The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Part one.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: at 8/20/2010 at 6:34AM

October Third, Year unknown, between the hours of eight and nine in the evening.
I don’t like the idea that I’m dead, but what the hell can you do about that, tonight’s just another night like any other. The way I conjure it, death has been good to me, granted for the life of me, I can’t remember how I died, or how long it’s been. I work this town at night, because that’s when I feel most alive, and that’s the best time to pick a fight, and believe me, I’ve got every right to want to.
It was a typical nocturne really, same kinds of stupid idiots trying to prove they are tough, sure their clothes change, but their song stays the same, and when they bump into me, they ain’t going to be singing no more, but how I was wrong about tonight scene, and in a way glad to be.
As far as I could tell, these two bozo nitwits were roughing up some dame in ways a broad should never be roughed up, and calling her things a lady should never be called. Lucky for her, her cries for a savior weren’t ignored, and if God weren’t willing, I’d be much obliged, if not indeed honored.
Now, I enjoy cracking skulls and breaking bones as much as the next man, but that just gets old, however tonight I was in the mood, and while I never fail to be verbose with these wannabe punks, as time goes by I learned me one simple truth: talking rarely works on unreasonable men. At all.
Much to my annoyance, before I could get word one in, they start yelling at me in some weird lingo I don’t know, if I had to guess, it might have been Spanish or Italian, with a little bit of what is called English nowadays, but to my reckoning, I don’t understand most of it, so the hell with it, what the worse they could do to me, kill me? I’m already one with the departed. Plus if they’re paying attention me, they sure ain’t paying any mind to the poor little ma’am.
Pardon me if I omit the violent details of the miniature skirmish, but I’m sure you’ll hear about them in the news programs and papers in the morning, I know I will. Once I dealt with the goons, the young miss is my only concern. I ask if she is alright, she nods, and after doing a lot of cursing at the two ill befallen heathens, she informs me that they did indeed intend to violate her in her now less than pristine condition, safe to say, I wasn’t too happy with the wannabes, and more needless to mention, I finished what I started with them.
                Sad to say, me and the law haven’t been on equal grounds for some time now, and while I wondered if only we could find a way of telling the truth without anyone knowing what actually happened, I’d be all for it, but a lot of things you deserve you never get, and some things you get that you don’t deserve.
                And like any fine “hero” goes after beating some hoods to death, I naturally introduced myself to my new acquaintance, whose name escapes me at the moment, so for now I’ll call her Jasmine Lavender, since that’s what she smelled like, I also recommended that if she had means to get us away before the 5-0 get here, we’d be better off. Thankfully she did. Granted I would have to drive, or at least attempt to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Part two.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me, I just write random things down)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/21/2010 at 12:09AM

October Third, Year unknown, nearing the ninth hour in the evening.

                 For an injured, grateful, roughed up woman, Jasmine didn’t seem to lose much of her fiery sass, more so about my horrible ability (or lack thereof) on how to drive an automatic, thank heavens I only knocked off the hood ornament, I hope. While I wasn’t too pleased with the idea, she told me to (although I do believe it was more of a order) drop her off at her place, and I ain’t no doctor, but I think she needed medical attention, but it was her car, and I find her request downright queer, and against my better judgment, I oblige Miss Lavender, granted only after I advised that she obtain a visit to a doctor, or a doctor to pay her a visit. She winced as she laughed at my request; making some remark about doctors doesn’t make house calls anymore, what’s the world coming to these days?
                As I escort her back to her tiny little place, Miss Lavender’s reason for wanting to come back was sure hellfire of a whopper reason to come here first: she has kids. Two as far as I could tell, and while they all look close enough together, clearly small detail indicate that they each had different fathers, not that it reflects anything on the young miss’s character, after all, no one is perfect, not even mothers, but I’d be damned to hell if I didn’t think they try, but sometimes that ain’t enough. It doesn’t take a Sherlock to figure out Jasmine’s profession, and from my reckoning, my guess the two goons just didn’t want to pay, my guess is she doesn’t choose to do this, but she has to. Damn shame.
                Now maybe it has something to do with what breed of man I was in life, or maybe its part of something that happened to me after I went kaput, but the winds outside this place howl a deep sinister howl, and the winds seem heavy with the pitch black darkness that even in this well lit room, blind me. Something big is going down. What I didn’t count on was that it was coming this way.
                With a crack as loud as thunder, the door comes apart like splintering bone, and the lead come raining in rapid succession without a wasted moment, my suit and I are being turned into Swiss cheese. And I really liked this suit. Whoever these guys were, they meant business, they all had matching uniforms, the upside was, they looked like they were dressed for a funeral, and too bad it would be their own. No one ruins my favorite suit, no one.
                While I was playing dead, the biggest of the bunch was quick to nab the sweet-yet-could-make-a-sailor-blush Miss Lavender. I heard a voice give an order to “get rid of the vermin”, and much to those “vermin’s” credit, they didn’t make it easy for the soon-to-be-no longer-breathing, I imagine it had to do with their hard life, and harsher environment, and while their mama might still be a child in many rights, she didn’t raise fools, clearly, they knew where to hide.
                Funny thing about being dead: you get the drop on a lot of people just by sheer shock surprise. These goombas turn awful white, very easy, like they’ve never seen a well ventilated man get back up before, well I guess for them it’ll be the last time they ever will. No mercy for people so eager and willing to hurt kids, by my count there is only three guys, almost don’t seem fair, they’re outnumbered.

Intermission:

Apocalypse for Feral Roses: Martian Mercurian From Terran Earth Colony Number 9!!!

Written By Jason A. S.

Started Writing on:  Friday, September 6th, 2015 at 6:49PM

Ended writing on: Friday, September 6th, 2015 at 6:58PM

 

Deep from within the depths of space, comes a terror unlike the which I have never seen until the just now, It came from that vast dark empty place to which we have no access to, it seeks pleasure in what it considers sustaining food. Barf! At the looming insanity!! Gag! At its formless shapelessness!! Be in awe of the terror that looms at your very door!!! Coming soon to a visumonitor near you.

 

The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Part three.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/21/2010 at 10:08PM

October Third, Year unknown, in between the hours of nine and ten.
                Gunfire, even silenced rings loud, hot lead stings sharp against my skin, if I were alive, I’d be screaming, but after awhile you ignore the pain, as its just weakness leaving the body. Oh not that I don’t feel it, it hurts like hell, but a little wound should never stop you from reaching your objective, even if its going to kill you.
                Hard strikes align with soft warm skin, blood billows from my nemeses, crimson ejaculations sprays across the walls and floor.  Flesh boils to burst, bones bend to break, the beast in me is awake, the shaded is howling for this. There will be blood tonight; it will rain from every inch of their damnable bodies, so much pleasure to be had from turning these goons to pulp. I. Just. Can’t. Help. Myself. HahAHAHAHAHahahah.
                It takes all my power to regain control myself after a long while, I gaze in horror at the remains scattered across the living room and kitchen, nothing even looks human anymore, oh sweet god in heaven, what happened, what did I do? And while I pondered all of this, it hit me: THE CHILDREN! WHERE ARE THEY?!
                 Terror grips firm at my heart, the walls seem to warp and collapse, my senses become over sharp, I can hear rapid heartbeats, I just need to follow the sound.
                I came to a door that was locked, I pounded on in, all I could hear were soft almost silent muffled shrieks, and I do rightly believe found Miss Lavenders’ offspring. It took some time, but I convinced them that I was one of the good guys, and not in fact “dead” dead, and maybe of course as I was thinking about it, I ought to cover up the parts of the remains that I easily can, except those that are clinging to the ceiling.
                I pick up the little girl, she stares at me and wonders why I’m not six feet under, I smile sweetly and say, “Hey, it’s a kind of magic.”, she smiles a silly little smile, and pokes a bullet hole in my jacket, I think the pipsqueak believes me.
                I lead the kids to their mothers’ car, I need to find somewhere safe to take them, and I know just where. However, I ain’t too fond of churches as of late, but my friend The Padré might just be able to help.
                I really hate cars, worse I hate other people in theirs, I need to hurry, and the longer I am out here, the further away the lovely Miss Lavender is.
                Funny thing about Padré, he likes to throw a mean punch before a polite greeting, if he wasn’t so damn blind, and a decent man of the cloth, I’d kick his teeth in so hard he’d be biting his own ass for the rest of his own natural life. I inform him about what was going down and how I needed to hide the children, as a fellow former serviceman, he couldn’t say no, he upheld that oath as well as the one he makes in service to the lord. I mean sure he’s army, but no one is perfect, and the kids will be safe here.
                As I returned to where I parked Jasmine’s car, it came to my surprise that someone had jacked it, god damn it, it’s a long walk back to the scene of the crime. Knew I shouldn’t have left the car keys in the ignition, damnit.
                If I had to breathe, I’m sure I’d be out of breath; I storm through the city faster than the rain that is coming down, lightning illuminates the darkness, like a false day, if only for a moment, and everything else sinks back into darkness for a seeming eternity.

 

The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Part four.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/22/2010 at 4:02AM

October Fourth, Year unknown, in the hour of midnight.

                Sharp pain courses through my body, my heart feels erratic, but I’ve lost too much time already, and I know she is on borrowed time, even after all this time, mortal weaknesses go through the motions even though I don’t have to, perhaps it is my only link left to my nearly shed humanity, because as the night goes on deeper and deeper, my own darkness grows hungrier.
                I waste no time running back to the apartment, only to receive the biggest knuckle sandwich I might ever have. Even without much of a clue, my best guess was the thing that hit me like a ton of bricks was the same ape who carried Miss Lavender away, he sent me flying to greet a myriad of stairs, and while I’m not too big on complaining, I think the fall broke damn near every bone in my body at least once or twice. Once I hit the bottom, this gorilla is going to pay.
                Odds are, if I were playing by your rules, I wouldn’t be able to move, well, guess what you know-it-alls, other than sounding like a cement mixer, I can move just fine. As I more carefully re-climb the stairs, King Kong and two more flunkies were less than happy to see me, I think they took it personal what happened to their friends, but in all fair childish disagreements: they started it.
                Ah the advantages of a temporary improperly working spinal cord for someone like me: I feel no pain what so ever, but can’t exactly tango either, and with the Eighth Wonder of The World playing the part of Goliath, it was hard to say which ability is more useful, not feeling the hammering strikes, or being able to properly dodge them. Hard to say indeed.
                While I prefer to have a more fair fight when facing off against three (them, although I think monkey boy alone counts as three, so maybe it’s more like five)-to-one (me) odds, I don’t have the time to aptly waste, I was gonna have to fight a lot less honorably than my American-blooded nature would admire, but nobility before honor, and the damsel is more important than my personal enjoyment for this wonderfully gay challenge, unhappy as it makes me to pass up a joyous moment.
                Tips for fighting dirty: always hit them in the vitals: eyes, throat, kidneys, and testicular region. All is fair game when combating by means less than clean. A swift kick to the groin can be your less-than-honorable best friend, more so when you duck out of the way of an angry ape’s big hard hairy fist to observe his fellow friend flung into the open refrigerator. And for the now no longer spinally damage impaired, using a fish boner knife is nearly ideal for removing any near by monkey’s vitals: say bye-bye to those pesky eyes, and it never hurts to ask for seconds for a slice of kidney pies. You’ll be the host with the mostest with these lovely tips on how to survive.
                With two down, and one to go, I was going to have a long talk with the rat-faced man, and I can be very persuasive when I do believe someone knows something, and while time isn’t on my side, I’m pretty sure he’ll talk, after he’s done wasting his bullets. I want to know what they plan to do with the lovely lady of the evening Jasmine, and I get the funny feeling, Ratsy is gonna talk, and I might even let him live. Maybe.

Interlude:

Apocalypse for Feral Roses:  Great Terror Nosferatu!

Written By Jason A. S.

Started Writing on:  Friday, September 6th, 2015 at 8:04PM

Ended writing on: Friday, September 6th, 2015 at 8:13PM

 

Dearest Maximilian,

Never in all my life have I seen a man as handsomely gruesome as you, big eyes, rat-like teeth, a creature to have avid nightmarishly sweetest dreams of, you kind and dreadful sir, are a monster of a man, you’ve give me no choice nor chance but to admire your grim façade, and to that I salute you Count, I salute you.

 

The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Part five.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/22/2010 at 4:15PM

October Fourth, Year unknown, in between the hours of two and three A.M.
Blood, beautiful blood, it covers me from nearly head to toe, it calms me, puts me in the centre of the storm, and in these darker hours, its almost pitch black, I kinda wish I could tell you it was all belonging to that ferret Ratface, but no it isn’t, not by a long shot.
The Rat Man told me everything I wanted and needed to know, and more, like who sold Miss Lavender out to those slick haired thugs in their fancy Italian suits. It turns out it was a former flame of the lovely Jasmine, and father to at least one of her kids, I guess he had a hard time letting her go, even after he broke up with her, so naturally, I hads to pay me a little visit to the Ex. To talk, just to talk, honest.
I arrived via the car I “liberated” from the now no longer living bad guys, and As I came to The Exes’ door, I felt a need to try a slight tapping, rapping at his front door, hoping he would answer, because I knew he was home, I rather enjoyed flattening his tires of his car, but I knew I had to work fast before my better half took over again. I hear a voice inquire about who was at his door at this late hour, I give him an old classic line from my hero Barnabas Bramwell (as played by Shelby Quentin) about me selling some fine Italian jackets, not only is this guy a double crossing bottom feeder, he’s an idiot too, fell for the line more easily than anyone of The White Wraiths’ foes, either that or he knows where to get fine Italian jackets this late at night, but I kinda doubt that.
Before he even had the door fully opened, I gave him my good right hook, followed by just as good if not better left hook, looking back on it, it probably wasn’t needed to visit this panty-waste, but I figured, aw what the hell, its on the way to the bad guys’ hideout, and how often does that happen, I mean really. Granted its not going to be glorious or fun, but any man (and I use the term loosely) who puts his own in danger, deserves a little visit. There was no need to inquire and interrogate, my need was simple: bloodlust, I need to be ensanguined in his short life, I told him why I was doing this, and I rather enjoyed hearing him squeal like a wounded animal, more so since he won’t shut up with all the god damned questions. I was more than happy to send him flying out a window, granted I wouldn’t be surprised if he kept talking after he was dead.
As it nears the witching hour, I head my way to the damsel in distress, my senses sharpened, my head very clear, even in the deepest shadowed night, I can see the road as clear as daylight, don’t worry Miss Lavender, I’m going to find you, even if it’s the last thing I do.
As I near the mansion where Rats claimed to be the place, and needless to say, I befell a shiver in my heart, evil like an inferno engulfs this place, it might as well be the closest I’ve ever been to hell. If she is here, it’s not going to be easy to find her. Like many things as of late, I find myself going against my better judgments again, no way am I leaving children to be orphaned, not in this lifetime or the next.
I scale the walls as quick as I can, terror in my stomach to match the fear in my heart, please don’t be dead, god in heaven please don’t let her be dead. I tried and locate an open window on the roof, no such luck, only one big window, looks like I’ll have to go in the hard way, luckily for Jasmine, that’s the only way I know.

 

 

The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Part six.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/23/2010 at 12:37AM

October Fourth, Year unknown, in the hour of the witch.

                Broken glass digs deep into my skin, doesn’t matter, I’m on a mission, and God help anyone who gets in my way, but I get the feeling God’s going to sit this one out, and let this devil have his day. This won’t be justice, this won’t be a matter of right and wrong, I won’t abandon the lady fair.
                What kind of group of nuts dressed for their own funerals goes around packing M1911As’, Chicago violins and medieval weaponry? Knives and daggers I understand, but maces and swords!?! They’ll poke their eyes out, and if they won’t, I might as well will. With glee, overflowing glee, I’m so happy I could SIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGG!!!
                Puddles of blood, rivers of blood, oceans of blood, a hurricane of torrenting scarlet crimson floods the room, not from me, but everyone else, I couldn’t keep track of the severed body parts even if I wanted to, my rage and fury fuel my fire to be like of the wildest fire, I feel alive, I am on the warpath, I am drowning in the bloody sea of my enemies, and they seem to be in no short supply, thank god.
                Tonight, this bloody night, I go deep into my shadow, so deep everything becomes shades of grey, and under the pale moonlight, I’m sure the screams of passion, pleasure, agony and pain can be heard from far away, as so many am I sending to meet their end. Passion is all I have, either you understand it, or you don’t, insult it, and pray to your god I don’t find you, and don’t dare to stand in my way, and in this opus nocturne, my passion is finding and saving her, I care not what beast I must become I WILL save her.
                Either I’ve killed all the bad guys or they’re in hiding somewhere, and it weighs heavily on my blood drench brows that the odds are the latter is far more likely than the former. I better start the search of the rooms, might find more goons to dismember.
                Sadly so far no more goons did I find, but what I did find was more alarming, a tattered pink dress, one I had seen before, one belonging to a Miss Jasmine Lavender, certain spots reveals slight shades of red, dark red, deep red, blood red, but other than the cut straps, their seemed to be no puncture wounds in the fabric. She better be alright, or else I’m going repaint the whole house in that dark crimson wine, and various shades of organ matter.
                Neither man, nor object will obstruct my growing fury; doors will splinter as I cleave my body through them as if they were rice paper. Swinging sword and flinging hot lead in all directions, not caring what I hit as my mind goes beyond the realm of all known reason, deeper into the shaded fade I wonder, my heart aflame with the desire to slaughter these sharp dressed cannon fodder, the only shame I have in all this is all the objects of beauty that I ruin by sword and bullet strike, soaking them in the bodily fluids best not depleted, and what if I run out of ammo or my weapon breaks, I’ll just obtain a new one, they’re not hard to liberate.
                I feel so drained, but I must go on, as I burst through the biggest door I find, all I can mutter in a severe state of mind is: Holy Mary, mother of God.

Interruption:

Apocalypse for Feral Roses: Polite Terrorism

Written By Jason A. S.

Started Writing on:  Friday, September 6th, 2015 at 6:33PM

Ended writing on: Friday, September 6th, 2015 at 6:48PM

 

Hello dearest reader,     to whom do I have the pleasure of tormenting tonight? Is it still terrifying if I command you to turn your head ‘way from the atrocity that gives my cause life? May I ask you to vacate these premises that I plan stage as my warzone; I do apologize for the inconvenience of my baleful intent. I will be unable to restore the damages, all the cuts bruises and scar tissue on the concrete and steel down below. As you are of the aware, this is all for ego and just for a blitzkrieg of show, the aim of our purpose, the hell if we truly know. So now may we begin, we’d like to terrorize, blessed be our damnation, and it’s all on with the show.

The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Finale part one.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/23/2010 at 2:31PM

October Fourth, Year unknown, Time unknown.
                Holy Mary, mother of God, granted Miss Lavender isn’t that, but if I didn’t know any better from just by looking at her, she sure as hell could play the part, very well now due to the fact that she looks well on her way to giving birth, which puts me in a whole new world of weird, its not often you see a woman that far along this quickly, clearly something powerful is at work, and might even be beyond my abilities, because the air is heavy in the darkness here, and evil surround me, and it forces me to go deep into the shade.
                Okay, okay I admit, bursting in the biggest, prettiest, ornate doors probably wasn’t a good idea James, but it’s your fault for listening to your heart and not your head to jackass. Now you’ve gotten us both in trouble. And look, King Kong has cousins, or a case of double twins!
                Something is wrong, something is not right, I’m feeling weak, my head is feeling light. I do believe I’m losing my corporeal mass, and without my corpus energies aligned, I can’t damage anything, I feel everything fall from me, even my clothes. I’ve burned myself out, not now, not now please.
                I don’t like the idea that I’m dead, less now than ever before, perhaps I went too deep, too far, strained myself, not much I could do when the apes in monkey suits subdued me, their two fist hitting both sides of my head cracked my skull in ways I never could dreamed of, and as I fall to the ground naked as a jay bird, all I can hear echoing in my ears was the horrid screams of a woman in labor, then everything else falls silent, dead silent, I feel the rest of the world melt away, nothing I can do, I feel myself fade.
                I have no idea how long I was out, but I woke up in a tiny room, feels like it could be my coffin, I could tell it wasn’t the next night, but beyond that, time was running short, in my heart I could tell the sun was rising, and I don’t of much time to waste. I pound on the door as hard as I can; I hear the sound of flesh breaking and bone shattering as they hit against cold hard steel, its useless, but I won’t give up, no matter how hard I must try.
                 Maybe it’s the unknown time in such severe silence, but I swear I hear the sounds thunderous screaming coming from above me, sharp loud thuds give way to the tale telling signs that someone is starting a massacre, and while I don’t hear it begs prayer to the hopeful reason that because I don’t that she is safe, because all the screams, although some are high pitched and rather girlish, are all from men.
                I was astonished to watch my prison door open, and in a way relieved to see a blonde haired thug looking scared shitless, and more thankful that he tossed me my clothes back, I’ve regained enough focus to be able to wear them again, must be all the emotions running through this place, I feel revived, and ready to find Miss Lavender.
                Mr. Blondie and me waste no time in finding the nearest armory, from what little coherent rambling he’s doing, something bad happened, something went really wrong, sounds like it will be hell-on fun. I can barely contain myself, I can feel the monster inside me twisting my normal visage, I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy.

 

 

 

 

The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Finale part two.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/24/2010 at 2:45AM

October Fourth, Year unknown, Time unknown
                Since me and Mr. Blondie would be teaming up, I figured it would only be polite to ask him his name, he says it’s something like “Vincent Victor Vega-Valentine”, great, I’m teamed up with a guy with a perfect lounge singer name, hopefully he’s a half decent shot, and doesn’t die too quickly because he is so far the only bad guy I’ve asked what was their name was.
                It feels strange not wanting to kill Mr. Blondie, but the lovely lady Lavender is more important than my bizarre love of bloodlust. The one bright side to not killing him is: he knows the place better than I do. And while I know he just wants to get out alive, and he knows he can’t do that without me, so he knows I ain’t leaving without The Lovely Miss Lavender, and if he doesn’t he will be getting an earful about it from me.
                Mr. Blondie wasn’t hard to convince, although he did admit that he didn’t think it was a good idea, although he seems rather cold, calm and collected about it which is odd, if he’s truly afraid, its only a faint feeling, almost non-existent now, I think the panic from before was more from a lack of understanding, not outright fear.
                On our way to locating miss Lavender, Mr. Blondie was trying to inform me on what happened while I was in my cell, something about an ancient ritual gone faulty, and how their head honcho split, but not before he had armed the lockdown device, now as far as I can tell, it’s not going to be easy to get the hell out of here.
                If it wasn’t for the mysterious entity no abiding in this house, who to my understanding wishes to devour the flesh of Jasmine so remain here , I would find the eerie lighting somewhat…romantic, which is even creepier than the unnamed beast.
                It never takes long for a situation brimming with vile evil to get worse; it looks like all the bodies that were kinda just lying around decided to get lively, and feisty. I killed most you nitwits once already, are you going to make me put you down again?
                I don’t know which is worse, them not dying, or them biting my suit all to hell, what kinds of nut are these who won’t even die when you remove their head with a shotgun, I mean that works on almost everything, don’t tell me those damnable accursed voodoo movies lied!
                As much as I hate to do it, me and Mr. Blondie have to make a run for it, when you’re outnumbered by things that won’t die, you’re just wasting time, and I don’t know about the mad gunman, but I don’t have much time to waste. The only advantage we have is the fact that all our limbs are connected and in working order.
                Mr. Blondie and I make our way back to the room where they had Miss Lavender, and I thought the bodies I hacked up were something awful, these ones looked like they all were hollowed out and partly eaten, and the floors seem to be mired in something I don’t think is just blood.
                I don’t get the feeling the unnamable beast is here, but even amidst the foul fickle air, I smell the smell of Lavender, she is near, and by all means, she is scared. I wonder down a tight narrow corridor, I can hear her crying, never thought I’d hate to hear something I’ve heard in all my years. What makes this so different?

 

 

 

The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Finale part two and ten sevenths.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/24/2010 at 3:07PM

October Fourth, Year unknown, Time unknown.
                As me and Mr. Blondie search for the sound of the crying, we come across what looks like a full blown, fully furnished church, why did it have to be a church?! Although I suppose holy ground does have its perks, I just have to be extra careful. Don’t want to tempt the powers that can make life-after-death a pain.
                Quiet whispers, hushed whimpers, not a way you want to see someone who used to be so fiery and full of sass, she’s broken now, they inflicted on her upon her things I’m surprised she could stand, she has more cuts and bruises than the last time I saw her, and the big loose white gown they have had her in had a big spot of pinkish red.
                Of course a woman is going to kill me. I wouldn’t have it any other way, but I don’t want it to be Miss Lavender, I do believe its needless to say she’s gone quite mad, screaming a lot of nonsense and trying to disembowel me with a stiletto knife, but once she looked into my eyes, even though this far deep how my appearance has changed, she knew it was me. She pulled herself close to me and holds on tight, if I needed breathe, I would be having trouble right about now. I wrap my arms around her to in embrace to let her know things will be alright, things will be fine. Mr. Blondie looks at us kind of funny, but doesn’t say anything, or laugh in disbelief. I think he’s more worried about that thing outside this church.
                Miss Lavender continues to cling to me as I try to secure the area, which let me tell you, doesn’t make my job any easier, under normal circumstances I wouldn’t mind, and how I wouldn’t mind. But I have a job to do, however I don’t have the heart to tell her to let go. As long as she’s with me, I know she is safe.
                It doesn’t take long for things to get bad again yet again, the gang and I here loud angry violent banging at every possible entrance point, even the ventilation shafts above us seem to be shaking ferociously. Jasmine clings to me harder crying heavily repeatedly calling out to God, Mr. Blondie tells her frankly to shut up, God ain’t here.  The barricade doors begin to splinter and crack as the savage darkness that is out there keeps trying to get to this scared little woman who seems to have taken up residency in my arms. I begin to wonder whether or not I did the right thing by saving her when I did, but I dismiss the motion with haste when I deduced that then men who took her away from her home would have killed her kids had I not.
                Mr. Blondie tries to pull me away from the lovely Miss Lavender, claims he needs to tell me something, something he should have mentioned earlier about this whole situation, something I knew I don’t want to hear. He tells Jasmine to go hide behind the piano organ that seems well guarded, but in truth he just didn’t want her in earshot of what he had to tell me.
                Ever get that feeling that life enjoys to rip open your chest and tear your heart to shreds? Yeah? Me too. Mr. Blondie tells me the only known way to stop this ritual from coming full term is to sever the only tie in this world that thing out there has: its body mother. In this case: A one Miss Jasmine Lavender. Mr. Blondie offers to do her in for me, I adamantly decline, if anyone is going to kill her: it’ll be me. I owe her.

 

 

 

 

The Call of What The Moon Brings:  The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. Finale part three and nine fifths.

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/24/2010 at 10:01PM

October Fourth, Year unknown, Time unknown.
                For most of man, time moves little by little, bit by bit, and they don’t even grasp what they believe to be it. For men like me, the instant is unavoidable, because I will never know its limit, for everyone else its raindrops in a little pond, for me its something that will never cease, even when I wish it would, I drown in it. More so now that it seems I’ve fallen in love. Life is cruel, fate unkind, and in this play of the nocturne, I truly don’t care for my part.
                And while time is never on our side, even when endless and infinite, it always has ways to betray us, more so for a scared little girl, destined to die tonight, and while it might have been the hand she was dealt, I guess not even I could save her.
                There is no easy way to murder someone, its harder when you find you have feelings for them, no matter however you look for an alternative, sometimes you find what little choice you really have. Still I rather end her than Mr. Blondie. I even ask her what her name was again, just so I’d know. It’s a terrible to die forgotten, and I don’t want her to be, not a good way to die.
                “Melina Fiore-DiMercurio”, such a lovely name for a fine young woman. After her name, she and I talk for a long while it seems, which isn’t easy given the whole “oh-there-is-a-nameless-monster-of-undefined-origin-and-it-wants-to-devour-your-soul” trying to break in, but I do my best to manage. Melina talked a lot about her estrangement from her family, her former hopes and dreams, her desires to give her kids a better life than she had, and while I wanted to tell her I slaughtered her ex, it didn’t seem like now was a good time. some of her rambling was nonsense really, but Mr. Blondie told me to expect that, a side of effect of the ritual: anyone who sees the true form of the unnamed goes mad, and she gave birth to its true form, its makes me wish I could cry, but like many times before, I find I can’t. She tells me she wanted to sing and be in a rock band. Well I tell her being a singer is a wonderful thing to want, but I admitted I have no idea what a rock band was. She looked at me and laughed and where I have I been, under a rock or something to that effect. I tell her the only thing I’ve been under is six feet for a long time, and she just laughs and says that was cool, and how about she never had a conversation with a dead person that was so coherent. Strange girl, beautiful heart.
                Melina then starts talking about how, she’s always the one to fall in love, but never the one to be loved. How she had to give up all her dreams just so she could be stepped on by everyone around her, she wished someone else would be the first one to tell her I love you instead of it being her. Without hesitation nor pause, I say the words, and maybe it was the fact that she was half-mad, but she laugh and pointed out that I hardly know her, and I told her I didn’t give a damn, she falls into my arms, I tell her the words she wants to hear again, and the room fall silent as time seems to stop, all I hear are two thunderous gunshots, her eye piercingly gaze into mine as I take her life. She isn’t angry, she is somehow relieved.
                I’m sorry Miss Melina Fiore-DiMercurio, I wish I had more time to love you, and how sad I am that I cannot weep at your passing, for now you have died. Goodbye.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Call of What The Moon Brings: The Case of James DeMarés-Stone: A Wraith Knight Out On The Town. The End

A Jason A. S. Poem? (The hell if I know, don’t look at me)

Started Writing on: 8/20/2010 at 4:30AM

Ended writing on: 8/25/2010 at 2:09AM

October Fourth, Year unknown, nearing sunrise.
                My name is of James DeMarés-Stone, and I am a murderer, I am responsible for the destruction of countless lives, I am just as much the monster as the people I kill. I am no hero, far from it, and the body of one Miss Melina Fiore-DiMercurio that which I stand over is proof of that, alone now it seems, I never knew how awful it was to be alone, till I wasn’t, and then forced to be again. My story is just beginning, and while no time isn’t against me for the moment. The rest of the world will be.
                Needless to say my activities have led the police to this location, and I can tell the safeguards of this fortress on the outskirts of town are no longer active, I wonder if the man called Vincent had anything to do with it, Mr. Blondie seemed to know a lot about the monster, and how to stop it. I wonder if he was the so called “leader” that split.
                The police storm in the place, and while blood and bile coat the house, they won’t find any of the bodies, the servants of the nameless rot quickly, for time to them is a stranger tide than even to I, and all the coppers will find is a replica of something that used to be a man, standing over the fallen corpse of a woman.
                As the police barge in, they inquire about the dead woman, I quietly inform them that she isn’t dead, and that I killed her. Needless to say, it got me arrested, however, I can tell by the light in the sky, they won’t keep me in chains much longer. The dawn is dusking before it becomes bright, and while the pain will be beyond words, I will be free for a little while, close to dreaming of my lady lavender. They keep asking me why is she dead and I keep telling them: “I didn’t say she was dead, I said I killed her.”
                The sunlight is never more welcome than in the back of a police car, I feel everything not me slip and fall away into a sea of pain, and everything goes dark.
October Fourth, Year unknown, dusk.
                You always see the oddest things in the moments on the in between, while it is faint and far from the window of my home, I could swear in my bed, I could small the allure of jasmine and lavender, and while the sunlight still holds me in agony, never more than this, does it feel like I’m home, with a gently breeze that caresses my hair, and while I feel weak, I get the feeling in this cusp of darkness and light. I never realized how much I enjoyed the darkness dancing with the light, how sad it is as the light fades I feel she has to go, perhaps it is just for the moment, or maybe she was just saying goodbye and thanking me for freeing her from becoming a meal for a nameless old beast.
                 They say save for hell, the after life has no memory, so I wonder of how much of my life was in hell, but now my future is uncertain, and I know I’m not alone in being what I am, for while hours pass amongst the world of the living, purgatory can make waiting for the sun to set feel like centuries. Maybe one day, my mission will end and I can be with her again, till then, I have much to do, and forever to do it in.
                                                                                                                                                                Sincerely,
                                                                                                                                                                                James.

 

Epilogue:

Apocalypse for Feral Roses: From the Gallows

Written By Jason A. S.

Started Writing on: Wednesday, September 2nd, 2015 at 1:21AM

Ended Writing on: Wednesday, September 2nd, 2015 at 1:28AM

 

                Oh my darling dear, my happiest drear, my song is coming close, near to a close, just as the noose slips down my face and nose, I waltz the stringed marionette, my crime was treason, to these a lonely reason, from my eyes the bright diffuses with time, my life for the cause, and to that I say: Love is anarchy!

 

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