Macabre Art-The Screamer

screamer the end
Macabre Art Piece done by Lisa

Hello my Creepy Friends!  I sat up late last night working on this piece.  The original photograph I used for inspiration and template, (see below)  was a selfie taken of me goofing around after a substantial snowfall in New Hampshire.

My steps to creating this piece first began by making the photo black and white.   Then I opened it with the basic Paint program on my computer.  I started playing around with the color black by painting my hoodie to resemble a cloak.  Then I took the same black and darkened my eyes.  At this point it was pretty creepy.  Next I accentuated the wrinkles and lines in my face and did some shading around the eyes to create a gaunt appearance.  I decided to reshape the bone structure of my face with the hope of making it appear “skullish.” I did this by creating prominent cheek bones and narrowing the top of my head.  As I looked at my transitioning face, it reminded me of the Scream movies, so with that thought in mind I elongated my mouth and painted my tongue black.

I wanted to get rid of the background, so I opened the morphing face with an app called Phototastic Collage.  Using the “effects” and “light leaks” tools I came up with the screaming face above.  The face of course was still positioned in the middle.  At that point it looked good but something wasn’t quite right.  It was too centered and too symmetrical and not disturbing enough.  To rectify this, I dropped the face lower, wanting it to look as if it were peering at you from over the bottom of the frame.  I liked the outcome.  Lastly I named it and laid claim to it by signing my name at the bottom.

I hope it creeps you out as much as it does me!

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Selfie of me goofing around after a big snowfall.

 

“Stay Creepy My Friends”

Visit my other blog Redhead Reflections

 

 

 

 

Macabre Art-Vampire Kitty

original vampire kitty

Meet Jonesie!  Jonesie was our sweet rescue cat.  The beautiful tabby frequented the medical office where my wife use to work.  He would come around every day looking for a yummy bite to eat. After finding out he had no place to call his home, Corinne and I took the little rascal home to live with us.  We decided to name him Dr Jones because we love Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and we found him at a “medical office”  …so “Dr” Jones seemed quite fitting. Eventually Dr Jones became Jonesie for short. In the photo above Jonesie was having a good roll after sunning under an autumn sun.  He was such a sweet fellow.  Unfortunately Jonesie has crossed the rainbow bring but we will never forget this handsome boy!

Vampire Kitty the one
Macabre Art #2: Dr Jones becomes Vampire Kitty

So this is the transformation of Dr Jones into “Vampire Kitty.”  I thought the original photo was quite interesting since his canine teeth were so prominent.  So using the photo as a template I created my Macabre Art piece number two.  I like to call it Vampire Kitty.  Dr Jones lives on!

“Stay Creepy My Friends”

Visit my other blog Redhead Reflections 

The Angry Entity

The following is my participation in “One-Word-Prompt” and “Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.”  (175 word count; photo compliments of Barbara Taylor)

 

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Nye stared at the apartment where “it” had happened.  He was thankful for the body of water between; but the barrier did little to quell his fear.  Slowly he let his mind replay the events of that night.

The moment he emptied the last box, the clock struck midnight, and then a knock at the door.

“Strange…” he mused.  Curious, he opened the door…nothing.

“Even stranger…”  he said aloud.

Two minutes passed…another knock.   Again, nothing.

This repeated twice more.  Nye, finally threw the door open and yelled,

“Stop knocking or come the hell in!”

It came inside.

Immediately, he felt the evil entity.   Nye ran for the door, but the door closed and the lock turned.  A window opened and he felt himself being pulled towards it.  Horrified he watched as  five bloody claw marks ripped each arm.  Each time he resisted the jagged gashes grew deeper.

Screaming, he passed out.

Hours later, paramedics lifted Nye into the ambulance.    Nye overheard one say  “Poor bastard, probably threw the razor-blade out the window.

***

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Entity by lostknightkg-d515tnc.jpg

“Stay Creepy My Friends”

Visit my other blog Redhead Reflections

(Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story from a single photograph.  The challenge:  It must be a complete story and word count cannot be over 175)

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)

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.

The Blue Balloon

(The following is my participation in today’s one-word daily prompt:  Buddy.)

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Photo borrowed from Fine Art America

It was the blue one…always the blue one, and there was only one in the bunch. One blue balloon for one little boy.

The balloon man searched for his next buddy.

He pushed the cart of balloons and watched them all with a curious eye.  Children everywhere…the carnival had indeed, proved to be a smorgasbord of easy picking.

“Eeny meeny miny mo…Harry, Timmy or Jimmy Joe…  ”  He secretly snickered at the rhyme but was careful not to let his excitement show.  

He scanned his options searching for his Harry, Timmy or Jimmy Joe.  Finally his eyes landed upon the redhead who had strayed from his mom.

Bingo!  The winner-thought the balloon man.

He reached for the blue balloon, and handed it to the lost little boy.  The boy saw the balloon and reached in the air…

Then in a flash of blue, the boy is whisked away!

Blue lights are flashing everywhere, and the balloon man is sucking dirt from the ground.

The winded officer, on top of the clown, spoke into his shoulder mic, “We Got him!  The son-of-a-bitch will kidnap and hurt no more!”

The blue balloon drifted up and away…and then was gone.

***

“Stay Creepy My Friends”

Visit my other blog Redhead Reflections

(The Blue Balloon was previously published as The Balloon Man at Redhead Reflections)

(Photo borrowed from fineartamerica.com)

 

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!)

Survive the House of Poe?

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I should take up the pen to write it away,

Apathy wins…so there the pen lay.

Rid my soul…this melancholy pest?

Is there a way?  Or do none exist?

She grabs your throat through thinnest of cloth.

Uninvited she crawls… right into your mouth.

She reeks of bitter there is no doubt,

But swallow you must, there’s no way out.

Damn this melancholy…a gift from Poe?

Taking me down to the pits below.

Into the tunnel I feel my way.

No light to see, no presence of day.

I’ve been here before…a time or two.

Now, that’s a lie…Tis more than a few!

There is a place…Oh can it help?

But the grass is high…have the cards been dealt?

Anyone home?  Please…can you be there?

Please open the door… show me you care.

I call and call but no sound from you.

A step I hear and your laughter too.

This slap in the face I take on the chin.

So many times…and yet, now, again?

Over and over a deaf ear you turn,

So I’m nobody…no one of  discern?

I take my leave to walk in time,

Faces I see…Do they see mine?

No, faceless am I …no story to tell,

So back go I…where the melancholy dwell.

In a moment…brief though it may be,

I think I hear you, coming for me.

But then the silence around me drape,

A cloak of death…Should I partake?

This hole of despair I know I should climb.

Before it’s too late and I run out of time.

And so here I lay…my own little world.

This house of Poe…within I am curled.

Should I try…just one more knock?

Could it be true…Will the door unlock?

A face to gain and in dignity dwell?

No… is resounded from the pits of hell!

Into my cave with blackest of hue

Survival’s a myth…and I just don’t want to.

Morris in Thought

 

Please visit my other blog Redhead Reflections

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)