Old Scratch

He noticed the man had dull black eyes like a dead rabbit. Her father shuddered, more from memories of rabbit fever than superstition.

The crops and livestock had long since died in the drought. All was quiet, apart from the man walking down the hill. 

Her father turned back to the house to get drunk. Her mother had always left the light on at the bottom of the stairs. A stupid, childish thing he had said.

That night she woke in complete darkness. Downstairs the man was waiting.

The Greys

The masochistic pop music stylings of shy Zeta Reticuli caused some manner of madness mostly observed in masturbatory mastodons and leperous prostitution johns.

Dark Days

Dark days in Winnipeg and yet darker still in the unforgiving Tropic of Capricorn – feverish days of my preemptive paranoia of prying Paraguayan prefecture.

An encrypted telegraph from a Somali samaritan alerted me to several plots involving rancid beef tartare or devious designs of the utmost bizarre, in scenarios ranging from lazy lull to Gran Guignol. 

Assassination fixations involving the guillotine or poisoned Ovaltine were spurred by my investigation into the long since settled ham n' cheddar vendetta of the Queen involving spank party rags from a Cambridge dean or the greasy ghost of Edward Gein.

Freak TV

Let’s welcome our studio audience of garish ghouls and drug mules to the original primetime perversion – Freak TV. 

The one and only source for gruesome insects and incisions on your television - chill in fright at the half-man half-mite and thrill at the site of midget wedding rites or the social grooming of Satanic suburbanites.

Dare to consider the wicked wench from the South with trench mouth and watch but never linger within the grasp of the tickler with 13 fingers.

Ragtime for a Loup-Garou

I have researched the varied anecdotal evidence regarding historical waves of wolf type murders in that hive of voodoo infested, hoodoo congested quantum of perversity that is New Orleans.

I was told tales of a creature that had terrorized Mardi Gras in 1909, a furry demon of the damned that was supposedly executed and deposited in a shunned mud bog notorious for its use as an Indian burial ground for the loup-garou. In a Southern realm of the fantastic the loup-garou stands out as a sinister hex, a hellish fable that even Creole natives whisper about in hushed tongues.

And yet those familiar with the blackest rites of voodoo know the dead sleep but do not die, wait but do not perish. The proper rituals can summon the deceased, Man or Beast.

This horrific creature from 1909, at once damned and blessed by its clumsily unnatural and awkwardly heretical burial, will come once again to collect souls of both innocents and sinners, if one may be so bold as to readily distinguish between the two.

Sex, Drugs & Interdimensional Monsters

There are certain unspeakable evils known only to the primal eaters of cultivated kumquats, beer brats and syphilitic circus twats. 

I had found myself in a mostly maligned estate most archaic, somewhere in the witch haunted and loathsomely taunted far northern forests of Quebec in investigation of a supposed coven of cunts most craven in their Canadian callousness. In divining the jugglers and juggernauts of the mid to late aughts they had unleashed a legion of entities of the utmost unimaginable. A black era of erroneous evolution had emerged, some interdimensional epoch most inefficient in its self-efficacy.

Night cretins and the twats of Eton prowled the paths of the Puritans with stars spangling and tentacles dangling. Unnatural urgencies and narcissistic emergencies as fangs met flesh, splaying the adipose mesh of the late John Tesh. Horrific happenstance and the Transylvanian trance seduced the sycophants into slaughter, and monkeys grinding organs served as a symbolic substitute for once and future Borgians.

Werewolf Jamboree

My latest hijinks in horror Werewolf Jamboree is included in this week's edition of Schlock!.

I Was A Teenage Murderer

From my despotic demonic doo wop delusions or hypnotic past life illusions I had received a macabre appreciation of my karmic depreciation. In short, a chilling confession from beyond the grave...

I Was A Teenage Murderer

I was a teenage murderer,
Reaping a bloody overture -
Killing and maiming like a pretentious pagan,
So spread your legs for his majesty Satan.

I was a teenage murderer,
Carnage was my only cure -
Frying ears and kidneys to garnish my bacon,
So drop to your knees to suckle my Satan.

From Hell this heat I must endure,
Being a lovelorn murderer -
My one and only, I devoured her brains,
And now I'm alone and I'm the one to blame.

The one I loved, she so demure,
And I a teenage murderer -
She haunted the streets to earn her wages,
Now she haunts my heart and these blood-stained pages.

I was a teenage murderer,
Reaping a bloody overture -
Killing and maiming like a pretentious pagan,
So spread your legs for his majesty Satan.