Member No.: 8
Joined: 17-May 11
I submit "Hell's Kitchen" to this. The first anthology had a Genera short story towards the end, and I think this could work even better as a story for around the end.
Liquid Len sits down with Doctor Cloud in the brightly-lit medical offices. A large stack of papers stares at Len from atop the doctor's desk, begging him to ask, reminding him of his question. Doctor Cloud pours the two of them some dry whiskey and slouches over his desk, hand on his forehead, watching Len anxiously.
Len downs his glass, faces his impending termination, and asks: "What is Hell's Kitchen?"
"Prison." Doctor Cloud's still coming to terms with what this talk will mean for his own career.
Len considers asking for clarification, if this prison is supposed to be in their own facility, under their own noses. After what happened to Duchess, he's past giving the Genera any benefit of the doubt.
"Hell's Kitchen is where we keep those obtained by our special task force."
"The public can't know about the Fossils. We can't allow it." The doctor drinks.
Len jumps in the pause. "So.. what, we silence the innocent civilians who have the terrible balls to have been picked on by the gods?"
"'Gods.'" Cloud betrays his cynicism in a light laugh. "We don't silence anyone; we just lock them up."
There's a sheet of paper, snatched from the pile, held up to Cloud's eye. "And force them to write for our profit."
The paper is snatched right back out of his hand with a sad smirk. "There is no such profit," he puts the paper back onto the pile and refills the glasses, "and there is no forcing."
Liquid Len takes his glass in hand and watches with patience as the doctor downs another. "Then how about you explain the process? Run me through how all this works."
Another refill is poured and drunken. "When a prisoner's taken down to Hell's Kitchen, they're put into an open cell block with hundreds of others. We don't allow them to leave, and we don't allow them to attack Genera personnel who might be paying a visit-- that's all the rules we set. But while they're down there, the prisoners.. well, they've developed a community. They're all ordinary people, they all had ordinary lives, and they've all had those lives disrupted by forces they can't understand. They have that in common. And what do people do when they are suffering or have suffered? They create.
"After a while of watching inmates writing on their cell walls with whatever sharp utensils they could find, our mutual higher-ups decided to run an experiment and gave them all paper. We watched, neither in sadism nor in thoughts of monetary gain but in raw scientific curiosity, as their stories started to show patterns. In time, the inmates formed cliques based on these patterns."
Len interrupts, "What kind of patterns?"
"A sizable majority of the stories were horror, and an even bigger majority dealt with other-worldly beings which some called 'aliens' and more simply called 'gods.'"
"They're writing about the Fossils."
Another round of whiskey is downed. "Naturally, I don't mean to imply we've got the world's next Pynchon or T. S. Eliot down there; the Hell's Kitchen holds people of all professional backgrounds and ages. But these stories, they're uncanny in how they.. convey this ever-prevalent source of dread. Even the comedies, few as they may be down there, have just ever so noticeable an amount of inescapable existential irony. If you know what I mean."
"I can imagine."
"And they don't call them 'Fossils' either! Then again, why would they? They don't know Genera protocol; most of them know as much about us as we do about who they once were." With that, Doctor Cloud pauses not to drink but just to gaze into thin air.
Len lets him pause before asking, "What about these.. cliques?" The doctor pours another refill.
"They're all human; they need social interaction. They make friends down there. Friends will read each other's stories, compare notes on how they each interpret the other-worldly higher-ups…"
Len tilts his head.
Both down their drinks.
"Some of them, the ones with more experience dealing with people, will try to enact rules. Almost as if this big writing thing is some great game. Some of those rules go over well, some of them don't. Usually it's the rules that let them write whatever they want that get respect. As they do." His speech slurs. "Of course, it's not just the rules themselves that garner respect-- often the people themselves don't get along. It's people. You know how it is. There's this system they've developed down there, some of the prisoners will act as prison guards. Keep the peace. Tends to be the ones who get that respect; tends to be a sort of mutual agreement to listen to them. But sometimes there's prisoners who think just anyone can be a prison guard. They think they can be a prison guard. That never goes well.
"Like here, an incident happened not too long ago, there was a murder. One prisoner, he'd only been there a few months, thought he could be a prison guard too. He started trying to change the 'rules.' Telling other people what to write, and he even boldly stated to a group of them how to write it. As you can assume, that.. sparked a storm. And this prisoner, he just wouldn't give in, he kept at it, started insulting the prisoners and even insulted some of the prison guards. When Genera officials went down for inspection, they found prisoners using that guy's bloody fingers as pens."
Another round downed.
"It's easy to get delusional down there, to get these ideas about who has what authority, who should listen to whom, what guidelines which stories should fall under… the most common delusion, of course, is where these people are. They never want to accept it. 'Prison.' 'Prison' is such a strong word. 'Prison' means they did something wrong, they're being punished, they're paying their dues."
"They didn't do anything wrong. They don't deserve to be down there."
"That's right. Who can blame them? But it is what it is, I suppose. And I find that the prisoners who become prison guards, they're the ones who accept that. They're the ones who understand that.. the stuff they write? All those patterns, the fact that it's so often bleak horror? That's no coincidence. These people, they've all suffered. They've all encountered Fossils, their minds can never be the same. If we hadn't locked them up, they would still find their thoughts turning to this kind of thing. We just.. give them a safe place-- safer than the rest of the world-- and we distribute their stories so their voices can be heard. When you get right down to it? We should all be down there right now. We're all fucked. The prison guards are the ones who know their sins and pay their dues. We're all guilty. They're just the ones who know it. And it's that knowledge, that.. that state of mind that allows them to keep the peace."
Doctor Cloud's voice lulls. He traces the rim of his empty glass with a finger, watching it go round and round, as he quietly continues: "I went down there last week-- I go down every now and then, I consider it paying my own dues-- I went down there and I saw this sorry state of affairs waiting by the steel front door. I looked at him and he grinned at me and he proudly said to me, 'I graduated from here.' Even as the officials ushered him back to his cell, he kept looking at me, looking at the doorway I was standing in, looking at the place he thought he'd earned."
Member No.: 512
Joined: 10-June 15
knock, knock, knock
The missionary leisurely stood on the man’s front porch, birds chirping in the trees as he waited for the man to answer his door.
As the door creaked open, the missionary put on a shit-eating grin as he greeted the man.
“Hello there! My name’s John Sterling, and I was just wondering if you had some time to talk about the Fantasy.”
The man stood there, confused. He scratched his head, and pondered what the man had said. “… Fantasy? What’s the Fantasy?”
John stayed there, smiling, doing absolutely nothing in sight for five awkward, meticulous seconds. The man could see a glint of anger in John’s deep, blue eyes.
“Why, the Fantasy is only the most important thing in history of course! Me and my friends at the Church of the Marchen would be glad to have you in our organization for an additional fee!”
“Church of the… Oh no… This isn’t a religion, is it…”
“Why yes, as a matter of fact, it is!”
“No thanks, man. I’ll stick with Jesus for now. See ya later I guess…”
“As the man closed the door, he could faintly see a deep, menacing scowl embedded into the face of what he once thought was a man named John Sterling.
The scowl called him. The scowl beckoned him in a way that could only be described as supernatural.
John held out a book the man hadn’t noticed in his arms before. “Oh, but mister Greenly, I insist!” John said condescendingly, with a sinister smile masking his face. “I assure you, this is your Fantasy.”
John opened the book in front of Mr. Greenly’s face, and Mr. Greenly was forced into the two-dimensional landscape, never to be seen by mortal eyes again.
The missionary closed the book with pristine precision, as if he cared for it with all his heart. As he held the book in his right arm, he made his way down to the next house on Hickory Drive.
Member No.: 512
Joined: 10-June 15
Amazing Grace The Honeymoon's Over Perfect Like Glass The Place of Luck Ballet Mecanique Unnamed Vinyl Asylum creepypasta 1 Hell's Kitchen Evangelism Project D.E.A.D. Hunger Pains Fear the Biker Unnamed Vinyl Asylum creepypasta 2 Unnamed Acelegin creepypasta Unnamed PatchyOwl creepypasta Unnamed EnigmaHarper creepypasta The Outsider Out of Order
Member No.: 512
Joined: 10-June 15
Also, I've decided to just pair the stories I've collected up with alliterator's book. So, that means all the stories I've written for it, plus my friends' stories, will be in his book. This doesn't mean I'm giving up on the book, Wally. It just means I'm trying to find common ground with a person I've been kind of a jerk to. So, without further ado, I submit my collected stories to Thoughts, Sanguine and Sick.
Member No.: 132
Joined: 11-May 12
I present "Born From Death".
My eyes snapped open as I heard my phone buzz. A text message. I looked around sleepily, realizing I had dozed off on the couch. Typical of me... I flipped my phone open. I had a text message from Rillek. I opened It up to see the words “Old Church. 3 pm. Expect call once there.” I glanced at the time. 2:30. Shit. I was gonna be late. I got up and grabbed my jacket off the back of a chair It was a shortened, black leather coat. I threw it on and went to the bathroom to examine myself in the mirror. My God, my hair was a mess. I had grown my dirty blonde hair out to my shoulders, a bit long for a guy, and it was now all over the damn place. I splashed some water on it and grabbed my hairbrush to try straightening it out. Having it out that long was a bit of a pain, but my friend and I had been having a contest to see who could grow our hair the longer. I frowned at myself in the mirror. My friend.. the two of us hadn't spoken in a while. Our last meeting hadn't gone so well. He had tried to talk me out of joining Rillek and he crew, saying that it was a mistake. I disagreed with him, and things went sour. It ended up escalating into a fist fight. We went our separate ways after that. I'm not even sure if it's right to call him my “friend” anymore. I set the brush down, suddenly feeling very tired. What if he was right? What if this was a bad idea. I looked into my own eyes for a minute. Then I shook my head angrily and turned away from my reflection. Maybe this was a bad choice, but it was mine to make. He had no say in it. With my hair more or less under control, I ran out the door and grabbed my bike. I pedaled as fast as I could in the direction of the church. It was the unofficial meeting ground of our group. Had been since before I'd joined. It had been abandoned for quite a while, so it make an excellent place to come together in private. I stopped at a strip mall a short distance from the church and chained my bike up. I pulled out my phone again and glanced at the time. 3:04. I was already late. Damn it... I ran the rest of the way and knocked on the large wooden door. A brown eye looked out at me through a hole in the door, before disappearing. The door swung open. Greg stood there, looking down at me. He was at least a head taller then me. “Reaper,” he said “You're late.” “Sorry,” I said. “Rillek called yet?” “Not yet,” Greg said, standing aside to let my through. “But he will. Come on in.” I stepped inside and looked around. Terrance and Ciel were also there. I walked into the middle of the church. As I did, I passed by my weapon, hidden beneath some of the pews. It was large, so I couldn't really carry it with me everywhere. So I generally just left it here for safe keeping. I cam to stand before a tall stone sculpture of a hooded angel, standing before the podium. The architects really went all out in here. I stared up at it for a while. It's always creeped me out. I got bored of that pretty quickly and turned to go talk to Terrance. I needed to talk to someone, and he was easier to speak to then Ciel was. He was a few years older then me, with a long face and jet black hair. He was dressed in a purple T-shirt, with our groups symbol emblazoned across the front in white paint. He was relatively quiet person, and significantly friendlier than Ciel. “Hey, Reaper,” he said, as I approached him. “Do you know how long we're supposed to wait here?” I ask him, maybe a little bit impatiently. “Not sure,” he replied. “Rillek should be contacting us soon.” He reached out to one of the nearby pews and picked something up off it. “Before that, though, I got something I want you to have,” he said, handing me what he had grabbed. I took a look at it. It was a simple gray t-shirt. Not much, but a free shirt is a free shirt. And I like free shirts. “Wow,” I said. “Thanks, man.” “Go ahead and try it on,” he said. “Then you should go talk to Ciel.” I grimaced at the thought of that. She is NOT an easy woman to talk to. Terrance scan the room real quick til he found her. “She's on the other side of the room right now,” he said. I followed his gaze and saw her, standing in a slightly different place from when I had walked in. I removed my coat and threw the new shirt on over my the one I was already wearing. It was about a size too tight for me, but it wasn't bad. I threw my oat on again and made my way over to Ciel. I really wasn't looking forward to it. She was one of the meanest girls I've ever met. Not that I meet a lot of girls, but she's still kind of bitchy. She had her switchblade out and was practicing a few forms with it. Upon seeing me approach, she sighed heavily and continued her training. “Great, you're here,” she muttered. “What's the problem?” “I don't know,” I told her. “I'm bored.” She switched her grip on the knife and began practicing some reverse-grip maneuvers. “Well, if you're bored, you should train,” she said, bitterly. “You never know when a fight'll happen.” “Yeah,” I said. “Sure...” “Now why don't you go bug Greg?” she growled. “He's over by the door. Right. I knew that. I really didn't need her pointing him out to me. I turned to leave, but she spoke again. “Oh yeah,” she said, picking a grocery bag up of the ground and tossing it to me. “He're some potions.” I felt the outside of the bag. There were 5 small, glass bottles inside. “You can heal yourself with them, so I won't have to,” she explained, before going back to her training. I shrugged. I didn't really believe in magic, or the concept of healing potions, but then again, Ciel really knows her stuff when it comes to medicine, so I wouldn't be surprised if she could concoct some kind of highly potent painkiller or something. I walked away from her and back over to Greg. I didn't really expect him to have anything new to say, but I needed to kill time somehow. “Hey,” he said, as I made it over to him. “Hey,” I replied. “What's up?” “You tired of waiting?” he asked. “Yeah,” I said. “How long is Rillek gonna take?” “No idea,” Greg said. “Oh yeah, you're new to all this, right?” True. I had only been with them for a little while. “Yeah,” I replied. “I guess...” “Then let me give you a bit of advice,” he told me. “Whenever you go somewhere new, look around a bit. You might find some useful stuff.” “Thanks,” said. “I'll keep that in mind.” Seemed like a weird thing to say, but when I thought about it, it made sense that Rillek might send me on some Recon or something. As I considered that briefly, my phone went off. I pulled it from my pocket and checked the screen. “Oh, hey!” I said. “It's Rillek. I'm gonna go take this.” I turned around and stepped a few feet away from Greg. “Hey,” I said in greeting, but I froze when I heard Rillek panting on the other end. Something was wrong. “Reaper! Be on guard!” he said, panic in his voice. “There's Proxies heading to your position!” “Proxies?” I asked. I'd never heard that word before. What was he talking about? Before I could ask what he was talking about, my thoughts were broken by the sound of gunfire and Greg's cry of pain. I spun around, alarmed, and saw him dead on the floor. There were new holes in the door, made by the spray of bullets that had been fired at him. Ciel and Terrance both stopped what they were doing. I could hear people moving outside the church, and see their shadows through the holes in the door. “Holy shit! They killed Greg!” Ciel gasped. I had never heard terror in her voice before, but I did now. The door swung open, revealing at least ten men, wielding baseball bats and various guns standing there. “Not Greg!” Terrance growled, drawing his own knife. “You monsters!” He was acting outside his normal behavior. I got chills hearing him speak with that level of malice to his normally quiet tone of voice. “Who are these guys!?” I said, as they began filing in. “Damn it!” Rillek's voice sounded from my phone, and I realized I had lowered it away from my ear amongst the panic that had just ensued. “They're there already! I'm on my way! Don't do anything stupid!” I heard the click of him hanging up. As I did, Ciel and Terrance both charged at the men. Before I could make any attempt to stop them, they had already gutted and slit the throat of the first man to come in. The other men began swinging their bats in an attempt to fight Ciel and Terrance off. “You damn bastard!” Terrance snapped. “You're gonna pay!” Ciel shouted angrily. “Oh, please,” one of the men said, mockingly. “You think those little pocket knives are intimidating?” I pulled myself together and shoved my phone back into my pocket. I grabbed my weapon from beneath the church pew and charged. “Maybe you'll find this acceptable!” I shouted swinging it at the bastard who had mocked my friends. He barely managed to parry my attack and step backward. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “He has a scythe!” And THAT's why they call me Reaper. “Bring it on you punk!” I cried out, swinging my scythe at him again. This time I managed to knock the bat from his hand, grazing his forearm in the process. As he panicked at the new wound, Ciel rushed in and jabbed her knife into his throat. I nearly heaved at the sight of the blood. Damn it, I had know idea that this is what I was getting myself into. The man dropped to the ground, and I realized that both my companions were serious about killing these guys. Terrance sliced one of them through the bicep, then turned and stabbed the next on in the eye. The man with the severed bicep cried out in pain, and didn't have time to react as Ciel came up behind him and slit his throat. Terrance yanked his knife out of the other guys eye, and he fell down, unmoving. The knife must have gone all the way into his brain. Yikes... “This is getting old! One of the men said, charging past Ciel and Terrance, straight at me. He swung his club straight down at me, and I raised the pole of my scythe to block it. As I did, I snap kicked him in the groin, causing him to back off a little. I lost track of what the others were doing as I focused on the man before me. I whacked him over the head with the scythe's pole, stunning him. I let the weighted end of my scythe hit the ground as I caught my breathe and switched my grip on it to a backhand. I normally hold it in a reverse grip. I know it's not practical, but the blades are heavy, and It help to let the end rest on the ground when I'm not swinging it at things. The man took a few moments to recover, but I was ready first I swung my scythe in an upward diagonal path at his head, leading with the blunt side. He tried to block it with his bat, but it was useless. The heavy blade of a scythe give it a lot of momentum, and it couldn't stop it at that point The blunt end collided with his skull, knocking him out. I turned my attention to the rest of the fight, and realized that some more of the men had been cut down. I couldn't tell exactly how many, because I got distracted by the fact that Terrance was hurling a molotov cocktail right into the middle of the remaining ones. The glass cracked open, igniting one of the men. The rest had been smart enough to dive out of the way. A couple of them were coming right at me. I swung my scythe at their legs, hoping to trip them up. I managed to knowck one of them off balance, but the other jumped over it and fired his pistol at me. The bullet hit me in the shoulder, and in my panic, I lost my grip on the scythe, which slid away from me. I fell to the ground with a thud, as Ciel attacked the man who had harmed him, stabbing him through the heart. Ciel. Of course! I fought back the pain and scrambled for the grocery back she'd handed me. I grabbed a bottle and bit into the cork, yanking it out with my teeth. I chugged it down, and it left a burning taste in my mouth. The pain grew null, and I think the bleeding stopped too. Damn. She really did know her medicines. “Damn Timberwolves!” One of the men shouted. “Go embrace your master!” I stood up, and dove for my scythe. I grabbed it and swung it, point first, at the man who had spoken. The tip of the scythes blade embedded itself in his temple. I froze for a moment, taken aback by what I had just done. But I shook it off. These men had killed my friend. Greg was gone because of them. They deserved this. “Embrace that, you bitch,” I snarled at his corpse. I turned back to the remaining men. More had come in. I swung my scythe at the closest one to me, cutting his throat open. Then I impaled the next one with the scythe's tip. One man hit Terrance in the skull with his bat, knocking him down. I turned and attacked him, as Ciel ran to help Terrance out, uncorking a potion as she ran. I spun the scythe so that the edge was behind the man's neck, and then I pulled it toward me, decapitating him. The sound of guns rang out, and searing pain flashed through my shoulders. I'd been shot again, and seeing how many men were pouring into the church, I didn't think I'd have time to down another potion. “Shit!” Terrance said weakly. “There's too many of them!” Guns were drawn, all pointing at us. “Damn it all to Hell!” Ciel swore. Triggers were pulled. I closed my eyes. I've read about death before. I'd seen it described as being painless. A quick, easy passing. They say it's not nearly as bad as one would think. They're wrong. They're all wrong. My death was the single most painful thing that has ever happened to me. And I'm not talking about the guns. The bullets tearing through my flesh, through my skull, through my heart, were nothing compared to what came next. I can't describe it. It was burning and ice cold, all at once. It was like a million knives stabbing in and out of my body, and leaving no wound. All kinds of pain struck at me. And the worst of it all was the voice. The voice of some mad God, louder then the blast of a nucleur bomb, searing my eardrums and causing my head to vibrate from the noise. It only spoke 2 words, but that was all it took. That pair of words was worse then any Hell I could possibly describe to you. “EMBRACE ME!” I did. I didn't have a choice. I thought... I thought that maybe, just maybe, accepting that voice would end this. Save me from the pain. And it did. At first. By things soon grew worse. Much worse. In ways I can't even speak of. My name is Justin Gremori Ferin. And my death was just the beginning...
I have a few other short stories in the works, but this is all I have so far.