I've been posting my unpublishable slushy stories on this website. It's my fun page of fiction.
Here is a Chronological list of Stories with the type of transformation involved in each story.
I write a blog of story ideas that I am working on or thinking about.
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AND WHEN THEY SMILED, MY HEART SANK
August 31, 2009
This is my testament. I, Charles Bonygne, have witnessed horrors that may ultimately claim my immortal soul. It started on that fateful night last summer. A night that still torments my psyche and molests my sleepless nights. Being a man of science, I had no necessity to believe in supernatural or extraordinary spirits. Angels, demons, goblins, the oriental ifrit, witchdoctors and all manners of unscientific and shamanistic superstition had no place in my science; bore no weight in my thoughts, my decisions, or my deeds. Thus, on this ghastly and wretched night, I came face-to-face with condemnable behavior, vis-a-vis with an evil that men of character seldom see but lesser men rationalize and accept into their hearts.
I speak of the darkness Arthur Denham brought back from the savage Amazonian jungles to his urbane and sophisticated manor house. He had telegraphed weeks before his arrival that walls of obdurate rock and implacable base-iron fences be built around the manor. I dutifully commissioned the ironmongers and stonemasons and they constructed and encircled the manor house, much as moats encircled castles and ramparts encircled penitentiaries. I dismissed this idea that mere styles and rails or posts and gates could have any effect other than to give succor to a troubled soul and comfort to a guilty conscience.
Arthur revealed a pair of Tsantas, shrunken heads. On the right, a Wakini, the soul of a powerful warrior willingly sacrificed to guard its master from physical harm. On the left, an Arutum, the soul of a powerful Shaman to imbued its master with metal powers sufficient to control minds and bend wills to his desires. I dismissed Arthur's newfound treasures, these abominations, these bestial and profane mementos, as the rankest spiritualism and irrational superstition until Arthur informed me of their feeding habits. It was then and only then that I learned how mistaken I could be or the depths of my naivete and innocence in supernatural matters. These clever creatures with demonic powers, consumed blood -- born in bloodlust and kept alive by fresh, bright red blood.
Arthur summoned me on his third night, his voice shrieking, his speech panicked. I came. The adamantine wall had been breached and the iron fence torn asunder by forces beyond his control. Stupefied, I dashed into the silent manor house. Ruby red blood seeped beneath the heavy wood doors to Arthur's bedchamber. I opened the door and beheld a sight most horrid. Arthur and two business partners lay at my feet, the white bones of their hands betraying their struggles, their necks shredded, flesh ripped from trachea and spine. The Tsantas waited like ravenous fiends, smiling through bloody visage, eye sparkling with electric fire and knife-like teeth. I thought I was dreaming when they spoke. Arthur permitted them only one man but they took three and sated their desires. Bloodless fasting was not their way.
For the first time in my short years, I raised my hand and invoked the Christian Triune Godhead as protection against the demons that Arthur unleashed in his manor house and indeed, his god-fearing countrymen. I trembled before the hellions. My task is simple but difficult; I must return the interlopers to Amazonia.
Yesterday, I was ignorant of insidious wickedness.
Today, I am no longer a child of innocence or whimsy.
Tomorrow, I must enter the jungle.
I might not return from that dismal and damned place Arthur found these demons who consume blood for life. So I beg you, if I do not return, if I am treated in ill fashion, if I succumb to my greatest fears which is the likely course of events in my efforts to expiate the sins of Arthur Denham, remember that out there, out there in the shadows of our minds, the dark corners of the earth where no one looks, in places where the bright light of truth cannot reach, there are obscene and malevolent shadows that wait, wraiths created in villainy that prowl, wretched creatures ready to open your throat and devour your blood. Remember that these evil creations can only be returned to the pit, forsaken to a hell by means of great sacrifice. Remember that my sacrifice drove demons, dwelling in evil desires, evil thoughts, dwelling in the hearts and minds of perdition, that in dark times, those demons that can possess minds and turn men to murderer, rape and psychopathia. Remember me as a good man determined to clear his friend's reputation.
As always, I remain, your humble friend and correspondent.
750 words more or less