It Has Been A While…

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A young woman fresh out of collage fastens up her undergarments and looks into the mirror in the Men’s Room for any signs of cocaine residue on her pretty face as the one behind her helps her get dressed, a skinny male twice her age that just did a few lines of the drug and bending her over the toilet in one of the stalls just moments ago.

She smiles back at him while she touches up her lipstick, the very same shade that is smeared slightly on his still erect penis. After all, his Viagra is still flowing through his racing heart fueled by the cocaine and exercise in the stall.

“Do you think that anyone heard us?” She smiled as she put on her her blouse and skirt still looking at themselves in the mirror.

“It doesn’t matter. If they want to keep their fucking jobs, they’ll keep their goddamned mouths shut.”  He smiled back combing his comb-over of his greasy peppered hair. “I just wish my ole’ lady’s pussy was half as tight as yours.” He smiled once more as she put on her skirt.

“Thanks babe. If anyone does say anything to you, you will let me know?” She smiled once more in the mirror and walked out of the Men’s Room only after just opening the door enough to make sure the small hallway between the Men’s and Women’s room was clear of any witnesses before she heads out to the main door of both the facilities intro an office. There she could see large windows and below them, the vast cubical. The large windows shown a blue sky almost free of chemical trails and the New York City Skyline.

If anyone realized what might have happened, they didn’t seem to care in the least. A few gophers from these cubicles have far better things to do and gossip about. An older woman walks passed her without so much as a glance. Under the influence of her cocaine and mid-morning sexcapades with her boss that is like clockwork on every Wednesday for about an hour between 10:00 AM up around to 11:00 AM. She realizes that she may be standing too long and moves off in her paranoia. This is not her floor. Her office is three floors down.

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Walking along in her fashionable dark navy blue business suite and white blouse she makes it out of the large office area into another hallway leading to the door on the right marked, “Stairs.” She walks passed this door as she almost hears a cold whisper, “Don’t take the elevator.” She stops halfway in her quick New York pace on the short maroon carpet. “What? Who are you and what did you just say?” She looks around quickly to see if their is anyone there. There she finds no one and no more was said.

She then continues to turn into a larger hallway with a waiting room, chairs, small tables, and a desk where the silhouette of the woman that just passed her moments ago was now sitting under a high decorative style window where the sun was beaming in causing the younger woman to not see clearly enough. There in this end of the larger hallway, the younger woman could see several younger and more beautiful women waiting to be interviewed. Her mind flashes back no more than two years earlier when she was sitting their texting on her phone waiting to be seen next for an opportunity to work here. She glanced at them closely and thought as she pushed a button on the elevator, maybe they’re the newer models to come in and replace me as the new Office Pumps…

The elevator opens with a bell-like signal and the doors opening as the young woman walked in noticing the younger ladies were far too busy texting to even look up at her. She turns and walks in as the doors closed as she felt the air within the elevator begin to get cold.

In her pride and arrogance with the sudden pre-occupation of being replaced as the Office Pump she realizes that she is not alone in the elevator. Of course, there are security cameras, open microphones, and even an emergency phone. The dark figure startles her as she begins to realize once more about the warning moments before.

The young lady becomes terrified as she realizes the phantom shadowy figure takes shape into a powerful-looking man-like entity. “Scream if you must I can assure you that no one will hear you.” His voice deeply mysterious giving cause to her petite body shaking.

“Who the fuck are you and if this is a joke then go fuck yourself!” She yells at the cloaked and hooded man. She cannot see his face, only his powerful chest and some sort of black leather and silver buckled fasteners on his inner clothing. She can then smell the odd odor of sulfur and something else that caused her slender nose to wrinkle up as her right slender trembling hand tries to cover the smell.

The phantom figure takes notice, “I am indeed sorry about the odor that surrounds me. It has been a long day for me already and yet it is not even noon. Again, I apologize. The sulfur scent will go away quickly, but as for the iron, the iron in the blood you smell, well, that’s like my calling card, that and the scent of old death, I’m afraid. Once more, my apologies.”

As he spoke, the elevator began to slow down as she turned in her controlled fear up to one of the security cameras and yelled, “Are you seeing this? Are you bastards seeing this?” She points with her left arm outstretched to the figure.

“Hey assholes, are you even watching?” Her voice raises and greeted by only silence.

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“Quite the shame. You know, with all this security…” He said slowly looking up at the cameras and yet the hood covered his face from her as he continued, “False sense of security actually. You know, like a prophylactic worn by a man. Seems safe for you to suck and fuck it until the damn thing breaks and then you don’t know what you might catch…” He pauses only for another moment as she drops her left arm slowly still trembling.

“All the while the poor bastard as you so eloquently put it in regards to the security team that cannot see or hear me. You see, I am here for you, Amanda.”

She is completely engulfed in her own fear as she realizes that this is not an hallucination unless something was put into the cocaine, laced by some mind-alternating drug that turns reality into a living nightmare. Then, her boss would have digested the same thing as she attempts to reason this encounter off as just that, a hallucination.

The hood tilts a bit as if he is straining to hear or read her mind. The answer comes quickly and most shockingly as him calling her by her first name. “Oh, this isn’t a hallucination by any means. No, there wasn’t anything as some sort of element added to the already fatal toxins you took earlier. If it is any comfort at all, your boss is lying flat on his back gazing up at the dim lights of the Men’s Room. You see, he’s glaring up into the lights through the cloudy lenses of death. They’ll write it off as a drug overdose of cocaine, mixed with his Viagra leading to his sudden heart attack.”

She gasps and then screams.

“Shut the fuck up!” He reaches out with his leathered black hand and formed a tight fist that chokes her from across the room without physically putting his hand on her throat and windpipe. Yet she can feel the cold death-grip as the temperature in the elevator drops enough to see her own heavy breath.

He lifts her off of her feet by raising his left tightly fisted hand and arm up. Her body rises as she begins to kick her feet as one of her high heel shoes falls aimlessly to the elevator’s floor.

“Why is it that the security have not yet responded. This must be a burning question in your mind, right?” He drops his release as she falls to the floor gasping for air.

“I am the Black Reaper, the Devil’s own Reaper. I come to collect all that it is his and none other. I never guise myself like some old dear friend or relative to come to collect those that are marked, those that are already damned to hell.”

Amanda looks up at him still standing their in the corner. She has no strength to lift her shaking body up from the floor. Her thoughts turn to only these final moments.

“Wondering what you may have done so wrong? Maybe you’re wondering if you made some deal with the Devil you don’t or can’t remember?” He pauses for a response but gets nothing as her eyes struggle on the floor darting back and forth as he, the Black Reaper is already in her head.

“No, it’s not the hump and dump weekly games that brought you here to me, but it helps. Your shitty rat-fucking drug inducing games every Wednesday did not call in your marker sort of speak. No, it was something you’ve said when you were alone some time ago in your car after you killed your fiancé. Yeah, that rat-bastard always sneaking around and thinking he always had the upper hand to everyone and everything. What was it Amanda that drove you to brutally murder him some thirty-six times with that hunting knife you stolen from your friend? Surely it had to be something that brought you over the edge and consequently, threw him over the edge in South Dakota.” She can almost make out the Black Reaper’s voice becoming saturated by this egregious act of cold-blooded murder as these events were being played back in her mind. These thoughts buried so deep that she practically would forget now and then.

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So, you chucked poor ole’ Toby off into the sweet bye and bye  down an old air shaft to an ancient mine far below. You waited until you heard his limp body break up on the old mine’s floor, didn’t you? I do know it has been a while.”

She was replaying everything in her mind. The Black Reaper is right and deeply in her head. “You then thrown the murder weapon, his computer, the one that he replaced you with while you were still with him. Shame that he grew to love that more than he ever loved you. Though, Toby always had a problem with emotions, human emotions, real feelings that lead you, that driven you to off his ass as soon as you could safely do it.” He didn’t wait for her to respond.

“So you stolen a hunting knife from that former friend of yours. What did you call him? Oh yeah, ‘that esoterical asshole.’ Yeah, I can feel the contempt in your heart to this very day. The same name you shouted out while having sex with your former fiancé in those bitch in the heat moments. That neighbor loved you only as a friend. He knew you were delusional from the start but he enjoyed your companionship as you began to use his knowledge and wisdom in things you were grasping to yet to fully understand. Then he began to work on a very dark project that caught our attention over our own sort of evil souls in government. From presidents to congressmen, to judges, and all that was connected to these child pornography and snuff sites. Oh, raping little boys and girls were not enough for these men, they had to kill them and others too. We have so many like those among us, working for us, and dulling out suffering that makes all hell weep with envy.” The Black Reaper chuckled.

“You never took into account the suffering this neighbor had to relive in his own demons, and all you wanted to do is rub it in his face by saying, ‘you take things too seriously. Really? The Black Web and the ring of hellfire around it all and that is all you can say as you desperately tried to pry into his work in helping what little good was left in government. You lifted his blade and you never felt the curse on that knife not to mention, our growing curiosity into your private life..”

Bitter tears were flowing down her face and slowly turning to ice as the elevator stopped completely. Her eyes were filled with the memories, the burning memories of it all.

“You were told by this person that when you look into evil, evil will look back into you. Yet, you paid no heed, after all, you don’t beleive in Hell, Satan, and shit like me standing before you. Yet Satan and I never stopped believing in you, Amanda…” His voice grew serious and somewhat melancholy as she felt a cold bite of metal cutting deeply through her throat from ear to ear as he dropped the very same hunting knife she stolen and used on her beloved Toby.

Choking on her own dark blood and looking horrified at the hideous sight of the weapon and her last few moments flashing before her. Amanda could hear but not see the Black Reaper as death was setting in. “Your suffering Amanda is just starting to begin. There is a whole universe of our special ones that will enjoy violating every orifice in your tight little body as like that of a well-oiled peace-pipe being passed around from one creature to another. You’ll be robbed not only of your life and soul, but driven into complete madness. As, I stated earlier in the beginning that the day is yet young but I have done and continue to do all the tasks that begs my immediate attention.

The doors quickly open up as the first responders rush in only to find Amanda lying on the floor in a dark pool of blood. They look up and around at the arches of arterial spray that looks more like grim angelic wings. A security guard just outside the elevator door exclaims, “We have her on video, we have her confession of a murder she committed and her entire suicide!”

The detectives push the overly excited security guard back just enough to give room to the medics to load her tiny and frail body on the stretcher to cover her with a white blanket already beginning to saturate with blood.

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As the body of Amanda is pushed from the elevator now being controlled by the New York Homicide CSI Team, the young women that were sitting there in the waiting room screamed and were frighten by the gory sight. As one spoke ever so froth with emotion, “She just got on the elevator and closed the doors. We could all hear mumbling and then her talking about killing someone and she couldn’t live like this anymore or something.”

The older woman still behind her desk was answering questions to the detectives, “I don’t know anything much about Bonnie Bryant other than she was having a weekly affair with her boss usually in the men’s room and that is were you found Mister Mobley at? Oh, dear, Joe’s wife is going to need years of therapy over this one!”

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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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Now You Can Contribute and Spread the “Darc” World!

Now You Can Contribute and Help Spread the "Darc" World!

Good evening, good afternoon, and or good “mourning” to all who follow this unique blog of horrors and grim eye-candy. I know it may have been a while since I wrote anything like, “The Sheriff” who finds himself confronted by a possible werewolf of unknown origin responsible for at least one immediate death of a loved one. One might say it’s a short story, a prelude, a sample of things to come.

Oh, yes indeed. Things are changing on DarcWorX. One of the major changes is the fact that I listen to my fans and friends. In doing so, I will not be publishing any more eBooks but instead I will be offering traditional paperbacks through Amazon Publishing and like the former eBooks, these new editions will be sold Internationally. I have taken down, “The Haunted Library” from the damp and mysterious corridors of this blogsite only temporarily. Everything else remains the same but only better. In the past, organizations along with fans demanded the paperback version of what I write. This I am going to do. Naturally, I need your help, your financial donations made possible through PayPal. This is also set up for the International Audience on a very secure and familiar service that everyone already knows.

I promise you with funding, my little “Darc” world will greatly expand in both marketing and in advertising costs.

You as an avid fan and reader has certainly experienced my personal growth in writing and in the “Darc” arts. There are many stories, short stories within this blog to easily convince you that I am indeed gifted as a writer and in graphics design. I don’t say these things lightly. I don’t say these things first hand. These positive things are said by tens of thousands of fans world-wide.

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DarcWorX nor do I ask for much. Any donation of any amount will go to what I have mentioned plus expedite the publishing of the paperbacks that will be made available only on Amazon throughout the known world. Additional funding will also go on equipment and upkeep of my future home office.

Oh yes, as I stated time, and time again. Subscriptions to this blog are free for everyone. Now, I don’t keep email addresses, and WordPress assures me that they don’t SPAM or give your email addresses out. I never see them or have to deal with that and you should not have to worry about things like that too.

Let me bring you up to speed on some other things, or additional projects. Now, I want everyone to know that “Tales From Under the Concrete” in all three volumes of these eBooks will be, as they are, buried in a deep vault and shall never see the light of day again. Leastwise in the eBook fashion. I will no doubt create an updated and overpowering version of this ominous collection that included such grisly tales as, “Dead Indian,” “The Devil in Deadwood,” and so many others that touch upon various common elements and characters like, “The Whispering Pines Sanitarium,” “Raven Blackstone,” and for the “Werewolves of Deadwood,” most will agree that needs to be its own novel or a series of novels. There is just too much going on down at, “The Gallows,” and “The Busted Bitch Saloon.”

Deadwood amongst other things has its own history, gaming, adult entertainment, and more than enough paranormal activity to capture the minds and souls looking for such things. In fact, Lawrence County to include, Lead (pronounced as “Leed”) is an old gold mining town with stories of its own. For me, Lawrence County in its entirety has a lot that an over-active imagination can take in. It is a pleasure for me to write about what possibly can be called an otherwise “Raven State” that no one gives a second thought about with a grand total population of only 700,700 people with a 4 to 7% decline with the biggest export is our youth as they fly overhead.

Yeah, that saddens me some. Sure, but what are you going to do, right?

Hell

For me and my family, we chose to move out here after my exile at Pierre, South Dakota. I did my time in hell thank you very much. The prairie never done anything for me and nothing in sharp contrast to the Black Hills here. Plenty of great things to do and actually see. I am not a travel agency, but you can Google or Bing it all you want though.

As far as my life is concerned and according to Laura, Lawrence County has been the longest place I personally lived at. This is a personal record. I thought I might throw that in there too.

I would like to take this moment in time and thank the tens of thousands of folks who have come to read and take with them a little something in return. So, if you do find DarcWorX which is synonymous to me, Douglas S. Taylor. Well, I am certainly thankful for that too.

Don’t make yourself a stranger and when the time comes to release my next novel that I am working on between things, I will make sure you all will know about it and the “Haunted Library” page reinstated.

Thanks for your time, your donations, and your support.

Douglas S. Taylor

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November 2016 DarcWorX Magazine Cover Leaks Out!

Created by Douglas S. Taylor for DarcWorX  ©2016

Created by Douglas S. Taylor for DarcWorX  ©2016

I know some people may never “get” why I design these monthly magazine covers which are not real magazine covers or magazines themselves that one can buy. No, just a little bit of therapy that gets my mind and soul off of the negative things of reality. Some people shoot heroin, take drugs, drink alcohol, and other very harmful things to escape that has nothing to do with creativity. Sure, creating, inventing, and writing are my preferred drugs of choice. These things give me much enjoyment and one can say, “It’s Taylor’s drugs of choice.” 

Now some of you may regard Marijuana as a drug. Though, you couldn’t be more wrong and that is all I am going to say about that.

DarcWorX is a creation and online presence let alone, a real active business that handles all my professional work. I remember some time ago that there were two trolls attempting to thwart anything I have been doing with accusations. These two individuals you can read about here.

Most really creative people, the ethereal imaginary visionaries making things happen instead of idly by doing nothing are the ones that seem to have a small group of people, if we even want to call them “people” always attempts to drag you down to their murky level, control you, and of course, hate everything you may be doing. For me, I drag out trolls and expose them and their allegations into the light. I suggest you do the very same.

If you say, “Hey, I don’t have any haters or wanna-be self-acclaimed…” Then you are not making an impact with your work, your talents, or have a social networking campaign going on. Your Internet presence is low or non existent.

Expand your social growth on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, and you will see what I mean. Bad news is good news as these little shit-breeders cause their small following and those following the following to go and see what the hubbub is about. In doing so, page views are cash for us via our various sponsors. So, as these folks come and visit your work, and by the way, the proof is in the pudding, you’re raking in more cash and more free exposure. This happened to me twice here on the blog leading to a fat paycheck in the end. You almost want to thank the couple of people for all the page views.

As for many such as myself, these contrite folks are still following me via fake accounts across the social media – I find that extremely funny though ghoulishly morbid by those who do these things.

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For the creative people, consider these things I have mentioned as an occupational hazard though it should be nothing to stop you in the lest. You should be encouraged to know, if you are having these kinds of situations, then, you’re doing your job!

I do my work unabated by the negative sources. In this day and age, the trolls can be so easily found out and dealt with via legal means if these people turn really ugly and threaten you physically, emotionally, to include your family members, and professionally.

Cyber-Bullying is something that ISP providers, social admins, and over all, the Internet no longer entertains. These attacks, those that I mentioned in the above paragraph are threats – serious threats and these are the kinds that are treated urgently.

Anything else, just block, delete, remove, and continue on without worry. If they persist, then do as I have done.

Moving on…

So, what have I been up to?

I have been working with Icone Label Pictures as their new movie graphic artist, producer, and whatever else Emilie Flory asks of me making things into a reality for the entire team in certain aspects. Yes, the short movie will become full-length, and yes, this is the real deal that is going on at Shriekfest 2016 right now. I have already been told about how well this short is doing, directed by none other than, Emilie Flory and the short story by her as well.

Now the update on the motion picture, “Starfucker” Emilie roped up two new scriptwriters that will without any doubt kick this stunning independent movie up a couple of notches. You can read more about this project of ours here.

When I get the opportunity, I still write, and blog. Though, my plate is full with other additional projects that are highly darc and deviate sure makes the time fly by. So, on that note, I shall conclude.

Thanks for reading,

Douglas S. Taylor

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