Friday, October 24, 2014


Hello All:
Be sure to check in next week for our week-long festival of Halloween; five new horror stories to be published between Monday through Friday. The main site has a nice brochure which advertises the soon-to-be released stories along with a brief synopsis.
Today's featured writing was originally published last year during Halloween week. A little secret on the house that is described in this story; it's based on a small experience I had many years ago as a cable TV installer.
It was the second Wednesday of the month which could rightfully be called "disconnect Wednesday". You see; on this day of the month, it was my duty to drive around with a stack of work orders which dictated that I disconnect service of those customers who neglected to pay their cable TV bill.
Late in the afternoon I pulled my cable van up to an old, historic house that was surrounded by overgrown trees and uncared-for landscaping. The place had to be vacant! And whoever lived there before incurred hundreds of dollars of overdue cable TV bills.
"Strange..." I thought. "Why did they let these people continue to receive service when they didn't pay?"
I received my answer once climbing up the telephone pole and trying to locate which cable was connected to the house. There was nothing but a spaghetti-mess of cable that was intertwined and tangled in the tree branches. The infrastructure was old, and it was impossible to identify which cable belonged to which home.
Then I looked back at the old house and could see a face watching me through one of the upstairs windows. I knew at that moment it was a ghost who pleaded with me not to disconnect the service.
I climbed down from the pole, loaded my equipment back in the van and wrote on the work order, "House is haunted... Had to get out!"
Have a great weekend! Remember that next week is Halloween week; one of the greatest holidays of the year.

In a quiet subdivision at the middle of a wide cul-de-sac is a small, cottage-like house that sits on five acres of property. It backs up to a small forest. Upon passing the home for the first time, one might not even realize that it is there, for the cottage-like house is covered by two acres of mature trees with only a narrow, gravel drive that leads to the parkway of the home. And not many people conceive the notion that someone could be living there. It usually isn't until a girl emerges from the narrow drive—either getting her mail or driving off in her car—that someone realizes the home is occupied. Those who initially see her immediately take notice that she appears so young—maybe in her late teens—and so attractive with her long, radiant, red hair; crystal, blue eyes; pale skin and a thin body.
This is what Brandon immediately noticed the first time he laid eyes on her. Having just moved into the subdivision and taking a leisurely bike ride on a late, Wednesday afternoon; he turned down a tree-lined street which ended at the wide cul-de-sac. And right there in the middle was a large space of trees with a narrow drive that Brandon assumed to be a path to the forest. But then there was the posted sign, "Private property! No trespassing!"
Suddenly, a young and beautiful girl with radiant, red hair emerged from the gravel drive. She startled Brandon who had slowed down to examine the property.
"Oh, hello!" he said. "I had no idea people were living here. Sorry about that!"
But she only glanced over to his direction for a brief second with no apparent interest, and continued with her business of getting the mail. Despite how beautiful she was, it was an awkward encounter for Brandon. He could only peddle away and momentarily look behind to see the young and beautiful girl walk back up the drive with the mail.
It wouldn't be the last time he saw her. As luck would have it, Brandon encountered her in the produce department of the grocery store about a week later. After reaching for a bag of apples, he looked up and saw the beautiful, red-headed girl over by the lettuce. They locked eyes, and Brandon sensed that she recognized him. But then she quickly looked away, probably out of nervousness.
Now intrigued by this young girl who lived at the edge of the forested cul-de-sac, Brandon deliberately rode his bike down her street on a late afternoon in hopes for another encounter. He slowed down while passing the large area of trees that is dissected by the gravel drive. But she was nowhere in sight. Realizing that initiating another encounter would require patience, Brandon simply peddled off. Then, while not more than 200 feet from the property, an old, Ford Taurus drove past Brandon. Inside was the young and beautiful red head who immediately recognized Brandon. And she apparently possessed some telepathic abilities, as this time there were feelings that the two had a shared destiny.
Seriously interested and nearly spell bounded by the young and beautiful girl; Brandon made up his mind to learn all he could about who she was, and find a way to introduce himself—maybe even work towards striking up a romance. But how in the world could he do that? The girl had a way of isolating herself and avoiding people.
It wasn't until Brandon struck up a conversation one Sunday afternoon with an elderly neighbor who lived across the street from where he lived. Margaret lived in the neighborhood for nearly forty years; moved in shortly after getting married, raised her family and stayed after her husband died. This afternoon, Brandon enjoyed a lengthy conversation with the woman. And he suspected that she would surely know about the cottage-style house that is buried behind trees.
"I go for bike rides throughout the week." Brandon began. "Usually I follow the same route and turn down a cul-de-sac. At the end of the cul-de-sac is a small house buried behind a good couple of acres of trees. At first I thought it was an entry to the forest. What do you know about that house?"
"You've seen Stephanie, haven't you?” asked Margaret.
"The girl with long, red hair?—that's her name?" asked Brandon.
"Yes, and she lives there all alone.  She should be about twenty-years old, now, and lost her mother, Andria, when she was only sixteen. You see, when Stephanie was only two-years old, her father left them for another woman and never returned. So Andria was left to raise Stephanie. She had to get a job and eventually worked as a secretary at one of the insurance companies here in town. Then when Stephanie was only thirteen, her mother was diagnosed with cancer. All the chemotherapy wasted her body away; so much that she could no longer endure the treatments. The cancer spread, leaving Stephanie's mother to spend what little life she had left in the terminal stages. It was then that poor Stephanie was forced to quit school and care for her dying mother at home. By the time she reached sixteen, Stephanie was an orphan with no relatives to care for her."
"The state didn't do anything?" asked Brandon.
"Now that's a very interesting point, and just one of the many things that make Stephanie and that house so fascinating. The state did go in and investigate, but people seemed to be dragging their feet while deciding what to do with her. By the time Stephanie reached eighteen, there was no longer a need to decide what to do with her. She was of legal age. But there's more! The phone company, electric company and gas company have all tried to go in there and turn off their utilities because, obviously, a young girl is not able to pay for these things. But they have some sort of trouble. Either the infrastructure is too old to fool around with, or they don't have her connections mapped out correctly. It's too much trouble for them. Some people like to say that Stephanie's mother, Andria, is still watching out for her. You see; although she's about twenty, Stephanie remains a young girl who lives at home with her mother. That's what people say."
"I see…"
So fascinated and spell bounded with Stephanie; the more Brandon encountered her and continued to learn, the more he grew increasingly in love with the young girl. But what he could do? The home was so isolated, and she was rarely seen in town. This is why he began hanging around her property in the late evening hours.
Brandon rode his bike on a late Friday evening with a backpack on his back. Inside was a small mirror that one would hang—perhaps—on the wall of the foyer to check one's appearance before stepping out. It was a strange item to bring on a first date.
"First date?" you might ask?
Yes, considering how challenging Stephanie was, Brandon actually considered this evening a first date.
Upon approaching her house, Brandon slowed down, and then slowly walked his bike along the wooded perimeter of the property. He walked past Stephanie's house, and then resumed walking until some distance in the wooded backyard—nearly at the entrance of the forest behind her property. The mirror was removed from the backpack, placed on the ground against an old tree; and then tilted up in such a way so that when Brandon sat down, he would not see his own reflection. Once seated, he gazed into the depths of the mirror. The light of the Moon shone through the forest to provide just enough light. For all practical purposes, Brandon had created a portable psychomanteum to be used near Stephanie's house. He would use it to enter the other realm and call out to the young girl.
About an hour passed as Brandon continued to gaze into the depths of the reflected world. Again the mirror was tilted at an upwards angle so that he would not see his own reflection. He concentrated and hypnotized himself to believe that Stephanie's house could be seen in the mirror, just some distance away to be able to clearly see it.
"Stephanie..." he called out in his mind. Stephanie, come out. Come outside and see me. I wish to talk to you." Brandon imagined his thoughts could be merged into hers, and used them to initiate a strong desire for the young girl to come outside and see him. "Stephanie, come outside. I wish to meet you. I wish to talk to you."
Suddenly, the outline of a face could be seen in the mirror. As the moments passed it began to reveal more and more facial details. Was it Stephanie in the mirror? Was she answering his call and initially joining Brandon in the other realm to get better acquainted.
"Stephanie, is that you?" Brandon asked.
But, no! The face that now revealed clear details was that of an old woman with long, white hair; crystal, blue eyes; and wrinkled skin. She was ghostlike and apparently no longer of this world. She smiled at Brandon with a wicked Cheshire cat grin, and it wasn't done out of friendliness. Instead, it was frightening and aimed to reveal a terrible danger that one should be afraid of.
"Let me tell you something..." the old woman began. “You better get the hell off my property and leave my daughter alone. And if you ever try to initiate contact with her like this again, I will do something to you. I will take care of you, and you will not like what's going to happen. She is not for you. You stay away from her. Now, leave!"
Startled out of the dreamy state, chills ran up and down Brandon's spine. It was definitely a warning and something not to take lightly. The woman who appeared in the portable psychomanteum was clearly Stephanie's deceased mother. And she did not want Brandon further attempting contact with her. Believing his first date with the young girl to be unsuccessful, Brandon packed up and left for home.
Beautiful, young girls who have reached the age of nubility do have the inconvenient number of eighteen invisibly labeled on them. It's a reminder that no matter how pretty, intelligent and mature a girl might seem; she still needs to reach legal age to be courted by an adult male. But don't be so quick to believe that you simply need to wait for her to reach eighteen-years-old. In some cases she still needs to finish high school. And many times, the family expects her to go through college. Even in her twenties, the family watches out for her and has high expectations as to who can date her. That eighteen... twenty... twenty-three year old girl who is certainly of legal age to court is still just a young girl living at home, and under strict rules.
You might say, "Bah! I'm not worried about what her family thinks. Once she turns eighteen, I have nothing to worry about."
But it isn't jail that you should be frightened of. Rather it's what the family can do. Many times Father or even brothers know people who can take care of you. Perhaps you might be abducted by a group of police officers, and taken to a secluded area to have your skull and ribs cracked open with brass knuckles. Or maybe a large and muscular hit man might have a nice chat with you while pummeling your face. As for Brandon; he had a very, rare challenge when it came to the young girl he was in love with. You see, the dead apparently had a way to reach its hand through the veil, and do something awful if Brandon pursued her.
But what could he do? No matter how much Brandon tried, he could not forget about young and beautiful Stephanie. And if he didn't know any better, the young girl was telepathically calling out to him—haunting Brandon's thoughts and provoking intense feelings through vivid fantasies. If that weren't enough, Brandon encountered Stephanie one afternoon while leaving the subdivision. Just as he sat at the stop sign and waited for traffic to clear so he could turn, Stephanie entered from the opposite direction in her Ford Taurus. She turned her pretty head with long, red hair and locked her crystal, blue eyes onto Brandon's. It had a way of beckoning to him.
“Where have you been? Why have you given up so easily?” she asked.
The encounter was all the fuel necessary for Brandon to begin thinking of a solution to defeat Mother's grave warning.
Brandon peddled his bike on a late, Friday evening with a backpack on his back. Just as on the previous date with Stephanie, there was a mirror packed inside. But he also brought with a plastic Baggie full of salt. This would be the weapon to chase off Stephanie's mother. You see, whenever something unwanted attempts to enter the physical world; it can easily be discharged and neutralized with the use of salt. Brandon could simply throw salt at the mirror if the image of Stephanie's mother appeared. Then he could refocus on tuning into Stephanie's consciousness.
Brandon walked his bicycle along the side of the property, and through the backyard until reaching the area of the previous date. The mirror was set on the ground in such a way so that Brandon would not see his reflection while sitting down. Finally, he sat on the ground and gazed into the depths of the mirror. But this time he kept the Baggie of salt before him in the event that Stephanie's mother appeared.
"Stephanie..." Brandon called out in his mind. "Come outside... I want to see you... I want to meet you... Come outside and join me." As he called out to the young and beautiful girl of his desire, Brandon concentrated on seeing the imagined reflection of her house in the mirror. Soon he could see the windows and back door of the cottage-style house. It would only be a matter of time before she finally emerged.
"Stephanie, I'm here. Come outside and see me." Brandon continued to concentrate on the back door of the house, opening. But then, just as he saw what appeared to be light from inside the home shining through the opening back door, the frightful face of Stephanie's mother appeared. She glared at Brandon with a fearsome face.
It was no problem for Brandon. He simply reached for a handful of salt and whipped it at the mirror.
"Aaaaagghhhh!" Stephanie's mother cried and screamed in agonizing pain. "You threw salt in my eyes! You will pay for this!"
The image dissolved so that all that remained was the depths of the mirror. Brandon would have to concentrate and bring the image of the house back. After fifteen minutes of focusing, he could finally see the back of the house as before.
"Stephanie... I'm here... come outside and see me..."
The back door of the house slowly opened. And for the first time since attempting these dates through the mirror, Stephanie emerged and stood near the house.
"You've come outside!" Brandon exclaimed. "I'm so happy that you finally allowed yourself to be moved and come for me."
Stephanie remained still and silent. It was as-if she were unsure, and close to retreating back inside.
"Don't be frightened." urged Brandon. "I won't hurt you. I am only here to get to know you. I feel our connection and the destiny we share."
A feeling was transferred to Brandon from Stephanie; a telepathic message that she simply needed to take her time and get comfortable before proceeding.
"Don't worry..." reassured Brandon. “You can take all the time you like. I am just so happy that you came outside to visit me."
Suddenly, the face of Stephanie's mother emerged from the corner of the mirror while calling out. "Stephanie! Go back in the house! It's not safe out here!"
Frustrated with the dead woman's interference, Brandon reached for another handful of salt and threw it at her face.
"Aaaagghhh!" she screamed while melting away.
And as for Stephanie, she began to retreat back to the door.
"No!" Brandon begged. "You can't listen to her! Please stay! I'm safe!"
But like a good girl, Stephanie listened to her mother and went into the house where it was safe.
"Damn-it!" shouted Brandon. "Curse that dead woman! She's ruining everything!" Brandon was so upset that the image of Stephanie's house disappeared from the mirror. The needed energy and concentration for the portable psychomanteum was now gone. This, of course, meant the end of Brandon's date with Stephanie for the evening. But at least it wasn't a complete failure like last time.
Several weeks passed before Brandon attempted another date with Stephanie. It was partly due to his need of not wanting to come on too strong to the young girl. But it also had something to do with a sad feeling of disconnectedness. You see, early in the courting of Stephanie, Brandon felt telepathically linked to the young girl. She haunted his thoughts and had a way of transferring fantasies onto Brandon. But since the last date which was rudely interrupted by Stephanie's, deceased mother; that connectedness seemed non-existent. It was as-if Stephanie heeded her mother's warning.
This is the point where many men sadly give up on a girl that is fallen for. But some men realize that giving up is the ultimate means to failure. Sometimes it only takes one more try to finally break through and make it all happen. Would Brandon quit and give up? Or would he fight for the young woman he loved and convince her to meet him again?
Now autumn and the middle of October, the late evening air was chilled enough to cause numbness to the hands and face. But Brandon didn't care. He rode his bicycle to Stephanie's house with a backpack containing a mirror and—this time—an entire 26 ounce container of salt. Walking his way through the side of the property was not so inconspicuous like in the summer. Leaves had fallen from the trees which made the nerve-racking crunch sound when stepped on. Still, Brandon pressed on and walked slowly to the special spot.
Before setting the mirror into position, Brandon cleared a large area of leaves with his feet and then poured a heavy amount of salt on the ground in a complete circle to surround him. They he stated while walking the inner circumference, "This circle prevents any intrusion from Stephanie's mother. Only Stephanie and her house will be seen in the mirror—not her mother. Stephanie's mother is not welcome in this place."
Satisfied that a clean space was established, Brandon sat down at the center of the circle, and then positioned the mirror in such a way so that he would not see his reflection. He took a deep breath in and exhaled the sadness with the intention of Stephanie feeling it. He gazed into the depths of the mirror and cried out, "Where are you Stephanie? Where did you go? Surely you won't let your mother come between us."
Brandon concentrated for nearly twenty minutes on bringing the image of the cottage-like house to the mirror. Eventually it began to take shape so that he could finally see the back of the house with clarity. "Stephanie, come out. I know this is what you want. I know you are just scared and being a good girl who obeys her mother. But you cannot deny our connection and shared destiny."
After five minutes, Stephanie's face and upper torso could be seen through one of the back windows of the house—probably her bedroom.
"Stephanie, is that you?" Brandon asked.
She remained motionless and only looked out.
"Of course it's you!" Brandon exclaimed. "I'm so glad you've decided to give me a chance. I promise I am not here to hurt you."
Stephanie only remained at the window, and transferred an unsettling thought that Brandon had a lot of work to do if he wanted to prove himself.
"Don't worry, Stephanie. I am willing to work for you. Whatever you need I will prove that I'm not a bad person."
Just then the crunch of leaves could be heard from several feet away. It was the recognizable crunch of someone taking a step. Distracted, Brandon shifted his attention away from the mirror and outside of the circle. And much to his delight, Stephanie was physically standing some feet away.
"You've come out into the night to join me!" Brandon exclaimed. Stephanie was no longer a ghostly image in the mirror, but here with Brandon in the flesh. Perhaps the image in the mirror only revealed Stephanie's hidden feelings. It might have only revealed that she needed time to trust him. But she was apparently willing to take the necessary steps to meet Brandon.
Brandon began to slowly stand up. "Let me know if you feel unsafe. I'm just going to stand up so we can talk. I'm Brandon. I'm sure you've thought a lot about me in recent weeks."
Stephanie nodded.
Of course it's proper to shake someone's hand when first meeting. Being the case, Brandon stepped out of his circle of safety, and carefully approached her.
Stephanie smiled with a wicked Cheshire cat grin; the same sort of grin that her mother made. It was a terrible reminder of the dead woman's warning. But Brandon would overlook this. Through time he would learn to love that smile.
Finally close enough, Brandon held out his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."
Stephanie took hold of his hand, and then spoke in her deceased mother's voice; the same voice that Brandon heard from the mirror. "I warned you to leave my daughter alone and to never come back." The fool he was; Brandon should have never stepped outside of his circle of safety. A strong gust of wind began to blow; with it the chilled air of autumn that felt more and more like a freezing arctic blast. Stephanie's entire face and body morphed into a skeleton with long, white hair.
"I warned you stay away from my daughter."
Brandon froze out of shock and fear. In that instant, his hair turned nearly as white as Stephanie's mother.
"Didn't I tell you that you would be punished?" Her skeletal hands raised and gripped around Brandon's throat. And although the bones of her fingers penetrated his neck in a means to choke him, Brandon died out of fright.
Mother would spare nothing at protecting her daughter.


Thursday, October 23, 2014

The Psychomanteum

Hello All:
A psychomanteum is an excellent tool in helping one gauge and understand things and events that are beyond the senses. Many family homes that utilize a psychomanteum have one kept in a small room (such as a closet) that can be enclosed and kept dark. A couple of candles might be lit for dim lighting, and a tilted mirror is positioned to face a nearby chair. The tilting of the mirror is necessary so that whoever sits in the chair does not see his or her reflection. The objective is to gaze into the mirror and enter a trance-like state for purposes of seeking visions that are offered by that world behind the veil.
It's similar to scrying. In fact, there are scrying mirrors which can be purchased that are usually made of black obsidian. Witches throughout the ages have sometimes worn jewelry that contains a large, polished, black, obsidian stone so they can secretly scry when needed. Sometimes when I see a woman wearing such jewelry, I wonder if she is a witch. Of course this speculation is surely brought on by my delusions of witchcraft.
Today's featured writing was featured last year during Halloween week, and is about psychomanteum that was constructed in a family home. The circumstance surrounding the family is tragic and sad. But the psychomanteum offers them a bit of hope.
Halloween week is just around the corner. As for the thinning veil; you feel it not?
The Psychomanteum
A resident of Mapleview for my entire life, I've lived and worked in Mapleview and the surrounding area as a licensed physician. I am Dr. Millheimer, and I have had many experiences which continue to fascinate me when it comes to the power and mystery of the human mind. I once treated a man who lost his wife in a tragic car accident; yet saw her alive, well and speaking to him. He was so grief stricken that his mind induced the hallucination of his spouse never dying. It's cases like these when I remind myself that the human mind has been a mystery for countless ages, and it continues to baffle us. The more we try to understand the human psyche, the more we will realize how little we know of it.
As for my patient who hallucinated his deceased wife being alive; this isn't the strangest case I've witnessed. Rather, the most unusual case I ever experienced involved a grief stricken mother whose young daughter had been a victim of a brutal murder. The family lived in a wealthy estate on a large property of wilderness in the neighboring town of Silmac. The young girl was abducted on the property and brought into the woods where she was brutally raped and murdered. Her body was found, carelessly discarded along the side of a creek.
Needless to say, the incident terribly disturbed the mother. Shortly after their beloved daughter was put to rest and buried, I was telephoned by the grieving father who was growing concerned for his wife. She appeared to have fallen into a catatonic state—as he described, "slipping in and out of a stupor."
So I visited the family on a late Monday afternoon—husband, wife and their two surviving boys. Upon entering the home, I could immediately sense the heaviness in the air. What else would one expect upon the shocking and saddening reality of a child being murdered?
"Good afternoon, Doctor." the husband greeted as I stepped inside.
I immediately took hold of his hand and compassionately shook. "Mr. Harpstein, you have my deepest condolences for the tragedy that has fallen on your family. How are you?"
"I've seen better days. But I'm more concerned about my wife, Laura."
"Where is she?" I asked.
"She's in the parlor. She's confined herself to this room and sits, motionless, in one of the chairs—like she's in a stupor. Occasionally she will slip out of her stupor and go over to the piano to play. After some time she will sit back down in the chair and remain motionless for some hours."
"Why the piano?” I asked. “Why do you suspect might she be playing?"
“Well…” sighed Mr. Harpstein with a saddened face.”Maureen [their daughter who was murdered] played the piano. She took lessons every day and played so well. She probably would have become a concert pianist."
At that moment I concluded that the mother would occasionally slip out of the stupor to play the piano, which obviously filled the emptiness of her murdered daughter with sounds that would have brought in the child's imagined spirit.
"Take me to your wife." I requested. "Let me see how she is doing."
With that, the husband escorted me down the hallway and to a large parlor located at the side of the mansion. It was just as you would expect a parlor to be decorated with comfortable chairs and sofa for sitting; along with side tables and a large, center table. There was a decorative bookshelf against one of the walls. And in the corner of the room was the mentioned piano which the daughter and mother had played.
I sat down at a chair across from the wife who sat in a catatonic state with stoned and expressionless face. "Mrs. Harpstein; it's me, Dr. Millheimer. I am here to help you. I understand that you have lost your daughter, and that you are terribly grief stricken. But I do have some therapy that I would like you to try that will at least help you pull out of this catatonic state. I want you to think about the state you are in right now. Again, it's understandable to be so terribly shocked and grief stricken due to the tragedy you've been exposed to. But you can't go on like this. You must pull out and properly mourn the death of your daughter."
"Do you have medication for her?" asked the husband.
"Absolutely not! Medication is out of the question. We cannot numb her to the pain and depression that she is feeling. Your wife would never be able to successfully go through the stages of mourning if I gave her drugs to ease the pain."
It was then that I began to discuss the plans of Mrs. Harpstein's therapy. "Is there a closet in this room?" I asked.
"A closet? Yes, we have one over there." Mr. Harpstein pointed in the direction of the closet.
"Very good! Can I see it?"
I followed Mr. Harpstein over to the closet where it was opened. Serving as a place for guests to hang their coats when visiting, it was large and nearly the size of a walk-in closet. The family apparently used it as a place to keep their own winter coats and autumn jackets. Along with the coats and jackets was a vacuum cleaner that rested against the rear wall, a few storage boxes, and some cases of bottled water.
"Mr. Harpstein…” I began. “This is the place where your wife’s therapy is going to take place. I would like to convert this closet into what is commonly referred to as a psychomanteum. We can do this in a matter of minutes by nailing dark curtains or bed sheets up on the walls to block the coats and items stored in here. I need a mirror that can somehow face your wife at the far wall. But it can't reflect directly at her. It must be at an angle. A small table would be useful as well so that a couple of candles can sit on it. Do you think you can find these things?"
"Yes, Doctor, I do think I have all of these. As for the mirror; I have a large floor mirror that can be tilted at an angle so it doesn't point at my wife. Will this do?"
"Yes it will." I affirmed.
And so Mr. Harpstein left the parlor to gather up these items I had requested throughout the house. While he did this, I sat with his wife and briefly discussed what we were doing. All the while I hoped that she was aware of her surroundings, and would cooperate when the psychomanteum was created. "Mrs. Harpstein, we will be converting your guest closet into small room called a psychomanteum. You will be using this room for your therapy. Psychomanteums have been used since ancient times, and serve as a portal to the spiritual realm. I do believe that if you use your psychomanteum properly, you will be able to establish contact with your daughter. It's what you want, right? The room is kept dark with nothing more than dim candlelight, along with a mirror that is tilted at an angle so that you can gaze into the depths of the infinite. You sit motionless in this small area that deprives you of your senses, and concentrate on what matters most to you—your daughter. In time, you will have your daughter near. Trust me, Mrs. Harpstein.”
Soon, Mr. Harpstein returned with dark bed sheets, a hammer and some nails. "I have the mirror, table and candles out in the hall. Could you help me bring these in?"
We wasted not a moment in getting to work. As we converted the closet into Mrs. Harpstein's personal psychomanteum, I continued to discuss its theory of operation. I was sure to talk loudly enough so that both husband and wife could hear. "For so long, people believed that reflections had the power to transport us into the other realm. Witches understood their power with the use of crystal balls or small scrying mirrors. In the case of a psychomanteum, it was believed since ancient times that reflected surfaces such as water, glass mirrors, or even polished black onyx would assist us in communing with the deceased. Although modern science doesn't validate this, belief due to the fact that the world behind the veil has not been proven, I do believe in the power of scrying and psychomanteums."
Within twenty minutes we had Mrs. Harpstein's psychomanteum constructed. The large, oval-shaped floor mirror stood in the deepest part of the closet, and was tilted at an angle in such a way so that she would not see her own reflection. She was to gaze into the depths of the mirror and see the infinite. In one of the corners of the closet and beside the mirror was a small table with two candles. They were to be lit to provide dim lighting during her sessions. And then at the entrance was a small chair that Mrs. Harpstein was to sit at. When in the closet she was to shut the door to be concealed in her own private realm where she would conjure up the spirit of her deceased daughter.
"Okay, Mrs. Harpstein; your psychomanteum is ready. But don't sit in it just yet. I want you to do a little preliminary exercise. From what I understand, you occasionally sit at the piano and play. Does this help you connect with the spirit of your daughter? I would like you to do that, now. Play one of your daughter's favorite pieces—something that will remind you of her."
And just as ordered Mrs. Harpstein broke her catatonic state, stood up and walked over to the piano. Once seated at the bench, she played a small melody. It was nothing that I recognized; but it obviously flooded the grieving mother with such emotion at its completion.
"Very good, Mrs. Harpstein. Whenever you have the urge, you are to sit at the piano bench and play a tune that reminds you of your daughter. When finished, you go into the psychomanteum and shut the door. I will guide you in the first few minutes. But the rest is up to you. In the psychomanteum, it is you who has the power to conjure up your daughter's spirit.
As the grieving mother sat down in the chair with teary eyes, I explained the importance of the mirror's angle, and the overall environment of sensory deprivation. The psychomanteum was another realm where she could be alone and amplify her thoughts and wishes.
When satisfied that both husband and wife understood the therapy, I left for the afternoon with instructions to call me if there were any questions or concerns.
It was exactly one week later when I received a telephone call from the concerned Mr. Harpstein.
"Dr. Millheimer; she's been doing your therapy, and it actually seems to be pulling her out of her extended periods of stupor. She's come to bed for a few nights, and she's beginning to eat. Of course she's still devastated and mostly quiet."
"That's to be expected." I reassured the husband. "You and your wife will never be the same. It will take a long time for your wife to go through the full mourning process."
"I understand that..." began Mr. Harpstein.”It's just... just..."
"What is it, Mr. Harpstein?"
"Well, I know this sounds crazy, but sometimes when my wife is in her psychomanteum; I can actually hear the piano playing from the other room. I'll go into the parlor, and there is silence. But when I concentrate on the surroundings, I could swear I vaguely hear my daughter playing the piano. It's alarming—to say the least."
That's when I reassured my patient, "That's good! That means the psychomanteum is working! Your wife is successfully conjuring up the spirit of your daughter. It stays beside her in this time of need and even plays the piano for your wife. Is that all that concerns you?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"Well try not to worry. You see; the human mind has been a mystery for countless ages, and it continues to baffle us. The more we try to understand the human psyche, the more we will realize how little we know of it."
It was later that week on Friday morning when I received an urgent telephone call from Mr. Harpstein. "Dr. Millheimer, you really need to pay us a visit! We had a terrible fright last night, and I believe the therapy has gotten out of hand for my wife!"
"What's wrong?" I asked. "What happened?"
"It was about nine o'clock in the evening, and my wife was doing her final session in the psychomanteum…” There was a long pause. “…Doctor, this is not something I can mention on the phone. It’s just all so unreal. I think you better come here tonight and help us.”
I had never experienced such terror and desperation from a patient, before. What traumatic event might have taken place the previous evening to the Harpsteins? The only thing I could do was agree to come over that Friday evening—although I was unsure as to how, exactly, I would solve this vague matter that had been conveyed to me over the telephone.
And so I knocked upon the door of Mr. and Mrs. Harpstein's home that Friday evening at about 7:30pm. It was Mr. Harpstein who answered, and then escorted me into the family room. The family had just finished dinner and were now seated in the family room and watching TV, including Mrs. Harpstein.
Perhaps if they understood that the therapy had successfully pulled the grieving mother out of her catatonic state. I took Mrs. Harpstein's hand and compassionately looked into her eyes. "Mrs. Harpstein, I have to admit that you are doing considerably better than my last visit. You are up and about; you are cooking meals for your family and eating. And I assume you are interacting with your other children?"
"Yes, Doctor; I have been doing all of these things. Every day is still a struggle, but your psychomanteum has helped me."
"Of course it will be a struggle. You have a long road ahead of you. But I am pleased to see that you are at least on your feet and interacting with people."
"It's about that time?" said Mr. Harpstein to his wife. "Maybe since the Doctor is here, you could begin your session for the evening."
A worried look suddenly appeared on Mrs. Harpstein's face before turning and walking away. She was on her way to the psychomanteum to connect with her deceased daughter before retiring for the evening. The TV was turned off which seemed to be the queue for the kids to leave—assumedly another area of the home to resume watching their favorite program.
And then the sounds of the piano could be heard, another melody by Mrs. Harpstein that surely would have been played by her deceased daughter. The husband and I listened in silence until the piece was complete.
"She's been playing that one for a few evenings." said Mr. Harpstein at its completion. "I believe she changes tunes every few evenings because a song can go stale."
"Very possible..." I commented.
For the next fifteen minutes or so, a time when Mrs. Harpstein confined herself to the psychomanteum, the husband and I talked mostly of current events and politics. But then the conversation died down as a mysterious phenomenon grew all the more evident. It started with a strange sensation of being slightly annoyed when trying to converse while there was an overpowering noise nearby. It was as-if the brain searched the surrounding silence for something recognizable to identify as the noise. But there was only silence to surround the conversation between Mr. Harpstein and me.
The husband continued to ramble on about politics, "Sometimes you would think that they could actually do their job..."
"Shh!" I interrupted. "I hear something. I hear a piano."
Mr. Harpstein paused for a moment which was followed by a sudden change of facial expression as he slowly nodded. "Yes, you hear it. That's what I was telling you about earlier this week."
"And that's not your wife or your kids playing."
"Can I quietly go over to parlor just to see for myself?" I asked.
I carefully stood up, slowly walked out of the family room and down the hall. At times the piano sounds could not be heard while approaching the parlor. And whenever concluding them to be coming from my imagination, they could suddenly be heard, again. At the entry of the parlor, however, there was nothing but silence. It was clearly obvious that Mrs. Harpstein was confined to her psychomanteum, and that her living children were at another area of the house.
Suddenly, a horrific noise could be heard from outside. This was early autumn—the end of September—and about 65 degrees outside which made it possible to leave the windows of the house open. Being the case I could hear it from a distance; some terrible screaming as-if someone were in trouble.
Alarmed, I quickly walked back to the family room to discover the husband standing by the open window, trembling and teary eyed. "No, no, no, no... Oh no!"
"What is it?" I asked. "Who is out there?" Keep in mind that this was a large estate on many acres of wilderness. There were no neighbors that could possibly be making these cries in another yard.
"Make it stop!" the husband shouted. "You have to make this stop!"
The wife scurried into the room, hysterical and crying. "She's out there! We have to save her! Doctor, you have to help me save my Maureen!"
It didn't take long for the kids to run into the bedroom in tears. They were terrified and completely baffled by the phenomenon. It was their murdered sister who called out for help in her final moments of desperation.
"Maureen!" Mrs. Harpstein cried out. She ran out of the family room and down the hall, on her way to the front door of the home.
We chased after her as Mr. Harpstein shouted, "She'll run out to the scene of the murder, but nothing will be there! You have to stop this! What are you going to do?" He grabbed me by my shirt and violently shook me. "What are you going to do? What's your solution?"
In the distance, the screams from their murdered daughter could be heard as mother rushed off to save her.
How would you handle this?

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Channel One

Hello All:
Experienced story writers and novelist can all tell you that at some point in their careers they begin to experience fictional characters taking on their own lives. Many times it feels as-if the characters are writing the story, and the author is merely reporting what he sees.
This is nothing new for me, but I did experience a bit a fright with some information provided by my fictional Pias the Gypsy. In today’s story he explains something to fifteen-year-old Melanie about a recent gift she’s received. As he discussed its usefulness, I almost said out loud, “Hmm… really…? I never thought about that before… It’s so devious and sinister… Maybe I shouldn’t relay this information to my readers…”
But I am. It makes the story all the more frightening and leaves us with something interesting to think about.

Channel One
Friday morning, Melanie excitedly waited at the bus stop in front of her house. Recall that yesterday the bus driver promised having something for her. Melanie assumed this to be a gift; even went so far as to believe that she would be receiving a Gypsy knife as a rite of passage into womanhood in the Gypsy culture.
No, Melanie isn't a Gypsy. But she's been haunted by a mysterious man in her dreams named Pias the Gypsy who just so happens to look like Melanie's new bus driver. Throughout these dreams he's been discussing various facets of what he calls "his Gypsy culture". And he wishes to initiate a romance with Melanie, maybe even make her his Gypsy bride.
The yellow school bus could finally be seen in the distance. As it neared Melanie's stop, the flashing lights were activated. The stop sign was extended to warn motorists that a child was boarding the school bus. The door opened and Melanie climbed the stairs while eagerly smiling at the bus driver.
"Hi!" Melanie greeted while nearly pausing next to the bus driver.
"Good morning!" answered the bus driver in his peculiar accent. "Please take a seat."
Melanie did as the bus driver ordered, but was a bit disappointed. Why didn't he present her with his gift? Maybe the bus driver felt it was inappropriate to give a knife to a student before going to school. He was probably going to wait for the ride home so that Melanie could enjoy it over the weekend.
The bus took off and traveled some distance before reaching the next stop. At some point the bus driver looked in the rearview mirror at Melanie with his Gypsy eyes that revealed a never-ending longing for endless things. Surely the bus driver knew the meaning of longing, and understood how his Gypsy cadet, Melanie, wished for her gift.
The bus driver smiled and then began singing one of his strange Gypsy songs. As usual, it was in a different language. But Melanie understood the meaning. It spoke of how the anticipation of receiving a gift is sometimes more priceless than receiving the actual gift. But there was another message hidden in the song; something in the bus driver's voice that revealed his enjoyment in knowing Melanie burned for his gift. If Melanie didn't know any better, the bus driver was teasing her.
That Friday at school offered Melanie plenty of situations that enabled her to reflect on Pias' teachings from the previous night. In her dream he spoke of an energy within the Gypsy culture called dji. Dji, as Pias explained, represented a Gypsy's spirit, heart, emotions, courage and awareness of being liberated to do and be what one wants. But to protect this energy, it was best not to spend too much time outside of the Gypsy culture. You see; many people in mainstream society aim to disrupt and extinguish this energy. Become too connected and involved with those outside of Gypsy culture, one can be drained of their spirit; even of your own life.
"Nice shoes, Melanie! Did your Mom get those at a garage sale?" asked a mean girl while passing Melanie in the hallway.
Melanie actually liked her shoes. And, no; they weren't purchased at a garage sale. But the mean girl's wicked spell already affected poor Melanie. Even though she knew that her shoes were fashionable and very expensive, she began to feel that there was something wrong with them. Maybe all the other kids felt the same.
During lunch, Melanie sat down at a table with people she thought were her friends. But then one of the girls looked at two others. "You know... I don't feel like sitting with a nobody."
"Me neither!" answered another.
With that, three girls stood up and walked away.
There were two girls remaining at the table with Melanie. But they suddenly weren't very nice. "Nice going, Melanie! You chased off our friends."
"Sorry..." was all that poor Melanie could say. Was she really a nobody? Was she really someone that kids wished to stay away from to maintain a "popular" reputation?
During gym class, kids were assembling teams to play flag football.
"No, I don't want Melanie on my team. She sucks! And look at her fat legs! She can't run that fast."
Why were kids so, damned mean?
Melanie felt like crying. It was as-if she weren't allowed to have any self-pride or self-respect. Pias was right. People had a strong desire to drain the very soul; the very life out of Melanie. She wanted to run away and be where she belonged: with Pias and her Gypsy culture that would surely nurture her dji.
Melanie rode the bus home that afternoon in silence. The rough day at school actually depleted her of all belief and hope. Earlier that morning she believed that the bus driver would give her a gift before exiting at her bus stop. But now she began to suspect that he simply had some paperwork or guidelines on school bus safety. It might have been a letter to give to the parents about the cost of school bus service increasing.
The bus neared Melanie's house. Melanie gathered her belongings and waited for the bus to reach a complete stop before standing. As she walked up to the front and neared the exit door, the bus driver held out his arm like he did the previous day.
"Just a minute!" he said. "I have something for you." The bus driver reached into a box and pulled out a walkie-talkie radio.—of all things! He handed the radio to Melanie who looked at it with a queer expression. "Use this if you ever need to call me. Keep it on Channel 1. If you are running behind and need me to wait a few minutes at your stop, just let me know, okay?"
Melanie nodded and put the radio in her pocket. She was so disappointed! Not only had her dji been drained at school that Friday, but her dreams of receiving a beautiful Gypsy knife as a rite into womanhood were shattered.
But what was this???
Later that night as Melanie slept; she had a dream of hearing Pias' voice calling her over the radio. "Melanie? Melanie, can you hear me?"
Melanie pressed the mic button and answered, "Yes!"
"Melanie, I hope you like your radio. You see; these are perfect for you and me to stay in touch. Do you understand why they are perfect?"
"No..." answered Melanie.
"Think about it..." began Pias. “...When the time comes for you to finally leave your parents, leave your life behind and join me; there can be no trace as to where you went. We live in a world where everything has a digital signature on it. Phone calls, text messages, emails, Facebook messages; they can all be traced. They all have a history that can never be removed—even if you delete them on your phone or computer. Your history is always contained on some network if in the event that the police need it. If you disappear, authorities have the ability to uncover the history on your phone or computer and track the whereabouts of whoever you were communicating with. And you wouldn't want that, right?"
"I guess..." answered Melanie.
"What do you mean, you guess? Don't you want to protect me from your parents and the police?" asked Pias.
"Well alright, then. The radio is perfect for this. It's a simple device that has been around long before the Internet. There is no way for it to record history, no network to link up to, no wires to connect users, and no IP address to trace back to who people are. If your parents ever find your radio, they will never be able to see our chat history. And if I ever suspect that the authorities are onto me; I can make the trail go cold by simply no longer transmitting. Oh, there are ways for highly-skilled FCC agents to track the location of a transmitting radio. But if it's not transmitting, the authorities are in the dark."
"I see..." answered Melanie.
"So if we want to communicate and stay in touch, we can never use phone calls, text messaging or any social media on the Internet. We can only use the radios, understand?"
"Yes..." answered Melanie.
"Plus, now days, walkie-talkies can cover several miles. If the authorities try to track me, it'll be like trying to find a needle in the haystack..."
Throughout the weekend, Melanie worked on a history timeline project for school. As usual, Mother stood over her and criticized everything she did.
"Can't you make those lines straighter, Melanie?"
"I am!"
"It looks like a third-grader is working on your project. Start over from the beginning!"
"Come-on, Mother! I don't want to work on this all weekend! It's due Monday!"
Mother snatched up the poster board and tore it into several pieces. "Start from the beginning and do it right!"
Unfairly angry and frustrated with her daughter, Mother left the room. It presented Melanie an opportunity to pull out her walkie-talkie and key up on Channel 1. "Pias, I just want you to know that I hate my mother!"
For a moment, Melanie felt a bit of worry that Mother would find out what she said. But then she relaxed upon realizing that radios do not save chat history. There was no way for her to know what was said, and no way for people to track who she was talking to.
"That's right!" boldly proclaimed Melanie while keying up the mic a second time on Channel 1. "I hate my mother. I hate my fucking mother. My fucking mother is such a fucking bitch. Sometimes I wish I could kill her."
But before Pias had a chance to answer, Melanie could hear Mother's footsteps walking down the hallway and towards her bedroom. She quickly turned off the radio and hid it in her desk drawer.
"Is it looking any better?" asked Mother while walking in her bedroom.
"That's right; do it nice. You're in high school, now."
Monday morning was like most school mornings. As usual, Melanie's mother nagged her to no end during breakfast.
"So, Melanie, could you help me understand something?"
"How long did you know about this project that you did over the weekend which, by the way, still looks like garbage? I wouldn't be surprised if you got a low grade on it."
"The teacher gave it to us last Monday." answered Melanie.
"Last Monday? And you procrastinated until the last minute."
"No! It wasn't like that, Mother! I couldn't start the project because you kept making me do extra problems out of my math book—problems that the teacher never assigned me! I just didn't have time, thanks to you!"
Mother gave her daughter a dirty look. "Don't make up pathetic excuses for your shortcomings. And don't ever blame me! Understand?"
Melanie said nothing; only stared at her mother with a look of hate.
"Say, yes!" ordered Mother.
Melanie still said nothing.
"You're grounded!" declared Mother.
"Grounded???" exploded Melanie. "Grounded from what??? In case you didn't know, my whole life is nothing grounded. That's all I know, grounded."
Mother remained calm and only smiled. "Well you can start by cleaning up after breakfast. And you will have this entire kitchen cleaned up before you leave for school, understand?"
A half-hour later, Melanie stood outside at the edge of the driveway and waited for the bus. She was tired of it all; tired of the emotional and mental abuse that she had to endure from her rotten-bitch, evil-overlordess of a mother. And she was tired of all the mean kids at school. It was time for Melanie to finally leave her depressing life behind.
Melanie carefully removed the radio from her schoolbag as-if not to let anyone see. "Pias?" she keyed up on Channel 1. "Pias, are you there?"
There were about several seconds of silence before the bus driver answered. "Hello? Yes, who is this?"
"Pias, it's me, Melanie. I think I'm ready. I think I'm ready to leave."
"Okay..." answered the bus driver. "I'm on my way. Just be patient and I'll be there in about five minutes."

To be continued...

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

BJ Skull

Hello All:
Light bulbs... light fixtures... overhead lights... lamps...
Do you get the feeling I want you to think about lights? This is what I've been thinking about these past couple of days while doing research into haunted environments. It's usually reported that lights flicker or suddenly turn off and then on when a ghost is nearby. It's theorized that a ghost draws the energy from some electrical source to manifest itself into our world.
My thinking; if a ghost can do this, couldn't we, the living, do the same? Couldn't we utilize the nearby energy of an electric light to manifest some idea or thought from our mind into reality?
I began experiment by creating an invisible connection to nearby lights. And guess what! The lights sometimes act strange. Perhaps I'm passing my first test in Haunting 101.

Today's featured writing is a happy story. The main character purchases a human skull in one of those "odds and ends" shops that can sometimes be found in a back alley. He soon falls in love with the skull. And they live happily ever after.
BJ Skull
The fireplace mantel in my living room had a morbid centerpiece that was hidden in the dark shadow casted by a large flower vase and stack of books. Whenever people visited, they never saw it—at least they didn’t comment on it. The thing was a human skull that once belonged to a woman. I found it at one of those "odds and ends" shops in a back alley. For some reason, it caught my attention and I immediately found it to be attractive.
"How much for the skull?" I asked the clerk behind the counter.
"It's going for $520. The person who sold it to us claims that it belonged to his great grandmother. No details were provided as to why he had it."
I knew it belonged to a woman. The skull was just so pretty; so pretty, in fact, that I began referring to it as she.
"So she's going for $520? Is there any room for negotiation?" I asked
"Not much..."
I sighed, "I dunno... I don't think too many people are going to come in here and pay $520 for a skull. Would you take $150?"
The clerk looked outraged. "Excuse me? Is that supposed to be a serious offer?"
"Get the hell out of here!" the clerk nearly exploded. "Come back when you're serious!"
"Oh, but I am serious." I reassured him. "I just wanted to make sure that I got a good bargain. How about $200?"
With that, the clerk walked away and helped another customer.
I so badly wished to touch the skull, rub my hands against the top of her head. And surprisingly, she had very, nice teeth. She smiled at me from behind the enclosed, locked case and seemed to urge that I take her purchase more seriously.
"You still here?" the clerk asked after completing a transaction with the other customer.
"Look..." I began. "Perhaps we got off on a bad start. I'm really serious about purchasing her."
"$520, man!" the clerk interrupted.
"Would you take $300?"
Apparently I must have interested the clerk for he sighed, appeared to think and then answered, "400!"
The skull nervously smiled at me from behind the glass, reminding me not to push the negotiation too much if I wanted to take her home that afternoon.
"375!" the clerk shouted. "And that's my final offer."
"Deal!" I agreed.
She was carefully wrapped, padded and packaged in a box. I was reminded that all sales were final.
It wasn't until nightfall that I unboxed her in my family room. You see; there had to be the right moment for us to get properly acquainted. A glass of wine was poured and candles were lit to provide an atmosphere of ambiance.
"You're so pretty..." I softly told her while holding her up near my face. "I'm so lucky to have you."
We sat down on the sofa, and I set her on my lap to face me.
"I don't know what your name was when you were alive." My hands softly stroked and caressed the top of her smooth, ivory head as she smiled back at me so adoringly. Then the name just came out of my mouth. "How about we name you BJ Skull?"
An imaginary illumination surrounded her. She glowed and smiled, seemed to blush upon the name's suggestion.
"BJ Skull; you like that, don't you?"
She most definitely did!
I would come home from work in the late afternoon and was sure stop and visit her as she sat on the side table next to the fireplace. Originally, this was where I kept her before hiding her on the fireplace mantel. In those days I'd stand over her, just a few inches away from the table that was slightly lower than waist level. From there she smiled back up at me with her beautiful teeth.
I would caress the top of her skull, "So how was your day? Was everything okay while I was gone?"
She reassured me that all was well, and then seemed to ask how my day went.
"Eh... things were a little stressful today at the office, but I survived."
There was something that I, at first, could not quite understand; a suggestion of something that she could do.
"What? What is it, BJ? Do you have something for me?"
Oh, she definitely had something for me; something absolutely wonderful! But such a shame I didn't know what it was. It would only take time before I understood. For now she only smiled tauntingly at me, like a lover who promised some mysterious gift while enjoying the look of excited anticipation in return. It was strangely arousing for me!
One night I awoke around shortly after midnight and laid there while thinking about the skull in the family room. In my mind I could see her smiling at me, beckoning me to finally accept her wonderful gift. My heart began to beat faster upon the realization of a strange desire I had never felt before. It caused me to breathe faster and shiver out of excitement overload. I raised my fingertips to my forehead and whispered, "No... It just couldn't be that. I need to come to my senses."
I nearly forgot about the midnight episode until two day later when I passed the family room and glanced over at the side table. These she sat, smiling at me, seemingly asking if I had considered accepting her wonderful gift.
I felt a sudden rush of increased heart rate and breathing. This just couldn't be!
"Oh, come on!" she seemingly begged. "You would enjoy it! And I need to do this for you. I like doing that sort of thing."
Confused and nearly ashamed with myself, I turned and walked away. I avoided the family room for the remainder of the day, for I wished not to see her beckoning smile that nearly begged me to do the unthinkable.
But the midnight hour apparently had a strange power over me. I awoke at that time and experienced another episode of morbid desire for the skull. This time it caused me to rise out of bed and strip naked before entering the family room with a full erection. I walked up to the table where she sat.
"You look good!" she seemed to say with an eager smile.
I rubbed the head of my erection on the top of her smooth, ivory skull. Then I gently glided it down her face before moving her over to the edge of the table. I carefully opened her mouth, and then slipped my throbbing, hard dick inside.
She loved it! I knew this because of the way she looked back up at me, seemingly thanking me for finally giving her what she wanted. She made amazing love with me; absolutely wonderful like she promised. And when it was over I was sure to take her back to bed where she lay on the pillow beside me.
And this incident defined the new level in our relationship. Every night I would go to bed with BJ sleeping next to me. Then, around midnight, I would awaken with overwhelming, erotic desires for the skull. As I reached for her, she would mischievously smile while seeming to indicate that she had been eagerly anticipating more. Her beautiful teeth would nibble on the flesh of my erect penis. She pleased me with such sweet pain by viciously biting on the head of erection. Many times I would stuff my entire cock—scrotum and all—deep inside of her mouth. She pretended not to like it, but actually enjoyed every bit of it.
At the beginning of this report, you might have noticed my choice words, "The fireplace mantel in my living room had a morbid centerpiece."What did I mean by had?
Well, BJ Skull is no longer there. You see; one night I woke up shortly after midnight with my usual desires for the skull. I was about to reach for her, but then heard strange footsteps out in the hall. The floors are all hardwood which helped create a clicking noise that was followed by a squeak that resembled the sound of old hinges on a door needing oil.
"Click... Squeak... Click... Squeak..."
The sound grew louder and louder until it was evident that someone was at the threshold of my bedroom.
"Who is it?" I called out. "Who's there?"
In walked a headless skeleton that was clothed in a dirty, deteriorated dress. It was the skeletal body of my BJ Skull!
She walked over to her side of the bed, reached for the skull. She secured it in place where it was supposed to be. Then she removed her deteriorated garments before pulling back the covers.
The skeleton was cold and needed my warmth as it crawled into bed and lay on top of me. She replaced the covers so we were huddled nice and warm. Then she looked into my eyes while smiling. I would soon learn of new ways to enjoy great sex with the dead.
The End!

Monday, October 13, 2014


Hello All:
We visited one of those Halloween City stores over the weekend and picked up a new decoration for our front yard. You see; I was feeling sorry for poor Donna the Unburied. She's all alone in our cemetery and must be subjected to a strobe light throughout the late night hours as she hangs and swings in the wind. She must be lonely. Perhaps Donna needed a friend.
Well now she has one. Check out our ghostly addition that I'm naming Resurrection Mary. She joins Donna the Unburied in our Halloween cemetery. It's an honor to have her, and bit scary to look at late in the evening from the street.
As promised, I have a new installment of our Pias the Gypsy stories.
Today, Melanie learns about dji.
It was a Thursday afternoon as Melanie rode her school bus home. In recent days there had been a new bus driver; a peculiar man who looked and acted very much like Pias the Gypsy. Pias, as you know, had been haunting Melanie in her dreams. And although this man of Melanie's dreams was middle-aged and much, too old for her; he wished to initiate a romance with her—perhaps even make Melanie his Gypsy bride.
It was cool outside; about 61 degrees and cloudy. Most of the kids had their windows shut which made the bus a bit hot and stuffy. At least it was for Melanie. The bus driver was apparently on the same wavelength as Melanie, for
her opened his side window and then glanced in the large rearview mirror at her with a smile. Once returning his gaze on the road, he began to sing one of his strange songs; a Gypsy song—as Melanie assumed—that was in a language that Melanie couldn't recognize. Although she didn't understand a word, she knew the song's meaning. It was a secret message intended just for her. It urged that she had to escape the confinement of her little world that was created by Mother, Father, her teachers at school, and everyone else who had authority of her. She had open the window and climb out. This could also be interpreted, literally; climb out her bedroom window and escape to finally be with Pias the Gypsy.
The bus approached the driveway of Melanie's house. Melanie gathered up her belongings and waited for the bus to reach a complete stop before getting up. As she approached the exit door, the bus driver held his hand out to prevent her from walking further.
"Just a minute, young lady. I have something..." He rummaged through a box of miscellaneous items but apparently could not find what he was looking for. "Hmm... It looks like I forgot to bring it with. I'll have to give it to you tomorrow." He opened the door and allowed Melanie to exit.
What could the bus driver who looked, acted and talked like Pias the Gypsy possibly have for Melanie? Did she forget something behind on a previous ride? Did he, perhaps, have some important documents pertaining to riding the bus?—rules and guidelines? Or did he have a gift for Melanie such as a navaja like the one he showed her in the dream? The navaja, if you recall, was the folded knife with thin handle that Pias said had been given to him by his father as a rite into manhood. Along with this Pias was taught the art of Gypsy knife fighting. Pias also said something to the extent of young women learning this art as well. Did the bus driver have in mind to give Melanie a navaja so she could begin learning the art of Gypsy knife fighting? Melanie was so excited with this fantastic speculation.
"How was school?" Mother rushed over and asked as Melanie entered the door.
"Just fine? Did anything happen?"
"Do you have homework?"
"Say yes!" ordered Mother.
"Can I see your school bag?"
Melanie handed over her school bag and realized that tomorrow she could very well have a Gypsy knife in her possession. She certainly couldn't put it in her school bag for Mother to find. The gift would be considered nearly sacred; a rite of passage into womanhood upon its acceptance. Stupid Mother shouldn’t be allowed take it from her.
"Melanie, how did you miss that?" asked Mother when examining a test with only one question wrong.
"I don't know..."
Maybe Melanie could put the knife in her back pocket like Pias demonstrated in the dream. But then Mother would surely see it as Melanie walked up the stairs. And at the rate things were going, she might have to use it on Mother!
"Well, weren't you paying attention?" probed Mother with an overly-inquisitive look on her face.
"I just missed it, I guess. Come-on, Mother! I got one point off! It's still an A."
"Well it was a stupid mistake, Melanie. You just can't miss silly things like that!"
Melanie rolled her eyes.
"You better get upstairs and start your homework. Dinner will be at six o'clock"
Melanie stamped up the stairs as usual and slammed her bedroom door. It was amazing how Mother could deplete her of all positive energy. Not more than a few minutes ago she was entering the house, excited about a possible gift that she would receive tomorrow. That excitement was soon replaced with the discouraging feeling of being hopelessly trapped; trapped in a life with an evil overlordess of a mother who robbed Melanie of her very soul.
Later that night as Melanie slept soundly in bed; she dreamed of standing in her bedroom before the open window. For some reason, the bedroom was dimly lit with a lifeless, depressing tone. This depressing tone might have symbolized Melanie's feeling of being trapped.
Just then, Pias walked through the backyard and up to the house where he stood below Melanie's window. "Hi! He called out.
Melanie cautiously waved.
"Why don't you come down and see me?" he suggested.
Melanie shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, come-on." coaxed Pias. "You know you want to. You need to escape and leave that world behind."
Melanie said nothing in return; only continued to watch him. Maybe she was wishing for him to convince her to leave Mother and Father.
"I want to tell you something that exists in my Gypsy culture; something called dji. It's an energy that we have. It's shared between family members, neighbors, friends and those throughout Gypsy society. It's your very spirit; your heart, your emotions, your courage and your awareness of being liberated to do and be what you want in life. But there's something else about dji that is very important. You see; when you spend too much time with outsiders—those not connected to the Gypsy culture—your dji can be harmed, even completed drained. Some believe this could eventually lead to death. Don't you sometimes feel this way?"
Melanie shrugged her shoulders.
"Don't you sometimes feel like your Mother and Father are draining you of your very life? If you think about it, they are slowly killing you. They are taking your simple right to live your own life away from you. You need to escape, Melanie. And I'm afraid the only person who can make this happen is you. I am getting too old to be abducting young women to be my Gypsy bride. Years ago it was easy for me to do this with Mira. Remember me telling you about her? I knew she wished to leave her life behind and live the life of a Gypsy. But she was afraid. That's why I abducted her. But, again, I'm getting too old for that sort of thing. And maybe I'm a little wiser, now. Maybe I believe that you should have a choice in the matter and have your own free will.
All I can do is encourage you. Climb out, Melanie. Climb out your window to be with me. If you want, you can jump. I will catch you."
Because this was a dream, a trampoline suddenly appeared below Melanie's window. Pias immediately climbed on and began to jump up and down along the circumference of the trampoline. "Jump out, Melanie... Jump out your window... Escape to freedom... Live the life of a Gypsy..." Round and round Pias hopped. He began to take on the appearance of some animal on a carousel. Then there was the haunting carousel music and the dizzying feeling that Melanie often felt just seconds before waking up.
Melanie woke up and sat up in bed. It was another bizarre dream about Pias the Gypsy. But interesting thing; rather than be frightened and wonder the meaning of it all, Melanie actually got out of bed and walked over to the window to see if Pias was there.
He wasn't, of course.

To be continued…

Friday, October 10, 2014

A Stranger Outside

Hello All:
I really had in mind to complete a brand, new Gypsy story for you which would be another installment of our Pias the Gypsy series. In this series, the middle-aged Gypsy man has been courting fifteen-year-old Melanie to be his Gypsy bride. Nothing wrong with that... I'll let you add in the appropriate answer!
Stories cannot be rushed to make deadlines. I have chosen to complete it over the weekend and have it perfect for you (hopefully) by Monday.
A reader wants to know why Bluejacking is done in public places. This is an intrusive communication tactic that involves sending unsolicited messages to nearby cell phones with the use of Bluetooth technology. To be honest, I haven't been enjoying this activity for a while. But, apparently, there are many of you out there who continue. I'll let the characters in today's featured writing demonstrate why Bluejacking is such an fun activity.
Have a great weekend. And be sure to enable your Bluetooth devices to received messages from strangers.
A Stranger Outside
It was a cold, winter's night in January as Mother Nature whipped up one of the windiest and snowiest storms of the season. Jennifer sat on her sofa, alone, in her warm and cozy family room in a pair of comfy, flannel pajamas. This was a Friday evening—the weekend beginning. But due to the inclement weather, it was best that Jennifer remain indoors. Aside from that, her boyfriend had to work the graveyard shift. He was a police officer, and recently volunteered to work the night patrol.
Being alone, tonight, wasn't so bad. Jennifer could use the quiet time, enjoying a few hours of Candy Crush on her Android phone while catching up on some recorded episodes of Cake Wars on TV.
But what was this? Suddenly the lights in the family room flickered, followed by a complete loss of power in the house. The TV screen was now black and there was nothing but dead silence with only Jennifer's Android phone to provide light.
Jennifer sighed, "Of course... a power outage..." On a night like this, such a phenomenon wasn't totally unreasonable; just an inconvenience. As for heat, at least Jennifer's thermostat and furnace had battery back-up. All she could do was sit in the darkness and hope for power to soon be restored.
Jennifer turned her attention to the Android phone, and opened Facebook to update her status. "Great! A night alone with a nasty snow storm and power suddenly goes out."
Just as Jennifer hit "Post", a notification window appeared on the screen. "Do you want to accept 'I Found Where You Live.vcf' into Contacts?"
What was this? Did Jennifer receive some virus or corrupted file from Facebook? She did the only natural thing and immediately selected "No". Then she resumed her game of Candy Crush.
Moments into the game, another mysterious window appeared on the screen. "Do you want to accept 'Your Wireless Network Is Your Last Name So I Know You're In There.' into Contacts?"
This was obviously someone's idea of a sick joke who apparently intended on scaring people. Immediately, Jennifer selected, "No", and then rebooted her phone. Hopefully that would flush out any corrupted file that might be opening the mysterious and alarming windows.
The phone rebooted, and Jennifer left it sit on sofa beside her. How much longer would the power be out?
Just then, a never-heard-before notification alert came from Jennifer's phone. What could it have been? She picked up the device, opened the screen and was slightly disturbed to see another mysterious window on the screen. "Do you want to accept 'Jennifer, I'm Outside Your House & Stalking You Via Bluetooth.vcf' into Contacts?"
"What the Hell????" exclaimed Jennifer. Could this really be true? Originally thinking the message to be some unwanted file from Facebook, Jennifer was beginning to believe that someone was, in fact, outside her house. If so, it was best for Jennifer to go into settings and disable her Bluetooth to prevent any possible tracking. She never had need for Bluetooth, but it apparently served a useful purpose for someone outside.
Jennifer found the Bluetooth menu under settings and disabled it. That would put a stop to someone's sick idea of having fun. Then she opened the phone screen with the intention of giving her cop boyfriend a call. She really needed to hear his voice and feel safe at that moment. Maybe he could drive over and check out the grounds.
But what was this? The disheartening indicator on the upper-right hand corner of the phone informed Jennifer that her network was down. There was no analog or data connection to the cellular grid. The power outage must have affected whatever cell tower Jennifer's Android device usually linked up to.
Jennifer sighed and immediately walked over to the kitchen where the landline phone was mounted to the wall. Sometimes good-old fashioned technology was best to use.
But so unbelievable; there was no dial tone! Just what sort of night was this turning out to be? Electric power had been knocked out, her Android could not find a nearby cell tower to link up to, and now the landline was down? To make matters worse, some creepy stalker was claiming to be outside of her house and tracking her via Bluetooth.
Suddenly, the strange alert from moments before sounded from Jennifer's Android phone on the sofa. It couldn't have been another unwanted message in the form of an incoming file! After all, Jennifer disabled her Bluetooth. She quickly walked over and picked up the device.
"Do you want to accept 'Nice Try! They Have Software For Hackers Like Me To Find Your Device & Enable Your Bluetooth.vcf' into Contacts?"
Fear immediately spiked and surged through Jennifer's veins. This was getting out of hand. Who was out there, and why did this person target her to torment for the evening? With no other choice she decided to communicate with this supposed person outside, using the same media.
Nearly shaking, Jennifer created a contact file with her simple message as the contact's name. The message was simply, "Hello? Who's Out There?" Then, under the options menu, she selected to send via Bluetooth.
The Android phone scanned the surrounding area and reported a device nearby that was named, Outside. Assuming this to be the culprit, Jennifer selected this device and watched as the send notification flashed, followed by a message, "Your file, ‘Hello? Who's Out There?.vcf' was successfully delivered."
Jennifer waited for a moment until a notification window opened on her screen, "Do you want to accept 'It's Me.vcf' into Contacts?"
"Who is me? Do I know you?" asked Jennifer in the next Bluetooth message.
"Do you want to accept 'You See Me Around. I'm Really Interested In You.vcf' into Contacts?"
Who in the world could it have been? Jennifer couldn't think of anyone in her daily travels that stuck out as being interested in her. Was it the guy at the coffee shop? Was it the new coworker down the hall? Both men were good-looking, and maybe Jennifer might have participated in some harmless flirting with them. But they seemed safe—men who wouldn't try to escalate the flirting into something more.
"What do you want?" asked Jennifer in another message.
"Do you want to accept 'I Want You. I Want To Make Love To You.vcf' into Contacts?"
Immediately, Jennifer created another message, "Not sure who you are, but I have a boyfriend. And he's a cop!"
But the stranger outside didn't seem to mind as evidenced by the next notification that appeared on Jennifer's screen. "Do you want to accept 'I'm Not Worried About Him. As Long As He's Not Home We Can Have Fun.vcf' into Contacts?"
Jennifer sighed and quickly walked over to the kitchen phone. She picked it up, but still no dial tone. "Come on!" How much longer would she be without power or communication? This was the perfect night for the stalker outside.
"Do you want to accept 'I See You In There! You're So Pretty!' into Contacts?"
Jennifer ran into the hallway where there were no windows. Where was he? Where was the stranger hiding outside? How Jennifer wished she had been more thorough in closing her curtains. Apparently the stranger outside found a crack and could watch his victim.
"Do you want to accept 'Why Don't You Get Naked & Come To The Window? I Want To See You Naked.vcf' into Contacts?"
Jennifer had to hide! There was no telling what he would do to escalate this sick game of his; especially with a power and communication outage. Quickly she opened the hallway closet door, kneeled down and sat cross-legged under the shelves. Then she shut the door.
"Do you want to accept 'Come On Beautiful! Let's See You Naked! Get Naked Now & Come To The Window.vcf' into Contacts?"
As long as Jennifer remained in the closet, she was safe. There were no windows in the confined space which, of course, meant the stranger could not see her. In fact, maybe he was beginning to have difficulty locating her device with his Bluetooth. Perhaps this was the safest place to be.
Jennifer remained in the confined, darkened area for about ten minutes. Then, another message came through to her phone. "Do you want to accept 'I Love Cookie-Cutter Housing! I Once Downloaded The Floor Plan Of Your Home From Your Builder.vcf' into Contacts?"
What did the stranger mean? What was he hinting to?
"Do you want to accept 'I Circled Your Home & Measured Bluetooth Signal. I Know Where You Are.vcf' into Contacts?"
Shaking, Jennifer typed out a message and sent it to the stranger outside. "You bastard! Go away and leave me alone!"
"Do you want to accept 'You Are Hiding In The Hallway Closet From Me. Why?.vcf' into Contacts?"
Enough was enough! Jennifer finally powered down her cell phone so that the stranger could no longer track her, and then exited the closet. From there she ran downstairs and hid in the basement furnace room.
Several minutes passed as Jennifer waited in the dark, and hoped that power would be restored. It wiped out everything which left Jennifer helpless and defenseless. Jennifer's cop boyfriend sometimes encouraged her to get a gun to protect herself in situations like these. But she strongly opposed gun ownership. Funny... she suddenly wished for one, now!
Suddenly, an unbelievable phenomenon happened with her Android phone. Without pressing the power button, Jennifer's phone started to boot up.
"No! Stop!" Jennifer nearly shouted. She pressed the power button and held it down in hopes that this would force it to cease booting. But the phone was Hell bent in coming back to life to serve as Jennifer's traitor.
Immediately an incoming message came through from the stranger outside. "Do you want to accept 'You Gotta Love RFID Chips. Even When Your Phone Is Off An RFID Reader Can Locate One.vcf' into Contacts?"
RFID chip? What in the world was that? At that moment, Jennifer didn't understand that manufacturers of electronic goods install an RFID chip into each device. These chips include device information, serial numbers, etc; and are usually used for inventory. Within minutes, an entire trailer of electronic goods can be inventoried with the use of RFID chips. And they get their power from the signal coming from a reader which means that a device does not need to be turned on.
RFID chips also serve another purpose! "Do you want to accept 'I Can Access Your Device Hardware Through The RFID & Boot Your Phone So I'm Back.vcf' into Contacts?"
Jennifer sighed and shook her head in disbelief.
"Do you want to accept 'Oh, You Are Now Hiding In The Basement Furnace Room.vcf' into Contacts?"
Perhaps if Jennifer reasoned with him. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?"
"Do you want to accept 'I Already Told You. I Want You. I Want To Make Love To You.vcf' into Contacts?"
Jennifer quickly responded, "But you can't! What you are doing isn't right."
"Do you want to accept 'Just Open The Door & Let Me In Your House. Let Me Make Love To You The Way You Want Me To.vcf' into Contacts?"
Unbelievable... And to make matters worse, the stranger outside was suddenly aware that there was a power and communication outage. "Wow! There Must Be An Outage. Your Whole Neighborhood Is Out! I Also See I Have No Cell Service.vcf' into Contacts?"
What did this mean to the stranger? Surely he wouldn't escalate his game into something far worse!
"Do you want to accept 'It's The Perfect Night For Us To Be All Alone With No Distrubances.vcf' into Contacts?"
Jennifer remained paralyzed and motionless. How she wished she could call the police.
And then there was a knock at the door. "Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock."
"Do you want to accept 'That's Me. Let Me In Your house!.vcf' into Contacts?"
There was another knock at the door; this time, louder. "Knock, Knock, Knock, Knock, Knock.”
And then Jennifer waited in the darkness for about fifteen minutes as there was no further knocking on the door or Bluetooth messages. Did the stranger go away? Did he realize that the game was a stalemate and could go no further? Or was he up to no good and working on a new angle to break in the house?
The strange alert sounded on Jennifer's phone. She opened the screen, "Do you want to accept 'I Love Phone Utility Boxes On The Outside Of Houses. I Checked And Can See Your Phone Is Out.vcf' into Contacts?"
Oh no! What was the stranger implying? Surely he wouldn't take advantage of Jennifer's helplessness with no power, phone, or cell phone connectivity.
"Do you want to accept 'I'm Going To Be Nice. Why Don't You Just Let Me In So I Can Make Love To You?.vcf' into Contacts?"
Jennifer's heart rate and breathing increased in fearful anticipation of what might happen next.
Another knock at the door, "Knock, Knock, Knock, Knock, Knock!"
"Do you want to accept 'Let Me In Your House.vcf' into Contacts?"
The stranger pounded his fists with all his might on the door, "KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!"
"Do you want to accept 'YOU COCK TEASING LITTLE BITCH! LET ME IN YOUR HOUSE NOW!.vcf' into Contacts?"
Poor Jennifer started to cry. Should she have run outside at that moment into the backyard, and over to the neighbor's house to safety? It would be the opposite direction from the stranger who was pounding harder and harder on the door. It would be much safer than being alone in the house with him where he could do anything he wished to Jennifer.
Jennifer couldn't believe what was happening, next. The stranger decided it was time to kick and barge his way into her home. "SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!"
From the sound of it, the stranger would be in her house in less than a minute.
"SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!" Some piece of hardware broke off from the door. It was Jennifer's queue to get the hell out of the house before it was too late. She left her cell phone in the furnace room to avoid being further tracked by the stranger, and ran upstairs to the back door.
Now at the back door and nearly free, Jennifer unlocked it and attempted to slide it open. But what was this? The frigid cold and ice froze the door shut! She was trapped in the house with no telling how long it would take to force the back door open. Left with no choice, Jennifer ran upstairs into her bedroom and hid in the closet.
"SLAM! CRASH! BOOM!" Apparently, the stranger made his way into the house. "I'm home Jennifer!" the stranger shouted. "I'm home to make sweet love to you! Where are you; you sweet, cock-teasing, little bitch? You've been a naughty girl who wouldn't let me in!" The voice grew softer and muffled as he descended the stairs; obviously believing that Jennifer was still in the furnace room.
"You little bitch!" the muffled voice shouted from downstairs. "You tried to trick me! You're hiding someplace else in the house!" As the stranger ascended the stairs he continued to shout and make one-sided conversation as-if Jennifer could hear him. "That's okay; I know where you are hiding! I don't need a phone to track you! See, I'm smart! I know that when a woman is about to be attacked in her home, she runs to her bedroom and hides! Do you know why? It's because she secretly wants the stranger to make love to her. You're waiting for me, Jennifer, aren't you? You're probably hiding in your bedroom closet and hoping that I find you! It's all part of the cock-teasing seduction that a woman like you likes to do!"
The stranger continued to shout to Jennifer while climbing the stairs, through the second level hallway, and into the bedroom. But what was this? The bedroom window was open with a makeshift rope of bed sheets tied together. It was anchored from the leg of a heavy desk that stood against the wall near the window and dropped outside to the ground.
The stranger looked outside the bedroom window to see in what direction Jennifer had run. But she was nowhere to be found. "Jennifer!" He called out. Get your sweet, little ass back in this fucking house! You know want it!"
"Damn-it!" exclaimed the stranger. "Why does that sweet-ass bitch have to be so difficult?"

Jennifer listened from her closet as the stranger stormed out of her bedroom, down the stairs and out the door of her house. Was it really that easy to trick him? He almost had her. For so many weeks she worked so hard and played the game so well. It looks like she would have to initiate round two.