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The Green Coil

By Paul Stansbury

“The jungle is the green coil. It squeezes the blood from your heart, the air from your lungs and the humanity from your soul,” intoned Silvio, the guide, trying to sound dramatic. It was the end of the first day up the Tuichi River and the adventure vacation group had set up camp in a small clearing on the bank. “You go 100 meters into the green labyrinth without a guide and you’re lost – never find your way back.”

After supper, back in their tent, Ash pulled some weed from his backpack. “Scored this yuyo from a guy in Rurrenabaque,” he said. After lighting a joint, he inhaled a slow, deep breath, then held it out to his tentmate.

“Naw,” replied Lynda. “You don’t know what kind of weird crap they put in that stuff. You’re crazy to smoke that junk.”

“Gotta do something to make this carnival ride tolerable,” Ash whined. “So far, this little soiree has been a bust. We sit in a damn boat all day, camp in some dumpy clearing with the ants and mosquitoes. Added to that, we have to listen to the guide go on and on and on about the ecosystem and not getting lost in the woods. I’m ready for some excitement.”


“What’d you expect? This is the Amazon, not a tube ride at the amusement park.”

“Well, I expected more than this,” Ash grumbled. “Remember what the ad said?” He read from a damp, folded brochure fished from a shirt pocket. “Make your own camp, catch your own food, swim and wash in rivers or lakes and carry all your own belongings. Visit pristine parts of the jungle by the river Tuichi. Learn survival secrets from authentic Indian guides. What a pile!”

“Finish that up, Ash. Silvio is fixing supper.”

The dark descended rapidly. After they ate their meal of mystery fish Silvio had caught in the river and some rice and beans, Lynda and Ash zipped their tent against the onslaught of mosquitos. Ash lit up another joint. He insisted the smoke from his yuyo would keep the bloodsucking vermin at bay.

Even second-hand, the yuyo’s potent vapor made Lynda’s head grow woozy. Soon, she drifted off to sleep only to be awakened by the sound of thrashing inside their tent. She fumbled for her flashlight and pointed in the direction of the noise.  She saw Ash disappearing through the open tent flap. Pulling her boots on, Lynda scurried out after him, sweeping the flashlight around the camp. Ash was at the far edge of the clearing. He looked back once, eyes wild, before leaping into the jungle. Forgetting the guide’s warnings, Lynda followed. Two steps in and the jungle swallowed them up.


“Ash!” Lynda called, as she stumbled through the roots and vines in the black folds of the jungle. Plant fronds, razor sharp, tore her flesh. Stumbling forward, she rubbed her stinging cheek, then turned the flashlight on her fingers. They were covered in blood. She continued searching for some time until she found Ash crumpled on the jungle floor.

* * *

In the afternoon on their third day of wandering, they came upon the Indios, wraith thin with angular faces and round black eyes. Bones pierced their ears and noses.  Painted bands of white covered their frail bodies. Occasional blotches of ochre completed the decorations.

The Indios led Lynda and Ash further into the jungle until they arrived at a small village. It was little more than a small patch of dirt circled by crudely lashed lean-tos. In the center was a smoldering firepit. Lynda and Ash stood silently as the Indios placed green fronds on the coals, sending a thick column of smoke up through the jungle mantel. An old woman disappeared into one of the huts and returned with a sparse meal of berries and dried meat which she offered to them. They devoured the offerings ravenously while the Indios watched intently.

“Think maybe we could get something to drink around here?” asked Ash, still gnawing on a wad of meat.


The Indios remained silent.

“Don’t think they speak English,” said Lynda.

“You’re probably right. Think there’s a chance they’ll take us back to Silvio?” he asked.

“I doubt they can be of help getting us anywhere except maybe to the river.”

“That’d be a start. How far away from the river do you think we are?”


“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Lynda. “Hell, we’ve been wandering around for three days now. Could ‘a been going in circles or heading deep into the wild. No telling how close we are to the river.”

“So, how we gonna get them to help us?”

Lynda sat quietly for a moment, then got on her knees. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered, smoothing out a patch of dirt with her hand. She traced two wavy lines with her forefinger. Raising up, she placed her hand on Ash’s shoulder, then on her own chest. “You take us to the river?” she asked, extending his arm outward, then pointing to the wavy lines

The Indios sat motionless.

“Yeah! To the river,” pleaded Ash, furiously jabbing his finger at the wavy lines.


The Indios placed more wood on the fire. Soon the flames burned brightly. They stood, facing the jungle, chanting solemnly in their cryptic tongue. “Hwarro,” they called out over and over, arms outstretched as if in supplication.

“Waddya think that’s about?” asked Ash. “I hope they ain’t planning to eat us.”

“Shut up, Ash. If they were gonna eat us, we’d be dead already.”

The chant continued for some time until without warning the Indios fell silent. A tall, gaunt figure, with features like the Indios, emerged from the jungle carrying a large communal bowl. He held it out. One by one, the Indios each took a drink. Then they held the bowl out to Ash.

He looked at Lynda. “What should I do?”


“You asked for something to drink, didn’t you?” she barked. “Better not risk getting these folks upset. Besides, if you can smoke yuyo, you sure as hell can take a sip of whatever that stuff is.”

“I guess you’re right,” conceded Ash. He took the bowl in his shaking hands and took a sip. Grimacing, he held the bowl out for Lynda, who brought it to her lips. The bitter concoction squirmed down her throat.

The Indios began to sway, murmuring in raspy whispers, “Hwarro… Hwarro… Hwarro…”  Lynda sensed a deeper, more sinister underlying drone. It seeped into her soul. The Indios slumped to the ground. They thrashed in the amber glow of the fire, arms melting into their torsos, legs fusing together.

Lynda’s head was reeling. The Indios’ flesh began to quiver as they thrust their heads back, jaws straining open, cheeks splitting at the corners of their mouths. From each, a sleek glistening snake emerged, leaving behind a flaccid sheath of skin.  The snakes writhed in a knotted coil at her feet. Fangs sank deep into her legs. Lynda now grimly realized the tall figure was the Hwarro of the Indios’ chanting.

 “Lynda,” his loathsome voice throbbed in her head. His black eyes focused on her. Hwarro held out his bony hands, beckoning.


“Run Ash!” Lynda screamed, bolting into the jungle. She ran headlong into the black, thrashing through the vegetation. It tore her flesh and snarled her feet. Fangs bit at her. She could hear Ash behind stumbling, gasping for air between shrieks of pain.

“Lynda,” Hwarro whispered in her soul.

* * *

Unaware of time and distance, Lynda ran until she thought her lungs would burst. Finally, she reached the river, lurching free from the constriction of the jungle vegetation. Having grown accustomed to the perpetual dusk inside the green labyrinth, the sun blinded her eyes. Legs and arms, whether from fatigue or venom, refuse to obey and she fell headlong to the rocks and sand at the water’s edge.

Lynda thought she could hear Ash whimpering. “Ash, are you there?” Lynda attempted to call out. Her voice was a feeble whisper. Lying on the riverbank, unable to move, she stared at the sand, realizing it wasn’t really sandy colored. She could see all the grains in their infinite spectrum of colors nestled around the stones and the rotting bits of wood. Across the river, where it bowed away from the sand bar, the rainforest rose up to meet the sky. The river had cut an angry swath in the red soil at its base, exposing boulders and roots.


“Lynda,” Hwarro laughed.

She couldn’t hear Ash’s whimpers anymore. “Ash,” she rasped again.

Before passing out, she heard Hwarro’s evil, beckoning whisper, “Lynda.”

She awoke to excruciating pain. Ants swarmed over her, biting, and tearing at her flesh. She knew they would carry the pieces back to their colony to feed their larvae. She wondered how long it would it take to strip the meat clean from her bones. “Ash,” she rasped. No answer. Lynda was relieved. She knew the ants were devouring him also and she didn’t want to see it. She wondered if Hwarro whispered to the ants, calling their names?

Lynda could no longer feel her arms or legs. It made no difference. She slithered forward, shedding what remained of her bleeding husk of skin. Her scales glistened in the sun.


Joining Ash, they glided into the dense vegetation of the jungle.

There, in the shadows, Hwarro hummed to her his soft lullaby of welcome.


Paul Stansbury is a lifelong native of Kentucky. He is the author of Inversion – Not Your Ordinary Stories; Inversion II – Creatures, Fairies, and Haints, Oh My!; Inversion III – The Lighter Shades of Greys; and Down By the Creek – Ripples and Reflections. His speculative fiction stories have appeared in a number of print anthologies as well as a variety of online publications. Now retired, he lives in Danville, Kentucky.


Original Creations

Goblins, a Short Story by Jennifer Weigel



Revisiting the creepy faux fingernail art, I made a couple of goblins… They then ransacked my house. This is their story, as told by myself, Jennifer Weigel.

More faux fingernail art from Jennifer Weigel, featuring wide smiling mouth with red sparkly lipstick and faux fingernail teeth on textured green goblins background
More faux fingernail art from Jennifer Weigel

So it finally happened. My art came to life. And of course it couldn’t be one of the cute pretty pictures, like the sparkly unicorns or the cat drawings. No it had to be the faux fingernail goblins… Ugh. I first encountered them in the bathroom.

I see England.
I see France.
I see someone’s underpants!

Of course you do, it’s the bathroom. That’s totally the room for that. Remind me again why I decided to paint these little green monsters. Ugh. From there, they moved on to the kitchen.

We so tricksy.
We so sly.
We eats all the cherry pie!


Did they have to eat ALL the cherry pie? Like seriously. But what can I expect, they’re goblins and they’re in the house. Ugh. And honestly they’re just plain gross.

I pick my friend.
I pick nose.
Just whose nose, do you suppose?

Get away from me you obnoxious, vile creatures! I can pick my own nose on my own time, thank you. Ugh. Oh, great, now they’re tearing up the living room.

We be goblins.
We be green.
We be making quite a scene!

No, not the sofa! Now there are little bits of fabric and stuffing flying everywhere. I can see you’re all too pleased with yourselves. Nasty critters. Ugh. Why can’t you just leave?


I do mischief.
I do bad.
This best party ever had!

I did NOT agree to host your little shindig. Stop tearing up my house! All I know is, it’s about time you moved on to wreak havoc elsewhere. Ugh. Just get out – NOW!

We scare the cat.
We scare you.
We scare all, we care not who!

I may have brought these dreadful disgusting demons into being seeing as how I painted them, but I have no idea what brought them to life or why. What kind of cosmic miscalculation caused this? I need to know so I can avoid it in the future. Ugh. Goblins… need I say more?

Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or on her writing, fine art, and conceptual projects websites.

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 Creations

Faux Fingernails Art by Jennifer Weigel



So I had some faux fingernails leftover from a costume based modeling session, from posing as Cruella De Vil for the figure drawing group… Here’s a teaser from that modeling session, before the horrible creepy art generation in the aftermath. If you zoom in tight enough, you can see my tiger fingernails, which kept trying to fall off constantly, reminding me why I hate trying to wear the things and why they (d)evolved into art.

Cruella De Vil modeling for figure drawing
Cruella De Vil modeling for figure drawing

My version of Cruella De Vil channels Glenn Close or the original animated character more than the recent Emma Stone variant, but they’re all delightfully devilish.

Anyway, I made this series of “Tiger Sharks” prominently featuring the same tiger faux fingernails, including those used in the Cruella De Vil costume. These “Tiger Sharks” also incorporated some pirate fingernails, because sharks and pirates are tight.

Pirate skeleton hand with faux fingernails
Pirate skeleton hand with faux fingernails

I couldn’t think of a better use for the pirate fingernails than adding them to this skeletal hand. I never actually wore these, they were too hard to come up with something to go with. But I do love the Beetlejuice vibe with the stripes…

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.

Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or on her writing, fine art, and conceptual projects websites.

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Original Series

Nightmarish Nature: Something Rotten, Flesh in Flowers



This time on Nightmarish Nature we will again explore some of the more fetid fungi and plants, this time focusing on those that imitate rotten flesh in order to attract flies. Among the best known of these are the Stinkhorn and the Corpse Lily or Corpse Flower. The Language of Flowers be damned, literally…


Many of the fungi in the Stinkhorn family erupt in mushrooms that reek of rotten flesh and sprout from a white sort of egg sac in various forms, the common type being a phallus like structure with a white body and olive head. The Beefsteak fungus resembles, well, a cut of beef oozing blood. And some mushroom bodies of the Clathrus genus bloom in elaborate lattice structures or devil’s tooth and devil’s fingers that resemble terrifying alien beings. These odoriferous fetid fungi grow in decaying wood material and use their stinky attributes to attract flies and other insects which will then spread the spores from their fruiting bodies. They truly look like something out of an outer space or aquatic nightmare.

Some various fungi that can reek of rotten flesh, drawing by Jennifer Weigel.
Some various fungi that can reek of rotten flesh.


Some plants also utilize pungent putrid odors to attract flies and other insects, in part to aid in the pollination and dissemination but also to attract insect matter for their own needs, to absorb the insects for valuable nutrients that they cannot otherwise obtain. The largest flowers in the world bear many of these characteristics, also being among the stinkiest. And some pitcher plants mimic rotten flesh to attract flies upon which they “feed”.

The Titan Arum of Sumatra and Indonesia is a plant that over time produces a huge flower somewhat resembling a calla lily but larger as the plant body stores enough energy to do so. While Calla Lilies are often used to symbolize rebirth and resurrection and can be associated with death, often in a funerary setting, the huge Titan Arum does more than that, strongly mimicking decaying flesh in order to attract flies. These flowers can grow to almost 8-feet tall and bloom for only about three days before wilting; they are a huge draw at botanic gardens when flowering because of the rare nature of the event and the remarkable presence that the flower has, in both size and smell. The US. Botanic Gardens has a page devoted to this plant here, where you can even track previous blooms.

Titan Arum flower as drawn by Jennifer Weigel.
Titan Arum flower as drawn by Jennifer Weigel.

Another noteworthy flowering plant is Rafflesia, a parasitic flower native to Indonesia and Malaysia that feeds on the liana vine and grows from a sprouting body bud into a huge flower over the course of five years. Its flowers, once finally formed, can grow to almost a meter across and resembles something out of a horror film. These too smell of death and decay to attract flies in order to cross-pollinate. You can learn more about these unusual plants on this video from Real Science here.

Rafflesia flower as drawn by Jennifer Weigel.
Rafflesia flower as drawn by Jennifer Weigel.

If you’ve enjoyed this segment of Nightmarish Nature, feel free to check out some previous here:

Vampires Among Us


Perilous Parenting

Freaky Fungus

Worrisome Wasps


Terrifying Tardigrades


Reindeer Give Pause

Komodo Dragons

Zombie Snails

Horrifying Humans

Giants Among Spiders


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