A Taste from; The Many Unnatural Lives of Scott Solomon Dean

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“We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.”
Ted Bundy



    “There are real monsters in this life but they are not out there in the darkness somewhere just out of eyesight. The real monsters are sitting right next to you smiling and laughing the whole time they are thinking on how many ways they wish to kill you. The real monsters are entwined in the society of humanity since the dawn of time.”
Raven Blackstone



    “I knew there was something odd with me when I was a small child. Other kids would not have nothing to do with me. It would come to me in just a short few years that I thought I had a monster within me. Then at true revelation struck me, damn, I’m the demon within. I accepted, embraced, and loved my bloodthirsty insatiable appetites upon all I would cross without care or reason.”
Brandon “The Worm” Reed



    “I lost my virginity while inside a woman and then immediately starting killing her. As I was doing so, I realized there are far greater pleasures than sex could ever offer me. I simply followed my strong urges. I became a god over who lives and who dies.”
Johnathan Knepp



Introduction

Standing upon Mount Moriah are two men, both wearing their white hard hats and their matching Corp of Engineers shirts. The oldest in silver hair and sharp blue eyes is rolling up the overall plans of a major project. Behind them a small surveying crew doing their work just out of earshot of the two.
    

“So, you’re on board with the plan or what?” The older said snidely.
    

The younger man looking rather pale from this immoral plan. “Yeah, you actually want me to go with that? You want to only move the headstones and leave the rotted bones right where they’re at?”
    

The older man turned to face the younger, “Listen slick, it isn’t like your goddamned grandmother is among the dead buried down there with all the other whores. Mount Moriah Cemetery is just some fucking forgotten place in the annals of local history, superstition, and any other redneck beliefs. The goddamned rotting bodies stay right where they’re at and we’ll move the stones to the new location.”

The older man paused only for a second. “If you can’t be a part of this, then you’re off the team. Besides, you like being married to my daughter, don’t you?” It is nothing less than a viable threat.


“Frenchy, what are you gonna do, take my wife way from me if I don’t agree to this unspeakable bullshit of yours?”
    

“Taking away? No, I was thinking more along the lines of her being a widow. Accidents happen all the fucking time, Bob.  This is a huge project, you may find yourself prone to one such fatality or something.” Frenchy paused with a determined grin froth with rage painted upon his otherwise, white face.

“Look, I brought you on so that it would help you both financially and making a goddamned man out of you. This would be the first big project you have ever been on. I won’t allow you to fuck things up here – too much riding on this – too much money to be had wasting it on bullshit. The getting is good, so for god sakes, pull your head out of your ass and join the team or you can be lying face down with those there at Mount Moriah Cemetery in an unmarked grave all covered by three feet of crushed rock and gravel with another two feet of reinforced concrete. Go along with my plans or simply be a result of an accident. Hell, I’ll even dig the grave with the traditional six feet of earth for you Bob. Now how would that be?” Frenchy’s eyes looked like two slits of rage.
    

“So, what’s it gonna be, Bob? I don’t have all fucking day goddamn it. Make up your mind now you fucking cocksucker.”
    

Bob Weber browbeat and threatened by his own father-in-law wiped the sweat off of his own brow with his white handkerchief. “Okay, all right, I’m in.” Bob looked up to his father-in-law shaking his head affirmatively.
    

“Well alright then…” Frenchy then put his hand on Weber’s shoulder and whispered in Bob’s ear. “And if I catch your prick in another woman or that boyfriend of yours, I’ll kill you myself and I’ll put your body down a hole that no one shall ever find – not even God could find you.”
    

Weber stunned in the realization that Frenchy is already well aware of his two affairs also shook his head affirmatively in both overwhelming shame and wonderment.
    

“Good then, I won’t have to bury them next to your grave down there where the new outer parking lot will be,” Frenchy smiled ever so coldly as he removed his firm grip on Weber’s shoulder.
    

“Fly right, son, and we’ll both be fucking rich. You’ll see.” Frenchy turned away and walked up to his white air-conditioned pickup truck then driving away from the scene.  

Weber watched him go and realizing that no matter what and how he personally felt, his father-in-law had him under Frenchy’s thumb, and there would be no way of getting out from under it.

Then like a bolt of lightning, a though entered his mind, “Accidents happen all the time on major worksites. My fucking father-in-law could easily be an accidental casualty.” A smile broke across Weber’s face.

The massive construction of the Whispering Pines Sanitarium with its own super-max facility will begin shortly after the transfer of the headstones and all things above ground belonging to the Mount Moriah Cemetery. These opportunities will afford Weber the chance to not only get out from under Frenchy’s thumb, but to shatter it completely.


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Grimstalker

Copyright Protected @2017 by DarkWorX

In these woods, I am the boss. Least, this is what my fellow brothers and sisters say. Most days I am pretty easy going and you really have to go out of your way to really piss me off. When you do, well, let’s just say you opened up a frosty keg of Old Testament Retribution. Naturally, I’m not religious, and make no mistake, all religions say there is no room for my kind in any heaven. I will say look at the big picture of things, I can’t see my sorry ass sitting on some cloud playing a goddamned harp and that would be a living hell. Nevertheless, something about the unforgiving vengeful god that just gives me some righteous wood. You know what I am saying and if you don’t best mind your own business.

I love rolling with my kind like thunder through these beautiful black hills sporting our colors, our tribal colors that is. Ours is like no other and those fucking sissies that say they are some outlaw biker don’t know the meaning of, “The 1%.” Sure, just because we look human, act human, and on any other day, have empathy of a human, well, there is just more than just leather jackets, high octane, and the crack of an opening throttle. After all, happiness is a flick of the right wrist away. However, you see, there is more than what you can normally see about my kind. There is so very much more beneath the skin as they may say.

Human shell on the outside and our truer selves on the inside. Believe whatever makes you sleep better at nights thinking you know there is no such things as ghosts, phantoms, vampires, monsters, and my kind, the werewolf. Yeah, that’s fucking right, there’s all kinds of creatures walking day or night. We are your doctors, nurses, service men and women, the police, the fire fighters, and shit. But one goddamned thing you got to understand is that we are indeed only human on the outside. Inside of my kind is a blizzard of wrath that no man can contain though many have tried — tried and died. There’s a whole goddamned nation of a cemetery full of them. More scattered to the four winds in the form of shallow graves and rotting remains hidden away. Up here in the hills, there are more old mine shafts than people, and in the bottom of these are hills of bones who thought once upon a time that humans were at the top of the food chain.

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Listen, the moon does not hold its sway over my kind. Piss me off and have me in a corner, and I will show you the animal within from zero to spilling your guts in less than a couple of seconds. Not to worry, you’ll be plenty alive when your small and large intestines splash its payload on those new boots of yours. Also, let me clue you in on something else, religious relicts, crosses and such, spells and incantations don’t do jack shit either. Once upon a time long before you or I were a pup and then some, we overcame the silver bullet thing. I mean, in the spite of what you’ve seen in the shows, Hollywood, and shit like that, you’re in for one hell of a shocker when your silver hallow-points has no effect on us other than messing up our clothing. Not to mention, pissing any of us off.

Like I said earlier, I am a pretty easy going guy. I’d rather smile, laugh, smoke weed, and hang out at the Gallows talking shit, and meeting other members of packs from out of state sorts.

We all have specialties, I mean, you know, what we do in our more natural, or perceived in your eyes as, “Unnatural” we have our own names, handles, and skill sets. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking and you’re already wrong.
When we are in our natural state, we are cunning, fast as lightening and the weakest among us is as strong as any ten men you may want to chose. The brothers and sisters of my pack and those of my kind call me the, “Grimstalker.”

Trust me, every since I was a pup, I made it a profession in tracking down the free-range rubes that tend to get a little too close to things of ours, our business, our way of life, our land. Oh, for the fuck of Christ, trespassing on my land really raises the fucking hackles on the back of my neck.

Sitting up at my cabin here in the Black Hills you have to go off the beaten path, the roadway, and follow an old mining road and then turns to a path and a bridge over a small creek just to get to my land. I have no use for “visitors” of the human kind let alone uninvited assholes. Trust me in saying, I can hear a real dumbass walking up from the road far below. If the wind is blowing right, I’ll pick up the scent of the poor son of a bitch. Then your goddamned ass is all mine.

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This is where I turn from a guy catching some porn on the tube to my namesake. I jump up and already I can feel the change come on. I keep it in my pants if you know what I mean. Then on my way out, I grab my stainless mattock. It’s a custom job like a stainless tomahawk or one hell of a bitching hatchet with one unfucking-forgiving business end. You’ll never see it coming, you might hear it buzzing through the air and maybe, just maybe the sun will dance ever so briefly just before I take the top of your fucking skull clean off.

Again, you’ll be still alive when my gifting separates some of that grey matter of yours. Then as you slide down next to a tree, you’ll be sure to see me. Though because of the missing portions of your fucking brains, you’ll be not doing much else except look up at me as blood flows from your mouth and ears while shitting and pissing yourself in doing so. It usually happens to most people and I don’t hold that against anyone just so you know.

Then with my claws I dig into your exposed brain for a fucking taste and that is when you fade away right when I got a good paw full of your brains as your body has its fits, seizures, and shit. I’ll let you die as I eat and fetch my mattock right above your body pulling it from the tree along with the top of your skull and scalp. The scent of fresh blood in the air — your blood that is. You won’t know it, but very soon, day or night, we’ll be feasting upon your remains.

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Werewolves of Deadwood; The Legend of Connolly Pettimore

Blackened

Introduction and Shit Like That

Since the beginning of my works of, “Tales From Under the Concrete” that shatters the normalcy of compliance in the macabre and horror genre, the “Werewolves of Deadwood” has appeared as short stories. This includes segments and side stories that I love to do as it adds to the ambience of not only the tale itself but that of Deadwood itself.  Now on to the next thing I would like to bring to bare and that is the fact that DarcWorX and myself, Douglas S. Taylor are one of the same. With so much written and the energy that I put into this blog over the long haul, anyone who isn’t deaf, dumb, and blind should get more than enough proof in becoming exposed to my talents without excuse.

Yes, I know that I am not for everyone in the adult horror, thriller, suspense, dark fantasy to say nothing of the macabre genres I write – I can also assure with equal measure that everyone out here isn’t for me either. Having said this, I am who I am, I write in a unique sort of way, a style of my own, and an International fanbase that expects nothing less from me. Though, this fanbase is small, means everything to me to include my loyalties with each and everyone of them. Yes, I even regard most of these people as friends. Oh, dare I even say that (enters sarcasm). For those who are just becoming writers, authors who are entering the world of the Internet along with the social media I would like to welcome you and warn you. You shall find friends and fans who are anything of what they seem to be. They are anything but positive influences and most you shall find out are envious and are cruel shadowy reflections of humanity.

Be warned.

More importantly, you continue being yourself and constantly strive to perfect your gifts and talents. Rise above and beyond the shit-eating trolls, imposters of those called friends, fans, and critics. Critics, real critics will always point out the good with those things that needs work on through a constructive atmosphere – Thank them, take their comments and opinions in heart. With all else, fuck them, press on, and give no more thought to these posers.

With the advent of the Internet, the creation of Social Media via the web, everyone has a voice. I would concede that for most, they don’t need a voice and remaining silent would be the best choice they can make. Alas, the genie as it were, is out of the bottle.

Over time, I have been accused of many crimes against humanity as suggested by this particular article of a man who disguises himself as a woman and another pretending to be a human whose interests are into exploiting Asian underage girls.

Nevertheless, if you strive to be the best you can be, you will run into parasites like these. Put the dogs in the ditch with plenty of lime and bury these and move on. I have been accused of being a racist because of the dialogs of characters and what they have said in the course of a particular story. This is utterly shameful and a pathetic of poising the well and reputation of the author.

How fucking lame is that? 

How fucking ignorant is that?

I hear it all the time about others who are more well-known. “Oh they must be pedophiles because they write or create monsters like these…” Disturbing albeit. Nevertheless, horror based upon the cruel realities in this world. Still, these hypocrites say anything to bring another down so they, these spineless fucks would make them look brighter and better – It shows how lame, it shows you stunted fucking minds is what it does.

Evils

I think there are some comments made on Amazon that I allowed to leave there about some pretty ignorant fucks who gave it their best shots. There are other comments that are good and reflect an accurate opinion. There are also some negative comments that has absolutely nothing to do with the particular book or story – What the fuck?

It is what it is…

I wanted to add this material and things said to set the stage with some of my own angst to share. I also have the need to share some sage advice to those beginning their literary journey in these realms I have made mention. Do not give into the hubris and the gut-shot howling of these lesser primates. Live your dream and perfect your endeavors.


Now let me move on with the second half of this article; “The Werewolves of Deadwood.”

I wrote in some detail a few years ago while I was still a slave to the W-2 indentured to the Game. I remember it was a terribly dark and dreary night in the month of November. Walking in the mist and patches of fog dressed head to toe in black I moved through the night unseen as my mind wondered. I will admit that my imagination became ablaze with visions of supernatural monsters like vampires, phantom specters, psychotic killers, the criminally insane on the prowl, and then like a bolt of lightening electrifying my spine, werewolves!

Yes, werewolves indeed. Right then in the absolute darkness, I could almost hear the howls of such beasts. I imagine that I was one or vicariously traveling within one following the further shore of Elk Creek hidden in the forest and brush line. I could almost feel its blazing red eyes gazing upon me as I walked alone. I remember smiling from ear to ear at the thought that I may be pray. Yes, the hunted as the werewolf hidden watched me with such contempt. Finding myself smiling even more where others may be frightening themselves with their own scary thoughts I walked on thinking about the imaginary creature that wanted the end of my life and the taste of my flesh and blood in his mouth.

I did not have the time or energy to divert to some self-induced fear. No, my mind now totally in flames of creativity. As I walked on this dreary lonely road, the world of, “The Werewolves of Deadwood” began its infancy socially secretive world. You know, the beginning of the particulars, some of the main characters came into mind, and with them, their names, where they were from, what they do in human form in Deadwood. I also thought or entertained the possibility of Deadwood having its own clan or tribe of werewolves.

Moreover as my mind burned with brilliant visions and a budding storyline, the walk home concluded as I found myself on my front porch. I was already home least physically but not mentally.

How in the hell could I be?

My mind was spinning up a new darker world. Already the world of Deadwood, my Deadwood I was creating and sharing through short stories such as the Whispering Pines Sanitarium, Blackstone Rising, and others were already in print. Yes, I was then at that time tying all these persons, places, and events though totally fiction into my world. The story of these werewolves would become part of it. With these werewolf clan would be a need of history behind them, events that happened in the past, cause and effects, ant-heroes, villains, and an age-old rival, the vampire coven. Moreover, a vampire coven unlike that of the baneful romantic glowing bullshit mythology of young teen vampires. Instead, a blood-thirsty parasitical group or coven who were akin to the idea of the destruction of the werewolf clan in some Underworld sort of way. No, I wanted to add to what I have created on my own. So, the vampire coven based upon an insurgence of a biker gang that recently moved into the area in reality and with it, a level of crime not seen since the late 19th century.

The biker gang would later be all rounded up by the DEA and FBI for the manufacturing and distribution of Crystal Meth in the Lawrence, Meade, and nearby counties. Yes, this would be something that I shall use in the story line. I had it. The vampire coven would take the place of the biker gang, but not only take the place, but to kill off the biker rat-bastards themselves. No love loss, and all overnight. This would be excellent. The Vampire coven needed a name, a leader, a few of their own meth cooks with their own brand of crimson meth. These vampires would also come to the knowledge of how to keep a shifter, (werewolf) from changing from human into their animalistic powerful supernatural selves.

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Oh, the fucking gears in my mind were grinding. First, I made mention of these things in some rendition of “Morbidity News” on here, on this blog a long time ago. Some people picked up on it and actually enjoyed the piece of fiction. However, most of those that lived in Deadwood, Lawrence County, and as far as Wyoming thought of it as some sort of fabrication, fake news being passed off as real news.

Now, how fucked up and simple-minded is that?

I then needed a dumb-like character that is a werewolf. In human form, eye-candy for the women. A tall and powerful man of the usual average intelligence from the back woods of Louisiana near the Mississippi boarder swamps. A man came to mind, his description of a dark skinned brown eyed and matching hair that is shoulder-lengthen tattooed fellow that goes by the name of Connolly Pettimore. Basically a good natured and fair man attached to a ruthless bitch for a mate also from the same region who came up here after a conflict of a clan in New Mexico. I shared a bit of history of Connolly and the troubles his mate got themselves into. I think I may even shared a measure of personal regret on his part for keeping her. Though, she blames every ill-deed on him. She is nothing less than a sociopath and quick to anger. Any other emotion is nothing but a conjuring effect on her part. Now enters the drama aspect.

As I said earlier, I wrote several very short stories of, “The Werewolves of Deadwood” that appears in the Tales Series. Nevertheless, I believe that this particular story needs to be its own novel in paperback and eBook formats.

As for Connolly and his henpecking, he will end the latter abruptly. A man can only stand so much insanity from a stunted mind. This woman, sure, she is based upon a sociopath I once had the most unfortunate time then in my most miserable life. I don’t care if man or woman, you all can see faces being painted across your mind’s eyes right about now – no doubt.

So, the story, the original piece was told through a character who is the owner of the Gallows Saloon in which was an actual place here in the historical Deadwood. I was offered an opportunity to visit this place by the late owners. Fascinating this adventure was and it was, at that time, all that I could imagine and then some. Now, some ex-FBI agent turned it into a pistol shooting range and bar – Yeah a fucking bar with drunks with loaded weapons.

How fucking stupid is that?

I couldn’t have made that shit up.

Again, the story, or the history is told by a werewolf in human form that describes John Joseph “Jack” Nicholson to a fucking “T.”

Character names withheld; the story starts with the introduction of the werewolf clan and how it fits into a dark history just before and during General Armstrong Custer’s infamous 7th Calvary’s 1st and 2nd Expedition into the Indian Reservation of the Black Hills from Fort Meade, South Dakota. Fort Meade is now a Veteran’s Hospital Facility east of Sturgis in Meade County – You never know, the question could come up in Jeopardy or something and this information may be priceless to you all.  

Yeah, the historical portion, a portion in a draft format is fascinating on its own merits though will be re-done from the ground up with a good many things in a novel format. The history speaks of actual events along with the accounts with the views of the speaker. This history laced with both facts, truths, and my license of fiction will certainly blur the lines much like the pseudo-history told as actual history in today’s classes of education, the Museum of Deadwood that has about as much truth as a few grains of Fool’s Gold.

Not to get a head of myself in the least. Connolly Pettimore hears through the elders of the Deadwood clan that resides up in Roubaix, South Dakota of the current treaties they have with the neighboring vampire coven not to mention, the manufacturing of the crystal meth operations. These facts, this alliance is something that Connolly can’t even conceive since the history of Vampire and Werewolf is more of a story of master and slave. Pettimore’s personal dealings in the south with the vampire covens there has proven only one thing of certainty; vampires cannot be trusted in the least.

For Connolly, he harbors only contempt and seething hatred since both of his parents were killed by the order of some elders of a vampire coven. Again, he would be faced with another deadly alliance in New Mexico that his woman helped greatly in exacerbating the tension placing the clan there in peril. Truce was only achieved by excommunicating Pettimore and his mate from the region. Yeah, there is far more to the story or I mean, more to it when I write it.

Nevertheless, Pettimore finds the secret location of the Vampire Coven’s Elders. He manages to ditch the warnings from his own elders and enters the secret grounds hidden in the ancient Roubaix Graveyard. There he waits in hiding for mid day. Then he executes his plan. In basic, a shallow but effective plan. He is to break in and being undetected by the surveillance system short-circuited by a huge solar flare he knew nothing about. Otherwise, he would have been out-numbered and killed by his own kind protecting the Elders. A betrayal made by a pact with his own elders and kept secret. He opens all the window protection mechanisms after quietly opening the caskets. The Elders turn to dust, screaming, flames, the whole bit.

Pettimore realizing that the guardians are coming upon him, he bolts out of the den of elders and blocking the only door behind him with some sort of old railroad tie. He watches the place burn and all those that die inside. This obviously includes his own species.

With this knowledge gained and the betrayal of his own Elders he goes to back into Deadwood where those there in power have a very hard time believing Pettimore. Proof is presented as a small band of werewolves investigate and report back. The coupe ensues with the demise of the treacherous werewolf Elders. This swift and bloody action raises issues with the Custer, South Dakota and Wyoming Clans. A Blood War is immanent as sacred laws seemed broken because of the deaths of the werewolf elders. This will have to wait as the more powerful covens of North Dakota, Montana, and Minnesota along with Nebraska demands retribution of the near total destruction of the meth-making, hence, money-making coven in Lawrence County.

Free

One thing is for certain, Connolly Pettimore may be a hero to some in the region, a hero to those immediately around him but has a death bounty on his head along with those who help conceal him from a twisted form of vampire justice and then, if he survives, he may have to face the wrath of his neighboring clans.

Well that about does it here for me with this subject. It would be considered kind indeed if you would let me know of your thoughts. I know I have exposed some intriguing plots within plots and a high-powered overall synopsis.

I will also say, don’t get any fancy ideas of using any of this matter and subject as your own. Though, you may kid yourself into thinking of taking this work as your own and that would be a fucking grave mistake since all this, everything is copyright protected to include all within.

This brings me to the finality, the conclusion of this article, this post on WordPress. Unlike many other bloggers that have posted some sort of Anti-Plagiarism banner. You will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. This is proprietary work owned by DarcWorX. I have seen my work on other blogs. I have seen my stories and literary material on other blogs and stories. Yet, these same dullards say my work is poorly written as to discourage me. They take the entire story and the only thing that is changed is their name pinned to it.

These egregious actions do reveal themselves and those phony fucks pay dearly and more often than not, much more than they can afford.

For all those new talented writers, authors, and such. Protect your work. Learn what is, “Fair Use,” “Public Use,” “Non-Copyright” and “Stock Images.” I recommend the following, “Adobe Photo Libraries,” “ShutterShack,” and a vast array of online catalogs of additional images you can graft into your own, make it your own like any other business online and traditional magazines do.

Please make a safe and secure contribution via PayPal and thank you.
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DeathofaGod

The Sheriff

Sheriff

Today I find myself out checking the higher trails on my usual routine as the sun was at its zenith, in which says so little in these parts. One thing is the fact that the sun sits lower and rides along the hills, just above actually. Secondly, the sky, seems to be a storm, a bad winter’s storm brewing up in the north as the low-pressure front is just coming upon us.

Listen to me, I sound like a fucking weatherman. I crack myself up sometimes at the shit I say to be quite honest. The new snow, the heavy snow anticipated is the whole reason I am out here today and making, well, a full day of it. You see, world renowned snowboarders, skiers, and the likes will be swarming down from all over the world.
Even in the spite of the time of the season means very little up here. One could always say, “It’s so damned gloomy all the time…” They’d be right in saying that while they’re constantly bellyaching about their trivial shit.

Nevertheless, this portion of the Black Hills is a very secluded, and some might say, “With trails less traveled upon.” In that would be the truth. Though, once upon a damned time, this area all around me was bustling with active gold mining, a railroad, a small town just up the side of the eastern slope here that included a brothel and a school for all the whore’s children. Mining isn’t much of a family life, was it?

It isn’t much of a life period as history would tell us. That is if you were some piss-ant working for the owners of these old mines now in utter ruin. Sure, there are a few openings but you have to know where to look and hope to god you don’t fall into some old air shaft leading a couple of thousand feet down. Most are about a couple of hundred or so into utter darkness. Regardless, it’s more than enough to fuck up your whole day if you fell into one. No one would know, no one would find you. Out of the entire history of this area, there has never been made mention of anyone that fell, and saved, or for that matter, ever recovered.

This area, yeah, it’s not for kids and idiot adults to go off this beaten path. Most of the folks, those even from out of state don’t come up here. They don’t visit the old graveyard now overgrown by the woods reclaiming the scarred land. They don’t even know about the wretched ruins of the old Miller’s Place that looks like an old castle made of crumbling stone. Shit, it’s all cordoned off and there are trees, squirrels, ravens, and whatnot that holds residence there. The state was going to restore that some time ago since the Millers were so filthy rich and powerful. They ate up and owned most of the mines eventually. I don’t really know anything more about those kinds of people or the history, which is not all too flattering according to the local historians. Still, that old place, all dilapidated and all, yeah, that’s on my rounds too. I’ll be seeing that soon enough. You see, it sits up along that ridge east of me. One will see it if you keep on walking south along the trail. Comes into view now and then. That is if it isn’t covered by the low clouds, fog, and the likes.

Regardless, no one has any business leaving the trail and heading up there to look around or explore. Never a good outcome.

Skulls

You see, the Northern Black Forest remains shrouded in heavy mist and the kind of darkness that plays upon the weaker minds out here. I mean, just the gloom in the area, and pick whatever season, it don’t matter and it just throws up one hell of an “Unwelcomed” sign to anyone with some wits about them.

Out here miles from nowhere is not for the frail of heart. In fact, you must cultivate a strong mental attitude if you’re out here. People lingering around these parts especially in the winter has one hell of a death wish. You see, they just don’t last long and if these fools are lucky enough maybe by late spring or mid-summer, their mortal remains may be found. But that’s the exception to the rule in these parts. Out here, most of the time, it’s the wildlife, the environment that gets you in the end. And trust me I know all too well.

It’s my job, it’s what I do as sheriff and all.

Do you want to hear something that will raise the small prickly hairs on the back of your goddamned neck?

Last week before all the people from out of state for all the snowboarding fiasco would be showing up, I was out here like I am now. The only thing different is I’m carrying this rifle. I didn’t need anything like this out here before. That in the past. I saw something that gives me more than enough cause to carry such a cannon. Better to be safe than sorry – better to be alive than dead, I say. That is, if you’re carrying special ammunition like I have. I won’t bore you with the details.

Back to the story of my adventure up here from last week…

I guess I was up by Murderer’s Creek along the old Iron bridge, the “Hanging Bridge” aptly named for the executions of some gold miners gone wrong along with some of the other social “Shames,” Interesting name for the despicable who found a noose around their condemned necks. You’ll find all this just south around that bend in front of us.

That bridge and most of the old events are now two full centuries ago and whatever ghost town it later becomes fell to the insurmountable grip of these woods. These very haunted woods. Just before noticing the sun dipping lower across the hills is when I saw the bloody unmistakable tracks of an adult Silverback Werewolf. The tracks left off to the right side of the bridge, breaking through the thin ice as it stomped through the shallow creek to the freshly laid maiden snow on the other side and disappearing into the tree line.

I reached down resting on my feet for a closer examination when I took into the account the size of an animal, a paranormal creature that some professor says doesn’t exist. I put the creature about three hundred plus pounds and nearly seven feet tall by its gate. I suppose some village idiot would think its Bigfoot or some Bullshit like that – I would leave it right at that. No need for anyone really discover the brutal truth otherwise. I took off my heavy glove from my right hand as the frost built up on my beard. With my index finger, I dipped it carefully into the small freezing pool of blood in the right paw print and tasted it. I found my eyes widen as the blood began telling me the story. You see, I have a secret to tell; He is not the only changing out here in these woods.

Adult

And before you go off half-cocked and say something you’ll soon regret, I for one was born this way just like a few of my kind in the region. You might say, “We’re as old as the hills.” You wouldn’t be too far off the mark.

Listen, you’ve been around my kind, my kind are your doctors, your teachers, bartenders, friends, in-laws, and the like to include police and law enforcement. Moreover, I got this problem and it’s bigger than you or I.

The blood I tasted wasn’t his at all. The blood belonged to the victim, a woman that would be found brutally raped while he was still in human form. How do I know this?

The blood never lies…

The blood doesn’t hide anything…

All is revealed through the blood…

I can see through my mind’s eye of what her blood was telling me. I saw that he began to change into his normal self-reaching into her stomach and pulling out her backbone. My ears rang with the snap of her spine. Damn, she was very much alive at the time. The Werewolf barely knew of her and under his false pretenses of being quite the charmer and lover boy. The bastard, he brought her along this otherwise beautiful winter’s day. Oh yeah, a right down gorgeous day all things considering.
Yeah, after he finished with her, sexually, and otherwise, he dumped her remains under the ice of the creek about a mile further up. The blood also shows me his identity in human form and of course, again in his more natural form.

There just isn’t any way I can cover up this hideous crime this time with the people involved. The victim is a resident and much loved in the region. I know the woman killed, her father in which is a good man, and his wife, Betty that I’ve been banging for at least a full decade now. For those of you pretending to hold the higher moral ground, you can hold that against me too. But remember, when you slip, you fall a long ways down and I hope it hurts. Judge if you must, but Betty and I are more than a thing.

Now, this awful news was going to hit the family the hardest. The community will panic as it did before, and even before that as I can remember as for the last full century clearly.

Snowboarders and the like will be flocking to this region and I can’t hide this one. No nothing like the other ones.

I rose up and reaching for my radio, I called it in. I’ll lead my deputies to a haphazard roundabout to the woman’s mangled body. When the dust settles, I’ll square things up with this new idiot stranger in town…

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Cracked Actor Coming Soon!

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“There are always those that say hindsight is twenty-twenty. In my life this is not true in the least. My hindsight is in all truth, a bit fuzzy, distorted, and, at times, based upon actual events. Fortunate for you that this account is in all things, grimly true. The story yet to unfold is contritely factual, and for me, it is crystal clear. For those that cannot stomach strong adult content – Exit doors are on the left and let us who are adults continue unabated and uninterrupted. I, we, thank you in advance…

It is strange on how a broken mind such as my own works. I can certainly remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, cannot remember names of people for shit, and some memories well, should be better off left alone in the boggy swamp of my mind. Some memories are so clear to me that it really does seem like it recently happened – like yesterday so it were.”  Excerpt from “Cracked Actor.”

The United States of Shame

 

I would like to say a few things here. Normally, “Morbidity News” is all about some really dark humor such as, Extraterrestrial Copyright Infringements that the United States Government stolen to all kinds of creatures, mayhem, and the usual political spoofs. All the time, someone, somewhere takes the category and the articles or posts seriously. Most of which are those people who fall inline with the “Flat Earth,” “Planet X,” and “9/11 Commission’s Version of What Really Happened.” Moreover, heaven forbid that I buck the system with a thing called, “Facts,” “Truth,” and call “Bullshit” on the “official” stories by the corporate news of America. I am not a conspiracy theorist. Nevertheless, conspiracies are for real and more of the once called theories are proven to be true with each passing day.

While America is in a fluoride coma living in the “American Dream” are taking it dry right up their asses. You can sell a good line of happy horseshit right down their throats and they’ll believe that it’s just fucking good for you because every motherfucking moron around them are doing it also. Yes, and that is suppose to make things right?

The United States of Shame, an empire run by psychopaths in a fascist regime who are the same asshole-corporations who own the government and their masters, the banking cartels who are the ones at the top of the pyramid. You see, the Federal Government is not even close to the top of the pyramid scheme. I know, I know, most of you may not even hazard a guess on what in the fuck I am talking about. I can’t help you and you’re too far gone in this coma I illustrated earlier. Nevertheless, you’re doomed, and the blame is not on the government, but each of you wonderfully diluted citizens that will be left holding the check with your precious panties wrapped around your ankles.

Let’s take a look at the current Presidential Race. We have on one side, a homicidal killer, liar, extortionist, sociopath, and the worst goddamned Secretary of State in America, Hillary Clinton. Her bloody crime trail goes all the way back to at least, the run for the Arkansas’ State Attorney General by Bill Clinton. His list of crimes are equally matched to his wife and they couldn’t tell or afford you the truth about anything at any time about any event.

Is America’s memory is as long as a newborn baby’s dick?

Seems this is the obvious case. I can see via outside the control of US Corporate Media that there is a division of who is siding for whom in this election such as CNN, also known as the Clinton National News, MSNBC, and a couple of others. It’s all too appalling and once again, stretches the boundaries of absurdity. All of this as seen throughout the globe as a very bad joke no matter how you cut it. So far we have all seen the proven electronic voter election fraud(s) going on. We have seen Bernie Sanders 1 million votes mysteriously sided to Hillary’s count. We have seen things far worse than Watergate ever was and it does make Tricky Dick Nixon look like a Patron Saint of the Wayward Politicians. We have seen Clinton cheating on the last Presidential Debate with her signaling, her earpiece, and the fraudulent commentator, mediator of this event that makes the sinking of the Titanic like a Loony Tunes Melodrama. Even caught red-handed, the idiot in on the conspiracy of the debate still has a fucking job according to news sources.

Then Wikileaks a bit slow with the October promises of the new batch of emails with the following excerpts of one hell of a horror movie;

These fun facts and action-packed internal emails are flagged as “CLINTON SUGGESTS WALL STREET INSIDERS ARE WHAT IS NEEDED TO FIX WALL STREET, *CLINTON ADMITS NEEDING WALL STREET FUNDING”, “CLINTON TOUTS HER RELATIONSHIP TO WALL STREET AS A SENATOR”, “CLINTON TALKS ABOUT THE CHALLENGES RUNNING FOR OFFICE”, “CLINTON IS AWARE OF SECURITY CONCERNS AROUND BLACKBERRIES”, “CLINTON REMARKS ARE PRO KEYSTONE AND PRO TRADE”, “CLINTON IS MORE FAVORABLE TO CANADIAN HEALTH CARE AND SINGLE PAYER”

The moderator, Lester Holt, well, he should be sent to prison holding hands with Hillary and everyone responsible to include all the rat bastards in the DNC Fraud. Oh wait, remember the lawyer responsible for the heavy Class Action Suit?

Yeah, he woke up one morning and found himself dead Tony Soprano style. Boy, the motherfucking death-toll under the Clinton’s Regime has continued to climb unabated by most everyone sleeping behind the wheel of the Department of Justice. The Corleone Family would be green with envy.

Right now in the US News people are blaming Russia for the fucking computer hack when months ago, Russia was cleared by these very same people that are now blaming this country. I strongly suspect and hold the US Government, the DNC, and the Clintons in my highest contempt right along with the Bush Family.

No fucking wonder Vladimir Putin is so frustrated with the West let alone with the United States of Shame these days. Now there are millions, tens, perhaps even a hundred million or more that actually believe in their hearts that the democratic processes such as their vote actually counts — Another painful myth exposed. I cannot keep a straight face at these village idiots that believe in this “patriotic epidemic.” There is no voting that counts on a federal level, the game is rigged, and has been for a very long time. There is just too much to risk for the power-elite to leave this important stuff for chance by a mindlessly Walmart-Shopping fluoride-numbed brains of the general American public. Now, let’s say that everything is fair to you even if the powerfully-elites were out of the picture (this would qualify as a supernatural event of biblical proportions). The voting processes itself is broken and been broken, outdated, and utterly useless — It would never comes close of being fair and that’s without cheating. It was built over 238 years ago and never evolved since, never took into account the expanse of equality and left to rot on the vine.

Then there is the Republican Party as if it is suppose to be a different party all together…

All together?

Not so!

The DNC and Republicans are only comprised of one central party we’ll call the Fascist Corporate Party or FCP for short. The deception perpetrated by the FCP having mainly a two-party system is just a facade. Both candidates, (in the past) may differ on the little things like abortion, right to life, and alternative energy. But the big issue items such as the military industrial complex, the Federal Reserve, Wall Street, and the secret societies in government — No fucking way is that left to chance and the FCP makes damn sure that shit don’t happen.

Meanwhile, across town in an empty warehouse these candidates are drawn from the left and right to the middle zone of politics catering to those who are actually in control in which you are not a single part of or a matter of interest. You are, after all, in a game where you have lost any freedoms you may think you have. After all, you have been bred and manipulated to be always in the middle of the road — This is where they want you, this is where you get smacked by the Semi of deceit. Just keep standing right there.

I am going to forego the Republican’s best contender, the clown of Manhattan, Donald Trump that obviously lost his Frontal Lobe a long time ago. Yes, you can bet the bank I hate him too.

Moving on…

Do you have a W-2 Statement?

Then you’re a slave. Leave color and ethnicity out of it. You all are active and complacent slaves paying, and some of you, enjoying paying your illegal taxes by an illegal agency that is not apart of the United States Constitution or any of its Amendments.The IRS is the only non-congressional, non-constitutional entity given the right to steal your wages, your earnings, and has the power to leave you homeless or worse, in prison.

What did the public do before 1933? 

Public programs voted in to include public schools, public libraries, roads, rails, the government both local, regional, and federal were running just fine. The entire public infrastructure was doing and according to the Constitution of fair taxes levied would continue to do so up to present day. Real taxes both state and federal are instantly taken out of all kinds of legal things, groceries, sales tax, gas tax, road and vehicle tax, state property tax, federal property tax, business sales and such. The list goes on and on. Yet, most of you are so numb, you don’t realize that the IRS has no authority to make you pay a third of your yearly salary every fucking year.

In the Court of Law, there are precedencies of causes where common ordinary people charged with IRS Federal Tax Evasions won their cases by never filing in the first place. To make it easy, if you file, and you lied, or owe, you’re fucked. Don’t file ever again, and fix that goddamned W-2 while you’re at it.

Need proof?

Use the goddamned Internet!

There are, for your viewing enjoyment, entire documentaries on YouTube, Netflix, and other resources. If anything I have written here in this particular post you find in revelation and challenging your ideas to include what your fellow sheeple think, then perhaps you need to step off the Fluoride Train and continue to wake the fuck up. Oh, I forgot to say, the use of adult language is used throughout this blog in the use of dialog, character dialog, and in my very own words are prolific. This is an adult blog for, wait for it, adults. So, if you find anything offensive, pissing you off, and have a need make a formal complaint, do it here.

We have staff that cares…

“So Doug, when did the United States Government sell us all out?”

I am so glad you have asked and the answer is straight forward as it is poignant; Woodrow “Sell-Out” Wilson back in 1913 with the Federal Reserve Act of, you guessed it, January, 1913.

Let me go a couple three years earlier when JP Morgan and his banking buddies were all got together in the same room in a resort located on Jekyll Island, Georgia. These Goons then drafted up a mean spirited contract that would be used to form the Federal Reserve. Yes, most people believe that the Federal Reserve is a part of Government, of Federal Government, but this is not true either and I know that may sting some peoples’ numbed minds. Not to worry, you’re not alone. The corporate-controlled media gets it all wrong all the time too. So, JP Morgan and crew, see the Federal Reserve Act for a list of those who he ran along side with him. Oh, and I bet you don’t even know this, but Grandpa Bush was even a Nazi-Owned President of the Reserve before he got his hands caught embezzling money, you know, stealing cash from said bank of robbers?

The fucking irony…

So, from 1910 up unto the act became an act, JP Morgan made goddamned sure of the so-called stability of the idea of a Federal Reserve by creating several schemes of panic to cause a run on the local banks throughout America. Morgan would tell you, “These assholes never saw it coming…” caressing his hands together. This act of sedition not only fooled the public, but gave cause for some horse’s ass to be bought and paid by the newly forming and soon to be, the Federal Reserve Banking Cartel a presidential runner — Hence Wilson. Yes, Woodrow was their man. Again, not your man.

Now again for the inept, Woodrow in his run for power comes into a cascade of political funds he never would imagine to help him in his quest to pass gas in the Oval Office came from his new bosses, those of the fractured banking cartel, the Federal Reserve Bank.

What about the other guy that ran, what ever happened to him?

Listen, nobody wants to hear or try to remember who came in second, third, and finally, last place in anything.

The Federal Reserve had their man and again, the first act as President was the Federal Reserve Act in January, 1913.

Then came the times of 1929 when the stock market crashed and a serious run on the mom and pop banks throughout the nation, just like before by the personal actions of JP Morgan did, happened all over again. Now according to the Federal Reserve’s promises, some shit like the Great Depression was not suppose to happen at all, hence the reason of the Federal Reserve’s Financial Stability good bullshit Policies. No, instead, JP Morgan and crew literally paid pennies on the dollar buying up all the small banks as fast as they could in a bum’s rush.

This ploy, again the American Public took it all straight up the ass. It worked in the beginning, it worked then, and guess what?

It still works today!

The American People are still without blemish or shame, taking right up the ass continuously since and, for a few generations of slavery yet to come. This game will never change, it’s just too little too late for the American Dope as the sun begins to set yet on another fading empire. “But Doug, whatta ’bout the ‘Too Big to Fail?'” America should have said, “Go fuck Yourselves!” Then these charlatans would have died out or figured out another scheme to hoodwink the American Public. There would be blood in the water for sure and the strongest would have eaten the rest.

Is it me, or did I miss something on the latest American Bail-Out?

If we financial forgave these fucking sharks then these same financial predators should have forgiven the home owners and debtors as well, right?

This of course didn’t happen, couldn’t happen, and is against everything in the American Psychopath’s Corporate Handbook. Instead, a lot of empty foreclosed homes left in decaying ruin. Now there happens to be just as many as all the homeless veterans and homeless people living out in the remote regions just outside of the lenses of the Corporate News that can move in securely and mortgage free —

Nice Pipe Dream, I know.

Thanks for reading,
Douglas S. Taylor

A True Telling of an Egyptian Ghost Story

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I don’t believe in ghosts…

You see, I know they are among us. So, there is no voting, or thinking of the possibilities for me. There is a difference of knowing of the path and those like me that walk the path.

Having said this, I have been a lightening rod of the paranormal since I can remember. Yes, I have experienced the darker forces in this life. I also experienced things that I just cannot explain into words with the shocking reality that there is a whole other world that is somehow entwined with us. The only way that I can put it into any form of reference is the simple fact, you, yourself must experience these things and then we can talk.

Just take a moment and close your eyes and imagine you are on a highway that winds through the thick woods on a moonless night. Suddenly caught  in your headlights you see something that raises the littlest of hairs on the back of your neck. Your reaction is seriously impeded because of this supernatural or crypto zoological creature blinded by your oncoming headlights. You lock up the brakes and throwing yourself into a skid, and then into a stop right there in the middle of the road. Seconds later, you get out of the car to look. Whatever it was is not there anymore. You naturally want to doubt yourself as the adrenaline is almost causing you to get sick to your stomach. You may even look for any signs of tracks or evidence if you are so bold to do so. Alas, there is nothing, no evidence, nothing but that fleeting unexplainable experience that will change your mind, and of course, change your life forever.

This story is not a fiction to entertain. It goes deeper in life-changing events from the actual paranormal activities. Some believe in Angels and Demons, Heaven and Hell. I do not, I can not for there are too many signs and proof of an afterlife that goes far beyond any religion or the cold grave of our mortal remains. However, there are dark (malevolent for those who know the meaning) spirits and those of a lighter, much lighter spirits, (the Benevolent Ones). Some are perceived as angry as I experienced in Egypt of an Egyptian Soldier who stolen an American Cooling Fan. Whatever these people were in this life carries forward in the afterlife and may echo through eternity. The whole myriad of human emotions carry with this energy of the person. I have experienced this all too often in my past.

Now back to this story…

The young Egyptian Soldier knowing that his power source would not work for the fan properly thought that he could simply get some American electricity. In doing so, he caused his own demise. You seem, he attempted to tap into our power running from up at the hilltop I was at through the desert floor. These insolated lines carried a fatal 2400 volt of current. The Equipment I was using is classified but I can tell you it was dangerously old. The substation finally opened the troubling short-circuit before complete failure.

I immediately phoned down to the American side of this site and asked what the hell were they doing with my power I was generating and keeping things working. Those guys down there knew absolutely nothing about jack shit. I really thought the problem was coming from my fellow Airmen. They caused more blackouts than I could count while there on my tour of 181 days. Nevertheless, they informed me that it was not them (this time). However, my station up all alone sitting on a hilltop looking over a 4,000 year old trade route. I began thinking as my heart raced with the possibilities that one of the members of the caravan may have stumbled upon the power cables. Regardless, I just knew not to reset the substation which was too hot anyways — The main breaker would not reset because of the heat. It was that bad. There are regulations and standards that are emplace for safety. The pit in my stomach hit me hard, that I remembered clearly.

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Now, I grabbed my trusty big black Mag Light the kind that uses something like six d-cell batteries. The main base is far down and across the desert below noticed I was down. No strobes, the beacon red lights to warn air traffic of the doom of this high point. Besides, tradesmen used the light as a lighthouse as if the caravans where ships passing through the night. There were very seldom any caravans at night leaving or going to the nearby village. Still, I found myself hoping beyond all hope it wasn’t any of them.

I was radioed and told that help was coming as I have already begun to trace the path of these insolated high voltage lines lying on the ground on foot. Three thick black power lines on the sand — This was done a long time before I ever got there and so fucking against any American Electrical Code. These black cables were nothing less than the 20th century versions of Asps, the vipers of these ancient lands.

Asps, these venomous snakes that took countless of lives throughout the eons or in this case, sands of time in the most literal sense. Us Americans called these vipers, “Two-Steppers” for the simple fact that a healthy man would take about two steps after a single bite and fall to the ground and in seconds, die.

Meanwhile…

I saw better with my flashlight directed away from me and using the sky’s brilliance, you can actually see galaxies with the naked eye. I let my eyes adjust to the night and proceeded to easily follow the lines a safe distance away from them all the way down to the base of the desert floor. The trucks were coming up slowly from afar as I eventually came upon the scene, the problem, and the reason why the substation went down.

Just before my eyes about ten yards in front of me I can smell the burnt flesh, hair, and the rubber to include the complete destruction of the thick copper wiring. The odors would knock anyone around and was like hitting a wall. A very dangerous one at that.

I remembered that I turned my flashlight to the grim scene. There lying before me was a smoldering human charred body completely consumed by the deadly high voltage. His body must have burned completely through by the time I got down the hill. I did remember seeing a dim glow before I trekked down. I turned my attention to what I was doing so I wouldn’t end up falling off the path and leading to one hell of a gravity check at the bottom. Though this orange dark glow, well, it was gone by the time I hit the desert floor and I did not realize when I stood alone up there I saw the end of a life come to an abrupt end.

I stood there in silence as shook my head as I covered my nose and mouth. I then regained my composure and steadied my voice knowing by now there were many ears peeled to that frequency. I radioed the grave situation in to the group coming up in their vehicles. I could hear far passed them, a siren far off in the distance. But it the medics that would arrive would be too late.

The high voltage going to ground turned the sandy area around this low ranking Egyptian Soldier’s body about six feet in diameter to absolute glass.

The trucks from behind slowed down and before I knew it, ten people were standing around as two of the men removed their hats using them to puked in the meshed material that acted more like a strainer catching only the chunks of whatever they ate and as for the rest oozing out and littered the sand beneath them. I had to turn away as seeing them puke would affect me and my gagging reflexes were on high alert. I managed to keep it all down myself. Then a woman fainted and fell to the sand as no one paid any attention while fixated at the ghastly sight except for me since I was facing her at that point. I heard her whimper, then a gasp, and watched her body and the inevitable “thud” as she hit the sand.

It was all good, at least for me. You see, I didn’t like her much so I let her lay there in her frail state. She was a gossiper, and a pass-around type. “Promiscuous” had to be her middle name. I thought ever so briefly at times of when she arrives home to her family, she would be using that same mouth of hers to kiss her children and husband with – Damn… 

Besides, she kind of reminded me of the late Farrah Fawcett with all that feathered hair minus the great ass and wonderful breasts. She certainly had a pretty low public opinion of ill repute.

Then from behind me, “Is he dead…?” I turned from the fainted woman nearly rolling my eyes at such an idiot question to an obvious answer.

You know, some people say the dumbest things at times, and this is one of those times. “You wanna go ahead and check his fucking pulse, Hondo?” I quipped.

“Hey asshole, I out-rank you! I spent more time in the Chow Hall than you have in your entire career!” I chuckled at that as it showed.

“Yeah, I believe you, you fat ass bastard.” I was getting to the point that the entire United States Air Force was beginning to be overrun by a mob of ass clowns, and maybe just maybe, I should consider doing something else.

I turned and walked all the way back, first stepping over the fainted female the one without an ass – That should be a crime alone. I got to where I needed to be and waited for the word to reset everything.

Now, whither or not you believe this — I personally could care less. I will say, I wish it never have happened at all.

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It was a couple of hours later and from the top I can see that more people arrived to recover the body and a crew began repairing the lines. I knew that it would take them the rest of the night – I really had a vote of ill-confidence with the expertise of some of these Civil Engineers. I must explain, there are two species of humans on these classified operations, fuck-ups as being the Neanderthal Class and those of sharp minds and thinks way outside any given box that are in a constant state of frustration. I might add that I was totally unmediated.

I am the latter of these two groups.

Having said that thus far, as it turned out, it would take nearly a full day before the repairs would be completed and signed off as, “Good to go, Taylor. Throw that goddamned switch!”

Meanwhile, that late evening, I wrote up a classified safety and incident report right away. I wrote it in great detail while it was all fresh in my mind only after throwing my clothing in the wash machine standing in the nude still smelling fowl by the burnt body. I took a nice long shower but it just didn’t seem like it was enough.

After my shower, I remember my two kids, (Goats given to me as a gift by the people of a local village so they became property of the United States Air Force.) came inside and acting rather skittish. These goats were house-trained. I went back to my writing up the reports on an old typewriter — This was 1986 deep in Southern Egypt.

Late that night or early morning hours I began going to sleep as a gentle breeze from the west came through and was sweet and welcomed. Then before slipping off into a deep awaiting sleep, I noticed how bitter the breeze was then and turning colder by the second. Then as I noticed that we were not alone. I literally felt the angry spirit and with the atrocious strong odor, it pulled my sheets right off of my bed that I used to cover up at those summer nights as a second layer of fly protection with my Mosquito Net. Consequently, I never saw one single blood sucking Mosquito.

I watched the sheet ascend to the air high above me and then guided down by the invisible hand in scaring the kids (Goats) out of the building.

I grabbed the white sheet from the air as if someone was holding it. Something indeed was holding it other than myself. Knowing that this is the spirit that belongs to the charred man. I know he didn’t speak any English. Bad on my Arabic, I tried to convey my personal condolences of his death as I stood there literally naked. Besides, I figured this spirit saw enough naked men to include himself. I don’t know if it were because of my strong physique or the fact of my strong will or courage to confront this troubling spirit.

Perhaps a bit of both.

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For three days, I was plagued by this spirit and so were my kids. But, this isn’t the end but only the beginning of the paranormal events. Things just seemed to escalate and so did the ever-growing rumors spreading like an uncontrollable prairie fire from far below.

You see, this angry spirit also went down and hassled or spooking the shit out of the electricians and some of them abandon the job site driving as fast as they could back to the American side of the site. This was the reason as to the length of repairs. You see, the repairs should have been completed under two hours in daylight under a ghost-free normal environment.

Shit, I couldn’t get anyone to come up to the hilltop. The water delivery, rations, and such just was not coming up because of the paranormal activity. I had to drive down to pick up everything. The American side again, was ablaze with stories of the charred Egyptian Soldier.

Oh, I remember the whisperings going on as I came to get resupplied. I felt as if they were all treating me as if I had a plague or something.

The story of what happened kept getting better every time it was told. The stories took a life of its own as it grew further away from the actual events.

Moreover, others were also affected by the ghost and the rumors thereof kept building up some sort of hysteria as a direct result. You see, even the Egyptian Traders and their camels loaded down however, they didn’t stop. Nothing travels as fast as bad news  like cobalt-pressed lightening.

It seems that those who did not believe in the paranormal almost became ghosts themselves with accidents and mishaps. The stories, the sightings, the hysteria took a life of all its own. People were saying all kinds of shit. Even the Roman Catholic Chaplain had a bumper crop of souls that needed saving and record setting baptisms stemming from the paranormal pandemonium.  The American side of this site were in small numbers to start with.

Now because of my particular job, I can go off-site and visit the village and a limited few that could. I decided to pack up the kids and head down to civilization of sorts. I remember looking forward with meeting with the folks of the village.

Once I got to the village I found it all eerie quiet as I could feel all eyes upon me. I walked up to the village Sheik standing before the ancient Mosque he served. I told him pretty much of what he already have come to know. Still, I told him about it as exactly what had happened.

He then rode back with me to bless the exact site where the man died. He then demanded to see the Site Commander which is in the Egyptian Army side. An equal to a Brigadier General, this officer, a Muslim himself looked at me as I stood there outside my vehicle in attention and saluting. He, the general walked up to me in perfect English while returning my salute in his own lengthy convenience cursing the whole tragedy. I got the feeling from this man as if I were to blame for it all. Maybe I was a bit paranoid or something. I wrote it off as such immediately.

After all, I didn’t steal a fan and take a folding pocket knife to tap into a high-voltage power line. In any court of any reasonable kind, I was not to be at fault. That was what I was rationalizing and telling myself. Still, it didn’t help matters with me much.

Even the Egyptian Army had sightings of this ghost. One of the men, didn’t know the that the electrocuted man he was talking ever so briefly in passing was dead by some twelve hours previously!

That would definitely be a real shocker – pun intended.

The Sheik then blessed the remains that were in a body bag ion a huge walk-in freezer. The remains were to be sent to a village far to the north for the grieving family and those of his village.

Then the Sheik wanted to visit my classified hill top in which permission was given by the general who was the supreme commander of the old site that did the granting and in translation, I was under orders to do so.

I drove off as the general was covered in a cloud of choking dust. Yeah, I can be a real fucking prick at times. We then travelled up to the top of this facility of mine. I was the only Airman that was there. I had this bitch all to myself with the kids.

Now as the Sheik and I walked into the facility right there before our own eyes, he saw, and smelling the offending stench of burnt flesh that seems to take days to leave your nostrils – Well, I can see the Sheik was overcome. Both of us seeing clearly at the dark specter now slowly walking towards us. I earnestly was glad that the apparition showed up and was seen by this man of Islam, the ever frightening Sheik.

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Now, the Sheik was certainly stunned in awe and this is understandable as he shook like a leaf. It took him a couple of moments to regain himself and his purpose. He, by the way, spoke excellent English and said that this spirit is in suffering, as well as in an understandable mourning. Angry because he is no longer in the realm of the living but struggling to remain here just the same.

Consequently, I figured that the apparition was sticking around to exact his revenge. But that is just one man’s thinking there.

The Sheik did his spiritual bit — Though, I am atheist, I knew that whatever the Sheik was saying on behalf of the ghost, it was the ghost who was the believer and obviously gave it peace. Peace enough to evaporate, peace enough that the smell was suddenly gone.

As we walked outside in the light of day, the Sheik told me that he explained that I was not personally at fault and his death was not on my hands. He said some other religious jumbo as I drove him back to the village while he was praising Allah and all.

I do remember that everything quickly returned to normal and the animals came around and I guess about a week after that, the traders in their caravan came up to my humble abode to fuel up on good clean water and as usual, I fed them more than enough ham, “Meat Lover’s” pizza. I assured them that it was all, “Moosh Muquallah” in pronunciation from the true Arabic  meaning simply as, “No Problem.”

According to their faith, I was sending them all to hell once a week and twice on Saturdays as I taught them the finer points of Poker and Black Jack. Damn, they caught on quick and the same 500 pounds (Dollars) I alleviated from them in times before, well, they won it all back and then some.

Down on the American side, gambling was legal and we bet on everything to include the game of throwing horse shoes to live scorpion fights, Poker, Darts, Black Jack, and side-betting on Chess Games to pass the time in a makeshift club called, “The Grand Sahara.” The club was off limits to non-Americans and that was a good thing too. Fifty Cents for a can of Budweiser. The women would literally fall out of their clothing at those prices – We would even bet on that too. I mean how many beers will it take before she’s fucking some dweeb in a goddamned broom closet or worse.

Naturally, I was nothing less than a celebrity in a morbid sort of way with my fellow Airmen. Sure, I was and still, an opportunist, and sucked it all up in my 15 minutes of shame.

As for the Egyptian people and my experiences, I loved the people. I had them in the best Reeboks you can buy fresh out of Germany. Eventually, the entire small village was sporting Reeboks.

Good footwear is essential no matter where you’re at.

I’ll stop here on this high note.

After all that I did, minus my ham thing in which not a single motherfucker knew about by the way. I was considered a part of that village and the people thereof. These memories, good, and the very little of the bad that I took from Southern Egypt. I shall treasure and never forget as long as I shall live. As to the strange events, solidly etched into my brain as another episode of the paranormal.


Please take a few minutes and tell me your experiences with the paranormal in the comment section below. Also, let me know what you think about the telling of this story in the written word and how I may improve upon it.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Douglas S. Taylor

 

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