"You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means he uses to frighten you."-- Eric Hoffer
What scares you? Spiders crawling on your bed while you sleep with your mouth open? They inch their way up your legs but you don’t feel them because you’re too busy dreaming something you’ll hope to forget before you wake. While you run around puddles of dirt water in your vague nightmare, the spiders reach your neck. Unconsciously you bat away a couple of web crawlers, never being fully aware of the real danger that rests just inches from your chin. Unbeknown to you, one spider remains poised to enter a chamber of snoring echoes; a chamber filled with a warm intriguing darkness—your mouth.
While you do your best in the world of dreams to avoid the ever growing puddles because you know that if you step in one, you will fall into an abyss filled with pain and misery. In fact, you’re sure a demon waits, salivating for the opportunity to strip you of all dignity. He will expose your faults and even worse, make you relive your nerve-racking fears. While you wrestle with a fantastic and seemingly never ending nightmare, in real life, the spider enters your mouth. Out of sheer instinct, you shut the opening, preventing the insect from escaping. Feeling something in your mouth, you begin to chew, because in your dream, while you jump over puddles, miraculously avoiding them, you bite down on a Slim Jim and savor the salty taste. It’s only when you swallow, your eyes open to familiar surroundings. The thing still mixing with saliva in your mouth, doesn’t taste like the piece of processed meat. Instead you jump from your bed and turn on the lights. At first your eyes can’t make out the distinctive shapes, but just when you think nothing happened and that you’re mixing your dreams with reality, you spot two web crawlers. You cringe when witnessing their wide bodies crawling on the sheets, searching for their companion.
Screams fill the air. Screams of terror bounce off the objects in your room. As if your horrible reality wasn’t enough, you realize, something was in your mouth. You rush into the bathroom, turn on the lights and examine it. You gag when you spot a thin thread stuck between your teeth. No, not a thread, but a spider’s leg. Convulsions lead you to the toilet where your body forcibly dispels the monster that invaded it. A morbid thought pops into your mind. You are what you eat. “Yuck!” In addition to the exhausting act of vomiting, you spit until you can’t spit anymore. You brush your teeth, thrice, making sure to floss like never before and rinse with plenty of mouthwash.
At last you’re about to go back to bed when you realize, two more spiders are still there, but you can’t see them. They’re hiding, waiting for you to go back to sleep, back to the puddles, back to falling into the abyss.
*
So what scares you? Is it sneaky insects daring to explore your insides? Or perhaps, strange noises in the night that seem to prop up without any acceptable explanation? Maybe you see pronounced silhouettes of blackness prancing about in the dark? They toy with you and pull the covers off your feet just when you’re in the throes between consciousness and sleep. You ignore the shadows as best you can until you feel the bed indent. Something lies next to you. You tell yourself, how can that be? But you know, your spouse hasn’t stirred, and is in fact, snoring. Then it rises and the pressure on the mattress is released. You want to scream but don’t for fear of looking foolish.
So when you write horror, write what you know, write about what scares you the most. It’ll be like going to battle; you versus yourself. If you frighten yourself then there’s a good chance others will be terrified.
Sweet dreams and don’t let the bedbugs bite.
Nomar Knight
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Horror’s Possible Ramifications
"Horror is beyond the reach of psychology."-- Theodor Adorno
Meaning the science of psychology cannot undo the psychological damage that horror, either real life or fictional, inflicts. Let us examine some of the physical aspects of horror. Sweaty palms which lead to every part of the body covered in perspiration. A rapid heartbeat that makes people believe they are going to die of cardiac arrest. A sudden inability to move limbs, followed by the realization if they move, they would draw unwanted attention; perhaps leading to a dangerous hesitation that can lead to a volatile confrontation. Involuntary movement, such as knees buckling and knocking against each other; spasms shaking arms and neck, or a sudden tick developing in the face, all are telltale signs of physical fear.
The physiology behind fear is one thing, but there’s no substitute for what horror can do to the human psyche. I’m not a psychologist but if real life traumatic events wouldn’t affect the surviving victims, then why must they afterwards consult a psychologist or psychiatrist?
I agree with Theodor Adorno’s statement. Horror’s psychological ramifications, even if it’s just fictional horror, can trigger phobias that could affect a person their entire lives. Watch a movie about millions of insects roaming on people and acting out of character and you may develop a sudden awareness of the possibility of malice originating from any similar creature. And therein lays the key word: possibility.
Horror writers enjoy delving in possible outcomes, slowly feeding the mind fantastic, yet plausible scenarios until somewhere in the deep recess of the mind; the audience accepts the possibility as probable. Something like rodents attacking a household is highly unlikely but if some kind of chemical, unbeknownst to everyone, was released in the air and altered their behavior, then what was once possible becomes probable and therefore, in the audience’s mind, can in fact, be accepted as a plausible threat. Any threat considered viable may have a deep psychological impact.
There are many phobias, all of which may have profound psychological affects, all of which can be utilized by the skilled writer to wreak havoc on the reader’s psyche, even if it’s only while they immerse themselves in the fictional world.
So my friends, if you find yourself with a sudden infestation of insects. Bugs that suddenly move out in the open without fearing for their survival, then just maybe, horror has found its way into your reality.
Until next time,
Nomar Knight
Meaning the science of psychology cannot undo the psychological damage that horror, either real life or fictional, inflicts. Let us examine some of the physical aspects of horror. Sweaty palms which lead to every part of the body covered in perspiration. A rapid heartbeat that makes people believe they are going to die of cardiac arrest. A sudden inability to move limbs, followed by the realization if they move, they would draw unwanted attention; perhaps leading to a dangerous hesitation that can lead to a volatile confrontation. Involuntary movement, such as knees buckling and knocking against each other; spasms shaking arms and neck, or a sudden tick developing in the face, all are telltale signs of physical fear.
The physiology behind fear is one thing, but there’s no substitute for what horror can do to the human psyche. I’m not a psychologist but if real life traumatic events wouldn’t affect the surviving victims, then why must they afterwards consult a psychologist or psychiatrist?
I agree with Theodor Adorno’s statement. Horror’s psychological ramifications, even if it’s just fictional horror, can trigger phobias that could affect a person their entire lives. Watch a movie about millions of insects roaming on people and acting out of character and you may develop a sudden awareness of the possibility of malice originating from any similar creature. And therein lays the key word: possibility.
Horror writers enjoy delving in possible outcomes, slowly feeding the mind fantastic, yet plausible scenarios until somewhere in the deep recess of the mind; the audience accepts the possibility as probable. Something like rodents attacking a household is highly unlikely but if some kind of chemical, unbeknownst to everyone, was released in the air and altered their behavior, then what was once possible becomes probable and therefore, in the audience’s mind, can in fact, be accepted as a plausible threat. Any threat considered viable may have a deep psychological impact.
There are many phobias, all of which may have profound psychological affects, all of which can be utilized by the skilled writer to wreak havoc on the reader’s psyche, even if it’s only while they immerse themselves in the fictional world.
So my friends, if you find yourself with a sudden infestation of insects. Bugs that suddenly move out in the open without fearing for their survival, then just maybe, horror has found its way into your reality.
Until next time,
Nomar Knight
Friday, June 25, 2010
Fallen
The sun threatens to break through angry, gray clouds. While I’m on my back, I stare up at the sky, admiring the Creator’s artistic display and pray for a semblance of holy revelation. A quick glimpse at my feet reveals a chaotic formation of purple blotches on my aching legs. With each simple movement I attempt, painful electrical impulses shoot throughout my naked, feminine body. I rise and grimace with the realization my legs must carry humanity’s heaviest burden. I almost jump for joy but the pain in maintaining my balance bathes me with perspiration. My lungs fill with gobs of air, drowning me with a new welcomed affliction. I raise my bloody right hand and shield my eyes as glorious rays beam down from Heaven.
“I did it!” I wince as friction strains my throat. Then a cold breeze brushes my amber tresses and as if by magic, it whispers in my ears: Water, you need water to survive. At last the sun’s warmth coats me with hope. A few white feathers float towards an oasis that waits in the middle of barren land.
Once again I look up and smile, “Thank you my Lord.”
My first step as a woman comes with pain. The fall from heaven still hurting; I grimace, stumble and crash face first on the sand. Determined to survive, I drag my body over rocks to an oasis and sip the essence of life. I am an Angel no more.
245 words
“I did it!” I wince as friction strains my throat. Then a cold breeze brushes my amber tresses and as if by magic, it whispers in my ears: Water, you need water to survive. At last the sun’s warmth coats me with hope. A few white feathers float towards an oasis that waits in the middle of barren land.
Once again I look up and smile, “Thank you my Lord.”
My first step as a woman comes with pain. The fall from heaven still hurting; I grimace, stumble and crash face first on the sand. Determined to survive, I drag my body over rocks to an oasis and sip the essence of life. I am an Angel no more.
245 words
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Would you rather get up early or sleep late?
I prefer to get up early so I can make the most of my day.
Miserable People
A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort. ~Herm Albright,
The best way to annoy people that hate the world and everything around them is to be nice to them. They usually go out of their way to wipe the smug smile off a face, especially when that smile is directed towards them. Case in point: when I was about seven years old I was on a New York City sidewalk, playing with my invisible friend, when a slender, old, fellow stopped a few feet away from me. At first I thought he was going to quiz me about my conversation with someone he couldn’t see, but I soon discovered that he stopped because he spotted a kitty under a parked car.
The half bald man with beady eyes that didn’t seem to match the hardened face began to coax the kitty out of from under the car. He exuded a warm smile, revealing missing teeth. I wouldn’t have expected anything amiss if it weren’t for my invisible friend. He said, “Don’t take your eyes off this guy. Watch him.”
At first I was puzzled at why my invisible friend was interested in the nice old man. The pale individual with the large sacks under his eyes squatted and continued to call the kitty with a sweet, warm voice. The little feline inched closer to him, glancing at my invisible friend and me. Nevertheless, it began to trust the old guy as it got closer.
“Aw, Kitty, Kitty, come here baby.” I thought I was witnessing the nicest man alive. Someone who cared for animals, someone I could take after.
My invisible friend said, “Keep watching.”
The kitten gently banged his head against the man’s shins, begging for affection. Affection it obviously missed since it was a stray. I thought how wonderful that the kind senior citizen took time out of his busy life to show a stray some much needed love.
The old guy rose to his feet, continuing to coo the kitty, but without warning, he lifted his right leg and kicked the kitty to the other side of the street amid high pitched squeals. “Damn, rotten cats! I hate them all!"
I didn’t blink. I didn’t move, shocked at what I had just witnessed. The old brute glanced at me and said, “Cats are evil.” He stormed off and left me listening to the kitten’s cries and my invisible friend’s laughter.
Now that I’m an adult, I reflect on the past and realize, I don’t like miserable people. At first I’d fight fire with fire but now I know that all though it could be extremely challenging, it’s best to fight a miserable person with a smoldering smile.
I guess that in a sense, I do get pleasure from other people’s misery only; I particularly enjoy annoying miserable, sour pusses. I recall thinking, the old man needed to learn a lesson and I remember distinctly wishing that I was bigger so I could kick him to the other side of the street. When my invisible friend stopped laughing, his mood changed. He became worried about me and mentioned a word I wouldn’t understand for a few years to come. He said, “Don’t worry about the old man, he’ll get his soon enough. Karma’s a bitch.”
“What’s that?”
“What you do in this world, will get done to you, sooner or later.”
“Huh?”
“Come on! Let’s go check on the kitty. Maybe it’s dead and you can open it up and see its body parts.”
“Yuck” I said, “why would I want to do that?”
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish like a girl?”
As luck would have it, the kitty was fine and hid under another vehicle. I decided to go to the roof of my grandmother’s building with a carton of eggs and hunt for miserable people who obsessed over cleaning their new cars. I waited for hours hoping to get a shot at the old man. I never saw him again but I hoped Karma bitched slapped him to another neighborhood.
Nomar Knight
The best way to annoy people that hate the world and everything around them is to be nice to them. They usually go out of their way to wipe the smug smile off a face, especially when that smile is directed towards them. Case in point: when I was about seven years old I was on a New York City sidewalk, playing with my invisible friend, when a slender, old, fellow stopped a few feet away from me. At first I thought he was going to quiz me about my conversation with someone he couldn’t see, but I soon discovered that he stopped because he spotted a kitty under a parked car.
The half bald man with beady eyes that didn’t seem to match the hardened face began to coax the kitty out of from under the car. He exuded a warm smile, revealing missing teeth. I wouldn’t have expected anything amiss if it weren’t for my invisible friend. He said, “Don’t take your eyes off this guy. Watch him.”
At first I was puzzled at why my invisible friend was interested in the nice old man. The pale individual with the large sacks under his eyes squatted and continued to call the kitty with a sweet, warm voice. The little feline inched closer to him, glancing at my invisible friend and me. Nevertheless, it began to trust the old guy as it got closer.
“Aw, Kitty, Kitty, come here baby.” I thought I was witnessing the nicest man alive. Someone who cared for animals, someone I could take after.
My invisible friend said, “Keep watching.”
The kitten gently banged his head against the man’s shins, begging for affection. Affection it obviously missed since it was a stray. I thought how wonderful that the kind senior citizen took time out of his busy life to show a stray some much needed love.
The old guy rose to his feet, continuing to coo the kitty, but without warning, he lifted his right leg and kicked the kitty to the other side of the street amid high pitched squeals. “Damn, rotten cats! I hate them all!"
I didn’t blink. I didn’t move, shocked at what I had just witnessed. The old brute glanced at me and said, “Cats are evil.” He stormed off and left me listening to the kitten’s cries and my invisible friend’s laughter.
Now that I’m an adult, I reflect on the past and realize, I don’t like miserable people. At first I’d fight fire with fire but now I know that all though it could be extremely challenging, it’s best to fight a miserable person with a smoldering smile.
I guess that in a sense, I do get pleasure from other people’s misery only; I particularly enjoy annoying miserable, sour pusses. I recall thinking, the old man needed to learn a lesson and I remember distinctly wishing that I was bigger so I could kick him to the other side of the street. When my invisible friend stopped laughing, his mood changed. He became worried about me and mentioned a word I wouldn’t understand for a few years to come. He said, “Don’t worry about the old man, he’ll get his soon enough. Karma’s a bitch.”
“What’s that?”
“What you do in this world, will get done to you, sooner or later.”
“Huh?”
“Come on! Let’s go check on the kitty. Maybe it’s dead and you can open it up and see its body parts.”
“Yuck” I said, “why would I want to do that?”
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish like a girl?”
As luck would have it, the kitty was fine and hid under another vehicle. I decided to go to the roof of my grandmother’s building with a carton of eggs and hunt for miserable people who obsessed over cleaning their new cars. I waited for hours hoping to get a shot at the old man. I never saw him again but I hoped Karma bitched slapped him to another neighborhood.
Nomar Knight
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Lost and Afraid
Mazeophobia is the fear of getting lost. When I was young, I hated getting lost. There was something about being in unfamiliar territory. I despised the body's mechanism for advertising my stress. I'd wipe my sweaty palms off my jeans, all the while searching my surroundings, wide eyed. It wasn't long before probing eyes would glare in my direction, probably wondering what was wrong. Of course, I took the penetrating stares to be an invasion of my person. An attempt by aliens to abduct me and take me to an even stranger place. Then there was the fear that instead of concerned humans encircling me to lend a helping hand, that they'd be something monstrous like witches, vampires and werewolves. I'd heard the stories about children who'd go missing after getting lost. I was determined that wouldn't happen to me. No way I was going to let some monster eat me and wipe me off the face of the earth.
Some years later, I recall being in a car with someone that still had Mazeophobia. Of course, the fact that I seemed in control didn't mean I was cured; better perhaps, but not cured. Anyway, we wandered off from the desired destination and because of my refusal to ask for directions, I am a man after all, she had a fit. Curses spewed my way, loud shouts of nonsense words I automatically tuned out. I wanted to shut her up. Violent thoughts entered my mind, briefly, but then I recalled my childhood and my fear of getting lost. When the woman realized I was calmer than ever, she stopped screaming and asked, "You know where we are? You must know because you're so calm." I nodded, "Of course I know where I am." With raised eyebrows she asked, "Where are we?" I struggled to fight off a grin. Looking straight ahead at uncharted territory, I no longer saw the dangers of getting lost. I no longer worried about the boogie men who waited outside of my safe car for me to step out and become a victim; another statistic of a lost soul disappearing into an abyss of evil. I loosened my grip on the steering wheel, tilted my head towards the frightened lunatic and in a calm, soft voice said, "I know exactly where we are. We're in my car."
I expected her to attack with a barrage of punches, but instead she sat quietly, staring at the dashboard. I broke her trance with the most confident voice I could muster, "I'll find the place. I promise."
Through clenched teeth she said, "If you don't ask someone for directions, I swear I'll kill you, leave your body here in this Godforsaken place and I'll tell everyone you went missing because you got out to pee and got lost. The authorities will believe me, cause I'm a woman." Her eyes bulged from their sockets. I swear I saw a vein pulsating on the side of her head.
I spotted an elderly gentleman, lowered the window, bit the bullet, and asked him for directions. The old man threw us off further from our intended destination. Before the woman could get another panic attack, I calmly said, "I will find the place because the force is with me."
Experience has shown me that the world really is a small place.
Nomar Knight
Some years later, I recall being in a car with someone that still had Mazeophobia. Of course, the fact that I seemed in control didn't mean I was cured; better perhaps, but not cured. Anyway, we wandered off from the desired destination and because of my refusal to ask for directions, I am a man after all, she had a fit. Curses spewed my way, loud shouts of nonsense words I automatically tuned out. I wanted to shut her up. Violent thoughts entered my mind, briefly, but then I recalled my childhood and my fear of getting lost. When the woman realized I was calmer than ever, she stopped screaming and asked, "You know where we are? You must know because you're so calm." I nodded, "Of course I know where I am." With raised eyebrows she asked, "Where are we?" I struggled to fight off a grin. Looking straight ahead at uncharted territory, I no longer saw the dangers of getting lost. I no longer worried about the boogie men who waited outside of my safe car for me to step out and become a victim; another statistic of a lost soul disappearing into an abyss of evil. I loosened my grip on the steering wheel, tilted my head towards the frightened lunatic and in a calm, soft voice said, "I know exactly where we are. We're in my car."
I expected her to attack with a barrage of punches, but instead she sat quietly, staring at the dashboard. I broke her trance with the most confident voice I could muster, "I'll find the place. I promise."
Through clenched teeth she said, "If you don't ask someone for directions, I swear I'll kill you, leave your body here in this Godforsaken place and I'll tell everyone you went missing because you got out to pee and got lost. The authorities will believe me, cause I'm a woman." Her eyes bulged from their sockets. I swear I saw a vein pulsating on the side of her head.
I spotted an elderly gentleman, lowered the window, bit the bullet, and asked him for directions. The old man threw us off further from our intended destination. Before the woman could get another panic attack, I calmly said, "I will find the place because the force is with me."
Experience has shown me that the world really is a small place.
Nomar Knight
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Bad Character! Mr. Quality Jones
The nerve of some characters. I know I haven't been updating my blog like I should but I've been busy editing, rewriting stories that I want to submit for publication and writing a new book. Well, maybe a few books. Regardless, that doesn't give any of my characters permission to high jack my blog. Bad character, Quality, bad!
Let's see where I stand. Quality Jones is still frozen in time and he may well be that way for a few months more. A new character has my attention. Actually, he's an old character only now I know his name. He's Hunter Colby, a rookie FBI agent working in the anti-terrorist task force. It turns out he's gotten himself in a world of trouble. I always suspected there's more to this country than anyone has let on, you know; a secret society that's aware of things us plain folk could never fathom. Hunter finds out first hand what happens when secret agents clash with supernatural forces. A struggle for control is inevitable and Hunter's caught in the thick of things. The fact that his psychic aunt revealed to him when he was young that he was destined for greatness, has perhaps steered him in uncommon ground.
Sorry I'm being vague, it's just I'm waiting for something even more jarring to occur. I believe revelation will come either tonight or tomorrow.
As for the Countess Lorraina Sandoval, don't cry for her. She'll get her moment in the spotlight soon enough.
In the meantime, I'm rewriting two short stories, both to be entered in contests, one in WDC and the other I hope to see published in a literature site. If it wins that contest great, but anyone who knows me, knows I don't care about winning contests, just improving as a writer and hopefully entertaining my few readers. :-)
I'm also helping my friend Taniuska with her sensational novel Wolfkin Be sure to purchase it when it comes out. Which of course, I'll review it here.
I have to keep it brief today because I hear Hunter calling me. (Licks lips) This should be fun.
Anyone who may be interested in following me on Facebook, feel free to do so. I'm the one and only
Nomar Knight
Let's see where I stand. Quality Jones is still frozen in time and he may well be that way for a few months more. A new character has my attention. Actually, he's an old character only now I know his name. He's Hunter Colby, a rookie FBI agent working in the anti-terrorist task force. It turns out he's gotten himself in a world of trouble. I always suspected there's more to this country than anyone has let on, you know; a secret society that's aware of things us plain folk could never fathom. Hunter finds out first hand what happens when secret agents clash with supernatural forces. A struggle for control is inevitable and Hunter's caught in the thick of things. The fact that his psychic aunt revealed to him when he was young that he was destined for greatness, has perhaps steered him in uncommon ground.
Sorry I'm being vague, it's just I'm waiting for something even more jarring to occur. I believe revelation will come either tonight or tomorrow.
As for the Countess Lorraina Sandoval, don't cry for her. She'll get her moment in the spotlight soon enough.
In the meantime, I'm rewriting two short stories, both to be entered in contests, one in WDC and the other I hope to see published in a literature site. If it wins that contest great, but anyone who knows me, knows I don't care about winning contests, just improving as a writer and hopefully entertaining my few readers. :-)
I'm also helping my friend Taniuska with her sensational novel Wolfkin Be sure to purchase it when it comes out. Which of course, I'll review it here.
I have to keep it brief today because I hear Hunter calling me. (Licks lips) This should be fun.
Anyone who may be interested in following me on Facebook, feel free to do so. I'm the one and only
Nomar Knight
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
The High Jacking of Knight Chills
To Nomar Knight's readers, please forgive him for not writing in his blog. As for me, I'm miffed at him.
Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Quality Jones and I'm one of Nomar's new characters. I have taken it upon myself to be a guest blogger since he's busy paying attention to two of his oldest characters. Well, not old in age but in their acquaintance. He's busy jotting down the adventures of Lieutenant Harold Woods, a clairvoyant homicide detective, and a psycho named Juan Sanchez who goes by the name Paco. It seems Mr. Knight thinks that a couple of missing children are more important than my story.
Like I mentioned before, I'm Quality Jones and I'm a time traveler. I've been jumping into wormholes, chasing after my fiance's killer. An organization I work for, who doesn't officially exist in Mr. Knight's modern era, calls my nemesis, Jack. Mr. Knight has interesting theories about the loser because he is also a time traveler. Personally, I don't care who he is, I just know I must stop him from killing more women. When last Mr. Knight probed into my life, I had just barely survived an encounter with Jack. An attractive police detective Grace Stevens, who by the way, looks like an older version of my fiance, was ready to question me about the macabre events when suddenly, time stopped.
Ha, I'm a time traveler. I feel crawling sensations in my body like a thousand spiders stabbing me with sharp needles when I'm inside one of those wormholes. There are drawbacks I have to live with like reappearing at a new location or new time, naked. Does Mr. Knight have no decency? After he puts me through the ringer and makes me jump through hurdles, not necessarily over them, I have to wait in literary oblivion until he's done examining the lives of other characters?
Well, I have more than a gripe with you Mr. freakin' attention deficit disorder Knight! I want you to hurry up and tell my story. Make me one with the universe. I don't know, but I feel that I'm not the only character you've left hanging. Hmm. Wait a second. I hear a noise outside. Let me go investigate.
Investigation done. It was just a black cat, probably another character from one of his short stories. She didn't seem too pleased to see me.
"Where's Nomar?"
A feminine voice distracted me from my rant. When I glanced at the direction from whence it came there was no one there. I muttered, "Don't tell me a ghost is pissed at him too."
"I'm not a ghost."
I glanced in the opposite direction and came face to face with the most beautiful pair of green eyes I had ever seen. A young, pale looking female about 16 or 17 stood at a breath's pace. "Mr. Knight is not here today." I was going to volunteer information until I realized, she may be dangerous. There was something about her that didn't look quite normal.
"I can read minds you know." she grinned.
The only thing I could say was, "Huh?"
"I'm Countess Lorraina Sandoval. I'm a real vampire."
The thought process began kicking in slowly. I should have registered danger but this insane woman was gorgeous.
"I'm not insane."
I gasped, "You really can read minds!"
She flashed perfect white teeth. Was that fangs I saw?
"Who are you?" Her words sounded like soft music, her low tone lulled me.
"I'm a guest blogger."
"That's strange, Nomar doesn't strike me as someone that would allow someone else to write for him."
I must have smirked because she sneered at me. "How long have you known Mr. Knight?"
"Nomar attempted to write my first book 8 years ago. He wasn't ready then. It was all too overwhelming." She flashed a long black fingernail and gently stroked my chin.
To be honest, I thought she was going to slice my throat.
"Tempting darling, but these nights, I'm very selective who I eat."
I grimaced. Why couldn't I remember that she reads minds?
She continued, "Nomar tried to rush my story. He wanted to put it all down in one book. I visited him a couple of months ago and he promised he'd dedicate this summer to me."
"Well, I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but he lied."
Her eyes grew wide. She stared at me like a starved lioness about to jump on a fat buffalo. "Er, what I mean is, that he's putting the finishing touches on a novel and he mentioned something about summoning you before the summer is over."
She flashed a smile again and this time allowed me to see her fangs. Sharp suckers. She blew me a kiss and pointed at my screen. I couldn't believe I was dumb enough to fall for such a simple deceptive move. When I glanced back in her direction, she was gone.
New message to Mr. Knight. I suggest you get the vampire book done because something tells me your life will change drastically if you don't. I'm a new character. I can wait. Although, I'd love for you to unfreeze me and at least at your leisure, let me live, even if it's within the virtual pages of your computer.
Your new friend and protagonist,
Quality Jones, timetraveler
P.S. When are you going to get around to naming my story?
Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Quality Jones and I'm one of Nomar's new characters. I have taken it upon myself to be a guest blogger since he's busy paying attention to two of his oldest characters. Well, not old in age but in their acquaintance. He's busy jotting down the adventures of Lieutenant Harold Woods, a clairvoyant homicide detective, and a psycho named Juan Sanchez who goes by the name Paco. It seems Mr. Knight thinks that a couple of missing children are more important than my story.
Like I mentioned before, I'm Quality Jones and I'm a time traveler. I've been jumping into wormholes, chasing after my fiance's killer. An organization I work for, who doesn't officially exist in Mr. Knight's modern era, calls my nemesis, Jack. Mr. Knight has interesting theories about the loser because he is also a time traveler. Personally, I don't care who he is, I just know I must stop him from killing more women. When last Mr. Knight probed into my life, I had just barely survived an encounter with Jack. An attractive police detective Grace Stevens, who by the way, looks like an older version of my fiance, was ready to question me about the macabre events when suddenly, time stopped.
Ha, I'm a time traveler. I feel crawling sensations in my body like a thousand spiders stabbing me with sharp needles when I'm inside one of those wormholes. There are drawbacks I have to live with like reappearing at a new location or new time, naked. Does Mr. Knight have no decency? After he puts me through the ringer and makes me jump through hurdles, not necessarily over them, I have to wait in literary oblivion until he's done examining the lives of other characters?
Well, I have more than a gripe with you Mr. freakin' attention deficit disorder Knight! I want you to hurry up and tell my story. Make me one with the universe. I don't know, but I feel that I'm not the only character you've left hanging. Hmm. Wait a second. I hear a noise outside. Let me go investigate.
Investigation done. It was just a black cat, probably another character from one of his short stories. She didn't seem too pleased to see me.
"Where's Nomar?"
A feminine voice distracted me from my rant. When I glanced at the direction from whence it came there was no one there. I muttered, "Don't tell me a ghost is pissed at him too."
"I'm not a ghost."
I glanced in the opposite direction and came face to face with the most beautiful pair of green eyes I had ever seen. A young, pale looking female about 16 or 17 stood at a breath's pace. "Mr. Knight is not here today." I was going to volunteer information until I realized, she may be dangerous. There was something about her that didn't look quite normal.
"I can read minds you know." she grinned.
The only thing I could say was, "Huh?"
"I'm Countess Lorraina Sandoval. I'm a real vampire."
The thought process began kicking in slowly. I should have registered danger but this insane woman was gorgeous.
"I'm not insane."
I gasped, "You really can read minds!"
She flashed perfect white teeth. Was that fangs I saw?
"Who are you?" Her words sounded like soft music, her low tone lulled me.
"I'm a guest blogger."
"That's strange, Nomar doesn't strike me as someone that would allow someone else to write for him."
I must have smirked because she sneered at me. "How long have you known Mr. Knight?"
"Nomar attempted to write my first book 8 years ago. He wasn't ready then. It was all too overwhelming." She flashed a long black fingernail and gently stroked my chin.
To be honest, I thought she was going to slice my throat.
"Tempting darling, but these nights, I'm very selective who I eat."
I grimaced. Why couldn't I remember that she reads minds?
She continued, "Nomar tried to rush my story. He wanted to put it all down in one book. I visited him a couple of months ago and he promised he'd dedicate this summer to me."
"Well, I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but he lied."
Her eyes grew wide. She stared at me like a starved lioness about to jump on a fat buffalo. "Er, what I mean is, that he's putting the finishing touches on a novel and he mentioned something about summoning you before the summer is over."
She flashed a smile again and this time allowed me to see her fangs. Sharp suckers. She blew me a kiss and pointed at my screen. I couldn't believe I was dumb enough to fall for such a simple deceptive move. When I glanced back in her direction, she was gone.
New message to Mr. Knight. I suggest you get the vampire book done because something tells me your life will change drastically if you don't. I'm a new character. I can wait. Although, I'd love for you to unfreeze me and at least at your leisure, let me live, even if it's within the virtual pages of your computer.
Your new friend and protagonist,
Quality Jones, timetraveler
P.S. When are you going to get around to naming my story?
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Escape of the Monster Within
“Monsters are real and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.” -Stephen King
There's nothing more frightening than the shaking of fundamental reality. Humans readily accept certain truths to be self evident, counting on what society believes to be tangible, scientific facts. The old saying: if you can not see it or feel it, then it does not exist; is how most of us live our lives, at least publicly. Life would be so much easier if we choose not to let the possibility of an invisible world, interfere with our notions that everything on this planet has a reasonable explanation. To be ignorant is to allow yourself to be stunned later in life. Since we can't hide the sun's rays by holding up one finger, it is also true that we can't hide the fact that things exist which we can't explain, both in our environment and within ourselves.
While I'm aware of many evils surrounding us, I want to focus on an entity so potent, most of us don't realize it exists. Man has an innate knowledge of good and evil. With the help of their parents, they learn to suppress dark desires as best they can. Although, sins trickle out into the light as natural as a nosebleed; as a result of moral instruction, they attempt to either steer clear or hide their wicked ways. All the attempts at controlling our capacity for sin is perhaps, noble. Religion was founded for the sole purpose at keeping the sinner in line and hopefully on the path to salvation.
Let's face it. We are well aware that deep inside each of us, is a monster waiting to be unleashed. We may not admit it, and as we look around there are souls who seem incapable of performing the slightest evil deed, yet it is our birthright; it is what we are inside that terrifies me.
Today, a new book begins, one that will take me on a journey of self-discovery. One that helps examine the origins of man's inherent capacity for darkness. Here's a quote: "The beast festers within, until an evil catalyst coaxes it from hiding, unleashing atrocities upon all it touches." - The Book of Tortured Souls ©2010, by Nomar Knight
There's no need to invent new monsters when there's a terrifying menace lying dormant within. All it takes is something or someone willing to commit an act of evil so defiling that the sleeping monster will rise from within the depths of darkness and bring forth a wrath filled with hate and destruction. The scary part is the mind does not need to command the body to perform its evil deed. The mind is so powerful, that by sheer will alone, it can unleash an energy all too eager to serve its master.
The monsters are indeed real. They do live inside us, but do we really want them to win?
There's nothing more frightening than the shaking of fundamental reality. Humans readily accept certain truths to be self evident, counting on what society believes to be tangible, scientific facts. The old saying: if you can not see it or feel it, then it does not exist; is how most of us live our lives, at least publicly. Life would be so much easier if we choose not to let the possibility of an invisible world, interfere with our notions that everything on this planet has a reasonable explanation. To be ignorant is to allow yourself to be stunned later in life. Since we can't hide the sun's rays by holding up one finger, it is also true that we can't hide the fact that things exist which we can't explain, both in our environment and within ourselves.
While I'm aware of many evils surrounding us, I want to focus on an entity so potent, most of us don't realize it exists. Man has an innate knowledge of good and evil. With the help of their parents, they learn to suppress dark desires as best they can. Although, sins trickle out into the light as natural as a nosebleed; as a result of moral instruction, they attempt to either steer clear or hide their wicked ways. All the attempts at controlling our capacity for sin is perhaps, noble. Religion was founded for the sole purpose at keeping the sinner in line and hopefully on the path to salvation.
Let's face it. We are well aware that deep inside each of us, is a monster waiting to be unleashed. We may not admit it, and as we look around there are souls who seem incapable of performing the slightest evil deed, yet it is our birthright; it is what we are inside that terrifies me.
Today, a new book begins, one that will take me on a journey of self-discovery. One that helps examine the origins of man's inherent capacity for darkness. Here's a quote: "The beast festers within, until an evil catalyst coaxes it from hiding, unleashing atrocities upon all it touches." - The Book of Tortured Souls ©2010, by Nomar Knight
There's no need to invent new monsters when there's a terrifying menace lying dormant within. All it takes is something or someone willing to commit an act of evil so defiling that the sleeping monster will rise from within the depths of darkness and bring forth a wrath filled with hate and destruction. The scary part is the mind does not need to command the body to perform its evil deed. The mind is so powerful, that by sheer will alone, it can unleash an energy all too eager to serve its master.
The monsters are indeed real. They do live inside us, but do we really want them to win?
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