Haunted Circus

maxresdefaultCircus Circus was built-in 1968.  Unfortunately the owner, Jay Sarno, failed to build an accommodating hotel and so there was very little incentive to lure in high rollers.  As a result the casino quickly fell into financial trouble.    Sarno, tried to rectify his mistake by borrowing an extra 23 million dollars, however, the loan came with ties to the Chicago mob.  This mob-related endeavor built the hotel but it also put Sarno within the cross-hairs of the authorities.  Sarno, wracked with fear, finally sold his casino/hotel in 1974.  Since then Circus Circus has undergone many expansions and today it as recognized as one of the most iconic casinos in Las Vegas.

Be that as it may, if you find yourself in Vegas and are so inclined to stay at Circus Circus you would be wise to stay far away from certain rooms.   Loud cries for help and screams of bloody murder are often heard coming from rooms 123, 230, 576, and 203.  Many through the years have fallen from their room window to their deaths below.  The lady in room 123, shot out the brains of her son before turning the gun upon herself.  Of course she and her son are said to haunt the room and walk the hallways.

So tourist, beware…

Stay Creepy My Friends!

Haunted Circus is in participation with today’s prompt circus.

(From http://paranormalistics.blogspot.com/:  Las Vegas – Circus Circus – loud cries for help are herd in the poker rooms and also rooms 123 230 576 and 203 in the bathroom at night you here the words help me and screaming bloody murder that they want help also a 76 year old man that worked there for 20 years claims that 3 people were killed in the kitchen on the same night  and the lady in room 123 shoot her and her little boys brains out and ever since then the little boy and his mom haunts the place looking for there husband/dad and anyone with same name as Robert and has black hair gets murdered and hung from the ceiling)

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Siren’s Song

Siren's Song

Max’s stare was blank but his body was filled with longing.  Her song was the epitome of desire.  In all of his 50 years, Max had never heard anything to compare.

The first time it had happened, Max had been suffering from insomnia.  Sleep, always his distant friend, remained aloof long into the witching hours, and so, out of utter boredom, he had done the unthinkable…. he had walked barefoot to an empty dock, boarded his Irish Lady and taken her out into the calm sea waters.  Max knew sailing alone, especially in the dead of night, wasn’t the smartest thing to do; however a stifling loneliness prodded him to  curse all warnings and tuck them away into the deepest recess of his mind.

At first, all was quiet, save for  the wind’s gentle tug on the mainsail and the small waves kissing the sides of the Irish Lady.  With the waters so calm, Max relaxed by the rudder and enjoyed his cigar without interruption.  Nearing the end of the smoke another sound began to mingle among the wind and waves.  The mé·nage à trois slowly married and became  a sweet seductress caressing and whispering within his ear.

At first, Max wondered if another boat was near, but a quick 360 proved that he and his Irish Lady were the only ones upon the water.  As the song grew louder, he relaxed and was eventually enveloped within the soprano’s beautiful serenade.  The woman’s voice was soft and gentle and even though Max knew it to be strange he felt no fear, only a peaceful sense of longing.

“Strange…” he whispered, “so…so strange.”

The Siren’s song warmed him and put him in a blank trance  until it slowly left as it had come, leaving only the sounds of the wind and waves.  Max had stayed out another hour hoping to hear her voice again but it never came.  Disappointed he turned his Irish Lady and went home.  The moonlight sail proved cathartic, for he had slept like a baby once he was home and under the covers of his bed.

Max went out every night for the rest of the week and sure enough he was rewarded with his sweet siren’s song.  Never, not even once, had he any inkling  to jump overboard into the arms of some beautiful bare breasted mermaid.  Just the opposite, he laughed, her voice had made him feel warm and completely safe.

Fearing he was losing his mind, Max had promised that each night would be the last, only to break the promise the following night.  And so, here he was, once again, sailing under the milky way awaiting the siren’s song.  With each night his desire to hear her grew until tonight it was a consuming fire begging to be quenched.  Minutes faded into hours with no sign of his siren.   Max, unwilling to give up, continued to sail the dark waters like a mad animal ravenous for his prey.  Finally it became obvious that his siren was not coming.     Utter loneliness squeezed his heart so hard it physically hurt, but he had  no other choice but to turn the Irish Lady and head back home.

Max went straight to bed but once again sleep was a stranger. He lay awake in his bed watching the breeze flutter the curtains of the open bedroom window.  He was filled with the fear that he’d never hear his siren again.

“Why hadn’t she come?” he whispered into the nothingness.

Faintly…ever so faintly a voice…her voice… like a whisper drifted through the open window.   His heart quickened, and  quickened all the more, when he realized her song was gradually getting louder. Finally she sang to him right outside his window and just as it had been upon the water her voice soothed him.

Entranced he lay there listening until her song came to an end..  At first he was afraid she had gone but then he heard her breathing and he knew she was still there.  He thought it impossible but her breath outside his window was sweeter than her song.  Gradually her whispers of breath became heavier and huskier until his siren sounded like a woman consumed with orgasmic pleasure.  Max filled with need and he wanted her to come inside and slip beneath the covers with him.  Somehow he knew she couldn’t come inside until he offered an invitation.

He was about to beckon, only to be interrupted by her moaning…

“…Max…I came for you, I came for you upon the waters, but I couldn’t find you.  My heart hurt… my soul cried, and my body ached for you… and so, I have come to you, Max…please…please bid me come in…”

Max, throbbing with the pain of desire, could wait no longer, said, “Come to me.”

The screen that separated her from his room began to tear slowly from top to bottom.   Max looked for her presence, but could see no one, only the slow rending of the screen. Once it  reached its decent a head flowing with long black hair slowly emerged.   Max strained to see her face, however, it was downcast so that her hair fell forward and long. The figure climbed through the window and then stood naked within the moon’s glow. Her long hair fell strategically to cover her breasts and cascaded over her body to hide everything but the perfect rounding of her hips and the length of her legs.  Standing like this she didn’t move and  Max wondered if he should go to her; however, as if she heard his thought, she began to slowly move toward him.  Once at the foot of the bed she stopped to stand silently, her hair, still covering her face, had parted just enough to expose the nipple and swell  of her left breast.  Feeling as if he could wait no longer, Max begged her to come to him.  Once the plea left his mouth she disappeared.  He presumed she had vanished until he felt the rustle of the sheets around his feet, and he knew she was about crawl underneath the covers. Slowly he felt her womanly body inch its way over his until she lay full upon him.  Her body was warm and soft and she eased her softness over his hardness until he was totally consumed within her flesh.    She began to slowly move upon him.and he thought he would die.  Consumed in desire he arched upward and ran his hands over her buttocks, up the small of her back, and ever upward until they held each side of her head. .  His fingers entangled within her hair and slowly he was able to push it up and over her face, and in that instant his siren let out a blood curdling scream.  Max opened his tightly closed eyes and saw a hideous hag writhing in pleasure above him.  Her mouth, unhinged hung long and low, and rocked side to side like a metronome.  Horrified he watched as her jaw stretched even longer so that he looked down the black bottomless pit of her throat.  Feeling the pull this dark abyss, Max  looked to his siren’s eyes to beg for mercy, but her bulbous eyes were even blacker than the pit and he knew they contained no mercy.  Unimaginable pain wracked his body as he felt himself shrivel to a liquid that poured down her throat.  The hag hungrily drank every portion of him until all that was left was damp spot upon sheets.

Slowly the hag’s sagging mouth closed and turned into lips the color of rose buds; and her black eyes grayed and morphed  until they were the color of the Mediterranean Sea.  A beautiful naked women left Max’s bed, drifted through the torn screen and disappeared into the sea mist  that lay beyond.

Having a Creepy Kind of Day

Why so serious?

(You know it can’t be healthy)

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Borrowed from Spooky Southeast

“British X-files” soon to be released for public view!  Article later today!

Visit my other Blog Redhead Reflections

(Spooky Southeast podcast-well worth the listen!)

Possession

Possession

Ghost ChildI was quite the unusual child.  No one dared speak it out loud, but none-the-less, it ate upon their brains like a canker sore.

“Different…,” they’d say.  “Just a wee-bit queer…for my like’n.”  Then they’d catch me looking at them and their faces would blanch white, as the cotton they were picking.

I enjoy making them uncomfortable.  I enjoy hearing the rhythm of their heartbeat quicken.  It makes me alive within this skin.

It’s a funny thing to feel so alive when scaring others to death.  I almost get giddy with the pleasure.  Once I almost smiled but  I never let them see me smile.

One day I’ll leave this village, but not until I’m finished with them.  I never leave a job undone.  I stay until the end…and sometimes it takes oh so long for the end.

The end makes me sad.  After the end there is no fear and it’s the fear I miss most.  And so I stretch the means to defer the end.

I try to linger as long as possible, but, alas, the end is always inevitable.  So when the job is done, I lay them to hell and spill dirt over their faces…and then…then I can smile.

I wonder the woods, for beyond yonder hill, my new family awaits.  The cabin is bright and I knock at the door.  When it opens they invite me in and  my job begins all over again.

Generations have come and generations have gone, and yet I’m still here…still the same unusual, girl of seven.

Yes, this always remains…

I’m never alone, for this body I possess, will always be my home.

***

Home is a person.  If you’re lucky, home is yourself. __ Duchess Goldblatt 

[Please visit my other blog Redhead Reflections]

Angel of Death

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Angel of Death Photo by David Dehner

 

She watched him from her place of containment.  Sure enough, he had “the mark” and so she fled her confines to mingle among the chaos of the crowd below.

She felt his stare.  Knowing this to be her cue, she covered the ten steps, separating them and asked with a timid voice, “Care to dance, handsome?”

As usual, the stranger’s eyes filled with suspicion, but once he saw her shy smile, he tossed doubt away, and  accepted her soft hand.  In an instant their bodies melded and he was consumed with unquenchable lust.  He wanted her, but the intense craving terrified him. Sensing his resolve, she crushed him closer and huskily growled, “My poor…poor beast..not use to being controlled…”

Slowly she pulled away…but only enough for him to look into her black eyes.  In them, he saw the innocents he had hurt screaming his name and coming for  him. Terror squeezed his heart until it burst and then the beast fell to the ground.

She let the corpse drop to the floor and then she faded into the picture hanging on the tavern’s wall.  The caption underneath read, “Angel of Death”

(Word count 175)

(originally posted as “Mark of the Beast”  in Redhead Reflections in the participation of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers)

The Book of Death

(The following short story was first published at Redhead Reflections my other Blog)

0707ephr9_600x5461 Tuesday began as any other boring day in the life of Annie Smith.  The alarm clock rang at exactly 6:45 am which gave Annie at least two wacks at the snooze button before she had to be up promptly at 7 am in order to make it to her job at the Martin County Public Library.  As usual, she stumbled to the shower for a quick body rinse to begin the awaking process which ended after her second cup of coffee.  Coffee, toast and one boiled egg and she was out the door of her small apartment, down the three flights of stairs, to stroll to the nearest bus stop.

Sure enough the drab Library was just where she left it the night before.  Annie inserted her skeleton key and thus began her lonely 8 hour shift.  Annie had always been an introvert, so this job suited her personality; however, as of late, she’d been experiencing a feeling…something akin to loneliness.  As much as she tried to shake the alien feeling, it clung to her and periodically invaded her thoughts throughout her 8 hours as librarian. The feeling, like an intrusive grain of sand in her shoe, pestered her ever so softly, just enough for her to know it there.

Yesterday, while at work, Annie had been so irritated by the feeling that she found herself strolling the romance section scanning the books on the shelves.    She noticed one particular book was jutted out a fraction more than the others.  Annie reached for that book and whispered the title  aloud in the empty library… “I Have Come for You”  She had opened the book’s worn cover and read the first sentence of chapter one: “Annie, oblivious to the precipice before her, fell head long into a seduction that would forever alter her lonely life.”  Shaken by such a personal application, her hands that held the book quivered until the book fell to the floor.  She stared at the open book, lying on the floor, for what seemed like hours.  Finally, she bent down to retrieve the book and saw that the left page of the book was blank but the right page contained the heading for chapter two which read…“There is no escape…I will have you.”  Annie had laughed nervously, and then shook her head in unbelief, as she put the book back into its place upon the shelf.

Today, as Annie strolled from one computer to the next, making sure each green light was lit, the whole scenario from yesterday seemed ridiculous to Annie .  What an absurd idea that the book had been personally speaking to her.  She giggled loudly with the thought.  Startled from the sound that had escaped her lips, she quickly put her hand to cover her mouth.  She looked around to see if anyone had slipped in through the front door.  No, the tiny library was as empty as when she had walked inside a half an hour ago.  For some reason Annie was frightened by the sound of her own laughter.  She couldn’t help but think that the shrill cackle had come from the lips of someone going mad.   No one else was here, so it had to have been her laughter.  Surely, she was not mad.  The thought rested uneasy within her psyche.

“Oh Annie…don’t be so stupid…,” she nervously berated herself and walked rather jerky to toward the comfort of her plush office chair.  The chair was one thing she had insisted upon when she took this job.  It was soft and firm where it needed to be to conform perfectly to her slightly overweight form.   Annie placed the palms of her hands on the desk and began to sit, but before she completed the final descent into the beloved chair she noticed something out of place.  There, lying atop the keyboard of he computer, lay a book.  Her faced blanched white because she knew it was “the book.”

“What the fuck?”  Annie never cursed but the word had come from her mouth as if she had been saying it all her life.  Her exclamation was loud but she didn’t care.  She didn’t care if someone was there to hear her profanity because nothing mattered to her exceptthe book lying on her desk.  Slowly she picked it up and instantly felt compelled to turn it’s pages to chapter three.  She did.  Glaring at her from page 117 were the words… “Don’t look behind you…” Annie’s heart quickened in her chest.  She desperately wanted to turn around, just to prove that they were only words on a page, but she dare not. Her heat began to beat even faster and once again the cackle of laughter filled the library. Annie heard it but was unaware it belonged to her.  Her mind raced with fear and wonder as to what the book would say next.  Slowly she turned the pages of the book until she came to chapter four.

Annie closed her eyes, too afraid to look.  She squeezed her lids so tight it was painful. She wouldn’t look…she couldn’t look…NO, she told herself…but alas she was overcome with curiosity and so she opened her hurting eyes to see a blur scribbled across the page.   Her heart beat wildly as she waited for her eyes to focus.  Finally her vision cleared and she read the sentence, “Annie…can you feel my breath upon your neck?”  The words brought on chills that crawled all over her body.  Tiny beads of sweat covered her already clammy skin.  She could feel a rhythmic draft of air upon her neck.  It touched her and then it was gone…touched her and then it was gone… Each time it came back to her it was warmer.

Something inside, perhaps sanity, told Annie to burn the book.  It pleaded for her to “…take it outside now, strike a match and burn the fucking thing before it was too late!”   But the breath kept touching her. It slid down her neck to caress her breasts.  Her nipples hardened and her heart beat even faster.  Again the voice inside pleaded with her to burn the book, but Annie turned a deaf ear.  The breath was too warm, too erotic.

There were two more chapters left in the book and Annie knew she was destined to turn to each one.  Desiring more of the feelings that hugged her body, she turned to chapter five with fervency, wondering where the breath would take her next.  Under the heading of chapter five she read,  “Annie…feel my hands touching you…”  Annie gasped as the breath upon her body became hands wooing her to ecstasy.  Deep inside her she heard the remnants of a distant voice saying something…something she barely recognized as…matches…or…fire?  Annie didn’t care. She only cared about the hands stroking and begging her to turn to the last chapter.  When the thought of…yes I will…formed in her head, the book fell open to the last chapter of it’s own accord.

4b45734f3ea305c41966b4754d10be82Annie’s eyes were closed but this time she didn’t need to read the words on the page.  The words of the book became sound and spoke to her in a man’s voice.

“I’m here for you.”

His voice was smooth as honey.  His hands, still warm upon her body, slowly turned turned her around.

“Open your eyes.”

And so, Annie obeyed.  She opened her eyes to stare into a hooded black hole.  The hole, shrouded by the hood, was so dark that she thought it to be empty, but then it smiled.   The white of its teeth broke the darkness and slowly morphed into a “Cheshire” grin of jagged fangs.  Her desire instantly turned to terror.  The thing gnashed its teeth, taunting her.  Annie screamed into the shrouded hole and her heart burst red with blood.  Her last thought was, …the book…I should’ve burned the book.

One month later:

“Yeah, they said it was’a heart attack”  Roger scratched his head and added, “…hmmm…but I ain’t so sure.”

Katherine, the new librarian,  looked at the janitor,  “What do you mean, you’re not so sure?”

“Well, I ain’t never seen a face of death quite like that one…sum’ing just wasn’t right.  It was like she’d seen…” he paused a second to shake his head slowly, then spoke in a hushed tone,”…it was…it was like she had seen sum’ing that scared the life right out’a her.”

Katherine smiled kindly at the janitors whispered words, and tried her best to quell his fears, “Don’t you worry, Mr Roger, I’m sure there’s nothing at all to be afraid of in here.” She let her eyes scan the mundane emptiness of the library and added, “nothing at all, except maybe, boredom.”

“Yes, ma’am, you right about that…this place can get kind’a lonesome.”

Katherine watched as Roger shuffled out the front door leaving her alone in the library.  She wasn’t afraid of being alone.  On the contrary, the introvert inside her welcomed the solitude…just more time for reading, she thought.

Katherine stretched within her comfortable chair and stifled a yawn.  Wondering what the thermostat was set on she got up to check but stubbed her toe on something beneath the counter.  She looked down to see what it was but nothing was there.  Figuring her toe had shoved whatever it was further under the counter she got on her hands and knees to  see.  Sure enough lying in the dusty darkness was a book.  Katherine seized the book and rather clumsily stood to get a better look.  Turning the tattered book in her hands she read its title, “I’m Here for You.”

“My goodness!  How long have you been hiding under there?”

Forgetting about the thermostat, Katherine sat back down into the plush chair and blew the dust from the book’s cover.  As she stared at the book she felt something akin to loneliness.  Quietly she whispered, “What the hell,” and opened the book to chapter one.

 

The Passing

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Maggie arose from her slumber to begin the night’s work.  The work had become routine, and so she proceeded with little thought.5171605261_8fbbd343d1_b

Looking at her surroundings, Maggie noticed the moss ridden tombstones and, grass that had been trampled by deer, searching for solitude.  Her eyes drifted to a withered flower that had died in its vase years ago.  Maggie sighed.  No one came around anymore, not even the ground’s keeper.

This state of affair saddened Maggie, but what could she do?  No one heard her anymore because there was no one to listen.  She knew it was her fault, but she had grown tired of the kids and their silly candles.  At first it had been entertaining, but with the passage of time, their horror filled eyes and shrill screams, only bored her. And so she kept her silence and turned a deaf ear to their Ouija board.  After a while the kids stopped coming, perhaps thinking their time better spent at the nearby beach.  So now it was only her, and Maggie was lonely.

Each evening, upon the sun’s decent, Maggie walked among the headstones and whispered the names chiseled in gray.  This was the only thing that gave her a sense of existence.  She reasoned, within herself, it was her way of honoring the dead.

Night after night she made her rounds.  She no longer needed to look at the names.  She knew them all and so she drifted from one to the next until each name, had been spoken in the dark.  When her mission was complete she drifted back to her place to take her rest.

Her place was just as ram-shackled as the others, but on this particular night, Maggie studied her abode.  Once again her eyes fell to the dead flower within its vase.  It had been there for as long as she could remember.  The flower had wrapped itself in a cloak of death, that was dry and crumbling.  She studied the brown decay and realized, for the first time that there were none like it in all the garden.  Someone, God knows when, must have left it there for her.  Slowly Maggie drifted to the flower and reached to touch it with a wispy hand.

The moment her essence touched the decay, the flower dropped its cloak of death andDoubleKnockOutRose bloomed into a beautiful rose.  Maggie felt herself bathed within a golden light.  She looked to its source and saw a man she knew to be her husband; and in that moment, what had been her earthy life, once again became a memory.

She looked to her soulmate, with his hand outstretched and heard the question in his eyes, “My darling…what took you so long…?”

Maggie’s lonely heart, overflowed with peace, and without hesitation she flew into her soulmate’s arms, and finally passed to the other side.