Deception smiles behind its mask
A facade of joy; a troublesome task
Lying dormant: calculating
As it waits to strike, unsuspecting
Gazes flicker behind the mask
Beware: for in the glory which you bask
For vivid tales can not atone
And towers crumble from single stones
Go on, lover,
lift up my skirts
feast your eyes where the sun never shines.
Who is it going to hurt?
People like you, they complain
about the agenda of the gays.
“They’re nothing like you and I, beautiful!”
Or so you claim.
I disagree with such statements
false as they are.
In saying them, what do you gain?
They’re almost like me, darling.
They want to love, they want to live.
They want to eat, darling!
You became a part of my agenda
the moment you fell victim to my sultry gaze,
So go on, lift those skirts.
Let me show you what I live for.
Go on, lover!
I’m gonna eat you up,
Go on, lover, feed this whore.
Or rather, to introduce, as in: “Hello, I am a figment of your imagination–the scourge upon the youth of the nation . . .”
But don’t give me too much credit. My ego will grow to be too great, and will float away. And if that were the case who would believe you?
For three long years I’ve haunted you. Me, myself, and my hallucinations three . . .
Figure 1: In the mighty form of figure one, we observe the lord all mighty. Theo. The monster. Named so because of Gmail. Curses! Our grand lord and task master, forever left to slumber beneath the City of Misery.
Figure 2: Furtive and frightening is it that may not exist. The thing which exists in-between the realm of existence and that of non-existence (and patron god of the ever redundant). Oh holy parasite of dubious goodness . . . Coopid of the many wings. And things.
Figure 3: Cats do not exist, and that is a fact. The master of all arcane science. Ashkenaz the daemon scholar, wreathed in flame. Wherever he shall go you shall remember his name.
What is happening to us?
What is happening to me?
The liquid drops.
Shifts in heat and pressure tantalize your delicate senses. Titillating sensations run up and down your appendages, and you shiver.
Heat rises and falls, teasing you, mesmerizing you like a hooded cobra. In a show of aggression it bares its fangs, hissing. The bones in your ears vibrate; inside your skull it sounds like miners chiseling away at the foundations of your soul. Digging holes in your sanity.
You shake your body, desperate to make the noise stop, desperate to stop all sensations. It is useless. In doing so you succeed in increasing the frequency of the sounds. Tapping turns into a shrill trilling, causing your eyes to water. Water infuses itself with the oils from your thick hide, and your eyes begin to sting. It’s as if the cobra has spit its venom into your face.
The liquid begins to rise–that’s how it feels to you. An intense pressure begins to bare down on you, crushing you, ripping your skin and snapping your bones.
You suddenly realize that you are angry. You are annoyed. The emotions that were once nameless are now terrorizing you, threatening your very existence. The pressure is building up; you stand, precarious, seeking release, moving. Each movement creates friction. Friction creates heat. A tightness surrounds you, and you realize that you are trapped within something. Or tied to it.
And then you remember. A grand plan, your masterpiece. Below lies your creation, this meticulous masterpiece. Your order out of chaos. Order and chaos bring to mind your plan. To purge the universe with a flaming sword. Then the death of a god. And rebirth.
Without hesitation, you unleash what has been growing inside of you for millennia. A rush of new feelings fill you until you are brimming with joy. You’ve never known the exquisiteness of orgasm until now.
Even as your body is falling apart, you are at peace. A once magnificent form regresses back into formless dust, and a vast consciousness dies.
We, the creatures you had vowed to save, regress back to a primordial state, then to the very stardust we were made with. As our hearts and souls become one, it suddenly dawns on us that we did not save ourselves.
You were us.
Oh, to be as mercurial, and precocious as you are–God!
Did you not send us the heretics and the blasphemers? And did we not cut them down, even as they slept, like the criminals we were?
We live in you, and you die in us. And now are we not one?
It is finished.
Now our great death shall forever attest to your greatness, oh Goddess. Let this be our last, melodious song to our mercurial saviour.
As our consciousness disperses, we prepare ourselves for a dreamless sleep, secure in the knowledge that we will reform once again. After nameless millennia, when this wretched universe has died, we shall re-emerge as gods–and our realms shall be known as Hel.
Oh Instagram, you spoil us! Terrifically nightmarish paintings by Dusty Ray!
Here is a picture for you! It’s also a colouring sheet. I watched Death Note and it was pretty rad, so this happened.
We’re still fans of horror, but we’re taking a ride down the tunnel of weird (you probably noticed). We still firmly believe that anything can be horror, but that depends on the person being horrified. A lot of things are weird, however, and they’re here to stay–from the amoeba to the hairs on your toes. Over the two years or so The Enigmatic Monster Project has been evolving into a weird fiction blog. We’ve finally admitted that to ourselves.
And obviously that equals a colouring sheet/pretty picture . . .
Have a nice Wednesday!
A bit late, I must admit, and for that I must apologize. I’ve been on holidays with a friend. Besides, this is one of the few instances where Halloween happens to fall on a weekend. The night is still young! I hope you enjoy all 200 pages of the ABCs.
You better believe it.
Please note that this is the first year where you don’t have to click on an external link to download the book. If there are any issues let us know in the comments. For those of you who want to read the book on our site . . . I’ll be putting each chapter up bit by bit.
–P. L. Cobb
The ABCs of Horror draws closer with each coming day! Here are some sneak previews of the loveliness (featuring screenshots of work done by Mitchell Stoycheff, R. J. Davies Mornix, and P. L. Cobb).
This is a short selection, but there will likely be more sneak previews in the following days. The ABCs of Horror will be free to the public and will be available for download as a PDF file first, and online for your viewing pleasure second.
So, look for The ABCs of Horror on Halloween!
All the way
to the crumbling quay
Adonis was crying
Lying down and dying
with incessant sighing
And I watched fair Adonis trying
to make sense of himself–he had failed that self
Hence the dying
I stood where I was was–as still as the water beyond
Watching as Adonis was melting
(I did not lift a finger for him)
With my nostrils burning from the scent–smelling
A body deforming
Into a twitching
For myself it’s a bit more than just that. I wrote an article that explains a bit about why I enjoy the genre so much, but I’ll give you a few reasons here before it goes up:
- Horror fiction/movies can be used as commentary for particular issues.
- It is diverse; where there is a will there is a way for someone to take the mundane and turn it upside down.
- It can be really fun (horror comedies)!
Another thing I might add is this: if you’re watching an action movie where someone is getting their brains blown out how is that any different than horror? Murder is murder, no matter how shiny or gritty you make it, and despite the reasons for the characters committing it. There is definitely a blurring between genres that happens in entertainment (books, movies, etcetera).
I like how you pray.
I heard you five dimension over!
A little update here: it’s P. L. Cobb, and I’m just letting everyone who follows the blog know that things are getting super busy now. I have other projects that I’ll need to focus my attention on. The blog will still be updated, but it’ll be updated once or twice a day, with a blitz thrown in here and there for good measure.
In the meantime, enjoy some graffiti made by some donkus* in Sault Ste. Misery.
*We say the word with some affection in this context, mainly because this is some decent work compared to our usual fare.
No, this is not Dismaland. We say this with a heavy heart. Sault Ste. Misery is located in Ontario, the Canadian province. A big body of water separates us from the UK. Tell Banksy to come here for a visit; no one will notice him, and no one will care about him. All is apathy in Sault Ste. Misery!
We have no idea; maybe more clowns. Or creeps (who are boring).
Gee wiz! It’s the stairway to nowhere! That’s right folks, only in Sault Ste. Misery! No one’s climbing up and no ones coming down tonight. Or ever. Or at all (just thought we’d throw that out there)!