This is the kind of crap I write when I can’t write

It’s tearing me up inside!

From inside the man, peeled out of his skin, his heart walks out through his chest. His back is arched. His face gripped with constipation. Red, sweating, dripping down, melting into the floor. His heart walks out and runs to the door, opens it with its tiny hands.

The man opens his mouth to scream, but an arm comes out, a great arm that reaches for the heart. The door is shut now, the heart is gone. The arm leads a shoulder, a body, a head, exiting the man’s mouth.

Gurgle, gurgle, blood and spit, it rises and coughs and looks at the dead man on the floor.

It says, “That is me.” The body on the floor twitches and shakes, dries out, and is all collected from itself into a single dot that disappears into the ground.

The new man stares at this and knows he is witnessing his own death. His heart is gone and the world is gray. He opens the door and walks forth into blinding light, unsure of what is to come.

Do you believe in ghosts?

I never really know if I do. I guess I want to, but haven’t really seen anything to make me believe them.

I thought of a short story once where ghosts were aliens, and humans were animals in a zoo. I should go back to that…

Anyway, a cool ghost story: I was changing my son’s diaper. Our first son, he was probably a little older than one year around the time this happened. He and I were in my room, where my wife and I slept. I heard the radio come on. The song was a love song.

The task completed, I carried my son back out to the living room and set him down in his playpen. My wife was cooking in the kitchen. We didn’t have a radio. We only played music on the computer, I remembered. So where was that song coming from?

I walked into the kitchen and found my wife cooking some lentils, or some other delicious dish. “Do you hear that?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Where is that coming from? I thought it was you, playing a joke on me.”

“Nope,” I said. Both of us perplexed, we walked to where we thought the source of the noise was, in our pantry.

Now to backtrack a little. We kept the trash in the pantry, which had a door, so that our son would not open the can and explore the trash, as fun for him as that was. An old boombox had sat next to the trashcan for some time, a few months or longer, and I’m not really sure why we never actually took it out along with the rest of the trash. The boombox was broken and would not turn on for the longest time.

My wife and I opened the pantry door and walked in. The boombox played music. The song was a love song. If it had been any song other than a love song (and man do I wish I remembered exactly what song it was) then we probably would have high-tailed it outta there. Instead we listened to the song and marveled at what was happening.

We eventually turned the boombox off. I tried to turn it back on to test it out, and of course it did not turn on. We trashed it soon after.

Weird stuff. Anyone out there have ghost stories to tell?

Another novel excerpt!

Rough draft, about 35,000 words into it. About a third of the way there, I think….here goes it:

“I’m going to show you something,” Aazim said. “I’m going to show you someone, whom I may ask you to kill. Are you prepared to do such a thing?”

“Why would you want this person to die?” Mary said.

“I think he may be the one causing the Shadows. I once knew him as a friend. I did at the moment that you are about to witness.”

“You have video?”

“No, see here,” Aazim said and waved his arm and revealed the past to Mary.

Mary saw in the room many men. Some were waving their heads and others were fighting each other, punching bloodied knuckles into one another’s bruised stomachs. They snarled and growled and seemed drugged or drunk or else possessed by some evil spirit that corrupts men’s minds in the dark of morning after midnight.

She witnessed this and became transfixed, lost in the sight of horrific bloodied bodies bashing into one another and destroying each others constitute. They danced dances, kicking their legs and jumping several feet into the air. They stomped each other and bit each other and seemed generally as though they were not in control of their own bodies.

All this blood and these hundreds of insane individuals appeared before Mary, and to her, they were really there. Arms were falling off and toes being eaten. All Mary could do was watch and take that sight in.

She knew Aazim had spoken of a weapon. She had thought of the Shadows. Now she thought of the cannibals that lived below the slums. How many were there? Hundreds? Thousands? Standing in the middle of them all, Mary’s sight honed in on this one man.

A dream I had last night…

I have some weird dreams, man.

First, I guess I should describe a bit about my dreams in general. I always go to the same dream world. It’s an alternate reality whose features I recognize even in waking. It’s different from the waking world in interesting ways.

For example, the only difference between my parents’ house in the real world and their house in my dream world is that there’s a basketball hoop in the driveway. To go further, a church stands near their house, at the top of the street and to the right. The parking lot for it is huge, maybe two hundred cars, that kind of size. Catholics, you know. There’s a public school neighboring the church, but in my dream world there is only a field.

You walk to the top of the street I grew up on, take a right and walk through the parking lot. You cross a creek that is shaded by crab-apple trees and walk into the long grass and then through a forest. You exit the forest and enter a field, where power lines cut through the center to a destination that you cannot see.

That’s my dream world.

So about my dream last night. My neighbors’ houses were gone, and there was only a field of mud. Other houses remained exactly the same. Several police cars were parked outside. My wife and I were wondering what was going on when someone knocked on our door. I opened it.

“High,” said the cop.

“hello,” said me.

“We just wanted to let you know, we’re just digging to try to find some stuff. We didn’t want to worry you.”

“Stuff…like, bodies?”

“Yeah, actually. There were some murders here…”

I turned around and saw a waterfall that streamed down seamlessly into the Earth.

“So, do you all take showers?” My wife asked the cop.

“Yeah, we do.”

The water poured down where there should have been stairs leading to the second floor.

“Does it ever make you mad when people take a long time in the shower?”

“Actually, yeah, that happens a lot. You know, about that water…”

Something else.

I don’t remember. There was a lot of stuff going on in that dream, and I wish I had written the whole thing down when I woke up. I’m gonna have to do that.

Dreams make for great stories.