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This week's #SSWkly is the final 2-part story I'm going to be writing. There will be two(?) more short stories and then I'm done with them, for the time being anyway. Regardless, this is the final 2 parter. So for now, please enjoy this first part on a story that is inspired by current events around the nation:
A Demon for The Season
Yellow....the walls were painted yellow. Shit I thought, whole house is completely painted yellow, who in the name of all interior decorating would ever allow this kind of eyesore to stand?! I didn't sweart it though, didn't think twice, the house itself was spectacular, but this was a measure of just how delusional people can be. For someone to want to bask in yellow all the time, they had to be the cheeriest mother fucker on the planet, or they were blinder than Stevie Wonder in a blackhole, tossed into an abyss of gutter eels and oil slicks.
"As you can see, there is over 4800 sq. ft. of room, including three baths, four bedrooms, and a kitchen to absolutely die for! I know for being one man this may seem like a great deal of house, but in this location, for the price the owners are asking,mi just couldn't leave it out of the circulation for a potential home. Now I'm sure the quirky colors are a bit of an acquired taste, but it really is going for a steal, and really John, for the amount of money you'd be saving on a house even half this size, you could paint the whole thing over thrice."
"That is true..." I really muttered this out, still being blinded by the yellow. Even brown was appealing over this cheery disaster. "Still, I don't see why it's going for so cheap. $200,000? That seems like a joke! Is the plumbing on its last legs? Does the foundation lay right smack dab on a fault line? Are there mutant rats in the attic? Explain to me how this could possibly be the right price? Even with the shitty paint job, it doesn't hurt the value....even the backyard is immaculate!"
"Mr. Bodolf, this is simply the asking price, there's nothing the matter with the house, the locations has come up greatly, but the house is older. Quite frankly it is a grand deal on space, but the owners simply want to part with the home. As you can see they are 99% moved out! and the house has been on the market for well-over a year. They just want to be done with it, they just want to move on, and though they are taking a slight loss...they want the right person to have the home. This house is you Mr. Bodolf! It has all the amenities you've wand, the view is nothing short of spectacular, and look! There is even an outdoor study, that rather portly second garage was turned into an amazing little house, not even a study. It even has working heat and water and built-in bookshelves in the walls!"
This seemed a bit odd...why would you need to escape such a a huge house? Apparently the owners were a young, brazen couple, perhaps looking to downsize after certain decisions were made,mand they could've echoed calls back-and-forth from one-another. Then again...even in a space of this size, an area that is yours is still a must-have.
"Fine, I'll take it, I mean, thank you Rose, I appreciate you finding me this house. It's rather large for just me, but I think I can make it work. Something to grow into. I'll be on-tour these upcoming months, so I'll have to invest in a. Good security system, or have someone housesit while I'm out. Still, I'll have to do soemthing so but this....ick, yellow paint job."
I was to sure if I was making the right decision, but I needed a house, and this one war right when I wanted to end up: a place I'd retire from in a few years, right smack-dab in the middle of a surburban wonderland. The closest neighbor was sixty yards away, and they weren't sitting right in too of you like the city. This house was immense, like if it inhaled, it would suffocate the world. Still, I was certain thwt this was the right idea, the best choice for me. I could've looked further out, I could've made more decisions, but I was going to have make it quickly, I had to go on-tours doing public speeches throughout the country, and this was something I needed to have done before I left.
Nevertheless, I purchased the home, and was moved in slightly earlier than expected, now feeling the dank, foreboding corridors were empty and cold, especially without the realtor's cheery smile,almost cartoonish in nature to be lighting up the rooms...it became ostensibly apparent that I was on an island of plywood and insulation. I wasn't due to be leaving on tour for another two weeks, where I would have to incriminate myself as a guest speaker for several symposiums on varied topics, while signing articles, and pamphlets published that year.
I hated being one of the libel people, always panhandling to elite children, and superior professors, always having to travel in their ilk, but I didn't mind the pay, so like anything else, it was a job. The house, now a light feral color in every room, some white here-and-there, looked more appealing thanthat brash yellow, as though honey and piss had a love-child on the walls. The house was beginning to feel like something I could call home. It was looking better and better with every piece of my personality was placed within its hallowed halls. Like a dormitory, filling it with my stuff made it have the impression that it's my home, even it it wasn't. It was beautiful now little I knew of myself, now I learned that what made me who I was, who I am, was the filling up of space.
The house filled up, and became a congestion of safety and self. At the end of the day, however; my home was now mine, and I had to rot in it for the next two weeks....alone. This wasn't my first home, this wasn't even my first move. Aaron Boldolf, now living on the outskirts of my dream locale, in a house that is too good to be true. It seemed like such a dream to me, it is like I was outside myself. The house was ginormous, a bleak vessel, furnished but a simple skeleton right beneath. It was something I was never used to, but I had not needed to stay there for long.
On the road, I was out like Keuroac, except flying first-class with a couple of single-serving wine glasses to keep me calm. I hated flying, that's why I used to get nice and inebriated, waking up in timelines I didn't know existed. Chasing the sun, or running from the moon, I had been thrown for a psychological thrill ride for the past two years. It was never the case before, when I was a bit younger, it was thrilling to catch a ride out to a unique city, running about like a ghoul with frequent flier miles, racking up points towards my death.
I barely remember hitting my own bed, I was exhausted from the flight, and the bumpy cab drive up the drive to the secluded manor was not beneficial for my lower lumbar. Pushing dreams to fast-forward, I wanted to skip the trailers, and head to REM without haste. If I've been slightly morer awake, if I had been able to differentiate fantasy from reality, I've been able to notice the psycopathic clown sitting just above my bed, watching me with an avid interest. I did notice it when it plopped down right next to me on the bed stirring me awake, and laughing as clowns do: terrifyingly with malice.
"Oh! A new host to play! I'm Albert! Albert Salmon Sulinkzy III, your designated apparition....well, spirit, yes! Demonic spirit, since I'm not just some scratch on the record player of life!"
I awoke, quite promptly like hell children waking me up on All Hallow's Eve. The damned thing was quite eccentric: purple clown jumpsuit, makeup that was smeared like a pastel canvas after being thrown Iinto a dryer, and cotton candy hair rolled up in dreadlocks of licorice.
"Who the fuck are you, and why the hell are you in my bedroom?!"
"Oh! We hsve a potty mouth, 'bout time I show that sort of shit, isn't going to fly!"
The clown reached into his overgrown parachute pants, and pulled out a rubber chicken, slapping me in the face,fully waking me up, leaving red scratch marks about my cheeks. Before I could open my mouth to soeak, a bottle of dish soap came up and was shoved deep down my throat, and squeezed until a quarter was left. I was puking up bubbles as fast as the soap could go down. It poured from the sides of my slippery mouth, and I had to shove the clown off me, as I puked in the side of the bed.
"Wha? How! Just who are you?!!!" I screamed between lurching hurls. The clown simply laughed, and jumped to the front of the bed. I felt a fright so cold and chilly, that my legs stiffened up like boars, laying in my bed, the beating if my frilled heart pounded deep in my ears. The clown stared at me, and slithered at the end of the king sized bed.
"I told you! Albert Salmon Sulinkzy III! I'm here make sure your life is a joyous living hell! I'll always be in the back of your mind, and I'll always be certain to wake you up fifteen minutes before your alarm just to torture you....I'm rather evil; aren't I?! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!" The clown cackled for an eternity.
I shook the sound from my head, spitting up soap bubbles thwt began to float up in demonic forms, almost manifesting into this world with horns of ivory, and Ichor-stained faces, bubbling with an ooze from hell.
I awoke in sweats, thinking like so many would that it was all just a dream from too little sleep, and too much work, but I was wrong. It was all real, it was all too real. The discharge of soap suds from my mouth durning that morning's brush and rinse was enough out doubt in my rational heart. Something told me that Albert Salmon Sulinkzy III would return to haunt my life again. How childish to believe in such feeble-minded treachery...but a balloon animal up the arse was worth a trip to the medium.
The weeks went by, and I didn't really pay mind to the whole crazy ghost clown, I've had dreams before that nearly sent me off the edges of buildings, or winding up on the better end of a rifle barrel. But I figured it was nothing as obscure as the clown, Albert....hmph! Albert, what a fucking joke...what a cocktease of a nightmare that this was happening. I was mostly in the sky for the weeks since the incident, but now I was at the end of my business cycle, a whole two weeks I'd be home, and like a baby without a blanket to hide under, I was dreading going back to the home that I've invested too much time, money, and sanity into the new home. Come tomorrow, it'd be just me, and the clown....I could already hear the cackling commencing in the back of my mind, like a poisoned bee stinger that I simply couldn't reach.
Incognito, I crept around my house like a wounded banshee, scared of any turn being that wretched clown face again. It wanted me gone, and I would've happily obliged, but I was wrapped up in a house I had barely owned for a month, and the market was it nessarily the greatest one out there. I was lucky to even get the house for what I had, and I see now why the place was a steal. Albert, he just hated people, it was obvious, a demonic clown that saw me as nothing more than a victim of circumstances, and to be tortured for it's own amusement. He wasn't much more than a hinderance, a dangerous one thwt could actually touch me, hurt me, and that made meanest ion reality....what else could be done, and what other monsters lurked in the edges of that thinly-lined fabric of reality?
The night of the second encounter with Albert Salmon Sulinkzy came in the middle of the two weeks
I had off. It was beginning to feel like I was really just having a terrible psychosomatic dream, that everything happening was from being overtired, and the olfactory and phantom tastes of soap were from a lucid dream. I was sleeping like a baby, happily snoring gently in a heavenly peace, when a loud horn honking at rapid speed awoken me, my heart leaped out of my chest, and it panted like a mad dog all the back into my rib cage, as that purple-suited freak stared down with eyes of maddening yellow, piercing deep into my soul.
"OooooHhhhoooohoooohoooo! Looks lime you were sleeping like a little itty-bitty angel, a cherub with rosy red cheeks! Well I got news for you buddy-boy! This isn't going to stand! Not when we have so much time to play!!!! AHHAHAHAHAHA!!!" The honking continued, and kept going until my ears felt like they were bleeding, capillaries bursting from every orifice. I tried to cover my ears, but my arms were tied down with feet and feet of colorful handkerchiefs. I screamed from the agonizing pain, the torment of madness, and Albert standing over me with a balloon sword, smacking me and whipping me in the face, throwing me further into chaos, as with the other hand he continued to squeeze that absurd horn!
I then felt the balloon sword stab through my stomach...but that couldn't be, balloons don't pierce-I looked down, and there was a cutlass sticking through my stomach, disemboweling me....but how. The horn still went, but I didn't hear it anymore. I howled in pain, and began shaking with cold sweats tickling my back. Then, I awoke, drenched in more seat than a body could possibly hold. Something poked my stomach...I looked down, and sticking just a millimeter into my gut, was an orange plastic cocktail sword. Laughter seemed to echo in the back of my mind, Albert.....I could still hear that demon's cackling howl.
Later that week, I began looking up information on the house, delving deeper than your everyday really websites. I began searching the dark net, looking for occult information, looking up killer clowns, ghostly apparitions, and anything with the name Albert Salmon Sulinkzy III. Nothing came up on the name, and with the most recent events, killer clowns were the number 1 search. But then I saw something come up when I became more descriptive: Poltergeist. The term was familiar, it meant noisy ghost in German, and had always been one of those words that once it was defined in your head, it was there for life. I didn't believe that this creature was a poltergeist, but as I searched onward,mi discovered that the clown haunting me was something truly demonic.
Under the category of poltergeist on an international ghost directory that was backed by. Ultimate sources....I discovered I was dealing with a full on demonic spirit. It wasn't a full-fledged poltergeist, but an actual manifestation of something deeper, and darker in the world. It did not mention now to get the cretin out of the house, not some sage/exorcism steps 1,2,3 deal to get rid of it...but I was now armed, prepared for the next confrontation. This was my pisspoor decision, the house called to me, and for all that and more, I had to get rid of Alfred Salmon Sulinkzy III, and this site gave me the necessary tools to be rid of the bastard. Little did I know, do-it-yourself exorcisms aren't really the best kept strategy for befalling demonic clowns.
Thank you for reading the Malacast Editorial. Part 2 of this final 2-part story will be up next week, then there's three more stories I believe, and we we done with Short Story Weekly. I'll have the last one finished just in time,mive been writing it for a while, and I'll be really pressing for the story to be finished by the end of the month. If it cannot be finished,mi will have it up whenever possible, but I'm certain I'm going to put the story regardless. Part 2 will be up late next week.
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