DAD: Part II The Balrog

The intensity with which  I spoke had driven fear into the young men.  Terrified, they twisted in their stools desperately searching for an escape from the horrors which would soon be told.  Their eyes begged at the bartender to intervene but the ancient man paid them no notice.  Trembling, one of the men excused himself to the restroom.  As he reached to the bar in an attempt to propel himself out of his seat I slammed my hand down, tightly gripping his wrist.  My hand clawed at his flannel shirt like an eagle to his masters glove.  "Sit Down" I demanded.  They sunk into their seats.  Their faces flushed white as blood ran deep into their hearts.  "You need to listen to what I have to say."  Both men lowered their eyes towards the floor and a strange mist overtook the room as I spoke.  "You speak of evil things but there is a wickedness in this world that cannot not be imagined.  You have heard the stories of the lost city R'lyeh where the elder things dwell?  Well, In the house where I grew up on the street of Rikkard lived a creature so hideous, so vile that the mere pronunciation of his name will leave the taste of vinegar in your mouth."

My eyes searched to meet theirs, but they did not dare look up from the floor.  I could see that they were terrified and I did not want to inflict any more harm on their fragile sense of reality.  I released my grip and he slowly recoiled his hand from the bar.  "Leave" I grunted, my hand cut through the air, motioning their exit.  They scrambled out of their chairs, creating an awful screech as the stools  scraped across the wooden floor.  I watched the two foolish men run for the exit and I felt disgusted by them.  They liked to wear wickedness like it was a coat you could take on and off.  They did not understand what it meant to be an evil man, such as myself.

My body hunched over the bar and my mind wandered away from me.  I lifted my glass and as I brought the whiskey to my mouth my eyes became mesmerized with the wet ring left on the counter from my drink.   All thoughts seemed to melt away as I fell deeper and deeper into the rings spell.  My head snapped back violently and my eyes crawled into my skull.  A White light flashed from within my mind and I lost contact with all of my senses.  Suddenly I was staring at the ring of water from my glass however I was no longer in Chinatown nor a 30 year old man.  My skin was soft and my hair barely passed my jaw.  I was a 13 year old child living at home, having a drink at my father's bar.

I brought the glass of whisky to my lips and let it flow down my throat.  The warm embracing taste of bourbon would become so familiar but for now it was like being touched for the first time by a dark, sensuous woman. I placed the glass down on the counter to pour another drink when the house began to shake.  It sounded like the ground was about to break open the gates to the lower worlds, but I knew it was something much worse.  The terrifying sound which I heard was that of the garage door opening as my dad returned from work.

I put the bottle away, my glass in the sink, and ran for my room.  The door opened and like a Balrog, he entered.  Faster I ran.  I could hear his heavy breaths behind me.  His massive feet beat down on the carpet leaving prints so large that they would have thrilled a sasquatch admirer.  I turned the stairs and slipped on the floor.  I looked on in horror as I saw his red beard erupting from his turtleneck like a volcano.  "I wasn't doing anything" I yelled at the top of my lungs.  His cold stare burned at my eyes and his lips began to part. I waited in complete terror for the venom to leave his lips.   "Wrestling is fake!".   I could not believe what he had said.   I laid on the floor withering in pain "I hate you! I hate you!"  I clenched my fists and launched my strongest verbal attack. "I wish you were dead!" I screamed.  He looked at me so evil, so wickedly,  "Dead!? Take the 'e' out of dead and it spells 'DAD!"  His stare continued even more intensely.  His entire head began to vibrate out of control only to be be interrupted by a fit of laughter  "What!? Dead spells Dad? What does that even MEAN?  Why do you Torment me!?" I laid on the carpet in complete agony as tears rolled down my cheeks.

I stared at my glass as a drop of water rolled down its side.  The ancient hand of the bartender took my drink  and with its other wiped down the ring of water before me.  The old man turned the television off and left me alone with my painful memories.  I reached into my pockets and left a couple of dollars on the counter.  It was getting late, even for me.  I stumbled towards the door swearing under my breath.  That demon I grew up with still had power over me and I hated him for it.  Would I ever be free from his torment?  I left the bar and wandered aimlessly down the city streets, crushing roaches with every step.  It was late but still dark and the night had more to offer me.  My journey continued into some dark corners  but those stories will be told at a later time.    

Dad Part I: The most Wicked man That ever lived!

My hands found warmth in my jacket pockets as I searched for shelter from the cold streets of China town.  I heard the whispers of the many stray cats as I passed and began to quicken my stride when I noticed they were following me.  Their numbers were growing and their whispers turned to shouts.   My walk became a furious jog and I quickly cut the corner under the towering red arches.  I watched with relief as they passed the junction failing to notice my change in direction.    I continued my walk and soon placed my hand on a cold brass door handle and entered my favorite drinking hole. 

The bartenders did not speak English there and I liked it that way.  There was no one there to bother me with idle banter, allowing my mind to sink into a dark, repellant chasm, void of good deeds and pleasant thoughts.  I approached the bar and sat my body down on a familiar red stool.  Its seat reminded of ripped flesh as my weight caused its foam cushion to spill out like oozing guts from its red covering.  I exchanged a quick glance with the bartender and I soon began to pour alcohol down my throat in an effort to drown the desire for female company.   As I sat there wasted, pondering the depths of time, two young men entered the bar and sat across from me.  Their hair was long and the beards patchy in a feeble attempt at masculinity.  They were dressed in black with plaid flannel shirts and wore jewelry around their necks and fingers.  They looked like me but were nothing like me.  A strange sense of anxiety began to plague me and I lowered my head and starred at the counter. 

The young men ordered a couple of PBR’s and handed their credit card over to the ancient palm of their bartender.  They laughed all night and excitement gripped them as they spoke of the history Varg Vikrenes and Mayhem.  I did not feel well, my body trembled and my head began to spin.  I got up from the stool and held on to the counter to keep my balance.  Something was wrong.  There were things there that should not be, and the paradox had smashed my thought.  I walked to the bathroom, unzipped my pants and took a leak that ceased to end.  I felt as if I was on another world.  Still the Earth but a variable Earth like you read in fiction.   A world where Dave Mustaine was never kicked out of Metallica and Blue Grape made shirts that fit human beings and not apes.

I gathered my senses and returned to my seat.  Streams of beer poured down my chin like the once flowing canals of Mars and I gestured to the bar tender to keep them coming.  I listened to more of their conversation as I waited for my drink.  My beer was placed in front of me and I lifted my head in gratitude to the barkeep.  “Aleister Crowley is the most wicked man that ever lived!” one of the men proclaimed and he raised his glass in honor.  My hand squeezed at my beer, crushing the can.  Beer and blood ran down my wrist and dripped to the floor.  My body slowly turned like a crypt keeper until my eyes were upon them.  “You’re wrong” I said.  Both men looked at me.  Their eyes opened so wide that the sides of their lids began to tear.  “Crowley is not the most wicked man that ever lived.  My dad is!”    

To be continued.....

Brothers

At a very young age I became drawn to darkness.  Every Friday night I would wait until I heard the unearthly sounds of my Dad’s body desperately seeking air and like a cursed Egyptian deity I would emerge from my tomb and creep into the living room.  As my parents slept I would spend my nights with a blond hair woman named Rhonda Sheer.  My young body was hungry for dark, devilish things and this woman by feeding me what I craved gave me my first glimpse into the realms of monstrosity.

One Friday night Ms. Sheer shared with me a film that would cause irrevocable harm to my sense of family dynamics.  For the next two hours I was in complete commensalism with the television. Although I sat and did not move, the excitement caused my body to feel as if I had been hurling massive boulders into a body of water.  I had watched for the first time of what would become many, my favorite childhood film, Basket Case.

I was careful to record each episode of Up All Night and I had my VHS copy of Basket Case.  I watched the video so many times that I considered it a miracle every time the tape would still play.  However, what was originally a great source of evil joy, the film slowly started to eat away at me.  Jealously had taken over me and allowed madness in.  I wanted what Duane had, and no matter how many times I asked my parents for a brother my demands went unanswered.

I stayed up late at night prodding my body for any signs of a possible evil growth, a growth that would ultimately become my own ghoulish brother.  I squeezed my flesh and yelled at my body to give me what I desired.  I was so young back then that I even prayed to God!  I tried everything I could think of that might produce the desired effect.  One night my father caught me smearing meatloaf on body in an attempt to feed the flesh, and when he asked me “what the hell are you doing?”  I told him that I was doing what him and my mother had failed to do and ran to my room screaming.

I was infatuated with the idea of having a ghoul for a brother.  What would he be like?  What would he grow up to become?  Probably a C.H.U.D, I reasoned.  I sat down and drew pictures of us together and created a list of people for him to kill, that’s right, KILL! I have always been evil!  Even at that young age I had it in me to do devilish deeds.  Why else have a brother if he cannot be some form of minion to you!    

The years went by and at some point in time I no longer thought of the sibling my body never bore.  These were childish thoughts that I grew out of and would become locked inside the vault of mind.  Although I no longer believe in such a thing I have kept a tender spot for my brother that never was.   Every year on my birthday I climb up to the attic and on a small plate I leave a slice of birthday cake just in case there is a Belial after all.

 

You Dick

One day this guy rode up and stole my girlfriend.  I HATE him.

Part Two: Cigarettes and burgers, caffeine and alcohol

I was in disbelief. I have always despised my neighbors. In fact, I always made an effort to make it from my car to my front door without engaging in any visual or verbal communication. I never imagined, however, that standing there with his knees escaping his ripped jeans like a drowning man's head breaks through the water to gasp for air was my my new neighbor, Dave Mustaine.

I stood there motionless. My brain was regaining itself after a period of complete atrophy and then, just like a vampire he asked me to invite him in. I quickly motioned my hand towards the inside of my home and he lifted his long legs and entered. "I heard some interesting sounds coming from your house last night, evil sounds." I did not respond. How could I? I wasn't even aware of what happened the night before. He slowly sat down on my couch and inquisitively looked around my house. "Hey man, what do you say? Some' cigarettes and burgers, caffeine and alcohol?" I explained to him that I was much to weak to leave the house and walked towards the kitchen.

I returned to the living room with a bottle of mountain dew and a family size bag of Cheetos. He quickly sat up. His eyes widened and he licked his lips. I knew I had chosen well. He reached for the bag like a gollum and when I retracted the bag out of sheer surprise he hissed at me. Naturally, I hissed back and upon seeing the Necronomicon that I wore around my neck he sat back and withdrew his threatening behavior. We sat together in silence, our fingers stained orange and our minds full of thoughts.

Dave suddenly turned his head towards me, biting his lower lip as if trying to keep his words prisoner. His pupils became dilated and his nostrils flared. "What do you mean I don't I dont pay my taxes? Why do you think I'm broke?" I sat there in confusion not knowing what to make of his questions. "What do you mean I can't get to work on time? Got nothing better to do." He then turned his head away from me and we sat in silence once more. It was then that I realized that Dave Mustaine was insane.

He was trapped inside his own lyrics. I should have recognized this sooner when he referenced his song '502' as way to get a bite to eat. We sat there for a while longer before he got up. He nodded his head as he looked around. "I like you, man. You're into some wicked shit!" I looked at him in agreement. "I'll catch you later. Got some magazine interview bullshit." I watched him as he walked down my steps and past my lawn. He was my neighbor and I knew that I would be seeing more of him.

Part 1: Knocking at my Door

For a week my mind had been clouded with anticipation. The thing that I so desperately waited for had transformed me into a ghoulish creature. I became extremely irritable, lashing out at those closest to me. My fingernails suffered permanent disfigurement from the chronic biting I inflicted in my nervous state. I did not know how much longer I could last. If it did not arrive soon I feared my altered state would be too much too endure. Luckily, that Friday afternoon, my shipment arrived.

I had never seen myself so eager before. I tore open the package so violently that it would have been impossible to identify the remains as belonging to anything more than particles of dust. I could not believe that I had finally had it in my possession. The anticipation quickly turned into delirium as I poured its fuel into the body and inserted its 3 prong tail into the wall. The wait was over. My fogger had finally arrived.

The rest of the evening was a blur. My new possession had completely intoxicated me overtaking me in a fury and had reduced me to a primordial state. I had devolved into some sort of ancestral humanoid who upon discovering a monolith abandoned all natural tendencies for the madness of enlightenment.

I awoke the next afternoon completely disoriented. I moaned in agony as my head throbbed violently. I laid upon my wooden floor completely clothed with no recollection of the night before and then I heard the knocking. It was the strangest knock I had ever heard, so rhythmical and so familiar. I could not place where I heard this knock before but I knew it well. I peeled my body off the floor, clutching my head and entered a realm of vertigo. I could not see a thing except for the dense atmosphere my fogger had created the night before. The knocking sounded again. I wanted to answer it and find out who was behind that mysterious sound but I was in a labyrinth of fog. I reached out for the walls of my home but no matter far I walked I could not find them. The fog had taken over my home and forsaken me in its world. Then I heard the knocking once more.

I abandoned all of my senses and relied solely on my ears. I listened to that strange rhythmic beat and followed its origin. It became louder and louder as I came closer to the door. The source of the knock must have sensed that I was close because it began to knock in double time. I reached out my hand, feeling for anything of solid mass, and felt the cold bronze of a door handle. I swung open the door and the fog violently spilled from my home much like the water of cracked aquarium.

At first I could not see a thing and my mind was full of confusion but soon my eyes began to refocus in this new environment. My vision became filled with the image of luscious red hair. My mouth opened wide and saliva dripped from my lips. I tried to gather myself and make sense of the outside world. My visitor's tiny lips began to take unknown shapes as they uttered the words "Hello Neighbor", in a voice that I had heard before. I was regaining control of myself and my eyes zoomed out taking in the entire body of my visitor. That is when I saw my him, my new neighbor, Dave Mustaine.



To Be Continued.......

The Ritual

When the internet was still in it's infancy I belonged to a mailing list that catered to people with my apt for wickedness. We told stories of the invocations in which we had meddled and traded tapes as well. There were few us and we were spread across the continents. Prior to my joining I thought that I was alone in my devilish deeds but I soon found out that there were others.

I used to rush to the mailbox every afternoon to see If I had received any new correspondence. I would stay up late writing my stories and creating hand drawn avatars of myself. One day I opened the mail box and received a letter from a man that I had never heard of. He told me that he had discovered a new path within himself and that I could reach new diabolical heights If I would only let him show me. I did not know what to think. I had never heard of this man and when I asked the other members if they had received any form of contact from him, they all told me the same thing. They had never heard of or received any messages from the person I spoke of. I received more letters from him and shared it with the mailing list. Some were intrigued by what I shared but many called me a fraud and accused of me faking the whole correspondence. I soon received less and less contact from my sinister friends until my mail box was bare.

I had been banished, completely isolated from the group. With no where to turn I wrote to this man who shall not be named. He understood what I was going through and shared with me a similar story from his youth. However, the things he learned that caused his exile were the things in which he claimed had opened his mind. He promised me that if I let him show me his invocations that I would become more powerful than all my former friends and they would worship me. I did not know what I was getting myself into. I told him that I wanted to know, that I wanted to learn. One week later I received a package in the mail. I opened it and found the VHS that I had expected.

That tape sat on my bed for hours as I paced around my room. My mom called me for dinner but I had no appetite. I stayed locked in my room wondering what was on that tape and if I was ready for the things he described. I waited and waited, and finally at half past 2:00 I was unable to withstand the questions any longer and injected the tape. What I saw then was the most horrible ritual that eyes had ever seen. The path that this sorcery lead was so dark that I could not follow. I ejected the tape immediately and set it on fire. It burned a wretched smell, a smell that was so evil that my walls were stained green . However, no matter how many times I set it a flame their was a portion that would not catch. I have kept that short interval of video for all these years safely hidden and had not shared it with anyone. I believe that it alone, without the rest of the ritual, will pose you no threat, but I must warn you that by watching this you may bring yourself to madness!