Can I? Written by P.L. Cobb

Can I?

Can I,
Chew my way out of this cocoon,
This thing in which I’ve been marooned,
Or can I,
Join the birds–might I fly
Into the lonely void of the sky?

Or must I remain
Trapped, to grow insane,
Or may I walk free
Beneath the churning seas?

Is it solace I seek,
Or is it vengeance to be eked
Out from this miserable soil?
My cup is so full, it overflows, and boils.

I am wild rage, encased,
The result of a fair lady disgraced.
If I must, I shall wait within this cocoon,
For it would not do to taste the sweet honey of your judgement … Too soon.

Friday Lovin', by P. L. Cobb

I’m Mad, Livid, Angry

I’m mad, livid, angry,
I’m just a rusted bucket filled to the brim with roiling ire,
And I hate, I loathe–
I loathe so much that there is a heat from a flame from hell
The fire of all things eternal, and wasted.

My time, you know,
It’s my time that they always clamour for
Even the unwanted ones who won’t leave me be
They come for me like rabid dogs,
Itching to get their fix of wasted dreams,
And it’s mine that they want to waste, not theirs!

And if I fight back I am a witch–
Or worse, an ungrateful %$#@&!
Who wants to listen to the noises which I spend so much time
So much time squeezing from my esophagus
As if I were giving birth to nothing but sound,
Yet the sound is also wasted on them,
More efforts wasted.

And I am mad, I am livid, I am seething,
My cup is empty yet it overfloweth with bubbling, frothing acid,
That acid is bile, or something worse,
Something deep within my stomach–
Methinks a snake, or something better,
And by better I mean bad for you and good for me,
Because for once some foreign god has heard my cry …

And it has deigned to deliver me,
From the vampires, the wraiths, the zombies, the corporations
Whatever I choose to call them, they are the ones whose
Greatest desire is to control me,
Consume me,
Bury me,
And then exhume me.

As if to say: Look, though covered in your blood, we are your saviours!

Ask me again why I am mad.

Expunged, written and illustrated by M. Stoycheff


I feel nothing
No spark to animate me
I feel nothing
No hope that I can see
Anger, bitter, and unbridled
Burns in my core
I am unsettled
Like the sands of the shore
Cold eyes are gleaming
Feeding lies: through smiles
Selfishly scheming
Benefit for their guile
I feel nothing
As the world strikes against me
I feel nothing

Ember flowers

All these lost and hopeful desires

Drift like tufts of dandelion

Wayward dreams, whose light expire

Settle like ash on crumbling bastions

Voices scream aloud for answers

Pleading cries in the breeze

Like flowers of burning embers

They are lost among the seas

The Bird


The Bird

The body of his best friend was dumped unceromoniosusly into the crude hole he had dug.

His best friend.

He shook his head, shaking. Perhaps his head shook because he was shaking, or because he still couldn’t believe what he had done. Things looked bleak for him now. Was there a future for him?

And what about his friend?

His best friend?

When he had killed him they were alone. No one heard those dying gurgles, which had grated upon his and his ears alone. That was the hope. It almost drove him insane–gurgle, gurgle gurgle. The sound replayed itself in his head with a vengeance.

It was like his friend wanted him to hear it, wanted him to be driven mad. After all, he had murdered his friend . . . What was he thinking?

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I don’t know what I did. Don’t ask me why!” He groaned.

There was a flapping sound. When he looked up he met the steady gaze of a raven. It was the biggest bird he had ever laid eyes on.

“I saw what you did there. You’ll never get away with it.” The bird opened all six of its wings.

A gurgling wail resounded across the countryside before trailing off.


3rd Issue Sneak Peak, Amongst Other Things


3rd Issue Sneak Peak, Amongst Other Things

Screen Shot 2014-07-21 at 10.14.11 AM

We could pretend that it’s actually a sneak peek, and not just a reveal of the cover . . .

October 1st is fast approaching, and something wicked this way comes . . . the 3rd issue of The Enigmatic Monster is taking on a new look, something nitty, gritty, and decidedly graffiti! We’ve also made some slight size adjustments to the .pdf document to optimize viewing. Our Wordsmith is looking over our stories, wondering how we stay sane, at this very moment.

For those of you who passionately detest .pdf documents, do not worry, the entire issue will be available online for your viewing pleasure!

Some new developments have come around the corner as well. Team Monster is planning on doing another live reading! This time on a boat, in the middle of the night. We may possibly be pandering trinkets too (tiny little Theos to love and to hug, but never to feed–heaven forbid). Not in the SSM area? Never fear, we’ll be doing a recording as well.

Keep it monstrous!



Something Else, But What?

Something Else, But What? | The Red Raven, Part 3

Joseph DeCorvi . . . 

Was how how the letter began. When Joseph had found it tucked neatly into his back pocket a month ago he had been surprised, to say the least. Upon reading it, it had left him in a cold sweat.

I have heard that you are the right man for this particular job, or rather, for a job of this calibre. 

At the time he had been staying at a little inn near the shores of Waridge, an island located right on the border between Cannard and Oursar. Waridge profited from the two countries in trade, tourism, and as an official border crossing (of which only two ferrying companies legally benefited from). Another thing the island profited from was numbers. Its population was comparable to that of Tarano, comprising of many cultural groups.

We sketched a map! Now you can see into the future! Wait . . .

We sketched a map! Now you can see into the future! Wait . . .

Continue reading

The Thief, Mr. DeCorvi

The Thief, Mr. DeCorvi

The Red Raven, Part 2

The Red Raven . . . What was it? Where had it come from?

The man wondered as he hunkered down into the bush.

It was an idea–a symbol–an ancient being. In other words, a very good myth. Whatever any of it meant . . . He laughed to himself, a bit on edge.

The Red Raven, it was said, was the cause of dreams, the true king of the dream world. Day or night, it cast out its seeds, good or bad, to be had by the dreamer. Rich or poor, woman or man, the Red Raven cared not. The being was a chaotic agent, and therefore did not care what it did, without being good nor evil. According to many stories, the sovereign had reigned supreme, until its downfall, when it lost its crown . . . Continue reading

The Red Raven, Part I

The Red Raven, Part I

Sylvan Spider God

Like a wheel, spinning, spinning, spinning–a maddening rhythm that increases in speed–the god-creature spins and spins away, all eight of its hands a silver shimmer in the air.

Like a nightmare-creature, it sits in its golden chair. A chair made from gilded bones, which the spider god looks at fondly from time to time. The creature in question is itself a mystery: why does it spin, and who does it spin for? It is both a horror and a delight to behold; gold and silver, with black bands on all eight of it’s arms, hands, and fingers, which–in just the right light–are translucent, revealing an intricate network of veins, muscles, and sinew . . . All of which sparkle, due to the star stuff from which the god-creature was made. Continue reading

No Connections Whatsoever

No Connections Whatsoever

Where were they? she wondered as she sipped her tea; a deep orange-red tea, smooth, with a delightful aftertaste. She sat in her great armchair, staring out into the night from the convenience of her living room. It was actually a nice night out for a change.

It was full dark however, and the stars were nowhere to be seen. Which she found rather mysterious, although not for the same reasons others would expect.

“I wonder what could have happened to them?” she said aloud. The steady tick-tick of the kitchen clock answered her.



And so on and so forth.

She wasn’t bothered too much by the thought. She had never really knew them to begin with, and had held them with contempt. Immediately after giving them rooms she had regretted ever setting eyes on them, so when they left she was immediately relieved.

There was something about them she was not quite ready to concede to herself, something that she had known but had willfully ignored.

Gently setting the tea down, the old woman got up with a great sigh. “I’m getting too old for this,” she muttered to herself. The old inn had been in her care for a long time, and never once had she ever come across such a bizarre case.

Well . . . That wasn’t quite the truth. She shook her head at herself. There you go again, lying to yourself! You old coot! As her feet carried her up the stairs, she closed all of the curtains, the same way she had for the past forty years. A long time for such a practice. The guests had often ribbed her for it; her inn was in a respectable neighbourhood after all, there were no prying eyes, no would-be-thieves . . .

She stopped. For a while she stared at the wall. People often came to her inn, people with something not quite right about them. They always left at dusk, never to be seen again–

–until their bodies were found a week later. It was always a week. She knew what they were doing.

The fools . . .

Willfully sacrificing themselves to . . .

The old woman shook herself out of her stupor. It was time for bed.

The Museum

The Museum

By Jacob Zaccaria

Soaring crystal spires of the metropolis gleamed in the sun’s first light as it’s inhabitants bustled like a million bees in a concrete hive. One could feel the buzz of the City all around them even now — if they took the time to shrug off their mindless march at all. A motley mix of vacant faces, one could argue that if you knocked off each and every last soul save one, they probably wouldn’t even notice a thing. Continue reading

Imagine No Imagination?

Imagine No Imagination?


Where there is no imagination there is no horror.

–Arthur Conan Doyle

It’s all in your head*, or so you’ve been told. But don’t think too hard on it, that’ll only make things worse . . .

*How many times did they say that in the movie Chicken Run?

Oh Joyous Bug

Oh Joyous Bug


It sat there, still and silent, watching them as they walked by. So many of them passed it, not a one pausing to look around. Never noticing it. So it sat there, undisturbed.

Watching. It liked to watch, sitting–sometimes clinging–to a tree. When it did move, it did so with careful, calculated moves. Movements were what usually gave it away to them, when they noticed . . . Once or twice this had happened so far, as far as it remembered. And it possessed a large memory for things.

There was a crunching noise coming from up ahead; it tensed at the sound, a familiar shuffling. One of them. The red one, to be exact; it always limped along, carrying a stick with it. It drew near, but then fell, its foot caught on a rock.

Quivering with excitement, it crawled down from its perch, all but racing to get to the red one. Oh, the months of watching had finally paid off. As it crawled over the screaming red one, it hastily stuck a long proboscis into its neck.

Oh, it was so happy to have a meal at last.

Such High Contrasts

Such High Contrasts


Looking up, at the sun . . . Squinting. There was such a high contrast between light and dark up there, just as much as there was down here. What else was up there, besides clouds, the vacuum of space? Continue reading

To the Faces In the Wall

To the Faces In the Wall


To the faces in the wall: 

You never bothered to hide yourselves; no one cared that much for walls anyways. They turned a blind eye towards you.

That’s cheeky, you know.

I watch you all the time, but it never seems to bother you at all. Why should it? Who would believe that the walls really did have eyes and ears–that there were people living within them . . . People they couldn’t see?

I watch you all the time. Do you watch me too?

Or do you really care?

As for myself . . . I’m not sure what to feel, or even what to think about this.

It only scares me when I sleep.

A Minor Hiccup

A Minor Hiccup

Normally we have a post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. However we have been experiencing some minor hiccups brought on by our normal day jobs, broken computers, etcetera . . . According to the Jake human, we have two podcasts that are ready to go, they just need to be uploaded. We were hoping to get a podcast out by today at the latest. So far that has not been possible, so we would like to apologize to our fans, and supporters.

Rest assured, our normal shenanigans shall resume this coming Monday, for all to witness . . . The inane babble of so many worms will go on!

If your looking to challenge yourself, head over to this lovely post by our Wordmaster*: RJ Davies Mornix.

A Good Start, by RJ Davies Mornix.

-Penny C, as dictated by Theo Monster

*AKA editor

Found and Lost

Found and Lost


Jerry had been walking along the silent trail that morning, drinking in the solitude like it was a fine wine. This would be the only time left to himself before he started another long day of work; it was an office job, dull and demanding . . . And there was nothing more to say about that. Jerry’s mantra: work stays at work, home stays at home. And that’s how he had stayed sane after all these years.

The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon–it was cool enough out that he wasn’t sweating. The bugs weren’t that bad today either, which suited Jerry fine. He hated bug spray, and steadfastly refused to wear it.

His foot caught on something on the trail, and Jerry took a fall that knocked the wind out of him. Thud! He hit the ground rather unceremoniously. Not that there was much ceremony in falling . . . Swearing under his breath, Jerry sat up; he looked long and hard behind him. There was something sticking up out of the ground, a branch probably . . . Maybe . . . Possibly? What the hell? Jerry crawled towards the branch. On closer inspection his breath caught.

What should he do? Jerry whipped his hat off and immediately began brushing the dirt with it, his whole body shaking as if with fever. He knew that he should call the police. Really, he did. But there was something that drove him to uncover the thing, a macabre sort of fascination. Jerry tossed the hat away and began to use his hands. This is insane, he said to himself. I’m sick, why don’t I just stop? 

Except . . . He couldn’t.

WHY ME? his mind screamed. At this point it felt as if he were no longer in control of his body, as if something had possessed him. He felt nausea growing within his stomach as more and more of the old corpse was uncovered. This is not a damn person, he realized as he scratched at the hard dirt. There’s no way in hell . . .

There was something different about the bone structure. Yes, it was humanoid, with certain differences here and there. The limbs were slightly elongated, the leg bones curved slightly more than a humans, the arms longer, the fingers longer . . . And the skull . . . That was the most alien of all. Longer and thinner than a normal human skull, and the jaw . . . It resembled an animal jaw, like that of a wolf.

Jerry finally tore himself away from the grisly find. He was drenched in sweat, and there was a horrible smell on his nostrils. It came from the bones, which had the colour and sheen of oil. Horrified he looked at his hands, which were cracked and bleeding from his frenzied, uncontrolled digging.

Without a second thought he picked up a large rock, smashing the skull, the ribs, the legs. When he was finished Jerry bolted back up the path in a daze.

He called in sick, and booked the month off.

Free Monster Hugs!

Free Monster Hugs!

Yes, that’s right! Everyday we’ve been adding new stories to read to our site, all from the recently released second issue of EMP!

So, do you want some free monster hugs? Click here for more!

Feel free to peruse some of our WIP screen shots as well!

This Book Will Give You Insomnia, Wanna Know How?

This Book Will Give You Insomnia, Wanna Know How?

EMP Issue 2

Click to download Issue 2!

Because Theo Monster watches you in your sleep. And then he bakes evil cookies when no one is watching. And when he’s done baking those vile cookies, he gives away free hugs, which is neither good nor bad  . . .

. . . And because we all downed a bottle or two of paranoia while we were putting the second issue together. Seriously, I’m not kidding you; there are more character deaths in this issue than there are in the first! And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the horrible winter talking either . . .

So, you should obviously click the image to download our free .PDF of EMP: Issue 2!

P.S: The online versions will be following soon!



Goodbye Me

Goodbye Me

Enigmatic Podcast number 12, a la Theo Monster; the Jon human has had some issues with his computer (silly human machines), so the the monster itself has come to grace all of you mere mortals with a temporary (meaning eternal) domination of your wills.

Theo Monster would also like to inform his followers of his recent metamorphosis: he has traded in five of his heads for all-seeing tentacles. Free hugs (for all) . . .

EMP: Live Reading!

EMP: Live Reading!