Sinister Countdown- Witch’s Curse

October 22, 2019

 

The following tale is not for the faint of heart. It is graphic, brutal, but true tale of a battle for our very lives!
I was sprung from a deep and peaceful sleep at 430 AM to the sound of Ms Chickchick clucking concernedly (yes I can tell the difference between my chickens voices) It didnt sound terribly upset, but still, chickens should not be awake at this time of night. sensing trouble, I grabbed the gun, my trusty flashlight and ventured outside. As I opened the back door and entered my yard, the crisp cool autumn air held the faint hint of danger, mixed with the garbage that I forgot to take out from last week, but that is another story. I turned the corner to my coop, the beam of my flashlight spilling ghostly shadows and images in front of me. Then I saw it. My light pierced through the gray mist of darkness that seemed like it would swallow up everything if I was unlucky enough to run out of AAA duracell batteries, and there it was. The demon coon. Coonzilla, in my coop, with his head fully inside the door trying, desperately, to push his large girth far enough into the chicken sized opening to satiate his massive hunger on the soft warm bodies of my egg laying pets.
Hearing my steps he stopped, backed his head out of the doorway and looked at me. Surprised to have been discovered, he ran up the tree next my bedroom window, not a hurried scared run, but simply a nonchalant, slow jog to make sure he was in a more superior position. He didn’t go far. At 7 feet up he stopped, he turned and looked at me with derision, as if to say “ya you found me, so what” I was only 2 feet from the tree, I could almost reach out and touch him, yet he showed no fear. In his mind, he had nothing to fear, he was Coonzilla. I stared in awe of his massive girth. “my gosh” I thought “he is the size of a dog!” quickly I regained my composure, I lifted my rifle, pointed only feet from his enormous heaving chest, sure of his imminent death, and pulled the trigger.
In shock and horror I watched, not as he fell dead like I knew he must, but as he ran farther up the tree! Higher and higher he climbed, his movements more frantic now. He now knew I could hurt him. As he reached the apex of the trunk 30 feet up where it splits into 3 main branches, he stopped, and stared down at me. He was in the same spot as the last coon foolhardy enough to take on me and my chickens. With a strange feeling of de-ja-vu, I lifted the flashlight and my rifle up to position. I aimed at one of his demonic glowing eyes, now brightly burning into me with anger, and fired. With a terrible snarl, he fell from his perch. Through the thick blackness he fell, bounced off my
neighbors shed roof, and into the corner between my house and the fence.
I moved in to make sure my foe was dead. He has to be dead now, he has to be! He was on his back, his chest still heaving but looking like he was in the last stages of life. Yet, as I got close his head jerked up, he stared as if into my very soul, and let out a snarl that would scare the most hardened murderous criminal. Shocked, yet prepared, I placed the nose of my rifle right up to his chest, where a year of high school AP bio told me his heart should be. For the third time, I placed a Remington hollow point .22 rimfire lead slug into his body. In strange and bizarre fascination I watched him roll over back to his feet, and he began to walk towards me. With the barrel of my gun between Coonzilla and me, I backed up and he slowly walked toward me. His once clean white teeth were stained with blood, he was wheezing like a man suffering from some sickening asthma attack, but now I had the beast head directly in front of me! I placed the gun between his eyes, he spat up blood but didn’t stop his inexorable march towards
me. I pulled the trigger. Nothing! My gun had jammed!
With visions of Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone running through my head, I gained a new sense of determination, intent to crush his skull, I grabbed and barrel of my gun and swung it like a club with all my might into the bloody face of the demon zombie creature sent from hell! But it wasn’t enough! Although I changed his course away from me now, he was still alive. He turned to the right, he began to climb the fence. The puny reed fence I put up wasn’t enough to hold his great body and it began to fall back towards me. Just when I thought all was lost, a pickaxe swung from my peripheral vision and smote the great beast! The cavalry had arrived just in time! My wife, Sheryl, swung with all the determination of a frontier wife defending her very children from ravenous wolves! She turned the coon around and he walked off about 10feet, and then collapsed.
               We watched him for another 5 minutes until his barrel chest stopped moving…the beast was dead. I dragged his body to the porch and placed him in a large garbage bag. I             debated  whether or not I should behead the beast, burn the body and spread the ashes to make sure he didn’t come back, but instead I think will make a coonskin hat out of him, maybe two.
bio: Tom Nielsen has held many jobs in his lifetime, from vet clinic, to animal control, to lab rat caretaker. Amateur taxidermist, and raccoon wrangler. He did a short stint in the navy and has finally (possibly) settled down as a mild mannered air conditioning technician. HIs previous jobs and innumerable hobbies have gifted him with a plethora of stories, some of which he occasionally writes down.

Sinister Countdown- Yew Wood

October 20, 2019

They speak so soft of the Yew Wood,

Where one can find lost solace.

Beyond a low wall of tended stone,

They stand to witness our sorrow.

Frames so bent beneath their load,

They kiss you with their rain.

Washing away your deepest hurts,

And witnessing your soul bear all.

Upon their roots rests hallowed ground,

That was until this end.

My life’s blood sleeps out upon this place,

Darkening the Yews’ collective mind.

For darkened hands have bled me dry,

To further their horrific plan.

So read me my rites and entrails this bare,

To break these forever bonds.

Between this low wall and tended Yew,

Our battle has yet to be won.

Darkness rises upon twilight’s tide,

And soon my light will vanish with the rest.

Our only hope: three youthful forms with iron bare,

And the Greenwitch no more than a girl yet grown.

To the Yew Wood you call,

But I have already gone.

This is the Sinister Countdown. If you liked this descent into maddness be sure to like and follow this month’s macabre passage. These stories, words, and poems come from the darker recesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

Past Sinister Countdowns

Sinister Countdown- Silent One

October 18, 2019

Call upon the rending teeth,

Curved as sickled scythe sweet.

With twisting claw and gnawing bite,

Halt the coming dawns’ first light.

Upon this hour we witches sing,

To raise sinew round bones again.

Hunt our quarry once upon this our,

And feast upon fears so sour.

With a moon of blood newly risen,

Set in motion our darkest vision.

Walk upon the earth once more,

As silent as our forgotten lore.

-M.E. InkOwl

This is the Sinister Countdown. If you liked this descent into maddness be sure to like and follow this month’s macabre passage. These stories, words, and poems come from the darker recesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

Past Sinister Countdowns

Sinister Countdown- A Moot

October 16, 2019

“This isn’t happening,” Sam said in disbelief, “it’s impossible!”

“Shut up, Sam- someone shut him up.” Andrew his as he turned to look back down the path.

“Did you see it too?” said the third member of their party as the four men crouched in the underbrush. Chris brush his long brown hair out of eyes and held the binoculars back up to his eyes.

“I thought it was just a moose,” croaked Sam. Hank clapped a hand around Sam’s mouth, preventing his friends’ hysterics from rising.

“Sam, pull yourself together,” whispered Hank, his dark eyes flashing with terror and excitement, “this is what we’ve been waiting for! We’ve found it, we found Him!”

“Will you both shut up?” hissed Andrew now pulling out his own binoculars and tracking along side Chris.

“Damn, I’ve lost Him.” Muttered Chris. Pulling the binoculars away from his narrow face to reveal startlingly green eyes.

“Already?” Hank said, sidestepping a small bush and kneeling down next to his two friends.

They were at the crest of a ridge, running between two peaks. The four of them, best friends since the third grade, had long since left the trail. Below them a wide canyon opened between them and the next small mountain ridge. The pace was filled with thick bushes and tall pines all aflame with the setting sun.

Hank, Chris, Andrew, and Sam all had traveled to the exact place throughout the years.

Obviously after experiencing their one sighting as teens the four could never really give up on seeing it, Him again.

And there they were, losing Him in the underbrush.

“Wait,” Chris paused binoculars glinting in the sunlight, “There’s definitely something moving down there.”

“Is it the one we saw?” Sam said, kneeling down as if he were upon a bomb.

Chris didn’t bother looking back, “I thought it was our one, but it’s lagging behind where the first one was.”

Andrew’s eyebrows knit together, “what do you mean?”

” I mean, this one isn’t as far away as our location, and it’s traveling slower.”

Sure enough, as all four puke four their binoculars they too found themselves looking at another distinctly different line of movement.

“We’ve got two?” Sam said, trying to show his calm.

“Yes and now they’re taking different paths,” scowled Hank hiss annoyance getting the better if him.

He was going to add another comment when Chris called our softly, “there’s more.”

All four stopped moving, silence flooding the now vacated silence.

“Four, five, nine- there’s so many more.” Hank said in awe.

“Like fifty?” Hissed Sam as spit flew from his already twisting mouth.

About the wind shifted, sweeping across the canyon pushing air up the side and bring with it the smell of unwashed, hairy bodies.

Suddenly Chris ducked back under the edge, his eyes wide and wild.

“We need to hid,” he said, looking around at the brush before hind, “they just shifted, we need to go.”

“What do you mean?” Andrew said thickly, “how are we suppose to study Them if we don’t observe-”

“You don’t understand, ” Chris they’re going to be walking over us, who knows what they’d do.

Below the ridge rustling was wafting you. Branches whispering around while rocks and dirt where the four friends were now scrambling to find cover in.

Each grown man threw himself into a bush, burrowing down like prey. The smell grew more intense and it felt like they were suddenly in a void, no sound existed.

Except for what was coming up beyond the ridge. Fumes of rot and I cleaned coats of fur rose into the air permeating everything.

Someone dry heaved but no one else moved.

Sam flinched as a snake slithered without a sound by his head.

That was when the first hairy and very inhuman foot came down between Hank and Sam.

All around them bushes, branches, and pines raised their voices as creatures moved relentlessly onward.

All four men laid or squatted immobile from their spots, unbelieving.

And then silence.

When it sounded like they were alone, Hank extricated from his bush saying, “we’re going to be so famous.”

“Or even more insane,” Andrew said with a rueful smile.

Sam finally untangled himself and sniffed, “what do we do now?”

Chris gave Sam a wink and smiled.

“We, my good friend, follow.”

-M.E. InkOwl

This is the Sinister Countdown. If you liked this descent into maddness be sure to like and follow this month’s macabre passage. These stories, words, and poems come from the darker recesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

Past Sinister Countdowns

Sinister Countdown- Burning Secret

October 12, 2019


Up these steps and to the door,

Twist the chain and wash the floor.

Listen for the coming grumble,

From the lies that soon will crumble.

Truth that hides in the waiting dark,

Secretly begs for freedom’s lark.

Never will they find the words,

As haunted eyes fill with hope stirred.

Quick as shadow slick as blade,

I must hide ’till start of day.

Never look back beyond the door,

Our secret-keeping low upon the floor.

Never to speak ill again,

We have caught the in your sin.

Now let the burning begin.

-M.E. InkOwl

Sinister Countdown- Waiting

October 11, 2019

Do you see me hiding here,

In the innocent light of day?

Creeping silent as a shadow,

On a cloud strewn sky.

Never looked for,

Rarely suspected.

But always to be feared.

Soft as whispers,

Quick as razors.

Let me sink into your calm,

And disrupt your daily procedures.

Feel the question,

Tugging at you.

Turning right into a wrong.

Look more closely,

I am near you.

Hissing out a stalkers breath,

Waiting for you to catch a scent.

In the dark space I do wander,

Listen for your nearing steps.

Death waits for no man.

Just, look and wait for me.

M.E. InkOwl

This is the Sinister Countdown. If you liked this descent into maddness be sure to like and follow this month’s macabre passage. These stories, words, and poems come from the darker recesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

Past Sinister Countdowns

Sinister Countdown- Chains

October 10, 2019

Snake these chains round foot and stone,

Steal this form from life and home.

Know the secret thicker than pitch,

Ignite the truth with ridged stitch.

Close both eyes and whispering mouth,

Follow geese lines to the wandering south.

Beneath twisting claws and digging root,

Burry this pleading, lying brute.

 

Now face the East, North, and West,

For all twenty-six victims may rest.

Smile down at the fresh churned earth,

Killing a killer is what it’s worth.

-M.E. InkOwl

This is the Sinister Countdown. If you liked this descent into maddness be sure to like and follow this month’s macabre passage. These stories, words, and poems come from the darker recesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

Past Sinister Countdowns

Sinister Countdown- Raven’s Boone

October 9, 2019

I spy a raven bare,

With wings of thunderhead black.

Upon a road of solid bone,

A dragon lays its treasure rare.

Move past the scale and fire bright,

Into the darkest parts of night.

Breathe into our bodies long rotten,

A life and curse long forgotten.

-M.E. InkOwl

 

This is the Sinister Countdown. If you liked this descent into maddness be sure to like and follow this month’s macabre passage. These stories, words, and poems come from the darker recesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

Past Sinister Countdowns

Sinister Countdown- Witch’s Curse

October 8, 2019

meat torn from breathing flesh,

ripens this death unexpected

smell the dark blood flow,

a beast most wicked awakens now,

to scream upon a rising moon

flee this scene with symbols written,

and forget the safety of daylight

night has fallen upon you,

with marked sinew and claws reaching so long

farewell one who has wronged me,

you’ll forever remember this final mistake

i was the dam holding back the tide,

now pours in your bowling room

-M.E. InkOwl

This is the Sinister Countdown. If you liked this descent into maddness be sure to like and follow this month’s macabre passage. These stories, words, and poems come from the darker recesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

2017

Sinister Countdown- Knowledge

October 7, 2019

Hiss upon a night quite eerie,

When the sun has set far into the west.

Call upon the dust of ages,

And forget the woes of yester-year.

Beyond your bone lies a deadly secret,

One that preys upon our growing weakness.

If only we’d known better,

Maybe we would have listened more.

We were so wrong, so wrong,

They now chant closing each lid to their tombs.

What fire and rock could not hide with heat,

Now eats away at our mortal minds.

Now dine upon our failing corpses,

As we divine our right to rule.

Let extinction forge our power,

Drive humanity to their doom.

-M.E. InkOwl

 This is the Sinister Countdown. If you liked this descent into maddness be sure to like and follow this month’s macabre passage. These stories, words, and poems come from the darker recesses of the mind behind the InkOwl. If you’d like to read past Sinister Countdown posts, follow the link below.

2017