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Cryptic Tales and News

Sonnet Sunday's: Dead Party

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  The creature’s opaque eyes search in bloodlust This is the time survival is a must It’s hunting to tear apart living skin I believe we’re paying for all the sin It knows that I am her and I’m alive Must do everything I can to survive The insanity. more than I can take Could this be from some government’s mistake From upstairs, I can hear the closing door It traces the footsteps across the From this metal box, I can hear the screams The creature devours my hopes and dreams How long will I be trapped in this steel cage Held bound up by this morbid monster’s rage It comes back smelling the air for my scent And now there’s a scraping sound on cement They’re now coming towards me, is this the end What in heaven can I do to defend They pound on the door trying to get in So scared I feel the quiver in my chin Hinges giving the door will soon be down One’s a mother, the other’s a damn clown I push the door to knock their balance off Then I da...
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Sonnet Sunday's: Bravery

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  The wind flows with blood-stopping wails Just like the ones in campfire tales Slowly, your heart starts to flutter Pounding like the wooden shutter Pause as you open the front door Walk right into cobwebs galore As you ascend the creaky stairs Boldly go where no one else dares Your steps stir up the dust so thick Proving to all you’re not afraid Venture to where the dead have stayed There is a room at the end Enter at your own risk, my friend Standing in the farthest corner A small girl dressed as a mourner You approach her ever so quaint Even though you’re about to faint See a portion of her charred face Causing your timid heart to race Black as it were, living coal Her cold eyes stare right through your soul Startled, you go down with a thump Darkness surrounds you as you slump
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Tales from the 13th “Accidents” (Where Bruises Go)

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              Keeping things in the family wasn’t that hard. While they lived upstairs, he had a nasty habit of falling down the winding stairs. He would take nasty falls, which always left him black and blue. The only reason Deanna ever took him to the doctor was due to school requirements. However, in the first grade, he would be hospitalized twice. Both of which were unique. The first time was just after he had chicken pox. He had just returned to school for the spring term, and the new and returning programs were coming back to television. One show, in particular, was his favorite of all time, Battle of the Planets. The same one that his mother used as a timer to count down to him dying from the watermelon.             It was coming back on that Monday afternoon, and he couldn’t wait to get back home. It had been off the air for the past two years, and he could barely...
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Sonnet Sunday's: Impending

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  He knows everything you secretly want You fake being an idiot servant Finding some cheap ways to extract money Keep it up, buddy, he finds it funny He’s exploring even your darkest sin A sinister smile, it’s time to begin Rancid black fluid oozing from your head Awakens you from slumber in your bed Everything you’ve done, he won’t be so kind The mirror shows that the dead are behind Backed up against the wall, sweat starts to form Welcome to the world where nothing’s the norm Scratching at the walls with your bloody nails See the succubus ingesting end trails Witnessing creatures never seen before You’re not going to believe what’s in store There will only be one thing that rings true The Boogeyman has come right for you
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Sonnet Sunday’s: The Fall of Axtona

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  From the castle keep, Lord Dourka sits on his throne Pondering all the horrors that he has been shown His blue-gray bloodshot eyes locked in a morbid stare Contemplating the fight with the sinister pair The evil has entrenched itself within his brain The demon whores look forward to the blood they drain Dourka would not stand for their wicked corruption His poor subjects became their choice of consumption The once bountiful land, now a desolate field The time has come for him to have sword and shield Before the battle, he is unable to rest With his armor on, he forsakes his father’s crest Once again, the wicked ones try to make a deal However, this time Dourka vowed they’d taste his steel In the blink of an eye, they lunge with their right claw Without hesitation, he grabs one by its jaw Tossing one aside, he impales the other But before the side, he swears he can see his brother He tells himself that it’s impossible that he’s dead Upon revie...
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Tales from the 13th: “Sometimes, faith steps in” (Where Bruises Go)

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When Eric was born, he was baptized in the Lutheran faith, as that was the faith of his father and his family. However, he spent the weekends with his maternal grandmother from the time he was three. She was a devout Catholic and would take him to church every Saturday at 5 pm. He didn’t know what was going on, and she told him to be quiet, as they were in a house of God. To keep him calm, she would give him her Rosary. It was broken, depending on how you looked at it, on the second decade, on the fourth bead, or the fourth decade after the seventh bead. When he finally learned how to recite the Rosary, he always took it as the fourth. It meant that he said the more extended partition first.             She wasn’t indoctrinating him; she just brought him to Mass and taught him that before bed, they said the Guardian Angel prayer and “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.” They would say that, and then do their exercises. They would raise th...
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Sonnet Sunday's: Killers

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    How is it that the guilty have more rights Then all the victims they put through such plights They say the punishment should be humane Did they do the same while they were insane Allowed to choose what would be their last meal Did the tormented ones get the same deal What kind of picture did the police find Yet to these pricks we’re supposed to be kind Giving them labels like they don’t belong Trying to reason what would cause their wrong Now we’re humane having lethal infection Where the hell were the victims’ protection Each one of these bastards deserves to die Far beyond an electric chair to fry They didn’t show mercy, why should we With murder, we need a brand-new decree It was committed by their own free will One, they viciously decided to kill They expect with their lives we should defend Pucker up, sweetheart, this is to the end Never will they hurt the ones we hold dear As long as we have something they fear
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Sonnet Sunday's: Neverending

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    I sit patiently by my beloved’s bedside And there I will remain with no one to confide She twitches in agony with each twist and turn It will not be long before she will start to burn Now, more dominant on her face are the freckles No longer does the handkerchief have red speckles I pray that I could ease her suffering and pain Her moans grow louder and are driving me insane Another red eruption, she calls out my name I know when I see her face, it won’t be the same I wipe away the fluid from her gentle cheek Knowing that the outcome will be horrid and bleak Her life is slowly leaving her emerald eyes Her smile never comes, no matter how hard she tries Her lungs struggle with each breath she attempts to take With each exhale, her whole body begins to shake The grief in my heart is too much for me to bear More so when I look in the pale horse rider’s stare I pick up the bottle of drink to calm me down But even that cannot end my ...
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Tales from the 13th "Denny" (Where Bruises Go)

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                            It was at the end of 1978, and the Caffertys were in the process of adopting the newest member of their family. Eric was excited as he would have a playmate, the parents’ other son. The two things that they knew were that the mother and father couldn’t afford to keep him, and that his parents were crackheads. They knew that the poor child was going to go through withdrawals, but other than his mother being a piece of shit, everything on the ultrasound was coming up aces for the child. Eric was thrilled to have a new sibling; he gave the child his prized toy car collection. Nearing a hundred cars in total, he used a gutted-out portable record player’s case to transport them.             Before they were to get Denny, they had a sit-down with the three of them. It was directed at Eric, as they saw him as the weakest link in this...
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Sonnet Sunday’s: Inevitable

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  A grove of weeping willows in decay The impending doom fills all with dismay Guarded by an ominous black steel gate It definitely knows no time or date Always gloomy is this foreboding place Such a relief to see an angel’s face From a distance, they’re imperceptible You’re welcome, for all are acceptable You can always find the ones you’re seeking Silence is golden for no one’s speaking Knowledge coming from the deep impressions None holding onto worldly possessions All shapes and sizes with the marbled mark Remember to leave before it gets dark Some visitors are often heard sobbing While the other choose to do some robbing The residents never have grunts or groans One day you’ll be in this garden of stones
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Sonnet Sunday's: The Black Death

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    It all started with the Mogul horde When they were mysteriously floored Throwing their dead right over the wall This act would be the start of it all All the way to Italy it came For history is never the same Way across Europe, it quickly spread Thousands of people would soon be dead Extending from the rat’s parasites The church leaders refused to give the Last Rites No one’s safe, not even the royals Each of them was marked with blackened boils Physicians at that time racked their brains How to put an end to all the pains Soon you will breathe your very last breath Finally succumbing to the black death Brought and dumped into an unmarked grave One more soul to be the reaper’s slave
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Tales from the 13th "If You're So Smart, Why Are You Failing" (Where Bruises Go)

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  Eric wasn’t a stupid kid, not by a long shot. He was tying his shoes and reciting the alphabet, both in English and in Sign Language, by the time he was four. There were several times when he became bored in class, as he had already learned what was happening in kindergarten. His teacher, Mrs. Harris, was a proud black woman, and it was the late 70s. One thing she didn’t like was the smart-ass white kid who shouldn’t have been in her class to begin with. However, he couldn’t skip a grade; he had to complete the curriculum. All this came to a head on a fateful day, when she brought in albums by various black artists. She had Earth, Wind, and Fire, Stevie Wonder, and Isaac Hayes, to name a few. Then it came time to present them to the class. She showed them to the class, mostly white and Hispanic kids, who they were. None of the kids knew who they were. Then she went to Isaac Hayes and asked if they knew who he was. Right away, Eric raised his hand enthusiastically. He knew that an...
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