Dark Fiction - Horror, Save Us All!

Horror, Save Us All!

By Casey Douglass

In every room of every house, there will be a spot where a connection is made with something, or somewhere, else. Luckily for us humans, often that connection is to the very next atom, and all is as it should be. Very occasionally, like, one chance in trillions to the power of lots of zeroes, the connection is to something very remote and very dangerous.

If you have ever taken a pot-bound plant out of its pot and had to pry the roots away from the bulk of soil, you will have an idea of the usual state of our reality. We are pot-bound. Pot-bound is safe. If even one of those roots, by way of a crack or split, finds its way outside of its usual confines, it carries a very high chance of being bitten off by some roaming bug or creature. Such is the chance our reality takes when it pushes into the realms around it. Or they encroach into our own.

Many horror authors know that reality is a feeble thing, that its skin brushes up against horrors and beings that we cannot even comprehend. These things leach through the divide and upset the balance. Our dullard minds don’t perceive this changing of things directly, but on a reptilian level, our bodies notice, and our minds scream. This makes us stupid. Angry. Destructive. It only takes one look at current events to see this playing out on the world stage. We can channel this fear.

The only deterrent is horror, pure, bloody, twisted horror. To fill our minds with the creations of our own dark sides, to drizzle our mental mashed potato with the gooey red blood of our worst nightmares. Other realities and monsters unseen just aren’t prepared for the depravity contained in the three pounds of flesh quietly flashing with neural lightening between our ears. Let them come if they  dare to, but we won’t be the ones squealing into the abyss with our tails tucked between our legs.

So go out and support the horror writers around you, buy their writing, spread their dark visions, and help inoculate and boost the defences inherent in the human arsenal. This universe might not be solely ours, but hot damn if we can’t have it, neither can they!

THE END

I started to write this with just the idea of the "dark things connecting" theme, but it soon turned into a kind of horror writer propaganda piece designed to sell horror fiction as savior of the world. Who'da thunk it. Thanks for reading.

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Blinking Heck – When Games Resonate in Unforeseen Ways

Blinking Heck – When Games Resonate in Unforeseen Ways

By Casey Douglass

Anyone who knows me or reads my posts will likely know that I play horror game Dead by Daylight. After reaching Rank 1 as both Survivor and Killer, I decided to devote myself to mastering the Nurse, the Killer widely viewed as the very best, when played by skill fingers at least. My general Killer skills are decent: reading and predicting Survivors, robbing them of their lives usually coming reasonably easily. Playing Nurse is like putting the spotlight of scrutiny on these skills. If you can’t mind-game or predict accurately, you’ll be chasing shadows all game long.

This difficulty in mastery comes from her unique Blink ability: being able to teleport through obstacles. First, you have to get the muscle memory and timing set in your head in order to be able to Blink the distance you would like to, and to land where you hope to. This, for me at least, only came through hours and hours of play. I didn’t have to ‘try’, it just kind of clicks. The kicker is that after you Blink, the Nurse is hit with a large “Fatigue” effect, where she looks down to the ground, sighs, shakes, and generally makes it hard to see where a Survivor has run to for a few seconds.

I’ve made great progress with learning the Nurse, going from barely getting a few hits per game to averaging one or two kills. The strange thing is that, on recent nights, I’ve just lost interest mid-game. It seems to take about 30 mins. Last night I downed a Survivor, and I just couldn’t be bothered to pick them up and hook them. I went to the Killer basement for a few minutes instead and just rested in the dark corner. This is something I’ve not done with any other Killer in the game, and I only this morning, seem to have a guess as to why.

I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I suffer with exhaustion all day every day. I suspect that something about the Nurse’s exhaustion effect is tapping into my own feelings of despair and helplessness, and this is twisting my mood after prolonged exposure to her play-style. I mean, the game in which I just couldn’t be bothered to hook the downed Survivor, it’s not as if I couldn’t catch someone. I wasn’t angry, stressed or annoyed, it was just like someone drained my interest in what I was doing. After a short time doing nothing in the basement and hearing the exit gates power, I felt able to come out again and ended up damaging all the Survivors before they were able to escape.

It’s a strange thing, and I’m not sure if it’s just my mind reaching for connections that aren’t there, but it’s something I will be reflecting on for a little while. Sadly, my exhaustion doesn’t come from using some god-like ability such as teleportation, but maybe I do have some more mundane ability that is going unnoticed. Who knows. I can certainly keep a Fruit Pastel in my mouth without chewing. I hope that’s not it, that’s a bit dull. Oh, I do have the ability to meet up with women and the very next person they meet, they end up getting married to. That could be construed as a superpower I guess, even if one that doesn’t benefit me. Might make a bit of money from being some kind of love lucky charm though, more than spitting out words ever earns me anyway.

Thanks for reading.

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Dark Fiction - The Parable of the Self-Editing Human

The Parable of the Self-Editing Human

By Casey Douglass

There was once a man who was wholly dissatisfied with the way he was. He disliked his external looks while also cringing away from his internal world. He was a brilliant mind in the world of science, and it was here that he met his downfall.

Utilising his vast expertise in many fields, he discovered a way to change his appearance, his body and his brain. The machinery to do so bankrupted him, but he believed all would be fine if he could just fix his flaws.

He began with small changes: an adjustment to his nose, a change in eye colour, the correcting of an arthritic joint. He felt slightly better about himself with each small change, and so fell into the trap of thinking that bigger changes would yield higher amounts of self-satisfaction.

He became more ambitious, changing his muscle structure, sluicing fat from unwanted places, broadening his shoulders, extending his penis. He praised himself on the self-restraint he displayed on this last one, only making it big enough to ease his concerns of being below average in that department.

It was during his renovations that he realised he had little idea as to what the most attractive features were for a man. He made copious use of his research network, and even ran his own experiments with photo sharing and rating websites. He posted photos with one variable changed in each picture, and gauged the results by way of the likes and favourites that each image garnered.

His form continued to change as he incorporated the spoils of each research project into his being. He began to be pestered in the street by all varieties of people of any gender, people that wanted to know more about this alluring and handsome man, particularly why he strolled in such a hunched manner.

The man’s changes had done little for his underlying mental states, and it was towards these that his mind now turned. Every undesirable thought and emotion was erased, deleted and binned. The slightest irritation was muffled by a pillow of quietude, every surge of panic castrated and evaporated by the humming machine nodes attached discretely to his spine. He began to walk more upright, more assured.

It only took seven days for his body and mind to be purged of all unpleasant fears, doubts and emotions. He stood before the mirror and gazed at the reflection, but rather than this being a case of narcissus, he realised that the stranger before him was both him and not at all him. He felt null about this, the closest he now came to any uncomfortable emotion, and promptly asked his machine to remove this feeling too.

He was still hounded by a strange disconnect while he went about his days, and with no real caution left, he attempted to erase all memory of who he was before his change. It was a delicate affair, having to unpick all imagery and sensation that linked to the old him, while not affecting any other content in his mind. His intelligence collapsed in the manner of someone sucking the air out of a balloon. First it wrinkled, then it shrivelled, then it lay limp and motionless. The machine could not search and sort with the accuracy required to preserve his personality.

In the process of trying to improve himself, the man lost himself, and it is for this reason that the State of Jitan Six has decreed that humans are only permitted to make three minor changes in one lifetime. They are a peculiar race, and wholly untrustworthy with the technology at their disposal. They are still integrating into the Galactic Council. They are young and they will learn, but for now, we must moderate them before they eradicate themselves or worse, become a danger to the other species under our care.

THE END

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Dark Fiction - Patterns of Wetness

Patterns of Wetness

By Casey Douglass

(A story containing horror, sexual stuff and strong language, so stop reading now if that bothers you.)

The two pints hit the table with about as much care as a mistress caning her slave.

‘Jesus Mike! You’ll spill it all!’

Mike dropped onto the bench opposite, a big grin on his face. ‘Never mind the fucking beer, look at the Nookie Booth!’

Arnold twisted his neck to take in the view behind him. Across the pub sat, what was affectionately known as, the Nookie Booth. It was also called the Fuck Seat and Juice Caboose, depending on who was doing the giggling. It had become the go to spot for couples that might just be feeling a bit too frisky for public view. The in-joke was that, even though it was kind of around the bend from the bar, at least half the pub could still see what was going on.

Arnold appraised the couple occupying it now, a pretty thirtyish blonde and her greying male companion. Their lips were locked, their hands pushed deep into the each other's crotch. Arnold turned back to Mike and grinned at Mike’s expression. ‘You perv!’

‘Hey, I’ll take what I can get!’

‘So I’ll spend the whole time we chat talking to the side of your face?’

‘No mate, I’m listening!’

‘Just look at me from time to time then!’ Arnold laughed.

Mike blew his cheeks out, took one last look at the couple and then swivelled his eyes to face Arnold. After a long look he said: ‘You look tired mate.’

‘I am. I’ve not been sleeping well.’

‘Maybe an early night might help?’

‘Hmm, well what I said isn’t quite right. I sleep all the night through, I just don’t feel rested when I wake up.’

‘Any reason do you think?’

‘Strange dreams.’

‘What kind of dreams?’

‘Weird, twisted ones.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Not twisted in a sexual sense.’

Mike glanced back at the couple. ‘Woo, I wouldn’t want to be the one to have to clean that booth!’

‘You don’t clean anything Mike, I’ve seen your place!’

‘True, true!’ Mike laughed. ‘So what are these dreams about?’

‘A strange city.’

‘What, like Hull?’

‘No. Not like anything on Earth. This one’s dark and warped, like a really old place that existed before humans were around.’

‘You’ve been reading too much Lovecraft!’

‘I’ve not read any Lovecraft for years! I’ve not read much at all lately.’

‘So what happens in this city?’

‘Nothing. It’s abandoned by the looks of it.’

‘So what do you do in the city?’

‘Stroll.’

‘Stroll?’

‘Yep. For hours and hours, taking in the sights, breathing the air, watching the lights.’

‘So it’s not totally dark?’

‘No, there’s a kind of green halo of light that shimmers high up in the sky. It glints back off the black stone architecture in a really odd way.’

‘Fucking Lovecraft mate, I’m tellin’ you!’

‘It’s similar I'll admit, it just doesn’t ring true.’

‘Hold on a second mate!’

Mike wriggled on his seat and produced his smartphone. He swiped a few times, made it beep, and propped it against his glass on the table. The lens pointed towards the Nookie Booth.

‘It’s heating up I take it?’ Arnold said.

‘Mate, let’s just say I can see a sausage and no one ordered a hotdog!’

‘You’re filming it?’

‘Of course. You know me. I’m going to put it on xHamster and get a shit ton of views for my channel.’

‘Oh, the Pub Special of The Day channel?’

‘You remembered!’

‘Jesus Mike!’

‘I blur the faces!’

‘Still...’

Mike lowered his face to the screen, nodded and looked back at Arnold. ‘It frees my attention for you though!’

‘True.’

‘So you walk a lot in this dream city?’

‘I sure do. Seems like miles and miles.’

‘Anything jump out at you, architecture wise?’

‘It all looks the same in a way, like walking on a revolving sphere that gives the illusion of travel. I feel like I’m moving but that everything is the same as I pass it.’

‘Strange.’

‘You’re telling me.’

‘How does it end? Do you wake up while everything is still revolving?’

‘I get to a plaza of some kind, one with a giant fountain in the middle.’

‘I’m guessing it doesn’t have a peeing cherub?’

‘No. It’s a big obelisk thing. It must be hundreds of meters high, and I don’t think the stuff running down it is water. It’s thick and a bit gloopy. A bit like-’

‘Gironimo!’ Mike sniggered as he looked past Arnold.

‘I don’t need to know.’

‘She doesn’t look too happy! Think he broke an agreement, if you know what I mean!’

‘You know you’ll have my conversation on the audio of your sex video.’

‘I’ll only upload the visuals Arnold. Relax. I’ll put some jaunty music on it, something from the 70’s to evoke the old British sex film vibe.’

‘You put far too much effort into all this Mike!’

‘It’s my passion, what can I say!’

‘Give me a P. Give me an E. Give me an R-’

‘Whatever.’

Mike retrieved his phone and stopped the recording. As he did so, he asked: ‘So this city, is it scary? Is that why you don’t sleep well?’

‘No, not in the slightest.’

‘Well, maybe it’s not the dream, maybe it’s something else making you tired.’

‘Could be.’

‘I erm, I should get going,’ Mike said as he downed his pint.

Arnold knew why he wanted to go, knew the rush he was in to upload his bounty. He didn’t mind. Mike was okay. A good guy behind the obsession with filming shit like this. ‘No worries Mike, catch you later.’

Mike smiled, turned and walked away. To his back, Arnold whispered: ‘The only scary thing about the dream city is that I feel more at home there than I ever have here.’

He ran a finger down the condensation on his pint glass and quietly occupied himself by drawing strange patterns of wetness on the dark wood of the table top.

THE END

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed the story, please like and share it on whichever platform you found the link. It would mean a lot to me.

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Skindred, CKY and Danko Jones Gig Norwich 2018

I had the pleasure of seeing Skindred live again last night, along with CKY and Danko Jones. I'm really shattered from standing for so long but I wanted to write a little something to mark the occasion.

Danko Jones got things up and running with more energy than I really expected for the first band up. I thought they were really good.

CKY were up next and I felt a bit indifferent towards them. I was very tired by that time though, so it could have been more about me than them.

Skindred were up last and rocked the place, as they did when I last saw them. Benji is a cheeky chappy, and their ragga-metal sound infected the crowd from the get-go. They played a good mixture of songs, and new track That's My Jam is certainly growing on me.

All in all a great gig, and thank you to my friend Paul for getting me a ticket as my birthday present.

Dark Fiction - Ruptured

Dark Fiction - Ruptured

By Casey Douglass

(It's horror, so stop now if you don't like gore or sex.)

I’m a lucky son of a bitch and I don’t mind admitting it. The swarm, when it appeared and started turning people into fleshy water balloons, sure had good timing. I was balls deep in a motel whore when things went south, my aching bones bouncing on the knackered mattress springs of the shitty bed. Luanne was astride me, wriggling and jiggling as I cupped her lovely titties. She was a gem, a good fuck, and, now I come to think of it, didn’t charge me as much as the other drivers. Sometimes she even let it slide until next time.

‘You’re too cute to charge honey,’ she’d said once. I’m really not. I’m an ugly pot-bellied truck driver who’d never get sex if I didn’t pay for it, and I know it! Shit, I’m getting maudlin now. Where was I?

Oh yeah, she was fucking my brains out when she yelped and rubbed her arm. ‘Some dang thing just bit me!’ she pouted.

‘Aw don’t pay it no heed, just another fan wantin’ a piece of you!’

She giggled and set to her rocking again. She stopped a few seconds later though, her cheeks flushing ruby, along with the rest of her face, her neck, holy shit, her everything.

‘I don’t-’ she managed before she popped like a water-balloon.

Shit man, it was like someone had dumped a bucket of slop over me, and thrown a raggedy old towel on me after! I was covered in Luanne, her gore and burst skin. I didn’t even scream as it was all in my mouth, my eyes, my hair. As it turned out, it was lucky I didn’t holler as it meant I heard the buzzin’.

A lone midgie circled near the stained ceiling fan, lazy and plump in a really strange way. It’s body looked wrong, that’s the only way I can really describe it. Another joined it and they diddled around and around. Shocked as I was, I remembered Luanne’d been stung, but I was frozen. Well, another one joined the first two, and before long the room was infested. I braced myself, waiting for the bite that would likely see my slop added to the bed, but it never came. I must have passed out because they were there one minute, gone the next. The light had changed though, so yeah, I’d passed out.

Along with being ugly, I’m not a smart man. I don’t mind admitting it. Is what it is. I did realise that maybe they’d left me alone because they couldn’t find me though. On account of Luanne’s... erm, remains. 

I got up, feeling the slick stuff slide down my body like day old jello. I looked out at the dawn through the smoke encrusted curtains and swore at the view. Blisters of gore were scattered around the parking lot, flaps of skin and crimson blotting the gravel. I ran to the bathroom and puked in the bathtub, didn’t have no time for getting to the toilet.

It was a rough day after, but I got through it. And the next. And the next. I was haulin’ food in my trailer when the outbreak happened, so I was set for a good long time. The radio told me the world had gone to shit, so I did the best I could. It was grim, but I had a plan and I stuck to it.

Now I’m sitting pretty in my tent, miles from anywhere, with enough supplies to last a good six months by my reckoning. I’ve learned that I’ll do anything to survive, and survive I will.

I don’t sleep that good, but I think it’s the tent. You see... using my head, I collected up the bits of skin left by the popped people, and stitched them into a three season tent I managed to steal from a sports store at the mall. I thought that was bad enough, but that didn’t quite keep me safe until I found I needed to re-wet them with gore each day. It was lucky I noticed the midges getting closer to the sides each night as the flesh dried out. I went back to town and used a carpet cleaner to collect people juice from the ground. The sun had baked most of it outside but in homes, well, rich pickings. It’s sitting in big plastic drums at the back of the trailer now, ready to baste the skin. Uggh. It stinks, but I’d rather struggle sleeping than turn inside out in the night!

The other thing that keeps me awake is the buzzing. You can skirt the swarm in the daytime if you are careful and wrapped up in well-sealed gear, but at night, it comes down and blankets the ground. I think they come down to the ground to fuck. The swarm’s getting bigger, much bigger.

Shit, I don’t think I`ll last long, but I gotta try.

I miss Luanne.

THE END

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Dead by Daylight Haiku No. 2