The Mole People


Chambers Street Subway Station

The Mole People

Chambers Street Subway Station

Should be named the Chambers of Horror Subway Station. Looks like a left over movie set from an old Vincent Price film like the Secret Laboratory Chambers of Dr. Phibes! As I was sitting waiting in a train that I thought would never arrive I recalled that old TV show Beauty and the Beast starring Ron Perlman!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beauty_and_the_Beast_(1987_TV_series)

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092319/

Any moment as I awaited the mystery train dozens of denizens would emerge from subterranean underground chambers and caverns beckoning me to join them! I work the night shift usually arriving at the J train Chambers street station a little after midnight. The trains run so much slower after midnight. Cleaning, power-washing, maintenance and repairs. Subway workers doing after dark what cannot be done during daylight hours. That night as the platform seemed extra deserted. Even the regular unusual suspects of homeless, vagabonds and vagrants were not there. Sitting on the hard wooden benches. I wondered who or what could be down there? Abandoned trains from the nascent years of long discarded 20th Century subway cars? Zombie Train conductors and Motormen still driving ancient decrepit out of service trains? Secret Oracles and Seers ala The Matrix seeking the Chosen One?

Then as my sleep glazed over eyes swept across the opposite platform I saw or thought I saw a faint glimmer of a returned gaze. Shaking my drowsy head and blinking several times my eyes seemed to travel of their own free will back to an especially darkened area and I swore I could make out two silver eyes staring back at me.

Just then the thought crossed my mind, “Small mutants with Silver Eyes have great effects.”

Then I thought of all those who had fallen, were pushed or jumped onto the tracks? Ones who in violent deaths left behind their fragrant sillage and sludge. A Melancholy of neither being in this world or the next. Displaced spirits engaging in mindless repetition seeking results only they will understand.

That night the J train seemed even slower in arriving than usual. Then as if out of the mists a train pulled into the station. But where had it come from? None of the expected rumbling or screeching of rails to track. I boarded the mysterious train and as the doors closed behind me I knew this ride was not going to be the Polar Express.

Hmmmm……… A Potential Creepypasta in the making!

After suffering blows to my head, face and body from a fierce thrashing the night before, I awoke to utter darkness permeated only by a shaft of light coming from a small window high above my head. I attempted to move my arms and legs only to find that I was shackled to a contraption that can only be described as a type of restraining hospital bed found in mental institutions. Realizing the severity of my situation my muddled mind sought clarity; my first coherent thoughts were, “Why and how did I get to this place; where was I and how can escape. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the limited light and since the bed was at an angle I could discern implements of upcoming torture, my torment that would be inflicted upon me if I did not escape or was not rescued.

Heavy measured footsteps approached and I could discern the voices of my captors. The door to the torture chamber opened and my persecutors became visible. There stood Dagmar aka Gorgeous Hellcat.

The underbelly of the castle where I was held against my will appeared to be a bomb shelter left over from the 1940s and 1950s. But as I gathered my various spinning selves together my focused eyes beheld a sight not seen by many above ground.
It was residence akin to a medieval castle built long ago by invaders long forgotten. A grand foyer flanked by two long hallways of Byzantine art leading into Medieval Sculpture Hall filled with statues of Madonnas, Saints, Catholic Mystics, Relics, and tombs from Egypt, Europe, Greece, Cyprus and South America. Each international tomb had a goddess from the respective ancient culture at the head and foot of the sarcophagus.
Venturing further into the castles subterranean chambers were overturned ossuaries, bones bleached white scattered throughout the tombs.

ASLEEP


 

 

Asleep

 

I FELL into sleep becoming asleep eventually landing elsewhere.

 

Was it a parallel universe or an alternate reality?

I astral planed across the Multiverse dropping pieces of me wherever I landed.

The pieces planted took root and grew. Spreading myself throughout the Cosmos.

Everywhere is a seedling and a pod. Each pod is ready to be launched into dimensions and seasons yet to be born..

I drank the psychedelic brew. My innards erupted like a brewing thundering threatening volcano.  Explosion of volcanic ash and lava vomiting up brains, burning acids, guts and false notions. Distance tore through my cerebral cortex.

My stone heart turned flesh.  The sky, earth and seas faded away.  Sounds of sand animals,grass, birds, trees, grew silent.  Only my internal vibrations grew louder.

Drifting above the clouds I finally landed in what appeared to be a garage.  No cars. No trucks. No buses.  In fact no vehicles of any type, make or model.

Then I felt the thunder inside my bones.  I projectile spewed poisonous bile filled with scorpions, snakes and vultures.

Every piece of scar tissue on my broken body began to stretch and contort. Tendrils of brightly colored misty fog danced around me chanting in faint tongues.  Seconds, minutes, hours once fleeting gestures became stop motion audibles available only to me.

Two sets of hands one from the sky canopy the other set bursting from the earth zones grabbed and twisted me violently jerking my joints snapping my bones.

Visions melted before my eyes.  My extremities disconnected from my torso turning to mist and fog.  Spun silk swaddled me from birth to winding sheet.

 

Three sets of Gossamer wings sprouted from my back, shoulders and waist.  Like a human cannon ball I exploded into tiny kaleidoscope pieces of gems and jewels.

 

Vaulting  from the atmosphere my body careened around corners narrowly missing those ancient Pearly Gates picking up speed like a runaway freight train derailed from its course I will Live forever transcending logic.  Into new and mysterious truths.

 

Dreams and visions diffuse through my being.  Suffusing internal osmosis.   Breaking apart chaos.  Through synchronicity I was birthed into a trans-mortal being defying gravity, time and space.  Infused with crystal clear definition.

The Rain-forest applauded me.

For I am the Visionary.  The Seer.  The Oracle.

 

Climbing the Stairway to ……………..?


 

Stairway to???

Step by Step

Stair Steps to a Picturesque Village where horrors never cease. One can hear the groans and moans of the dead and dying.  Once a battlefield soaked in blood, guts and gore now a grassy field with heather and lovely weeds. Dandelions blowing in the breeze. The Village. A Beautiful unspoiled happy Village.

As was Declan’s evening habit he went walking in the neighborhood historic cemetery which was located quite close to his home. Silence time. As he walked his thoughts mixed with the crunch of late Autumn leaves and early hoarfrost. So deep in musings was Declan that he was totally unaware of the clicks, ticks, buzzes, snaps and pops that emanated from the trees and foliage. An electrical storm of communications and warnings that went unheeded.

“Just for sport. Just for sport. He muttered under his breath.”

 

 

It was her startling blue eyes like orbital sapphires filled with charisma and grace that first got you then like suction drew you within.  Spider eyelashes flicked and flutter as she raised a beckoning hand bedecked with moist blood red nail varnish.  That wet Lacquered look ala Elvira and Vampira except Rheema had that cornsilk golden spun hair and girl next door looks that threw you off balance contrasting what a Dark Angel should appear.

That Golden hair spun loose a malevolent energy changing Declan’s former awe to complete disgust. Declan watched with mounting fear as the people formerly surrounding him were torn apart into mangled masses of flesh resembling sides of beef or badly butchered pork loins.  Her banshee screams and wails caused bodies to explode and implode accompanied by cries of the unfortunate corporeals………………….

 

 

 

Mary Mary quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells
And pretty maids all in a row.

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Borders of the Mind


 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/border/#like-249996

Border

Walls and Memories

 

Yesterday is another country. Borders are now closed.

TEDDY BUTLER, Midsomer Murders, “Vixen’s Run” (2006)

 
But Sometimes the Past Memories come back to haunt you. The borders are permeable. There are holes in the fenced bricked walls. Thoughts within the intricacies of the mind have no fear of protective barbed wire. They weave over and around like ghosts through cemetery gates.
 
As much as you attempt to put the past behind you it hangs onto your coat-tails and sticks like fly paper. Where you move it goes. Forever your shadow real yet intangible daring you to leave it behind because you both know it, they, the memories, flaws and failures will always be a part of your life like skin to bone. Muscle to fiber and tendon. You can never forget. Swift Rivers carry bodies downstream to surface with the Spring thaw. Sacrifices for the Funeral Pyre. 

 

The Immolation of Brigadier Jaynes

 

Brigaider Jaynes. He went insane.

Not all at once. But in bits and pieces.

Dying upon tracked grill. For the rats to get there fill.

Leftovers charcoal broiled. Pigeons, Roaches and rats gather for a feast.

He once went for Reyna Angelica. Ms. Lady who did a pole dance with a tracker trailer at the intersection of a State of Insanity. Stopping traffic for miles around.

Bodies stacked like cord-wood.

Behold the Char Man Cometh

His Fiery Frame set to blazing coals.

His disembodied entrails offerings to the Underground rat-tail gods.

Char-Man ~~ A Jumping, Jaggling, Waggling, Corpse doing a Macabre Jig inside the tunnel.

A Sign Shouted Danger/Peligroso! For Gotham is a Bi-Textual Town.

Another of the Mole People succumbs to the savageries of Life.

At Dusk when the warmth of the Sun has ceded to Night’s chill, Char Man comes to me offering to turn my bed into a living breathing fireplace with me as one of the perpetually burning logs. His eye never quits straying from my side. The Eternal Inferno Burning Spectrum infests my dreams like creeping ivy and mold. I am just an observer. If he can’t have Laura will he take me?

And so it begins once more.

Oh Laura! Where have you gone?!

Twin Peaks Dancing Dwarf

 

Hypnos, Morpheus and Phantasos mock me!!  Phobetor, god of nightmares is my Deity.

 

I’ve suffered from Nightmares, Insomnia, Night Terrors and as an adult Sleep-walking. When I was younger I used to see demons at the foot of my bed and felt some type of demon or evil being sitting on my chest! Thankful that finally went away.  However Sleep has rarely been peaceful or restful for me! 

 

The Man from Another Place is Waiting for you!! For at Midnight all Black Cats are Grey and Dying men sometimes transmigrate into lesser animals. For you see I am not from Gentleness but from War.  I am the Midnight Marauder a Succubus come to steal men’s souls as they sleep!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Insomnia Kitty

Because the Night ~~ The Daily Post


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/because-the-night/#like-76520

Because the Night

Are you a night owl or are you the early bird? What’s your most productive time of day? When do you do your best work?

Insomnia Kitty
Me, Sylvester & Weezer. My cats my night time companions.

I have chronic insomnia so I guess I’m a Night-owl. For a long time I named myself the Midnight Marauder!  I have no idea whether my insomnia is due to menopause hormonal changes, job related stress or just plain aging. Many of my co-workers and friends who are in their 50s or 60s report needed less sleep or being unable to sleep through the night so maybe sleeplessness is just a by product of getting older.

I think I’m also part Vampire because I always want to sleep during the day and stay up at night!  However thanks to my U.S. Army training I still wake up early which is a good thing. I’m never late for work.

I do my best writing at either dusk or dawn. The period between wake-fullness and sleep provides me the most and best inspiration. As for my photography that is a daytime activity. For safety reasons I usually don’t go walking around the city at night taking photos.  However in places that are well policed with lots of people like 34th Street Penn Station or other major hubs then I will whip out my camera.

Now for the musical interlude.

Give Me The Night ~~ George Benson