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Tales From The Creator's Crypt

Tales From the Creator’s Crypt

Copyright © 2016 by Lena Jill Lorenzen

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its publisher.

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Lena Jill Lorenzen

The next morning, when Aunt Donna and I both awoke, our whole room was still fully cloaked in that warm and ever loving sense of tranquility and stability after Leslie’s full on grace and somewhat blessing of her one final presence before her chosen life selection. Even with the rather troubling memory of my even more haunting past bearing down quite heavily on my mind in the form of dreams that entire night, I truly indeed had to say that had to be the one and only ever time in my life that I had and ever have been so happy and comfortable in my life to witness any living being now departed from their former body actually return briefly in the form of an apparition or what townsfolk of both yesteryear and today know a whole lot more commonly as “ghosts”. I grew up in a middle class family from Aussie, obviously, over on the people tree side of Columbia where I used to visit the Lakefront pretty often with my parents on weekends and loved to get down and boogey at the many concerts that take place there all during the summer and pre-fall months. On the way home from a Karate and boxing class I had taken that night, we unfortunately had been involved in a pretty bad hit and run; some dumb yank yacking off on their damn device instead of having eyes peeled for a traffic signal whilst making the turn onto Stevens Forest Road. Thank Aunt Sekhmet I came to with only a few scratches and such and all my bone structures still intact. Just deeply sad the same couldn’t at all be said for any of my parents present in the car at that current place in time. When the mud brown wolf who introduced herself as Leslie Thompson and her comrades; whom I soon came to know as Donna and company drove me to Howard County General, my heart sank deeply to find that my mom had been killed almost instantly from impact right on the scene and my father had unfortunately passed around noon that day somewhere during his flight to shock trauma. I also had an extreme disheartening hatred and disgust for police during and after that whole ordeal as well, as I had also heard through the grapevine from my then to be caretakers, Leslie and Jenni that the one idiot who caused it; very surprisingly to me, did in fact happen to be an off duty cop working for the HCPD. His blooming ass is currently and very unfortunately still out there on the streets of HoCo today, and ever since I was first incorporated into this great family around the tender Joey age of fifteen, I made it my full on duty to seek justice for all. I was most certainly going to make him pay, whatever the cost, and wherever the journey may take me.

Lena Jill Lorenzen

I was rudely stirred out of my second round of sleep again that day by the usual grumbling of my stomach, indicating that I had indeed apparently slept all the way through both brunch and lunch; followed by the usual vividly upbeat and ecstatic voice of my wolf aunt Emma as well, but only oddly with a little more oomph to her usual and more laid back brand of canine happiness. “Honey, come here real quick! You are seriously not at all gonna believe this!” I rose groggily to my feet and munched on a few leftover tea leaves or so to settle the emptiness gurgling on in my stomach before slipping my toes steadily into my sandals and making my way about as quick as a kanga possibly could down the cream carpeted staircase without breaking my neck. “What’s up, Auntie Emma?” I asked, with a slightly drowsed yawn as she gracefully handed me one of the granny smiths she’d been carrying and had now just gulped down; core and all from the right pocket of her little vest jacket. “Check this out.” She answered. “You are not at all going to believe who decided to pop in for a little visit today.” She slowly creaked open the door as the ever iconic and notable peep, peep, peep of the old alarm system notification and my face almost immediately lit up like an Xmas tree with the same amount of sheer joy and nostalgia at the equally rejuvenating and warm smiling muzzle of my sweet and plump fellow Kanga Jill cousin, Bridgette as she swooped me up like a Joey in her massive outstretched arms and squeezed me like Wendy in one of those huge, equally constricting type hugs. Bridgette was from all the way down south in Waldorf and currently worked there as a locomotive engineer for a small shortline company called the Maryland and New Carrollton that also indeed managed to take over and restore the old abandoned Norfolk and Atlantic spur and branch through Columbia, but only uses it periodically as a storage siding for tie downs and bad order rolling stock. She stepped serenely inside, dressed appropriately still in her usual orange colored personal jacket and safety vest with the railroad’s name and logo before undoing the laces of her boots at the shoe port by the door and following me into the living room for a brief seat on the sectional with mama Jenni after throwing off the rest of her gear. “So, what brings you here all of a sudden, Bridgy?” I asked, jovially propping her feet up for her in the recliner. “I could’ve sworn that at that time I sent in all those unresponsive applications to join up, it cleanly said you train crew roos work twelve hour shifts around the clock; even on class 3’s.” “Very true.” She observed. “I definitely see you’ve been studying a whole lot more about that passion of yours even though it’s seemed completely dormant even after all this time.” “Well, you know.” I responded. “I guess it’s just like the normal Americans over here always say, “Once you go train whack, you never go back”. Anyways you still didn’t answer my one specific question. Is there at all something else I probably should know? Maybe some sort of blocking on the Morgantown line perhaps?” Apparently her somewhat hesitant and uneasy expression filled beginning for a reply was abruptly cut off by the rambunctious sounding off of her stomach as she began to smile at me, sheepishly. “Let’s talk it over after a few snacks or so. How about a bucket of Popcorn or two at the movies, just like old times? I hear Spike E Lee got pretty crikey reviews with that new Ryker’s Island flick he just came out with.” “Sure. I’m in the mood for a little fresh air anyway. Maybe ma would likely think so too.” “Definitely.” Jenni answered, rising slowly to her feet from her lonely place on the couch to my left. “Holding your mud around here twenty four seven can sometimes feel hella creepier than an abandoned nursing home. Let me get my jacket and keys and let’s hit the road.”

Lena Jill Lorenzen

“So, what all happened?” I curiously asked Bridgette as she and I strolled coolly out of the theater section of the local AMC down in the mall area with my adoptive mom, Jenni tagging along like a hyenadae linebacker or more like nose guard closely along our sides as we strolled on over into the arcade area for a quick chill break before making the shove off for home in time for one of Emma and Donna’s good old Chicago style macaroni and deep dish that they had been ever so used to whipping up for supper. Apparently, the wolf and cheetah actually used to run their own culinary business along with their parents over on the Gary, Indiana side of their town. But, after the many slews of no justice, no peace riots, rise in criminal gang activity, and of course the murders; along with a few strange occurrences popping up afterwards here and there, they said they just had to get the fuck out of dodge. I don’t even know or remember if I ever did ask either one of my aunts what all went down at their old apartment complex above the floor of an old abandoned grooming parlor near the Cabreenie Greens district; nor did I even want to know. But, I definitely do know for a fact, Emma herself simply placed her paws firmly on my shoulder and said, “It was for damn sure something that cannot be unseen, and plagues my memory forever and all eternity.” I had been talking serenely amongst Jenni and Bridgette about a supposed takeover that was planned to occur soon down at her railroad company by the ever famous Genesee and Wyoming Corporation, when all of a sudden my mother froze mid speech in reply and right then and there I swear I could see just about all the color and spots drain completely from her face and fur. “Why is Dick Tracy standing there in full getup right behind us?” “What?” I asked, confused. “Mom, please. I know you and Miss Karmen have always been the full on mistresses of jests and tomfoolery, but come on.” “Sweetie,” She said, as her expression soon changed somewhere in the midst between stoic and suspicious. “I’m dead serious.” I whipped around nervously at her last confession and nearly all three of our hearts stopped right dead in their tracks and our blood ran arctic cold. There, amongst the damn near crowd of regular animals still present at the theater during that current time that night, was a strange and rather familiar looking doe white tail deer who looked as if she had literally just walked straight out of the town’s Shepherd Pratt loony bin in Ellicott City. She wore all 1970s style getup gear in the form of plaid slacks, loafer dress shoes, and a long worn out trench coat; complete with an odd Michael Jackson style fedora with so many holes in the brim and dome of it, it could just as easily be mistaken for a pasta strainer. Underneath it all, she was wearing the most sick and twisted grin that made the acids in my digestive chamber churn and looked as if she was somehow the real life incarnation of Harley fucking Quinn. “Um, may I help you dear ma’am?” Bridgette asked, slowly to my left; desperately fighting to regain control of her own heartbeat and adrenaline coursing through her veins. Jenni secretly had her hand near the shoulder holster on her bra top and disturbingly, the doe had her right hand visibly on something of her own in the pocket of her trench coat. “What figure do you represent?” She inquired softly; in a voice and tone that would give a cabbage patch joey nightmares. All of us were highly put off by the question. “What?” Bridgette discerned, cocking her head slightly to the side in confusion. “What FIGURE do you REPRESENT?” The doe repeated rather harsh tone. Suddenly, the thought instantly clicked in my brain. “Atheist!” I blurted out. “We’re all atheist and we worship no high god except those of polytheism.” The deer’s creepy expression suddenly went stoic and my heart was pounding thunderously in my ears as she steadily turned and uttered, “You lucked out.” When she was at least halfway gone, I sighed and assumed just about all the worst was over when I suddenly heard some random male wolf in the crowd of patrons yell, “Fuck! Gun!” The room was suddenly a deadly fiesta of small explosions and screams.

Jera “Meya” Hallowell

My lupine ears perked up instantaneously at the ferocious growling of Jessica’s stomach at the table to my left as we all sat around lazily in the kitchen upon the hopefully safe return of our two new dearly beloved slakt, Jill and Jenni along with her cousin from the local AMC theater downtown; our heads filled with worry and our stomachs empty and rumbling profusely, as it was indeed an almost lifelong tradition of our besattning to not touch even a single morsel of food at dinner until each and every current member of the family was fully present at the table. Jessica glanced anxiously down at the watch on her rist and sighed. “Just how long has it been?” The cougar inquired. “I don’t know about you, but I always get a little drowsy on the downside of hunger, so I been kinda zoning out for a minute there.” “Way to long to see Thanksgiving coming.” Gevo sighed in return. “Or Xmas. I think the PH level in my stomach has just about gone against me and is starting to digest itself.” “Same here, bruh.” Wendy solemnly agreed. “Same here.” Just when we all were on the very cusp of thinking all hope was just about lost, the jingling of a key began to sound in the tumblers of the front door and the peep, peep, peep of the ADT system sounded off before my two sweet little Joey, nieces finally swaggered rather exahaustedly into our home alonside their spotted hyena mother and padded almost immediately and straight into the kitchen; without even bothering once to remove their sandals and boots at the door like usual. “Jill, Bridgette, Jenn!” I burst out estatically, wrapping my arms around each of them before the sudden loud and obnoxious gurgling of my own mage briefly startled them both. “Where the hell have you scalywags been this whole time?” Gevo inquired with a slight puppish whimper. “I’ve been over here damn near starving my ass off and you two hussies were so busy poking around at the department stores at the mall?” “Oh, hush up, you silly lobo.” Sekhmet teased softly with a wry smile and elbow. “Anyways, as Swedish here just asked, what all in the jolly green Anubis underworld happened?” “The Pred Collector.” Jenni and Lena Jill both replied in unison. Sekhmet was speechless.

Lena Jill Lorenzen

I returned to work full duty right on the very cusp of the next Sunday on the Maryland and New Carrollton Railway’s former Pennsylvania Railroad nee Conrail, Popes Creek Secondary subdivision at around 5:22 PM late that evening. My four year veteran conductor, Meya Nilsson and I arrived in a little over half that time down at the local Merritt generating station in Morgantown down on the edge of the Potomac River in her dinky little white sedan from which she always more than willingly picks me up in no matter where or how far across town I may possibly be. Meya was a kind middle aged wolf all the way from Stockholm of Sweden with fur as pure and snow white as winter with patches of black along most of her ears, forehead, and cheeks, and soft amber eyes that just somehow spiritually caressed you like a mother’s pouch whenever you indeed were lucky enough to come in full contact with her. Unlike most thirty nine year olds working the rails today though, she had the biggest motor mouth I’ve ever seen any wolf of her kind and originality possess. No, it never got her into any sort of trouble at all in any way; considering she always went by that “the older the wiser” type thought and mentality, but boy did it sure hilariously drive some of Joey boomer guys and gals downright to the point of insanity to which some even dubbed her the proper and fitting nickname of “Motorola Meya”. We had just retrieved our striking orange and gold pair of C40-8Ws, depressingly replaced by the ever famous G&W style herald with the MNC letters for our company printed boldly in the middle of the sun style logo on both the nose and engine compartment sides, and were now throttling up to head north with our string of about eighty six empties for the staging yard down on Norfolk and Atlantic territory in the form of their ever prominent Mount Claire yard in Baltimore. Everything was pretty fine for the most part. The cab signal indicator shone the bright green universal color for clear, the rails hummed rhythmically and rather nicely, and of course Meya even started up her usual round of nearly nonstop talking about the latest video games out to date, console releases, and of course the ever so usual girly girl gig of what couples both she and I were going to be swooning over when the two next seasons of “Teen Wolf” or either that third reboot of “Being Animal” ever came into play on television. “I don’t know.” I laughed genuinely. “I’m not at all that much of a TV buff roo. I mainly just stick to Youtube and such. Besides, everything on there is pretty much being consumed by zombie crap anyway.” “Yeah. Ain’t that the truth, kamrat.” She replied, once again with that ever so friendly and motherly smile. “Say, I’m getting kinda hungry. You still have at least a few of those carrot sticks and all you got from our luncheon at Baja Fresh earlier?” “Didn’t you just eat nearly all of my veggie wrap meal along with your own beef supreme chimichanga?” “Yeah. But, that was about two hours ago.” She whined comically along with her stomach as I began to bring us slowly around the turn and junction switch at the twenty mile an hour limit steadily onto the late night deadened version of Amtrak’s electrified Northeast Corridor. I sighed and rolled my eyes coyly in mock indignation. I’ll take you by Shelly’s or somewhere when get up into B-more.” She smiled gratefully over in my direction in return then her expression suddenly resembled those of a fellow ruminant caught in the midst of headlights as I gave the usual signal of two long warning blows on the K5LA horn button for the New Carrollton MARC and Amtrak stop before turning steadily back to me in almost whispering in sheer, undine horror, “Did you just see that?” “See what? What’s wrong, mama wolfina? Is that usual late night case of acid reflux finally starting to settle slowly within you? I hear nearly just about all forty year olds get it, you know?” “That’s sure as hell not funny, deary. And no. That’s not at all what I mean. I mean, there was a woman; a deer from the looks of it, standing somewhere within the fence of the old catenary substation. Nothing unusual I thought at first glance except for being the occasional trespasser, but her apparel she was wearing apparently looked to be ripped straight out of way back of the nineteen fifties or so era.” Just then, my stomachs dropped and I let out an audible gulp in response as my mind suddenly raced directly back to the movie theater with my mom and cousin. “Crikey, son of a bitch.” I murmured in shock and surprise. I turned back to Meya. “M, did you manage to catch even a slight glimpse of what all she was wearing before she went by?” “Some long ass trench coat; in the damn dead of summer, Jimmy John slacks, curling dress shoes, and some kind of wide brimmed Smokey Bear like fedora that looked like something out of fucking LA Noire.” “Holy mercy mother of Anubis.” I swore under my breath. “Just about a minute after I forced that response from the lips of my muzzle, the DC based dispatcher of the NEC returned my routine status call for clearance along the route and my blood soon ran like a stream in February at his exact words, “MNC engine seventy eight fourteen, you are indeed green for glory all the way, but strangely all of our service is just about suspended for the night here on. Apparently, there was some sort of random transformer explosion somewhere near your section. Odd, because the techs just checked that sucker out nearly a week or so right on inspection date.”

Meya “Motorola” Nilsson

I tossed and turned uncomfortably and restlessly in the rather pint sized queen bed at my small little farm cottage style loft back in American redneck country of Waldorf as my stomach roiled and the even more inevitable feeling of indigestion sizzled in its acids. Damn it. I’ve really got to stop cleaning out the local Wawa for chili dogs and waffle sandwiches at damn near 1:47 in the morning. I staggered wearily to my feet and padded my merrily way into the bathroom across the hall to grab an antacid or two when I suddenly began to get the strangest and bone chilling eerie feeling sweep across the scruff on the back of my neck and just about all of my lupine senses began to go straight haywire. Out of nearly all the creepy and fucked up places in my diminutive early twenty first century style brick Victorian style house, the upstairs bathroom definitely and no doubt paws down took the double decker cake as being number one. It had this weird and somewhat off putting painting of Skoll and Hati on the wall next to the mirror that my grandma sent me down as a present from Harlem after the passing of her late husband by the guns of some wayside punks sometime after he’d generously crafted it for me. More unsettlingly, some guests of mine I’d had over a few times before had apparently reported to me that the eyes of both wolf gods of the painting glow like chem lights in the pitch black darkness of the room and follow you slowly and mysteriously as you steadily move around it. Fact or theory? Truth or over exaggeration? Who knows? But, I knew one thing for damn sure. I sure as fuck didn’t at all want to find out. I decided to head downstairs and grab myself a nice root beer or some other form of carbonated beverage instead and began to steadily relax as the cool liquid soothed the rasp and scratchiness of my desert dry throat and nulled the fiery, churning acids of my stomach before I took a seat slowly down at the kitchen table to enjoy a quick breather. “Was it you?” My ears suddenly perked up at the sound of an unfamiliar and gruff feminine sounding voice and my heartbeat quickened as the thumping of what sounded like hooves of either a deer or an equine thundered heavily across the hallway floor and down the stairs from where I just somehow know had originated from, yep. You guessed it. The lavatory. My nose and muzzle involuntarily wrinkled in disgust and my stomach acids began to churn again as the sickening smell of what appeared to be dead and rotting flesh permeated the once still, night air of early morning kitchen. The footsteps continued for a couple feet or so and I thought or more like hoped that I’d been dreaming or at least imagining the whole thing when I saw it. A young deer doe stood frighteningly in the doorway of my fairly decent sized eatery wearing the same exact LA Noire style getup as the exact same one Bridgette and I had both seen the night before at one of the substations along the NEC. Innocent enough aside from an apparent home invasion right? Wrong. The ominous smile she was wearing nearly the entire time on her muzzle appeared to resemble that of a skull along with the whole rest of her face; revealing rows of razor sharp, needle or comb like teeth instead of the usual square shaped ones of a ruminant. Her trench coat was wide open enough to where in the glowing light of the full moon, I could see just about each and every organ on her through the crevices of her exposed ribcage; from her audibly beating heart, all the way down to her rotting stomach and liver. “What figure do you represent?” She asked eerily in an oily tone. It was right then and there that my stomach dropped and I nearly went into a panic attack right then and there at the almost instant pit of realization. This wasn’t just any old deer or even all too common demonic or vengeful spirit for all that matter. From all the many stories and tales I’ve heard; both from the Native American wolves here and just about all the residents back around in my home country, this was most certainly and no doubt Margaret Challice in the straight up and full fucking flesh. A bloodthirsty revenge spirit of what some now may call… A Wendigo. [_ _][* *]

Bridgette “Jillaroo” Lorenzen

I was the very first in the Panthera clubhouse to awaken to a tremendous and purely fear filled set of raps on the front door which had the full on potential to stir bring the whole damn place down as if it were suddenly made of straw and sticks. Speaking of said fable I had more than a perfect clue or idea just who it could be; especially around this ass crack of dawn hour. I rose drowsily with a yawn to my tired and achy feet, dressed in just simply my fur and the skin under it before padding exhaustedly down the stairs by the main living room and kitchen area, and steadily turned the knob. “Just as I suspected, mate.” I mused at the ever familiar sight of Meya oddly standing barefoot and jittery as a basket case in the crook of our doorway; wearing nothing but simply just her casual sleepwear of jeans and a black bra. “I knew that bean burrito from Tex-Mex was bound to give you at least one acid reflux style nightmare sooner or later.” “I really do wish I could laugh it off and tell you that, sis, but this is no doubt one hundred percent reality. Please, may I come in?” “Go right ahead.” I jovially insisted before she damn near bowled me over within the first three seconds of me obliging, and I had to sideswipe almost into the frame of the gold framed mirror on the wall to my right just to keep to staying upright. All the rest of the gang in the house, including my cousin, had apparently all gone back to sleep except of course for Emma who was scavenging the kitchen as usual; looking to fill her seemingly bottomless pit stomach with the last of any leftovers from the previous nights meals. “Okay, now tell me, Motorola Meya. What have you gone and done with that big literal pie hole of yours to put yourself in a jam this time around?” “You remember that girl last night? The one that got inside the D-block substation and caused nearly a whole outage for the corridor all the way from her to Penn Station?” “Yeah. So? What about her?” I asked, curiously. “Besides the fact that she killed nearly a good twelve dozen animals at the movie theater last Friday when she showed up?” “She’s no ordinary Bambi?” “What? What are you talking about?” I asked, beginning to suddenly feel a cold chill over my shoulder at the thought. “Her name is Margaret Challice.” She explained. “A hell of a long time ago, nineteen fifty two I think, she was an original Maryland member of the Black Panthera civil rights and freedoms gang, but at around nightfall or so; all the recurring times that most of us around here seem to witness her full on presence, she was taken from her local apartment complex by a group of Ursadae supremacist thugs, horribly tortured, maimed and eventually hung from the highest tree down in Lake Elkhorn park. When they found her the next day, her body was so grotesquely mutilated and badly mangled that her mother and family all agreed that she should be buried immediately; right in the same place those fuckers did the killing. But, before they did, Miss Lu Crawford made good and damn sure that everyone reading the front fucking page of the USA Today main headlines got to see the full on picture of her daughter in nearly all its hideous glory.”

Margaret Emily Challice

Feeding time. I uttered mentally along with my Anubis knows how old and stale; disgustingly exposed empty stomach as I padded lightly once again into the thickly wooded and dense clearing of my old little farm ranch style cabin I had grown up nearly three hundred or so years ago with my poor parents around the tender age then of sixteen. My father grinded pretty hard long hours, days, and then weeks for us working as a section man for what was then known as the Pennsylvania Railroad; soon to be Penn Central’s pope creek secondary bituminous coal line to and from the local waterfront power generating station in Morgantown while mom was usually out paying her own dues to the currently worse than struggling society as well in the form of a nurse down at the old tuberculosis ward of what was then Charles County State Hospital, soon to be Charles County Institution. I usually was most often always constantly left to fend for myself even though I knew for good and damn sure that was going to be a hell of a lot more than a manic and complex task, apart from my actual footed and toed cousins who at the time had only just recently migrated in from the lovely province of Australia; especially since I was only still just a young fawn in not only theirs, but mostly everyone’s eyes. The rest of what happened after that is still completely hazy. I don’t remember really at all a damn thing except for a period of brief darkness and then soon waking up in the body of this sick, demented looking, stomach oriented flesh eating bag of bones and rotting meat that I am now. I made my way slowly up to the edge of my cabin, just grazing the soon to be break of dawn and surprisingly found it unlocked as usual. Or, maybe it was just my somehow innate monstrous ability to freely bypass pretty much any means of solid matter I ever so chose. I entered my old cabin through the front and with all means, hoofed straight into the kitchen to scavenge about the least bit I could find which happened to be a skewered roasted pig; which I gulped down quickly with incredible ease. The in animally sulfuric strong acids in my stomach boiled for more and I almost immediately sensed quickly with gnawing hunger and a fit of rage that I wasn’t at all the only being still inhabiting these around here parts, and whoever else it was that had taken over my original space sure as hell indeed wasn’t at all the least bit friendly.

Lena Jill Lorenzen

The entire living room was ablaze with the tremendous whoops and shouts of Tawret, Emma, Sekhmet, and all the whole rest of the crew as an unexpected lead brick somehow completely missed my defense and was sent careening into the left side of my muzzle which caused me to stagger back about a few inches or so before I quickly maintained to keep my nimble and brisk footing, edgily on the balls and pads of my feet. I took a few steps or so forward and returned at the perfect and precise opportunity with a hard counter of my own toward my cousin; first to her stomach and then right back up top to her main control center where I managed to dish one more clean right hook directly to the grand target of her temple, putting her almost instantly down for the count for the fifth time in a row of this entire bout as I spat out the mouth guard into Jessica’s outstretched hand and plopped exhaustedly down on the leather upholstery sectional before she gracefully handed me both a water bottle and a nice hefty can of my all-time favorite brand of gourmet root beer; which I guzzled down mightily. “Ya got good fire in ya, Joey.” The cougar said, giving me a usual sisterly pat on my shoulder. “Out fucking standing, Penelope Kanga.” “Thanks.” I credited with a soft smile. “Love you too, Jessie soon to be roo.” Jessica smiled toothily in her usual concolor way in return while she then slipped on her own pair of gloves on her paws to pit against Mama Jenni; whom was just about equally ripped to the very core and was pretty naturally ballasted with an extra few pounds or so, being a street fighter for a good majority of her cub days growing up in Baltimore’s deadly Cherry Hill savannah style hood. After a quick power lunch and a brief change of shorts and bra, I flopped jadedly down on my bed without even bothering to pull the sheets and all over my feet before I could feel myself almost instantly drifting off and the caress of a hand gently stroking the fur of my left shoulder as I lay. Wait… What? I jerked up as quick as a bullet and almost immediately began to feel a sense of fear and dread wash quickly over me, completely unlike during the time of Leslie’s visitation and very surprisingly, the mysterious former Black Panthera, Margaret Challice at the AMC theater. Something purely evil and dark most definitely was now present here at this very moment and I of course wasn’t at all liking a second of it. I tried as best as I could to sincerely brush it off and began to start my usual round of shadow boxing in the big picturesque mirrors of the doors of my coat and weapons closet before an ironically shadowy face and figure; lupine from the looks of it, began to appear slowly in it. Its fur was midnight black and it stared at me with the most demonic looking piercing blood red that looked straight into my very being like the eyes of a serial killer; waiting patiently with bloodlust for his or her next unwary victim. I stood frozenly still, all other sounds in the room completely drowned out aside from my racing and almost visibly pounding heart before the figure thankfully disappeared after what seemed like damn near a fucking eternity and all was gracefully back to normal as I dipped it the fuck up out of there and dashed back down the stairs with mama and the rest of our crew.

Penelope Tawret

I got back hella late from my little part time and more than lovable gig over at the local Sunny Day preschool center just up the hill; adjacent to good old Jeffers Hill Elementary zonked and most of all, extremely starving. I trudged jadedly up the hill to the front door of the clubhouse, my feet aching, my sandals nearly worn, and my stomach rumbling all to sheer and unholy hell. I chopped myself up a few onions, tomatoes, and celery and whipped myself up an omelet at around ten PM to the sounds of nothing but snores from everyone of the entire rest of the crew. I was utterly surprised and quite frankly a bit shocked as it was usually Lena who was the late enough night owl Kanga to run down and open the door long before my heavy hippo footsteps even sounded, clambering up the two or three steps to get up to the front door, and she’s not at all one to usually stay out of that den of hers for long. I got my pretty decent fill and made my way up the staircase to my quarters to record a few gaming videos or so before I turned in, but sometime after I had finished the first of a few walkthrough parts I was doing of pretty much the world’s favorite “Five Night’s at Freddy’s Sister Location” indie platformer, my whole computer screen I’d been sitting at suddenly went completely black along with the blueish UV lights of Wendy’s tanning bed in the corner; to of her equal bewilderment in the situation and overall confusion, she was instantly on her feet as well. “Damn it, Jenni.” She muttered, only mildly annoyed. “This better not be another one of your damn stupid early Halloween pranks again.” “Um, Wedjet, I seriously doubt Jenni would even think about being so daft.” I dejected. “Considering, the way her night pattern is you could knock her in the head with a sack of nickels and she still wouldn’t even wake up.” We decided to just shrug it off and let the powers of exhaustion wedel their way over us as the clock steadily began to strike three. Somewhere in the midst of my, what seemed like, peaceful slumber, I heard the steady and horribly cringe worthy screechy sound of what sounded like claws on an old chalkboard that is my wall and was just about to cover my ears with my ivory teeth heavily gritted when I suddenly realized that arms and everything all the way from my head to my toes was frozen completely solid in place. It was almost like one of those many fright stories you read on the internet and all about the few animals unfortunately living with ALS on the medical channels and such and how desperately you just wanna reach out your helpful and lending hand to show how sincerely much you care and feel for them in return. My ears were suddenly split by what all but sounded like a wolf growl creeping up near the foot of my bed before I then frighteningly saw him. Hati. Fucking Hati! The chaotic Scandinavian and Nordic god nearly everyone and their mother feared. Hell, even Set himself would be pissing his pants at the sheer thought of having to bunk with this Arsenic Candy style Harbinger in the deep, dark depths of the underworld. This is just a dream. I concluded as calm as I could, mentally. _This will all be over fortunately quite soon and then you can certainly laugh about it with Lena and Jenni in the morning light. _“Oh, no it’s not.” Hati uttered darkly in reply in what sounded like a somewhat fierce low growl. “Welcome to your doom and madhouse, old Hippster. I’ll be sure to make you and your little followers feel more than right at home.”

Stay tuned for book number two, coming soon after this sneak preview

Bridgette Lorenzen

I returned early the next day at around noon from yet another good run along the Pope’s Creek line, delivering loads of lumber and food stocks here and there for the various new industries now present along the route before finally heading on back with good old Motorola Meya and our two light engines back to our usual tie up location of Baltimore’s Mount Clare Yard around daybreak or so before we signed off. I was resting alone in the clubhouse for the most part. Jenni, Cuz, and the whole rest of the crew had gone out for a little ginger stroll around the Columbia Mall I guess to maybe catch a free movie or get a few good dance moves in down at the lakefront Summer Fest concert shows and all while I shared a rather peaceful room with the equally chill and fun loving hippo, Tawret.


Tales From The Creator's Crypt

  • ISBN: 9781370058228
  • Author: Penelope Kanga
  • Published: 2016-08-17 20:50:10
  • Words: 6659
Tales From The Creator's Crypt Tales From The Creator's Crypt