meal. Viola grew so fat and unable to care for herself or even move that her excrement simply flowed over the sheets of her bed and onto the floor. And Milo became so wrapped up in his books of fantasy and the occult that he seemed to forever remain in his room, rarely venturing forth except to take in a bite of food or to relieve himself. All of these developments simply meant that no help was forthcoming for Edward, who became increasingly depressed and whose health dwindled at an alarming rate.

Thoughts of chopping off his family’s heads with an axe to cut down on expenses or hiring farm help to relieve some of his burden were just that; notions that would never come to fruition, for Edward was too gentle of a man to harm his family, or anyone for that matter, and he had no money to hire any workers. He knew he would always suffer. 

One day, however, while sweating it out in the barn shoveling cow flaps, Edward happened upon a brilliant idea; one by one he would work on the problems of each member of his family until he corrected their faults and they became able to help him. Unfortunately, it was a plan that was doomed to failure.

Edward began with his wife. He sold all the cider kegs and tried to revive Florence with coffee. But she was an astute drunk and kept flasks of cider hidden everywhere, and when those ran dry she simply went to the village and allowed men to sodomize her in return for drink. Eventually she became so unhealthy that the men had to come to the farm for their pleasures, not caring at all what Edward thought and often not even noticing he was there.

After giving up on his drunken, whoring obese wife, Edward next attempted to cure Viola of her extreme obesity. He changed the lock on her bedroom door so Florence could no longer enter her room to overfeed her, and began feeding her healthy foods such as fruits and vegetables in small quantities. This produced an undesired effect as Viola started convulsing and soon began eating herself. Edward had to put an end to her new diet almost immediately and simply left a bag of chocolates on her bed for her to feast on. With Florence feeding her all she asked for in between drunken stupors and unhygienic men, Viola soon reverted back her usual condition.

           At this point Edward became overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness and utter dismay. He went to his knees and prayed for divine intervention. He prayed many nights until he was spiritually strong and filled with the belief that the Lord would help him. And one night, when Milo snuck out of the house to go to the village in search of new books, Edward entered his room.  

What he found there almost made his heart give way. There were candles and pentagrams, talismans of the devil and books on sorcery, bowls and jars of blood, frogs, snakeskin and bat wings. In fact, the entire room was littered with references to the devil and black magic. It had become a temple of evil with Milo as its concierge. Upon the realization that Milo was lost, and that the Lord had ignored his prayers, Edward broke down. He felt the suffering of all his years well up in him and he began to cry. He cried for a very long time and his shaking did not subside until he ran out of tears and feelings. Then, he began to change. Feelings of anger, despair and abandonment replaced those of love and hope and togetherness. In a fit of rage he smashed his son’s jars and flung the bowls of blood from their shelves. He knocked over statues and tore up books and scrolls. He even stepped on the candles. When Edward’s rage had subsided and he had sated himself, the realization that he was holding one of Milo’s occult manuals, he was somewhat surprised. With a curiosity brought forth by not knowing what else to do, he opened its cover.

A half an hour ago he would have burned the book without even viewing its contents, but now he was engrossed by the symbols, rituals and incantations it held. He took a seat on the floor and proceeded to follow the book through to its conclusion. Edward closed the book and sat there with it in his lap while his mind struggled to absorb its meaning. He remained like that for a long while until his eyes became glazed over with wetness, until, and without looking down, he opened the book again. He slowly looked down upon the page he had selected; it was a prayer to the Unclean One for aid. His own Lord had forsaken him, Edward thought, so now he must seek relief from his great burden elsewhere.

He read aloud the inscriptions printed upon the page, and prayed to Satan, the scourge of Heaven, to deliver him from his worldly burdens. When it was all over, and he had given his soul unto Satan, he went to his room, numb and spent, to retire for the evening.

That night a cool breeze blew through his open window and carried him off to slumber in a world of dreams he had never known. She came to him, naked and unfamiliar, and whispered to him in shadows, breathing new life into his tired empty body, making him feel alive again. Her mixed smells of dung and urine did not offend him as she rubbed up against his naked body with her smooth perfect thighs. And he did not mind the pointed tail that tickled him on the leg as she wriggled over him in a sensuous massage. Their bodies intertwined into one and Edward felt his heart race as the ecstasy of her touch elevated him to a new plane. He felt unearthly sensations wash over him, caressing him and enlivening him until, suddenly, he felt the bones in his spine snap, yet there was no pain, no interruption of his enchanted pleasures. And then his heart was gone from his chest; it seemed to float in the air above him as he smiled with unrivaled passions. Next his innards were scattered all around him and then his entire being was wrapped up in a congealed sundry of blood, flesh and bone. And after the Succubus was done delighting herself with her meal, she ate it, and delivered him from his worldly burdens.

 

 

 

copyright (c) John J. Perry Jr.

2005

THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE

 

          The Dove perched on a long thin branch of the Willow tree. Her heart was broken. The love of her life, her soul mate, was taken from her by a small, black object, flying through the sky and into her lover’s heart. That morning, her heart died as well. As she perched she stared at the rocks thirty feet below her. Their grey sharp edges melded into a blanket of aching comfort the longer they held her gaze. They mesmerized her, calling to her, asking her to join them. Her love was dead; her will to live dead with her loss. She did not wish to carry on…

 

          Then the spell of the rocks was broken by a crackling, slithering sound behind her. She turned to see a serpent twine itself around her branch, well within striking distance. She did not fly away. She did not look away. She simply stared at his majesty; golden scales outlined with traces of glistening purple and green, a head that belied the serpent’s age, and fangs that dripped of deadly venom.

          “Why do you not fly away, little one?” the serpent puzzled.

          She did not respond, only stared into the serpent’s cold grey eyes.

          “Are you not afraid of me, afraid for your life?”

          “My life is over and my spirit is dead. There is nothing left inside of which you can take,” she replied despondently.

          Instead of opening his jaws wider in order to fit her little body into his mouth, the serpent cocked his head and studied her for a moment. He saw the life gone from her eyes, the spirit left from her body. He felt the empty coldness that surrounded her soul and left her an empty shell. Her utter despair and lack of will to live somehow reached his soulless form and he lowered his head.

          “My darling little dove, what has happened to you that you should no longer care for your own life?”

          This only caused her to look down upon the branch from which she perched. His continued silence and lack of movement caused her to eventually look back up at him.

          “My lover, my soul mate, my life, has been swept away from me by a hunter’s bullet. He is dead, just this morning, and now I shall die too,” was her lonely, hollow reply.

          The serpent did not know what to say, he did not know how to respond. These words were alien to him. He had never before heard them uttered. He merely hung his head while he struggled to get a grip on the strange feelings that permeated his body and mind.

          “I…I am sorry,” he found himself saying. The words had escaped his mouth before he could even try to understand them.

          “What are you going to do now?” he asked the dove.

          She looked down upon the branch again, already knowing the answer, but speaking it very slowly, as if to give her decision more power.

          “I shall kill myself, I shall end my life,” she said.

          “And how were you going to perform this…this act?” he quizzed her.

          She turned back to look down upon the rocks once more.

        “I am going to jump off this Willow's branch and onto the rocks below.”

          The serpent’s eyes widened.

          “But you are a dove! Would you not spread your wings and fly before you met with the earth? Is it not within your species to preserve itself? This would happen automatically, would it not?”