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Misfits Inc. Issue 01
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Üß Üß ßÜ ßÜÜÜÜß Üß ßÜ ÜÛÜ ßÜÜÜÜß ßÜ Üß ßÜß ßÜÜÜÜß
Issue 1 Jan 1 1995
Price: (FUCKING FREE ELECTRONICALLY MOTHER FUCKER)
The publisher, distribution site(s), and authors contributing to
Misfits Inc. are protected by the Bill of Rights
in the U.S. Constitution, which specifically protects freedom of
speech and freedom of the press. The information provided in
this magazine for informational and entertainment purposes only,
and the publisher, distribution site(s) and authors are not
responsible for any problems resulting from the use or misuse of
this information. Nor are we responsible for consequences
resulting from authors' actions.
Ok well it looks like time for the intro letter from the editor
that is almost obligatory for any little E-Zine like this. Well
This is issue one and a first for me. I'm the SysOp of Ahead of
My Time BBS in Paris TN. The # is 901-642-9290 you should be
able to get all the most recent issues from my board as soon as
they come out. I hope to be able to get out an issue once a
month but depending on how many contributions I have any given
month I may or may not be able to keep this schedule up. This
1st issue is mostly my own writings and those of a few friends as
well as "found articles". I hope everyone enjoys issue one and
if you don't well tough shit.
Guide lines for contributions to Misfits Inc.:
Well really there are none. That was easy wasn't it. But
seriously I plan to print almost anything that comes my way. Now
how can you get it to me? Well the best only way is via my BBS,
Ahead of My Time, at 901-642-9290 in either plain ASCII text or
Word Perfect 5.1 of 5.0 format. If you use WP 6 save it as a 5.1
file because I refuse to change now that I have gotten used to
5.1 and relearn all the commands when I could be doing something
constructive with my time. Thanx for considering MI. I am also
looking for permanent writers that will supply 1+ articles per
month on a topic of their choice (fiction,life,poetry,whatever).
Please get in touch w/ me the same way as above. I'm also
looking for distro sites. In the beginning anyway you will have
to be willing to call in to get your own copies of all new files
once a month. I am looking for couriers as well. Anyone
interested in moving a few copies around the country for me?
If you are interested in any of the above leave me a message on
AOMT 901.642.9290.
The Real Flintstones
by The Anarch
Have you ever wondered what the Flintstones were really like
when the camera wasn't on? I am here to tell you just that.
First, Fred. Fred was an alcoholic child molester. Once
the camera crew caught him in bed with the paper boy who made
occasional visits to the show. This is actually how most of the
children who were on the show go on. He often went bowling to
take out his homosexual tension of wanting to handle big heave
balls. It is rumored that he and Barney once had an affair
although this is probably not true since Barney was busy with the
neighbor's wives.
Wilma was portrayed as the perfect house wife. This was of
course far from the truth. Actually she spent the day turning
tricks while Fred was busy at the quarry. Fred was aware of this
but he let it go as long as Wilma overlooked his child molesting.
Pebbles was actually quite a good child. Fred tried to
accept the fact that he would never know if she was his child.
(The blood test hadn't been invented yet.)
Deno was an evil beast as any of the local children can tell
you. He often went on wild rampages of killing and maiming the
local pets and once put a child in the hospital for three months.
Barney was not the model neighbor as I mentioned earlier.
He had a thing going with all of the local wives and often was
guilty of telling his buddies wives about what their husbands
were up to.
Betty was not very upstanding either. She was the madam for
Wilma. She also turned a trick occasionally if Barney was to
tired from screwing all the neighbor's wives.
Bam Bam I am sad to say was a chronic steroid user. This
upset Pebbles for obvious reasons. (Key word is shrinking.)
The Anarch
12/31/93
How to use the "F-word"
Perhaps one of the most interesting and most colorful words in
English today is the word "Fuck." It is the one magical word
which, just by its sound can describe pain, pleasure, love, and
hate. In language, "fuck" falls into many grammatical
categories. It can be used as a verb, both transitive
(Johnnie Fucked Mona), and intransitive (Mona was fucked by
Johnnie). It can be used as an active verb (Johnnie really gives
a fuck), or a passive verb (Johnnie doesn't give a fuck); or as
an adverb (Mona is fucking interested in Johnnie), and a noun
(Mona is a terrific fuck). It can be used as an adjective (Mona
is fucking beautiful). As you can see, there are very few words
with the versatility of "fuck." This incredible word can be used
to describe many situations:
Greetings.............. How the fuck are you.
Fraud.................. I got fucked by the car dealer.
Dismay................. Oh, fuck it.
Trouble................ Well, I guess I'm fucked now.
Aggression............. Fuck you!
Disgust................ That's fuck sick!
Confusion.............. What the fuck....??
Difficulty............. I don't understand this fucking business.
Despair................ Fucked again.
Incompetence........... He fucks up everything.
7Displeasure............ What the fuck is going on here!?
Lost................... Where the fuck are we?
Disbelief.............. Unfuckingbelievable!
Retaliation............ Up your fucking ass!
Laziness............... He's a fuck off.
Passive................ Fuck me.
Command................ Go fuck yourself.
Ignorance.............. He's a fucking idiot.
Philosophical.......... Who gives a fuck?
Denial................. You aren't fucking with me.
Rebellion.............. Fuck the world.
Annoyance.............. Don't fuck with me.
Encouragement.......... Keep on fucking.
Etiquette.............. Pass the fucking salt.
Identification......... Who the fuck are you?
Agreement.............. You're fucking oh right.
Benevolence............ Don't do me any fucking favors.
Anatomical............. He's a fucking asshole!
Telling time........... It's five fucking thirty.
Business............... How did I wind up with this fucking job?
Maternally............. You motherfucker.
Politically............ Fuck Dan Quayle!
Predictions............ Will I get fucked?
Nautical............... Fuck the admiral.
Thanksgiving........... Fuck the pilgrims.
Law.................... Who killed this fucker?
Envy................... Who's been fucking you?
Literary............... Fuckin' Aye.
Domineering............ You be the fuckee, I be the fucker.
Surprise............... Oh fuck!
Beastiality............ Fuck a duck.
Strength............... You're fuckin' weak.
Shock.................. You fucked who?!?
Suspicion.............. Where the fuck have you been?
Preposition............ Wanna fuck?
Sex.................... Fuck me Oh Fuck Me FUCK me Oh FUCK
ME!!!!!!!!!
Homosexual............. Fucking queer.
Group sex.............. Fuck you and the hoarse you rode in on.
Accusation............. Fucking whore.
Refusal................ No fucking way.
Famous last words:
General Custer's last words: "Where did all them fucking indians
come from?"
Hiroshima: "What the fuck was that?"
Captain of the Titanic: "Where is all this fucking water coming
from?"
Napoleon: "Fuck the weather."
John Holmes: "I fucked her and her and her......"
Captain of the Hindenburg: " Put out that fucking cigarette."
Helen Keller: "Who the fuck was that?"
Christi McCulluf: "What does that fucking light mean?"
Rodney King: "Those fuckers can't catch me."
Cops that beat Rodney King: "No one will fuckin' know."
Mike Tyson: "I'm the baddest mother fucker around."
AIDS victim: "Fuck a condom."
Jeffrey Dalmer: "You're fucking sweet."
Me: "Why the fuck am I doing this?"
The mind fairly boggles at the creative uses of the word! How
could anyone be offended when you say "fuck?" Use it frequently
in your daily speech; it will add to your prestige.
Today..........say to someone you love:
"FUCK YOU"
This is a file that comes from three different sources two of
which look to have come from the same origional.
The second edition was created by The Anarch and The Voadkyn
12/8/93.
And if this offends you FUCK OFF!!!!!!!!!
The Real Jetsons
by
The Anarch
Dragon
George is mentally handicapped and no one realizes it. He
has his illegitimate son Astrovan fly him to work while giving
him head. He likes to watch the computer graphics of Compuslut
(No relation to Compuserve). He often gets cum in computer
causing shorts that arched over to George causing great
pain/pleasure. He pushes his boss' button (what do I mean here
boys and girls?) to keep his job.
Jane sits at home all day eating Bon Bons, reading
Harlequins, and letting her fingers do the walking. (Once what am
I saying here boys and girls?)
And his boy Elroy believes in the maxim "incest is best put
your mother to the test". He also believes in this for his
sister. He also has a fetish for Astro although Astro will not
go for it.
His sister is quite obviously a cock teaser. She runs after
anything with a dick although she is quite frigid once she gets
the man she wants. It is quite a sad case really.
Astro is a perfect angel.
The robot maid is quite depressed most of the time because
she is programmed to be a lesbian love but Jane no longer wants
her sense she has put on weight and only forces her to do work.
The boss and his wife are into partner swapping, but
George's constant bouts with impotence have put an end to this
lately.
They never have friends and family over because they killed
and ate them.
Yet another text file by those fucking idiots The Anarch, Dragon,
and The Antichrist. We claim no responsibility for this. We
were inspired by a higher being (Harold T. Stone). No mistakes
are our fault. It is the fault of our editor who we killed and
roasted a week ago. For those of you who know us you might
remember the bar-b-q that we had. You might have even been
there. This is fiction. any resemblance to real parsons living
or dead is purely coincidental. If you enjoyed this you are
obviously deranged. If you didn't oh well. Feel free to
distribute this. But, please do not edit or change it and leave
all credits in place.
The Anarch & Dragon
1/24/94
(C) 1994
All rights reserved. (sure)
Peace, Love Happiness, Unity
MEN CAN HAVE BABIES
This is a little thing I found in a book called Kooks. And
thought everyone might enjoy it. I have not included any editors
comments from the book for this would I am sure be Copyright
infringement and we all know that would be wrong <G>. I could
find no more info on this particular person but the book claims
this is a reprint of a 1 page flyer.
The fact that men can have babies and a man's prostate gland
operation is avoidable are related. The prostrate gland problem
afflicts a large percentage of men that live long enough. Briefly
the gland enlarges, closes off the urethra, making it difficult,
then impossible, for the victim to urinate. The usual remedy is
an operation. Up to fifty or sixty years ago the condition was
fatal. It is a horrible way to die. It used to be said his water
stopped. Men would not be here unless there were ways around this
problem.
The most satisfactory way around this prostrate gland
problem is a particular position a man and women take in sex when
the man is about forty years old. The man must be mature yet
sexually active. If the two people are successful the man has a
physical experience. The man and woman lie side by side, they
put their forefingers in each others rectums, she yanks the mans
penis and the woman rubs the woman's clitoris. This position is
not written down in any publication that mentions sex. (ED.
Humm, I can see why. It doesn't sound like the most enjoyable of
positions but what do I know.) The sexual relationship has to be
perfect. One disfunction and it will not work. The physical
experience the man has is a flood of water, out of the rectum as
the couple climax.
If the man with his co-operative woman, is successful in
having his physical experience, they will discover that the man
can have a baby. For about a year after the man has this physical
experience he can get pregnant. The man for this year has a very
itchy rectum and has to scratch it. During this period of time
the man who had this physical experience would let another man
put his erect penis rectum and ejaculate. The sperm would
migrate along the tube that runs from near the orifice of the
mans rectum to the man's uterus back of the testicle, between his
legs. After the usual period of time a normal baby either mail or
female would be born out of the man's rectum. Men can nurse
babies from their breasts. After the first baby is born the man
can have another one. As the man's pregnancy progresses he would
waddle as he walked. After the baby was born the man would have
to cork his rectum. (Ed More fun NOT)
My father is Dr. E.P. Linton,a Ph.D. in quantum mechanics.
(Ed. I bet he's proud.) I understand when a new idea as foreign
as this is exposed you have to have proof. I have some
suggestions.
Now suppose it has never been done before. You are back in
the 1850s. It would not be easy to find out how a woman's breasts
produced food for her baby. In her nullitarous state, difficult;
opening up the cadaver of a woman who dies postpartum while
nursing might be possible. The Same thins applies to a man. The
way to get scientific proof is to examine a cadaver between his
legs. The uterus before a man has had this physical experience
would be vestigial. The tube leading from near the orifice of the
rectum to the uterus would appear as piece of flesh. It should be
possible to trace that piece of flesh back to the uterus. This
tube also leads to the birth canal.
The actual physical act is a hilarious experience for a
woman. What happens when a man is successful in having a woman do
him this favor (and it is a favor, the only favor a woman can do
a man), she watches him very closely for the year or so it is
possible for him to get pregnant. It is obvious that this is how
a man got life before women were created. I would suggest to you
that the first woman on earth came out of a homosexual's rectum.
(Tell that to your preacher! <G>)
The fact that men can have babies has implications for
women. Everything in our bodies is reflected in our brains. This
makes men more complicated than women. (Ed. Yeah go ahead show
this to your girlfriend.)
The reason this is getting written down is that sense I was
thirty years old I have known that I was not going to lose my
prostrate gland. For a year while I was this age I could have
gotten pregnant by the method I have described. I might mention
that I am a layman. That prostrate gland operation is a very
necessary one. However, if I had my way, there will be an
increasing number of men who do not need this operation,
I am a normal man (ED. Well...) with a norman man's ego. I
expect all the credit from the scientific community for pointing
out these facts of mail anatomy to you.
-David Linton
Ed. Notes :
Well it all seems like a crack pot to me. But it's sort of
entertaining anyway. So I thought I'd type it up and put it in.
Reviews:
I hope to be able to do at least a few reviews each issue. I'll
also accept submissions of reviews. I hope to soon have a place
for people to send tapes of their band for reviews of their band
or their 'Zine or damn near anything else you might want
reviewed. Of course if your 'Zine is an E-'Zine like this one
then never fear just upload it to me and I'll look it over ant
tell the world what I think of it. Please also include at least
one distro site or even better all distro sites.
Ok 1st off a new book I bought recently:
Kooks: A guide to the outer limits of human belief by Donna Kossy
This book is pretty damn good. Its got some very entertaining
little pieces in it. It has stories about Satan being a
dinosaur, men having babies (see reprint this issue), drilling
holes in your head to make you smarter, anti gravity, and a whole
list of other weird shit that people actually believe in. It's
really more of an entertainment piece than anything else really.
So don't buy it expecting enlightenment of course I guess you
could have figured that out from the title. I'm not really sure
where all you can get this book but I got my copy at Tower so I
assume you ought to be able to get it at most any place that
caries strange books. I'll also try to remember to add the 800
order line for Tower in this issue. If I forget leave me a note
on my board or another board you know I am on for a FACT!
E-'Zines.
Phrack:
Damn this 'Zine has been around forever. I do love it though.
It's one of the best sources you will ever find on hacking and
phreaking. No decent H/P board should be w/out this. Well
topics covered are wide. Most all the major systems have been
covered as far as breaking in as well as good quick reference of
basic operations for legit use (or once you get in <G>. Part of
an internal Telco Manual was printed once (that's the one they
got in all the trouble over.). Phone phreaking is also another
widely covered topic. Over all a very good place to check out if
you want a general into to Hacking and for that mater a quick
history lesson of the scene and how its changed. Once again I'm
not sure what the story on Phrack is. Last issue I got was 45
and that was a while ago. Could be that it's minus an editor
again. Not really sere. If anyone knows tell me. Where can you
get Phrack? Well really almost all the decent H/P boards have at
least some issues. There are also several sites on the i-net that
usually have it. And of course I have issues 1-45 online at all
times if all else fails.
Cult of the Dead Cow:
This writing group has been around for 7 years (or is it 8).
They put out alot of strange shit. They constantly have new
files coming out. Most are humorous. A few are music lyrics.
And a few are hacking info. All in all just all around fun.
There is also a list of all the title usually on boards that
carry a good selection of their files. Where can you get them?
Well sort of like the others look around for them or grab them
off my board. If I think of it I'll add the # for the home board
but it's at 2400 last time I called so that's expensive if it's
LD. They now have an Usenet Alt.fan.cdc (or something like that
just fucking look.) I believe there is also a distro site on
the I-Net but I forget the info. Or I am a factory direct outlet
so you can call my board for issues.
Woodstock II aka Money Stock
Well I don't know how many of you saw the Wood Stock pay per
view. I saw a little of it here and there. (I didn't pay for
it.) Well it wasn't bad as far as the music goes. but is sure
as hell ought to have been. $135 to be there and $49 for the
damn pay per view. For this price it better be damn good.
Well this one was a hell of alot different from the last
Woodstock. The first one well it was about peace and love the
music. From the beginning Woodstock II was a money making
venture. and I'm sure a hell of alot of money was made. Think
about it. It was carried on MTV and today MTV was having a show
that was nothing but a sales pitch for the woodstock II
memorabilia.
What I'm saying here is you just can't reproduce the past.
And the past they were trying to reproduce they were going about
the wrong way. They were trying to make a buck off of a great
one time event. So all they have done is ruined a good thing
that happened the first time.
So if you want to be lame as shit ware that damn Woodstock
II shirt you bought. Otherwise just say "Fuck Woodstock II.
Ed. Note ok so this is sort of aout of date. oh well.
(c) 1994 The Anarch
The Monster
Oh how Frankenstein's "monster" must have felt
I see the pain of the Only one
I feel your pain
For I am a distant cousin
Understanding?
They never do.
The "monsters" of the world must unite
But we hate & destroy each other in the end.
(c) 1994 The Anarch
Talking to The Fly
Fly Crawling on My knee,
What do you see?
I see food.
AmI food?
Not for me but my descendants.
All are eventually.
Why do you sit on my leg?
You are here.
Thank you for the chat.
You are welcome.
Bye
And it left never to see me again.
(C)1994 The Anarch
Untitled
God, You created this hell?
Now you dare want my worship?
Sorry you didn't make me stupid.
I see the sheep.
Follow orders DON'T ask questions.
Do they not understand?
You could have all orders followed.
You just want to see pain and misery.
Well fucking look right here.
Is this what you look to see?
God loves everyone.
Fuck God. I hate you.
(C)1994 The Anarch
Untitled
The truth is only won at a high price said the witch. Are
you ready to pay that price that no others before have survived?
Oh the fool that I was. I thought that I was superior to all
that came before. I could handle that which had killed so many
before me. Those were the good old days. Now I sit I see the
truth.
Black.
Oh the veil I have seen. Even the "pure" have evil in their
hearts.
I absorb a little more each day.
At first I thought that it was a calling from the gods. The
gods had made me as a messenger of death!
And in truth that is very true of all. We are all just
god's messenger's of death.
Oh god I wish I had never found what I sought. I always
thought truth was it's own reward. Truth is its own prison.
Truth is its own executioner.
It is a waiting game now. What evil will kill me? Oh, there
is none that can. Only pure truth and love combined can destroy
this misery. I am as the damned eternal.
(C)1994 The Anarch
X-MAS
X-Mas is coming. Deck the halls with money. The religious
holiday of consumption and greed has come again. Look at the
shoppers all buying more than they can afford. It's not love
it's how much you spend and how much you receive in return. Fuck
family. Give me a nintendo. Santa comes. Oh, wont the kids be
shocked he's leaving the body of christ this year. Oh, how
everyone will be pissed.
(c)1994 The Anarch
"MY PEN"
MY PEN IS AN EXTENSION OF MY MIND. IT LETS ME WRITE WHAT I SHOULD SAY.
MY PEN LETS ALL MY ANGER, LOVE, FRUSTRATION, AND THOUGHTS COME OUT. I'M
AT A LOSS WHEN I SPEAK BUT NEVER WHEN MY OEN IS IN HAND. MY PEN AND I HAVE
A SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP. MY PEN KEEPS ME ALIVE. IT KEEPS ME FROM GOING OVER
THE EDGE. MY PEN IS A POWERFUL WEAPON. MY PEN CAN BRING DESTRUCTION TO YOUR
LIFE BUT NEVER TO MINE. MY PEN CAN MAKE YOU HAPPY BUT IT WILL NEVER BEABLE
TO DO THE SAME FOR ME. MY PEN JUST LETS ME LIVE A DAY LONGER. IT KEEPS ME
FULL OF HOPE UNLIKE THE ONES THAT MY PEN AND I WRITE ABOUT. MY PEN IS ALWAYS
THERE NEVER ASKING FOR ANYTHING IN RETURN. MY PEN AND I ARE ONE. WE DEPEND ON
ONE ANOTHER. WITHOUT ME MY PEN WOULD HAVE NOTHING. WITHOUT MY PEN I WOULD CEASE
TO BE.
by Mondo Boss
sometime in semtember
some people say that i'm psycho, others say that i have a
death threat.......
they just don't understand me....i live on the edge wating
for something to push me over.......my life is so screwed up
that i wish it would end but it wont............sometimes i
thing of putting the gun to my head and pulling the
triger....but i'm scared that i wont die........it may just
make my life worse............sometimes i feel that i have
knothing to live for other times i know that i dont.......
i feel that know one really cares but i don't know for
sure..........i guess that know one really does know
anything about this fucked up world.............peopl lie
about things that they shouoldn't.....but they feel know
remorse about it it's just something that happens.......i
wish that i would just not wake up one day and then it
really wouldnt matter to me anymore.......all my problems
would be over and there would be nothing more for me to
worry about.........but i may be saying this because my life
is just so fucked up right now.....or it moay just be my
mind that is fucked up right now......or could it be that i
just dont know a damn thing anymore....dont know who to
beleive or who to trust.....when i think that i do know it
just seems that i always get fucked over.....
loife to me is just one big piece of shit that is devided
into weeks days hours seconds minutes.....i think thast it
would be over when the next second hits the clock but it
doesnt happen.....it just keeps on going and going and going
on.................i wish that the damn clocks batteries
would just run out and then this piece of shit would be over
for me....................but noooooooooo it i have an
energizer battery................it just keeps going and
going and going just like that fucking little bunny on the
comercial............maybe someone will kill the bunny and
then they will kill me...........................
a pissed off moment in the life of garrie fucking wilson
LIFE
FEEL THE PAIN, FEEL THE SORROW
FEEL DEATH AS IT COMES, FEEL LIFE AS IT PASSES
ALIVE TODAY, DEAD TOMARROW
DREAMS OF THE PAST, DREAMS OF THE FUTURE
DREAMS OF DYING IN SOMEONS ARMS
DREAMING OF LIVING FOREVER, DREAMING OF DYING TODAY
DREAMING OF LOVE, DREAMING OF HATE
FEEL THE DREAM OF SOMEONE ELSES FATE
life part ii
think of today, forget about yesterday
look to the future, stop looking at the past
days will come and days will go,
but there are days that you wont let go
holding on to the past, not looking forward to the future
feel the anger, feel the love
take each gasp as its the last
By Mondo Boss
SB1
living in this world with you
dying in this world with out you
trying to forget but can't even remember
going on days without a thought
peace will come when i die
my mind is full of anger and hate
trying to find happiness
but i can't even find myself
thinking of love but only feeling hate
living is such a sweet memory that i no longer have
vanishing from this world is a dream
but my dreams never come true..........
by Mondo Boss
THE FIVE SENSES
ALL I CAN HEAR IS YOUR SCREAMS FOR "HELP"
ALL I CAN SEE IS YOUR FLESH BEING PEIRCED BY MY BLADE
ALL I CAN FEEL IS YOUR DEAD DECAYING FLESH
ALL I CAN TASTE IS YOUR BLOOD AS IT DRIPS SLOWLY FROM MY CUP
ALL I CAN SMELL IS YOUR DEAD DECAYING BODY LYING NEXT TO MY
LAST PROBLEM
by Mondo Boss
sb15
I thought you were someone special, different from the rest.
But now I know I was wrong, you're just like the rest.
You toyed with my affections, you played with my heart.
Now your threw, but it's to late, because I can't get over
you. I am thinking of you now, remembering the good times we
had, trying to think how I can get you back, I pretty well
know it's hopeless, but I'll never stop trying, because I
still love you. Maybe with time I'll get over you. I hope my
life will go on but I don't think it will. Since you used me
and turned around and forgot about me I shall never love
again. If I do love again it hope it will be you.
by Mondo Boss
sb19
I CAN NO LONGER DEAL WITH MY FEELINGS
I USED TO BE ABLE TO GET AWAY FROM THEM ATLEAST IN MY SLEEP
BUT I NO LONGER CAN YOUR IN MY DREAMS
AND NOW I EVEN FEER SLEEP
I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO THE DAY THAT I MEET MY CREATOR
AND THEN MY LIFE WILL HAVE BEEN NOTHING BUT A BITTER SWEET
MEMORY
by Mondo Boss
Business
by Charles Moore
March 22, 1991
The man plodded through the rain, ignoring both the mud
puddles and the peals of grumbling thunder and blinding
lightning. The wind was blowing so hard the rain seemed to come
from all directions at once. It cut through clothing in seconds,
opening the way for the rain. It had only taken a minute for the
man to be soaked to the bone, but to this he was as oblivious as
he was to all else. He was the only person to be seen on the
usually busy London streets. The man trudged on, not fast, not
slow either. His hands were in the pockets of the water
blackened overcoat, a hat pulled tightly down on his head, the
collar turned up in a feeble attempt to keep out the cold rain.
The man walked on towards his goal through darkness broken
only by lightning and the occasional oil lamp along the street.
As the man passed under these, the feeble flames flickered,
throwing grotesque shadows on the wet ground, and sputtered out.
The man failed to notice or react to this. The darkness was his
home, the storm a mirror into the chaos of his mind. If others
could have seen his thoughts, it would have driven them insane.
None can see true evil and come out unscathed. Lightning flashed
and thunder rumbled and the man walked on.
He was headed for the hospital. Not that he was hurt--just
because he had to see an old acquaintance. He grinned and
lightning sparkled on his sharp carnivorous teeth. As shadow
returned, a red gleam appeared in his eyes.
A policeman attempted to stop him, maybe to ask his
business, maybe to offer help in the rain. The man pulled a hand
out of his coat pocket and slashed the cop before he could speak.
The four fingered hand had long claws, which found the
policeman's jugular easily. The man caught the cop as he fell
and threw him into a back alley. He didn't have time to feed
right now. There was a certain man who needed to fulfill his
contract. He was in the hospital. The man who was not a man
continued on, the lights dying as he went.
When he got to the hospital, the lights flickered, almost
went out, but he let them stay on. He walked, his shoes
squeaking, through the hospital, ignoring the stares he received.
He came to the room were the self-proclaimed Reverend Bill
Bozworth, a great speaker and preacher, was laid up with a broken
leg from a hunting accident. The man entered the room and closed
the door. The clothing he wore seemed to melt away into his
scaly skin.
The inhuman thing said in a voice that could freeze water,
"Bill Bozworth awake now. Your Master awaits." Bill's eyes shot
open and fear crept past the sedative he had been given.
"No, n - no! Go away! Let me alone!"
"I am afraid I can not do that. Master has completed his
half of the Contract. It is now time for your half."
"No! It - its too soon. I still have more work to do!
Please!"
The being, a scaly creature, with no ears or nose, feet that
closely resembled goat's feet, claws on his hands which were
easily four inches long, didn't care about Bozworth's work. He
went to Bill.
"Master wants your soul. Now. The contract said `wealth
for your soul.' You've had wealth." With that, he reached out,
and into Bill and pulled out a small, black lump: poor Bill's
soul. The being faded away into the stormy night.
Officially, he died of natural causes -- a heart attack. No
one found the body of the policeman. No one remembered the
demon. No one ever sees a demon who doesn't wish to be seen.
They are far too good with lies for that.
* * *
The man plodded through the rain. He ignored the mud
puddles and the storm blowing around him. He was too busy to
notice the driving wind and cold rain which had long since soaked
him to the skin. He had been following Reomog for an hour so far
this time. And for several months prior, he had been working to
stay on his trail. Reomog only came out when it rained. That
never ceased to annoy him.
He had almost caught him last time, but Reomog had sensed
him coming, and quickly finished off the victim and faded out.
Granted, the victim had signed a Contract, but there was no
excuse for killing the policeman. Once again, Reomog had broken
the Rules. One good thing had come out of it though. The boss
had authorized the use of force to bring in Reomog for justice.
If that wasn't possible, he was to banish him.
As Reomog trudged along up ahead, the street lights
flickered and died. As the man passed beneath them, they again
burned brightly. Reomog turned down a back alley, clothed in
shadow. The man hurried to catch up with the fallen one, so as
not to lose him.
When he entered the alley, he saw Reomog bending over a
sleeping form. Probably a homeless wino. The man came up behind
Reomog and said, "You've done enough Reomog. You are wanted for
blatant disregard of the Rules. I have been sent to escort you
to your trial."
Reomog glanced over his shoulder at him and laughed. As he
straightened, the overcoat and hat, his trademarks, faded to his
natural skin. He answered, in a voice that could freeze a man's
blood-and had- "If you think you are bad enough go ahead and make
me. We both know that you cannot touch me, so why don't you just
go Home and play your cute little heart or something."
The man suddenly burst forth like a brilliant white light.
"That is where you are wrong. It has been decided that your
further action on earth could jeopardize the current Balance.
You are to be brought forth to answer for your crimes, or you are
to be banished.
As he spoke, his light continued to brighten. Soon, it was
bright enough to see clearly the trash strewn about in the alley.
Everything gleamed brightly, from the rain which was no longer
falling here. Everything, that is, except the demon, who seemed
to swallow the light. He formed the only shadow in the alley.
With a dark and toothy scowl, he continued to be swallowed by
darkness.
The demon launched, claws outstretched for the angel. His
slash brought a shadow across him. The angel screamed. He
started to pray as he drew a cross from the folds of his robe-
like clothes.
The wino woke up, took one look at the two combatants, and
promptly passed out again.
Reomog backed away from the cross. The angel finished his
prayer with a solemn "amen," and suddenly an intense, white light
burst forth from the cross. Brighter than the brightest sun, it
struck the demon like a sword. The demon's body started to
bloat. His skin began to boil and ooze. Suddenly he exploded in
a shower of meat and green ichor. None of it struck the angel.
Standing where the demon had been was now only a shadow. It
faded into the ground. The angel smiled as his light dimmed, and
returned to normal. Of course, the demon wasn't dead. That was
impossible. The angel could not have killed it. Reomog should
not be able to return to earth for several centuries, however.
The angel walked out of the alley as his light was replaced
by a surprisingly clear dawn. He faded into the early light.
The wino awoke, and looked around. It appeared the same as
yesterday, and the day before, back for years. He picked up his
bottle, took one look at it, and tossed it down the alley. He
watched it sail through the air, and shatter against the cobble
stones. He vowed to stay sober until the day he died. A great
seemed to be lifted from his heart as he did this. For the rest
of his long and good life, he never did understand what God did
to convince him to throw away that bottle, but he never regretted
it.
-=END=-
A True Vampire
by: Charles Moore
November 8, 1994
Ritter had not spoken to a living person in over twenty
years. He still talked to his wife, whom he had killed just
before he ran into the tunnels. He even heard her answer
sometimes. She had forgiven him for killing her. She
understood. No one else could. No one else knew what the Rage
was like, what the Bloodlust was like, or how comforting the
darkness was. In the darkness, Ritter could not see himself.
He did not want to see himself. Sometimes, in his more sane
moments, he regretted what had done this to him. He never blamed
himself though. How was he to know this would happen? He barely
remembered the Before, the time when he was normal in the eyes of
others. He had tried to forget it. It came to him sometimes in
dreams; forcing him awake, screaming in the darkness of his
world. In the dreams, it was his aunt's fault.
She had given him the acid. It was supposed to bring him
closer to God. It was supposed to show him visions of the
future. Instead, it brought the beast that formed his childhood
nightmares back to life. It was a very, very bad trip. It
started like a great journey. He was moving slowly through a
tunnel full of wonderful lights, in so many colors. It was so
beautiful that he was crying. Then the colors, one by one,
turned red. Red, the color of blood. The bloody tunnel walls
began to close around him. He saw something at the end of the
tunnel. It was a person. With a leap of intelligence only
possible in visions and dreams, he realized that that person was
creating the vision. It controlled the vision. It controlled
the world.
Ritter had tried to escape the trip. But that wasn't
possible. The thing didn't want him to escape. He was being
drawn closer. Finally, he was close enough to recognize the
thing that was creating the bloody tunnel. It was himself.
He broke free from the trip, screaming. He screamed until
his voice was gone. He saw himself in a mirror in the bedroom,
and saw that he was crying tears of blood. His aunt came in, and
almost fainted when she saw him. As she swooned, Ritter jumped
up to catch her, and accidently knocked her down. She hit her
head on the dresser. The blood started flowing from her head.
Ritter, still crying, tasted the blood. To his horror, he liked
the taste.
His sanity gave up the ghost as Ritter began to feed. The
flesh was not quite as good as the blood, but all was nourishing.
Ritter was hungry. Later, he went back home to his wife. He
didn't think to clean himself up, and she wanted to know what had
happened. Ritter laughed. For him, the trip would never end.
* * *
The tunnels were dark and foreboding. Drain grates shone
down with light from the arc lamps over the street. This meager
light did not dispel the darkness; instead it accented it. Time
seemed to pass much slower in the perpetual gloom. Even during
the day, the tunnels were far from well lit. Mortal man, living
above, had largely forgotten about the tunnels. Children
sometimes played near the entrances, but they seldom ventured far
within. Children were wise enough to know where it was not safe
to be.
Matthew Ritter liked the darkness. It was his home. It
made him feel wanted, needed. It comforted him. It hid him from
the world above. Matthew was a man who had fled the light of the
sun years before. No one remembered who he was. Sometimes he
didn't remember who he was. Children had stories of the bogey
man who lived under the town, but they had never seen him, none
that were alive that is. Ritter preferred that.
Ritter did sometimes come to the surface world, though. He
had to feed after all. Luckily, he didn't have to eat very
often. Normally, his diet consisted of stray animals. About
once a month, he ate something far different. In his more lucid
moments, he wondered if he should feel guilty for what he did.
Then the Rage would settle in, and he would find something, and
kill it.
The town knew about the tunnels, but had no use for them.
They acted as the runoff system for the downtown area, the old
part of town. So far, they hadn't clogged up, so there was no
need to go into them. In fact, no one was sure if maps of the
tunnels still existed. No one had gone willingly into the
tunnels, other than youths on dares, in five years. That was
when the Johnson girl disappeared. They found a piece of her
dress in a drain culvert. The police went into the tunnels, but
found nothing. She was added to a long list of missing persons.
* * *
Janet, a senior in high school, liked to walk by herself
sometimes. Especially through the woods just south of town. She
always loved the time she spent alone in the wilderness. While
there, her father didn't yell at her, her mother didn't cry, and
neither of them were getting drunk and fighting each other or
her.
That made it a great place.
She knew that deep in the woods, there was a tunnel
entrance. She did her best to ignore that area. The trees and
underbrush seemed to die at the place where the town's drain
water washed through. Perhaps the town's one major factory
dumped toxic waste into the tunnels. Perhaps the tunnels were
evil, and the evil killed the plants. Janet didn't know, and she
didn't want to.
* * *
Janet was in the woods, alone, one hot day in June. She was
crying as she walked. Her dad had just beaten her and her mom
severely. She needed to get away for a while. She let her mind
wander, and her feet did the same. Suddenly, she realized that
she was standing before the tunnels. Dark, oily liquid poured
from the drain. It seemed to ooze more than pour. Janet felt a
tinge of fear in her stomach at the sight of the dark opening
into the depths.
She hated fear. It made her dad worse when he sensed her
fear. She loathed fear. Cowardice was weak and deadly. She
hated the tunnels for making her nervous. She felt she had to
conquer them. Maybe it was stupidity. Perhaps it was a greater
fear of what waited at home. Maybe it was a suicidal tendency,
Regardless of why, she entered the tunnels.
The light from the Saturday June sun only penetrated the
first few feet of the tunnel entrance. Janet pushed on past the
light, moving slowly so she wouldn't trip in the near-complete
darkness. The tunnel went around a sharp bend, blocking off what
remained of the summer sun.
The darkness, strangely comforting, enveloped her in a great
all-encompassing hug. She had always felt safe in the dark. At
home, the darkness hid the ugly reality. The darkness hid her
from the cruelty of her parents. She had learned that lesson
early in life.
Even now, she could remember the comfort found in the back
of her small closet. With the door closed, she often hid for
hours, crying softly as her dad screamed at mom; cringing as
plates, pans and pots crashed into walls, raising a din barely as
loud as that made by her parents. The sounds blended into a
hellish melody in her mind. She learned what all that noise was.
It was the sound of love dying. Like love, the noise did not die
quickly, nor without pain.
The memories of those times still hurt Janet. It was not
easy to learn that her parents did not love each other. She came
to feel that they did not love her either. In time, she came to
believe that love was a lie, told to children so they would sleep
at night. Used as an excuse to hurt others, and to take things
from them. Stumbling over some trash in the tunnel, she returned
to the here and now.
Stopping, she built up her courage and pressed forward. As
she walked, she listened to her echoing footsteps. The tunnel
reverberation seemed extremely eerie in the darkness. As she
listened, her ears began to notice a strange stutter to the echo,
like something was walking near her, carefully timing his steps
with hers. She stopped, and the echo died away. Shrugging, she
began to inch forward again.
She began to feel that perhaps this darkness was not as kind and
safe as that found in her closet. She didn't know why. Maybe it
was the silence broken only by echoes; maybe it was the knowledge
that she couldn't dispel this darkness by opening the closet
door.
* * *
Ritter had been feeling hungry for several hours. He was
only holding the Bloodlust off because it was still day outside.
The sun was the only thing strong enough to keep the Bloodlust in
check. Then he heard the echoing foot falls. At first he was
scared. He was afraid the men from above had tried to find him
again. Then the Rage settled in. He would kill whoever was in
his home. He would kill them and rip their body to shreds.
* * *
Janet wondered for several minutes. She was not sure how
long she had been in the tunnels, because she could not see her
watch. In fact, she could not see anything. She had bumped her
head once, when the tunnel shrunk by a foot or so, but otherwise,
nothing had happened. Again, she thought footsteps were dogging
hers. This time when she stopped, the echoes followed for far to
long. The she heard a rat squeal nearby. She felt its tail
brush up against her leg and screamed. The scream echoed back at
her from the tunnels. The echo frightened her, but she couldn't
quit. Then, the pitch of the echoes changed. The screaming
echoes turned into a high screech.
She closed her mouth, biting off the rest of the scream.
Yet the echoes continued to get louder. The scream turned into
insane laughter that sent chills racing up and down Janet's
spine. She turned and began to run, her earlier courage long
forgotten. The darkness now frightened her, because it hid
someone, something from her. She ran blindly, hoping she would
not get lost.
Ritter quit laughing and began to lope after her. He could
almost smell her fear. He could hear her frantic steps as she
blundered through his home. He moved silently and with assurance
down the tunnel after her. He was confident he would catch her
long before she reached the exit. As he ran, he continued to
giggle. He even said a few kind words to his wife, whose lips
were on a chain around his neck. The lips did not answer.
Janet's heart was pumping towards a heart attack as she
vainly tried to pierce the gloom ahead of her. She had no idea
how far she was from the entrance. Her mind kept screaming that
it was not going to get any closer, no matter how far she ran.
Then she hit the tunnel step where it grew larger. She fell.
Her head hit the concrete floor hard. She blacked out for a few
seconds. Spots danced in front of her eyes when she came to.
She stood up quickly, and regretted it as she almost fell again.
She began to stumble down the tunnel, trying not to black out.
Ritter heard her fall as she had hit the change in his home.
The Bloodlust was upon him. He could smell her fear. He wanted
to taste it. He wanted to taste her blood as she faded away.
Then he would be happy for a time. He had to have her. He had
to have her now. He must taste her terror. All thought was
driven far from his mind. He ran along, not worried by the
darkness, not hindered by it.
Janet knew she was near the end of the tunnels. She slowed
down slightly so she wouldn't run into the wall when the bend
came up. She heard odd giggling noises echoing form behind her,
but she had no idea how close it was. She knew she had to get to
the light. She feared that she never would.
Ritter ran. The Bloodlust grew as he heard her breathing,
and smelled her sweat. He also smelled where she had wet
herself. That made him laugh even more. He would savor her
fear, her blood. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else ever did.
Janet heard breathing behind her and knew it was too late.
She turned her head slightly, instinctively, knowing she would
see nothing. She was surprised and frightened to see two small
points of silver light bouncing madly behind her. She realized
they were eyes. As this realization hit her, she slipped in the
ooze on the floor. She began to crawl, not trusting her legs to
hold her weight any more.
Ritter knew he had her. He knew it. And suddenly, he was
upon her, grabbing her and ripping into her flesh. Her screams
were loud and glorious. She fought. She tried vainly to escape.
he drank her fear and her blood. it was good. It was pleasing.
It filled him.
Janet tried everything to escape this thing that was hurting
her. The pain had not yet reached her, but she knew it would.
She could feel him lap at the blood running from her neck. she
tried to get away as her strength ebbed. But she knew there was
no use. She knew it was over.
Ritter could feel her strength going. Suddenly, his grip
slipped, and she scampered forward. Enraged, he attacked her.
He began to slash at her body viscously with his claw-like hands.
He pummeled her with his hands and fists. He felt the bones in
her face give with a satisfying crunch. This brought joy to him.
Janet died. Her hand was stretched toward escape. She
never made it. She never knew that the bend in the tunnel, where
light form the exit could still be seen, was only a few yards
ahead. She had no idea as her life blood drained out. In the
end, she knew that this creature had been a man once. She hoped
that hell claimed him before he claimed anyone else.
Ritter destroyed the body, eating parts, and feeding the
rest to the rats. He carefully drug the skeleton into the depths
of the deepest tunnels. He added her remains to a large, ghastly
pile of mostly children's bones. The stench was surprisingly
faint, due to the skill with which Ritter cleaned them. The tomb
contained the remains of at least forty or fifty people, most
long forgotten by the world overhead.
* * *
FINAL Notes:
Ok i russed this a little to get it out so there are a frew things that
did not gfet the attention they should have but life's a bitch so live w/ it.
The Anarch 01/01/95
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