Goody Jones and the Platitudes! Free flash fiction

Here we go! The first of the Toxic Fairy Tales! 

IT DOESN’T MATTER IF YOU WIN OR LOSE, ONLY THAT YOU TRY!

England, 1610

Goody Jones was one card short of a deck. In an age that didn’t look fondly upon people who were different, poor old Goody stood out. And that was before she started with the platitudes.

If she was barely tolerated previously, when she began giving out little pieces of paper with writing on them, she was singled out for abuse.

At first the angry backlash consisted of just annoyed mutterings from fellow townsfolk but then it escalated.

Poor Goody never noticed. The sad thing was all she wanted was to help folk.

She got it into her head to try and help as many of her neighbors as she could. She saw many things wrong in her little village of Sicknee, just outside of Filey in North Yorkshire. And because, though, as off the wall as she was, she thought she could help people, she began writing out those ‘clever sayings’ she heard about. You know the ones, about horrific events making you stronger. As in what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger!

Yeah those! Annoying buggers of advice thought of by people who are put on this earth to drive most of the population mad.

Sadly, Goody had a head start. As she thought the people would benefit from what she saw as wisdom. 

When the butcher lost his wife and his business, she handed him one of her notes. It said: Good things come to those who wait.

The butcher fell into a rage and ran after her screaming. Venting. Venting didn’t help but he was arrested and fined for disturbing the peace. That got him angrier. Goody saw that and wrote out another one of her clever sayings. This was: forgive and forget.

She handed it to him herself right through the prison bars. Actually, he let it fall to the floor. But then curiosity, though not killing him or the cat, got the better of him and he read it. When the silliness of the advice sank in, he screamed. He was lashed for screaming while in custody.

When he threatened to kill Goody Jones by filleting her, she left another sayings for him. It said: God had a plan for him.

Butcher Mills died right on the spot, while the little scribbled paper, blew away.

It came to rest at the feet of a guard who picked it up. He liked the advice and went home to tell his wife who was sitting outside their burnt-out cottage. Their humble abode was no more. The guard thought the advice might help his wife but she attacked him, hissing like a cat.

Their children began screaming because they never saw their father’s face bleed like that.

Gradually, the inhabitants of the village became more hostile to the old woman and decided to murder the stupid old bitch.

A lynch mob was formed and poor old Goody Jones was dragged from her little hovel.

She pleaded for her life but was told her time was up and when it’s up it’s up.

They hanged the old girl with a sign meticulously painted by a sign maker for free. They put the sign around her dead neck.

It read:

YOU’RE IN A BETTER PLACE.

© carole gill 2017

free Sci-Fi Fantasy Flash! A Future Nightmare World!

From the journal of Miss X:

The world has changed so much or so they say, personally from what I've read I think it hasn't really, it's just put into law that which was almost law.

A series of so-called humane laws were passed one of which was the prohibition of widows in society. No one liked them, no one wanted them around. They served no purpose. So, like the legislation that ensured couples would only be permitted to exist, this law was added.

It was a harsh society of course in this respect, because it was based on various social cleansings. The Committee ran everything. They said they loved everyone and they thought everyone was great but clearly, this wasn't so.

There were edicts that they passed that were supposed to be helpful like the Social Question Guidance Guidelines. These ensured a set fine of $4000 Orwellians charged to anyone that asked something different from the accepted 'people questions.'  In other words, a question that ensured a further response from the questionee was illegal. And a question that was deemed to be of a compassionate nature was greatly discouraged.

They said most inhabitants of Happy World were happy. Naturally this wasn't the case. There was rampant dissatisfaction and resentment. There was great mourning too, for people that were executed by the state for social sins like being widowed.

What did happen was a growing number of underground rebels, intent on developing a more humane society began to appear.  That secret organization grows daily. I know, I am in it. This entry comes from my journal which I keep locked away with my favorite banned books, most of which have been written by people who were the first to be purged. All those self-help, can-do books. The ones that counselled people and helped them.

Do I feel hopeful about the future? That's a stumper. Will have to see what Committee members come out with after the Revised Happy People, Happy Couple Legislation is passed early next year.

Meanwhile I'll go back to reading Thomas Paine and the Rights of Man. I feel it is a given that he meant women, too!

Bye for now!

LUCY, THE EVIL FAIRY

Lucy was Tinkerbell’s older sister. She had a mustache and her eyebrows grew together.

She had tried to kill Tinkerbell with poison over the years, but nothing worked. She wrote a book about fairies being immune to most poisons. No one wants to publish it. You'll see why in a second. 

It would be cathartic if it was published. Lucy has a lot of hostility in her. 

For example, before Tinkerbell flew off to have adventures, Lucy did try to superglue her wings together but Disney’s Fairy Police bitch slapped her.

Lucy started to drink. She wound up prostituting herself. Eventually she contracted a STD and now has become a missionary. No one thinks her idea of going to the Mid-East to broker a peace deal is workable. She is sincere though.

She’s basically insane but like most crazy people, she is interesting to talk to. The thing is, you wouldn’t want to visit her with the door closed and no guard in sight. I left out some pertinent info. Lucy is at a mental health facility in Florida. It’s funded by generous contributions from a certain studio known for its cartoons and family-oriented films and theme parks. The grants are to aid in the rehabilitation of insane and addicted former cartoon stars.

Few know of its existence. But it’s so full, many referrals, urgent though they are, are turned away.

Visiting hours are never a problem as no one ever visits. For one thing, there is the paparazzi lurking. They freelance for other studios in competition with the bigly one that maintains a low profile here, anyway.

When a bus ferrying the arrivals is spotted, the crazy former cartooners rush forward, they taunt and ridicule the newbies and take bets on ‘who will be the first to crack’ on their first night. Yeah, just like that story by you know who.

I bet you want to know who I am. I’m Pinocchio’s mummy, forget about Geppetto, already! It wasn’t an easy birth you know!

Well, bye for now. I’ll see if I can think of more to tell you about the other inmates here. Just remember, there’s no business like business or the business of writing.

carole gill 2017 copyright

Free Read, 'MEMOIR'

Ever wonder about Dracula's love life? I did and was inspired to write this story which then inspired me to write The Fourth Bride (of Dracula). 

Memoir

The journal beckoned him. Like the irresistible temptation of a lover’s touch, it coaxed him, teased him, lighting his passion with the promise of untold delights. He wondered if he dare read it. Why he had ever begun opening drawers, he had no idea it was impolite to the say the least but he had been too curious to resist.

“I give up.”

He was already under its spell and because he was, he dared to touch it. What a singularly beautiful thing it was. “I’ll have you.” Smiling, he ran his hand along the rich blood-red leather cover. There was no name on it, just the word in gold leaf “Memoir”.

Now, making certain that his chamber door was secure, he at last sat down. He was not rushing; it was a moment to savor. He closed his eyes and let the excitement rush over him. He found he felt thrilled in a sexual way for he hoped he would discover something which had not been intended for anyone to read but the diarist.

There was exhilaration for him sitting there, holding an object that might hold titillating secrets. Voyeur! At last he began to read.

I come from another time and place. From East of here where magic is the norm and superstition the custom. My father was a successful merchant well-known in our Province, my mother was long dead by the time he arranged a marriage for me. All was in order and I was sent for.

I was terribly afraid of life but more afraid of love. Still I was hopeful. But when I saw who my own father had chosen for me, I wept. You see he was old enough to be my father and then some and he was coarse in his ways despite being nobility. Yet this was the man I was betrothed to!

I refused. “What?He is acquainted with the Emperor! He calls him friend!How dare you refuse?”

Needless to say, the wedding took place at the appointed time, held in our city’s greatest Cathedral, there amongst the flowers and crypts we were declared husband and wife. At last it was over and the kiss I did dread was given me. 

“Not too long now, my petal.” A threat and a promise all rolled into one. His coach bore us to his home—my new home, a veritable castle of gleaming sandstone set upon lush landscaped acres, a mansion richly furnished. The servants greeted me quietly, some with pity in their eyes. “Come, bride! For we shall sup before–!”

Oh yes, before! The meaning was not lost on me. He guided me into the great hall. “Our wedding feast.” I looked to see a table brimming with dish upon dish of roasts and stews, of delicacies and rich desserts, each more opulently displayed than the other. 

He urged me to eat and drink but mainly to drink. All the while he was leering at me and saying the rudest things; his breath hot, his words offensive in the extreme. The later it got, the more frightened I felt. At last it could be put off no longer. The great clocks chimed for the dreaded hour was at hand. I was to go with my new husband to our bed chamber. “Come my dear.” How tightly he held my arm, leading me up the stairs, not saying a word only smiling in his horrible way. Several maids hurried from the room. They had unpacked my trunks. “Goodnight!” His words rang with impatience. Now for the first time I thought how like a pig he looked, fat and sweating. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? He really was a beast. “Now, it is finally time my dear!”

He lunged at me, his thick fingers pulling at my clothes, tearing the delicate fabric from my frame till at last I stood naked before him, paralyzed like a bird in the gaze of a snake. I was not surprised to find he had no regard for my virginity nor did he have any respect for my person. 

He forced himself most cruelly upon me. I must have passed out for when I woke he was dressing as I pretended to sleep, but he knew I was awake. “I know you are up, just remember. What I have done is nothing compared to what I shall do, you are my wife. And as wives are chattel and nothing more, you are just another object that I own to be used for my pleasure and entertainment!” 

I shuddered at the slam of the door and just lay there, feeling sad and tainted and broken. I wept for myself and for the hopelessness of my present situation fearing I would have to die by my own hand as I could not bear to remain with this monster. And so I fled. I ran as far as I could and when my legs would carry me no more I collapsed on the ground. The sweet moistness of the forest called to me.

“A grave is not the worst thing; it can be your sanctuary, little one, a peaceful haven from all of your pain.” I smiled for the thought was comforting. “I shall sleep now for I cannot keep awake and if I slip beyond sleep I shall not mind.” 

But I did not sleep long for I was soon awakened by the thunder of horses and the shouts of soldiers. My husband had found me. “You she devil! Do you think I will permit you to disgrace me or my fine name?” I begged for mercy, but there was none and I was taken to be slaughtered, for slaughter it was. While his men held me, he did run me through with a sword. “Die you scheming bitch, you whore!” I obliged, passing from life into death in one agonizing pain-filled moment—but I did not sleep long in that dark, lonely place for I was soon awakened by a voice commanding me to open my eyes:

“Awake thee and walk once more upon the earth, for one so young shall not be left to rot!” It was then that I beheld his face, this handsome being. The face of one I would always love—the face I would adore forever-! And so–!

The young man gasped and stopped reading for he had heard a noise and turned. There standing behind him was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen. “You have been reading my journal,” she said.

But she didn’t say it in anger and he smiled, for she was smiling too. “I hope you don’t mind me coming here. I wanted to see you before my sisters, for they are truly like sisters.”

The young man smiled sheepishly but his smile soon faded when he beheld the beauty’s own smile growing ever wider. “Your teeth!”

She shook her head. “Do not fear handsome young man, as my teeth sink into your soft flesh for I will show you worlds you cannot imagine—dreams you dare not dream, pleasure beyond any pleasure you have ever known or thought of.”

He gave himself up to her and just as her teeth began to sink into his flesh, the door did open and Dracula’s two other brides came in, floating like mist. How they smiled and giggled—for they were eager to taste his blood. Then as they all converged upon Jonathan Harker they suddenly stopped when they felt their Master’s eyes upon them.

He, Dracula was standing in the doorway! “Forgive us, please. Do not be angry,” they begged. Harker watched as Dracula admonished them. Yet even as he did, Harker saw a fearful light in the Count’s eyes, a light that bespoke sensual love and sexual pleasure beyond comprehension. And Harker knew so much in that instant for he had glimpsed another world—the world of endless night where sin and corruption live but death does not. “Come,” Dracula said. “Come and share that which can be your fate.”

But Harker did hesitate whereupon the brides turned toward him, their eyes blazing and their mouths ready to taste that which flowed through his veins—that which they coveted. But it was alright, for Harker knew and accepted his fate and at last lay back to await their touch and their teeth and the sweet pain that would soon disappear.

from 'Memoir'

copyright 2011 MEMOIR

one of the stories in:

AMAZON 

“CAROLE GILL’S TALENT IS A WONDER TO EXPERIENCE!”

Joshua Skye/DARK MEDIA

War surplus from the Eastern Front supplies a quaint little shop of horrors!

Orphaned child vampires

Haunted cemeteries where the dead dance,

What would Death say if he could speak?

A story of the war: evil comes to a village near you.

What if the world became Dead World?

Valhalla rejects are nasty, worst vampires ever!

Three tales of the Ripper

What are the blood-drenched secrets of The Crimson Club?

A crazed soldier and his famous father!

Zombies in therapy. Hey, why not?

Poetic justice meted out by grave angels and fate

Jonathan Harker has a night to remember!

PLUS STORIES THAT INSPIRED NOVELS AND A SERIES!

The Ravenous Undead! FREE FLASH FICTION!

"They rise from their crypts, these disgraced warriors who did not reach Valhalla but were consigned to ignoble burial.

You can see them as they stand atop their burial mounds, sword in hand, for they are still corporeal, though they reek of decomposing flesh and dusty bone.

Their stench, is all pervasive, the rotting corruption of themselves—it alerts all to their passage and the terror this night will bring.

“They have risen!”

An old man tries to warn the others of his village. But these undead spring quickly toward him like the monstrous predatory creatures they are, sleek and strong—shape-shifting demonic beings whose sole purpose is to rise from their own rot and destroy the living.

The old man cries out once but no more for they are chewing through his throat, ripping his poor flesh to shreds.

Great thick torrents of blood pour forth, appearing black in the eerie glow of a jaundiced moon.

Others begin to come forth too each rising armed with killing weapons, weapons alas not used in battle.

For you see these undead beasts were not warriors, but ran from battle in fright. And for their shame they were disowned and damned, their punishment was to be run through with blunt swords.

Yet though their executioners have long since died, these creatures have returned for revenge for they are mindless killing creatures and nothing more.

The village yonder is their target. For this was home to their punishers, those people who deemed them cowards.

They move en masse, a frightening sight to behold.

A courting couple see them and try to flee, but are soon overpowered. Each is pulled away, to be devoured, while still living.

Their agonized cries fill the night sky—and as their blood pours from their torn flesh, it is also consumed for it is the elixir the Draugr needs.

And then suddenly, in between the scream of a howling wind and the cry of an owl the boy and girl are fully consumed. Bones crunch and flesh is ripped apart. Then when they are dead, their mutilated remains are discarded for these undead feed only upon living flesh.

These ravenous dead at last reach the town. Parents cry out as they try to protect their young but none is a match for these demonic creatures. Babies are torn asunder and devoured, children drained and their parents too. All are feasted upon. A great and frightening cry of joy goes up when a pregnant woman is ripped apart, for there is the prize of a tiny fetus within.

The husband, father to the unborn child, watches powerlessly as his family’s murderers finish consuming his loved ones.

He cries out their names until his own head is torn from his body and the cascading blood is drunk.

Each house is so attacked and its inhabitants butchered and eaten.

But there is one who has fled not in cowardice but has rushed to stop these undead monsters.

A young warrior, strong and fiercely built does finally gather some of his friends to fight these cursed beings.

They have gathered iron swords from the monsters’ own crypts for that is the way. They are seen by the demons and are soon trapped high atop the cliffs that overlook the sea. But it is alright, they are ready for battle.

They yell a defiant war cry, as they spring forward, tackling the Draugr and slicing their heads from their bodies.

When all are so attacked the young warriors make a great pyre and burn the damned to ashes. At first light they will consign the ashes to the sea for that is the way it must be done.

The village is no more, but the Draugrs have been destroyed.

Ah but sadly there was one who watched and waited--one who will soon carry forth the hellish curse, for he will gather up as many fiendish comrades as he can from far afield, to avenge his brethren’s destruction.

Go forth if you dare! See if he can be stopped and please try to warn your kin!

And if some night you see them making for your village be resigned to the terrible death that comes from those they call the evil Draugr, the ravenous undead!

**

The Draugr are the shape-shifting undead Vikings of Norse mythology who feed upon living flesh.

In life they dishonoured themselves and were declared unfit to enter Valhalla and were thus buried and forgotten.

They can only be destroyed by decapitation and burning and having their ashes scattered.


© Carole Gill 2011

“Carole Gill’s talent is a wonder to experience. She has the uncanny ability to craft horrors imbued in fairy tale finesse.”

 “House of Horrors is a fine addition to my Kindle, and I’m sure I’ll be going to read this again and again…”

“A veritable blood feast for vampire fans everywhere!”

“If you are a fan of horror, you won't want to miss this one!! High marks to Ms. Gill.”

“There are so many different monsters in this book that no matter what your biggest fear is, or your favorite one to read about, you are gonna find it without fail!”

AMAZON 

FREE READ! This Story Inspired Circus of Horrors!

Here's the short story that inspired 'Circus of Horrors!'

GRAPHIC VIOLENCE! 

 WEIRDEST SHOW ON EARTH!

“Tell me somethin’, do you ever get nightmares, you know. About stuff, Hank?”

Hank was fixing his bow tie. He was only three and a half feet tall but when he was dressing for a show he felt like Fred Astaire. He sighed. “Sure, after what we been through. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, well—it’s now that counts, right?”

“Sure is, my friend. Our luck turned around didn’t it? Don’t I always say to look on the bright side?”

It was true. Tommy always helped him. He always would. That was why they were pals. Friends forever—literally.

They were part of a circus. Granted it was small, but it made up for that by its uniqueness. And like any circus, aside from midgets,

it had animal acts, performers and clowns. What’s a circus without clowns?

Yup, considering its size, this circus was pretty popular. People like to be entertained. Times were hard in this, the third year of what would come to be known as, the Great Depression. Yet, despite that, people came; all kinds of folks. Rubes and hicks mainly—because they never played the big cities; just small towns. Sebastian said it was better that way. They didn’t want any trouble. Not that they couldn’t handle it and then some.

Yet another show was about to start and the boys were glad. When they heard the brass band start up with Entry of the Gladiators they were in ecstasy. Tommy rubbed his hands. “That’s it. Getting all revved up now, how about you, kid?”

Hank smiled. “Yeah. It’s magic, ain’t it?”

They both laughed heartily at that. When the music stopped they heard Sebastian go into his spiel. “Ladies and Gentleman—prepare yourselves for the best circus show you’ll ever see. . . ”

No hecklers tonight, well one only; some yokel showing off to his girlfriend. The boys could hear him making loud noises and acting like a real smart ass.

The boys got ready for their entrance. Sebastian liked them to come out first and greet the audience, talk to them and get a sense of what kind of folks they were. They liked it too because they enjoyed sniffing the air. People’s blood always smelled so different. It was amazing.

They locked eyes onto the heckler as he was still going strong.

“Could be worse,” Tommy said. “Could be a few of them.”

Just then the heckler called them both runts. Runts, they didn’t like. Runts did more than rankle. But the stupid bastard finally shut up when the clowns made their appearance.

There were three of them. They wore distinctive clown make up. One was sad—there were tears painted under his eyes and his drooping lips were done up artfully. He had learned makeup from another clown he killed and ate. Well, no one’s perfect.

The other two clowns were also uniquely made up. Happy was the jolly one. He had this big ass smile plastered across his face. Sometimes he had the remains of food stuck in the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, that ain’t lipstick, is it?”

The two other clowns would often tease him.

“Oh shit!” He’d invariably say. “I am a messy eater!”

He was; he often had bits of flesh and blood scattered all over his costume. Lou used to admonish him. In the last town Lou actually found a half-eaten eyeball stuck onto Happy’s oversized shoe. He gave it to him for that. Lou didn’t like to yell but Happy had to get it together.

Still, they remained friends.

The third clown’s make up was more unusual. He was the clowns’ clown. Dave was the one the other two would pretend to pick on. His make-up was very old fashioned. It was the way clowns were made up in mediaeval times.

All three began to respond to the audience, especially the children.

They’d make these exaggerated motions. They just mimed; they never spoke. One child had already been chosen by one of them because he was fat. Lou loved fat little boys, all dimply and doughy looking. The last boy he had eaten lasted a whole week! Boy oh boy that little tub of lard was tasty. Happy did him up in a special glaze.

Happy liked to cook.

“It’s gonna be a good show,” Lou said—sounding very upbeat. “I can feel it in my bones.”

That’s when the orchestra started up again; just a few notes, after which Sebastian introduced the trapeze act: the great Waldini and his wife.

These acts, from the trick rider and her horse to the trapeze couple, including the brass band as well as the lion tamer and lions, were odd looking, expressionless. They performed well enough though. It was only when you looked closely at them that there was a sense something was radically wrong, as in weird, fucking and odd.

Only one person noticed. He had seen the show a few times, following them from town to town throughout Ohio. He was studying the acts. Something wasn’t right about it; something just stunk about it. He didn’t know what it was, but he was determined to find out. It would make his career as a reporter, he felt sure.

He watched the lion tamer strut out. The guy was attired in a glittering, white outfit; pith helmet, whip and everything. The whip cracked as the tamer barked out commands. The lions growled a few times, nothing remarkable. In fact if anything, they looked bored. It seemed their growls and raised paws didn’t have a sense of realism which was most strange but then again, they had been conjured.

The midgets came out next. Dressed as always, very dapper. They wore make up, nothing too theatrical, or clownish. It was just enough to be interesting. Their faces were made up so that they looked like manikins. Their faces were white and their eyelids were lined in black. They wore lipstick and circles of rouge, too—their hair was slicked back like George Raft’s and they flirted a lot with the ladies. They seemed mischievous.

Actually they were interesting to watch because they were animated and lively. The young man didn’t think anything untoward about them or the clowns—not then.

*

They loved chow time. They ate around a big table in Sebastian’s trailer. It had been some movie star’s house car in the twenties. The rumor was it had been Mae West’s. Whatever the story, it was ace.


Everyone loved it particularly, Sebastian. In fact it was his home. He had his own bathroom and kitchen area and bunks too—like plush sofas they were.

The clowns always behaved themselves when they came in. They were always polite and made a real effort to be pleasant.

The boys (Tommy and Hank) were dressed well; they’d shower in the special shower tent before. They were very fastidious; much more so than the clowns. The clowns had to be reminded of personal hygiene periodically, but Sebastian didn’t mind. They were okay guys.

He smiled at the phrase. That was one of the 20th century expressions he loved.

They were all enthused about the town and the show and everyone started speaking at once. Sebastian had a few things to say but he bided his time. He’d save it for last.

He was grinning at them. His gaunt face and pronounced cheekbones gave him a skull-like look sometimes. He could have altered his appearance from the tall, imposing man he was but he didn’t.

Every so often he did, but only if he had to. At last he spoke. “I have a special menu for you guys tonight.” This he said as he revealed a beautiful roast.

The clowns were excited. “Dave said he smelled something cooking earlier. Didn’t you, Dave?”

Dave agreed. “I bet I know what it is!”

Happy and Lou nodded. “He’s been driving us nuts all day. Saying how he can’t wait to bite into a nice fat buttocks. Anyone we know, Sebastian?”

Sebastian started to answer but looked over at Tommy and Hank.

They were looking as though they felt ignored. “Now boys, no one’s forgotten about you.” He said as he handed them two tumblers. “This is fresh, it’s nowhere near clotted.”

They oohed and awed and sniffed the giant tumblers.

“Rich, ruby port! Might we know where that came from?”

Sebastian shook his finger in a good natured but teasing way.

“Don’t pry it’s rude. Let’s just say that heckler paid for calling you guys runts.”

Hank and Tommy clapped their little hands together. “Thank you!” they cried.

Dave wanted to know where the rest of him was.

“He’s been put away for tomorrow’s grub, is that okay?”

Happy and Lou were shaking their heads. “Dave, you gotta cut down on the calories. You’re going to get too fat for your clown suit!”

Tommy started to laugh which only inflamed Lou. Well the clowns and the midgets used to argue, coming to blows occasionally. Of course the midgets always won. They were little, but they were strong as vampires are.

Sebastian gently admonished them. He loved his boys as he called them. They had been tossed around from circus to circus. In the last place they had been, they were beaten constantly. When Sebastian saw them, they were almost dead.

He killed their tormenter, but by that time, they were both gone. He raised them up because he would not see them dead. When they rose up and realized what he had done, they cried. Vampires do that. Sebastian had seen it happen a lot.

He explained it all to them. “You’ll live forever, boys! You’ll never be afraid. You’ll never be harmed or frightened. Isn’t that good?”

Eventually they grew into their undead existence as vampires do.

That was just after the war in Europe. It was 1918 when they were turned.

Sebastian’s circus had grown quite a bit since then. There were the acts he put in. They weren’t real people or animals. They were creations of his sorcery. That was Sebastian’s story. Everyone in a circus has a story.

Tommy was teasing the clowns again. Why the midget picked on them was anybody’s guess. Sebastian didn’t like it. He felt sorry for them because they were life’s victims too, but in a different way.

The three of them were former mental patients. Yes sir, right out of Storeyville, Georgia. They had this sadist bastard of a doctor, Dr. Nichols who liked to do experiments on them. When they had enough of his hole drilling and failed (but painful) attempts at lobotomies—or was it just torture by another name—they escaped; walked right out of that house of horrors.

Sebastian always wondered when they became cannibals. He had asked them but they’d laugh and ‘say never you mind;’ although they did fess up to eating Dr. Nichols and two orderlies.

He told them that it didn’t matter. He said they’d have jobs and a place to stay as long as they liked. Of course they’d have to learn clown stuff. They were eager and in no time were performing perfectly.

Sebastian could see how much they looked up at him.

It was funny how they found one another. Sebastian caught them ripping open a family of four. The kids were nothing more than ribs and hair but these three guys were still gnawing away on the father and mother when Sebastian called out: “Hey, what are you doing?”

Whereupon the three threatened him. That was when he showed them. He had the remains of their meal rise up from the ground. Up this stuff went, all pieces of flesh and gore–spinning and turning—coming closer and closer to them!

They screamed but Sebastian only laughed and began to taunt them. First by having the gnawed parents begin to dance with one another.

It got so bad that the guys pleaded for him to stop. “What kinda shit is this? Who the hell are you?”

That was what he was waiting for. “I am Sebastian and I come from another place and time.” He told them how he had made a pact with Satan so that he could live forever. “It was easy—I gave up my soul. What the hell did I need it for? It was no use to me. Not during the Black Death it wasn’t. That plague killed one-third of Europe in the fourteenth century.”

He told them how he could raise the dead and make things move.
He often spoke about the many centuries he had lived through.

The midgets were fascinated by stories of the little people and Sebastian never disappointed them. He had a number of special people (he hated the word freaks) he had saved from one circus or sideshow over the years. He came to think of them as family.

*

Even now, these meals were special family dinners. Sebastian ate regular food but the others didn’t. The midgets only subsisted on blood whereas the clowns were meat eaters. Real meat eaters.

It was toward the end of the meal that Sebastian brought the subject up of the young man. That got their attention. In fact, Dave dropped the eye ball he was nibbling and Tommy nearly spilled a goblet of blood. Now that would have stained the table cloth.

“There’s this young man. I don’t know what his racket is, but I find him highly suspicious. I think we will have to deal with him soon.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“No shit.” Hank said.

Sebastian nodded. “The sooner we take care of him, the better.”

*

They found him talking to the lion tamer. It struck the clowns funny and the midgets too, but it didn’t make Sebastian laugh because he was too intent on his purpose.

“May I help you?”

The guy turned around and smiled, albeit nervously. “Is there anything wrong with him?” He asked gesturing toward the blanked-eyed lion tamer. “Is he in a stupor? I mean is he alright?”

Hank and Tommy sauntered up from behind Sebastian. “What’s it to you, bub?”

The man shrugged. “Nothing really,” he smiled, trying to appear casual. But when the three clowns suddenly appeared, he stood up to run.

Flight or fight.

However since it didn’t look like he’d get away, he tried to reason.
“I’m a reporter. . . I’d like to do a feature story on your circus.
That’s all. . . ”

“No kidding!” the clowns replied in unison. Then they all turned to look at Sebastian.

“We can’t afford any publicity. It’s just the way it is, the way it’s always been. Let me explain. . . ”

*

The last thing he saw were the teeth. Long, yellow teeth sharpened to a fine point. They were covered in his blood. He knew that because he felt so weak.


Still, he hadn’t been conscious most of the time they were feeding. And really he started to weaken when the midgets were draining him. They assured him they wouldn’t kill him though because the clowns hated dried-out food.

When they said that, he screamed. Naturally it didn’t help him.

Sebastian liked a good screamer, and so did his guys. After all, they worked hard to put on a good show and they liked some entertainment in return. Why not?

Sebastian waved his arms and the toy-like circus performers rose up from wherever they were: the lion tamer, the lions, the horse and rider, even the great Waldini and his wife. They rose as the toys they were, created by Sebastian’s magic.

He nodded toward the brass band to start playing. It was amazing. All those toys—obeying as they did. Sure enough, the circus music started, Entry of the Gladiators, Sebastian’s favorite.

The lively tune boomed out, masking the reporter’s agonized screams. In fact as he slipped into the great and vast beyond, he smiled because the closer he got to death the more he didn’t mind. And really, whatever came after this had to be a whole lot better... "

Copyright   ©  2013   Carole Gill

This story inspired my novel, Circus of Horrors 

AMAZON

The story first appeared in this best selling collection:

Beacon - Free Story for Sunday!

SOMETIMES IT'S BETTER TO DROWN - FREE COMPLETE STORY - HOUSE OF HORRORS!

It was a beacon to all who saw it—a place of safety, a haven from harm. No one knew how long it guided ships, nor was it known how many were saved, plucked from the angry seas and certain death. 

The guardians of the keep sat watch, never faltering—ever constant in their vigil. So devoted were they.

The lighthouse keeper and his granddaughter often sat staring out at the sea, wondering if a ship would lose its way, wondering if those in peril on the sea would need their help.

“We shall bring them ashore if they need us, Emily. We shall do whatever it takes to draw them forth from the angry waves.”

The girl smiled and dimpled as her grandfather reached out to touch her golden hair.

How he loved her.

“You are Emily the fairest and the dearest thing in the world to me!”

She smiled for she loved her grandfather.

She loved, too the quiet life of the lighthouse. Yet though it was quiet, there was enough to do, for there were so many jobs. Her granddad did most of them but she helped. She lit the lamp at sunset and put it out at sunrise, filling it with kerosene each day.

She tidied the place too sweeping and cleaning the tower and the stairs and all around besides.

Her grandfather had enough to do, not only maintaining the lighthouse but seeing to it that there were candles and blankets for those in need.

Sometimes they were too late or ineffectual and they’d find drowned men, scattered on their island shore like so much flotsam. They hated that as it was such a waste of humanity.

At times like those they’d shake their heads and hope to be more successful in the future. They could only hope.

Then on a particular day, shortly after dusk they knew they were in for something major. They heard how the winds picked up for now great, violent gales were causing the windows to rattle noisily in their wooden frames.

“A great storm is brewing, Grandfather!”

He knew it too, for he could hear the thundering noise bounding up all around them. It sounded as though the place would be brought down upon their heads.

The lighthouse shook and the fire in the grate soon died, as the gusts blew down the chimney extinguishing it.

He lit another for it was best to be prepared. “No telling who might be here ‘afore much longer, Em!”

She nodded and smiled and soon settled back to see what the night brought.

They were conversing quietly; he was reading poetry to her or trying to for he could see she was distracted by the noise of the wind and the intermittent creak of wood. The lighthouse groaned for 400 years and was likely to groan for another 400.

“I shall put the light on—come child we shall see if there are any ships about!”

They climbed the winding stairs and though they tried to brace themselves they still gasped as the cold air hit them. It was something they could never get used to.

They saw it almost immediately. There was one, small fishing boat, pitching up sharply with each giant wave. It looked so precarious being thrown about as though it were a toy.

“Look there, do you see?”

She nodded. “They are done for. I shall go out with the lantern!”

She hurried down the stairs and onto the shore waving the lantern over her head. 

“Over here, make your way here, to our lighthouse beacon! It is the only way!”

They both watched then; Grandfather from his tower and Emily from the shore.

It was hard to see, for it was deep night and the sky was moonless. But then a wondrous thing happened. The ship began firing flares, great red flares that burst almost gaily overhead. How they crackled and exploded.

“They’re coming Grandfather!”

A lifeboat was headed straight toward them. But it hit one of the rocks and was split asunder as its cargo of half-drowned men was tossed ashore.

There were ten men at least, lying about, trying to crawl, calling out for help, begging and pleading to be saved.

When they saw they were saved, they wept.

“Bless you and thank you!”

“There now, you shall share our food and rest beside our fire. You are safe now.”

Some of the men laughed with the joy of relief, others were stony silent, seeming to disbelieve they had come to safety.

They were given dry clothes and blankets, and something hot to drink. It was for them, a miracle.

Their eyes followed Emily about--grateful eyes, shining with tears. Watching this beautiful young girl and calling her an angel.

For she was one to them.

“Aye you are that Miss, a golden haired angel sent from heaven!”

This, from the youngest of the men, a lad already stirred by love.

How grandfather beamed for he was pleased.

“Sleep now, and be at peace for a watery grave shall not be your home!”

The men nodded and smiled and bade their two saviors good night.

It was quiet then. And Grandfather and Emily smiled at one another and closed the door for they could already hear the even breathing of their guests.

“They sleep so soon.”

“They are tired and need rest.”

“Aye, but we don’t.”

Emily giggled and was quieted. “Shh, my dear. We must begin our preparations.”

There was truly a great deal to prepare. This was to be no massacre, for their bounty would be ruined. 

The men would not be slaughtered out right. That would never do. Emily was always the anxious one. So eager to begin.

“Patience is a virtue.”

 “Yes, Grandfather I understand.”

She hadn’t always understood. She had made a right mess of things. Done proper carnage in her time, torn flesh apart and feasted wildly like a hungry animal.

Her grandfather taught her. “There must be order to our existence. For without it we should have no nobility. And truly that would not be acceptable.”

She understood then and she understood now. After all, as Granddad taught her something worth doing is worth doing well.

She smiled and hugged him. “We shall keep them alive so that we may enjoy their blood and flesh and eat to our fill."

“Yes, there is no rush. Let us savor what the sea has chosen to give us.”

“Offerings from the eternal sea, I like that!”

They were pleased with their existence, not that it hadn’t been fraught with worry on occasion.

Grandfather sighed. “We have been here so long, my child, we fear leaving the island, though it could be the cause of our destruction by starvation! What weak-willed creatures of the night we are.”

Emily smiled, for she was already licking her lips and thinking of that which she would soon be consuming. Not only the rich, ruby blood but great quantities of living flesh.

“I wished for good fortune and it has come, I am grateful as well as happy! But I must tell you I cannot wait long, for it has been too long a wait as it is!”

Grandfather nodded. “Be calm; for I shall get the chains and the long knives now while you set the table for our feast!”

Epilogue

The youngest of the fishermen lived the longest. He felt the chains upon his flesh but he felt their teeth first, teeth feeding quietly, almost delicately.

Tasting.

He saw her then, the golden haired angel. She looked up and smiled and began to feed some more. He listened to the sounds she made.

Was he dreaming? He began to watch her. He saw her hair turn red with his blood as the light grew fainter. 

But there was no pain, for he was past it and past caring too and embraced death as a friend. 

End

© 2012 Carole Gill 

AMAZON 

"Carole Gill’s talent is a wonder to experience. She has the uncanny ability to craft horrors imbued in fairy tale finesse. The dreamy landscape of her imagination flows across the page with thoughtful, thought-provoking sophistication. 

There is no doubt that she soars above the endless parade of independent horror authors to shine as a true star in the darkness. With the brilliant anthology House of Horrors she proves why she is a perennial favorite. To put it simply, this is a great assembly of tales anyone would be proud to have in their collection."

Joshua Skye

Dark Media 

FRIDAY FREE FLASH FICTION: LEGEND OF THE DEMON VAMPIRES

Free story to read.  Happy Flash Friday! 

"He was a wise man, the village story teller and chronicler—the archivist of tales. Tales he would recount orally for that was the way of his people.

Sometimes there were visitors, they were generally lost and frightened. Frightened by the fierce appearance of these his tribal brethren. Mainly the interlopers were hunters who were lost.

He always helped them. Occasionally, they carried within their numbers a wounded comrade; mauled by the demon vampires that still dwelled deep within the surrounding jungle. There was only so much folk magic that would work. He could tell when they were going to die or even become a vampire themselves.

His people would release such a demon to go back to their kind. It kept their attacks few and far between. In fact there hadn't been many attacks on the village in years. All hoped that it would not change.

Very little else happened but then some strangers had wandered in, people in funny clothes with peculiar ways.

The elder had heard of them before. Europeans. They were neither wounded nor lost. They made themselves understood, gesturing and drawing lines in the sand. Thankfully, there was one among them who spoke a familiar dialect enabling some communication to take place.

The chief elder was not surprised when asked about the demon vampires.

They gestured for him to speak so he nodded and began to spin his tale. He spoke slowly and paused repeatedly so that their interpreter could cope with his story.

"At the beginning of time there were the great mancats that roamed throughout the world. These beautiful beasts were more like panthers than men. On occasion they would turn into handsome men, thereby ensuring human women would mate with them. The offspring of such union were the world's first vampires. They lived in packs, and fed upon most living things, draining both animals and humans of their blood. They could be heard hissing at night—baying like wolves at the moon and roaring too when they mated with others of their kind. Their forbears died out—but their children survived.

Euta, a small female lived in a pack but the others bullied her, stealing the rodents she fed on from her and driving her out from the enclosure.

Euta often wept for herself but her cries were low for she did not wish the others to hear. Sometimes children were taken from the villages as food and Euta tried to set them free. She always preferred to feed on small animals.

A man saw her once. He watched her remove a child from the enclosure when the others were asleep. She carried the babe back down the hillside.

The man came forward then, for although he realized she would not harm the babe he wished to make his presence known. When she saw him she cried out.

"Don't worry I won't hurt you." he cried.

They could understand one another or so the legend says.

She watched him return the child to its rightful place. She wanted to make friends with the man but he had a woman. And because she was jealous, she wished to tear apart the woman so she might have the man all to herself.

It is the only violent thought she had ever had. But she didn't do anything, instead she went back to her pack.

Eventually, she was thrown out and fled down to the village but was attacked with bows and arrows.
The man saw her and saved her. And because he tended her wounds, his woman left.

He left soon after with her following him, hiding in the shadows—not caring what kind of existence she would have for she would not wish to be far from the man.

The legend says that she died shortly after, and the man did mourn her as a friend if nothing else…"

The elder stopped spinning his tale because one of them, a distinguished looking man looked disappointed. The translator spoke with him and nodding he asked the elder:

"The gentleman wants to know about the other demon vampires, the ones that tear apart flesh and consume blood. It is those and only those that he is interested in."

The wise man shrugged. "The world has always had evil monsters in it. But very well if that is what he wishes to hear I shall tell him."

The translator told the man what the elder had said.

"Thank you," Bram Stoker replied. "I would be most grateful, most grateful, indeed."

© Carole Gill Copyright 2013

JUST ONE OF THE STORIES IN:

AMAZON 

UNDEAD ANONYMOUS, ZOMBIES NEED SUPPORT TOO!

ANOTHER FREE, COMPLETE SEASONAL UNDEAD STORY!

The meeting began promptly. A towering and decomposing hulk of a creature lurched up to the front of the class and announced:

“I’m Harvey and I’m a zombie!”

The other zombies were on their feet applauding. “Good on you, Harv!”

“Way to go!”

Harvey was overcome. Well, overcome for a zombie is kind of different than for anyone else. The tear ducts are gone, so sighing is all a zombie can do really.

Harvey sighed. “I’m so glad I came!”

Renaldo Gizzard blew Harv a kiss. “You honor us.”

The truth was this support group was solely Renaldo’s idea.

"We’re not all monsters the way the movies portray us as stomping flesh- eating morons who can’t string two words together!”

Sadly, most zombies were stomping flesh-eating morons who couldn’t string two words together but some weren’t. Some were tragic, moldering carcasses who wanted to support one another and share their angst.

“It helps to know we are not alone. You are not alone. Yes, friends we can help one another.”

Their support group was pretty new. They had only begun meeting shortly before Thanksgiving. As a matter of fact they had gotten together for their very own Thanksgiving Dinner.

Harvey still lived at home with his living mother (she insisted) so he wasn’t certain he could leave her alone on Thanksgiving, but he did and to her credit she encouraged him.

Thanksgiving went nicely. They shared a vegetarian roast Renaldo made from scratch. Even in his undead state he still loved to cook. At his worst (flesh eating) he insisted his fare be prepared in just the right way.

They discussed a lot of things at that dinner. One of which was how they should exist.

Renaldo as always tried to teach them to stomp in the light.

“There are choices! We can eat live flesh or we can choose not to. It’s your decision! Mine too!

And so it was.

And if Thanksgiving was great, Christmas was even more special for they had all spent it with Harvey and his mother.

Yes more vegetarian food although some had eyed Harv’s mom up a bit. Well she was pleasingly plump and if Renaldo and Harvey were now above eating human flesh, Big Guy, Maggot and Grave Stench were not.

Yet they were under control and Renaldo was proud. He told them so.

“I am delighted with you all and I have decided to throw a New Year’s Eve bash for all of us!”

And he did too. There was veggie party food and balloons and music. There were even DVDs to watch, with the exception of undead films. Just a precaution you understand.

As midnight approached Renaldo and Harvey were talking about the growing numbers of zombies.

“You see if we don’t do something soon, something to redirect our species away from the carnage, the world will be in a nightmare.”

It was true. And the truth made everyone pretty sentimental. Even Grave Stench and Big Guy began reminiscing about the past. As for Maggot he was sobbing about how bitterly he missed his living life.

Renaldo had a real crying jag on and began speaking about a hair salon he had in the Village years before.

“I used to cut Elton John’s hair! Imagine. What would he say now?”

Everyone tried to assure Renny that Elton John was a nice guy and would not make judgments. But Renny disagreed.

“We frighten people! No matter what we do we frighten the hell out of them!”

“We’ll have to change, with your help we will!” Harvey piped up.

Maggot agreed. “You have made us understand, Renny. And in truth there is knowledge.”

“And in knowledge we will be able to change!” Big Guy sobbed.

Grave Stench just nodded, he was so emotional he couldn’t speak.

But all was not well. Harvey sensed it. And when there was a knock at the door, he rushed to answer it for he felt it was his mother. She was supposed to drive him home.

He let her in and stood in front of her lest something happen. Actually he was right about something being wrong for he could see the way the others were staring at her and rubbing their tummies, even Renaldo appeared to be salivating!

Suddenly Renny rose to his feet. “Come here,” he grinned. "I would like to wish you a happy new year!”

“You leave my Mom alone!” Harvey shouted as all of them began stomping toward his mother.

But they stopped in their tracks as another voice called out:

“Anyone order pizza?”

Renaldo looked ecstatic. “Holy moly!" he said. "I forgot about that. Come in young man!"

They ate well that night. Yes, sadly they succumbed to the flesh, even Harvey did. A leopard doesn’t change its spots you see. And because that is true Harvey’s mother would soon become history too.

Well they did have to see the New Year in properly didn’t they and besides, they could always mend their ways--and if not, so what?!

© Copyright 2011 Carole Gill

AMAZON 

Hope you enjoyed that! There's more twisted tales where that came from!