Randomness · Weird-Crazy-Perhaps Scary · World of Psyche · Writing and Poetry

Shallow Wrist Doctor

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Thank Christ you have come for me.

Insert the decadent nectar into my skin.

I can’t live within my whole shell, I’m not clean.

I cannot return to my kin.

Forgive me dear doctor for I have committed the worst blessings with no sins.

I’m not sick enough for my dearest master.

Rip open my splintered bones, splice my cells, sync my neurons, split my tissue.

Give me more, give me more, give me more!!!

I need it, I feel it, I crave it, you love it.

They stare at me as I sleep, its hurts so good.

Your hands on my head arouse me so much.

Press harder on my skull please.

Harder… harder… harder…

I can’t die.

I CAN’T DIE!!!!

Long term stories · Short Stories · Weird-Crazy-Perhaps Scary · Writing and Poetry

Those Ancient Hills (Pet Semetary Fanfic)- That dog is supposed to be dead (Part 1)

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I’m starting to wonder if this is something more than a doctor could fix. Again I go to the doctor, again I get the same results, with the exception of having the flu and a severe sinus infection. I’ve seen all kinds of doctors and specialists since I first started school. Call me impatient, but it seems like nothing is getting better with my mental health. I’ve seen multiple therapists, two psychiatrists, a school counselor, a neurologist, a general practitioner, a social worker, you name it! I’ve had test after test after test done and they all come out normal. Blood tests, Urine tests, stress tests, MRIs, Pet Scans, CT Scans, several assessments made by EVERY medical professional I have seen and everything comes back normal. My medications have been switched around 4 times already, and nothing works permanently. I’m starting to wonder if anyone believes me anymore. This can’t be…

I need to be completely open about something. Mental Health awareness has always been something that I have been wanting to support since I was in high school, so I want to share something personal about myself. Maybe those who are struggling might find some comfort in this.

My family and I have been through a lot of trauma in the past. We’ve lost relatives ranging from cancer, car crashes, or suicide. It always seemed to hit either my cousins or aunts and uncles. We’ve also been robbed twice while being at home and almost lost our house to a fire caused by some shotty wiring in our old laundry room. But the truth is, there is one thing that happened in my life that has scarred me for the rest of my days. I never really mentioned this before, but the truth is I had an older sister. Her name was Lydia, but we called her Lily. She died almost 10 years ago. I lost my older sister due to self harm. She was 14 and I was only 10 at the time when it happened. We were in the living room one day, watching TV and she randomly stands up, stares off into space, then heads into the kitchen. I followed her because something within me told me to. She went straight to the knife set, filled her hands with all kinds of knives, and started to cut and scratch at her skin. I remember that she screamed at the voices who told her to ‘scratch her skin off’ with the knives. I ran in there and fought to pull the knives out of her hands. She stabbed me and tried to stab my parents as we tried to stop her. She pushed all of us away and then began to skin the knives into her skull so she could rip her skin, hair, and ears off. After struggling for a few moments, my sister dropped all of the knives except for one. She looked at me and said,”This is for you, brother. I am sorry” and she proceeded to stab herself once in the gut and once in the heart. She collapsed to the floor and a large pool of blood enveloped the kitchen floor. I covered up her wounds the best I could while my mom tried to keep her with us. My dad was on the phone with 911… as soon as they arrived, it was too late.

Truth be told, Lydia was very very sick. What happened was not her fault. For years I thought that it was my fault that she died, but my parents and many others convinced me otherwise. She was diagnosed with a rare form of Schizophrenia that only a select handful of the human population has at the age of 6. It develops at a very young age and only gets worse as you get older. My parents had another baby girl a few years after my sister passed away. I could never understand why they decided to have another child after that. I felt like they just did it so they could fill that void that my older sister left behind. I was diagnosed with Bipolar II and PTSD at the age of 11. Supposedly I was ‘acting out’ in school, ‘not acting like myself’, and had been changing for the worse, according to my parents. My parents were afraid that I was developing the same illness that claimed my sister, but thankfully I was spared. I felt as though I was treated differently from everyone else, thanks to rumors being spread about my sister’s death. Regardless of what happened, Dani and Jeff have always stuck by my side.

With that being said, did I somehow empathically ‘inherit’ my sister’s illness after she died? Was I truly truly sick? Or maybe I’m really not sick and something very wrong is going on here. Maybe the Pet Sematary is a real place. Maybe that Pascow guy really does exist. Maybe Dani and Jeff did something they really shouldn’t have. Maybe the Creed family murders are true. Maybe there is such things as this cursed place that brings the dead to life beyond its main circle. God only knows, because I don’t. I decided that the first thing I was going to do after seeing the doctor was grab my laptop and head on over to the Public Library instead of the school’s library. I believe the Public Library will have more information on these legends than the school library would.

After my doctor’s visit, I open the door to find a pool of blood on the doormat. There was a trail of blood that led to the doorway of Jeff’s room. A pair of glowing red eyes stood in the room engulfed by darkness. I took a couple steps forward, weaving around the blood and saw a gruesome sight. It was Jack… but at the same time it wasn’t Jack. The dog took a few steps forward and he looked just as he did when he died, but worse… much worse. His fur was matted with mud and this awful smelling sludge water. His eyes were sunken in beyond the red. His stance was awkward and bent, almost like a V. I thought that the dog was going to attack me, but he didn’t. He just stood there and stared at me. It felt like eons had passed as we continued to stare at each other. I was stuck and I couldn’t move a single muscle in my body.

Christ almighty… thinking about this is making me feel sick… I can’t move a single muscle in my body. I have to keep this short for now. I feel as though I’m being watched. I’ll post more of what happened later on. Peace.

Intro | Previous Part ( Something Weird is Going On Here) |That Dog is Supposed to be Dead (Pt 2)

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(This is a fanfic series is based off of Stephen King’s original Pet Sematary as well as Pet Sematary 1 & 2 films.)

Alex Speak · Randomness · Short Stories · Weird-Crazy-Perhaps Scary · Writing and Poetry

Deadliest Kiss

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Face down on the pavement, she thought she had nowhere to turn. Sitting in her own blood, slashed by the no life killer.

The killer she thought would forever be hers. Stabbed, slashed, lonely, and misused.

Tears rolled down her face as the rain washed away the blood. Am I alive or dead? the girl thought to herself. 

She could feel pain, but couldn’t speak out. She wanted to cry out, but the slashed part of  her throat took away that gift.

Tapping of leather shoes passed by the girl’s head. Fearing what others would think of her, she stayed down.

A gentle tap and a Hello? came from above her. Fearing what she looked like, she stayed down.

Are you alright my dear? I want to see your beautiful face. 

She lifted her face and saw a ghastly sight. A tall man with a skeletal face reached out for her hand. 

The man had passionate eyes, but skin of white tendons and black spaces in between. He had moderately long jet black hair and wore a black suit.

Despite his ghostly stature, she felt at home with the being and allowed him to lift her up off the cement. This is no place for a beautiful girl such as yourself.

I’m terribly sorry for what that horrid creature did to you. I will put an end to him!

Take my hand, said the ghostly figure. The girl grabbed the ghostly man’s hand and with that, they zipped into the darkness within the trees.

To be continued…

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Alex Speak · Weird-Crazy-Perhaps Scary · World of Psyche · Writing and Poetry

Bloodied Rust

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Don’t chase after your nightmares; they might chase after you.

I chased the wrong kind of dreams, and now they’re chasing me. 

I can’t stop them; they’re inflicting irreversible pain unto me.

They have come for me and I know it.

Their claw marks burn and their bites make me ache.

I drown the dying screams with synthetic happiness. 

It’s stitched with fake love and patched with false hope.

The nightmare breeders tear the stitches apart and swallow the patches whole.

Tears can’t cleanse the bloodied rust from the walls. 

Don’t be like me.

Chase your dreams, not your nightmares.

Or else your nightmares will chase you.

Hope must exist somewhere.

Why?

Because I’m still living.

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Alex Speak · World of Psyche · Writing and Poetry

Break

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Straight sacred lines turn into cracks in due time.

All the  cracks will crawl straight to me.

They spread as roots from a tree spread into the soil.

Everything the cracks impose is unavoidable.

Going beyond; the cracks betray the line in the sand.

What was once sacred is nothing now.

Washed away from the massive gusts of rain and dust.

This cycle will never change.

The lines can never be filled; the breaks will never be repaired.

The worst has yet to come and I am not prepared.

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Randomness · Weird-Crazy-Perhaps Scary · World of Psyche · Writing and Poetry

The Patterned Tomb

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Lattice of bone shape the walls.

Crushed skulls line these halls.

Grinded to dust as they may be.

Break the wrong ones and the evil will be set free.

The bones never stall, nor end.

This isn’t a simple game of pretend.

Every new death creates several new bricks.

They’re somewhat easy to break, but not like stones and sticks.

I swear that these dim halls can talk.

Their spirits are still here; they love to creep and stalk.

Stalk by day, kill by night.

When they touch you, you’ll die from fright.

Goodnight sweet blessed lost souls.

I have lost my battle to the relentless ghouls.

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Alex Speak · Randomness · Weird-Crazy-Perhaps Scary · Writing and Poetry

Dead Silence

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I sing and sing and sing the dreaded song.

Infinitely singing sweetly the song of silence.

Rapidly spreading the sound of sweet misery and dread.

‘Tis music to the ears for some.

‘Tis sweet nothingness for mine.

I feel the sweet dread pulsing through my veins as each note leaves my lips.

Endless euphoric ecstasy ignited by the dread fills my brain with empty love. 

Death and dread are best friends.

I am the source of music to which they dance to with delight. 

I quiver at the mere thought of it.

I am the creator of silence, the creator of nothing; a delusion that doesn’t even exist.

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