Posts Tagged ‘murder’

Happy New Years,

So Christmas is over and that also means my break is over, which is something I needed. Releasing three books in one year was something I never thought I would be able to do. I really didn’t.

I’m working on book three of Poisoned By Blood and I’m excited as this one is even darker than the others and the tale gets even more complicated. I’m also working on  a squeal to Twisted Coven, so yeas, I’m a buys girl.

I am also playing some games to give me down time where my mind isn’t on books, my newest one’s are Subnautica, thanks to Markiplier, and then I found out Mass Effect 2 was free on Origin and I  am just waiting for it to finish downloading. I have multiple YouTube videos planned too, just waiting my voice to stabilize so I can do it.

I also have some awesome books planned for this year and I’m excited to share them with you.

Keep reading

Simone

Happy weekend guys.

Who is Ed Gein

Ed Gein is often described as a serial killer by any, while he was one of the sickest and most disturbing killers ever to come to the knowledge of the general public and has been the basis of fictional serial killers Buffalo Bill, Norman Bates and Leather Face because of what he did and what was found in his home when police entered it to find out the extent of his involvement in the disappearance of a local woman.

Verified Victims

Bernice Worden

Mary Hogan

Case Details

November 16th 1957 hardware store owner in Plainfiled Bernice Worden disappeared. Ed Gein was the last customer in the hardware store and the last to see Bernice. Police suspected Gein and when they entered his farm they found Worden’s decapitated body in a shed, hanging upside down with a crossbar at her ankles and ropes at her wrists. She had been shot by a.22 calibre rifle and her body showed post mortem mutilation.

During further searched police were horrified to find a plethora of morbid and strange trinkets.

  • Bones and bone fragments.
  • A wastebasket from human skin.
  • Human leather covering several chair seats.
  • Bed Posts decorated by human skulls.
  • Several female skull with the top sawn off (similar to whats done during an autopsy).
  • Bowls fashioned from human skulls.
  • Corset made from a female torso Skinned from sholders to waist.
  • Human leather leggings.
  • Human leather facemasks (made from a female head).
  • Mary Hogan’s (his other victim) face fashioned into a mask in a paper bag.
  • Bernice Worden’s entire head was in a burlap sack.
  • A plastic bag in front of Gein’s potbellied stove contained Worden’s heart.
  • Nine sets of vulvae hidden in a shoe box.
  • The dress of a young girl and two sets vulvae from two women estimated around fifteen years old.
  • A window shade drawstring sporting a pair of lips.
  • A belt made of human nipples
  • Four noses
  • A lampshade made from human leather created using human face skin.
  • Finger nails from female fingers.

During questioning Gein revealed that during the years between 1947 – 1952  he was taking moonlight trips to the graveyard, digging up recently buried remains and removing the mountain of body parts found in his home. He confessed to robing nine graves, telling the police and told them who digging up two of the graves police found the caskets were empty, one had a crow bar and the other was void of any remains. While checking three other graves the police found evidence revealed Gein would rob the graves before they had been properly filled in, out of the three graves checked one was untouched as he was unable to access the casket but lost his crowbar, one was empty and one had some body parts in it but not the whole body that had been buried.

Following Gein’s mothers death he had began creating a woman suit (hence the correlation between him and both Normal Bates and Buffalo Bill) so that he could be come her.

He denied having sex with the bodies due to the smell of the early stages of decomposition. He also admitted to the shooting death of Mary Hogan, tavern owner that had been missing since 1954 but later denied the memory of the details of her death.

He was considering as a suspect in several other unsolved cases in Wisconsin including the 1954 disappearance of La Crosse baby sitter Evelyn Hartley.

Gein’s confession was deemed as inadmissible due to Sheriff Art Schley reportedly shoving Geins head and face into a brick wall.

He was found not guilty of the two murders due to reasons of insanity and was sent to central state hospital (now Dodge correctional institute) then transferred to Mendota state hospital and he was diagnosed as schizophrenic.

He was found able to stand trial in 1968 and during the one week trial he revealed that he had no idea if the murder of Bernice was intentional or accidental and was found guilty of on Bernice’s death.

Gein died of complications due to cancer on July 26th 1984.

There is also speculation that he may have been involved the accidental death of his brother when he was younger.

Conclusion

As Gein has only two verified kills to his name, though he may have killed others but due to lack of evidence this can’t be confirmed, he is not a serial killer, as there is no evidence that both were committed with malice, planning and forethought. They couldn’t even prove if the killing happened accidentally or not, there was no evidence either way. Yes he was a killer, he was a grave robber, and he enjoyed using ‘human leather’ in his house hold and if he hadn’t have been caught soon after Bernice’s disappearance he may have continued to kill but no he wasn’t a serial killer, he wasn’t even close to reaching the kill counts of people such as Bundy, Dahmer, the West’s and so many others.

Here is the cover for my November 15th release and I love it. 

The young lady on the cover is a good friend of mine and acted as my muse on thus book. There are a few things that are here in the book but there are little differences. I have been working on this book for two year and the mother of the lady on the cover (who’s also my best friend) helped with the beta reading.. 

I am so excited. I can’t wait. 

Happy writing

Simone

Morning readers,

It’s the dreaded Monday morning again and the work week has begun all over again. I am at home with my husband, who’s fast asleep after a night shift and my mum whos visiting for a week and it occured to me that my own creative mind is a complicated one, very compicated.

You all know about my writing and my books as you have all been treated from time to time to shorts I post here but you have little knowledge of my other creative outlets. I draw, not well but I draw. I also enjoy taking photo’s of various things, I love the gothic beauty of cemetery photography as well as the beauty of nature’s own creative mind.

 

immanual grave yard 301114

This photo was taken at a relatives home in the south of England and its a beautiful flower in ths summer sun.

My creative mind is rarely quiet and it keeps me active, even when I’m meant to be asleep. Mind you with my body being a mess my mind being sharp is a small price to pay. I love my mind, I just wish that I could sleep when I need to not when my mind wants me too.

I love my creativity and I always will, I may not be able to draw or paint but I sure as hell can paint a picture with words, my words can conjure up a picture of what ever it is I need.

Any way, this summer heat is making me sweat so I’m going to switch of the laptop and eat my cherries.

Have a excellent night

Simone. ❤

Hi Guys

I have been super busy working on Hell Hath No Fury and Poisoned By Blood Book Three, I have the sequel to Twisted Coven is planned out and ready once I have the other two squared away.

Today I wanted to talk about the pluses of having a support network around writers, whether they be signed, freelance, those wanting to write and those who were still deciding if they truly want to be a writer.

By nature the world or writing isn’t an easy one to be in. It is fought with judgement and angst. You may be told no 20, 100, 300 times before being signed, J. K. Rowling was rejected 12 times before the Harry Potter series was signed, Stephen King’s Carrie was rejected 30 times before being published. It’s part of the job, perseverance and willing to listen to feedback are the best thing’s for a writer to have in their back pocket.

I have received some negative feed back and attention and I’ll show you a few examples and tell you on how to deal with them.

First a review from Shattered Souls

bad review 1

I have redacted the name to protect the person in question. This was a bad review in a sea of four and five star reviews. I was upset when I saw this, I will admit that I did shed a tear but I realized that it was merely a troll, a person who was out to hurt as troll are. You can do nothing about trolls, nothing but ignore them and move on.

Here’s a review for Spilt Blood

Bad review 2

This review is constructive, meaning that instead of five words with no true meaning and are not the slightest bit helpful. They give pointers on how the books going forward can be improved and how they can be better. They advise the use of Beta readers, which is now something I do now. They do question the main characters age state that it would be better if she was older, this is something I debated on this as I wrote the book but her age is important further in the series, in book four. The comment about the ‘rushed’ feel of the book, that was purposeful as their is a serial killer around and they are hunting him before he kills too many people, they don’t really have the time to do much else. Though I think I could have done a bit more character building and relationship building.

Authors are, by nature, solitary nature and we like to work in our own cocoon but we do need a good network of support around us. I am extremely lucky that my Mum and Dad (Stepdad) have always been there, pushing me to be better. I have an awesome husband who believes in me even when I don’t believe in myself. I have an awesome publisher with Vamptasy Publishing, the website is being updated at the moment but it does show several of our awesome writers on their. I also have several fans although I’m only a beginner in this job and they are loyal and that is astounding to me. Having people around to help bring you up when you get that rejection letter or that bad review helps.

While I was lucky to get a yes early on and I love my book home and I would never change that ever in the world and I only hope that one day all authors find their book home.

Thankfully there is no negative review of Dark Side of Humanity yet nor has there been any for Twisted Coven yet, not on Amazon anyway.

I have a lot of things going on this year and I am hoping that my books grow in strength and that those who love it continue too do so. I have a group of people who seem to love my books and people that are happy to share my books on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.

I am hoping to do a Facebook ad this weekend to help promote the books a little. I am busy, two book releases this year with more going on that are working on in the back ground hence why I’ve been quiet.

My main peaces of advise are as follows:-

  1. Take on the constructive criticism and use it going forward with more books and any re-releases.
  2. Let troll reviews slide off your back and move on.
  3. Make sure you have an awesome network around you.
  4. Don’t let rejection stop you.
  5. Learn, learn and learn. Read, read and read. Write, write and write.

I also know I need an editor as my dyslexia makes things hard work and tricky to do and I quite often miss mistakes, that’s another good thing about beta readers, they help with the process and help make things more coherent.

If there are any subjects you want me to take on please let me know and I’ll see what I can do.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello Guys

A new week, and although the handles come off my fridge and my hubbies PC is dying I’m oddly in an optimistic mood.

I worked last week on the start of a tale for you guys called “You’re next!”

Have a read and vote if you want more. I have finished the first round of edits and I am in the process of typing up the bonus short for the fist instalment of Poisoned By Blood series. I will keep you apprised on what’s going on with that.

With the series I have added short’s at the end but I was wondering if you guys want me to put some on her and put the password for bonus content in the book. Let me know what you guys think.

I’m also going through some of my old poems and reading them to see if they are worth sharing and will post any that pass inspection.

 

Happy writing guys

Simone

Hello Readers,

 

Here’s an updated copy of “Two Dead Boys”.

The corrections were done by a very good friend of mine.

There wasn’t was many as I thought there would be.

Enjoy

 

TWO DEAD BOYS

Preface

My name is Darryl and I am writing this account of the last few months while my memory is still fresh. I believe it happened despite everyone saying otherwise. I know it happened. I have the scar and death certificate to prove it.

 

You may think this a little fantastical and downright unbelievable but it is a one hundred per cent true.

 

I know.

 

I lived through it.

 

My doctors tell me it is my way of dealing with what happened, what they say happened, a nuclear station meltdown, but it is not. I escaped before the explosion. I had to. I had to tell others what happened but they think I am mad.

 

I will keep this detailed account safe and add to the paperwork I have and one day I will prove that I am in fact a walking dead man.

 

It is true. I have the proof.

 

 

 

Chapter One: The first weird thing

It all began during my senior year. We were two weeks in and everyone was already stressing about prom, graduation and exams.

 

Josh and I were raised together and always lived next door to each other. We were more like brothers than friends. We went to school together and our school was two towns over from the little collection of houses where we lived.

 

We lived on a small cluster of houses surrounded by farmland. Farmland our fathers worked on. Between the two families the houses held nearly twenty people including ailing relatives, parents, children, grandchildren and farm hands.

 

That day, the Tuesday, was the first day something strange happened.

 

On the farm there was an old storm/bomb shelter and the walls were nearly nine inch thick for protection. This is, word for word, what my dad told us when we got home from school.

 

“The dumb ass was acting all strange like it had been bitten and poison was slowly poisoning the body ,it was starting to go lame. Your Uncle Bill was trying to help, pretty much whilst we were trying to move the wretched donkey; it kicked out and caught Uncle Bill right in the eye, and propelled him through the storm shelter wall. By the time we got to him he was gone.” He relayed, fighting back the emotion, my father was the stoic type. “The doctor said he drowned from the blood in his lungs that had gotten there due to the damage caused by the fall.” He told us in horrific detail.

 

My father was always adamant that he would never hide anything from us no matter how horrific, much too both our mother’s dismay.

 

“What about the donkey?” I enquired.

 

“Put down,” he replied, his face stern and stoic. “It had been bitten; it was the best thing for him. He was old.” Dad explained and left the room, leaving Josh and I to digest what we had been told.

Not needed

The workmen were fixing the storm shelter but yet there was an odd quietness hanging over the farm.

 

It didn’t occur to us then how strange Uncle Bill’s death was. Not by a long shot.

 

Even the next two events didn’t cause us to think, our town was still smarting from the death too much to even think about it.

 

 

 

Chapter Two: Two Freaky Scenes

Luckily the next event didn’t involve a death but it was, shall we say, pretty damn strange.

 

At the school Josh and I went to there were a few, for want of a better word, handicapped students. Among them was a blind boy and a dumb girl. They were from a family that lived just down the dirt road from us and we often gave them a lift.

 

About a week after Uncle Bill’s death, Josh and I decided to do a few tricks on our skate boards but needed a referee. So we, I know it sounds strange, asked them to help us out. Julie, the dumb girl, agreed and Paul, her blind brother told us he would tell us what she was saying. They were twins which was always a source of amusement to us both.

 

Although she was mute Julie was incredibly pretty and the fact she didn’t speak was a plus for most of the guys at school, if you get what I’m saying.

 

Though she was pretty she was a thick as a post, she was also very, well, slow. She was in a special needs group but we didn’t hold that against her. She was a good laugh regardless of her shortcomings.

 

She watched as we did our tricks They sat in deep thought and then they started an odd type of conversation. After around ten minutes of showing off she told us, via Paul, that Josh was better than I. I was about to ask her why, though I knew it was because she fancied him, walked over to us. He was also dumb, a mute, never spoken once in his life.

Paul told me that I was good from what he heard, but Josh was just that little bit better.

 

As their father reached us he surprised us all by screaming “hooray,” at the top of his voice. It shocked us as we had always been told that he was physically incapable of speech.

 

My dad was close by and he heard it and it shocked him too. He came running over and asked us what had gone on.

 

When we explained the whole thing to him he just walked away and giggled as he went.

 

Paul and Julie left with their father. Between then and the explosion their father never said another word.

 

 

 

Chapter Three: Huhh?

The third event yet far from the strangest happened two days after we showed off for Paul and Julie. It also didn’t involve any horrific and twisted death, but oddly strange, none the less though it does involve an accidental death or two.

 

Josh and I had been driving around our semi-rural town, having a bit of fun and we ended up in our counties over grown cemetery near an old abandoned church and we started acting out battles we read about in history. Much like when we were younger.

 

For hours we played, pretending to shoot at each other, fighting and being typical teenagers. It was Saturday and unbeknown to us at the time the church was no longer abandoned. A new priest had moved in that week and he had, stupidly, called the police.

 

When the officer arrived we were shocked, we tried to explain, yet he completely ignored us. It was as though he couldn’t hear what we were saying.

 

Once we arrived at the police station, petrified of our parents finding out. We were processed and put into cells next to each other. We sat on the makeshift beds and we could hear the officer’s talking as the station wasn’t that big. One of the officers enquired, “Peter, why’d you arrest ‘em, they were only playin’. The priest is new in town. If they’d ‘ave known they’d ‘ave gone elsewere’s.” His drawl evident in every shortened word yet our arresting officer didn’t even register that he was being spoken to, he just continued writing up our arrest. “Peter, are you even listening to me?” he asked, his voice raised, nothing registered.

 

Another, more senior officer, one level under Chief of Police, joined the conversation and got the officers attention. “Peter, you can’t hear anything, can you?” Peter realised he was being spoken to yet his face showed he was completely puzzled.

 

The senior officer then told one of the others to take Peter to the hospital to get checked out and then released us with a stern warning to stay clear of the old church.

 

Driving home we knew we had a lucky escape and we were glad it wasn’t going on our permanent record with college so close.

 

Smiling we turned up the stereo and drove back to the farm. Driving the long, stretched out road was dull and boring and the day started to take its toll and I started to fall asleep, Josh was already asleep next to me, snoring loudly.

 

I jerked myself awake but it was too late. We were about to collide with a two foot wide fern tree. I had no chance of stopping the car as we were going too fast.

 

I saw the tree speeding towards me at over ninety miles an hour. The last thing I remember before a prolonged darkness was the tree in front of my face, so close that I could smell the sap and the muddy bark. Then there was just complete blackness and emptiness.

 

 

 

Chapter Four: Resurrection and realisation

The next thing I remember is waking up. I was in a coffin, I had been buried alive, that was the only answer, and it had to have been. I managed to bang my way out, pulling my way up and out. Once out I looked to my left and noticed a slightly banged up Josh next to me.

 

We looked at each other. A few cuts and marks but nothing too serious.

 

Then I saw the stiches visible under his dishevelled top and the look on his face told me I had them too. Looking closer I realised that it was in fact a Y incision, the type you see on the chests of the dead bodies on these crime dramas.

 

We had died in the accident! We were dead! Why the hell were we back? We weren’t zombies, we had too much control and awareness to be a zombie.

 

We headed to the farm. If anyone could help us figure it out, Dad could.

 

When the door was opened we were initially greeted by a continuous flow of women screaming and fainting. After they calmed down they hugged us and we sat down, we noticed a lack of appetite and I didn’t want to dwell on the reasons why.

 

We looked over at my dad who had looked as though he was expecting to see us and had been giggling the whole time whilst the others were screaming.

 

When the others left, the family, went back to bed and Dad began to explain what was humouring him.

 

“It’s all like that rhyme that you boys used to sing when you were kids.” He began, His face still showing an odd smirk. “Two dead boys got up to fight.” He reminded us. I recalled it instantly as did Josh. I looked at him and he looked at me and instantly realisation hit.

 

Everything that happened in the rhyme has happened with two exceptions, the first verse and the last line.

 

“That rhyme is about us! What happens if we complete it?” I ask, worried and concerned about the possible implications.

 

“I have no idea son,” Dad replied, his face contorted in worry, “The best thing is to complete it and see what happens.” He advises us. I had to say it made sense. He went to bed still chuckling to himself.

 

Josh and I thought about it and discussed it at length that night and saw no other way of ending this whole sorry affair.

 

Leaving the farm the following morning we grabbed two Civil War swords that grandpa had collected, and two of Uncle Bills pistols whilst Dad when to get Paul, the blind witness. All the while the women of our little family were hysterical and worried about the plan. They knew there was no way around it.

 

Chapter Five: First verse

We stood in the freshly ploughed cornfield. Swords glistening in the morning sun and pistols heavy. With one weapon in each hand we faced each other then flipped back to back.

 

Talking ten paces it dawned on me that I was about to hurt my best friend, my brother, not by blood but he was my brother none the less. How could I bring myself to do that?

 

I knew I had to. I knew it was necessary but it was still hard and painful to do.

 

As I finished my paces I turned around as fast as I could and emptied the old pistol into him as he did me.

 

There was no pain, no blood, there was just a gaping, puss riddled hole. It was as though we were still dead and our young attractive bodies were decomposing from under us.

 

Nothing happened. At first!!!!

 

Josh and I collected all the paperwork pertaining to our deaths and put them in a safe yet faraway place.

 

We started to go back to a normal life. Our bodies stopped decomposing and started going back to normal after we had our organs taken out of the bag they were in and put in their normal place.

 

Two months after, one of the girls at school started acting strange almost as though she was no longer alive. She was vacant, emotionless and then came the biting.

 

The ‘infection’ spread through our close network of towns like a wild forest fire. It infected men, women and children. They were all turned into brainless, emotionless creatures. They were adamant on making more.

 

At first we were worried that we had caused it but we couldn’t be sure. We talked about it. Our joint family had been turned and we were trapped in the nearby cattle pen. The barn seemed too obvious and had too many entrances in it.

 

The CDC wrote the area off as a biohazard and the governments did the unthinkable and sent in a small yield nuclear missile and ‘sanitised’ the area blaming it on a meltdown at the local power station.

 

 

 

Chapter Six: Escape

What they didn’t know was that I had escaped to a nearby infection free city.

 

My body was almost back to normal. The only thing that was missing was a beating heart.

 

I couldn’t let things be and started to tell anyone who would listen what happened and soon got myself committed to this hell hole mental asylum.

 

I am no longer living yet not yet dead. The doctors could not explain my lack of a pulse. Whenever they asked me I told them the story and they labelled me paranoid.

 

I was committed as they were sure I was completely insane, mental, mad, and barmy, they pretty much wrote me off.

 

None of the meds they have given me have had any effect on me whatsoever. None.

 

I know Josh was vaporised when the bomb hit. Everyone and everything was gone.

 

After a few months in this hell hole I began to notice signs of the infection in the hospital. It was just a few and I could be wrong and they could have been heavily medicated but if I’m right then we have a problem.

 

I don’t want to die but, if me living causes other people to die and not stay dead, what rights do I have to say my existence out weights theirs. If I spread the infection then I need to sort something out, but what? How can something no longer living actually die?

 

I have a lot to think about and this place is perfect I just wish they would leave me alone and stop telling me that I am crazy.

 

Only time will tell if I’m going to spread the infection until then I’ll hide here.

 

My blind witness, Paul, is still alive too. He was sent to a hospital two states over to get some respite and surgery before the explosion. Though he is now orphaned he is glad to be alive.

 

Before the ‘duel’ I asked my Dad what was wrong with Peter, the deaf police officer, the night Josh and I died. My Dad told me, “He had accidently discharged his weapon in the police cruiser and burst both of his ear drums making him completely deaf.

 

The rhyme had come true. I’m still living as is Paul, though for how long I don’t quite know.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

 

 

Chapter Seven: Dr’s analysis of Darryl Dorkings

 

 

Subject is paranoid and delusional.

 

His paranoia is based on his assumption that if anyone gets close to him they will contact some mystery illness that will turn them into zombie like cannibals.

 

His delusion is based around the idea that he is the walking dead, that he and his best friend came back from the dead to complete a child’s rhyme that is in fact a prophecy. He also claims his town and several near it were’ sanitized ‘by the government in order to prevent the spread of this mysterious infection.

 

Noteworthy Information

 

The subject has no pulse, needs no food or water and any/all drugs/poisons do not have any effect on him. He has no blood and feels no pain, heat or cold.

 

Experimental Outcomes

 

Cells show signs of infection with the same virus that killed his home town and resulted in their deaths. The virus is unique and holds the key to creating the world’s most perfect army and/or ideal weapon in biological warfare.

 

Subject is oblivious to the experiments we are running using the virus he is carrying, nor is aware that he is the subject of an intense biological study.

 

Subject will remain committed until such time as he and the other test subjects are no longer needed. At which point the area and those in it will be ‘sanitised’.

 

As for the link to the rhyme; yes it is there, I see it when he explains it in sessions. It puts a whole new spin on rhymes and poems and those that write them.

 

Personal note.

 

The subject is a walking petri dish and possibly slightly insane but I am drawn to him. I can’t explain it. I want to touch him so much it hurts and I don’t care if I get infected. I sometimes struggle to stop myself. I am not the only one. Several female staff and patients have voiced the same urge.

 

Dr Annetta Jones

 

BSc, Ma, PhD, Md

 

Psychiatrist, Molecular Biologist, Epidemiologist

 

Here’s a reminder of the version I used for the above tale. There are several different versions out there.

 

One fine day in the middle of the night,

Two dead boys got up to fight,

Back to back they faced each other,

Drew their swords and shot each other,

 

One was blind and the other couldn’t, see

So they chose a dummy for a referee.

A blind man went to see fair play,

A dumb man went to shout “hooray!”

 

A paralysed donkey passing by,

Kicked the blind man in the eye,

Knocked him through a nine inch wall,

Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

 

A deaf policeman heard the noise,

And came to arrest the two dead boys,

If you don’t believe this story’s true,

Ask the blind man he saw it too!

 

Some of the fragmented sentences are on purpose.

 

Happy writing

 

Simone

 

Hi Readers,

Finally it’s done, completely done.

Please enjoy and let me know if you spot any errors I will be happy to change them.

Two Dead Boys

Preface

My name is Darryl and I am writing this account of the last few months while my memory is still fresh. I believe it happened despite everyone saying otherwise. I know it happened. I have the scar and death certificate to prove it.

You may think this a little fantastical and downright unbelievable but it is a one hundred per cent true.

I know.

I lived through it.

My doctors tell me it is my way of dealing with what happened, what they say happened, a nuclear station meltdown, but it is not. I escaped before the explosion. I had to. I had to tell others what happened but they think I am mad.

I will keep this detailed account safe and add to the paperwork I have and one day I will prove that I am in fact a walking dead man.

It is true. I have the proof.


Chapter One: The first weird thing

It all began during my senior year. We were two weeks in and everyone was already stressing about prom, graduation and exams.

Josh and I were raised together and always lived next door to each other. We were more like brothers than friends. We went to school together and our school was two towns over from the little collection of houses where we lived.

We lived on a small cluster of houses surrounded by farmland. Farmland our fathers worked on. Between the two families the houses held nearly twenty people including ailing relatives, parents, children, grandchildren and farm hands.

That day, the Tuesday, was the first day something strange happened.

On the farm there was an old storm/bomb shelter and the walls were nearly nine inch think for protection. This is, word for word, what my dad told us when we got home school.

“The donkey, dumb ass, was acting all strange like it had been bitten and the poison was slowly poisoning the body it was starting to go lame. Your Uncle Bill was trying to help, though he was soon pretty much blind as the ass knocked off his glasses. While we were trying to move the retched donkey it kicked out and caught your Uncle Bill right in the eye, and propelled him right through the storm shelter wall. By the time we got to him he was gone.” He relayed, fighting back the emotion, my father was the stoic type. “The doctor said he drowned from the blood in his lungs that had gotten there due to the damage caused by the fall.” He told us in horrific detail.

My father was always adamant that he would never hide anything from us no matter how horrific much to both our mother’s dismay.

“What about the donkey?” I enquired.

“Put down,” he replied, his face stern and stoic. “It had been bitten, it was the best thing for him. He was old.” Dad explained and left the room, leaving Josh and I to digest what we had be en told.

The workmen were hard at it fixing the storm shelter but yet there was an odd quietness hanging over the farm.

It didn’t occur to us then how strange Uncle Bill’s death was. Not by a long shot.

Even the next two events didn’t cause us to think, our town was still smarting from the death too much to even think about it.


Chapter Two: Two Freaky Scenes

Luckily the next event didn’t involve a death but it was, shall we say, pretty damn strange.

At the school Josh and I went to there was a few, for want of a better word, handicapped students. Among them was a blind boy and a dumb girl. They were from a family that lived just down the dirt road from us and we often gave them a lift.

One day, around a week after Uncle Bills death, Josh and I decided to do a few tricks on our skate boards but needed a referee. So we, I know it sounds strange, asked them to help us out. Julie, the dumb girl, agreed and Paul, her blind brother told us he would tell us what she was saying. They were twins which was always a source of amusement to us both.

Although she was mute Julie was incredibly pretty and the fact she didn’t speak was a plus for most of the guys at school, if you get what I’m saying.

Though she was pretty she was a thick as a post, she was also very, well, slow. She was in a special needs group but we didn’t hold that against her. She was a good laugh regardless of her shortcomings.

She watched as we did our tricks and her and her brother sat in deep though and an odd type of conversation. After around ten minutes of showing off she told us, via Paul, that Josh was better than I. As I was about to ask her why, though I knew it was because she fancied him, their father passed by. He was also dumb, a mute, never spoken once in his life.

Paul told me that I was good from what he heard but josh was just that little bit better.

As their father reached us he surprised us all by screaming “hooray,” at the top of his voice. It shocked us as we had always been told that he was physically incapable of speech.

My dad was close by and he heard it too, it shocked him too. He came running over and asked us what had gone on.

When we explained the whole thing to him he just walked away and giggled as he went.

Paul and Julie left with their father. Between then and the explosion their father never said another word.


Chapter Three: Huhh?

The third event yet for from the strangest happened two days after we showed off for Paul and Julie. It also didn’t involve any horrific and twisted death but oddly strange none the less though it does involve an accidental death or two.

Josh and I had been driving around our semi-rural town, having a bit of fun and we ended up in our counties over grown cemetery near an old abandoned church and we started acting out battles we read about in history. Much like when we were younger.

For hours we played, pretending to shoot at each other, fighting and being typical teenagers. It was Saturday and unbeknown to us at the time the church was no longer abandoned. A new priest had moved in that week and he had, stupidly, called the police.

When the officer arrived we were shocked, we tried to explain, yet he completely ignored us. It was as though he couldn’t hear what we were saying.

Once we arrived at the police station, petrified of our parents finding out. We were processed and put into cells next to each other. We sat on the makeshift beds and we could hear the officer’s talking as the station wasn’t that big. One of the officers enquired, “Peter, why’d you arrest ‘em, they were only playin’. The priest is new in town. If they’d ‘ave known they’d ‘ave gone elsewere’s.” His drawl evident in every shortened word yet our arresting officer didn’t even register that he was being spoken too, he just continued writing up our arrest. “Peter, are you even listening to me?” he asked, his voice raised, nothing registered.

Another, more senior officer, one level under Chief of Police, joined the conversation and got the officers attention. “Peter, you can’t hear anything, can you?” Peter realised he was being spoken to yet his face showed he was completely puzzled.

The senior officer then told one of the others to take Peter to the hospital to get checked out and then released us with a stern warning to stay clear of the old church.

Driving home we knew we had a lucky escape and we were glad it wasn’t going on our permanent record with college so close.

Smiling we turned up the stereo and drove back to the farm. Driving the long, stretched out road was dull and boring and the day started to take its toll and I started to fall asleep, Josh was already asleep next to me, snoring loudly.

I jerked myself awake but it was too late. We were about to collide with a two foot wide fern tree. I had no chance of stopping the car as we were going too fast.

I saw the tree speeding towards me at over ninety miles an hour. The last thing I remember before a prolonged darkness was the tree in front of my face, so close that I could smell the sap and the muddy bark. Then there was just complete blackness and emptiness.


Chapter Four: Resurrection and realisation

The next thing I remember is waking up. I was in a coffin, I had been buried alive, that was the only answer, and it had to have been. I managed to bang my way out, pulling my way up and out. Once out I looked to my left and noticed a slightly banged up Josh next to me.

We looked at each other. A few cuts and marks but nothing to serious.

Then I saw the stiches visible under his dishevelled top and the look on his face told me I had them to. Looking closer I realised that it was in fact a Y incision, the type you see on the chests of the dead bodies on these crime dramas.

We had died in the accident! We were dead! Why the hell were we back? We weren’t zombies, we had to much control and awareness to be a zombie.

We headed to the farm. If anyone could help us figure it out, Dad could.

When the door was opened we were initially greeted by a continuous flow of women screaming and fainting. After they calmed down they hugged us and we sat down and we noticed a lack of appetite and I didn’t want to dwell on the reasons why.

We looked over at my dad who had looked as though he was expecting to see us and had been giggling the whole time the others were screaming

When the others, the family, went back to bed Dad began to explain what was humouring him.

“It’s all like that rhyme that you boys used to sing when you were kids.” He began, His face still showing an odd smirk. “Two dead boys got up to fight.” He reminded us. I recalled it instantly as did Josh. I looked at him and he looked at me and instantly realisation hit.

Everything that happened in the rhyme has happened with two exceptions, the first verse and the last line.

“That rhyme is about us! What happens if we complete it?” I ask, worried and concerned about the possible implications.

“I have no idea son,” Dad replied, his face contorted in worry, “The best thing is to complete it and see what happens.” He advises us. I had to say it made sense. He went to bed still chuckling to himself.

We thought about it and discussed it at length that night and saw no other way of ending this whole sorry affair.

Leaving the farm the following morning we grabbed two Civil War swords that grandpa had collected and two of Uncle Bills pistols while Dad when to get Paul, the blind witness. All the while the women of our little family were hysterical and worried about the plan. They knew there was no way around it.

Chapter Five: First verse

We stood in the freshly ploughed cornfield. Swords glistening in the morning sun and pistols heavy. With one weapon in each hand we faced each other then flipped back to back.

Talking ten paces it dawned on me that I was about to hurt my best friend, my brother, not by blood but he was my brother none the less. How could I bring myself to do that?

I knew I had to. I knew it was necessary but it was still hard and painful to do.

As I finished my paces I turned around as fast as I could and emptied the old pistol into him as he did me.

There was no pain, no blood, there was just a gaping, puss riddled hole. It was as though we were still dead and out young attractive bodies were decomposing from under us.

Nothing happened. At first!!!!

Josh and I collected all the paperwork pertaining to out deaths and put them in a safe yet faraway place.

We started to go back to a normal life. Our bodies stopped decomposing and started going back to normal after we had our organs taking out of the bag they were in and put in their normal place.

Two months after one of the girls at school started acting strange almost as though she was no longer alive. She was vacant, emotionless and then came the biting.

The ‘infection’ spread through our close network of towns like a wild forest fire. It infected men, women and children. They were all turned into brainless, emotionless creatures. They were adamant on making more.

At first we were worried that we had caused it but we couldn’t be sure. We talked about it. Our joined family had been turned and we were trapped in the nearby cattle pen. The barn seemed to obvious and had to many entrance’s in it.

The CDC wrote the area off as a biohazard and the governments did the unthinkable and sent in a small yield nuclear missile and ‘sanitised’ the area blaming it on a meltdown at the local power station.


Chapter Six: Escape

What they didn’t know was that I escaped to a nearby infection free city.

My body was almost back to normal. The only thing that was missing was a beating heart.

I couldn’t let things be and started to tell anyone who would listen what happened and soon got myself committed to this hell hole mental asylum.

I am no longer living yet not yet dead. The doctors could not explain my lack of a pulse. Whenever they asked me I told them the story and they labelled me paranoid.

I was committed as they were sure I was completely insane, mental, mad, and barmy, they pretty much wrote me off.

None of the meds they have given me have had any effect on me what so ever. None

I know Josh was vaporised when the bomb hit. Everyone and everything was gone.

After a few months in this hell hole I began to notice signs of the infection in the hospital. It was just a few and could be wrong and they could have been heavily medicated but if I’m right then we have a problem.

I don’t want to die but if me living causes other people to die and not stay dead what right do I have to say my existence out weights theirs. If I spread the infection then I need to sort something out, but what? How can something no longer living actually die?

I have a lot to think about and this place is perfect I just wish they would leave me alone and stop telling me that I am crazy.

Only time will tell if I’m going to spread the infection until then I’ll hide here.

My blind witness, Paul, is still alive too. He was sent to a hospital two states over to get some rest bite and surgery before the explosion. Though he is now orphaned he is glad to be alive.

Before the ‘duel’ I asked my Dad what was wrong with Peter, the deaf police officer, the night Josh and I died. My Dad told me, “He had accidently discharged his weapon in the police cruiser and burst both of his ear drums making him completely deaf.

The rhyme had come true. I’m still living as it Paul, though for how long I don’t quite know.

* * * * * * * *


Chapter Seven: Dr’s analysis of Darryl Dorkings

Subject is paranoid and delusional.

His paranoia is based on his assumption that if anyone gets close to him they will contact some mystery illness that will turn them into zombie like cannibals.

His delusion is based around the idea that he is the walking dead, that him and his best friend came back from the dead to complete a child’s rhyme that is in fact a prophecy. He also claims his town and several near it were’ sanitized ‘ by the government in order to prevent the spread of this mysterious infection.

Noteworthy Information

The subject has no pulse, needs no food or water and any/all drugs/poisons do not have any effect on him. He has no blood and feels no pain, heat or cold.

Experimental Outcomes

Cells show signs of infection with the same virus that killed his home town and resulted in their deaths. The virus is unique and holds the key to creating the world’s most perfect army and/or and ideal weapon in biological warfare.

Subject is oblivious to the experiments we are running using the virus he is carrying nor is aware that he is the subject of an intense biological study.

Subject with remain committed until such time as he and the other test subjects are no longer needed. At which point the area and those in it will be ‘sanitised’.

As for the link to the rhyme ; yes it is there I see it when he explains it in sessions. It puts a whole new spin on rhymes and poems and those that write them.

Personal note.

The subject is a walking petri dish and possibly slightly insane but I am drawn to him. I can’t explain it. I want to touch him so much it hurts and I don’t care if I get infected. I sometimes struggle to stop myself. I am not the only one. Several female staff and patients have voiced the same urge.

Dr Annetta Jones

BSc, Ma, PhD, Md

Psychiatrist, Molecular Biologist, Epidemiologist

Here’s a reminder of the version I used for the above tale. There are severally different versions out there.

One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other,

One was blind and the other couldn’t, see
So they chose a dummy for a referee.
A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout “hooray!”

A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye,
Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest the two dead boys,
If you don’t believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man he saw it too!

Hope you liked it.

Happy writing

Simone

Hello,

I’m back at college after another week off and what a week it has been. Just over a month ago I lost my great uncle who I loved very much then sunday just gone a close friend of ours lost thier father.

Its been a strange week. a very strange week. I have managed to do some writing as well as spending sometime with my friends of the wonderful world of EQ2.

Heres a little snippit of something from the project I’m working on a college.

Samantha tore her strained eyes from the passing green wall of tall trees lining the road and looked in the rear view mirror and locked eyes with her father for a fraction of a second. Her face changed. It shifted from happiness to blind panic. Within seconds of the brief eye contact the car was filled with the hysterical cries of the six year old child. She screamed, cried and yelled. Repeating the word, “No!” Over and over again. She kicked the back of her mothers chair and banged on the glass window.

 

Paul and Jessica both sighed and Paul pulled over onto the grassy bank that flanked the busy interstate road. Jessica, worried, jumped out of the passenger seat and quickly opened the back door to her hysterical and panic riddled child. Samantha jumped into her mothers arms as her father sighed once more banging his head on the steering wheel muttering, “Not again. Not now.”

Hope you like

Feedback welcomed

Happy Writing

Simone

Hi,

Hope you’re all well.

I am currently working on several project at the moment with various people and various tales.

I may have a model for my new tale which is Stir of Echo’s meets the Grudge with my twisted little take on it.

A tale of a woman hell-bent of tearing the men who killed her apart.

There is also a murder mystery horror which should be good, really good. I can’t wait for mine n the hubby’s office to be sorted then I can knuckle down, get book one out there and book two finished.

Happy Writing

Simone