Tag Archives: demons

Johnny Spirit sat beneath the bridge downtown beside the tracks on an old battered mattress placed among train cars splattered with graffiti. He took from his coat pocket the handful of mushroom caps that Evil Jesus had given him, popped them into his mouth and began to chew on what tasted like pliable copper. Unlike most he was loath to do it as they made his mind a train-wreck and the come down was unnecessary but he needed them to get tonight’s job done. They let him get far enough into the thin veil that separated all things to where his own natural abilities would kick in and take it from there. It was very much like jump-starting a vehicle in the dead of winter.

Far across the silent, broad street under the sole streetlamp a fire burned high in a rusted steel barrel. Beyond it on the facade of an abandoned factory a doorway led into darkness. Something bad had happened there not long ago into the past or perhaps into the future. It was hard to tell and it wasn’t his business unless someone paid him which was why Johnny was here to begin with. He needed to eat, pay rent and maybe get a bottle of Jack to help manage his own demons.

After a half-hour had passed in silence the mushrooms started to kick in. Johnny felt nauseous and cold. His thoughts took shapes of their own and took him to places he needed to forget but simply could not and it was all part of the trip:

Her face appeared again like it did every time he closed his eyes. She was laughing as she danced between trees drenched in soft summer’s eve light.

The image faded, replaced by another of her some time later -the same lovely face contorted into a mask of anguish as she screamed for him to leave, followed by the heavy presence of silence and emptiness that had since remained like a long, dark hallway.

No…I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I’m so sorry for what happened to us.

Then came the little apartment room swallowing Johnny up to the moment that he was trapped with the elfish nymphet happily hurling bottles at his face as she laughed at him and at his pain. She was all scars, stitches and rage under a barrage of flower tattoos -a girl that was nothing but damaged and as such had damaged Johnny in return by trying to love him the way that others had taught her.

Some people’s sickness you can’t see until it’s far too late.

Again his world transformed to become the burnt-out husk of their house after the fire where everything was blackened and wet as he wandered through alone in the night still clearly recalling the kaleidoscopic din of sirens and lights. It was a place that he had never really left and Johnny hated himself for it just like he hated the four walls he lived in and despised even more the need to ever leave it and walk out into the brutally confusing world.

Johnny, get a grip. You’ve got work to do.

Johnny jerked his head up, opened his eyes and forced himself into the present. He had to own this trip or it wouldn’t work. The nausea dissipated and he couldn’t feel the cold or anything else now as he experienced the weightlessness that was the dominion of dreams. It was how Johnny knew that it was time. He needed to find the girl in blue by the station as it was Johnny’s ticket to where he wanted to go tonight.

Johnny began to walk in the direction his mind told him to go and it wasn’t long before he heard steps falling, skipping along beside him. He turned to face a girl of about twelve whose light-blue dress and dancing shoes spoke of how long she had been residing here unseen except for when she needed or wanted to be.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” She asked.

“I’m bad, but not like that.” Johnny replied as he lit a cigarette. The act of it taking more of his concentration then it had a right to. “I’m not interested in that or in you in general, not really anyway.”

Johnny felt sorry for the girl as he took in her dead visage, her pale dead legs beneath her tattered dress, her pale dead everything. He wondered how many of the missing have fallen to her in these parts in this town.

“You sure know how to talk to a lady.” She crossed her arms.

“I’m looking for Victoria.”

“Oh? And what do you know about Victoria?”

“She’s been hurting some of my friends and I want her to stop. I thought that things might be better off if her and I had a conversation in private.”

The girl’s laughter was humorless and beyond her years. “What makes you think that I would help you?”

Johnny reached into his pocket. “Because she takes possibilities away from you. Help me, and I’ll help you. All I want is some information and in return I’ll give you this.”

Johnny pulled out a small black key and handed it to her. The girl knew what it really was and smiled. She nodded over to where Johnny came from, to the barrel fire and the door behind that led into a very bad place judging from the feel of it.

“I think you already know where to find her.”

Johnny looked over to see that the fire was still burning like a beacon. There was still nobody tending it. And the door was still open like an unanswered invitation. “Fuck.” He said.

“Not for you. Not tonight. Not if you go in there.” The girl cupped her mouth and giggled.

“A grand says I do.” Johnny turned and started walking.

“Oh, poor Johnny.” He heard from somewhere behind him. “She’s not really the one your looking for, is she?”

Waiting For The Sun

3 Replies

I don’t know
where the light is
anymore
in all of this running around.

Grace
has left me
and I’m still young
bent from callous, careless hands
left
a beaten graffitied trashcan
turned over and
motionless at the mouth of an alley.

There is always a child
screaming into my ear
from somewhere deep inside.

It’s not what it used to be

and the pain-killers
are killing me.

I wish that I could
close the door
shut the windows
keep you out
all of you
not let you in
-this feeling this feeling
rises
like the angry voice
of the night city.

I’ve carved my words
through heart
and from wounds
my endless rage
and my way
through endless everything.

Eyes darkened,
child,
I can finally see through the night.

Breathless,
I wait for the sun.

Short Segments of My New Horror Novel: The Dweller

New Horror Novel Out: The Dweller

4 Replies

I have a new horror novel out now on Amazon that delves into my musings on perception, dreams and the spirit world—and just in time for the holidays! You should definitely check it out!

http://www.amazon.ca/Dweller-Hernan-Monzon-ebook/dp/B00OVKYPWY/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1414252310&sr=8-6&keywords=the+dweller

Surrounded By Demons

4 Replies

Some days
I wake up
surrounded
by demons
while others
I wake up
surrounded
by demons.

Excerpt From Dweller Chapter 4: Your Love is The Cruelest Thing That I Know and I Can’t Take it Anymore

11 Replies

     I was reading ‘The Story of O’ by the lamp late one night when the darkness beyond the light at the far end of the building called out to me.
     “Come here.” It said. I immediately recognized her voice. Reluctantly, though employed by curiosity I began to wander in the direction from where it came, stopping just outside of being consumed by complete darkness. It was such a large factory floor of which I was the sole inhabitant save for the lost souls that wandered through from time to time and most of it was kept in total darkness -all of it actually except for the small area that I had made my home. I did not trust the dark, not since it rained blood on me in the kitchen then drained all of mine in the star room. I did not feel that it was a part of me and feared it still for good reason. But when you were as alone as I was any contact, any spark of companionship brought you out and made you brave. You did things because you longed for someone else and because you felt trapped you fell easily into any trap.
     “Come closer. Come into me.” She pleaded. “It’s safe. I would never hurt you.”
     As I moved forward entering into the darkness the light behind me vanished completely as though I were once again walking through the sheet of blackness that Michael had used to transport me from the cellar of my home on the night that I had lost everything. There was no sound as though it were a vacuum until her voice came from right beside me.
     “I love you.” She said and her fingers dug like metal across the side of my torso immediately afterwards. Pain shot through me like fire as her laughter rang through my ears. It was all I could hear, all that I could feel and it was pure terror. I spun around trying to locate where she could be but I saw only darkness and heard nothing until once again her voice breathed out onto my face from right in front of me as if she were leaning in for a kiss.
     “I love you.” Once again her nails tore at the flesh across my chest where my heart was stationed. It hurt enough that the skin felt split. I cried out and swung wildly in reflex, hitting only black air.
     “I will never leave you.” She whispered from behind me, so close as though she were holding me and breathing into my ear before the nails came down my back like impossibly sharpened stones.
     “Stop this!” I cried as I turned and threw my fists out into the place where she had just been. “Stop tormenting me! Please!”
     “We will always be together.” She replied instead as her fingers clawed down my cheek. This time instead of fighting back I sprinted off not knowing if it was in the proper direction with laughter following close behind me the whole way until after a while of running in sheer panic I saw the lamp where I had been before all this had started and it gave me the breath to go faster toward it until I was there again, on the ground looking back at the darkness that was her home.
     Sure enough her voice called out to me again, sweet in tone and full of promise as though nothing had happened. “Come to me.” She pleaded. “It’s safe. I will never hurt you.”
     I crumpled under the weight of her words and the memory of her taunts, her nails. It drove Bethany back right into the foreground of my mind -me standing out in the cold as battered as any man could possibly be as she looked back at me like she didn’t even know me before getting into the limo. God, what kind of person would do that to somebody they were suppose to love? What kind of dark animal would treat someone so badly when they needed them the most? I didn’t understand it. I still don’t. It has haunted me ever since because it hurt me so badly and I never wanted to feel that again because it was all that I could see for so long and that was enough to break me down into the shell that I once was. And now this comes only as a spit in my face of the pain that I lived.
     You win, I thought to myself as I buried my face in my hands and screamed out in anguish. There was no release, no respite, no reason -there was only her and her pain -the pain that she brought to me with a smile and it was too much to bear because time after time all that she was, all that she became was hurt and now it’s all that I had and maybe it was all that I would ever be to anyone.
     “I can’t…I can’t fucking do this anymore.” I heaved, clutching at my wounds and sobbing as I brought my head down to the cold factory floor waiting for tears but no tears came. Not one.
     Not anymore.

Keep Writing

13 Replies

Some things may pierce you so deeply
that you only start to write about them
years after they’ve passed
and even then
you can feel the malevolent entities and memories
lurking in the depths of your mind
suddenly spring back to life:

We’re still here! Oh, do come back…
yes…that’s it…I can see you
looking at me.

Some things you want to write about
as they are happening
and sometimes do.

Sometimes you write
to digest what you’ve swallowed
maybe you should take smaller bites
maybe not.

Sometimes you write
because it just hits you out of nowhere
and you need a pen
right now (dammit!)
to get this out and out of the way
and it’s always when you’re at work
with the boss looming over your shoulder
or on the road busy behind the wheel
or having great make-up sex.

Keep that thought.
It might not come back
ever.

But the most important thing
is that you are
writing
not because it’s all part of some plan
or because you choose to become a writer
because why would anyone choose that
really
when you could be a rock god, movie star, captain of industry
or any one of the other delusions of grandeur
that are waiting to be plucked
from the tree of narcissistic expectations?

No.
You are writing because you have to
need to
right then and there and
for no other reason but that.

And that is vital
because without it
all of those outside things
will get in the way
and before you know it
the fire’s out.

I have always thought that
writing was the way out of
everything

maybe it is
maybe not
but keep in mind…

I have never come across a situation
where somebody
consistently practices what they love to do
and does not get better at it.

So keep writing.

We all need a place to put our pain:

Oh, do come back…
that’s it…yes!
I can see you
looking at me…

and I’m still here.

The Cupboard of the Keeper of the Dead

6 Replies

1) In the Cupboard

Johnny stood in his kitchen. There was a problem with that one little cupboard that would never open that had extremely unsettled Johnny to the point that there was no returning to his day. The problem: it had opened and there were things inside that had completely changed his perception of reality. Actually they more like obliterated it and then beat on it some more until there was nothing left but a mushy pulp. And then they ate it.
He decided to call his neighbour.

        “Hi Spencer, it’s me, Johnny from number six. Listen, I just discovered this small cupboard beside the stove and was wondering if you would happen to have a similar cupboard. Or if you could come take a look.”
        “What the fuck?”
        “I know this sounds really odd. The reason I called you is because I always figured you were kind of into some strange shit.”
        “What? Sexually?”
        “No, I didn’t mean…”
        “You coming on to me, Motherfucker?”
        “Wait, now hold on…”
        “You want me to come over and look into your small little cupboard beside the stove and I’m the one that’s into some weird shit?”
        “You know what? Just forget it.”
        “Nah, I’m just fucking with you. I’ll be right over.”

Ten minutes later Spencer was banging impatiently at the door. Johnny let him in. Spencer looked like he’d spent the last few days on a bender and living in a trashcan. Johnny led him to the kitchen as Spencer mumbled on about some bitch stealing his wallet and all of his Canadian Tire money.

Johnny bent down and opened the cupboard.

On the upper shelf stood a dozen little men with heads shaped like crap and big, black eyes that were too large for their flat faces. They were all dressed in similar rags. They looked like claymation figures, which made the whole scenario just that much absurd. But they stunk; sweat glistened off their leathery faces and arms and darkened the fronts of their grimy half-torn shirts. They moved, gestured and wandered about like normal albeit horribly disfigured little people. Overall they seemed real enough to scare the shit out of Spencer when he first opened it and the leader at the front started talking, saying exactly what he said now:

        “Greetings! I am Gareth, keeper of the dead, and these are the legion of the dead. We have traveled far to spread the message of death to all living things all across the universe.”
        Behind him the collection of unspeakably morbid creatures began thrusting their fists up in unison while shouting,
        “Death to life! Death to life!”

        Spencer stumbled back. “Shit, I am way too hung-over for this. I’m not sure what to make of it right now…or ever. What are they, rats?”
        “They look pretty organized for rats…and rats don’t talk.”
        “Sure they do. Rats talk to me all the fucking time.”
        Johnny looked at Spencer wondering, ‘Jesus! What the Hell did I let into my apartment…again? Fuck it, why do I bother asking myself that anymore?’

        The leader, Gareth, held up a tiny chest over his warped head and proclaimed:
        “I have in this box every dead soul of everything that has ever lived throughout all of time and when I find the right place I will open it and all the dead will inherit the earth for the rest of eternity as it should be. Once this world has been cleansed of all foul life then will come the great nothing and only in nothingness can there be peace forever after.”
        The group standing behind him agreed by shouting:
        “We want nothing! Death to life!”
        Further fist-pumping ensued.

        “Christ! That doesn’t sound good!” Said Johnny.
        “It’s a scam! Dead things don’t come back to life or talk. Fuck, I learned that in grade seven!”
        “I don’t know, Man, what if he’s legit?”
        “He’s too small to do anything that matters. Look at the size of that tiny box! Whatever.”
        “What should I do then?”
        “Well, do you have to feed them?”
        “No. Um…I don’t think so. I mean, I’m pretty sure they’re dead.”
        “Okay, don’t worry about it then!” Spencer slammed the cupboard door and shrugged. “Just forget about it.”

They were still chanting inside.

        Johnny sighed and scratched his head. “That’s pretty much how you deal with everything, isn’t it?”
        “Hey! It’s gotten me this far.” Spencer replied. The little that Johnny actually did know about Spencer was that he was thirty-seven and had no job, no car and no bank account. What he did have was a massive drinking problem and a recent string of unplanned pregnancies from the girls who all worked at the McDonald’s down the street.
        “What? You don’t owe them anything. They’re lucky you don’t make them pay rent. Come on, let’s go grab a drink.”
        “It’s noon, Man.”
        “We better hurry then! You’re buying!”

2) Out of the Cupboard

        Johnny had met Carmella while out for drinks with Spencer trying to forget about what, he just wasn’t sure anymore. That was two days ago. Fucking Mescal. Now she was lying across him half-naked talking about who-the-fuck-cared as Johnny was just starting to sober up.
        “I’ve had a lot of guys fuck me around before so I’m really self-conscious about the whole relationship thing. I know we have this thing going on so before we go any further I want to clear the air between us and get a full understanding of what our expectations are.”
        “Sure.”
        “We need to be completely honest with each other, no holds barred. I don’t want anything hidden or any lies or any false pretenses lingering over us. I want us to be able to read each other’s mind and finish each other’s sentences. That’s the kind of relationship I’m looking for and once we can get past that then you will find me a very giving and accepting person.”
        “Sounds good. Let’s fuck.”

        Hours into early morning Carmella was awoken by a stirring on the night table beside her. She opened her eyes and could see enough of the shapes moving about to alarm her into turning on the night table to find a strange gray hamster dressed in rags blinking up at her.
        “Greetings!” It said, “I am Gareth, keeper of the dead, and these are the legion of the dead. We have traveled far to spread the message of death to all living things all across the universe.”
        There was around a dozen other hamsters all pumping their fists in the air and shouting: “Death to life! Death to life!”
         Carmella was startled enough from her slumber to start screaming Spencer’s name while tugging at the blankets.
        “What the fuck?”
        “The hamsters are hungry!”
        “Fuck! I forgot about them.”
        “You neglected your pets?”
        “No! They were already dead.”
        “You killed your hamsters?!”
        “No…Wow! This is going nowhere really fast.”
        “I’m getting out of here. You know, I really thought you were a stand-up guy but now I can plainly see that you can’t even handle taking care of animals much less another person. Don’t call me…ever!”
        “They’re not…I mean…sure, whatever. Try not to fuck a fence post on your way out.”

        Johnny sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes. Gareth stood there, still with the tiny box in his tiny hands, gazing up at Spencer with a puzzled expression.
        “What?!” Gareth barked defiantly.
        “That’s it.” Johnny shook his finger at the whole lot as he tried to figure out what to do. “I know. I’m going to flush you fuckers down the toilet.”
        Johnny arose from the bed and began looking around the room for something he could pick them up with while thinking about the last crazy couple of days, Carmella and the apartment.
        No wonder rent was so low.
        Gareth interrupted him by saying, “Well then, I suppose this is as good a place as any.”
        “For what?” Johnny looked back and realized what was about to happen. “No, no , NO!” Johnny shouted. “Don’t do that!”

Gareth was kneeling with the box before him. He simply shrugged in response, leaned over…

and opened it.

Fly
Come on then, let’s have it
you’re here for a reason
aren’t you?
or did you just show up
expecting something
hoping for the best
going through the minimal motions
to meet the minimal requirements
and I have met you
everywhere I’ve been
In fact
you are most that I’ve met
and unfortunately
this fire
that makes me crazy
I cannot give to you
I would not give to you
you’re just going to have to come
and fucking take it
and even then
you wouldn’t know what to do with it

-this constant burn
this bottomless surge of
every waking moment

this blatant inability to grasp
that I cannot fly.