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Chris Dean sent us in a bit of short story mastery. The imagination of our own souls is what drives this one – Jim

Silly Fool

The room had a metal door and no window. Harsh white light spilled over gray surfaces. Two bunk beds hung from the wall and what appeared to be a toilet and sink sat beyond them. Photographs taped to the wall and ceiling attested the cell’s occupant was a family man. He was up top, snoring.

The young man sat on the bottom bunk. Hard. Everything about this place was hard and cold. He might have to spend years in places like this. Decades. He buried his face in his hands and stifled a sob.

Why had he killed her? How could he have acted that way? An image of a deathly-white body at the bottom of the stairs flashed and he shuddered. Poor Susan. She hadn’t deserved to die that way.

The man in the top bunk woke and dangled his legs. His orange jumpsuit was dirty. He brushed back a dark tangle of hair. “You know what time it is?”

The young man was suffering from arrest-shock. The concept of time escaped him.

“We eat at five. How long till five? You know?”

The young man panted, “It might be five.”

“It’s not five or we’d be eating. Name’s Paul. I’m here for violating a court order. I lost my job and couldn’t pay child support. The judge is a hard ass. She gave me four months.”

“I’m Fern Harper.”

“You just get here?”

“I just got arrested. They said it was for parking tickets.” But how could that be true? The police didn’t arrest you for parking tickets. Someone had found her body and they were just playing him. Any minute, they would have him in a room and they’d be screaming her name at him.

“I read in the paper, the city has zero tolerance now.”

“What?” Fern’s heart skipped.

“Since they’re broke, the city started busting people with more than a hundred dollars in tickets. You just got to pay the fine.”

“You read this in the newspaper.”

“Sure enough.”

This was fantastic. “I think I owe about two hundred. I can pay it.” He could get out of there and dispose of the corpse. Like he should have done earlier. Leaving Susan that way was terribly untidy.

There was a clink and a little window opened in the door. “Harper?”

He went to the door and leaned over. “I’m Fern Harper.”

The guard held a clipboard. “You have one hundred and eighty-six dollars in unpaid fines. Court costs’re sixty-five which comes to a total of two fifty-one. You had a debit card in your procession at the time of your arrest. You have the option to pay with that card.”

“I can?”

The clipboard with attached pen pushed through the window. “Just put your pin number down and sign at the bottom.”

Fern followed instructions. He passed the clipboard back. “How long will I have to wait?”

“Bout an hour.”

Two hours later, he was walking back to the Torino. For one terrifying instant he imagined that he had lost his keys in jail. His nerves were just shot. Worrying about getting caught, and the guilt. He had to get rid of that body. Then, he would be able to relax a little.

It would be hell moving her body and he drove home slowly. He felt miserable. Why had he done it? Had she done something so wrong that he had the right to do what he did? He gripped the steering wheel and cursed. That was the problem! He didn’t really know the truth.

He passed the little park, her spot, only a few blocks from the house. His hands trembled. Fern hated feeling so helpless. She was gone and he would never get his answers. Why hadn’t he questioned her before he threw her down the stairs? 

If A: Susan was a tramp who did everyone in the office, then Fern’s actions had been justified. If B: She was a sneaky bitch who had a password on her phone and disappeared for hours at a time without permission, then again: he was justified in losing his temper. This whole thing—all of it!—it was her fault. She was a silly little fool!

Yes, he was justified, anyone could see that. That the stairs were present at the time of the incident was coincidental and beyond Fern’s control. He regretted that the stairs had caused her death. But it wasn’t his fault. In a court of law, Fern was certain he would be exonerated, if it ever came to that.

He pulled into the driveway. Damn, the house seemed quiet now. He would miss her, wouldn’t he? He would miss the sex. God, she had a nice body. What a waste.

He needed a drink and went inside. The whole house was deadly quiet. Rushing through the foyer and into the hall, he averted his gaze from the gruesome sight on the bottom landing. He ran to the kitchen and gulped Windsor straight from the bottle.

The world grew dark outside the windows while he sat at the table and decided how to dispose of his dead girlfriend. The whiskey helped. His plan involved a chain saw and several large plastic bags, neither of which he had. He would have to wait until morning to go to a hardware store. This meant Fern could A: step over her to go sleep upstairs, or B: sleep on the couch, ten feet from a dead body.

He cradled a water glass full of booze. He found his feet and shuffled down the dark hall. Curious, he guessed. He wanted to know how much it would shock him. It didn’t really shock him at all. He only felt loss.

Fern couldn’t see her face. Her dress was a tumble of blue and green, but she was laying under that cabinet almost as if she were only sleeping. He blew out a breath; the cabinet was an antique, filled with her mother’s knitting and her father’s military memorabilia. It was like Fern had brought them all together again. Maybe her death was destiny.

He shuffled closer, staring. Her body still looked good. If he was a perv he would be doing her right now. There was no way he could do that, but she sure looked good.

Something happened and he froze. Had her leg moved? Had he imagined—? He leaned closer. Oh god, she was breathing!

He dropped his glass. She shifted away from the cabinet and propped back against the wall. Dark strings of hair hung over her swollen cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You could have killed me, Fern. All because of your petty, petty jealously.” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You never mean it! This time you went too far.”

He edged into the living room. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m calling the police.”

“I can’t let you do that.” He searched in the dark until he found the log on the hearth. Perfect weight and it even had a little nub to hold on one side. He hefted it. Perfect.

“You’re not going to stop me.”

“I can’t let you hurt me.” He raised the log and stalked toward the stairs.

The cabinet door—it was ajar. She had gotten in it and there was something in her hand. Her father’s gun. Fern began to beg, beg for his life, but something in her eyes told him he was wasting his breath. She wanted to do this. The hammer cocked back and the revolver fired. It made a very loud noise inside of the house.

Chris Dean travels western America as a truck driver and this writer adores Yellowstone, the Klamath, and anyplace sequoias touch the sky. Chris’ work has appeared in Aurora Wolf, Page & Spine, and other publications.

Original Creations

Yearning, Poem by Jennifer Weigel based on Andrew Wyeth’s Christina’s World

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I have recently begun exploring Fibonacci poetry and penned this as a consideration for the Lovecraftian terrors while considering that Kansas was once an inland sea. It is also based on the beloved and enigmatic painting of Christina’s World by Andrew Wyeth.


She
stares
ahead;
the landscape
yawns ever further
spanning the distance between us
and that deep unthinkable unknowable abyss.
This plain was once an inland sea,
a vast ocean filled
with terrors
beyond
our
ken.

Time
stands
still for
none of us.
It marches towards
our inevitable decay.
Our fragile flesh succumbs to the horror of the void,
cradling our fallen progeny
and yearning for home.
Christina,
hurry
back.
Now.

It
could
happen
anywhere…
The farmhouse beckons
from its horizon vantage point,
thousands of blades of grass groping like tiny tendrils.
The ancestors grasping at straws,
hoping to evade
inevitable
collapse,
their
loss.

Stars
fall.
Panic
sounds beyond
our comprehension.
Their silent screams fall on deaf ears.
We cannot interpret their guttural languages
or understand their diminutive cries
this far from the tide.
Slumbering
depths still
snore
here.

The
ebb
and flow
roil and churn
with water’s rhythms,
caress the expanse of grasses
covering this now fragile and forsaken ocean.
The landscape gapes and stretches wide,
reaching to grab hold
of her dress,
earthbound.
Lost
her.

Christina's World Lost digitally manipulated photograph of a field of grass by Jennifer Weigel from her Reversals series
Christina’s World Lost: digitally manipulated photograph by Jennifer Weigel from her Reversals series

I hope you enjoyed this jaunt through Christina’s World into pure terror. Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website. Or go on a trip to the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve.

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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Original Series

Nightmarish Nature: Monstrous Mimicry

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So what better follow up to Invisibles Among Us in Nightmarish Nature than Monstrous Mimicry? Further exploring the leaps that critters will go to in order to eat and not be eaten. This time we’re focusing on those creatures that want to intentionally be mistaken for one another.

Insects Pretending to Be Insects

This is a pretty common subgroup in the mimicry set. Featuring such celebrities as the Viceroy Butterfly, which looks an awful lot like the Monarch. Why? Because everyone knows Monarch Butterflies taste nasty and cause indigestion. Duh? Though it appears the Viceroy took further cues from this and is not all that tasty in its own right either. Dual reinforcement is totally the way to go – it tells predators not to eat the yucky butterflies regardless. But some bugs go a bit further in this, imitating one another to seek out food or protection. Various wasps, spiders, beetles, and even some caterpillars impersonate ants for access to their nest or because ants aren’t as appetizing as their buggy counterparts to much of anything outside of the myrmecophagous crowd (as shared before, here’s a fun diversion with True Facts if you have no idea), though some also have nefarious plans in mind. And similarly, the female photoris fireflies imitate other firefly signals luring smaller males to try to mate with them where they are instead eaten.

Aunt Ant introducing herself
Aunt Bee

Kind of Weird Mimicry: Insects Pretending to Be Animals

Moths are pretty tasty, as far as many birds and small mammals are concerned, so several of them find ways to appear less appetizing. Using mimicry in their larval form, they may try to look specifically like bird scat or even like snakes to drive away predators, with elaborate displays designed to reinforce their fakir statuses. And once they emerge as moths, they continue these trends, with different species flashing eye spots to look like owls, snakes, cats, and a myriad of other animals most of their predators don’t want to tangle with. But other insects pretend to be larger animals too, with some beetles and others producing noises often associated with predator, typically towards the same end – to deter those who might otherwise eat them.

Caterpillar with thought bubble I'm a snake
Hiss. Boo. Go away!

Animals Pretending to Be Animals

Similarly some animals will mimic others. Snakes may resemble one other, as seen in the Milk versus King versus Coral Snakes and the popular rhyme, Red with Black is safe for Jack or venom lack, but Red with Yellow kills a fellow for all that it isn’t 100% accurate on the Red-Yellow end (better to err on the side of caution than not – so assume they are deadly). Fish and octopuses will imitate other fish for protection status or to conceal opportunistic predatory behaviors. And lots of animals will mimic the sounds others make, though Lyrebirds tend to take the cake in this, incorporating the vocalizations into mating rituals and more.

Octopus with speech bubble "I'm a fish"
No octopussy here

Really Weird Mimicry: Animals Pretending to Be Insects

Some of the weirdest mimicry comes out in animals pretending to be insects or small fish, where a predator will flick its strangely formed tongue that looks like a fish or water nymph to draw in more tiny critters that feel safe with their own, only to find themselves snapped up as dinner. Snapping turtles are notorious for this, disguising themselves in the muck to make their big asses less obvious and reinforce the ruse. Even some snakes do this.

Turtle with thought bubble I'm fishin
Worm-baited lure

Weirder Still

Then there are things that pretend to be plants. Like orchid mantises. Or sea slugs that look like anemones (some of which eat anemones and have stingers to match). I mentioned a few of these in the Invisibles Among Us segment last time, because some are highly specialized to look like very specific things and others just aren’t. Essentially, nature loves to play dress up and be confusing and adaptive. It’s like Halloween year round. And who can really argue with that?

Orchid Mantis mimicry with speech bubble "I'm an alien"
This is just about right.

Here’s a fun video from Animalogic exploring some of these themes. And feel free to check out more Nightmarish Nature here.

Vampires Among Us

Perilous Parenting

Freaky Fungus

Worrisome Wasps

Cannibalism

Terrifying Tardigrades

Reindeer Give Pause

Komodo Dragons

Zombie Snails

Horrifying Humans

Giants Among Spiders

Flesh in Flowers

Assassin Fashion

Baby Bomb

Orca Antics

Creepy Spider Facts

Screwed Up Screwworms

Scads of Scat

Starvation Diet

Invisibles Among Us

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Original Creations

Sinking Prose Poem by Jennifer Weigel

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This prose poem considers sinking into self, how ongoing struggles with mental health and well-being have led me to take actions that reinforce the patterns therein, especially regarding depression and existential angst, succumbing to cycles that are familiar in their distress and unease. For these struggles are their own form of horror, and it can be difficult to break free of their constraints. I know I am not alone in this, and I have reflected upon some of these themes here before. My hope in sharing these experiences is that others may feel less isolated in their own similar struggles.


She withdrew further into herself, the deep, dark crevices of her psyche giving way to a dense thicket.  She felt secure.  In this protective barrier of thorns and stoicism, she hoped to heal from the heartache that gnawed at her being, to finally defeat the all-consuming sadness that controlled her will to live and consumed her joy.  She didn’t realize that hope cannot reside in such a dark realm, that she built her walls so impenetrable that no glimmers of light could work their way into her heart to blossom and grow there.  That by thusly retreating, she actually caged herself within and without, diving straight into the beast’s lair.  And it was hungry for more.

Drifting Photograph of road sediment by Jennifer Weigel
Drifting Photograph of road sediment by Jennifer Weigel
Morphing altered from Drifting photograph by Jennifer Weigel
Morphing altered from Drifting photograph by Jennifer Weigel
Sinking altered from Drifting photograph by Jennifer Weigel
Sinking altered from Drifting photograph by Jennifer Weigel

Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.

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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