Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Let's take another glimpse at steampunk Vampirella...

From BLEEDING COOL
As part of Dynamite’s new spinoff series from the Bill Willingham creation, Legenderry: A Steampunk Adventure, we get this first look at some of the interior pages from Legenderry: Vampirella #1. The four-part miniseries is being done by David Avallone and David Cabrera and hits comic shelves in February. Here are the first three pages from the book...



CHILLING TALES FOR DARK NIGHTS presents "The Paranormal Investigators" by Vincent V. Cava

From CHILLING TALES FOR DARK NIGHTS


Red Sonja wears pants somtimes? Does that mean I have to?

via BLEEDING COOL
With the holidays approaching quickly you may not have time to get to the comic store but still want something new to read. Here Dynamite has given us Red Sonja #7 by Gail Simone and Walter Geovani for you to read for free...



This fake trailer for MARVEL VS DC shows a battle that could only happen in the fevered minds of geeks like us!

Nice job Alex Luthor!


Aussies vs Zombies? The zombies don't stand a chance! Check out the trailer for WYRMWOOD....

From DREAD CENTRAL


A fresh teaser for PHANTASM: RAVAGER! And it looks awesome!

From DREAD CENTRAL




Somedays you're the cat, somedays you're the dog...


Friday, December 12, 2014

BLEEDING COOL's Octavio Karbank remembers Cathy Lee Crosby's terrible outing as Wonder Woman!

From BLEEDING COOL

Starring Cathy Lee Crosby, better known for anything else she ever did, and directed by Vincent McEeety, meet the powerless, karate-choppin’, lasso and tiara-less, blond Wonder Woman! Oh, and she has a utility belt. Do any of those things sound remotely like Wonder Woman? If you answered no, you’re correct! However, ABC didn’t really care what you or anyone else thought and figured this Wonder Woman should don an outfit that looked like an Olympic skiing jumpsuit. The only real connection to Wonder Woman is Crosby’s character, named Diana Prince, who just so happens to be an Amazon, and the relatively faithful origin. Similar to the comics, Diana is sent from her home in Themyscira to our world, but everything goes positively bonkers from there...


Hmmm I wonder what kind of outfits are at Plaid Stallions today... OH GOD MY EYES!!!!!

From PLAID STALLIONS


Not only is John Kenneth Muir's article 'Déjà vu All Over Again' a fun read- it also has a picture of Robey I'd never seen before!

From FLASHBAK
Once upon a time, major TV series in America were expected to be on the air and producing new material for twenty-five to thirty weeks a year.

Sometimes, production companies fell behind in this rigorous schedule.

 Sometimes they simply ran out of money, or were budgeting for an expensive, upcoming sweeps installment, and needed a breather.

And sometimes, the producers were just rushing to put something together in anticipation of a writers or actors strike.

All such production disruptions could necessitate the creation of a terrible Frankenstein Monster: the dreaded “clips show.”

This was an episode of an otherwise beloved and entertaining series in which protagonists convened to recollect “events” in their lives, sometimes to solve a mystery or eliminate a threat. But the ploy was…transparent.

These character “memories” were visualized on screen as, literally, clips from previous episodes. The result was a rerun that wasn’t billed as one.

Even the best of shows in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s were not immune to the horror of the “clips show.”

Here are five examples of this unfortunate necessity, and they are all pretty terrible...

Click here to read the rest

And now the pervy perfection of that pic!


Another week without the Night Blogger... I miss him too...

This is getting to be a habit isn't it? Usually my writing has been an escape from my troubles but not lately, lately any time I try to rev up the old creative engines I start thinking about my Mom and shut down. In a fit of desperation I finished up an old story I lost interest in called 'MR. CROAD AND ME'. It felt good to finish something and folks seem to like it.

Since all I want to do is sleep and mope, and also because we had to pawn her laptop to keep the lights on I am letting my daughter use my computer most nights. She has been experimenting with fiction and poetry of her own lately.

So, long and short of it, I have not given up on you my loyal readers, I am just trying to deal with things. I am hoping that after the holidays I can become prolific again.

I now return you to the standard geeky news and girly pics.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

TELEPORT CITY examines David Lynch's facinating and frustrating 'Mulholland Drive'

From TELEPORT CITY
And so we are left on our own to drift through this freakish true crime dreamscape of Los Angeles that David Lynch has constructed. Mulholland Drive throws you into this world without bothering to explain the rules that govern it. It becomes something akin to a snake devouring its own tail. Lynch’s dream of Los Angeles is a patchwork quilt of real life and romantic legend, of old pulp and hopeful dreams and bitter disillusion set against a backdrop of back alleys and neon, cafes and glamorous parties and oddly remote mansions, and drawn from half a dozen decades. And that dark fantasy land Los Angeles feeds my own sinister romance of Los Angeles. Which is why Mulholland Drive has such an emotional impact with me. It is very easy to identify with Betty, the hopeful young romantic who clings desperately to her illusion of Los Angeles even as the more mundane and grimmer reality seeps in from all sides...

Click here to read the rest.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

GoFundMe update


Another week has come and gone. We are still trying to rescue my daughter's laptop from the pawn shop. The doctors have not cleared my wife to go back to work so we are still pretty much a one-paycheck family. 

We are also having one Hell of a time paying for prescriptions so anything you can to help would be appreciated.


Does anyone out there remember PIZZAZZ? Flashbak does! (I do too, I'm old.)

From FLASHBAK
What kid growing up in the seventies didn’t enjoy PIZZAZZ magazine? It was more a less a knock off of the popular Scholastic magazines Dynamite and, more closely, Bananas. However, this had the Marvel Comics badge, and so it was extra cool – Spidey and The Hulk were popping up everywhere on the pages of PIZZAZZ...



  


Thursday, December 4, 2014

Saturday, November 29, 2014

GoFundMe and the pawn shop blues...


Hope everyone had an enjoyable Thanksgiving and a survivable Black Friday. I worked both days but since I am no longer in retail I don't mind much. 

December is almost here and I must admit I am really looking forward to seeing the end of 2014. It was a rough year by all accounts and measures. 

In other news we are trying to get some of our personal electronics out of the friendly neighborhood pawn shop. We had to give up one laptop and two tablets to keep food on the table and gas in the cars. 

Anything you can do to help would be appreciated.

Andy Does Voice Over presents the creepypasta 'SPLINTERS'

From ANDY DOES VOICE OVER



Thursday, November 27, 2014

Thanksgiving Post#5: THE CLOSING CREDITS FROM DADDY-O


Thanksgivng Post #4: RAGNAROK FRIDAY

Ragnarok Friday
by
Al Bruno III
It was morning in River City, one of the coldest on record but George Gordon was sweating his behind off. He was an asthmatic but even with his puffer handy he felt like he was suffocating. He couldn't breathe, he could barely move, his muscles ached from the simple act of steading himself. A horde of people pressed in on all sides and jostled for position. No one made eye contact, everyone just kept their attention fixated on the front doors of the Wal-Mart and the Black Friday bargains contained within.
It was almost time. George ran the shopping list through his head again-he had to find a certain toy, a particular laptop and a dozen or so other nicknacks. None of it was for him however, he had volunteered for this mission; volunteered because his supervisor Rex Alvin Peele had hinted it would be beneficial to George's career goals.
A ripple of movement went through the crowd. The front doors were opening. The Wal-Mart staff tried to control the flow of shoppers passing inside but there was no stemming this tide of consumerism. In the end they could only stand back and hope to God they didn’t loose any greeters this year.
George stayed on his feet and kept pace with the surge of humanity. He wondered briefly if his alter ego might be better suited to this kind of mayhem but he decided against it almost immediately. He wasn’t about to trust his debit card and pin number to a Viking avenger. Super hero or not.
A snarl startled George from his thoughts.
No not one snarl, dozens of them.
Up ahead the crowd was changing, growing taller, and greener. Their eyes became black and their mouths slavered. George Gordon knew what they were turning into.
Trolls! Actual trolls, not the internet kind.
George risked standing on his tip toes and saw the doorway to the Wal-Mart glowing. “Wait!” he shouted, “Turn back!”
But there was no stopping the eager shoppers and when he tried to stop himself from being pushed forward he only succeeded in getting knocked to the ground.
And now he was being trampled and tripped over. No one was stopping to help him.
There was only one thing to do. He pressed his fists to the sides of his head with the pointer fingers raised and shouted, “I summon... HROTHGAR!”
Suddenly the meek mannered DMV employee was gone, in his place was a blonde-haired burly man wearing a horned metal helmet and wielding a great sword. He was Hrothgar the Last Warrior of Valhalla!
And someone was standing on his pelvis.
With a mighty cry Hrothgar rose up to his full six feet in height sending coupon clutching potential shoppers flying in every direction. It took only moments for his steely eyed gaze to lock onto the strangely glowing doorway. He knew the sight of dark Asgardian magic when he saw it. Hrothgar's whipcord muscles tensed in anticipation.
He ran at the entrance to the store, crashing through the crowd until he was directly beneath the sickly green glow. Cursed runes had been carved into the metal of the doorframe. Any ordinary mortal passing beneath them would be transformed into a troll but Hrothgar was no ordinary mortal. The helmet he wore had been forged by the dwarven masters and would protect the Last Warrior of Valhalla from any and all enchantments.
With a single blow from his mighty blade he shattered the metal and glass of the doorway. He howled with victory only to realize that the trollish figures were not reverting back to human form. Instead they were turning to attack him, their clawed hands grasping.
Honor demanded that Hrothgar not harm the ensorceled humans so he scrambled atop one of the cash registers and leapt into the housewares department. Unlike his allies the Local Heroes he was no scientist, detective or well meaning chiropractor; he was merely a warrior but he knew only one person could be responsible for magic like this.
Hrothgar found his quarry in the pet department, a tall wolf-headed man dressed in a three piece suit. He was gloating and snacking on Snausages. “Well met old friend.”
It was Fenrir, Son of Loki. The newly made trolls were howling and making their way closer. Hrothgar’s battle-trained senses told him that as soon as they were done ransacking the ladies underwear department they would be on him.
He pointed his blade at Fenrir, “Let them go. Let all of them go or suffer my wrath.”
Fenrir laughed mockingly and drew a blade of his own, “Your wrath means nothing to me, coward of Valhalla!”
Honor demanded that Hrothgar avenge this insult. He roared and swung his blade in a wide arc. Fenrir raised his sword to parry the blow and it shattered liked so much glass.
“Er,” the wolf-headed man said, “um.”
And before Hrothgar could strike again Fenrir disappeared in a cloud of cold fire and humiliation.
With the Son of Loki, defeated the spell was broken and the shoppers were returning to normal. The experience had left them unmarked save for torn clothes and confused memories. Hrothgar spied an elderly man in a blue vest trying to stand, he strode over and offered his arm.
When the man shrunk away Hrothgar said, “Steady on old wolf. The battle is over and we are victorious.”
The greeter struggled to his feet and said, “You- you saved us all didn’t you? You’re a hero!”
“Aye, but I need no thanks. Glory is its own reward...” Hrothgar paused to read the man’s name tag, “...Phillip.”
“I still want to thank you. I know this isn’t much...” Phillip reached into his pocket and placed a smiley sticker on the Viking's helmet.
The Last Hero of Valhalla responded to this the way honor demanded. Thankfully the greeter survived his injuries but Hrothgar was never allowed into that Wal Mart again.

Thanksgiving Post#3 : A JOKE BY INGMAR BERGMAN

Jon Bois' (@jon_bois) eulogy for Radio Shack is a thing of epic beauty!



From SBNATION


4:30 a.m. We show up an hour and a half before the store opens, as demanded by the district office.  We stand around and do nothing.
6:00 a.m. We all line up in expectation of hordes of customers. Six on one side of the store, six on the other side, pallbearers of an invisible casket. The manager opens the doors. No one is waiting on the other end.
7:00 a.m. Nobody has walked into the store. Nobody has been seen even walking past the store. This infuriates the manager, who at this juncture elects to fire one employee, right there on the spot, because her sweater is a shade of red that is inconsistent with the dress code.
8:00 a.m. Someone almost walks in. She kind of turns toward the store, sees 11 of us just standing and staring at her, and turns a 180. Don't blame you, ma'am.
9:00 a.m. First customer! Someone just walked in and bought a cordless phone battery. One of us would have made approximately 23 cents on the sale (18 cents after taxes), except you don't start making any sales commission until you surpass a monthly sales figure that is usually unreachable and arbitrarily set. (I worked at RadioShack for 43 months, and barely hit this mark once.)
12:00 p.m. We've sold maybe $90 worth of stuff. Two more employees walk out and don't come back.
2:00 p.m. A couple comes in to return a pair of cell phones I sold them a couple weeks back. I received about $40 for the sale on my last paycheck, and now they will take $40 out of my next paycheck. Voiding a cell phone contract is a process that takes an hour or so of waiting on the phone and talking to three or four different gatekeepers. This time, it's even longer, because someone errantly slapped them with a $200 cancellation fee. My manager gets wind of this and starts screaming at me: "JON, WHAT DID YOU DO? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?" She then tries to initiate a shouting match with my customers, who don't bite.
3:00 p.m. Two more employees quit, one because the manager has refused to give her a lunch break over a 10.5-hour shift.
9:00 p.m. Mercifully, and with sales numbers that are beyond abysmal, the district office tells us to close the store and not to remain open until midnight, as planned. Someone else came in to return a phone, so my sales are now about $60 in the hole. I make $5.45 an hour, and have worked a 16.5-hour shift, so that's about $90. Minus the $60 I've lost, that's $30. So today, I have made about $1.80 per hour, for a shift of nearly 17 hours. Before taxes.
9:45 p.m. Ha ha ha ha I am still at the store, counting the money and helping clean up and such, but not getting paid for it. This is RadioShack's thing: if you're working while the store's closed, they might decide to pay you and they might not. I worked countless hours they never paid me for; this is one. We finally close up. On the way to the parking lot, I ask my manager whether I can take Christmas Eve off; this would allow me barely enough time to make the seven-hour drive home to Kentucky to see my family, then head back. She doesn't say no. She yells no, and tells me I'm not special...


Click here to read the rest

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Holiday mayhem has now caught up with Tristam Bloom and the gang...

No THE COLD INSIDE this week, busy crazy holiday stuff going on.

Things will get normal on this blog soon I swear.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Friday, November 21, 2014

Otis Jiry can scare you in three minutes or two hours- choose your poison!

From OTIS JIRY'S CREEPYPASTA CRYPT



Overtime, the Night Blogger and other madness...

Well, it looks like I am going to have to change my Night Blogger posting schedule to a bi-weekly format. My workload has been slowing me down and I haven't been able to keep up on videos and podcasts either. THE COLD INSIDE will continue to be posted weekly since that novel is complete.

Thanks for sticking with me through all the changes...


You don't have to believe the stories on my blog, you can dismiss them as good hallucinations or bad fiction if you want to but they're all true. The darkness was never empty, there are things that wait for the innocent and unwary to turn their backs. What is it you think I'm talking about here? Ghosts? Vampires? Ghouls? If only it were that simple. The creatures of the night are still out there but they're not shadowing your every footstep. They just check your status updates from the comfort of their tombs.

All I ever wanted was to be a Do-It-Yourself style reporter but more often than I like I find myself becoming part of my stories. It turns out gods and monsters don't like their secrets getting out any more than your standard politician or celebrity. We all know how this is going to turn out in the end; I'm already long overdue for jail, the looney bin or a guest of honor spot at a monster buffet but until that fateful day I'm not going to back down or give up.

My name is Brian Foster and some people call me The Night Blogger.

But I wish they wouldn't it's kinda cheesy.





Storyline In Progress





Completed Stories





Part Three: Digging In The Dirt
Part Four: The Red Chimes
Part Five: Back From The Shadows Again
Part Six: The Devil's In The House Of The Rising Sun
Part Seven: The House Of Gorgo
Part Eight: The Parliament Of Moloch
Part Nine: Under The Eye Of Luna
Part Ten: The Tale Of Detective Bradshaw
Part Eleven: Waiting For The Mortician Or Someone Like Him
Part Twelve: The Shape On The Stairwell
Part Thirteen: It's What's Inside That Counts
Part Fourteen: Dies Irae






Chloë Grace Moretz ( @ChloeGMoretz ) + "Celebrities Read Mean Tweets" = FLAWLESS VICTORY!

You go girl!

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Latest GoFundMe update...


Just checking in before the Thanksgiving Holiday. I have to work that day but here is hoping you don't have to! My wife is almost a 100% recovered from the surgery and her Crohn's disease seems to be in remission. Joint pain is still an issue, so she still has the occasional sleepless night. That's the next thing to take care of I guess. Here is hoping that 2015 will be a much less... exciting year. That being said the bills are still there, nibbling away at our ability to keep food in the fridge and gas in the car. Anything you can do would be appreciated...

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

EVIL DEAD THE TV SERIES? OH HELL YEAH!! (I bet you thought I was gonna say 'Groovy'.)

From DEADLINE HOLLYWOOD



The Evil Dead movie franchise has officially crossed over to television with a 10-episode straight-to-series order from Starz for a 2015 premiere. Titled Ash Sam RaimiVs. Evil Dead, the followup to the classic film franchise reteams the original filmmakers, director Sam Raimi, longtime producing partner Rob Tapert and star Bruce Campbell who will serve as executive producers. Campbell will be reprising his role as Ash, the stock boy, aging lothario and chainsaw-handed monster hunter who has spent the last 30 years avoiding responsibility, maturity and the terrors of the Evil Dead. When a Deadite plague threatens to destroy all of mankind, Ash is finally forced to face his demons –personal and literal. Destiny, it turns out, has no plans to release the unlikely hero from its “Evil” grip...

He wants his two dollars! (AKA God Bless you Demian Slade wherever you are!)


Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Whatever happened to Al Bruno III?

Don't worry friends and followers, I am still here just recovering mentally from a very rough last few months. I promise that I will start posting all the fun, fiction and booty shots you have all come to love and depend on.


Saturday, November 8, 2014

Another financial shortfall...




Hello everyone. Thanks for your condolences regarding the passing of my Mom. I am still reeling. I am afraid have to come to you folks with my hat in hand again. The bills (medical and otherwise) have overtaken our finances again and now we are coming up short in all the wrong places. Is there anything you can do to help?


Monday, November 3, 2014

Rest in Peace Mom

My mother passed away last week.



Our story is over now, it was a story of love and anger but mostly love.

Friday, October 31, 2014

Uncle Al's Halloween Hoedown Day Thirty-One: PRECIOUS MACHINE

Precious Machine

by

Al Bruno III


A rusted electric fence surrounds the walled facility and the facility itself is a series of squat single story buildings connected by hallways. Every window is barred, every door is bolted, every surface is gray or blue. In this way the Kaydeross Asylum keeps the murderous nightmares of its prisoners tucked away from the world of ordinary madness.

Orderlies move through the hallways and buildings like ants, jaded boredom has rendered them faceless and emotionless. They go through their routines but have long ago stopped seeing their charges as human beings. The physicians and psychiatrists assigned to this place are no better, any thoughts of rehabilitating their patients have long been ground away by the never-ending crush of State-required paperwork.

Only Dr. Annabelle Masters truly cared about what went on here. Despite being the director of the facility she still made it a point to oversee the progress of the women remanded to the Kaydeross Asylum. There is a framed photograph she kept on the wall of her office, it shows her standing within the center of a crowd of women wearing faded hospital gowns and slippers; she is smiling despite the fact she is standing with a group of convicted murderers.

As I went through Dr. Masters's office my gaze returned to the picture again and again. There was something about the patients that haunted me- despite their smiling faces their eyes seemed to be screaming.

I was just a temporary administrator sent in to replace Dr. Masters while the investigation into her disappearance moved forward. It was my job to restore some semblance of order to the facility but I already knew it would be no easy task.

A tall bookcase occupied one side of the room, some of the texts shelved there were the standards of our profession but others had fallen out of print after being dismissed as bald faced quackery.

After this I turned my attention to her desk. It was ugly, gray and metallic. It reminded me of the sort of desk a schoolteacher might have. I searched through the drawer and found one had been locked. It took some effort but I was able to break the lock and found seven files that were thick with handwritten notes and EEG readouts. 

Dr. Masters's notes were written on cheap onionskin paper, her handwriting script was cramped and strange, reading it was hard going. There was one folder for each of the Kaydeross Asylum's more infamous charges. She had been interviewing and treating these murderesses secretly. 

No it was more than that, she had been experimenting on them.

Even now I can recall some of her notes almost perfectly-

...the Precious Machine continues to perform better than expected on Leslie Knapp but she resists treatment. She claws at the air and calls the names of her children. The modified styluses titter and scratch at the paper, there is something beautiful about the patterns they make. When I playback the audio tapes it almost sounds like an animal is skittering in the background like a rat gone wild with the urge to gnaw...

A search of Dr. Masters's office revealed no audio tapes or electroencephalogram, and her notes were maddeningly vague as to what exactly she was trying to accomplish.

Exhaustion, confusion and the murky February afternoon conspired to make me drowsy. I sat down in Dr. Masters' leather-backed chair and leaned back. I meant only to rest my eyes but I was soon asleep.

The dream that came was at first very literal, I was sitting in the office with the cryptic files spread out before me. There was a hollow rapping at the door and I called for the visitor to enter not looking up from my work. Once the visitor stood on the opposite side of the desk I became gripped with a childlike terror. I did not want to look up but my head moved of its own volition and I found myself staring at a figure from my long-abandoned faith. I knew that frail, beatific gaze and those stigmatic hands. But the crown of thorns he wore was metallic and it sparked. My breath caught in my throat as the figure opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a faint scraping sound like a record that had reached the end of its song.

I awoke then, choking and gasping like a nearly drowned man, but the scratching sound continued. Once the dream had faded away and I was calm, I realized where the strange noise was coming from.

Initially the orderlies balked at my request insisting that the moving of furniture was a job for maintenance but I insisted. Once the heavy mahogany bookcase had been moved a doorway was revealed.

We forced the door open and found what must have once been a storage closet. The so-called 'Precious Machine' was there and it was, as I had thought, a strangely modified EEG machine. A tangle of wires led to a web of sensors that resembled the crown I had seen in my dreams. The EEG had long run out of paper and the styluses scraped and scratched on the bare rollers.

And beneath that crown of sensors was a desiccated figure, she had only been missing for a little over a week but the flesh had an almost mummified look to it. We could only identify the body because of the name badge clipped to the lab coat, and by the eyes, the perfectly preserved eyes that stared back at us.

Oh how Dr. Masters's eyes screamed.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Uncle Al's Halloween Hoedown Day Twenty-Nine: THE MAN THAT ATE NEWBORNS

The Man That Ate Newborns
by
Al Bruno III

Don't squirm so much my wee one. Don’t struggle. Let me hold you close while I work up my nerve. Only a day old and you're fighting to live, well so am I. Isn't that what we all want in the end? Life, a warm place to sleep and a full belly. Well, that's what you've got and what do I have? Nothing I'm just a middle aged man, used up and waiting to die.

Just like you, not that you realize what's coming next of course.
Then again maybe you do understand, you may be blind and confused but maybe you do know somehow. Is that why you keep trying to get free?

This is all because of Eve. We had known each other since college. She was already halfway towards becoming a lawyer and I was a well respected graduate student. You should have seen her. She was so damn beautiful with creamy skin- just like yours. I first saw her in the college library, I was so smitten that I followed her home. Just to see if she was married or living with a boyfriend or something like that. I spent the next few days tracking her, learning whatever I could and once I was sure I knew enough to pass for her soulmate I made my move.
I played my cards just right and won her heart. It was a whirlwind romance, the kind of thing you'll never know my wee one. Maybe that's just as well, maybe if you could you'd thank me for sparing you the heartbreak.

Even now I don't know what went wrong. Was I too agreeable? Too clingy? It doesn't matter. She found someone else. The breakup was an ugly thing, uglier than you my wee one.

She tried to be gentle, she told me we could still be friends. I was so angry, I said terrible things but in the end I took her up on the offer of friendship and hoped she might come to her senses.

I'll never understand women. They're called the fairer sex but everything they do is unfair. How is it time and time again they're drawn to the wrong men? Why couldn't she see that her new boyfriend was all wrong for her? And why for God's sake did she marry him.

Now don't get me wrong, I tried to move on. There were other towns, other girls and no matter how much I learned about them before I made my move I never got as far as I had with Eve.

Was that why I kept coming back to my home town? Was that why I stayed her friend even though the sight of that ring on her finger left my skull pounding with rage?

Calm down now my wee one. I might drop you if you keep struggling so. Is that what you want?

I stayed her friend, I prayed for her to divorce but then it got worse. They were tears of joy in her eyes when she told me she was pregnant. I smiled at the news but in the back of my mind I was calling her a bitch. She never cried for me but she had a fountain of tears for a baby that wasn't even born yet. A baby that at this point was just a lump of cells no better than a tumor.

Some say life begins at conception but I don’t think it begins until you have your first real thought. Until then your just a thing that eats and crawls mindlessly.

It was during her final trimester that I decided something radical needed to be done. I would steal her little baby and I would keep it away until she promised to leave her husband and love me forever.

We would raise the child together. Even though it was another man's I would raise it as my own.

Thanks to things like email and her husband's Facebook page I knew when Eve started to go into labor. I waited about twenty-four hours, and then made my move.

As always I had done my homework, I knew the hospital's routine. I went at night, wearing stolen scrubs and an official-looking ID badge.

I made my way to the nursery convinced that no suspicious eyes would turn my way. I suppose love blinded me in that respect. I barely had the baby in my arms before someone raised an alarm. Escape wasn't easy but I managed to get out of the building. Then I found myself in the middle of a car chase. I knew I could evade the police if I made it to the state park and drove with my headlights off.

The crash was a directionless blur, I thought I was running parallel to the ravine but I ended up careening right into it.

Now here I am, pinned in my car with broken bones poking through the flesh of my legs. I had dared everything and I came away empty handed. Doubtlessly Eve and her husband are cooing over their baby and cursing me for what I had tried to do.

I'm not sure why no one has found me yet, I mean they must be looking but it's been two days and I'm still waiting alone.

Well, I was waiting alone until you came along. The flies must have laid you while I was drifting in and out of consciousness but now my wounded legs are crawling with maggots.

This isn't cruelty, it's just that I'm so hungry and you’re all I have. I'm going to eat you first and then once I’ve gotten the taste for it your brothers and sisters will be joining you by the handful.

I'm going to live through this, and somehow I'm going to get my Eve back.
Somehow. Somehow I'll do it.

Just don't squirm so much my wee one. Don't struggle.