The God of the Harvest; Kaine – Chapter One

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The sun is particularly bright, the sky a brilliant blue, and the clouds just seemed a little more fluffier than normal as the young boy observes upon his cherry red metallic Schwinn Stingray five-speed bike as he sails in the May breeze. The boy is smiling uncontrollably armed with his Alienware Vindicator Backpack that has his Alienware’ s top of the line laptop within that is also brand new. Today it is his birthday as he is heading to his school of Deadwood Elementary. His light brown shoulder-length hair is flowing in the breeze as he continues peddling down Charles Street just passing the Lead-Deadwood Regional Hospital and Clinic heading wonderfully to Sherman Street.

The young lad looks up on the small mountain to his right where he can see the stark fortress-looking sanitarium. The Whispering Pines where long ago the Mt. Moriah Cemetery once stood nearly a century ago. The young boy glanced up at the facility as his smile left him thinking of the legends, myths, and heresy about the dreadful place where the United States puts its most diabolical of the criminally insane, the very worst of society in which will rot and die living in the belly of the beast. Some of these insane people will never see the light of day again. As he looks up at the high stone walls and razor wire, the young lad can clearly see the green-tinted guard towers. Those in the belly several floors below the emerald yard and concrete walkways is the condemned in which there is no escape from in the spite of the long history of this facility. Historical facts did mention of one inmate who did make it to the top and if this insane man didn’t waste time in dropping on by to see the Warden and Chief Psychiatrist, well, some say that Brandon “The Worm” Reed would have did the impossible – escape. Reed instead had to take valuable time to carve and dismember the good Warden in his office. Reed’s morbid crime would immediately be uncovered and the general alarm was sent off and as for Reed, he was literally chopped down in a blizzard of gunfire.

The boy recalls in his mind of when it was a class project to research and share with the other students findings before the class. The young boy’s topic was on the violent broken mind of none other than Brandon “The Worm” Reed. Evidently, as he suspected, most of the class would share about Scott Solomon Dean who was a demonic-driven mass murderer that obtained a world-record recognized by the Guinness Book of World Records. Scott Solomon was one of a kind as was with Brandon “The Worm” Reed and some others just lurking out of the limelight centered on the world record holder.

As for the young lad’s presentation giving out such accurate and vivid description of all the things leading up the Reed’s arrest and his talents of being an escape artist breaking out of every federal penitentiary and asylum before his re-capture. Reed made a crimson wake through New Mexico, Arkansas, Missouri, Nebraska, and Colorado. As the young lad began sharing these exploits in his graphic detail that caused the teacher to blush and rise up stopping the young man from continuing to share before his classmates in the very front of the classroom. Even in the spite of the fact he wasn’t allowed to continue reading from his well-prepared report laced with facts, sources, and pictures of some of Reed’s victims, the lad did receive an “A+” for his troubles.  

The boy  now turns his attention back to peddling and staying out of the way of traffic and the pedestrians. Today is not only just his twelfth birthday, moreover, it his is last day of his sixth-grade. Next year, the young lad will be in Middle School up in Lead just four miles away, and too far to ride his new bicycle that his mother bought.  His favorite uncle, his only uncle in fact bought him the new laptop with everything this youngster needs.

The child on his bike then glides into the Packhorse Convenient Store across the street from the Deadwood Police Station on Sherman Street. He carefully parks his bike on its kickstand and not worrying about someone stealing it, though, he does indeed carry a lock wrapped under the cream-metallic banana seat where the adjustable chrome seating post. He boldly walks in and sees an older grey haired woman behind the cash register  talking to one of the local men about her age. The boy then turns his attention to the coolers directly in front of him. He walks up hoping that his favorite energy drink is still on sale, the two-for-one special on Amplified in the 26 ounce cans. To his relief, the sale is still on that raises another smile on his freckled face as his green emerald eyes shine capturing the green glow of the bright L.E.D lights within the cooler. He goes to open the cooler and there in his reflection of the polished glass he catches someone or something standing behind him.

The child turns quickly as his high-top basketball shoes squeak on the clean floor. He gasps as he holds his breath while his right hand is firmly gripping the cooler door. He sees in an instant that there is no one there behind him, lurking over him. He sees the old grey haired cashier still speaking to the man in his bib overhauls. Seeing this and the fact no one is behind him, he turns once more to open the cooler door when a sharp pain struck him in through his forehead like a bullet that causes him to let go of the cooler door and grab his forehead with both hands and closing his eyes. The pain is intense and he almost calls for help as he is thinking that he could be dying. His young heart is now beating so hard that it seems that in any moment it will explode out of his chest.

“Scotty MacLeod, I know of your kind by the very blood coursing through your veins…” The voice is inside of his head as his sudden headache begins to subside where he felt that any moment he would lose his balance and collapse on the floor. The voice within him was more than just words, young Scotty could feel these words resonate throughout his body, and the resonation is bitterly cold.

“I know you can hear me young Scotty…” The voice from within struck again. The voice, foreign in a dialect the child could not understand. The voice sounded old or ancient Scotty thought in a terrified silence. The young lad without saying a word out loud opened the cooler and got his two large cans of Amplified.

“Brave child you are…” The voice within Scotty’s mind spoke again with a sinister and very troubling laugh mocking the young boy as he walked up in a hurry to the counter fetching his money balled up in his pocket.

“Hello Scotty and happy birthday to you.” The cashier smiled down at him. On her sagging breast was her name tag that simply read, “Coleen.”

Scotty did not smile, he is sweating now with a troubled and confused look upon his face. Still, he knew his manners, “Thank you Coleen. Thank you a lot.” He tried to smile but found it impossible at the moment.

Scotty removed his pack quickly and loaded the two cans safely inside. “Scotty, that is a very beautiful bike.” Coleen smiled looking through the large glass widows of the store.

“My mother got it for me for my birthday, and thank you again.” He smiled this time at her.

“Today is your last day at school too?”

“Yes mam, that it is.” Scotty replied as she gave him his change and his receipt before heading out to get on his bike to peddle as fast as he could away from the little store. He could feel the icy breath upon him by what seems to be for everyone else, totally invisible.

Scotty rationalizes as he carefully waits for the crosswalk light to change allowing him to safely cross over into Pine Street. He has a moment to take in what he heard within him. He comes to the conclusion that it is all his own excitement catching up to him in this very odd way or it may be some sort of ghost. After all, Deadwood is choked full of ghosts and ghost stories from its violent ancient history from back in the days of Calamity Jane and the likes of Wild Bill Hickok.

Scotty heard rumors and stories about the ancient graveyard of Mt. Moriah Cemetery where these two along with a good many other sorts and characters were laid to rest. Then of course, the history of how the Whispering Pines Sanitarium was built upon the graveyard. The official story was when it was constructed in the latter part of the twenty-first century, the historical old Mt. Moriah Cemetery was moved at relocated with all the graves re-interned at the new site to include all of the gravestones. However, the actual graves and those within them were not removed or relocated to the new spot. Scotty believed in this legend that the complex, the Whispering Pines Sanitarium is built upon the dead still there, and their troubled ghosts haunt the place.

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As scotty rode passed the Lawrence County Capital building along the wide sidewalk, he began focusing his attention to all of the festivities of his last and final day at Deadwood Elementary. Already he can see the policemen and women at the crosswalk from Pine Street over Main Street. He had to get off of his bike and walk across the crosswalk under the supervision of the police officers. To his right looking down on Main Street, in the late twentieth Century the city had a multitude of chintzy gambling machines, prostitution that survived the nineteenth century, and hotels to swindle all the people from their money. These places did not exist long after the “Crash of 2008” in which was, as he understood, the fall of the American Empire, and before the invasion of the Chinese that took well over half of the original United States. This was all before young Scotty’s time, in fact, a good full century before him and his mother.

“Hello Scotty, nice bike, buddy.” Scotty looked to the left and it is officer Bob. Officer Bob is a former weekly visitor of his mothers. Scotty didn’t like him and when officer Bob spoke to him, his words were like a whip across the youngsters back.

Fuck you, you goddamned dickweed…Young Scotty thought to himself as he said aloud, “Thank you, Officer Bob.” Scotty couldn’t get across fast enough.

The officer concluded, “Happy birthday too, Scotty. Tell your mother I said ‘hello.’

Motherfucker, suck my dick, bitch… This thought brought a smile on the youngsters face.

“Such a temper and the language. ‘dickweed’ I do not know of that word. What is of its origin?” The icy gravel voice began to laugh causing Scotty’s hearing to deaden and almost causing the child to cover his own ears.

“Oh, I am sorry about that. I can see into your mind quite deeply and can feel your emotions. You do hate this, this, this policeman. It has been a while, a long while since I have been back here to earth I’m afraid.” The voice grew quieter as Scotty’s eyes began to well up.

“I will take care of this Officer Bob for you. You shall not have to deal with him anymore. You may want to turn and look upon him on last time before he is wiped off the face of this world.” The voice warned.

Scotty didn’t want to turn. Scotty doesn’t want something bad happen to the police officer in the spite of things and before having a chance to say anything through his mind to this entity, a myriad of pictures began crossing the horizons of his mind. Scotty stopped as his eyes began to literally show a dim reflection of what he is seeing as these things began to be vividly clear.

Scotty paused standing on the sidewalk though his mind is somewhere else and as the young lad can see from these strong pictures in his mind is not his own but those of this creature. Scotty could see a strange world filled with hideous impossible to describe beasts and evils beyond his own imagination. Terrorized, Scotty could see what looks like a brilliant arching bright orb with a long tail leave this alien world’s upper green hazing atmosphere. In his mind, he could see in this orb that passes him by as if Scotty is floating in space. He covers his face as he could see an evil-looking creature that does not look like anything human but more like some sort of reptilian type that he has never seen before. Then, without warning Scotty’s mind is above the earth as he could see what looks like a comet swing by him as he could feel the blinding heat and light.

Scotty closed his eyes standing there holding his bike though thousands of miles above the earth. He is about to find out also in another time long forgotten.

In his mind’s eye he could see the comet that is actually the ship of this terrible creature enter the earth’s atmosphere. Again, the scene violently changed to where Scotty is standing firmly on the ground and off to the distance in the sky, the young child could see the comet strike down beyond the village before him. Scotty could not see passed the high wall made of some sort of clay. Then as he noticed the wall and men armed with spears and shields were looking at the brilliant comet as the shockwave like that of a small atomic bomb followed by a fireball rising up to the sky as brilliant as the sun. Though Scotty some distance away from the wall was knocked down to the ground causing him to lose his breath and the pain coming from this. Even in his physical body standing there, his stomach spasms is keeping him from breathing.

“Breath young Scotty…” The voice cut across like thunder in this vision of him lying on the sandy ground.

It took Scotty a few moments to regain his breath and he arose up from his back laying there facing the wall. He noticed that the men, these soldiers or guards missing from their post only moments ago. Scotty can see that the blast must of knocked them down off the wall but he could not see them in the sand. The wall, for Scotty to guess, about forty-feet high. Scotty could not hear enough yet due to the blast though returning enough to clearly hear the voice and some panic within the village.

“Where am I?” Scotty asked in his mind.

“The land called, Sumer, and the time is known to you earthlings as somewhere around the fifth millennium BCE. The village before you is now long gone and forgotten. This place is, or for that matter, was the first settlement that I visited as you can see. I found the Engineers’ work on creating these humans from their own DNA and that of the great apes, the Neanderthals and you may or may not know…”

Scotty turned in his vision to face the voice seemingly behind him expecting to see the specter he glimpsed at the Packhorse. Naturally, there is no one standing behind him. He turns around to face the village.

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“This area, this land of Sumer is known later by the Greeks as ‘Mesopotamia.’ A name simply meaning the lands between the Tigress and Euphrates – The golden crescent of fertile land. Egypt, Rome, Greece, and some other cultures do not exist yet. You can say, most of Europe during this time is thawing out as the people there are basically still swinging from tree to tree…” The entity laughed briefly about his evaluation of the Europeans.

“Is this the first place for us humans?” The child asked as he looked up at the fireball fading.

“From Sumer? No, the Sumerians’ ancestors came from the north from the regions of south eastern Turkey. This place I would later come to visit and feed called, “Göbekli Tepe” created around the tenth millennium BCE as your kind knows of time. Though, I was not there when it and those sites around it – Some yet to be discovered by the way, is just a bleak foothold of the beginnings of civilization as you know of it…” The voice sighed heavily and spoke once more.

“Now that is enough, more than enough for now. It is time for you to embrace your learning…”

The voice faded away as Scotty’s mind swimming in these powerful visions back safely to the present. Scotty looked around as his eyes cleared and noticed that the time he was away trapped in these visions, only a couple of minutes actually passed. Realizing the fact that he was gone far longer to witness these things, these things that the creature showed of himself and the world at the time he entered it. Scotty rationalizes, This shit cannot be from my own imagination and of my own subconscious. I have never heard of these places and those things I have just seen. I cannot be going crazy as fuck, can I?

While Scotty walked and contemplated these things shaking like a leaf, Scotty is joined by his friends as they all wished him a happy birthday and salutations. They marveled over his bike as he locked it up at the bike rack and testing the lock. Scotty thanked these various classmates of his. Scotty is not only popular amongst his fellow classmates, nevertheless, he is the smartest kid in school, and his S.A.T. scores proves it. His teachers to include Scotty’s family consisting of his mother, her brother in which is Scotty’s uncle, and his grandmother. Scotty never knew of his father first-hand. His mother tried to paint a respectable picture of his father to include a name, occupation, and his death. However, the stories of his father is that of a work of fiction made up by his mother. Scotty’s grandmother, a bitter woman has a story in sharp contrast of his father and the fact that, “The deadbeat died in a shoot-out over a heroin deal that went south. Yeah, only after he knocked your mother up first…” His grandmother’s words are seared into his brain forever. As for his uncle, his uncle painted more of a balanced picture between the two stories. “Yeah, your father, the sperm-donor and not much more did in fact die in a drug deal like grandma says. I don’t know really anything about him other than the fact that for whatever reason, you’re mother got hooked up with him. You know your mom had a drug problem that almost cost her, her own life, right?” His uncle would go on to say, “I guess, your mother owed him, your dad, some money, a drug debt, and she used her body to pay it off. She did that a lot so I have heard. That is how you have become. I am sorry about this, Scotty. I beleive you are old enough to hear the truth…” Scotty was about nine-years old when his uncle sat down on the wooden steps of his deck at the trailer park in Puma.

Scotty’s mother, well, Scotty knew that she recovered from being a junkie and all those things that can be associated with it, to include those stories that grandma brings up unsolicited every so often. Scotty only knows that his mother loves him deeply and takes good care of him. In fact, she is a single parent holds down two part-time jobs to help make ends meet. The both of them live in the same trailer park as his uncle. His uncle is close by, close enough to keep a good eye on Scotty and his mother both.

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Everyone to include his grandma is hoping for the best for young Scotty. They hope that he will be the first to go to college and as for Scotty, he is smart enough, in fact, a mental attitude that is several years a head of him. He already knows that the only way we could go into college is on some kind of scholarship. Scotty finds himself worrying over these sorts of things when most kids do not or should not. Still, he frets.

The bell rings outside in the playground and he walks into the building. As he is doing so, he is alone when that sinister voice comes back within him.

“Young Scotty, I can read your thoughts. You’re mother’s a whore according to your grandmother. Your grandmother is the one that was a whore all along. An old whore turning tricks.” Just then Scotty saw mental images of his grandmother performing vivid sexual acts and getting paid for it.

Scotty rubbed his eyes and whispered, “Get out of my head, devil.”

“Devil? I have been called many things, as to this ‘devil’ is one I have not heard. What is the meaning of that word young Scotty – Do tell?”

“You’re evil” Scotty said aloud as a playground monitor was walking up behind him.

“Scotty, who are you calling evil?” The tall old woman asked. It is none other than the notorious playground gestapo, Miss Slaughter who is rumored to be one of the last vestiges from the Third Reich. Just caught in her shadow would put a sudden freeze upon your shoulders as the small hairs on the back of your neck would raise. Of course, by then, it was too late. 

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud, I guess.” Scotty then turned back facing the entrance of the school. This is all he needed was drawing attention from Miss Slaughter and her Nazi Interrogation processes rumored by some troublemakers on the school grounds. It is also rumored that Miss Slaughter is formerly retired from the Whispering Pines Sanitarium that loomed over the entire town. Nevertheless, a daunting scene only amplified by the presence of Miss Slaughter who stood well over six-foot tall and in her late sixties.

“Scotty, what is wrong? Are you afraid to tell Miss Slaughter that you have me inside your head?” Scotty’s young body began to drop in temperature. The young lad could see his own breath inside the hallway of his warm school.

“Miss Slaughter, a German descendant like so many among this region. Alas, this is why I am here…” The voice faded.

“Happy birthday, Scotty.” Miss Slaughter said walking in behind him into the school building.

You’re here for Miss Slaughter?” Scotty oddly felt somewhat relieved.

“No. However back in her day she had quite the passion of seducing young men in the above-ground facility of that Sanitarium where she worked as a nurse while supplementing her income by performing sexual acts upon those crazy young men…”

The voice opened up Scotty’s mind enough to graciously show him a few vivid moving images of Miss Slaughter in what seemed a couple of decades ago. The vision of her performing fellatio to a couple of patients being orally gratified. The evil voice then presented as vivid as before with additional motion images of Miss Slaughter in the Staff Men’s Room performing various gratuitous acts of various sexual escapades.

“Almost makes you want to seek employment up at the Pines, doesn’t it?” The voice now saturated with sarcasm.

I don’t need to see this bullshit and you’re fucking making it up!” Scotty defiantly tortes.

“Not at all, these images are directly coming from her mind. Yes, I can see all your thoughts no matter who you are. As for the former whore, Miss Slaughter, she does not know I am in her head at all…”

Scotty could not even turn back to face Miss Slaughter after seeing nothing less than these highly provocative and compromising sexual vexatious acts now forever seared into young Scotty’s mind. This ranks right up there on the top of Scotty’s list of, “Things I truly Do Not Need To Know.”

Scotty slightly turns his head over his right shoulder, “Thank you, Miss Slaughter.”

You’re evil and perverted…”

“Scotty, you’re right about me being evil and if the word ‘devil’ means this, then, I guess, I am the ‘devil’ as you say. Though, I do feel especially evil right now – “ The voice within Scotty was interrupted abruptly by his own inner voice.

You’re not real. You’re only a voice inside of me. You are some twisted hallucination I am having. It could be the breakfast I had, bad eggs, or bad bacon, or a whole host of things.” Scotty warned in his thoughts to this source of this voice.

Scotty forced to usurp control of his own thoughts to retaliate to the voice so that Miss Slaughter would not hear and think the young boy is going completely out of his mind.

“Oh, your mind is now stronger. This is good though, it shall not prevail over my control, dear Scotty. If it makes you feel any better into fooling yourself that I am not real and only a figment of your imagination then by all means, keep telling yourself that…” The laughter came back mocking the troubled child.

“Now to prove that I am real and you will see my face once again, and oh yes, I was standing behind you by the way in the store though no one else caught a glimpse of me other than you. This fact alone made you worthy in my eyes to do my bidding…” The color began running out of Scotty as if an avalanche of insurmountable dread came down upon his weaken state.

“I am going to show you how real I am. I am going to blow up the Packhorse and well, in the matter of my evilness today, the entire block, and perhaps more.” The dread is literally beginning to crush the young boy making it nearly impossible for him to breathe.

Scotty turns around sharply and notices that Miss Slaughter has entered the faculty break room as the door slowly closes behind her.

No, don’t do it! Don’t kill or blow up anyone! Fuck it man, I’ believe you’re real then. Just don’t do it!” Scotty exasperated. Yet, there is no answer from this foreign voice.

For Scotty, it seems like time is dragging on as he walks into his class where the first subject, his favorite, mathematics will begin after home room. Needless to say, Scotty feels like the entire world is on his shoulders as his body is ridden with anxiety. His stress peaks as he continues to become even more peeked. His teacher, Miss Pinkie just got out of college, young, vibrant blonde that turned heads, and also been seen with the science teacher, Dr. Jay Hamilton. Besides, nothing goes unnoticed in this town since people don’t know how to mind their own business. Deadwood is no exception of the small town mentality.

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Again for Scotty, time seemed to drag on as he entered the classroom only to find out he still had a few seconds left before the tardy bell rang. He quickly took his seat after carefully sitting his Alienware Backpack down next to his chair as all the students turned to face him. In unison, all cheerfully shouted, “Happy Birthday, Scotty!”

Scotty embarrassed as his face reddened and pretended to give an earnest smile under the turbulent sea of anxiety, “Thanks everyone.” He returned making eye contact with only a couple of his fellow students.

“Good you made it in here. Now since you are on the other side of the building, this shouldn’t effect you too much…” The voice within warned.

Please, you don’t have to do this. Please no…” Scotty tries to reason with the sinister voice. There is no answer as Miss Pinkie bends over to pick up the scripto marker for the large whiteboard. Her heart-shaped sculptured ass bled through ever so slightly under her sheer lime-green slacks.

Damn…” Scotty thought to himself.

“Damn indeed…” The voice within the young boy concurred.

“Oh, there is one in your class called, “Donna?” The sinister voice is especially cold and calculating.

Why, why do you want to know that?”  Scotty could feel the presences of this creature leave him ever so slightly as if it were like an invisible fog over the back of the classroom drifting in the slightest as it sought out the young brunette twelve-year-old girl in a single pony tail. Scotty could not look at her, he felt in doing so would give her away to the lingering wisp of fog that outstretched like a wicked hand as its own index finger gently tapped the top of her head. Scotty could see it is all too late. The creature in this dreadful and egregious act found her out.

Not to worry young Scotty. I can find those that belong to me on my own without any assistance of your mind. Though, I do find your interesting. Now forgive me while I embrace her mind…”

Terrified as his eyes reflected the horror began to engulf him as he could see Donna’s steel blue eyes roll up to the top of her head as her body stiffened. More of this evil energy is leaving Scotty as his eyes welled up for the sake of Donna which he has known since his first year of school. To his continued horror, the being mostly with Donna now making her rise up in from her desk and walk right out of the classroom in its control without the teacher or the other students even noticing as if she is just as invisible as the one controlling her.

God, leave her alone!” Scotty attempts to plead again.

“God is right. Now you shall mind your own and this little one belongs to me. Her soul, spirit, and her body belongs to me, not you, not anyone or anything else. Now, enjoy the show as it begins to unfold…” The voice fades away from Scotty’s mind as Donna under the wicked spell walks down the hallway turning the corner on her left. The mental contact is gone, Scotty cannot see any longer in his mind’s eye as to what will happen to Donna’s own fate.

Scotty’s young heart is about to explode as he bursts out aloud freezing the teacher dead in her tracks, “Miss Pinkie something very bad is about to happen to Donna!” Scotty rises up suddenly.

Shocked in his outburst as the students all turn to look as oddly at him as the teacher is right now. “Scotty, whatever you mean?” she says sternly.

“Something bad is controlling her. It means to do her harm!” He turns to point at her vacant desk, “You see, she’s fucking gone!” he blurts out as the oxygen leaves the room through the monumental chorus of gasps fills the gaping stunning mouths of everyone to include his teacher in the classroom.

“Scotty Andrew MacLeod!” The teacher exasperated as some of the students began to giggle at his outburst.

“She just left and none of you seen her go!” Scotty yelps as the teacher puts both her hands firmly on her hips.

“No one has seen Donna because she did not come in this morning. Her parents called in and said she is ill!” She allowed young Scotty to attempt to process this new information in.

“I saw what I saw, and I know that something god-awful is going to happen to her!”

“Okay, that is more than enough out of you young man. To the Principal’s Office you go now and take your stuff. Shame on you!” Scotty is beyond confused. He does as he is told as his mind and that of the reality around him just went completely sideways as he leaves under a cloud of laughter.

For Scotty, this is not the first time he has visited Donald Perry, the Principal of this school. With any luck since this is the last day, it will be the last time he shall see Principal Perry – So he hopes.

He begins his long walk down the hall in the opposite direction as Donna went. “Donna was here, she was, and you fucking got her you evil son of a bitch!” Like before, only a deadening silence.

“Could it be just my mind? Could I be hallucinating this whole thing? Could this be nothing more than a nightmare and I am still asleep at home? Goddamnit, I need to wake the fuck up!” He closes his eyes tightly and stops only to give a moment that he hopes all this is just a dream.

He slowly opens his eyes and he sees that he is still standing in the hallway free of windows. His heavy sigh comes forth as he begins to continue the long dreadful walk to the Principal’s Office.

As he walks just up to the door on his right labeled in red letters is, “Faculty Breakroom” as he stops to listen to the cackling on the other side. He hears the school janitor a man known as Raul Gonzalez who is in his last year of retiring below out, “Then I caught the little son of a bitch lifting a pack of cigarettes right from his teacher’s purse before she got back into her classroom!” Those inside the breakroom all began to laugh aloud. Scotty remembers this story being told, he remembers the event that happened two years ago. Scotty remembers the kid in question, a kid deaf in both ears that talked funny because of this fact by the name of Walter Love.

Walter Love’s picture is in the School’s Dictionary right next to the name and definition of, “Rebel.” There is none that even comes close to the legendary antics of Walter Love. Since the First-Grade, Walter was then the Plight Upon All Humanity according to the school’s faculty. The memory of Walter Love and some of his antics came to mind causing Scotty to quickly flash a genuine smile. Walter Love is nothing less than a god of deviant mayhem and malevolent rebellion that rivals the Fall of Satan.

As to Walter Love, he eventually gotten worse and his mother planned to have him committed to some child-like asylum in Rapid City. Unfortunately, Walter had found out about his mother’s plans and torched the entire trailer park in Puma killing some fifty people before he publicly set himself on fire only after splashing several quarts of gasoline on his body. Rumors were all abound in saying that eyewitnesses saw and heard him also claim that someone or something was in his head telling him what to do to get everyone back in this hideous act of revenge. Then Walter Love under a cloud of screams, pandemonium, and the sirens approaching then turned the lighter on himself. The home-made video catching his final acts went viral on the net. To this very day if anyone wanted to view this horrible video of a troubled youngster can see it. As for the young lad, his smile vanished quickly in his recall of that terrible event.

Scotty then began to step away from the breakroom door and continue pressing on as the florescent lighting above him began to flash as the sudden shockwave rocked the school building sending Scotty to the floor causing him to strike his head upon the unforgiving tile floor. Outside of the school is a fireball that some would later claim could be seen as far as Meade County and the hamlet of Saint Onge. Those in Spearfish would also lay claim of seeing this huge fireball high up into the air. Some initially thought it was a nuclear weapon of sorts. In the investigation that would start within a couple of days by Homeland Security would conclude that the massive explosion is not a nuclear weapon that killed nearly five-hundred people vaporized instantly and about another seventy-four that would succumb to various wounds from the devastation’s aftermath.

One thing is for certain according to the official press release is that the explosion was not a nuclear weapon detonated by the Chinese who conquered half of the original western and central region of the former United States or of some violent act of an American Extremist Jihadist. The blast  was so intense that it broke most every window in the Deadwood area that wasn’t destroyed directly from the blast was completely knocked out. People up above at the Whispering Pines reported the blast rocked the facility but no one was hurt.

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Homeland Security would bring more assets into the epicenter of the blast to determine what kind of explosive was used, who manufactured it, and how it got here in the first place. They would find out quickly that all investigative means and technology would show no evidence of residue of any kind to include any foreign debris even from some sort of kinetic device made of some exotic metal. Unexplained, unresolved, and what very little that Homeland knew, they were not sharing to the public. This fueled even more speculation by the locals’ tongue-waggling.

Meanwhile, Scotty is in the Deadwood – Lead Regional Hospital fighting for his life in ICU. As the powerful explosion engulfed the school, the roof above him collapsed. It would take the First Responders and volunteers from the region some two additional days after being cleared by Homeland to rescue and or recover anyone that may yet to be alive. Scotty was found two days later thanks to a German Sheppard trained by FEMA that found the little boy yet alive. The dog and its fellow worker would offer a glimmer of new hope that some others, children, and loved ones might be alive as well.

As Scotty’s uncle and his mother both wept in bitter tears hoping against all hope holding on to little Scotty lying motionless in his bed under what doctors are calling a “Grave Condition” and lowly commenting that young Scotty is not expected to make it from his injuries and being exposed the the elements.

Along with Scotty from the Deadwood Elementary School, most of the bodies recovered was his former teacher, Miss Pinkie, his entire classmates, and all those with the exception of Miss Slaughter in the Faculty Breakroom were among the dead. As for those surviving is indeed Miss Slaughter also in ICU but in “Critical Condition” as well as Dr. Jay Hamilton, and several others who are fellow students. There were other buildings along Upper Main Street where FEMA found people clinging onto  life by a most frail thread.

The blast left a forty-foot crater deep into the ground where once the Packhorse stood. The crater is sixty-five feet in diameter as some would speculate that this may have been caused by a meteor or some other space natural-like event. Of course, FEMA, and Homeland denied any of this along with other rumors. One thing is also for certain amongst those on the fringes of society speculate that this explosion may have been the cause of something that went off the rails with some sort of top-secret government experiment or an alien-reversed-engineered weapons malfunction. This is the most popular conspiracy theory on the subject.

As time would continue, the speculations, the stories, the secretive actions and the withholding of developing information of Homeland Security only bolstered the minds of the conspiracy theorists nation-wide and causing doubt even among those still clinging on faith that the United States Government doesn’t lie to its public.

While Scotty MacLeod’s body was on the cusp of this life and the life waiting for him on the other side, his mind nearly dead contains a small ember deep within. This burning ember is by all means, is indeed keeping him lingering in this world. In this ember is nothing less than his lifeforce – energy that is gathered and prepared to leave his body behind.

To Be Continued…

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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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Grimstalker

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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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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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The Dream…

TheDream

Last night I had the most vivid and surreal dream. I found myself upon another world in another time. In this reverie of the bleakness surrounding me, I was upon a great and powerful beast. Cloaked and as the bitter cold, I clutched my tattered garment as I can see my own breath. I looked up at the leper sky as this wind, a wind of broken promises threw dust into my watering eyes. I know this rancorous wind. This wailing wind is all too familiar to me in life as well as this desolate place I know not.

I looked around me and could only see that I was on a bloody field of pain and misery. These things I have known throughout my life as well. Though, nothing as graphic and pronounced as if it is a dark omen of the dread and trepidation to come. Yet all of this I thought as I gazed in silence to consider. Again, more questions without answers.

I heard long ago in the realities of my world I have departed from in my slumber that hell is the impossibilities of reason. Have I reached such a malevolent place?
 
I sat there upon my blackened beast reconciling all the things I am taking into account. Off into the great and distant dismal horizon as I could only see the countless rotting corpses and among them captured in their own mortal finality, I can see all the false flags and banners of hollowed hopes and the deafening silence of insurmountable defeat save for the wind giving cause to the flapping of these banners and flags. Most I can see, none is alive, no man, or beast among the unimaginable carnage.

Perhaps these tens of thousands of bodies frozen into the earth where they fell in death were of what I can perceive is of three different armies.  Among the dead were their ancient religious relics. I recognized these artifacts – each of them.

Stunned by the vestiges around me with the notion that I was beginning to draw a conclusion, at best, formulating a cause for such violence and barbarity unimaginable. My heart began filling with sorrow and dismay as I moved on making my way. I would soon discover a dark slowly moving river of the terrors within. I can see just below the waterline waiting for another victim, waiting for me to fall into their arms only to be brought down to the depth of this wretchedness.

Disturbing

This spellbinding river of rancid with the stench treachery and of deceit began to show me the callous of such revulsions of how all this death became. Fascinated but cautious to the shadowy promise of sudden death I kept safe from the banks of this sable river of both horrors and mysteries. My suspicions confirmed that this mighty battle of legions upon legions fighting to their own deaths in a falsehood spun by their faiths and those that cast such damning lies. For among the dead I saw the bones and decay of children caught up in this great battle.

The wind unceasing, I turned away from the banks and found an old bridge. This eerie bridge as I could clearly see is made from many skulls and spines of the dead. I crossed over precariously only feeling more alone and alien to such a place.

I whispered, “What God would demand or closer to this horror would approve of such a great waste of humanity that I bare in witness?” This question of course went unanswered as the path before me would take me yet to another landscape of black vespers rising into the same sky poisoned by the acrid toxins which would turn to a poisonous rain devouring any chance of life from the earth.

The air now growing still of the rotting sea of bodies all around I continued to press on though as the rain burned my face and exposed skin stinging like many small vipers. Though, the true poison from such a rain has an odor of condemnation, jealousy, pride, greed, and avarice.

“Is this the abstruse work of some sorcerer that bewitched so many, too many, to fight and die upon?” Again, I whispered in spite of the stinging lacerating rain.

As that of the wind, the rain had come to end as I continued winding through the destruction of humanity. The air still strong with the rotting and the essence of unrelenting vengeance. As I continued following the course laid out before me through this mysterious means that I truly know not the reasons of travelling through such a hellish place ever so foreboding.

Women

As I rose higher along the side of a slow rolling hill I could see before me on the horizon a great chair amongst the heaping bodies as I lead my beast towards this mighty chair made of precious stone and jade. There as I drew ever nearer I could see it is the remains of some great king who died so many years before like the great sea of others. I can clearly take into account of his heavy golden crown upon his brow while holding a large sword with both of his skeletal hands as he sat there through the ages of time in his rotting clothing and rusted armor. I can see he is or in life, wearing a single eye patch as I found myself whispering once more, “In the land of the blind, the one eye man is king. King under this leper sky.” I scorned.

I continued as I entered a strange mist and into a heavy fog froth with phantom spirits of the damned that lie decomposing for legions of miles untold. Like Sirens, these phantoms sang out their acrid songs of their beliefs and of their superstitious leading them only to a lethal outcome.

In this daunting fog and mist, I can see those behind the phantoms clutching on strings as if these specters were nothing more than marionettes controlled by these otherwise, taskmasters of the utmost cruelest tyranny possible.

Then like a clap of thunder booming overhead I shunned myself from the impending doom of the onslaught of the brooding weather.

I heard a gentle whisper from somewhere beyond saying it was time for me to leave this place and to wake up…

Create
FBI


A Fools’ Circle…

November2015

I see ISIS has already killed 250,000 of Muslims in Syria, Iran, and Iraq. The CIA did a great job engineering Obama’s dream of, “By Any Means Necessary…” So now those in fear grows into Islamophobia and this fear is spread across the sea of the innocence. Yes, Islamophobia is spreading like a virus of condemnation among the mind-numbing mentality of the Walmart Nation and from the fear mongers they cast upon these coals of white-hot lustful hatred to anyone calling themselves Muslim.

As Adolf Hitler first killed his own, so has ISIS governed by the guise of of another Holy Jihad. Though the true cause is the lust for war and obeying their true god, the CIA who beckons instability in the lands of the former Great Persian Empire and before the Ghosts of Babylon. The rotting bodies of innocent Muslim men, women, and their children shown proof of paying the ultimate price by the bloody hands that guide this wretched army of killers among their own.

ISIS who is blinded by their deadly ambitions are only a fragment of the lethal deeds of the United States Secret Societies in Government shrouded in treacheries upon treacheries that knows of no bounds.

For the Corporate Powers that be have used another successful wedge to drive into the people of America that is still in a deep coma called, “The American Dream.”

OutAlive

The witches of the CIA conjure spells and casts upon the empty minds yet another Middle Eastern Boogiemen. ISIS enabled, fueled, and armed with murder seared into their dark hearts stretch out to a northern land and strike against the innocents who dwell among the brightest cities in Europe.

Terror once again reaches the people of Paris yet again. Though Obama, a marionette of his masters plays the role of Arson and a Firefighter upon a tightrope. Instability in the Region of the Middle East and Syria by his tightest focus is his ultimate endeavor.

I see into the plans of the masters that govern this world and its marionettes called governments. Yes, Obama is fascist owned and operated. That is the Mindset of Corporate America’s Greed Empire. Get ready for the next False Flag coming soon, very soon to a major city near you.

Will it be the ancient city of the Romans?

Will it be the ancient city of the Anglo-Saxons to surely be leveled by the black hand, the dark instrument of the CIA in ISIS?

Who is to say?

Parasite

Yet the signs are out here in the darker corners of the Internet as the NSA is once again completely blind while distracted in spying of the millions of Terabytes of data being stolen from you and me here in America.

Among the ashes of the dreams dined upon filling your belly. Your heroes for distorted tales of phantoms – Ghosts.

You shroud yourselves in a cloak of paranoia, fear, and as the drums of hatred pounds the enchanting morbid beats under a brooding sky compels you further down a path that will destroy your way of life ever so much more.

There you are caught listening and watching upon bated breath the words of wretched pariahs as they fleece you from your last dollar, your last freedoms, your last drop of blood.

Drunken with power, the taskmasters of this world will stop at nothing, and yet you are entranced into the malevolent spells feeding into the doom and gloom baring the fruits of bitter dread.

So easily without a rational thought amongst, you give up your sons, and daughters to a slaughter of another war without hope but only filled with the deceptive falsehoods you believe as truths.

This is a game I see with plans within plans and a game I shall no longer entertain…

FBI
DarcOfficial