' BLAME GOD

indendent , selective JEBEDIAH CRONE from abattoir. ( no knowledge of the movie needed ) by angela.

[blamegod-blog1]

an eerie sort of calm settles over jebediah as he straightens his figure. feet move together , hands folded over the ornate head of his cane , gaze drifting beyond the present conversation , moving to the scenery which surrounded them , all of which is seemingly unaffected by the conversation which drifts through the air. there is mild amusement in the quirk of his bow , as though he may laugh at the obvious inexperience of another. she had not been alive long enough to know , that the damage that these things could do to your soul was irreparable , inconceivable.   words move from the ease of the conversation to a hypothetical , a metaphor , the fables which could give meaning to life.    ❛   have you ever considered  ,   ms.  jones  ,  that there are people so evil  ,  so rotten to their very core  ,  that even THE DEVIL may not want them  ?  ❜    she'd never escape from this life. and neither would he.       @blooddrenchcd  ( x )

[blamegod-blog1]

thesmileclown.

He’d been lying low for a while, but at least, he was home. The Clown couldn’t say exactly how long he’d been away as days had become fuzzy, often blurred together in the months since his unfortunate “accident”. Perhaps, it was for those same, hazy, reasons that he had been careless enough to lead people back to his bus in the first place. Why he’d left his latest mess unattended to…the poor souls who had been unfortunate enough to come across it had been more than a little distressed, even going so far as to get the police involved. All of which the Clown had found utterly ridiculous, but he’d known better than to stay around while his woods were crawling with nosy policemen who couldn’t appreciate the good work he was doing.

He’d been getting the bad guys! Why had they looked so upset?

Well, at the very least things had quieted down, and slowly, he’d worked his way closer and closer back to the bus. Back to his home. For the day or two since his return things had been quiet, but out of the blue he picks up the sound of footsteps approaching as he’s sitting with his back pressed against the rusted metal and peeling paint of the bus. A bit foolishly he hopes that it was nothing to worry about, just another passerby, but knew…knows better than most the trek it is to his bus. If someone was approaching then he highly doubts they were stopping by for a simple visit. He listens for a few more moments, wanting to make sure it’s just one set of footsteps before doing anything too drastic.

Clutching his shears, tight enough for his knuckles to turn white, he gets up and walks around to the other side of his bus, ready to defend his home against whatever mighty foe is heading his way. Be it a goblin or a gator or…he blinks slowly as his gaze falls upon the last thing he could have imagined seeing. A well dressed older gentleman, talking to himself and seemingly enraptured by the dilapidated vehicle in front of him. Twisty arches his brows, grunts in the stranger’s direction. He was prepared to be angry, but more than anything else he’s just confused.

jebediah is greeted by the crunch of leaves and twigs , thetell-tale signal of feet upon the forest floor as visitor approaches. slowlydoes he turn , gaze shifting towards that who approaches. perhaps there shouldhave been surprise among the emotions which flit across his features , but itappears absent , replaced by something more complacent , a smile in greeting ,a nod , fingers lifting to tip the brim of his bowler hat towards the newcomer, one he had not expected to find here , amidst the shadows of the trees andthe soft sway of their branches. though irony is not lost upon him. he had comein order to retrieve the tragedy which took place in that very bus , and yet ,a clown a bringer of joy and laughter , has come rounding the corner ,confronting him. when he is but a collector of greatest evils.

manners are not lost to him , even when in this , of allplaces. and so his hand fishes into the jacket he wore  retrieving a business card with his name andnumber printed neatly across it.  the cardis yellowed , bending at the corners , as thought it was the only card he evercarried , one that was never passed about nor replaced. it's offered out with asubtle tilt of his head ,   ❛    i do not mean to intrude.   please , allow me to introduce myself.jebediah crone.  ❜   he can assume , at least from outwardappearance , the profession of the other. though it does not explain this ,finding him hidden deep within the forest , wandering about the edges of arusting bus , sharpened blades held within his hand.  jebediah does not miss the weapon.  gaze flicks to it before returning to theman's face. he carries no weapon , but jebediah is not one to be frightened bythe mere thought of pain or death. he has met those flames before , and againhe will rise. it allows that he remain calm , unfaltering in his conviction.

again does the cane rise , tapping the handle against themetal siding as gaze remains fixed , steadfast upon the other , ❛   are you the owner of this fineautomobile  ?  ❜  it is not that he expected to find a problemsuch as this , in fact , he had hoped not to. this was expected to be hiseasiest retrieval , a sidecar to his mansion , a decoration , a mere star tohis tree.  ❛   i didn't mean to intrude , i was just admiring it.  ❜

[blamegod-blog1]

every house is  HAUNTED.  every man a  GHOST.  downstairs are very best. downstairs are worst. we are often enough born in our   HOMES  , and in the end we D I E, and in between we live, if we are lucky. It is said that one can   n e v e r  go home again. but I wonder, do we ever truly LEAVE?

[wordsnquotes]

Because not all monsters were monsters in the beginning. Some are monsters born of sorrow.

Fredrik Backman, My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You She’s Sorry (via wordsnquotes)

[blamegod-blog1]

AGUILAR, RAFAEL.

          most have the ability to sense something different, something off, about a new town. it goes beyond the usual doubt and concern, a feeling of unease that takes root deep in your stomach. it grips like a vice, twists and turns and leaves you aching with – fear ? perhaps fear. perhaps fear is what rafael felt when he entered that town, the town his step-father and mother moved to shortly after he left for school. he never wanted to step foot in such a place again, but after his step-father’s passing and his mother’s unreliable state, he felt he owed it to his younger brother. after all, it’s time to take responsibility. 

          ❝ that’s because i never told you, ❞ it’s mentioned off-hand, dark eyes scanning the surrounding area. he’s been here, maybe once or twice for holidays, but never long enough to get a feel for the place. but now he figures this is his permanent residence, yet he has not the patience to deal with such people. ❝ rafael aguilar. ❞ he takes the card with something akin to suspicion and wary, turning it over in his fingers as he gives it a look. 

the card features nothing akin to a title nor a profession , only a name and printed phone number beneath. the card has yellowed slightly , bent at the edges , as though he has been carrying only the one for many months. that may not be far from the truth , it is not often that that jebediah meets new ( living ) occupants to this town , his cards are generally reserved for the purpose of property afar , when he knows that blood soaks the premises and he needs only to gain good will. head tilts slightly at sharp response , the smallest twitch of lips , he feigns politeness , but already does annoyance build beneath weathered skin. he does not do well with newcomers , finds them nosey , pushing their noses into business it does not belong in.  however  he is not concerned per se , annoyances were easily disposed of within the borders of this town.

❛  mr. aguilar...   ❜   he greets , coupled with a courteous nod of his had , brim of the bowler hat dipping slightly.  aguilar. the name is somewhat familiar , a ghost of the past , though perhaps all too literally. hands rest one atop the other now , weight leaned into the polished cane as gaze slips over the younger boy.  ❛   and what brings you to new english , mr. aguilar   ?   it cannot be our bustling tourist attractions...  ❜  no , new english had been reduced , it's borders shrinking for many years. it's reputation exceeded it now , the site of a brutal fire which took the lives of many young schoolchildren , a history laiden with dark , unspoken shadows.

[blamegod-blog1]

the journey through the underbrush is slow-going , halted periodically by adjustment of his suit and the clumsy maneuver of his cane   ( damn the bloody thing  )  , but he does not tire easily. not when that which he hopes to find is such a great reward , and would add to his collection so perfectly.  there is a vague air of what may be construed as excitement which hangs from his shoulders like a beast , danging from bent frame  , propelling each movement. 

jebediah had employed the help of his congregation to track down the exact location of the bus , that which those bodies had been found. and then , armed with the knowledge of location , he ventured into the woods on his own.  (  he does not fear the cold embrace of death , it has come for him many a time before , and each did he find that his heart continued to beat and cold frame began to stir )   no , he need not weapon nor protection in the shadows of these trees , sharpened tongue will serve him well in their absence.

stepping over fallen log , he frowns at the mud which clung to leather shoes , those which would need to be cleaned should he ever desire to wear them again. but as gaze lifts , peeking out from beneath the brim of his bowler , he sees the faded , chipping paint of some form of automobile looming in the distance , and suddenly he is reinvigorated , pace redoubling and he maneuvers towards the bus , lips twitching into a smile which he would have promptly concealed if he'd brought company. cane lifts , tapping the dull metal absently as he mutters to himself , ❛   perhaps this is to be my easiest acquisition to date...  ❜

@thesmileclown (  sc. )

[softsmiled-blog]

      AFTER ALL THE SHIT YOU’VE BEEN THROUGH, DON’T YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER OFF DEAD ?          ——          trigger heavy.

[blamegod-blog1]

every house is  HAUNTED.  every man a  GHOST.  downstairs are very best. downstairs are worst. we are often enough born in our   HOMES  , and in the end we D I E, and in between we live, if we are lucky. It is said that one can   n e v e r  go home again. but I wonder, do we ever truly LEAVE?

[principessa]

[blamegod-blog1]

fingers coil around the handle of his cane , weight distributed towards the polished wood as eyes narrow. not often do outsiders find their way to new english , a small town , though holding it's own secrets , as every town did. they were buried deep in the lifeline , a heartbeat among the people , beating in unison , thundering through the streets , stealing life with sleight hand. often he is able to dissuade these stranger's curiosity with sharpened tongue and diversion. non one has ever come close enough to truly discover the ugly monster which would rear it's head and shake loose a blood-soaked mane. they have taken it upon themselves to become gods , to disrespect whichever higher power in favor of the lower. for what greater disrespect could there be than to take control from god's hands and put it in the devil's lap ? and yet , jebediah was not easily swayed , he held no true concern for this new arrival , nor did he pay much mind to his reason for being there. those who came , often left soon after.  (  and if they didn't , it was not difficult to erase them from these streets.  )

❛   i cannot say that i caught your name , young man.  ❜   he mumbles , worn fingers fishing into the hidden pocket of his suit jacket , selecting a yellowing business card. sly smile overtakes his features , hand extending the rectangular piece of paper , faux kindness has served him well in the past , and his employment of the tactic comes easy once more.  ❛   allow me to introduce myself. my name is jebediah crone. and here is my card.  ❜ 

@softsmiled  (  sc. )

[schweigendearmee]

[blamegod-blog1]

because i need something to motivate me to work on my essay, HIT THE HEART FOR A STARTER and i will do one between every page of my essay to keep me motivated. will probably be a little shorter in length. may contain triggering content, please beware before liking.

[blamegod-blog1]

because i need something to motivate me to work on my essay, HIT THE HEART FOR A STARTER and i will do one between every page of my essay to keep me motivated. will probably be a little shorter in length. may contain triggering content, please beware before liking.

[jlowndesdaily]

Jessica Lowndes as Julia in Abattoir (2016) requested by anonymous.

→ Haunted house + knife scene (part I)

[areyou-stillawake]

Abattoir (2016)

[blamegod-blog1]

every house is  HAUNTED.  every man a  GHOST.  downstairs are very best. downstairs are worst. we are often enough born in our   HOMES  , and in the end we D I E, and in between we live, if we are lucky. It is said that one can   n e v e r  go home again. but I wonder, do we ever truly LEAVE?

[blamegod-blog1]

tag drop .1