Archive for the ‘C. Michael Forsyth’ Tag

World’s Billionaires Vow to Topple the Elite.   Leave a comment

yacht

OWNING a pricey yacht like the $1 billion Streets of Monaco doesn’t make you one of the elite.

By C. Michael Forsyth

Following the lead of U.S. presidential candidate Donald Trump, dozens of billionaires from around the globe are banding together to battle the elite.

While not all the names are known, the crusaders are believed to include Amancio Ortega of Spain, worth $75 billion, Bernard Arnault of France, worth $34 billion and Wang Jianglin of China, worth $28.7 billion.

“We’ve been inspired by Mr. Trump. We need to defeat the scourge of elitism once and for all,” declared shipping magnate Damik Kapur of India, in an interview aboard his $600 million, 82-room yacht, which boasts three swimming pools, a heliport, a solid gold toilet and its own mini-sub. “The world’s economy is rigged. We know because we rigged it to benefit ourselves. That is why only we are in a position to fix it.”

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king-saudi-arabia

The King of Saudi Arabia and other mega-rich aristocrats have vowed to bring down the elite.

In addition to the business tycoons, members of several royal families, including those of England, Denmark, Bahrain and Swaziland, have jumped on the bandwagon. King Salman bin Abdul’aziz, absolute monarch of Saudi Arabia, has voiced his support for the movement.

“We are united in our commitment to topple the elite,” said a spokesman for the ruler. “We owe it to the commoners.”

The combined wealth of the mansion-owning moguls is roughly $2 trillion. But being rich and powerful has nothing to do with being part of the elite.

“The elite are those people in the media, academia and elsewhere whose views have been guiding the course of nations for far too long,” explained business writer Terence Hilcord, who interviewed Kapur for a New Zealand magazine. “Think of them as the snooty kids who always sat at the front of the class in school. A member of the true elite may be a newspaper reporter or a college professor who doesn’t own a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. What makes him part of the elite is that oh-so-superior attitude.”

Copyright C. Michael Forsyth

If you enjoyed this satirical article, check out the author’s collection of news parody, available on Kindle and in other eBook formats.

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SNAPPY COMEBACKS TO STUPID MICROAGGRESSIONS   3 comments

microaggression-2

COLLEGE students have been posting microaggressions that offend them online.

By C. Michael Forsyth

College students and office workers get hit with irritating microaggressions every day. But they can put the boneheads who utter them in their place by using the snappy comebacks in this article.

Microaggressions are minor insults, usually spoken by well-meaning persons, that unintentionally communicate hostility toward people based on ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation or gender identity.

Many colleges and businesses are so concerned about the problem that they hand out lists of microaggressions to students and employees. But there’s been a lot of pushback against the trend, principally from conservatives who grumble that it’s “political correctness run amok.” I think what actually irks people is the pseudoscientific term microaggression. If you just said, “dumbass comments made by people who just don’t know any better,” there wouldn’t be much debate. Hell, who hasn’t unwittingly said something that made the listener steaming mad for the rest of the day? Just ask any husband!

micro-4

Many well-educated black people get asked this boneheaded question.

 

For example, a work friend thought he was paying the highest imaginable compliment when he told me, “Mike, you’re the least black person I know.” My comeback: “Thanks, Alan. You totally don’t seem Jewish to me at all.” But I, too, have put my foot in my mouth and been on the receiving end of a cutting reply. I once asked my gay niece, “So you and your girlfriend… who’s the man in the relationship?” Her comeback: “There IS no man in the relationship. That’s the point.” Ouch!

With the help of my boyhood chum Jordan Auslander, one of the wittiest guys I know, I’ve put together this handy list of 27 common microaggressions and snappy comebacks you can use:

“You’re so exotic!”
YOU MEAN LIKE KURU DISEASE?

(To a gay woman) “Have you ever had REAL sex?”
DOES YOUR MOTHER COUNT?

“No, I mean where are you REALLY from?”
MARS, BUT SHH! IT’S A SECRET. MY PEOPLE ARE EVALUATING YOUR PLANET TO SEE IF YOU’RE WORTH SPARING.

“Can I touch your hair?”
MY ARMPIT HAIR OR MY PUBIC HAIR?

“You know, I bet I could turn you straight!”
I BET IF I TURNED STRAIGHT AND YOU FUCKED ME, I’D TURN GAY AGAIN!

“So, how do Muslims feel about this situation?”
SORRY, MY TERM AS OFFICIAL SPOKESMAN FOR ALL MUSLIMS EXPIRED LAST WEEK.

“How come you don’t speak Spanish?”
I’M SECOND GENERATION. SAME REASON YOU DON’T SPEAK TROLL.

“How could I be anti-Semitic? I grew up around a lot of Jews.”
SO DID HITLER.

“How come you sound so white?”
MY SLAVE MASTER TAUGHT ME.

(To an Asian) “Can you see as much as white people?”
WELL, TEST ME. DO YOU HAVE YELLOW STAINS ON YOUR TEETH AND SIX GRAY NOSTRIL HAIRS?

(To a butch-looking gay woman) “Do you ever get mistaken for a man?”
NO, DO YOU? *

“Do you think maybe this gay thing is a phase?”
YES, PROBABLY. BUT UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU, STUPID LASTS FOREVER.

“Hey, your English is quite good!”
SO IS YOUR HUMAN.

(To an Asian) “Sir, can you help me with this math problem?”
OH, OH! IT’S NOT THAT COUNTING STUFF IS IT?

(To an Asian) “You ‘re actually driving quite well.”
OH, THAT’S NOTHING. WATCH ME DO IT WITH MY EYES CLOSED!

“You’re very attractive for a dark-skinned girl.”
AND YOU’RE VERY INTELLIGENT FOR A CRETIN.

“You are so articulate!”
NOT USUALLY, BUT I HAVE TO BE TO GET THROUGH TO YOU.”

“You know, for a transgender girl, you look don’t look bad.”
THANKS, I THINK YOU COULD PASS TOO.

“Say, what ARE you, anyway?”
JUST TIRED, THAT’S ALL – OF DUMBASS QUESTIONS.

“Excuse me miss, were you born male?”
I WAS BORN WITHOUT MANNERS, BUT I LEARNED THEM.

“When I look at you, I don’t see color.”
YOU MIGHT WANT TO GET THAT CHECKED.

“Would like to play Dora the Explorer in the school play?”
NO, I’D LIKE TO PLAY SCARFACE AND INTRODUCE YOU TO “MY LEETLE FRIEND.”

“I’m not racist. I have a black friend.”
LET ME GUESS: BEN CARSON.

“You don’t lisp or anything. You do a good job of hiding that you’re gay.”
SO DO YOU.

“You’re very pretty for a transgender woman.”
AND YOU’RE NOT UGLY FOR AN OGRE.

“I hear that Asian women are more passive than Western women.”
FUCK YOU! IS THAT AGGRESSIVE ENOUGH?

“Hey, can you also talk like a regular black person?
SURE I CAN. LISTEN CLOSELY: Yebo ngiyakwazi ukukhuluma like umuntu omnyama ejwayelekile, isilima. Kukhona izindlela ezehlukene ezingamakhulu umuntu omnyama kungaba ukukhuluma. Abanye abantu abamnyama ukuxoxa entshonalanga nanendlela indian, abanye abantu bekhuluma nge accent i-Afrika. Abanye abantu bakhulume njengabantu cockney like Idris Elba, owakhuliswa eNgilandi. Umuntu ababefunde bagogoda like Angela Bassett, ababeyile Yale, ngokwemvelo likhuluma kahle-kunawe. Ngenxa nje yokuthi umuntu omnyama okhuluma isiNgisi efanele akusho ezingaphansi evumelana black. Ngale kwalokho, lokho kwakuyosho Malcom X awuzange evumelana black. Just kungaze uke wambona movie Tyler Perry asipheli ube igunya phezu oNsundu waseMelika amaphethini inkulumo, isilima. Lwesigodi ungase ucabange njengoba real inkulumo elimnyama owehla endleleni okhuluma crackers oseningizimu bafundisa abantu bami uma abenziwe izigqila ngabaseGibithe kithi. Ngakho Ngithemba ngeke abe nandaba uma mina ungayisebenzisi.**

** Roughly translated from Zulu: “Of course I can speak like a ‘regular’ black person, half-wit. There are hundreds of different ways a black person can talk. Some black people talk with a West Indian accent, some people speak with the accent of an African country. Some people speak with a cockney accent like Idris Elba, who was raised in England. A highly educated person like Angela Bassett, who went to Yale, naturally speaks more properly than you. Just because a black person speaks proper English doesn’t mean they are less than authentically black. Otherwise that would mean Malcom X wasn’t authentically black. Just because you might have seen a Tyler Perry movie doesn’t make you an authority on African-American speech patterns, idiot. The dialect you may think of as ‘real’ black speech descends from the way of speaking southern crackers taught my people when they enslaved us. So I hope you won’t mind if I don’t use it.”

* Courtesy of Aliens.

Copyright C. Michael Forsyth

If this made you laugh, check out the author’s collection of news satire, available on Kindle and in other eBook formats.

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New Conan Doyle/Houdini Audiobook   Leave a comment

Arthur AudiobookThe audiobook edition of my novel Sir Arthur Conan Doyle & Harry Houdini in The Adventure of the Spook House is now on sale on Amazon and iTunes. Narrating the book was a delightful experience, but extraordinarily challenging. I had to draw upon my gift for mimicry to pull of Conan Doyle’s Scottish brogue, as well as Cockney and Southern accents.

It helped that I’ve been imitating Sean Connery for years, and can nail him pretty well, as I do in this James Bond spoof. If you check it out, don’t laugh so hard you forget to return to this page and follow the link to the free sample of the audiobook.

In the novel, the creator of Sherlock Holmes and the world’s greatest escape artist team up to solve a paranormal mystery.The Sherlock Holmes Society of London hails it as “an adventure story with depth, full of atmosphere, suspense, ingenuity.”

How To Survive A Haunted House: 7 Lifesaving Tips!   1 comment

SMART MOVE: Taking refuge in the basement of a haunted house could save your life, expert says.

SMART MOVE: Taking refuge in the basement of a haunted house could save your life.

By C. Michael Forsyth

EDISON, N.J. –If you find yourself trapped in a haunted house with a malevolent ghost, head straight to the basement. That’s the surprising advice of a top expert in the supernatural!

“It sounds counterintuitive, but a lot of behaviors that seem stupid in a horror movie turn out to be highly successful survival strategies in the real world,” reveals Dr. Dan Greavesby of the New Jersey Institute for Paranormal Research.

“Disembodied souls generally frequent the areas of a house where they spent the most time while alive – for example the master bedroom or the kitchen. People spend hardly any time in their basement. That’s why it’s the place you’re least likely to encounter a ghost. If your haunted house doesn’t have a cellar, take refuge in the attic during a crisis.”

Here are six other vital tips from the researcher:

• ALWAYS SPLIT UP – “A ghost possesses only a finite amount of psychic energy,” Dr. Greavesby points out. “If it tries to attack five different people in five different rooms, that energy is divided and the ghost is weakened.”

SPLITTING up didn't work out so well for the characters in

SPLITTING up didn’t work out so well for the characters in “Scary Movie 2,” but in real life the strategy works.

• USE A FLICKERING FLASHLIGHT – A flashlight with a loose connection or dying batteries can save your hide. “Contrary to common belief, ghosts can’t see in the dark any better than the living can,” reveals the expert. “Indeed, you have the advantage since once the room is pitch black, you can feel your way out. Because a ghost’s hand will pass through solid objects, he or she can’t do that.”

FLASHLIGHT that doesn't work gives you an advantage over ghosts.

FLASHLIGHT that doesn’t work gives you an advantage over ghosts.

• DON’T LEAVE THE HOUSE AS SOON AS YOU REALIZE IT’S HAUNTED – Packing your bags and fleeing with your family at the first sign of trouble is useless and potentially dangerous. “An evil spirit often follows a victim from one house to the next and may be angered that you’ve ‘abandoned’ it,” the expert explains.

CHAIRS mysteriously stacking themselves is no cause to put out a For Sale sign.

CHAIRS mysteriously stacking themselves is no cause to put out a For Sale sign.

 

WHAT, me worry? Best to ignore signs something supernatural is going on.

WHAT, me worry? Best to ignore signs something supernatural is going on.

• REFUSE TO BELIEVE THE HOUSE IS HAUNTED NO MATTER HOW OBVIOUS — Ignore the warnings of old caretakers, ominous sounds, objects that move inexplicably, dolls whose heads turn in your direction and your children’s reports of having seen dead people. “Ghosts feed on fear – it’s the primary source of their energy,” says Greavesby. “Showing no fear causes that energy to dissipate. If you appear oblivious to the presence of a ghost after two months of rigorous haunting, it will grow frustrated and weary and cease its efforts to harass you.”

WE ain't afraid of no ghosts. Bill Murray wasn't afraid to poke fun at spirits in

WE ain’t afraid of no ghosts. Bill Murray poked fun at spirits in “Ghostbusters.”

• TAUNT THE SPIRIT – “You have to show the ghost who’s boss as soon as you move in,” explains the expert. “It’s like dealing with a bad dog. Establish early on who’s the alpha, the dominant one in the situation, and nine times out of ten it will back down.” Laughter is a potent weapon, he adds. “Mockery and insults such as classic ‘Yo mama’ jokes can quickly rob a ghost of its ‘mojo’. Curse words can be very effective, especially against spirits who lived in the 19th century and are unaccustomed to foul language.”

 

 

• HANDLE CURSED OBJECTS — Don’t hesitate to march into a “forbidden” room and pick up the dead person’s former prized possessions such as antique jewelry or an eerily lifelike portrait. Notes Greavesby, “If you boldly put on that necklace you’ve been warned never to touch, stare in the ‘haunted mirror’ and give the ghost you see behind you the finger, the spirit will know you can’t be intimidated and will most likely give up.”

WHY let the fact that a piece of jewelry is cursed stop you from putting it on?

WHY let the fact that a piece of jewelry is cursed stop you from putting it on?

 

Copyright C. Michael Forsyth

If you enjoyed this mind-bending story by C. Michael Forsyth, check out his collection of bizarre news, available on Kindle and in other eBook formats.

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The author of this article wrote the acclaimed new novel The Blood of Titans, a love story set in the golden age of Africa. To check it out, click HERE.

The author of this article wrote the acclaimed new novel The Blood of Titans, a love story set in the golden age of Africa. To check it out, click HERE.

Family Values Crusader Seeks to Ban Teaching of Quantum Physics   1 comment

Even the worlds greatest theoretical physicists, including Albert Einstein, have admitted the bizarre laws of quantum physics makes their head spin.

Even the worlds greatest theoretical physicists, including Albert Einstein, have admitted the bizarre laws of quantum physics makes their head spin.

By C. Michael Forsyth

KNOXVILLE, Tenn. — Family values crusader Kevin R. Crousley has launched a campaign to ban the teaching of quantum mechanics from our nation’s high schools, arguing that its principles violate biblical teaching.

“Particles popping in out of existence or being two places at once – you show me anything in the Bible about that,” declares the tireless advocate for Christian rights. “And this so-called ‘spooky action at a distance’ sounds a whole heck of a lot like old-fashioned magic to me.”

Crousley is determined that he get full credit for starting the movement, before others jump on the bandwagon.

“I was out there challenging the global warming nonsense decades before anybody else,” he asserts. “This time I’m getting the word out loud and clear before some Johnny Come Lately comes along and steals the credit.”

DON'T YOU GET IT? SCHOOL kids should not be exposed to equations like this, family values proponent says.

SCHOOL kids should not be exposed to equations like this, family values advocate says.

Most non-scientists are perplexed by quantum physics, which deals mainly with subatomic particles that disobey the rules of the world we see about us.

One counter-intuitive notion is that events don’t unfold according to the laws of cause of effect, but are governed by “probability clouds.” The Everett Many-Worlds Theory holds that every possible outcome takes place simultaneously, occuring in a “multiverse” made up of parallel universes.

What’s more, when two particles such as electrons interact and then become separated they become “entangled” and can instantaneously affect each other — even if they are light years apart!

LEGENDARY physicist Werner Heisenberg

LEGENDARY physicist Werner Heisenberg

Crousley’s biggest beef is with the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, which posits that a particle has no definite position until scientists measure it.

“If it’s so uncertain, why should we be ramming it down our children’s throats?” Crousley demands.

The family values proponent is especially appalled by the famous Schrödinger’s Cat thought experiment, in which a cat in a sealed box may be killed by cyanide yet, paradoxically, also be alive until the box is checked.

WHAT, you don't get it? Understanding quantum mechanics takes major brain power.

HEARTLESS: Schrödinger’s Cat Experiment is a textbook case of animal cruelty, critic charges.

“What kind of twisted, atheistic egghead sits around dreaming up ways to murder cats — and/or not murder them at the same time?” blasts Crousley. “It’s sick and ungodly.”

If Crousley gets his way, teachers nationwide will no longer be able to mention quantum physics in class – and face a fine of up to $10,000 if they do. To critics who claim the proposal violates the First Amendment, he has a ready answer.

“It’s bad enough that science instructors are teaching Darwin’s theory of evolution as if it were a law like the law of gravity, ‘What goes up must come down,’ ” he says. “Now they’re teaching pure hogwash that almost no one can understand, let alone believe.”

Copyright C. Michael Forsyth

The author of this article wrote the acclaimed new novel "The Blood of Titans," a love story set in the golden age of Africa. To check it out, click below.

The author of this article wrote the acclaimed new novel “The Blood of Titans,” a love story set in the golden age of Africa. To check it out, click below.

CLICK HERE

12 Horror Movies Hollywood SHOULD remake.   1 comment

By C. Michael Forsyth

I find the unending stream of movie remakes depressing. It’s a kind of self-cannibalization that generally signals a culture is entering its death throes.

Typically, Hollywood remakes movies that were perfectly executed the first time, like “Nightmare on Elm Street,” and the remakes tend to be inferior. The most unnecessary was the shot-for-shot remake of “Psycho” with Vince Vaughan standing in for Anthony Perkins (who was far better suited for the role).

A remake of “Carrie”  (1976) came out in 2020 – despite the movie already having been remade in 2002 and 2013. And although director Sam Raimi remade “The Evil Dead” (1981) with a better script and higher budget as “The Evil Dead 2″ a remake came out in 2013.

The trend will continue as long as producers feel the public doesn’t care much about originality and that they can cash in on name recognition. But what if remakes were chosen for artistic reasons? Why not pick movies that perhaps had a good premise but didn’t turn out as well as they might have due to low-budgets, poor scripting or primitive special effects?

Attack of the Killer Shrews

For example,  “The Killer Shrews” (1959) is ranked among the silliest ever made, but the premise is pretty good. A scientist experimenting on shrews on a remote island causes the voracious creatures – which consume three times their body weight each day – to become huge. That plunges a band of humans stranded on the island into a desperate fight for survival. There’s plenty of conflict between the besieged protagonists and the way they finally escape their predicament is nifty. The movie’s main flaw is that due to budget constraints the shrews were portrayed by collies in masks! In 2016, it was remade as a comedy horror flick, “Attack of the Killer Shrews.”

Here are a dozen other movies that SHOULD be remade.

Due to budget limitations, collies in masks portrayed the giant shrews.

Due to budget limitations, collies in masks portrayed the giant shrews.

 

Giant ants threatened mankind in "Them."

Giant ants threaten mankind in “Them.”

“Them” (1954) — In this flick, radiation spawns ants bigger than elephants in the New Mexico desert, courtesy of A-bomb testing. A strong performance by James Whitmore as a small town cop pitted against the enormous insects helps make this one of the best giant monster movies ever made. The special effects were impressive at the time, but imagine what could be done today.

A

Giant monster wreaks havoc in London in “Gorgo.”

“Gorgo” (1961) – A Nessie-type monster is captured off the coast of Ireland and put on display by circus owners in London. The surprise ending, as well as the relationship between Gorgo and a young Irish lad, are quite touching. However, as in “Godzilla,” a man in a lizard suit portrays the monster – the best that could be done at the time.

Billy the Kid Vs. Dracula

GIT OUT OF TOWN BY SUNRISE: “Billy the Kid Vs. Dracula”

“Billy the Kid Versus Dracula” (1966) – One of the most laughable movie titles of all time. But the premise has potential. We’ve seen how well the cowboy and sci-fi genres blended in “Cowboys & Aliens.” Why NOT have this iconic outlaw, who still fascinates historians – go mano-a-mano against the king of the vampires? (A better title might be in order, though).

Temptation in "Gargoyles."

Winged menace hits on Jennifer Salt in in “Gargoyles.”

“Gargoyles” (1972) – In this made-for-TV movie, it turns out that those statues that adorn cathedrals depict creatures that really exist — mankind’s most ancient enemy. An anthropologist and his daughter must defeat the winged humanoids before their brood of eggs hatch and they plague the world again. Cornel Wilde as the aging but still virile professor makes a splendid hero. And a young, hunky Scott Glenn as a long-haired biker made my big sister’s heart flutter when the TV movie aired. Although the makeup that transformed Bernie Casey into a gargoyle was convincing, the flight sequences were not. Now 21st century special effects could create a terrifying squadron of the gargoyles.

BAD VERSUS WORSE: Gabriel Byrne as a Nazi soldier battles an ancient entity.

BAD VERSUS WORSE: Gabriel Byrne as a Nazi soldier battles an ancient entity in “The Keep.”

“The Keep” (1983) – When I read the book by F. Paul Wilson long ago, I found the premise mind-blowing. During World War II a troop of Nazi soldiers takes refuge in a crumbling fortress – unaware that imprisoned in its bowels is an ancient being far more dangerous than they are. Despite a stellar cast including Ian McKellen and Gabriel Byrne, the movie was a critical flop. Hollywood ought to take another crack at the evil vs. eviler story.

Captain Kronos, Vampire Hunter

Swashbuckling hero takes a break from vampire-slaying in “Captain Kronos, Vampire Hunter.”

“Captain Kronos, Vampire Hunter” (1974) – The title character is a master swordsman and former soldier who travels the countryside slaying bloodsuckers with the aide of his sidekick, a hunchbacked professor. I love the premise that there are different species of vampires, each with its own powers and vulnerabilities. The vampire Captain Kronos encounters this time can’t be killed with wooden stakes. There is an element of mystery in addition to horror and action, since Kronos and the professor must figure out both who the vampire is and how to destroy him. My only complaint is that Horst Janson as Kronos is a bit wooden. A better actor could make for a rousing remake.

Van Helsing bore little resemblence to the old doctor in "Dracula."

“Van Helsing” hero bore little resemblence to the old doctor in Dracula.

“Van Helsing” (2004) – Normally, I hate remakes of recent movies, as in the case of the 2008 remake of the 2003 “The Incredible Hulk.” And I enjoyed this supernatural adventure, especially the scene where vampire harpies buzz terrified villagers. But the Clint Eastwood-type hero played by Hugh Jackman bears virtually no resemblance to the cerebral Dutch professor Abraham Van Helsing as we know him from Dracula. The steampunk, gadget-using cowboy actually is more like the hero of “The Wild, Wild West.” In fact, if you changed the name of the protagonist, you could just as easily have titled the movie “James West.” Why not a version featuring a young medical student Dr. Van Helsing based on Bram Stoker’s character, encountering the supernatural for the first time?

Too close for comfort. Rosey Grier and Ray Milland reluctantly share a body in the Thing with Two Heads.

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT: Rosey Grier and Ray Milland reluctantly share a body in the “Thing with Two Heads.”

“The Thing with Two Heads” (1972) – A dying racist millionaire arranges for his head to be surgically implanted on the body of a black man, in this misbegotten attempt to cross the blaxploitation and mad scientist genres. Oscar-winning screen legend Ray Milland humiliates himself spectacularly as the old bigot hitching a ride on Rosey Greer’s bulky body. But what if you remade this turkey as an all-out comedy? I’d love to see Kelsey Grammer as a snooty one-percenter forced to share shoulders with wisecracking Chris Rock.

Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers haunt New York Sewers in "C.H.U.D."

Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers haunt New York sewers in “C.H.U.D.”

“C.H.U.D.” (1984) — Beneath the streets of New York City lurk Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers — homeless people living in the sewers who’ve been mutated by toxic waste into hideous, flesh-eating creatures. Having exhausted the supply of sewer workers, they’re now surfacing through manholes to feed on ordinary New Yorkers. The movie suffers because more screen time is spent on authorities covering up the crisis than on the monsters themselves. And when the C.H.U.D. do show up the makeup is cheesy. But it’s a great idea, given all the urban legends involving the labyrinthine tunnels, and with good monsters, a remake could be really frightening.

The Brain that Wouldn't Die

Heroine finds herself in over her head in “The Brain that Wouldn’t Die.”

“The Brain That Wouldn’t Die” (1962) — A scientist develops a means of keeping body parts alive. He finds a practical application for the breakthrough when his fiancée is decapitated in a car wreck. The lovesick scientist rushes her head to his laboratory, where he manages to keep it alive — and quite talkative — in a liquid-filled tray. Now all he needs is an attractive new body to attach to his sweetheart’s head. As the unhinged doc cruises bars for a suitable specimen, his fiancée goes a bit batty herself, communicating telepathically with a hideous experiment-gone-wrong locked in the laboratory cell. It’s all pretty crazy. So crazy it just might work, as a gory black comedy along the lines of “Re-animator.” (Imagine acid-tongued comedian Sarah Silverman as the nagging head).

"The Vulture"

Terror swoops from above in “The Vulture.”

“The Vulture” (1967) — I remember being scared out of my wits by this film about a half-man, half-vulture creature terrorizing people in a Cornish village. The townsfolk fear it is the vengeful incarnation of a sailor their ancestors buried alive with his pet vulture. However, I was 8 years old at the time. In retrospect, the special effects were awful and the “scientific” explanation revealed at the end is absurd. Still, vulture claws are among God’s scariest creations and, with a decent script and effects, you could scare the bejesus out of an audience.

MATHILDA MAY is a psychic vampire from outerspace in "Lifeforce."

MATHILDA MAY is a psychic vampire from outerspace in “Lifeforce.”

“LIFEFORCE” (1985) — While scouting Haley’s Comet, astronauts find a spaceship that contains the bodies of three human-like aliens in suspended animation. They bring the specimens aboard their ship for scientific study, but the specimens turn out to be vampires that drain psychic energy rather than blood from their victims. They overcome the spacemen and escape to Earth, where they unleash a vampire plague in London. Unfortunately, the movie is slow-paced and unexciting. And Steve Railsback — straight off a riveting performance as Charles Manson in “Helter Skelter” — is surprisingly bland as the surviving astronaut racing to stop the epidemic. I’d like to see a version of the space-vampire flick that doesn’t suck.

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THRILLING NEW GRAPHIC NOVEL!

Vampires run amok in a women’s prison in the gorgeously illustrated, 80-page graphic novel Night Cage. When a newly made vampire is sentenced to an escape-proof, underground slammer, she quickly begins to spread the contagion.

The tables turn on an identity thief in the latest thriller by C. Michael Forsyth. To check it out, click HERE.

The tables turn on an identity thief in the latest thriller by C. Michael Forsyth. To check it out, click HERE.

Of course, sometimes creative folks get it right the first time. The author of this article wrote the sexy and scary novel Hour of the Beast.

Check out HOUR OF THE BEAST by clicking HERE.

ILLUMINATI PLANNING NEW REIGN OF TERROR, Expert Warns!   Leave a comment

HEADS UP: The guillotine remains a symbol of terror.

HEADS UP: The guillotine remains a symbol of terror.

By C. Michael Forsyth

WASHINGTON — The illuminati, that shadowy cabal of conspirators who secretly manipulate the fate of the world, have reportedly hatched their most diabolical plot yet. They plan to spark a second Reign of Terror right here in America!

If the sinister scheme succeeds, up to 1,300 rich folks – many of the wealthiest 1 % of Americans – will be rounded up and beheaded, just like in 18th century France.

That is the bone-chilling claim of researcher H. B. Juldenback, one of the nation’s leading experts on the mysterious organization.

“The Illuminati believe that the redistribution of wealth in our economy that has occurred over the past 30 years, with more and more money concentrated in the hands of very few, is unsustainable and if unchecked will lead inevitably to a worldwide economic collapse,” the researcher explains. “To them, the solution is obvious: engineer a ‘popular uprising’ in which the ultra-wealthy are literally dragged from their mansions, off their polo ponies, tried and publicly executed.”

Juldenback has penned more than a dozen books and pamphlets on the Illuminati since 1987, every single one of which he says has been suppressed “by their puppets in government” and are now available only through the black market. He claims he learned of the chilling plot via a turncoat Illuminati member. The unnamed source is afraid that the plan might “get out of hand,” much like the last go-around, according to the expert.

While few Illuminati researchers agree on how many members the group has or who they are, all concur that it was behind the French Revolution that erupted in 1789. The revolt culminated in the Reign of Terror in which more than 16,500 people, most of them hated aristocrats, were executed by guillotine between 1793 and 1794.

“Most historians look back on that era with horror,” Juldenback explains. “Even the Illuminati admit that the bloodletting extended a bit farther than they originally intended. But on balance, they regard it as one of their greatest triumphs. They point out that unlike England, France never again had to worry about a parasitic class of bluebloods – the aristocrats were simply gone. The bloodshed was unfortunate, but in the minds of the Illuminati, that was a price that had to be paid.”

COULD IT HAPPEN HERE? The Reign of Terror was the bloodiest episode in French history.

The groundwork for the uprising has been laid with a skillful manipulation of public opinion, orchestrated by key illuminati figures.

“A certain Illuminati member has spent the last year traveling the country drumming up hatred for the rich – suggesting that the poorer half of Americans are lazy, hopeless good-for-nothings,” the researcher maintains. “He’s bragged about his fancy cars and mansions; his wife has flaunted her prize horses; he’s challenged rivals to huge bets as if money meant nothing to him. In short, done everything possible to spark a class war.

“It’s always been hard to get Americans to hate the rich – because the vast majority actually think they could be rich someday themselves. Illuminati member 72 has finally convinced people that the rich and poor are enemies.”

The Illuminati’s ulimate goal is to usher in a New World Order.

Juldenback admits he doesn’t know exactly when or in what city the rebellion will begin, but says the onslaught will flare up so abruptly, government officials will be unable to stop it.

“Details of the plan are known only to the very highest illuminati leaders – called The Exalted – but my source tells me that social media will play a role in getting the word of the uprising out quickly. It will be like a flash mob, but far, far more massive and deadly.”

He believes the second Reign of Terror is scheduled to burn itself out within six weeks.

“The first Reign of Terror had a built-in ‘self destruct’ mechanism,” he points out. “Those who oversaw the trials and executions of the aristocrats were themselves eventually accused of treason and sent to the guillotine.”

The Illuminati have been cooking up conspiracies since the 1700s and perhaps as far back as the Renaissance, some expert say.

While guns are normally the weapon of choice for Americans, the guillotine will be dusted off and used again, as a powerful symbol of mob justice.

“It is an instrument of death that strikes fear into the hearts of most wealthy Americans,” says Juldenback. “They despise anything French except when vacationing there or hiding out there during dangerous times.”

As in the original Reign of Terror, trials will be held in which the super-rich are judged on their treatment of the less fortunate, according to the source. A beloved Hollywood actor like Tom Hanks would likely be spared, while a pampered and frivolous figure like Paris Hilton would most likely be beheaded.

GREEDY, arrogant loudmouth Donald Trump could face the guillotine.

“A man like Donald Trump who’s become a living symbol of greed would almost certainly be condemned by the mob,” the researcher suggests.

PAMPERED Paris Hilton might be among the first victims of mob justice.

Many members of the illuminati are people of extreme wealth, but they’ve cleverly insulated themselves from the rebellion in a variety of ways. One computer software mogul has donated so many billions to charity he has become a nationally revered figure. Another giant in the high-tech industry faked his own death a year ago, Juldenback claims.

Says the expert, “It’s the same trick that Marie Antoinette, now known to be an Illuminati member, used after fanning the flames of rebellion with comments like ‘Let them eat cake.’ ”

Copyright C. Michael Forsyth

If you enjoyed this mind-bending story by C. Michael Forsyth, check out his collection of bizarre news, available on Kindle and in other eBook formats.

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The author of this article also wrote the terrifying horror novel Hour of the Beast.

Click HERE to order and snap up your copy for $4 off the Amazon price. Reviewers are calling the book “gripping,” “terrifying,” “sexy” and “a good meaty read.”

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Read Chapter 1 and 2 below for FREE!

 

CHAPTER ONE: MOM AND DAD

The treacherous full moon darted through the clouds, sometimes fully illuminating the onrushing road and sometimes casting it into blackness.

Jeff was putting the pedal to the metal, trying to make up for lost time. So their lime-green Taurus barreled ahead, fearlessly plunging over hills, around bends, and into one pool of darkness after another.  As they swerved around one particularly hair-raising bend, Elaine braced herself and let out an involuntary yelp of terror.

“Slow down! You can’t see what’s up ahead,” she pleaded.

“One driver to a car. I believe that’s one of our family rules, isn’t it?”

Jeff didn’t exactly snap at her, but he adopted that stern, I’m-the-man tone he employed on occasion to inform her that a conversation was over.

She knew well enough that being told how to drive was one of his pet peeves, and so she’d held her tongue for the past 20 minutes. But he was really scaring her now, twisting and turning through this unfamiliar, serpentine road hemmed in by dense pines.

On top of that, she really, REALLY had to pee — and no way was she going to ask her new husband to pull over for a rush into these murky, uninviting woods.

In a sense, of course, she was to blame, because she had been the one who was late for the ceremony. This was the bride’s prerogative, her maid of honor had assured her. But delays had piled on, one on top of another. The band showed up late, and then her Uncle Jack (AKA Mr. Amateur Shutterbug), insisted on taking his own “artsy” shots of every single pose the wedding photographer set up. As a result, they said their goodbyes and left the reception two hours late. So instead of taking a leisurely ride up to the lodge in New Hampshire in broad daylight, they enjoyed only a brief spell of gold sky at sunset. The rest of the trip had been under this fickle moon.

The honeymoon spot would be idyllic, swore her maid of honor, who had indulged in carnal delights of epic proportions in its valentine-shaped Jacuzzi with her boyfriend a couple of years back. A remote clutch of cozy log cabins by a lake, each with its own fireplace, Elaine’s friend had described it.

The romantic drive north through the New England countryside as the leaves turned was supposed to have been a prelude to an unforgettable wedding night. Instead, it was this wild ride through the dark, at once monotonous and unnerving.
Elaine didn’t know why, but an ineffable sense of melancholy came over her and she began to cry. Jeff reached over, stroking her hair with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said and flashed his signature Tom Cruise grin. Somehow he always knew how to make things right again. When Jeff was around, you always knew that things would be okay.

It sprang in front of the car — and before Elaine could get a syllable of warning out of her mouth, they hit it dead on.

“Oh God!!” she shrieked, bouncing up and down like an excited child.

There was the awful bumping sound of the body tumbling over the roof of the car. Jeff hit the brakes hard and the car skidded, did a 180 and spun off onto the shoulder.

It had been the biggest dog she’d ever seen, nearly the size of a colt. It must have been a… a… what was that breed that looked like an oversized German shepherd? A mastiff?

“Are you all right?” Jeff was saying. He’d been repeating the question for a few seconds, shaking her. His words only now registered.

Her heart pounded like the proverbial jackhammer, and she felt a burning pain in her chest. Had she suffered a heart attack? No, she realized, it was where the shoulder harness had bitten into her. Elaine nodded. Her swimming head ached faintly, too. She wondered if she had thumped it on the dashboard, although she had no recollection of having done so.

“I better see if he’s all right,” her husband said gravely.

“Are you sure? It might panic and bite you.”

“What?”

“The dog, if it’s alive.”

Jeff’s brow furrowed, and he looked puzzled.

“Must be the shock. No, hon, it’s a man. A stark-naked old man. He practically jumped right out in front of the car.”

“No, no, no. It was dog, a big one, like a Saint Bernard but taller.”

Jeff looked at her as if she was crazy, then released his shoulder harness.

“Either way, I’ll take a look. Even if it’s someone’s dog, we can’t leave it lying in the road.”

“The hell we can’t,” Elaine replied. “You’re not getting out of this car!”

Jeff flicked on the dome light.

“Look in the glove compartment. I think there’s a flashlight,” he commanded. Elaine hesitated.

“Come on, come on,” he persisted.

She popped open the glove compartment and, frowning dubiously, passed him the heavy-duty black flashlight. He flicked the light on and off and back on, testing it as if trying to buy a moment’s time. Then he swung open the door, and Elaine shivered at the rush of frost.

“Wait,” she said. Everything was happening so fast; she needed time to think. Jeff turned back to her.

“What, honey?”

“This is so strange. Maybe we ought drive to a gas station and call for help.”

“Now come on, be reasonable. You know we can’t do that. The poor bastard could be bleeding to death.”

He climbed out and hunched down, pointing the light ahead, and squinted into the distance. Jeff looked handsome and heroic in his tux, with his jet-black hair and square jaw line. The moon was creeping out from the clouds now, but seeing ahead was no easier. Jeff’s flashlight couldn’t penetrate the dense fog enshrouding the road.

The car’s headlights were still on, but did little to add to the illumination. In fact they generated a blinding haze. Jeff hesitated and in that instant, Elaine knew that he, too, was afraid.

“Kind of like something out of Chiller Theater, right?” he said with a weak chuckle.

Elaine realized that the absolute last thing her new husband wanted to do at that moment was walk down that road, and he was forcing himself to do it by sheer will power.

“Lock the doors,” he told her. “Just my luck the guy is some kind of escaped nut, not an old-timer who wandered off from a nursing home. Running around naked in 30-degree weather! Yeesh!”

He slammed the door shut and she hit the power locks.

Jeff started walking gingerly toward the approximate spot of the collision, probing the gloom with his pinpoint of light.

“Hello! Hello! Are you all right?” He vanished into the glare and the fog.

The former Elaine Morgan, now Elaine Stern, turned off the dome light and used her fist to wipe away frost to see through the windshield. She could make out the beam of her husband’s flashlight dancing in the fog an extraordinary distance away.

Moments passed and instead of her heart settling down, it began to pump furiously. The radio was still on, tuned to an oldies station and playing Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young.”

Right. As if the situation isn’t eerie enough already. She was getting seriously antsy now.
Well, I’m not just going to sit here like some bimbo, Elaine decided. She scooted over into the driver’s seat, wrestling with her white taffeta wedding dress. Her six-inch heel found the brake and she threw the car into drive, figuring to creep forward and maybe cast the headlights onto the road so Jeff could see what he was doing.

Then came a scream. No, to call it a scream was to dignify it. It was a shriek, a shriek of sheer terror as high-pitched as a she-goat’s at the moment of slaughter. But it wasn’t a goat — it was her husband’s voice, still recognizable though contorted with agony and fear.

“No! Noooooo! Oh, please! Oh God! Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!”

Elaine began to scream, too, in helpless panic. “Jeff, Jeff!”

A slash of crimson splashed across the windshield, as if a bucket of blood had been hurled at it haphazardly. She recoiled, burying the back of her head against the headrest.

Something the size of a soccer ball bounced on the hood of the car and spun around. Suddenly Jeff’s face was staring at her through the windshield, drenched in blood and eyes wide open. His open mouth puckered up against the glass.

It was his face and nothing else. His head had been swiped cleanly off his body. No, not cleanly. There were jagged ribbons of bloody flesh dangling like strips of confetti from his throat.

Elaine’s screams hit the high octaves now, raw screams of disbelieving horror. An ax hadn’t taken off Jeff’s head. It had been savagely ripped off like a slice of bologna torn by hand. And suddenly, the hand that had taken off her husband’s head was there.

A hand, covered with coarse brown fur and ending in cruel, curving talons, swiped the head away so it rolled off the hood of the car. The head landed with a sickening thump like a spoiled pumpkin. Then the hand — the paw – twice the breadth of a man’s, flattened against the glass.

It balled into a fist and Elaine knew that in half a second it was going to come crashing through the windshield for her.
Go! Go! GO! a tiny voice screeched deep inside her head.

Her hands and feet took over, slamming the car into reverse while stomping the accelerator. The thing on the hood tumbled off as she hurtled backward.

A bear! Not a dog, a bear, she thought as she pictured that huge paw against the glass.

Staring straight ahead through the windshield, she could see it rise up, seemingly unhurt. But, of course, it wouldn’t be hurt by the spill. The Thing had already taken the full brunt of the car ramming it at 70 M.P.H., hadn’t it?

Silhouetted in the glare of the headlights, it stood upright in the general shape of a man but with shoulders as broad as a bull’s and a colossal head, much too big to be human. It bounded toward her with preternatural speed, jerkily, like an actor in a silent movie.

No, not a bear — not any animal of this world. Elaine was flying in reverse at better than 80 M.P.H. but The Thing was keeping up, effortlessly, like a fit jogger on a morning run, coming after her to do exactly what it had just done to Jeff. Jeff, who a scant three hours ago had been holding her in his arms as they danced to Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable.”

Have to, have to turn around, Elaine said to herself. Her thoughts were now pared down to such staccato bursts. Between the tears cascading from her eyes and the oppressive fog, she was half-blind.

She wrenched the steering wheel clockwise, hand over hand, trying to make a U-turn. The car spun, screeching, and pitched up onto two wheels.

Black. Black. Black.

When Elaine opened her eyes, all was tranquil and she was leaning against the car door. There was no sound but the serenade of cicadas. She groaned.

The car was in a ditch at a 45-degree angle, lying on the driver’s side, the smoking hood crumpled against a tree. The back window had shattered and even the radio was dead. For a moment everything was still and Elaine sensed that she was waking up from a nightmare.

I must have fallen asleep at the wheel, she reasoned. Of course, yes, the wedding is tomorrow. I fell asleep on the drive to Mom’s. Her groggy brain sought to reassemble reality.

But, like Humpty Dumpty, her world could not be put back together. No. She was in her wedding dress, and looking at her hand, she could see she was wearing a wedding ring. And on the windshield was that awful slash of crimson.
Oh, Jeff! My Jeff!

Their two years together came rushing back: Eating pizza together on his living room couch; the passionate quarrels; going to her first hockey game and yelling her head off even though she was clueless about the rules; making love into the wee hours.

A hand — THE HEAD-RIPPING HAND — smashed through the passenger window, sending shards of glass flying everywhere as it reached greedily for her.

Elaine squealed and launched herself into the back seat as the massive, shaggy form crowded through the window, a long and ape-like arm clutching for her. As the huge, stinking beast poured into the car, she clambered over the back seat and squirmed out of the shattered rear window.

“Eeeh-aaaaw!” It bellowed like a mule. It wasn’t a howling sound at all, she noted. Surprised — because by now she had a pretty good idea what it was.

She crawled out on the trunk on her hands and knees, bloodying her hands on broken glass. Then she felt something stop her.
The Thing had snatched her wedding gown and was reeling her back in like a fisherman drawing in his net. She felt herself being sucked back toward death.

This was one of those dresses with a detachable train — another suggestion from her maid of honor. But Elaine, tipsy on champagne, had danced in her full dress all afternoon. Her trembling hands clawed behind her, found the snaps, and detached the train.

The bottom of the dress flew off, flapping like a ship’s sail in the wind. She was free!

A moment later, Elaine was blindly running along the ditch, freezing in the icy air, her stiletto heels stumbling over stones. The moon was hiding again, making it too dark to see in the gully. So she scrambled out by grabbing fistfuls of grass and dirt. She kicked off her shoes, then bolted headlong along the road, screaming at the top of her lungs. She and

Jeff had passed a few cars on the road earlier, hadn’t they?

“Help! Help! Someone help me!”

But there wasn’t a car in sight. Not another soul for miles. No human soul. She heard sounds close behind her, terrifyingly close –- The Thing’s rasping breath and its padded feet scuffing the asphalt. In desperation, she took refuge in the woods. It was a safe bet that was The Thing’s home, she knew, but there was no other option. Elaine ran through the forest, hopping over fallen trees, and crashing headlong through bushes that scraped at her face and shredded her gown.

In the blackness, she could hear The Thing barreling through the bushes behind her like an elephant. You can’t outrun something like that, she thought. You can’t even outrun a dog or a bear, can you? Even something natural.

She ran smack into a tree, bloodying her nose. She grabbed the trunk, slid around it and crouched down. Yes, hide, hide, she told herself. You have to hide, like as a hare pursued by a fox.

For a moment, everything was still again. She sank very low, shivering from both cold and terror. Then she could hear it again, making its way stealthily now through the branches, telltale snapping of twigs beneath its hind feet.

Now the moon was coming out again and a shaft of blue light penetrated the canopy of the forest. In that strange faerie light, she could make out its head — almost the size of a stallion’s — about 12 feet away.

She could see its black snout twitching as it tried to sniff her out. An odd bit of trivia jumped out at her, read in a children’s book a lifetime ago: that a dog’s nose is 10,000 times more sensitive than a human’s. But how keen was the smell of this Thing, that was not a dog and not a man?
Not a wolf and not a man. A wolf and a man.For now she had little doubt what was stalking her.

She squatted behind the tree unable to move, trembling, her body practically seizing. It took a step toward her, then pointed its twitching, sniffling snout slightly away.

It hesitated. It might move away — granting Elaine a few more moments of life, or it might stride toward her, meaning instant death, torn limb from limb, butchered and beheaded, like Jeff.

That’s when she finally lost control of her bladder. A stream of urine poured out, puddling beneath her. Elaine experienced a peculiar flash of shame at this loss of control over her own body — and then raw panic as she realized the acrid smell or the tinkling might alert The Thing.

The immense head suddenly snapped in her direction.

The moon eased out from behind the clouds. As The Thing came leaping toward her, for one microsecond as it flew through the air she could see it clearly, in all its glory.

Like something out of a comic book, she thought.

It tackled her and she fell back on a muddy hill of leaves, finally free to let out a full-volume scream. It lay crushing her down and she could smell its foul breath — the stench of rotting food mixed with its ghastly body odor, the worst combination of animal and human. She pushed against its chest, burying her fingers in a thick mat of hair, but it was like trying to hold back a tumbling brick wall.

She finally stopped screaming. It would be over in a second she knew. The jaws yawned impossibly wide and came down within an inch of her face.

Elaine muttered feverishly a prayer she hadn’t uttered since the age of 14: “Lord, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”

The moon vanished behind the clouds, casting them again into total darkness.

“I will fear no evil. I will… fear… no… no…”

Silence. Her tongue was finally paralyzed by terror.

The Thing stopped, just lying on top of her like a Saint Bernard shielding an avalanche survivor. It was as if it were waiting for a cue.

As she lay there, panting, reason started to come back, knowing that it could not be what it seemed. A man, a man in a costume, a madman yes, a lunatic who had killed her husband. A nut, just as Jeff had said, a nut in a mask. A hoary, horrible wolf mask and some kind of rubber suit, like that backwoods prankster who impersonated Bigfoot. She lay trembling under the man or monster, whichever it was, waiting for death to come.

Then, sickeningly, she became aware of its male member, nuzzled against her abdomen. Nauseated by this intimacy with her husband’s slayer, her own killer-to-be, she tried to wriggle away but she was pinned down firmly.

And now she could feel its shaft stiffening.

The Thing purred — a soft, almost human moan — and to her supreme horror, she realized what was coming next. The phrase “a fate worse than death” came to her mind, and now, for the first time in her life, she understood it clearly. For she would rather die and be sent to be with Jeff right now than THAT.

“Oh, God no!” Elaine screamed and struck the massive chest with a fist. It was like punching a suit of armor. She crossed her ankles and locked her legs together. No way was that going to happen. Better to be, to be ripped apart, yes, shredded by those sickle-like claws, than that!

“No, you fucking DON’T!” Elaine shouted.

But with one swift swipe of its shaggy arm, The Thing flipped the bride onto her belly and she felt sharp leaves raking her face.

Powerful hands grabbed her hips and hoisted them up, forcing her buttocks to jut obscenely in the air. In a split second, her wedding dress and slip were bunched up at her waist.

R…I…PPPPP! Cruel talons raked away her lacy white Victoria’s Secret thong, leaving her naked below the waist.

Elaine scurried away on her hands and knees, but The Thing yanked her back, slamming her upraised, fully exposed backside against its groin.

Her face buried in the leaves, she screamed into the earth as the creature from the woods ferociously plowed into her.
Its hairy haunches slammed into her rump again and again as it frantically pumped her.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

The sound filled her with disgust. And with every thrust she bucked forward, letting out a gasp of pain that sounded lewd and shameful to her own ears.

The worst part of it was not the indescribable physical agony, nor was it the degradation of being taken by something part animal. It was the certain knowledge that she would never, ever, be able to tell anyone about this no matter how long she lived — and the loneliness that she inherited at that moment.

She cried again, for the last time in her life.

It went on for an eternity, the noises sometimes more bestial, sometimes more human. Finally, it let out an unearthly howl, half the cry of an animal and half the bellow of a debased man who had long since lost his soul, releasing a geyser of seed into her. But by then Elaine heard nothing — mercifully, she had long since sunk into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 2: DOUBLE TROUBLE

Elaine Stern bore two sons, twins, but not identical — indeed, different as night and day. Jason, the elder by five minutes, was small and frail and needed glasses by the time he was four. He was fearful of animals, especially big, black dogs. He would literally cling to his mother’s skirt tails and weep if he were separated from her for more than a few moments.

Joshua, on the other hand, was long-haired and wild, always scampering over furniture like a little ape — or, as one neighbor put it more generously, “like baby Tarzan.” His grip was so strong that if he got your index finger in his grasp, you simply could not extricate it, try as you might. No playpen could hold him; toddler gates made him giggle; bookshelves were his ladders.

He didn’t utter a word until the age of three, and the speech therapist who helped to haul him, kicking and screaming every step of the way, into the world of speaking society, marveled that he “had many of the attributes of a feral child.”

Elaine raised her sons with love and devotion, equally, and they never saw the grief in her eyes or understood her strange, interminable bouts of silence.

When the boys were five, Elaine awoke one winter night with a certainty that something was amiss. She tiptoed into their nursery where the two slept in twin beds, surrounded by Disney-themed wallpaper.

Joshua was missing from his bed.

Breaking into a cold sweat, she rushed out and searched the house, running from room to room crying out his name with ever-increasing urgency. Finally, she threw on her parka, grabbed a flashlight, and headed out the back door. It was February and below freezing, less than 23 degrees.

A hundred yards into the woods she ran, dreading what she would find, but all the time knowing what she would find.
There he was, sitting in a clearing, staring up at the moon. She gazed at her son, there in the snow dressed only in footed Spider-Man pajamas.

You would think the mottled gray crescent was speaking to him, he was so transfixed by it. And what secret message was it transmitting?

Oh yes, for a moment, she thought of it: leaving the boy in the snow to freeze to death.
Let the night take you. Perhaps that would be kinder, she thought. They say freezing is an easy death; that you drift off into a gentle sleep abundant in pleasant dreams from which you never awake.

But then a mother’s heart took command. Elaine took off her parka and swept him up in it, then trudged back through the 18-inches of snow to the house.

As she tucked the tot back into the bed, Jason sat up in bed, wide-eyed and curious.

“What’s going on, Mom?” he piped up.

That’s when she told him for the first time, the words she was to drum into him on an almost daily basis for the next 13 years:

“You are the older one; you have to watch out for your brother. You have to protect him because no one else can.”

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? Click HERE to find out!

If you found this story by fiction writer C. Michael Forsyth entertaining, you might enjoy his novels…

The creator of Sherlock Holmes and the world's greatest magician probe a paranormal  mystery in new thriller.

The creator of Sherlock Holmes and the world’s greatest magician probe a paranormal mystery in new thriller.

More about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle & Harry Houdini in the Adventure of the Spook House.

The tables turn on an identity thief in the latest thriller by C. Michael Forsyth. To check it out, click HERE.

The tables turn on an identity thief in the latest thriller by C. Michael Forsyth. To check it out, click HERE.

In Hour of the Beast, a young bride is raped by a werewolf on her wedding night. When her sons grow up and head to college, things REALLY get out of hand.

In Hour of the Beast, a young bride is raped by a werewolf on her wedding night. When her sons grow up and head to college, things REALLY get out of hand.


Read Hour of the Beast.
The Blood of Titans is a story of love and adventure set in the golden age of Africa.

The Blood of Titans is a story of love and adventure set in the golden age of Africa.

Check out The Blood of Titans.

FREE WEREWOLF POSTER BY TOP ARTIST!   Leave a comment

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BRIDE’S WEREWOLF RAPE NIGHTMARE!   Leave a comment

A young bride suffers a fate worse than death at the hands of a werewolf in the explosive opening chapter of the novel Hour of The Beast. The scene of indescribable horror – terrifying, yet powerfully erotic — has been branded shocking, controversial and disturbing. Here, read by the author, is Chapter One of Hour of the Beast.

Click HERE to hear Chapter One read aloud by the author FREE!

Hour of the Beast is available in print, eBook and Kindle formats. To buy the book or learn more, click HERE.

What critics say about Hour of the Beast:

“A fast-paced, rip-roaring, action-packed sexy college romp…A good, meaty read. I give it two thumbs up and a lusty howl at the moon.” – The Horror Fiction Review.

“Very easy to read, very difficult to put down.” — Readers Favorite.

“A new master of the horror genre is upon us! Hour of the Beast is a skillfully woven, gripping story filled with great characters and some stunning plot twists. A fresh, sexy new take on the classic werewolf story.” — John J. Stevens, author of Fire Island.

“Move over, Stephen King!” — The Morning News.

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