The Alley – Researching The Spot

The Alley

The library was abandoned and still when David got there. Not only had most of the classes finished for the day, but it was also Friday, and everyone had the little worlds that they needed to go into and live before classes started back up on Monday. He made his way back to the tables he usually used near the computers and made himself at home as David assumed he was going to be here until all hours of the night before eventually giving up on this spot, this “Alley” as a joke. He cracked his fingers and neck and sat down and got to work in front of the computer.

“It amazing.” After four hours, that was the only words David could manage at this titular moment in his life. He had searched through the school’s paper archive first as it was easy enough to access. He hadn’t been looking for three minutes before he found an article describing the Alley and the supposed powers it had over the people that saw it. It was written as a purely satirical piece, but there was almost a fear behind the words. For example:

“There can be no doubt that what was seen behind that restaurant that night was not supposed to be witnessed by anything of this world.”

Satirical, obviously, but there was something like steel behind the words, a warning could that dared not be said aloud lest something that was not supposed to hear it, listen in and find the speaker.

Then just a few minutes later, the town’s paper, a tad more severe on the whole, mentioned a “demonic feeling” behind the restaurant and advised the young not to go near it to be on the safe side.

Article after article. It was going back decades. Before it had been a restaurant, it had been a Five and Dime, a bar, an old feed stop for postal horses, and even an armory for the Crown.

This area, spot, whatever you wanted to call it, had been mentioned in every publication with two-hundred miles for the last five-hundred years, and that was just what David could physically find access too.

After five hours and three Red Bulls from the machines upfront, he sat back in his chair with page after page of evidence damning in its absolute certainty that there was something wrong with that particular spot in the Universe.

However, the most frightening thing was that almost all the articles, while explicitly warning the youth not to go near the place, gave near step-by-step instructions on what to do when you got there.

Excusing the vagaries in language over the centuries, the instructions were simple. First, all one needed to do was enter into that Alley with intent in your heart, then approach the spot on the wall, it is blackest one amongst the filth. Finally, you lay your hands on the wall with your desire in your mind, and you would get what it was that you desired.

David couldn’t believe it. There was no mumbo-jumbo, no “spell,” just intent. You needed to tell the spot what you wanted, and you would be given it.

He stood and stretched, the papers he had printed out scattering as he did so and making a general mess of everything. He looked down at one he had not seen before, it seemed to be from a story told by a clergyman around 1486 right here in the city of Speyer. The language had been translated serval times from what appeared Old German and Latin, and the English came across as awkwardly formal.

“Whosever in the times now or in the future approach the Devil’s spot, know then that at that moment the Hammer for you will begin to seek.

Reruns, Groundhogs, Mondays and My Very Own Immortality

Every Day Is Sream Of Consciousness

There is an eerieness to a Monday morning that might as well be any other day of the week for the amount of importance it has in the current health crisis. Sure, the garbage gets taken out, the recycling needs to go to the curb as well, but there is not any of that sustained energy that Mondays have.

No one likes Monday’s sure, but everyone knows that if you get by it, the week has at least started, and you can do what you need to do from there to survive the rest of the week.

Now, though, there is no school. There is no gym in a few hours. There is nothing except a day where you get to do the nothing that you did for the days and weeks before in Groundhog Day-like fashion.

It is why I have begun to do several writings a day. It at least breaks up the monotony and makes me feel like I am doing something different to the norm. Plus, there is a delightful psychological benefit to the writing of multiple posts per day I will get into, you guessed it, later in the day when I do another piece for your perusal.

I suppose the one benefit to having the similarity in days that we are having is that I can accurately measure to see if I am doing better or worse in a specific area. Be it mental health or even water consumption. It is a small thing, but at this point, I am going to go ahead and look for any little achievement that I can that helps me improve myself while I sit here and stay safe for the betterment of all, including my Ducks mind you.

On a different note entirely, I know I have been saying I am going to start writing fiction things again. I will admit I have been slacking on that, but I think I am going to resolve to do at least once piece of short fiction a day, at leas. If I get inspired and can find time for other things, well, I will throw them in for the fun of it as well.

I have a lot of ideas about which to write. There are always ideas up there. I need to get past the idea that the approval of the masses is necessary for the piece to be a thing. I may put them all on the Internet for you to read, but I write them nearly entirely for me, out of a selfish desire to know that my words are not in my head and are out in the ether forever, not just driving me slowly and inexorably mad.

What ideas, I can hear no one but me clamor?

I love writing about serial killers and Cthulhu. I love poetry that makes you feel like I am in love with you and essays that make you want to go out and change the world, instead of sitting back and hoping others will do it for you. I need to write stories of Fae and Goblins, Vampires, and Werewolves. It honors my Dove in ways I can never explain and do not feel the need to try to.

I want to make you believe, if only for a moment, that you are in a better place than where we are now. Not better because of mass murderers and monsters, but better because you have the time to read and reflect on innocent stories from a random loon on the Internet.

Immortality isn’t such a bad thing to long for when you are sending out your thoughts, is it?



As much as I love writing social commentary, and please don’t take that as sarcasm as I honestly do writing about the contemporary machinations of man, what I am, at my heart, is a storyteller and I think today I will try as hard as I can to go back to that if only for a day, to see if I can still do the thing I love to do the most.

His fingers flying over the onyx rosary beads his grandmother had commissioned for him years before, the bishop Jacob whispered a silent prayer over and over again to simply have what he had just heard to be a falsehood, to be cleared up when he met with his direct superior Cardinal Vanmanti, in his offices in the Istituto per le Opere di Religione, the Institutes for the Works of Religion, or as it was more colloquially known around the world, the Vatican Bank. Vanmanti would never simply summon him, it had to be false. Yet, he had to go.

Vanmanti was the President of the Commission of Cardinals that was responsible for overseeing the Bank, and Jacob was a direct employee of his, a troubleshooter of sorts, although to call someone who found a missing addition sign more often than anything else was hardly what he had dedicated his life to God for.

What he had seen since his time began at the Holy See, however, how could anyone ever come here and ever want to leave? From the nearness of the Vicar of Christ himself to an entire city that was essentially a priceless work of art. Jacob may not have been the shepherd of a flock any longer, but to be in a place where the holiest men in all of God’s creation have stood more than made up for this most days.

The various laypersons and new priests nodded to him as he walked, as calmly as he could, into the offices of the Bank. He walked to the young priest who served as the secretary for the Cardinal.

“Good Day Father Stephens, is His Eminence available?” his voice was calm and he nearly felt the tinge of pride in maintaining his composure.

Father Stephens, a young man from Eastern Europe, smiled up to Jacob and nodded with a smile. “His Eminence is waiting for you Bishop, you are to go in immediately and without knocking.”

The last was unusual because Vanmanti insisted that people knock on every door in the building before entering. They handled the finances and property of the most exclusive people in creation, a sudden movement could destroy history was his favorite line to use to explain the need.

Jacob nodded once before walking through the ornate door that held Vanmanti’s offices and was waved over to the gargantuan desk the man used to keep the Church afloat financially.

“Jacob, sit and pay very close attention to the phone call that is about to happen.” There was a bead of sweat running down his cheek and Jacob was about to speak when the Cardinal’s direct line ran and after a few button pushes, a crystal clear voice came over the phone, it spoke quickly, but with no trace of panic or fear.

“Cardinal Vanmanti, Bishop Jacob, I am glad that you could attend to this business with us all. You were the last of the connections that needed to be made before we could officially begin.” There was the sound of movement and then a voice that no one in all of the Christian World could not recognize immediately, His Holiness, The Bishop Of Rome, The Pope.

“Followers and Servants of Christ, I have called you in this unique way to tell you of a development that cannot be addressed by the very small amount of people who currently know about it any longer. See this as a form of confession gentleman, and take the sanctity of that into consideration when you hear what I am about to say, outlandish as it may seem.”

“There are more than Three Secrets of Fatima.”

I am a significant fan of writing about the former Church of my Heart, so I present this as a sampling of what I hope will eventually become something more significant than what it currently is. I will not explain the Three Secrets of Fatima, it seems a little awkward for a pagan to describe the secret of secrets of the world’s largest religion.


The Dark – 3 – Cipher

The Dark

It is not often that you get to tell people what the poison does to you as it courses through every part of you.

It was raining, it always seemed like it was raining though. It was okay though, it matched the mood that she was in and she could wrap herself in the distant flashes of lightning and the rumbles of thunder that made everything in the world stop for a moment and take notice of the magnificence above them. Not even trying to avoid getting wet, Desiree walked to her car and relished as each drop of rain hitting her, the image of them exploding into steam as they came into contact with her white-hot rage was the only thing that made her smile that entire day in truth.

Now that she was in the car, she pulled her laptop out of the bag on the passenger seat and put it in her lap. She whistled a little as it took it’s sweet time to boot up, the rain getting heavier as it did, coming down in dancing sheets that criss-crossed one another as they did. The puddles growing and then combining until at last they formed a little river of water that sought the most direct way down as they could, their nature programming them to do the one and only thing that was right to do in this situation. Desiree smiled at that thought, taking strength in the knowledge that she was not alone in simply doing what was programmed into her very being.

The computer finally had gone through all of the damnable things she had programmed it to do before she was able to use it for what she needed it to do, Desiree smiled at the little kitten that was her wallpaper and opened up the program and began to type in a very methodical way, making sure each word was precisely what it needed to be lest the meaning of them be muddled by those that read them after she put them where she would.


I know you are all so very confused about why I would do this, so I thought I would try to explain the best I can. After all, you are all so fucking entitled you will obviously think that you are owed this. Who am I to deny the powerful their satisfaction after all?

I am doing this, well, at this point I suppose I should say that I have done this because all of you disgust me. So yes, simply put, that is why.

No though, no there is more.

I hate you and your pretentiousness, your delusions of importance, your absolute denial of reality when things do not go your way. No, no I do not want your money or the tin empire you have built over a boiling lake of fire. I do not want anything of yours, except that which I am taking, well, allow me to correct myself, that I have taken.

I will not hurt you, goodness no I am not a sociopath after all. I admit I was surprised and a little disappointed when they told me I wasn’t, but hey, we can’t all have everything we want right?

To get to that point. I am sure you noticed that when you got home today there was a letter to each of you that had been slipped in some way in a place that I knew you would get it. There is no poison, no death threats. No. No, NO.

All it is a 4096 character block of text and numbers. It will look like a computer crashed and printed it, and, well in a way I suppose that is right in a way.

See while all of you punched and kicked me, teased and hated me, lorded your wealth and power over me, I gained access to each and every one of your lives in the most intimate ways. See, that block of text there, different for each of you as I am sure you will find out when you show them to one another, which of course you will, is the entirety of who and what you are. It is your money, your credentials, your ownerships of houses and cars, and boats. It is every credit card, bought GPA score, Social Security Numbers, Passport Numbers, all of it.

No, not blackmail, hush now.

I don’t want your money. I never did. I simply wanted kindness. You were disinclined, and, as such, so am I.

Twelve hours from now every single piece of you will be forever deleted in ways that you will be surprised at the impossibility of recovery. I did leave an out though. I am not a monster.

Decipher it.

After that, the instructions are truly so simple that you can do them with your eyes shut in a dark room.

Take Care Now Kids,


Sent was hit to the 382 email addresses. It was done now.

No, of course, there wasn’t a way to fix it. Desiree wasn’t a sociopath, but a compulsively selective truth-teller, that she had that in spades.

The Dark – 2 – Business

The Dark

Darkness also allows the mind to say what has been trapped behind walls of decency and layers of self-censorship.

The cigar, a moment before clutched twixt the never quite shut jaws of Timothy, dropped with an audible hiss as the cherry of the wrapped delight hit the puddle it fell into. Timothy, his eyes wider than his jaws, dropped shortly thereafter, his eyes wide as whatever eternity greeted him, hopefully with as much avarice and sloth as he had shown the world he had just departed. The cause of the demise of the aforementioned worshiper of avaricious behaviors and slothful contentment hit the wall behind him less than a second later, having transected the skull of the greedy, lazy bastard with some ease.

There was no alarm raised, not shouts of “Murder!” “Police!” or any other sound that would indicate this human would be missed or people were upset by his demise. There were a lot of people there as well, they had gathered in fact to watch this very event and while some were upset by the brevity of it, all were pleased by the final result.

A genderless and distorted voice, faceless even now, raised above the din the crowd had begun to make as they inched closer to the parts of bone, brain, blood, and viscera that used to be a man or at least male of the species.

“Ladies and gentlemen, now that we have concluded the show and tell portion of the evening, I will have my assistant Jessica take your orders and I will surely see each and every one of you very, very, soon. With that, they assumed that their mysterious assassin had disappeared and having proven themselves true, in that they could make the most inaccessible of people come forward for justice, they rushed towards Jessica in a calm, yet twitchy, chaos so that they could indeed make sure their names were on the list to enlist of this magnificent stranger who could make go away that which was undesired by all.


Not too far away, a smile crossed the face of the assassin. The high-powered rifle nearly is broken down and put back into its case. It was a beautiful thing and they made sure it was as cared for as people looked after their young. Actually better, as she wanted this and not that.

Jessica was dutifully taking order after order and they were coming across their phone nearly two a second. Some of them were even special orders. Poison? Ooh, that one would be fun indeed.

Walking over to the lamp, their hand turned it on and the smooth and eyeless head smiled just before the phone went off again.

Business was Good.

There is a certain delight in writing a thing like this and knowing if the right person reads it, it will make their blood fucking freeze.