Posts Tagged ‘Mr Ash’

He’s coming for me,
Even the storm outside does not cloak his steps,
Mr. Ash,
The frigid wind tries to hold him back in vain,
The rain whispers “flee”,
Each stroke of lightning is a plea of “run!”,

My attempts at going underground failed,
My thieving insult to him will be repaid in blood,
I glance out of the window fearfully,
I see him nearing even in the black,
It’s like staring into evil itself,
It’s like looking at the apocalypse in slow motion,

A demon,
A God,
Or something altogether more alien,
Long spindly limbs,
Pale and hairless,
He is dressed literally to kill,

His emaciated limbs bear barbarous claws,
Claws that have ended lives since time began,
And perhaps even before,
His mad eyes are wide open,
His grin filled with murderous intent,
He’s coming for me,

His form appeared at my door,
That grin still glistening,
Despite the horror that was about to ensue,
His rangy form must nearly crouch,
But I still feel like a frightened child,
The monster under the bed is real,

Even the bravest slink in terror,
And fear the name of Mr. Ash,
Even the maddest see reason,
And fear the name of Mr. Ash,
Even as my body is torn limb from limb,
The storm continues unabated.


Another one from the illustrious Ryan Sargent. I’m not as happy with this one, but it is a bit old so i guess I’ll let it slide. Enjoy!


“Like many others, I was born during the Cold war. A time when paranoia and hatred swept us all into a string of close encounters with nuclear war. Obviously i didn’t see it then, but it is ironic that we became so paranoid of each other. Of our own kind. The ironic part is that because of this paranoia we couldn’t see the actual threats to our race: the denizens of the supernatural.

The governments propaganda told us to “fear the commies” and to hate the Soviets. Unknowingly they had given the dark things a scapegoat. No one will fear vampires when they’re in an uproar about the Bay of Pigs. No one is going to be bothered about that questionable cult of weirdos in that run down warehouse while more countries are turning communist. Those strangely ritualistic killings were clearly an ordinary psycho, probably a commie to boot. I was too young to see it back then, but in retrospective there were strange goings on. It could be reasonable to say it was a child’s delusion, but i’m certain of it, even now. Obviously no one is going to investigate any strange killings or disappearances when there are commies to persecute. I never believed the propaganda anyway, didn’t listen to what the teachers had to say about the soviets. Why should i care right? In fact i have a perfect example of what I’m trying to say.

When i was 8 i had a friend called Bruce Piper. This must of been 1978, i suppose. Even at such a young ages, he was really interested in girls. He had a string of “relationships”, if they can be called that, with several girls at our school. Around this time, a new student came, her name was Angela Bouferce. She was a very beautiful girl, but not the normal kind of beautiful. She was that very unearthly kind of beautiful, like a plastic doll, with the dull, emotionless voice to match. Well, needless to say, Bruce was all over her. She seemed to respond well, i suppose. The school was still in an uproar about the cold war and seemed to try and brainwash the kids to hate soviets, including myself. It was a very anti-red school. This was nothing more than a backdrop for a horror story though.

Oddly i seemed to be the only one to notice anything out of the ordinary about this Angela girl. The awkward way she pronounced the simplest of words. The strange way she walked, as if with great difficulty. I was like a sighted person in a crowd of the blind, I’m the only one who can sense the lion coming in for the kill. Bruce didn’t seem to care or notice. They still swooned over each other.

Needless to say, it wasn’t to last. You may think that they would just split up right? Kids do that all the time right? In this case they didn’t split up, but one didn’t make it. Love kills and all that. One day i went to the bathroom during break. I can’t seem to stomach the thought of what i saw.

Bruce, sat upright against one of the walls, with his belly split horizontally. Blood was everywhere, as if the school had been repainted. On the wall, in the same gory paint, was the message:

“The deal is done…
                        Signed Mr. Ash”

The meaning of this message still eludes me. And who was standing over what was left of my friend? Who else but an equally messy Angela. She had a knife.

As you can imagine i was about to bug out of there. However, she didn’t come at me. Instead she rose a few feet into the air, her legs hanging loosely and arms up at awkward angles, as if held by an unseen puppet master. Her face was gaunt and expressionless, tilted to one side. As quickly as this happened, she vanished before my eyes. Back to the shadows. I ran to get help but Bruce was already long gone.

The Media jumped all over the case, saying the message on the wall was some kind of soviet code to begin some imagined uprising. I knew the truth of course. But it illustrates my point: people are more likely to listen to sensationalism than consider the possibility of the supernatural. I tried to explain what i saw of course, but the school just said i was disturbed by the death of my friend. People were more than willing to believe the stories in the newspapers. Who would listen to an 8 year old kid? Yes, the commies did it obviously, there’s no other explanation, foolish tards.

Well, that’s enough ranting for now, i think. Consider what i have said.

From the desk of Ryan Sargent.”