A New Christmas Poem for 2016

The big man traveled through the snow.

His beard was drenched in red.

Two glazed eyes stared with lifelessness,

And cold skin, pale and dead.

A scarlet suit, now torn and frayed,

Fat belly ripped apart.

Intestines hung, yet he still walked

Without a beating heart.

They followed him – short, dressed in green.

Trudged slowly as they moaned.

An army that desired flesh

And stripped it to the bone.

A month ago a poor blonde lad

Lay very sick in bed.

He never mastered dentistry

In two days he was dead.

The morgue attendant was the first

To learn the truth, too late.

For when the elf came back to life

He saw meat and he ate.

He found old friends who thought him dead.

They suffered from his bite

They died and changed; no thoughts, deranged

A terrifying sight.

Fatalities grew rapidly

Before they were aware

The dead attacked; the elves fought back

But poorly they did fare.

The big man fought. It was too late.

North Pole was overrun.

He boarded up his office doors

And stocked himself with guns.

The elves broke through, chaos ensued

The undead won the fight

The killed the reindeer, one by one

Then traveled in the night.

The happy days of bringing toys

Were sadly at their end.

For Santa Claus did not expect

The rising of the dead.

Monsters in Masks

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
It trickled down his face, from his forehead, across his cheek, and to his arm. Eyes closed, his consciousness crept in, and he heard it. The steady plop splashing on the ground. Pain from his temple, from his scalp. From the back of his head.
“You’re one of them,” a voice said. “I know what you are. I know what’s behind your face.”
The man forced his eyes open. The lashes fought and tore in resistance. The sticky red glue conceded, and the dim light found its way in, flooding his blurry vision. Incoherent shapes, mounds surrounding him, piles of shapeless mass on the floor, motionless. Who spoke? Where was the voice.
“I know what you are!” it called from the distance. A woman?
“Where am I?”
He tried to shout, but the strain in his throat was sharp like needles stabbing into his neck from the inside. It felt like gouging cuts ripping apart, wounds reopening, deep and painful.
“Where am I?” He forced past the hurting, almost screeching from the torment.
He blinked. His eyes stuck for a second. The fuzzy images sharpened. The mounds lay around him, pools of red beneath them. Bodies. He stared harder. Red circles on the faces. No… no faces. Muscle and blood. Faces gone. Cut off. Torn off. Ripped away.
“What the fuck?”
She marched towards him, brandishing a scalpal.
“Oh, shit. What the fuck?”
“I know what you are. Hiding behind that face. Pretending to be human.”
“They were human.”
“Trial and error. Its you, though. I know its you.”
“You crazy bitch.”
“That’s what they said.” She gestured with her head to the bodies encircling them. “But this time, I know I’m right.”
She thrust the blade forward, digging through the skin on his forehead, tracing along the top, then down the side of his face. He shrieked. Red fluid oozed down, drizzling in a torrent. He pulled against the ropes, which held tight and dug into his wrists behind his back.
“I see you behind there.”
“FUCK YOU, PSYCHO BITCH!”
She completed the circle, dug her fingers beneath the skin, and pulled. He screamed, muscle separated from skin. Red strands stretched and tore away.
“You’re a monster in a mask.”
She separated the flap completely, eye holes blankly staring out as the skin hung limply. She looked at the gore beneath, expecting bloody death. A gleaming white smile on a demonic face stared back.
“You found me,” it said. “But what are you going to do about it?”
The monster snapped the ropes away and lunged forward. She screamed, for only a second, then silence.

The most wonderful time of the year

So it’s almost Halloween, the most awesome time of year, my favorite (better than Christmas), but then again, I’m a horror writer, so I guess that’s to be expected. I’ll be the invisible man, by the way.

Not a bad resemblence

Today, tonight, whatever, I’ll be writing about horror movies, and more specifically, the ones from overdone franchises that happened to have a slam-dunk or two, but then failed miserably and completely with the rest. In particular, I’m going to mention what I like to call the big three in terms of slasher films.

 SO….. Let’s start with the most overdone and oversequeled horror movie ever:

Jason Voorhees

Jason. The infamous hockey mask killer. The mass murderer who can’t die. Jason Motherfucking Voorhees (not quite sure if that’s his actual middle name). He’s drowned (part 1), been chopped with a machete (part 2), had a head split with an axe (part 3)… still alive somehow after all this. He died finally in part 4

Part 5 doesn’t count because it wasn’t Jason (sorry, thirty-year-old spoiler). He came back in part 6 Frankenstein-style even though he was decaying and being eaten by maggots, only to die again by drowning once more. Part 7, he… was drowned again by a psychic teenager’s zombie dad (probably the worst in the series). Next he became a supernatural killing machine…

who got melted by toxic sludge. He was blown up after an very unnecessary and almost out of place nude scene within minutes of the intro (part 9), only to be dragged to hell. He fought Freddy… and won (?), then went to space and got blown up again (part… X?)

So why the fuck do they keep making these movies? Then a remake (sucked) and now another 2017 remake? Here’s a time saver to anybody who wants to watch Jason in action but doesn’t want to waste time figuring out the good one.

Part 2. The first of the series with Jason, and should have been the only one. No hockey mask. No cheesy resurrections, just a creepy demented mentally disabled man killing people. It gives a good explanation for why Jason is the way he is, seems more realistic than any of the others, and it works great for a 1980’s horror movie. First time I saw it, I thought it actually was a little scary, and I was 18 when I watched it.

Michael Myers

Ok, so part one was a classic. Part 2, basically the continuation of 1, (don’t even get me started on part 3)

But the one that stood out, the one that gets no credit as being awesome, although it has the absolute best ending, is part 4 - The Return of Michael Myers.

Parts 5 and 6 destroyed what was good in part 4, part H2O did nothing but bring back Jamie Lee and ignore that last four movies. Part 8 was bullshit with Busta Rymes.

Yeah, can't take this movie seriously

Spoilers ahead. Part 4 begins with you learning that Michael Myers never died in part 2 (Yes, he got shot in both eyes in part 2. Yes, he caught on fire then in a huge explosion at the end, and there’s no way he survived that. I’m not talking about part 2. I’m talking about part 4. Shut up.) Laurie Strode from parts one, two and seven (and stupid fucking part 8), died in a car crash and left her daughter behind. Michael comes after her, goes on a killing spree, same shit different day. But the ending, the crazy fucking ending caught me off guard. The sweet little girl (all grown up and hot now), lost her shit, put on a mask, and killed her mom with a knife. It’s just like the beginning of the original, where a sweet little boy goes nuts and stabs his sister to death. The girl is silent and holding a bloody knife, roll credits. Awesome fucking ending. Loved that part of the movie.

Freddy Krueger

"One, Two, Freddy's coming for you..."

Freddy. Everyone’s favorite bogeyman. Evil in life, worse in death. The dream killer. One of the greatest horror movies ever. The one that got Wes Craven on the map… and then they made the sequels. Dream Warriors, Dream Master, Dream Child… don’t even get me started on fucking Freddy’s Dead, where he video game’s you to death.

 They got it right in part one. Tina’s death scene, one of the scariest kill scenes ever.

If you can’t do it right, don’t fuck with a good thing. Wes Craven was out, but finally came back and made New Nightmare, proving that he’s the only one who should be making Freddy movies. Although he didn’t use too much creativity since he basically rehashed the famous death scene once again.

Is this the only true scare Freddy has up his sleeve, doing the whole floating, death on the ceiling thing? If so great. It worked. It was scary. It was awesome… once. If that’s all Freddy has, he made a great scary movie. But don’t keep shitting out turds so we keep hoping something good  comes out. Nightmare on Elm Street could have gone down as one of the single greatest horror films ever made. Instead it turned into another Friday the 13th… And don’t even get me started on stupid-ass Freddy vs. Jason, a movie based on a joke scene at the end of Jason Goes to Hell because New Line Cinema took over rights to Jason from Paramount, so now they owned two horror franchises.

What I’m now going to call “Freddys moral” is this: of you only got one good movie in you, then KEEP IT TO ONE DAMN MOVIE. I'm talking to you Saw. I'm talking to you Children of the Corn. I'm talking to you Paranormal Activity, The Omen, Psycho, I Know What You Did Last Summer, and so on.

Of course, there’s plenty of other films I could have gone on about. Plenty of horrible sequels like when Chucky joined the army or Matthew McConaughey joined the Leatherface family, but I’ve written enough for now. Be sure to check out the latest book with my story in it here, and look for Witches, Warlocks, Demon’s, and other Evil Doers coming soon with my story "Broomstick and a Pointed Hat". If you haven't liked my Facebook page, do it, please. And check out my website for more that I've written or go read last year's Fear the Pumpkins stories. For now, have a Happy Halloween.

Procrastination - Finish what you start

Ok, I haven't blogged in a while. I haven't posted or updated my website in a while. I haven't written anything new in the realm of novel or short story in months. Yet, I'm working on my writing at least a little bit EVERY FUCKING NIGHT. So I begin to think to myself, what's up with that? If I'm messing with my writing every damn night and yet have produced nothing, what the hell have I been doing? Answer - editing. I have so much shit I've written, and after going to a new writers group (my previous group disbanded. Sad story. Cue the violins.) I joined a new group, and these bastards tear my stories to pieces every time I read for them. Okay, they're not bastards, but they are all damn good writers, damn good at critiquing, and are forcing me to up my fucking game.

Either way, went off topic. Total A-D-D moment. The point of this posting is about how much I’ve started and not finished. I’m editing novels I haven’t completed, obsessed with getting the first chapters perfect without completing the fucking ending. I just did a count. I’ve started five novels, without coming to completion — FIVE NOVELS. When I say started, I mean written half to three quarters of the damn book, not just the first freaking chapter. Two of them I know in my head how the entire plot, including the fucked up endings, are supposed to be. The other three, I still have to figure out, but I’ve gotten pretty far into them.

So I’ve decided that I’m going to stop obsessing on perfection before completing the final product. The first step to writing something should be the first draft. Editing comes next, not before, so I’m wasting time with old chapters. I’ve decided to finish a book completely, beginning to end, then start editing. Kind of a good idea to me. At least I can say I finished another novel, even though it won’t be ready for publication, but at least I’ll have a rough draft finished.

Moral of the story, if you start something, finish it before you start doing work to fix it. No point to messing with something you haven’t finished. For God’s sake, what if I were working forever on the first couple of chapters or something and realized the end would be stupid. All the effort would be useless, kind of like making a Highlander sequel.

There should have only been one

Or a Matrix Sequel.

Seriously?

Well, it’s 12:45 am, so good night to all. Hopefully this blog post is good. I've been drinking so who the fuck knows.