Category: Guest Authors

Lord of the Flies

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I was sitting at my desk in the Home Office, pounding out the PowerPoints, when I heard the buzz of a housefly.
We don’t get flies in the house too often. Where had this fucker come from?
As I toiled, I kept hearing the buzz more often. It became evident that there were several flies performing reconnaissance runs through the house. What the hell was going on?
By nightfall, almost all of the flies were dead, their corpses scattered like raisins throughout the house.
Damn. I’m going to have to stop leaving that poisoned raw meat in my sock drawer.

The Songs

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Andrew Ian Dodge turns the creepy dial another notch with his latest reading from his arcane tome of horror…

The Sage hit a key to open his webcam eye.
Good evening all. I am glad you enjoyed last week’s poser. Leo is telling me you like my research questions. He paused.
This week I want you to try to explain why religious types are so paranoid about the Devil’s Interval yet all we read about – evil – music from Lovecraft’s writings and classical authors is that they sing beautifully to lure unsuspecting mortals to their doom.
I bet the Sirens of Greek myth sound more like Celine Dion or Barbra Streisand than Arch Enemy, Slunt or Die So Fluid. Discuss.

Tonga

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Why did th earthquake in Tonga happen this past week? Andrew Ian Dodge digs into the mystery…

The Doctor on duty read the reports of an “earthquake” near Tonga and sighed. As he looked through the heavy window down the corridor on his ward he dreaded the night to come. There was already odd noises penetrating the room; odd chanting and singing…the constant thump of someone smacking his head against a padded wall. The Doc reached into the drawer for his ear plugs and placed them in his ears. It was always this way when the deepest part of the Pacific ocean shakes. They couldn’t report the real truth. In an instant he hears a bloody-curdling scream.

Skin Book

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Andrew Ian Dodge talks about a book that’s likely not missing from the public library…

A book covered in human skin was recently found in Leeds beside a road. The Police said it was dropped by a thief. Doubt it. I suspect the book was dropped by its owner, who was dabbling in the black arts. As so often happens he thought he could out-run the entity pursuing him. The book was dropped where the eldritch horror caught up with him and sucked him into the void. Could have been worse he could have been turned inside out like Abdul Al Alzared the author of the Necronomicon. Wonder how the Police would’ve explained that away?

Sinking

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Why is Wembley Stadium sinking? Andrew Ian Dodge tells the horrfying truth…

He knew exactly what he had to do when he sensed what was going on. The digging to sure up Wembley was going well. The trouble was he could not allow it go any deeper. A few people were feeling a bit ill over the past two days but Jarl was suffering from intense seething evil. Something living was there, a visceral evil and Jarl had to stop the digging. While inspecting the digging he careful placed small charges all over there. He hit the button; he knew how to make it look like a collapse. Would he die…well…

Rage Again

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Jim S. the Folderman still hasn’t gotten over his rage.

I’ve never truly been happy.
My mind is a swirl of anger, bitterness, disappointment and hatred. Not for or at a particular person, group of people or even any THING in particular but just an overall permeating, deep RAGE at “stuff.”
Depression forms an almost solid border to hold the rage back and keep it simmering on the back burner. Rarely, the rage pokes its head through but is quickly subdued.
An almost momentary flash of happiness occasionally interrupts this constant emotional battle. Every time, though, an uncontrollable factor breaks the happy-moment and re-heats the rage.
Then, depression sets in.

The Don

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After all these years, you think they’d finally figure it out. But no.
If I had to blame somebody, I’d blame that Cervantes fellow for getting it backwards. But what do you expect from one of these “creative” types? I’m a busy man, and I don’t have the time to explain the intricacies of my profession to every Tomàs, Ricardo, and Hernàndez that comes along.
Especially when that profession is unusual.
Don Quixote is my name. Agricultural architectural restoration is my game.
What do I do?
I restore correct vertical alignment to air-powered size reduction equipment.
Yep. I untilt windmills.

Rage

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Jim S. the Folderman experiences white-hot rage…

I’ve known a few moments of momentary satisfaction at a beautiful day or a gorgeous woman. Happy moments like the birth of my children, my wedding day and other things such as that briefly pierce through the shroud of doubt, confusion, melancholoy and… RAGE.
Yes, rage. I know it comes as a deep surprise but I’m a mad motherfucker. Just plain mad at the world. Overall, I’ve learned to live with it and usually, I manage to hold it back long enough to enjoy some happy moments.
Mostly, though, it just embitters me and makes me a jaded, cynical bastard.

Help Me

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Andrew Ian Dodge waxes poetically:

How can I get forward
When trapped by my past
Trying to look ahead
Instead of covering my arse
Demons & devils haunt me
Trying to get their desire
Not letting me free
Refusing to let me be
Wanting their bit of flesh
Deserved or not no matter
Things in chaos & mess
Trouble, bother & loads of stress
Evil & madness pursue
Pain & pressure ensue
Save me from this madness
All the terrible badness
Revenge & payback can wait
Free me afore its too late
Revenge & payback can wait
Free me afore its too late

Got Jesus?

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Yesterday, as the Missus and I were on our way to dinner, we saw a car in front of us with a decal in the rear window: Got Jesus?
It was clear, based on its design, that the decal was Yet Another Ripoff of the well-known “Got Milk?” advertising campaign, the one featuring celebrities sporting Milk Moustaches.
The Missus asked: When you Get Jesus, do you get a Jesus Moustache? And if you do, what color is it?
I’m no expert, but I’d say that between Ash Wednesday and Easter, you have a purple mustache…but on Easter, it turns white.