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“Quenched In Blood” by Max Carrey

They’d been shoved into a blacked out van and driven on winding bumpy roads. Overcrowding, that’s why they were relocated; at least that’s what they’d been told, but this was no prison or holding site. It was a rundown building in the cover of a wood. Prison guards replaced with mysteriously black dressed men. Their bodies fine-tuned, sharpened, most likely military of some sort. Upon the realization of this threat a roar of grumbles burbled up from the gagged prisoners. There were thirty of them in total. Sweaty, hot, crammed together, being forced to walk single file all the way into a room glowing orange from coal fueled flames. This place was a forge, and a great burly blacksmith greeted them with a smudgy smile as he tinged away on his hammer against heated metal.

They tried to fight but their captors swatted them behind the knees to make them drop to the ground, and dragged them the rest of the way. They lined them up on the wall opposite of the blacksmith, as if they were an audience going to take their seats to watch a show, though shackles and cuffs constrained them. Iron tightly wrapped around their wrists and ankles, cutting into their skin the more they fought against them.

Abruptly left alone in the presence of the blacksmith, with the heat of the forge beating in waves against their skin, looking to one another with widening pupils, tears dripping down until evaporating off their faces, it became apparent that this man, this place would do them no good.The blacksmith, muscles tensed and taut, worked efficiently and quickly churning out stacks of unfinished metal. No longer just billets but not quite knives, the rough blades sat raked amongst the coals with their tangs piling outside the heat begging for handles.

The prisoners pulled against their bonds, but they refused to give. They bit down on their gags, but they didn’t budge. Their cries were muffled and weak in their throats. It had been hours, a horrifying slow burn, waiting for the peak of the moment to rise and reveal itself. No heart beat steadily in those men’s chests. They pinged off ribs in a deafening symphony as blood rushed to their eardrums booming the sound.

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“Damascus-” the blacksmith began suddenly, causing the men to start and send them to the brink of fainting. “-blades normally aren’t the strongest of metals, but they stay sharper for longer. And you can make such intricate patterns.” He bellowed deeply, though his voice was surprisingly polished. “That’s usually why blacksmith’s chose to make them. For their cutting and their beauty, but I-I can make any blade strong, despite the metal. I could make a piece of scrap indestructible, but Damascus…Damascus is the best. It holds the most inside it, because of its layers. Things…” he chuckled darkly, “tend to get trapped there.”

The blacksmith threw one last rough blade into the pile and then leaned against his workbench facing the prisoners. He dragged a dirty hand through his sweaty beard. His fat cheeks pushed up into a grin, flashing a golden tooth. “With these blades I not only can make them stronger than any other, unbreakable, but the more blood spilt the stronger the wielder, the more powerful they become. The blade and the solider together as one, unstoppable.

”The sense of dread mounted, and each man began to see his years coming to a close, all culminating to this moment. The prisoner’s arms slackened against their restraints, defeated. Some tired bodies slumped low to the ground, others hung in mid suspension against the pull of the chains. In all their years of being a prisoner, this was the truest form of it enforced upon them. Their resolve weakened. Because who would care? Who would save them, even if they could? They were murderers, assaulters, and thieves. They were heathens, who would question their fate? People only cared if they met an end at all.

“It’s time!” the blacksmith growled. The door flung open and the room filled up with soldiers. Some faces recognizable, the men in black now dressed in camouflage, but there were more of them crowding into the room stifling out the light breathable air. Too many bodies. Each one stood in front of their chosen prisoner. Each prisoner gave one final surge of effort, tugging against their bonds, tearing their skin, blood leaking forth and dripping over.

“Well, gentlemen I suppose it’s symbolic in a way…because here you are on the road to Damascus,” the blacksmith chuckled wryly as he passed a glowing blade to each solider. Thirty prisoners, thirty soldiers, thirty blades. He then turned his back, preparing the grinder that would shape the metal into a smooth surface ready to cut with ease. The solders smiled and gripped the scorching blades in their clamped fists. The blacksmith’s voice roaring up over the prisoner’s terror as their muted screams landed dully in the cloth wedged between their teeth. “Perhaps if the metal you all were made of had tested well you wouldn’t be here. But so be it. Time for the quenching!”

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The crude weapons were drawn back in synchronizing motion, the exacerbated energies of the prisoners heightened and they flailed so hard against their bonds the sounds of joints snapped as wrists cracked and broke, but then the blades were struck forth embedding messily and coarsely into their chests. Those that didn’t puncture and simply broke the ribcage swung back and struck forth again until it was buried in flesh. The blood dripping down over the blade, the prisoner’s soul evaporating out their body with a molten heat, but they did not travel far instead going down, down into the metal, deep within the layers.

The blades now quenched, hardened, and their souls trapped inside. They cried new soundless screams of terror that only bounced off the metal, pinging like a bullet to echo among them in the lonely dark. But soon others would join, paying an unlawful penance, crowding in around them. All kept prisoner inside the blades to give the wielder the power of God. Though this was no heaven. This was a place that the Devil ruled from afar. The layers of hell made of Damascus.

Max Carrey loves to delve deep within the complicated pasts and suspense filled futures of her characters. Currently she lives in sunny California, but will be moving to a gloomier location much like the settings in her stories (hopefully without the tragedy and mayhem involved). She has several upcoming stories to be released in print and online with magazines and indie publishers alike. To stay up to date on future releases follow her on instagram @maxcarrey

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Original Series

Nightmarish Nature: Horrifying Humans

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So we’re going out on a limb here in this segment of Nightmarish Nature and exploring one of the most terrifying, most dangerous, most impactful species to walk this planet. I’m talking about us of course. Sure, as humans, we may not seem all that horrific to ourselves, but to many other creatures we have been a force of nightmares.

Humans male as drawn by Jennifer Weigel
Humans male as drawn by Jennifer Weigel

Why are we terrifying?

Humans are among those species that engage in massive modifications to our environment to serve our needs, like beavers who dam rivers, elephants who eat all of the new growth scrub to keep the savannahs tree-free, and so on. Yeah, all creatures have some impact on their surroundings, but some take it up a notch, and we do so at an order of magnitude higher still. And we have gotten so good at it that we have managed to exist and thrive in places that would otherwise be inhospitable. We are outwardly adaptive and opportunistic to the point of being exploitative. We are the apex predators now.

Sabertooth cowering as drawn by Jennifer Weigel
Sabertooth cowering as drawn by Jennifer Weigel

We have forced many creatures into extinction, intentionally and not, and have sped up these effects enormously. The National Audobon Society chose the egret as its symbol after it made a comeback from being hunted to near extinction, and it was one of the lucky ones. Many weren’t so lucky, especially if they came in direct conflict with humans, such as wolves and the big cats who were in direct competition, or those who were really specialized in really specific niche circumstances that we pushed out of the way. And this is in only a very very limited scope of our earth’s history, and has since been even more ramped up with industrialization.

Humans female as drawn by Jennifer Weigel
Humans female as drawn by Jennifer Weigel

But humans aren’t all bad are we?

Depends on who you ask… We have created all sorts of incredible opportunities for some species too. Take mice for example. And coyotes. And kudzu. And a whole host of animals whom we’ve domesticated, some of whom wouldn’t have continued to exist otherwise or certainly wouldn’t exist in anything resembling their current forms. And the most massive extinctions occurred long before our arrival, when the earth was still forming and underwent rapid catastrophic changes and swings, decimating critters as they were trying to get a foothold. Nothing is constant except for change; that has always been true.

Wolf begging for cheezborger drawn by Jennifer Weigel
Wolf begging for cheezborger drawn by Jennifer Weigel

So it isn’t my goal to get all eco-con​scious and environmentalist here. Just that I feel if we are going to explore some of the more terrifying aspects of nature, we need to look in the mirror. Because if a consensus were taken right here, right now of all living beings globally as to what is among the most terrifying creatures among us, I’m sure we’d appear on that list.

If you enjoyed this closer-than-kissing-cousins segment of Nightmarish Nature on Horrifying Humans, please check out past segments:

Vampires Among Us

Perilous Parenting

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Freaky Fungus

Worrisome Wasps

Cannibalism

Terrifying Tardigrades

Reindeer Give Pause

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Komodo Dragons

Zombie Snails

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Original Creations

Werewolf-ing It Well, Part 3 by Jennifer Weigel

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Continuing our junkyard dawg werewolf story from the previous two St. Patrick’s Days… Here are Part 1 from 2022 and Part 2 from 2023 if you want to catch up.


Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel

So apparently it really was my lucky day at that suburban gas mart last St. Patrick’s Day. I got the mother lode of all Scratchers. I hit it big time. I had no real idea of what that meant, but it looked promising. Maybe I could get a Cadillac to tour Route 66 AND a cabin in the woods… But who was gonna drive?

Now apparently you can’t just cash these things in at the register. You have to mail them in or something. Why does life have to be so complicated? Anything involving those good for nothing mailmen has to be rigged or part of some larger conspiracy, I’m sure. But I pocketed my prize and made some plans. I couldn’t rely on old Sal not to just pocket my prize for himself; he wasn’t the sort that would let me have my dream. Or even understood that I had dreams beyond just chasing rabbits (though those are the best).

The next full moon I whined and howled at Sal to take me in to work with him. Sal just patted me on the head. Didn’t even offer a treat or nothing. Seriously, I had to get out of there, this suburban situation was the pits. I couldn’t do another year of it, watching my life tick away. So, when that didn’t work, I gently grabbed my Scratchers ticket like I was retrieving a very important slipper and slunk over and hid in his truck under that ratty blanket he kept in the back.

I managed to creep into the junkyard office and hide there while Sal was sleeping on the job. Those mastiffs nearly ratted me out, but fortunately they were chained up, and they weren’t all that bright anyway. Just growled a string of profanities at my cur form, like I hadn’t heard that before. Anyway, I waited it out and before long I heard Monty’s car pull up, rattling like the dilapidated Honda Civic held together with duct tape that it was. Sal’s truck pulled off, spitting gravel and exhaust in its wake as always.

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Dusk was setting in and I could feel the change starting. Nothing to do for it, guess I’d just have to run with it then. Monty had settled in as usual, watching bad porn and staring off into nothing. He still smelled like day old jelly donuts (the kind you can get a whole bag for $1) and coffee, as usual. Good boy Monty, how I’ve missed you and the occasional stale donut, even if it wasn’t a cookie. I approached him from behind and coughed.

Monty nearly leapt out of his skin. He blanched as if he’d seen a ghost before he managed to find his voice. “Shit, that wasn’t a dream,” he stammered, pointing. As he realized I meant him no harm, he regained his composure and even offered me a day-old jelly donut, which I accepted gratefully. I think he could tell that my tail would have been wagging if I’d still had one at that time.

“Lucky, what in all of hell are you doing here?” he asked, eyes still wide as saucers. “And for Christ’s sake, put on some pants.” He offered up the spare uniform that still just hung from the hook behind the door. I guess in my fervor to talk to him I’d forgotten to dress. Oops.

Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel

“Monty, old friend, I need a favor,” I barked. I handed him the Scratchers. His eyes grew wider.

“Shit, where’d you get this?” That’s a lot of money,” Monty exclaimed. “They’ve been looking for the winner of this one…”

“I’d stashed it in my hidey spot under the place where the carpet peels up after I got it… It’s our ticket out of here,” I retorted. “You don’t think I want to spend the rest of my days laying around suburbia with tightwad treat-skimping Sal do you?”

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“I suppose not,” Monty quipped. “But what’d you have in mind?”

“You and me, we could get a cabin in the woods, live off the land. Get out of this shit-hole. Hell, you could even get a real car, one of those big-boat Cadillacs with the wide tongue-lolling windows…”

“Um, you could do a lot more than that with this, but I catch your drift. And I want out of this hellhole too. But, like…? I mean, you aren’t gonna bite me or anything, or get all weird.” Monty fidgeted like he did when he was nervous. “I guess I knew but didn’t want to admit it – dude you’re a freak show.”

“Gee thanks. Trust me, being a dog is better any day except that you can’t drive or get your own treats and crap,” I retorted. “And if was gonna bite you I’d have done so a long time ago. It doesn’t work that way, anyway. Seriously, you don’t believe all that werewolf mumbo jumbo on Netflix too, do you?”

Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Werewolf transformation digital art by Jennifer Weigel

Monty shook his head tentatively. “I don’t really know what to believe. I mean, I guess I always knew you were like this, but I didn’t let it sink in.”

“Well, get over it and help me get my dream cabin,” I snipped. “Seriously don’t just stand there gawking all night; I put on clothes and everything. I only have tonight.”

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“You mean before you turn back into a dog?” Monty asked.

I nodded, still licking the jelly off my lips.

“But I thought werewolf changes happened every full moon,” Monty asked.

“I do, but these Scratchers change like the wind. We gotta cash in quick,” I growled. “And if you try to turn on me, I’ll hunt you down. That’s OUR ticket outta here.”

“No, no, I get it,” Monty said. “I’ll make good on it, I promise. I can follow up on the ticket first thing tomorrow; it says to mail it in or go to the courthouse or something. I’ll figure it out… I guess you can stay with me until we get it sorted, but you have to be really quiet about it. I’m not supposed to have pets in that crap apartment for all that a little dog hair would be an improvement.”

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Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

Check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s writing here at Jennifer Weigel Words.

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Lighter than Dark

LTD: The Firing Squad

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So you’ve just gotten the pink slip.

Work is letting you go. Amidst all of the layoffs, you just didn’t make the cut. Well, I’m sorry to say, but it behooves you to go quietly. And quickly. Because you don’t want to stick around for the Firing Squad…

In fact, if your HR department is outsourced to one of those Eldritch contractors like so many are nowadays, get outta dodge NOW. Like seriously. Leave the lunch you brought in the fridge; leave the personal items in and on and around your desk. Hell, leave your coat and purse if you are not near them. You can get new ones. Maybe one of your ex-coworkers can help you retrieve your stuff later. Because you need to get out while the getting is still good.

The Firing Squad is coming.

And if they so much as see a pink slip anywhere in your immediate vicinity, it is complete and total annihilation…

Ready Aim Fire...  The Firing Squad appears digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Ready Aim Fire… The Firing Squad appears
Wing Shot...  The Firing Squad takes aim digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Wing Shot… The Firing Squad takes aim
Sharp Shooter...  You're a goner! digital art by Jennifer Weigel
Sharp Shooter… You’re a goner!

I warned you… Those Eldritch contractor HR departments mean business… It’s like going to the Library. Or making Jell-O.

Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

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