Interview with a Sociopath

I asked fans on Facebook to pick what I posted this week. They unanimously decided on an interview… with Aksel. May the gods help me.

He wanted to meet in a bar. Of course he did. And in typical Aksel fashion, the bar sat smack dab in the worst part of the city. Not even cockroaches showed their faces after dark in that stretch of gang-ruled territory. No place was off limits to the demon. I, however, stuck out like a hot pink evening gown in a funeral parlor.

I sat at a table in the back of the bar hugging my purse to my chest. Even though I dreaded it, I wished Aksel would hurry up. At least then I could pretend there was someone strong and fearless to keep me safe. A pair of thugs walked by, their hands occupied; one hand on a beer, the other keeping their sagging pants from bunching around their ankles.

A warm breeze hit the back of my neck. A hand bearing a large ring with a red stone slid onto the table. Another hand joined in, trapping me between the table and his body.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a shithole like this?”

That voice, gods… I couldn’t stop the shudder. “You invited me here, Aksel.”

He leaned down and sniffed my hair. “Only because you asked so nicely to do this interview.”

Aksel backed off and took his seat. Before his ass even took the shape of the chair, a waitress brought him a glass of whiskey, straight up. She left the bottle. He looked across at me and raised a brow. Moments later the waitress returned with another glass filled with ice. Aksel poured my drink.

“Can we just get this over with?”

He chuckled. “Ask away, sweet thing. I want to hear what my adoring fans are curious about.”

Emergency Broadcast

I’ve always got to be prepared when working with my ZSC co-captains…

 

 

(FYI: This is all for fun. Juliette, Jinxie, and myself are likely laughing and safely Not In Jail. …probably. Find out by following us on Twitter: @TheZSC )

Be Ours Forever (part 6)

Catch up with the story before you continue. Part 1 of Be Ours Forever.

 

Eventually in life one will have a moment were they feel alone in a crowd. A thousand people could walk by, possibly even try to strike up a conversation, but their efforts cannot shine a light into the deep well of loneliness surrounding their fellow man. As the popular saying goes, “everyone dies alone”.

Brenda sat on the crowded platform in the middle of the Elder’s ballroom-slash-torture chamber and wished like hell she could fall into that dark, lonely place. Too many eyes watched her. Too many people counted on her to fight the base urges she’d only been coping with for two days. And there were far too many people waiting for her to fail so they could kill her and the two vampires responsible for creating her as well.

Kneeling beside her, a teenaged human male watched the vampires with a mix of fear and awe darting across his young face. Behind him, Sydnee stood silently. She held a small knife by her side. Brenda didn’t know how she’d use it, but the idea that anyone in the room possessed a weapon made her already uneasy mind skitter around in blind panic.

Jarlan wheeled a small fire pit through the maze of torture devices. Emerald positioned the waist-high pit beside the coffin-cage holding Rich. She hummed a happy tune, stuffing various iron tools deep into the hot coals. Amund sidled up behind her and slid a leather apron over her head, securing it with a bow in the back. How nice of him to help the lunatic doll protect her pretty dress from burns and blood stains.

Strapped to a giant cross, Nico snarled through the gag in his mouth. Thais circled behind him, something long and thin in her hand. A fleshy slap echoed around the room, quickly followed by another. Through the blood bond, Brenda felt the corresponding stinging pain across her butt cheeks. The bitch, she thought.

Happy New Year!

You guys get to read my rambling all year long, so here’s a quick video with my New Year Wishes for all of you.

And because I’m a dork, there’s–of course– a video of me seriously goofing up while trying to record the video.

A Very Valley Christmas

A Very Valley Christmas

by R.C. Murphy

 

Like a Viking horde, Christmas invaded Huntington Boulevard. Nearly every home along the mile-long historical district possessed some sort of twinkling lights fixed to their lawns. The few bare houses were startling in their lack of glitz and mass-produced holiday cheer. On any given night throughout December, folks walked or drove down what had been dubbed Candlestick Lane—so named because the old fashioned street lamps were decorated like gigantic candlesticks. Halfway through the dazzling displays children could catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. A real, live Santa who waved and gave a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho” to passing cars. Holidays on Huntington Boulevard were surreal, beautiful, and a gigantic pain in the ass.

Morning sun stole all of the glory and wonder from carefully decorated homes. Everything in sight looked washed out, tired. Or maybe her mood colored her view of the world.

Rebecca McGovern sneered at a herd of wire deer grazing in her neighbor’s yard. That very same herd had been making Mr. Jacob’s lawn their home for nearly ten years. They were the only décor the old man allowed to be set up. Hell, since his wife passed, not even a tree went up inside. Ah, the holidays. How they persisted in reminding the living of those who have passed on.

Across the street, in the wide grass strip that once held tracks for the long-forgotten trolley line, sat Santa’s sleigh—complete with animatronic reindeer. Somewhere along the line of reindeer caretakers, they fancied that the reindeer were fans of bad disco fashion. Each of the four bore bright, sequined saddle blankets. Rebecca couldn’t help but hum the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever every time she passed by.

A sudden attempt to dislocate her shoulder banished the disco music from her mind and firmly pulled her attention back to the matter at hand.

“All right, Samantha. Calm down, we’re going.” The bouncing blonde chihuahua on the other end of the leash gave an excited whimper and shook. She always shook. It was part of the tiny breeds charm. If only their propensity to develop an ear shattering bark would fall to the evolutionary wayside.

Samantha let out another trembling whimper. Her gaze locked on something over by Santa’s sleigh. Another dog came around the side of the display, nose locked to the dewy grass. The stray hiked up his leg and pissed on the base of a Christmas tree beside the sleigh. Rebecca bit back a laugh. Some days, she held the same sentiment.

“Come on, baby girl. Let’s leave him to his bathroom break.” Rebecca chuckled at Samantha’s snort and led the way down the sidewalk.

Scatter-Brained

So… it’s taking me longer than anticipated to catch up on everything enough to give you guys a new story.  Honestly, I feared this would happen and even then couldn’t come up with a contingency plan to put in place “just in case”. Luckily one kinda fell into my lap.

Over at zombiesurvivalcrew.com we’re hosting a new contest. Usually I don’t share these, but this one is different. We want your zombie poetry. Yes, you read that right. Zombie. Poetry.

Details on how to enter can be found on the ZSC website here.

Good luck!

Sera’s Diary – Week 4

(This is the last week of diary entries from my favorite pyromaniac, Sera, who makes her home at The Grove in their Bad Manor haunted house.)

Tuesday:

Dear diary,

Today was a special day. They let me play early, so long as I promised not to set the bright, shiny news camera on fire. We could have used the warmth, though. Five o’clock in the morning is really, really cold. After we played with the handsome news man, they let our normal screaming friends in to play. My furnace was only slightly busy tonight. A shame, really.

~Sera

Wednesday:

Dear diary,

I guess our puppy, Brooken invited a friend over to play in her pit of bodies tonight. When I decided to play peek-a-boo with potential friends, (pre-burning, of course) I ran into a werewolf! Fur and all. It was really strange since Brooken never mentioned being a social beastie. Maybe I should tie one of my friends up for her to play with from now on so she won’t get lonely… or hungry.

~Sera

Thursday:

Dear diary,

I don’t understand rude people at all. Here I am doing a public service and they yell at me. How dare they? If I wasn’t there to burn the bodies, first f all it would smell really, really bad. Secondly, they’d all catch the Sick, or whatever it is that’s made the people in the house all weird with puss dripping down their faces. (Yick!) I know I don’t want to get sick, so why would they willingly walk in, get infected, then yell when I try to cure them? We all know, fire is the only acceptable cure for the Sick.

~Sera

Friday:

Dear diary,

The Brooken puppy isn’t allowed to have sugar any more. She snuck into our candy stash, gobbled it alllll up, then ran around growling like crazy until the only noise she could make was a itty-bitty squeak. Squeaks are not scary… unless you’re afraid of clowns and they squeak their horn. I’m developing a sensitivity to clowns, what with Giblets wandering in whenever his painted self feels like it. Oh and not to mention all the abuse I take from Sassy. Now that I think about it, there’s a shortage of nice people at the house. Must have burnt them all first.

~Sera

Saturday:

Dear diary,

Because I know you’re curious… Gumby doesn’t burn. He just kinda melts into a puddle of goop at the bottom of the furnace and boils until all that’s left is a black and green splotch. It did provide ample entertainment waiting to see how he’d burn up and the colors were really pretty. Now if only I’d caught that one woman in the Catholic school girl uniform, bet she’d scream well in the fire. They all scream, some just better than others. Heehee!

~Sera

Sunday:

Dear diary,

Breakout! We have some really forgetful keepers. They left all of the cages unlocked after closing tonight and, well… the monsters may have overrun the midway. No one can confirm or deny if any of the fun-screaming people were eaten, but I’m pretty sure I saw Slappy and Spot using finger bones to clean their teeth after. Oops? Look at it this way, now there’s more toys to play with next year!

~Sera

 

Happy Halloween, fellow weirdos!!!

Love,

R.C. (and Sera!)

(Sad to say, Sera has to go back in her cage now. Thank you all for reading our adventures in scaring the pants off of people. Who knows, maybe Sera will find another way to come out and play again soon.)

Sera’s Diary – Week 3

(Sera is the character I play out at The Grove’s Bad Manor, located just outside Sanger, CA.)

Wednesday:

Dear diary,

How did I know today was Monday in a nifty Wednesday disguise? The chainsaw caught on fire. Fire is pretty. Really pretty. All that orange and yellow dancing together as it spreads, bringing more partners into their fiery ballroom… where was I? Oh, flaming chainsaw. See, its not supposed to do that and Tiny got freaked out. Such a male. Anyways, he put the fire out. I spent the whole night pouting about it. Fire killer!

~Sera

Thursday:

Dear diary,

No flaming chainsaws, sadly. But! We did have a couple of zombies shuffle through late tonight. Their keepers over at the hayride must have let the leashes slip. Thank goodness I wasn’t bit! Human flesh tastes funny, and not just because I took a bite out of Giblets the clown for making a joke about my mummy. Some other weirdos walked into my yard after that. Is it a full moon or somethin’?

~Sera

Friday:

Dear diary,

My not-so-little brother, Smoky, came out to play tonight. We played hide-and-go-seek with the funny screaming people and Rum, our favorite chainsaw. Why’s he called Rum? ‘Cause he says, “Rum, rum, rum, ruuuuuuuuuuuum!” when you pull his cord. The people didn’t like our game very much. Before I could so much as open the furnace door, they ran off. How rude!

~Sera

Saturday:

Dear diary,

I am now the proud owner of… a blinky light! These things are too dang cool. You stick ‘em on your clothes and they go blink, blink, blink, blink, blink! So awesome and I didn’t have to threaten to burn anyone to get it (unlike last night when one poor soul honestly thought she’d escape certain death by giving me the blinky light in her hair. As if!). I think I’ll sleep with my light tonight and hug it and squeeze it and call it George.

~Sera

P.S. Blinky lights RULE!

Sunday:

Dear diary,

Today I met an honest to goodness firefighter. Isn’t that exciting? I wanted to keep him so he could play with Smoky and I, but he had a tumor growing out of his back… uhm, I mean a girlfriend who was afraid I’d burn  her alive if she didn’t play our game with Rum the chainsaw. On another note: SPOON! That is all.

~Sera

Let Me be Frank for a Moment…

The below rant is extremely out of character for me. However, I feel it needs to be addressed so that people can see the ramifications of the “games” they play on the internet. For some of us, this is not a game. This is our life and the games make it harder for us to live normally.

It started on a social media site. (don’t most of these things, honestly?) For two days I watched people bicker back and forth about this, today was when I finally snapped. (some of this is copied rants from my private Facebook page)

Veiled bisexual comments by heterosexuals just to get attention… method #67 to irritate Renee before she’s had breakfast. 

Ladies: if you are going to consistently admit to being attracted to other women, then come out of the closet. Otherwise, please, please stop being cock teases by saying, “If I swung that way, I’d hit it.” Men aren’t that easily impressed and the few that are, you don’t want to sleep with anyways.

“I’m doing it to show admiration for the woman in the photo.” By suggesting you’d sleep with her? That’s like a guy walking up and saying, “Nice tits, let me stick my dick between them.” Fucking lame excuse for attention whores.

Being bisexual isn’t “cool”. It isn’t a trend or fad. I’ve gotten more grief since coming out than ever before. People suddenly assume you are a whore because you have no gender preference for your partners. That’s not because of anything I did, but because of women like those mentioned above that think it’s neat to pretend to be someone they are not. THAT is where the stereotypes begin. Not with those who are actually living through the challenges of being “different”.

You want the statistics to prove that I’m not some uber slut? Fine. I wasn’t sexually active until I was 18. Since then I’ve slept with 5 men and 2 women. That’s it. Most of those encounters were with people I had a relationship with. Only one was a one-night-stand, which I do not regret.

That is my idea of normal. I don’t call myself bisexual to cover up half a dozen drunken mistakes. Bisexual women are not the girls you see at a house party downing one too many beers and then making out with their best friend. Except that one, I’ve courted the people I slept with, built some sort of connection. Like. You. Are. Supposed. To. Do.

If you can’t be mature enough to respect the people in your life who are dealing with the negativity associated with being bisexual, gay, transgendered… then maybe you should stop and take a long look in the mirror. What about yourself are YOU unhappy with that causes you to look down on the few that are doing their damndest to make a good life for themselves despite all the bullshit in society?

And if you can’t handle having the truth laid out under your nose, then maybe we shouldn’t be associated with each other. I am who I am. Take it or leave it, but never, NEVER try to shame me by playing your little social media games.

Sera’s Diary – Week 2

(Sera is the character I play at The Grove in their Bad Manor haunted house.)

Wednesday:

Dear diary, 

Slow night for the monsters. A faulty chainsaw that decided it needed the night to snooze… or that could have been operator error. No one has ever said Tiny had a full set of crayons to color with. Brooken, our pet, tried to bite Tiny. Personally I don’t think he’d taste good, what with all that blood and dirt all over him. She didn’t seem to mind, though.

~Sera

Thursday:

Dear diary,

I’m pretty sure that every guy they sent out back for me to burn up had a bad run-in with the doctor and he replaced their vocal cords with a females. That’s the only way to explain some of those high pitched shrieks they gave during our game of peek-a-boo. Pansies.

~Sera

Friday:

Dear diary,

I think Brooken has gone rabid. She chased a group of teenagers, snapping and growling after them until all five of them ran SMACK into the side of the furnace. Tenderized bodies to burn alive? How fancy!

~Sera

Saturday:

Dear diary,

I’m so beautimous  that one poor, delusional plague victim tried to take me home to meet his fryer. What? A friar? Why on earth would I want to meet a holy man? I have standards, you know. No schmoe straight out of the sick house can woo me… unless he has a flame thrower. Oh, and his own fire truck. VROOM! Hee hee hee!

~Sera

Sunday: 

Dear diary,

Teenagers can fly. I’m not kidding. Tonight I watched at least ten teenagers grow wings and fly out of my back yard. One minute I heard Brooken give her warning growl, suddenly there’s a blur and the burlap on the far side of the yard is flapping. Gotta set a trap for them. Who am I supposed to burn if they keep running away? Inconsiderate people, jeeze!

~Sera

BONUS: A local news station did a special story on The Grove. Below is a link to the video. Sera can be heard (and slightly seen) at the very end of the haunt footage. Her laugh is mixed in with the chainsaw noise.

KSEE 24 – The Grove: Visit if You Dare!