(Season 3, Episode 35)
Monday, September 29, 2014
(Season 3, Episode 35)
October is the time to explore the mystery of the... CARNIVAL!
The brightness of the solar silver moon...
It cut through the dark night with sharp ease.
Even though the midnight blackness was clear and cold...
The eerie reflections of shadows put hot fear into the air.
Seen through the crisp clarity in this night,
And driven out by the fading heat,
Night things bound all about to find their shelter...
Their reflective eyes put the creepy in creepy crawler.
Death stalks the land of the midnight darkness...
Bold and dangerous during the length of a night like tonight.
Believers believe in protective shelter when the night is this frightful!
Nonbelievers get cut, hacked, sawed, bitten and rendered by morning.
There is a balance unseen, unspoken, between the realms of night and day.
That balance resides inside the feral corners of minds both civil… and not.
Beings brave enough to traverse rustic distances when the full moon is high…
They listen to the instinct pulling them away from the danger over there.
Never are these caveats more important… and dangerous… than in October.
Many dark forces converge during this most ominous month of the calendar.
Everything is on edge… everyone is on edge… before the surreal rolls into town.
The Carnival has arrived, mysteriously appearing, to seal the weirdness!
Children are drawn to the lights and the rides and the mystery.
Adults are drawn to the childhood nostalgia, the mystery and the back room mysterious.
Creatures are drawn to the place they can openly blend in.
Monsters are drawn to the place where their origins often formed.
When the days have passed and the Carnival has run its course… it vanishes.
Here one day, to celebrate October for one week, gone another day… inexplicably.
When all the beings, both living and not, dissipate back to their dark places…
The memories of some will reflect the mystery witnessed by all.
Back to the feral places in the darkness in the woods go many.
Back to their reality of howling at the moon and growling at the daylight.
They… whatever they are… will rummage and claw and scratch and kill…
Until the moon turns Silver again and the call of the night says… the Carnival is back in town!
Monday, September 22, 2014
(Season 3, Episode 36)
YOU HAVE HEARD THE WHISPERER
You are now standing before the full length mirror.
You are staring at your deprived body... and,
Looking into the eyes of madness!
You have, again, heard the sounds of The Whisperer!
It is hidden in the darkness… taunting you many times before tonight.
It is that sound that makes you question your sanity,
When you quickly spin around --
To catch that elusive phantom thing standing directly behind you --
Whispering those sounds --
That something that you must believe does not possibly exist…
And therefore cannot possibly be standing behind you.
It slyly moved and turned when you did?
And, if you quickly hop around...
Maybe you can catch a glimpse of it.
But of course,
It does not appear to be where you want it to be.
Damn, the paranoia!
Sleep will not claim you… tonight!
Again, The Whisperer in the darkness will claim you… tonight.
That arcane something you know is…
Right there behind you…
Lying in the bed beside you!
It just shifted again,
Just out of the frame outline of your body,
Reflected behind you,
Right there in the fleeting image in the mirror.
You tense again to turn around to see…
But more of the madness created by --
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
(Season 3, Episode 37)
THE HORRORWALKER ENCOUNTER OF BRIXTON BRYANT
(Cedar Grove, N.C.)
The thunderstorm raged outside my house last night.
It sounded like hell was breaking through its boarders outright!
The storm was shaking the very earth in the process.
I seemed like it might go on all night long without recess!
Lightening cracked and flashed while the thunder boomed and clashed!
The driving rain drummed against the aluminum siding of the house it mashed!
Striking an awful beat upon the siding and the windows,
This storm was trying to break the buildings and the Willows.
I asked the profound question to myself as I sat in my rocker,
‘Is this storm loud enough to make me believe its a shocker?’
Should I have been frightened by another North Carolina storm in motion...
Still another loud summer Coastal storm blown off the Atlantic Ocean?
The answer to that question is a resounding NO!
I have survived 55 years of soul shattering storms that move so slow!
The land stripping, home crushing, bad coastal weather breaks branch and stem...
But this storm was different and I found out why at exactly 1:42 P.M.!
I looked out the bedroom window after a loud moment of stormy hysteria.
Something compelled me to look down toward the front door area.
And there, standing on the rain soaked porch, was... something awesome!
It was a creature I imagined I would never encounter... and it was no mangy opossum!
Did I want to walk down those stairs to the front door?
Did I want to open that door and stand there before the creature some deplore?
Did I want to step back as the bone dry creature walked inside my home?
Did I really have any say in the matter of what the Horrorwalker does with its tome?
The storm continued to rage outside the breech of the open front door.
It must have been the Horrorwalker’s will that the rain stayed beyond the walls.
And it was surely its will that forced me to take that huge book into my hands.
It was surely its will that compelled me to read the fantastical tale it commands.
What a sight it was, the Horrorwalker, standing tall in my front door frame.
The weather should have blown inside and drenched both of us the same.
But there is a strange force controlling the reality right now.
I am caught in its grip and it is making me to read all that it will allow!
The Horrorwalker Tome tale I was forced to read was called, “OFF THE OCEAN!”
Was the tale science fiction, or was it science fantasy... it was all a breezy, crazy motion.
But I now have a solid bit of respect for the love between two brothers.
Their bond helped them to find their souls as they helped some otherworldly others.
I finished the eldritch story in god only knows how much time had passed.
The rain was still falling and the darkness still framed the horror so vast.
I handed back the Horrorwalker Tome into those frightening bones for hands...
Then the Horrorwalker stepped back into the weather and vanished like blown sands.
I have never written a poem, in my life, about anything dark or bright.
After the Horrorwalker exited my house, I was overcome with the compulsion to write.
And so, here is my offering into the Horrorwalker universe of the strangest motion...
A Horrorwalker horror tale of things bizarre from... “OFF THE OCEAN!”
When this storm eventually finishes ravishing the windswept N.C. coastline sand and stone...
I should well be nearly finished jotting down the words I read in that horror tome.
I will introduce the world to N.C.’s coastal mysteries, up from Davy Jones’ locker...
To share the knowledge given to me by a being from my nightmares... The Horrorwalker!
“OFF THE OCEAN”
AVAILABLE FOR PUBLICATION RIGHT NOW!
COME ON, PENGUIN BOOKS!
COME ON, PENGUIN BOOKS!
Monday, September 8, 2014
(Season 3, Episode 38)
ANOTHER RAW CHICAGO NIGHT
You are living in a raw town...
Staying up all night long --
Fighting for the right piece of the midnight turf --
Grabbing hold of the cold darkness!
It will be all right tonight, because,
Blue clad soldiers walk the mean streets.
Their blunt swords of hard rubber are in the ready.
Their steel hard shields are held chest high.
They whisper, "The little punk over there --
We know that piece of garbage well.
He has the little girl earrings in his ears.
He looks nasty when he twitches his ass."
They whisper, "We’ve heard he gives head in dark comers.
The love he gets is warped and dirty.
His perceptions are very fucked-up.
He was once a high school quarterback!"
They whisper, "There's too much crack on these streets.
It flows through clogged veins faster than blood.
There are other poisons out here, too...
And, there is a mean germ that lives in the living dead!"
They whisper, "Stay off these streets at night if you're smart.
The dangers existing in the darkness are frightening.
The drugs, and the bullets, and the diseases -
They lurk there awaiting your arrival."
They whisper, "Watch out for the poisonous hooks!
They dangerously dangle all around you!
They will drag you out of the light!
Death awaits you in the darkness!"
And in the end, when the daylight returns,
And the streets return to daylight normal,
Remember where you came from.
Do you really want to return there?
People disappear like they never existed in the Chicago night.
Frightening monsters lurk around every steel licked corner.
Some of them are real life human psychopaths of guns and hatred.
Some of them are creatures of the darkness of questionable reality.
Regardless of the validity of questions regarding their reality,
The collateral human bodies littering the streets is a third world shame.
And, fact one -- only the most hardcore policemen dare to enter the darkness.
And the things they see, and do, can only exist in a Horrorwalker world!
And the next night arrives as the sun hides its face in shame, again.
Like rats pouring out of the gunk filled sewers… the danger appears again.
Another hard Chicago night will play-out like so many before…
And the morning will, again, reveal the horrors of Another Raw Chicago Night!
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
(Season 3, Episode 39)
WELCOME BACK TO:
WELCOME BACK TO:
THE COUNTDOWN TO HORROR ZERO
Presenting... a twice told Horrorwalker Travel Guide tale of horror and insanity.
It takes that which is beyond the norm of reality to shake us back to a semblance of sanity.
Here is such an example...
Excerpts From The Journal Of Gerry Masterson Perrault
(Western North Carolina Insane Asylum)
So sad, so sad... so sad you were.
You were distressed and angry. And no one realized the trouble you were in. You tried to live your life in and outward show of fun and games, but actually it was lived in waves of horrid mental pain.
Sometimes you cried out for a helping hand. Sometimes you screamed out for a little understanding. Sometimes you ripped away at the calloused layers of your broken soul. Sometimes you were heard... but rarely by the entity who could help you find your focus.
For a time, you thought you were actually full of hatred, you did. And so, at the end of another day, at thirty-three years of age, you felt as though your life was no longer worth the effort of trying to live it sane. Something evil and hateful inside you decided that you were a failure. To date, you had accomplished nothing you thought was worth bragging about because you never really changed the world.
If you are blind to the physical world around you... seeing all, but seeing nothing... how can you help yourself? How can a man who is battling his own sanity make the people who interact with him see what he sees. How can he help himself to become better when those people only try to help him by injecting him with experimental drugs?
You waged your own private war inside your mind. You battled against a mighty enemy. You realized that you had little chance of winning this battle, though, since they kept telling you that the enemy was yourself!
Over thirty years of a conflicted life has now gone by.
So much time is passing as you scream aloud your frustration on a daily basis.
You have pulled at those short strands of life.
You felt as though you were dangling before the gates of a private hell.
And you always have had thoughts of:
The bouts of depression can be severe.
You have always done your best to control it. But the times are hard on a man with severe mental problems like paranoid delusions and psychotic breaks from reality ... and you are skewed... and you have continually cracked under the strain... and your time has finally come to shift the blame... oh, the world must pay, you have declared... and the payment will be severe.
And it was, for a time.
You do remember the best old days... when you were in the institution and the medication kept you kind of sane and possessing of hope.
You had some fantastic Jelly Bean dreams during those days... of a life with money and a beautiful wife and a red Italian sports car that cost over two hundred thousand dollars and got really shitty gas mileage. That was a damn good dream... when you did dream.
And one day, when you had what passed as drug induced clarity, you saw “it” on the television. What you saw changed your life and brought you to the new reality you grasp onto today.
Some fool religious jerk was using “it” to justify the end of the world event that was to occur Tuesday of next week. He was talking like a crazy person... but, that thing in his hands was the “it” that you needed to get your hands on to, perhaps, help you to find yourself.
You focused on your clarity for three weeks. You then took twenty dollars of the money in your change jar and asked Nurse Parham if she would pick up “it” for you from a bookstore. You begged her throughout her shift until she agreed to bring it to you... if Doctor Middleton approved it.
She told you that she would be back on Monday. She also assured you that when she returned from the weekend that she would either have “it” for you, or give you back your money.
It was all OK with you. You were focused right now and surely you could keep it together until Monday.
The weekend was long and the television was boring during this time of the year. But, you kept it together without a single incident between you and the staff. Some of them even told you that they were proud of you for not yelling out aloud at the whispers inside the walls of your mind.
And when Monday came... and Nurse Parham returned with a package for you to take back into your room... you thanked her once before rushing to your room to covet your new possession -- a brand new copy of commercial version of The Horrorwalker Travel Guide tome.
By proxy of what you have read in your new possession, you now know you are not as crazy as you thought you were.
And the thoughts of causing your own death are gone now.
The desire to own an M-16 have faded, too.
You no longer dream of throwing a grenade into a transit bus.
The stories inside this horror tome has given you a focus into the horrors you have always know to exist to drive you mad... but were drugged out of your head by the staff of one hospital facility after another since the first “incident" at your parents house when you were six years old.
You never really wanted to cut out the heart of Missy the cat and Franklin the Saint Bernard, but they were weak willed and became possessed by two of the demon monsters that surround us all... and you HAD to eat their hearts in order to make sure the monsters were completely destroyed.
So sad, your life... or so you have been told.
To be distressed and angry and a total psychopath.
You have lived your life within this warped bubble of insanity.
And sure, your played-out derision caused many deaths.
And, of course, you have tried to take your own life many times.
And though there was justification for the horrors you perpetrated... you now realize that the murder of an animal, or a human, is not the way to rid it, or him, of the monster you can see inside it, or him.
And the real tragedy is? You will never again get the chance to practice what you now have learned outside the walls of this heavily guarded asylum for the criminally insane.
(Epilogue: Entry 2427)
This is not a mental snap from reality. This shit is really happening to me... right now! Holy shit... the Horrorwalker is standing at the foot of my bed. This is not the nightmare of my crazed mind. It is really going to make me hold its actual horror tome to read a story from those magical pages.
Or, is it going to slice off my head with that weapon it carries with it. Is it my messenger of death to force me to pay for the crimes I have committed during my quest for a clearer warped reality?
I am getting out of my bed now. I can not even feel the always ice cold linoleum floor underneath my bare, sockless feet. I am walking toward it now. Toward what fate of life, or death?
I hope that I will write down my upcoming experience in my journal after the Horrorwalker finishes with me and leaves my room.
What can the Horrorwalker show to a man who has lived most of his life locked down in a fortified asylum? I will write it all down in my journal, after the fact... if I am to actually survive this moment in time.
Oh, oh... it is extending its right hand with the tome in it toward me and...