Month: September 2014

VIOLENT VIOLIN…

kym darkly 1

VIOLENT VIOLIN

Three a.m. every morning. She always visited. She had to – silent and forlorn in the shadows. He could hear her creep along the dark halls – those blood-splattered corridors that she’d been dragged down by a death-cord wrapped around her neck. That fucking telephone wire. He could feel her pass by him, could see the candles flicker and the curtains sway back as she took her seat.

If only she could leave her violin alone there might be some peace, but it was the thing that still tied her to this world. He knew this, and he used it.

Maybe it was guilt that made him put the delicate instrument out night after night, summoning her to draw fierce catgut across rusting strings. Maybe it was his way of giving her the freedom to express: to pluck out each emotion, replaying the terror and betrayal with notes and tones that narrated her own story.

Perhaps he was punishing himself for what he had done by repeatedly listening to her pain. But most likely he was pretending that she was still alive, giving him a private concert at his bidding. He was delusional after all.

Lately the sound had been sad and eerie – the kind that could cut through a soul, already lacerated and broken, but this early morning was different. Linn’s spirit had been growing angry. On her way in she had slammed doors and thrown chairs, even ripped a curtain from its rings, and she certainly had refused to sit. She chose to stand. It would give her music more power.

Her husband didn’t mind the violence. It was comforting just knowing that she was there, invisibly shackled to him and his darkness.

This was Linn’s last visit however. The bruises and blood were fading and the burn around her neck had lost its terrifying command. She was reclaiming herself. She had learned a lot in the spirit world. She was tired of being his ghost, of being called involuntarily to haunt him night after night. She wanted to have done with it, with him.

Strongly composed, she drew the bow deliberately across the strings as she would a knife across his neck. Deep, dark and mellow quickly gave way to frenetic sawing and screeching – an abrasive violence of notes that bespoke Linn’s fury. Gone was the demure, shy victim.

One last drag across that old violin and she snapped. She flew at him, lashing the bow hard across his face – the force sending him off the back of his antique Hitchcock chair. She jumped after whipping and beating him until the wooden weapon broke on his cheek leaving flesh ripped and dripping with blood.

The startled look in his eyes made her happy. She only wished he could see the victory in hers. Crazed with the need to be free she bashed the violin over the chair, breaking it in two. She dropped to the floor, knees on either side of his trunk and jabbed the half she still held under his chin, digging the splintered wood in deep.
“Alright, alright,” he yelped.
“Release me,” she commanded, jabbing harder.
He couldn’t let her go.
She twisted the violin, breaking his skin. She pushed it hard.
“Release me, or you’re coming with me.” She hissed.
As shards cut through muscle and tongue, he threw his hands up in surrender.
“I promise. I’ll leave you alone.” He yelped.
“Beg!”
“Please.” he started to cry.

Linn smiled.

Numbing and peacefully ascending she dropped the instrument and quietly floated up off the floor, showing herself to him for the first time since her death. She was beautiful. The spell had been broken. She was free.

“I love you,” he said.

This made her happy, for the most sadistic thing she could do was to prevent him from having her.

She laid back on the soft air in a deep peace and floated over to the window – out and up towards the clouds…

©kym darkly

HUNTER…

©KYM DARKLY 0

Hunter’s eyes dropped to the floor. Horrified she watched blood drip, drip, drip onto the aisle beside her feet. It came from the cabin that held her suitcase above.

 

In truth she didn’t know how she got here or why that suitcase was hers. She was coming out of a stupor, a drug-induced amnesia it seemed, and was trying to remember, trying to put it all together:

 

Just an hour ago, she had watched each toe swing into view as she had started to come to – one foot in front of the other: click, click, click.

 

She’d felt a weight in her right hand: a steel handle dragging a suitcase behind over gravel and concrete. She’d looked up. She was headed for the bus depot! But why?

 

She’d felt inside her pockets and pulled out four things: a ticket, a key tied to a tag that read #15, another smaller key, and a note. She’d stopped. The ticket was a one way to Gravesmouth. On it was a name. She said it aloud, “Hunter Price.” She assumed it was hers.

 

She’d opened the note and read: Get on the bus. Do not call attention to yourself. Suitcase remains closed at all times until you get to Motel 26, room 15. Do not talk to anyone!

 

She had nowhere else to go. Once on the bus, night fell fast and early. Tiny lights scoured down carving shadows into skeletal cheeks and hollow eyes.

 

It was a slow trip of empty roads and tall trees with a few memories slipping back in: a scuffle, a knife, some blood and someone screaming…

 

Flipping back to the present: horrified, Hunter watched blood drip, drip, drip onto the aisle beside her feet. It came from the cabin that held her suitcase above.

 

There was a man in front listening to some music, and an old woman behind who seemed to be sleeping. Hunter’s hand flew up and switched off the light. She took off her dark, wool coat, removing the contents of the pockets and putting them in her purse. She laid her coat on the floor, using it to sop up the crimson evidence of something she hoped she wasnt guilty of.

 

Hunter slid out of her seat. She would have to pull the suitcase down to stop the blood. She quietly opened the cabin and padded her hand around for the handle. Another hand moving in behind made her jump. It was the man from the seat in front. “I can sure help you with that ma’am.”

“No!” She said.

He seemed surprised.

“It’s not as heavy as it looks.”

The man looked puzzled. He reached in again, “You sure. It ain’t no bother.”

“Yes!” She snapped. “You should never do for someone what they can do for themselves, right?”

Puzzled, the man nodded his head and sat back down. “Just bein’ polite.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He turned back to his seat and put his headset back on.

 

Hunter removed the suitcase. Sitting down, she pulled it in close and pressed the coat around it with her foot. What had she gotten into?

 

Arriving at Gravesmouth, everyone scattered from the depot quickly; even the driver had run inside to get some smokes. It was desolate except for a sole black cab that appeared to be waiting for her.

 

Soon she was inside #15, alone with the case. Peeking through the blinds to make sure no one saw her come in, she locked the door. Turning back, she swallowed hard, then fumbled for the little key in her purse. She shoved it into the lock of the case and rattled it back and forth as hard and fast as she could. What the Hell was inside? As the latch finally broke open, she flung the lid back.

 

She gasped as she saw a face beneath some thick plastic and a pair of hands cupped around the chin.

 

Shaking, Hunter grabbed a pen and paper from the nightstand and wrote a quick “Do not disturb” note to post on the door, but she was arrested by something familiar. She dropped the pen. She stepped back. Ice rippled up her spine.

 

She pulled the note from her purse and held it beside the one she just scrawled. The writing was the same. It was hers. Had she written that note of instructions to herself? If so, why? Why would she do that?

 

Hunter rushed back to the suitcase. She ripped the plastic off the face – at once hit with a disturbing smell and the disgusting sight of a neck that had been sawed through: flesh, blood and bones, mushed with crushed pearls.

 

She bolted backwards. Again something was familiar. The face: she knew this face – the mole, the scar. And then the hands, she knew the ring… What the Hell was going on? Was she crazy?

 

She rushed to the bathroom, turned on the taps. She splashed herself with water.

“This can’t be happening. It’s not happening,” she said looking up at her face – Her face! She leaned in closer to the mirror.

 

Her lips trembled uncontrollably. Her body shook and her knees were giving out.

 

This was the face she saw in the trunk. She touched the grooves in her cheeks, stole a finger over the mole on top of her lip, caught the shine of that ring and the pearls. Was it her? Was that her head? If so, what was she? Was she alive or was she dead?

 

A hard pounding made her gasp. It was the door. Maybe it was the police, but what would they think if they saw her in the flesh and her head in the suitcase? Maybe they’d think she was a magician or that shed killed her twin. Did she have a twin? Maybe she was hallucinating.

 

Another pounding shook the walls. They weren’t the only ones who wanted answers, she thought. She wanted them too and she was ready to face whatever this was, no matter how terrifying.

 

She ran back into the other room. The panes trembled and there was a deep rolling under the floor. A massive shadow stood outside the door.

“I want my merchandise!” its horrific voice yelled.

 

Hunter froze, her mind unraveling, as the door blew off and the panes flew out with a force that sucked her into the air and threw her against a wall, falling at the shadow’s feet.

“I like it when my commodities deliver themselves in pieces,” the voice blasted.

 

And suddenly Hunter understood. It all came back to her in a flash. She’d done one bad thing after another her whole life. Shed been on one long trip to Hell, and someone had made sure shed get there quickly possibly her husband.

 

She, a humble ghost, had delivered her own head to the Almighty Fallen Angel. She had arrived…

 

©kym darkly

 

 

OVUM: THE CREATURE INSIDE…

kym darkly 1

Sally dished the egg out of the boiling water with a teaspoon and washed it under cold water. Her gaze was far off, watching the latest abduction story on TV, “That poor little girl,” she said, “Only five years old. The terrors of this world.”

“Mom!” Evan cried.

Sally looked back. The egg was rocking on the spoon. Something was trying to get out, cracking the hard shell with little jabs from the inside.

“Oh dear lord ‘n Jesus!” She crossed herself. “If that’s a live chick in there, I swear I’ll never eat an egg again.”

But then she got curious; surely nothing could survive twenty minutes of boiling.
Sally moved her face in to get a closer look, but it wasn’t a beak pecking that shell. It was a blade-like limb that suddenly shot through the broken milky surface, just missing Sally’s eye. She dropped the egg into the sink with a yelp.

Evan stood on tiptoes to watch it shake, rumble and smash against the steel sides.

“Step back,” Sally urged.

As Evan leaned in closer, a sharp metal face broke violently through the brittle encasement. Evan gasped at its crystalline eyes, which held him captive in an instant. He was entranced.

Wretched spindly arms and legs covered in viscous white membrane reached out pair by pair and pulled the ghastly monstrosity out of its hiding place and into the sink. It then shook the white off, leaving itself camouflaged by the steel basin.

Losing sight of it, Sally screamed, “Where is it? Where did it go?”
But Evan could see. He instinctively reached into the sink and grasped the cold freak of nature, throwing it back into the boiling water, as the little monster bit a chunk off his hand.

Sally screamed, watching the gore of this psychotic animal eating her son’s flesh feverishly under the boiling bubbles. The hot water was an incubator, not a killer and this thing was growing.

Clasping her head, she felt insane, not knowing what to do. Sally scrambled for a tea towel to wrap Evan’s hand.

It took only two minutes in the pot before the creature jumped back out, hitting the ceiling and clinging there, enlarging to twice its size above the two of them. Sally grabbed Evan and attempted to run, but it sprayed her with a dark fetid liquid that made Sally freeze, mouth agape and eyes wide with fear, her head cranked up and back towards the ceiling.

When the grotesque beast jumped down, it enlarged once again – this time standing tall enough to tower over Sally. It threw open an angry jaw showing rows and rows of serrated teeth, blowing hard gusts of vile breath. It was hungry. It had a lot to accomplish in this world. It would need new fuel and these two pieces of flesh seemed like a good place to start.

When the chomping began, Sally could hear the bones crack, but she couldn’t tell if it were her own body or her son’s. She knew that she was doomed, but she prayed that Evan would be able to escape…

©KymDarkly

 

INTERVIEW WITH A DEMONOLOGIST! Bat Anderson

©BAT Anderson

Even people who have very little interest in horror have seen the movie The Exorcist by Peter Blatty, adapted from his book by the same title. Many attempts to depict exorcisms have been made since then, though none have had the same impact as this one. Winning two of its ten Academy Award nominations, the depraved demonic possession of a young Linda Blair shocked audiences and opened new doors into the world of supernatural horror. Possibly the most striking thing about the film, in my opinion, was the realism. I think that was what scared me the most. I could feel it happening and sensed that a possession was in fact a possibility.

It’s one thing to see a film or read a novel about such things, but what is it like to perform exorcisms in real life? For some answers I interviewed real-life Demonologist Bat Anderson:

Kym: The word sounds so dark, but in reality what you do is so good. Could you explain for our readers what exactly is a Demonologist?

Bat: “A Demonologist is a person who has strong faith in God, then studies everything Demonic: names and ranks… you learn who is the most powerful and who has legions of demons underneath him. Demons act and have tricks associated with them. I have studied under a well-known exorcist and friend. He did not charge me for the two years of training, but I did have to buy a small mountain of books. I had to study… and then I was quizzed. It was like a college course for sure. I won’t go into my studies in depth; I don’t want readers thinking all they have to do is read a few books and think they know what they are doing. It takes a ton of scripture and a ton of faith along with a lot of books, not to mention a ton of first-hand field-work.”

Kym: I’m wondering if there is a specific way that you would define a demon? I hear so many different definitions, like it’s a negative spirit from a deceased human, or a fallen angel etc. What is your definition?

Bat: “No a demon is an entity that never walked as a human! It is a fallen angel that was never in human form! Although they can come to you as a human spirit… They hate mankind and they are out to destroy anything human! I have heard people referring to demons as stupid! Well truth be told, demons have been on earth since the beginning of time. They are not stupid and they have many, many tricks up their sleeve. Anything they can use to take you off your game they will search for it and use it. They use a li’l trick on ghost hunters; they act like the spirit of a child, and will attach themselves to anyone and end up at their homes. If ghost hunters do not protect themselves they will end up with company they can’t handle, or worse! The only definition that I have of a real demon is pure evil! Demons are master deceivers not from this earth.”

Kym: I’m wondering if there was any kind of event in your life that led you to want to do this kind of work? If not, why do you think you are drawn to it?

Bat: “I did not choose this field, I was called to it by a priest! And though it wasn’t my calling (the Priest should have been in the mafia), he would not take no for an answer! I had dealt with demonic activity growing up. I really didn’t want to get into this field! But the more this priest pulled teeth, the more I agreed.”

Kym: So you don’t have to be a Priest…

Bat: “No. You do not have to be a Priest to be a Demonologist. The Priest chose me. If you are a Catholic Priest you could get trained in Demonology… I am not Catholic. That is why I was sworn to secrecy by him – the Priest, and friend; his name is not spoken by me, because it goes against the Catholic religion for [a] non-Catholic to be trained as a Demonologist.

A word of caution, you must be very knowledgeable in the Bible and with scripture and [have] a profound faith in God and understanding in your enemy. You cannot wake up one day and say “Oh, I will go out and fight demons!” Not so. A demon can fight you psychologically as well as physically. If you are not well prepared and ready for a real fight… stay home. If God is not in your heart and not number one please do not bother; you will lose, or worse!”

Kym: So, you’ve performed exorcisms…

Bat: “Yes I have done four and I assisted in at least ten before I was told I was ready. It is not something for the faint of heart.”

Kym: I have to ask, are exorcisms anything like we see in the movies?

Bat: “Yes and No. No because Exorcisms do not have special effects and yes because I have seen and felt things that most would run from. The movies we all know [are] not real but when you are working with a real Exorcism and looking into eyes of pure evil, and there is no Director waiting to say cut… I have been bit, scratched, punched and my hair pulled… and then when the Exorcism starts it can be worse. If your faith is not strong and you are not careful, you and everyone stand to be injured. It is for real, no actors, and no special effects.”

Kym: You seem to be a very positive person. Are you negatively affected by coming into contact with Demons?

Bat: “Yes, I am 95% positive and 5% negativity comes from being in contact with Demonic Entities. They affect you psychologically and physically. One thing I have learned is to hide my fear; they look for any portal to attack. Fear is one and your body is another portal. Demons are highly intelligent and resourceful, and most of all they are pure evil. They will use anything to throw you off your game. It is Christ who does the fighting. I am a mere weak vessel. God is the victor and I am the instrument.”

Kym: How does a Demonologist protect himself from a Demon?

Bat: “I can only answer for what I do. Prayer and asking for forgiveness is first. Sometimes I use Holy Oil to anoint myself along with prayer for protection and I also ask for the Angel Michael to be by my side. Yes, there are many and there will be other Demons around. I have seen them as I have done Exorcisms, but my faith is very strong. I also know that Jesus and the Angels are with me, Amen.”

Kym: How do you know you are dealing with a Demon?

Bat: “I do some psychological profiles. Some think they are possessed and are not, but my screenings keep me informed. I am also empathic, which helps me immensely. Also once you have felt true evil it can hide, but being empathic does make it a little easier for me to find it. Seldom these days do I find myself playing hide and go seek. In the beginning it was not always easy but today I am better at knowing the tell-tale signs. And yes there are some mental issues that can mask Demons, as well as just plain mental issues without Demonic influences.”

Kym: What is the worst thing you have encountered during an exorcism and how did you deal with it?

Bat “Okay, I was doing an exorcism on a young lady. Her husband called me in tears; he said his wife was possessed! He said he called a Priest and the Priest walked in, saw his wife and left without saying a word! I was puzzled by this, so I told the man I’d be there in an hour and a half. He was local. I did my protection prayers and used my holy oil, then set out to see what was up!

The husband was standing outside when I arrived! I shook his hand and introduced myself. He was visibly shaken. I asked where his wife was. He just pointed to the front door of the tiny house. I asked him to bow his head, as I said a brief protection prayer.

I walked toward the door and turned. He had not moved, I said, ‘Are you coming?’ He said no you go, please! I thought that very odd. I stopped just short of the door and said another protection prayer. I opened the door and walked in.

It was like walking into a freezer, and the stench was breathtaking! I looked around and didn’t see anyone! Then I caught a brief glance of a foot high in the air. I looked up and a young, thin naked woman was levitating five foot in the air! As I looked up I seen her eyes were rolled back in her head. Her white eyes met mine. A smile came upon her face. She began floating down to me slowly. In a minute she was face to face with me. It was then I realized why the Priest left! She was face to face with me, feet never touching the floor. I looked into the white eyes and said, ‘You know why I’m here. Now let’s get to work!’

I placed my hand on her frozen forehead and said…. ‘Demon what is your name?’ It screamed at me with a lion’s roar. Then her feet hit the ground! At that point the fight was on! But… my first instinct was to run right out the door!

I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a soft voice say… ‘Do not run, we are with you, be strong.’ And I was. The exorcism lasted six hours! I was dead tired and wasn’t sure I was going to make it through, but I did and as I was fighting this demonic entity, I could see others! But I had very strong help.

At the end, the young lady was laying on the kitchen table. Her color had come back, the air was warm, and the stench was gone! The house felt like a house and not some desolate cave in a mountain! When the demon left it was like a roar of a lion again and two windows burst out! Then it was gone!

The husband came running in and over to his wife! He covered her and carried her off [to] the bedroom so she could get dressed and she did. The man thanked me at least a hundred times. The man handed me a check for eight thousand dollars. I gave the check back and told him to donate it to a local church!

I did get the name of the demon, and it was one of the most fierce I ever met. It was so very strong and it could have taken my life at the snap of its fingers! But it wasn’t me it was fighting; it was who was with me: My God and savior! It would have killed me for sure, but it was the God of life who fought it! I don’t take credit for what I do. God has that glory.

I cannot tell you everything that happened that day, but the demons were defeated and I live another day to tell the facts of that meeting. But the truth is, it was the most frightening entity I ever encountered, and God be willing, I won’t ever have to face anything that powerful again. I have faced many, but never this strong! Amen!”

Kym: That sounds really terrifying and I’m sure that retelling the story can also be draining as I can feel you reliving it, so I’ll just finish with two quick questions: What don’t we know about Demonologists?

Bat: “There are real and there are fake. Personally, my colleagues do not accept me in the Demonology field because I do not have a certificate of authenticity, but in the field you cannot just pull out a certificate and show it to a Demon because he will laugh at you. Because of my Facebook status I refuse to sit there and look down my nose at people who are not Christians. I do not preach fire and brimstone. I am not a judge; that is God’s work. I am just a mere man, I have many flaws but my love of Christ is what keeps me going. As for my colleagues, all I can tell you [is] Kiss my Bat butt!! I am here to help people with paranormal issues and [with] being demonically influenced, obsessed and possessed. I have fun on Facebook, but when it comes to people needing help, it is all about business then. Someday I will write a book and hopefully it will inspire young hearts and minds that love and serve Christ. Amen.”

Kym: And lastly, what do you love about being a Demonologist?

Bat: “I love everything God. He is my Savior and love everything about His word (meaning the Bible). I love His message. I do not fight Demons, however, Jesus does. He is in my heart and if he wasn’t the Demons would win every time.

Thank you for the interview; I can only hope that it will inspire people to get into this field and fight the good fight.”

Kym: Thank you Bat. It was such a pleasure talking today. I really appreciate your time and your honesty. 

If you have any comments for Bat, please leave them in the comments section.

 

©kym darkly

SOUL WITCH…

©Tanya Grout

The ramming boulder took the door right off its hinges. Old rotting wood flew back across the room, almost hitting Kari – a startled eight-year-old who darted behind the leather sofa.

 

The police were astounded at what they saw: Old Woman Ireland was secured in her rocker by the window, anchored in. The green tendrils of a plant had shot up from their heavy urn, beside her and plunged deep into the woman’s ears. They had torn painfully through her skull, through parts of her brain and then had ripped out her eyes, pushing the ocular tissue to the side – strange, bloody bulges.

 

The sturdy stalks had crawled down her face, crisscrossing into her nasal cavities, plummeting down her trachea and into the trunk of her body, exploding out of organs, creating a maze of convoluted control over this powerless body.

 

Shocked EMS personnel cut off the old woman’s shirt, as the photographer documented parts of the plant that could be seen under Mrs. Ireland’s wrinkly skin. Some of the vines had travelled down her arms bedside fragile veins, riveting each limb immovable in a right-angled position. These slender stems had then spilt off and out of her fingers forming an extended hand of woody digits, with little green shoots that trapped many a fly with their undulating stickiness.

 

Other vines had carved a stronger journey through her trunk and pushed through the fragile tissue of her lateral thighs, sliding off the chair and down to the floor. They had then grown through the soft wooden planks; deep into the basement and into the soil underneath, where they had became rooted.

 

There was just one question from the lead inspector, “How on earth could this have happened?”

 

Only Kari knew, as she had envisioned it, had planted the little bulb in the urn and had fed it thoughts to help it grow. Although #158 hung from her mother’s toe at the morgue, the magic had been passed on at birth and Kari had used it well to avenge her mothers murder, keeping Granny Ireland alive through the whole torturous ordeal. Alive… breathing…

 

© kym darkly