1001 nights (1999)
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@vreesvreter
1001 nights (1999)
vicoliciechi:
➤➤ ☠. ⇢ “Ah, fear... my favourite flavour.”
hellishmoth:
“WORDS ONLY are for idiots. I’d love to see what I’m really dealing with with my own eyes.” A pause, long enough to allow his eyes to narrow. “I suppose your master has nothing against that, does he?”
➤➤ ☠. ⇢ Ringer remains silent for just a few seconds too long, his face a perfectly unmoving mask. Then his smile widens marginally. “Not at all. He'd consider it an investment. So what will it be? A dream? Or a nightmare?”
@vreesvreter
“NOW, YOU must back up your words with actions.”
➤➤ ☠. ⇢ “Just my word isn’t good enough, hm? Well, I never did mind a little action.”
Sally sells #{ illusions } by the sea shore.
My body is but a #hyacinthsgirl temple.
If the groundhog sees @hellishmoth, that’s 6 more weeks of winter.
❝ Come into my parlour, ❞ said the spider to the fly, ❝ for I have a little something here… ❞
hyacinthsgirl:
@vreesvreter
IT WOULD have been impossible not to catch rumors as she passed by demons or stood too close to a group of them muttering to each other. It would have also been hard not to see the worn-out posters screaming through bright-colored letters at every corner she went round. A circus - in Hell, of all places. She had never been to one when she was alive (Father and Mother would never take her to one, and later on, when she had learned the fine art of running away, she had never had the chance to add that experience to her list), but even so, this one seemed different from those in books. It was rumored that dreams were the real attraction, if not the only one. How weird for creatures who seemed not to need sleep as much as humans. It couldn’t not catch her attention. The idea haunted her for days, while she was busy exploring other parts of the city and dealing with other demons. It was always there, pleading for her to listen to it constantly. She had to give in in the end. The moment she found herself with nothing to do, she rushed out of the city as fast as she could. A hyacinth-scented trail followed her, disappearing seconds after her passing - a ghost in a city of dead.
She stopped only when the circus finally was in sight. She slowed down her pace abruptly, almost losing her balance and falling forward but stopping herself before the disaster. Golden eyes stared at the big top not too far from her, so similar to those she had seen in pictures and yet very different at the same time. It almost gave her the impression that it had a mind of its own and a mouth ready to swallow her. One more good reason to walk away and come back to town, but her feet were already taking her closer to the tent. All was silent. The sounds of the city were far behind her, and none came from her destination either. It took Chris half a second to wonder if there was anyone in there, and half a second to decide she’d find out on her own.
She was still alone when she arrived in front of the entrance. The door-curtain oscillated lazily, its hem not touching the ground by a few inches. There was no hesitation in her hand when it grabbed the curtain and pulled it open, allowing her to step inside an empty ring. She hadn’t expected the show to be already ongoing (and now that she was thinking about it: did the posters even tell at what time the show was scheduled?), but that desolation was shockingly nonetheless. Once let go of, the curtain fell back in place behind her, blocking what little natural light coming from the outside. Two steps later, she stopped. Waiting for a sign - or someone.
➤➤ ☠. ⇢ Dreams so real you could taste them. Dreams were addictive anywhere, or so Ringer would assume (he had never been outside of Hell) but they were especially welcome in a place like this. Misery, violence, chaos. What wouldn’t a sinner give for a dream? A dream so real you could touch it, again and again. A dream so real you could live it. It wasn’t unusual for wayward souls to trespass, in search for their dreams. Or rather, it wasn’t unusual for them to attempt to. For them to actually make it onto the grounds was another story. The sensation was somewhat similar to a shimmer of light, or a sudden rippling of water, and it shook Ringer out of his idle pondering in the darkness. He was not on guard duty by any means, and there were rules about eating guests on the circus grounds, trespassing or not, but that did not stop him from creeping out of his little hiding place to have a look at what had wandered into the web.
It was, as it turned out, an anomaly.
Ringer had seen many residents of Hell who looked more or less human, or something close to it, with a marking here and a pair of fangs there, but this... it didn’t take much to see that this is something else. It was the most human thing he’d seen besides his own carefully disguised reflection, yet just as dead. The spider watched her from his perch high up above with his eyes burning like embers in the darkness, endlessly intrigued by this new arrival, but then he put his curiosity into action and began clambering down the canvas. He didn’t know if she could see in the dark, nor did he care; he vanished from sight all the same. Around her he crept, studying every angle and finding nothing, to his perplexity and delight.
“You’re early,” he whispered finally, the very tips of his long nails brushing against the back of her neck, before he seemed to dissolve into nothingness again. He reemerged in the very middle of the ring, this time making no effort to hide the glow of his eyes. “Everyone is still asleep, you know.”
circe/mud poems, margaret atwood
hello freaky weirdo man
➤➤ ☠. ⇢ “…this is private property.”
ghosts with teeth, peter crowther | sentence starters
content warnings: general horror, implications of torture, mutilation and gore these prompts can be taken as direct dialogue, part of a description you’d use, or just as a prompt. feel free to change pronouns and input names as you see fit. taken from stephen jones’ edited collection, a book of horrors, and slightly edited in some instances.
———
and then it all started to come back.
“almost there, baby. almost home.”
“you been away someplace, [name]?”
“i’d kind of figured i was done, but two more won’t hurt.”
“you go on – ain’t like you’re gonna be going anyplace once you get there.”
“oh, he’ll already know.”
“where’s she gone?”
“she can’t have disappeared.”
“huh, i thought that place was empty.”
well, what are poltergeists?
“they’re here, [name]. all of ‘em! they’re all here.”
“i thought i saw someone at the window.”
“nobody there now.”
“you are tired, aren’t you, sweetie?”
“what did she mean – ‘they’re all here’?”
“she didn’t seem happy about it, that’s for sure.”
“looks like i got the wrong end of the stick.”
“naughty girl.”
“yeah, my fault. don’t get pissed at her.”
“it was raining in your house?”
he’s in the house, a little voice whispered at the back of her head. this isn’t a good idea.
“unless you’re dead.”
“didn’t make it into the newspapers yet. or on the tv. will, though.”
“uh, huh. took her near on twelve hours to die.”
it’s not true that poltergeists are just mischievous, not at all.
imagine if you had a whole family of poltergeists.
the audience laughed.
poltergeists are not the kittens of the spectral plane, they’re more the… raptors. like in jurassic park. ghosts with teeth.
there was nobody there.
“of course there’s nobody there.”
what do you say to all this, [name]?
“oh, that’s typical. typical of you, [name]. you try to belittle people who are trying to discuss something.”
“i think you’re getting too much sex.”
“and don’t do that, either. that hurt thing. that expression you use when you’re trying to make out you’ve been wounded.”
“jeez, but these cookies are good. where’d you get ‘em?”
“[name]?” her full name… the one he always used on the rare occasions he was angry with her. or scared, a voice whispered in his head.
you talk about ghosts as being infestations.
“let me turn off that fucking radio.”
“you didn’t— didn’t have a fight, did you?”
“here we all are again.”
“you’re having quite a day of it.”
“did you say goodbye to your friends, [name]?”
“oh we are multitudes, [name]. and we’re gonna have ourselves some fun. after all, ain’t like you’re gonna be going anyplace.”
“or you’ve made a mistake in one or more parts of your story.”
“you mean, ‘or i lied’. that’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“we have to keep all options open.”
“you might even have a poltergeist.”
ghosts with teeth, a voice said at the back of [name]’s head. that’s what he said, the guy on the phone. ghosts with teeth.
“the fire’s not even lit.”
“let’s talk about poltergeists.”
it looked like they had come to do some kind of repair work, for they carried all manner of tools – saws, hammers and drills, plus coils of twine.
the light was still on.
there was silence, but it was not a good silence, not a calm or quiet silence. rather than it being simply nothing – just a quietness with nothing added – this felt like a quietness with its very soul removed.
“i did lock it. i did call out. but you didn’t answer.”
“she’s with you, [name].”
“where do you keep your knives, [name]? ah, okay… i got them.”
what? what was it exactly? halloween? the boogeyman? a gen-you-whine ‘thing’ from someplace where there were no lights and no smiles, no love and no softness, only pain and grief and sadness, loss and regret…
“because i’m a sheriff. an upholder of the law.”
“my friends and me, we’ve been educating. and i think it’s fair to say that our students have been fascinated with what we had to show them. yes, indeedy. oh, they’ve occasionally been surprised and… well, often they’ve been a mite uncomfortable. but, you know what they say: ‘knowledge is power. and strength.’ they do say that, don’t they, [name].”
“did you know the small intestine is twenty-two feet long? i didn’t know that. and [name] didn’t know it either. believe me. oh, but you know, it does so make for a swell wall display.”
“who are you?”
“you, dear [name]? oh, there’s nothing wrong with you. not yet, anyways.”
“the tools of my trade,” he said, and he set all the knives out in a line next to each other.
“and i don’t respond to the things you would expect a thinking, caring person would respond to. what do they call it? sociopathic tendencies? something like that, i think. the thing is, the things i do, i don’t do simply because i enjoy doing them – though to be fair about this, i do – but rather i do them because i have to do them. does that make sense?”
“no… no it doesn’t make sense.”
“you’re trying to multi-task here, aren’t you?”
“[name], let’s pretend i can’t see you and can’t tell you’re shaking your head. let’s pretend i can only hear your voice… and that if i don’t get a good answer, then i’ll go right ahead and chop off that finger. and what you need to worry about then is where do i stop. you understand that, [name]?”
“yes. yes i understand.”
“because i am one of the pain people, [name]. in fact, i am the pain man. delivered to your very door, agonies beyond belief. beyond even your most fevered imagination. it’s what i do, [name]. you understand that? it’s my job. what was it they said on the radio? ghosts with teeth? i like that. i do like that.”
“causing pain is what you do.”
“i don’t want to go downstairs.”
“i don’t want to go—”
“welcome, my friend, to the show that never ends.”
“i seen this in a movie one time.”
then someone turned off the lights.
corpusdxlicti:
@corpusdxlicti