Archive for the ‘lycanthropy’ Tag

North Korean Madman Kim Jong Un Keeps Naked “Wolf Girl” in Sick Human Zoo!   Leave a comment

Wolf Girl Better

HEARTBREAKING: Suffering from rare birth defect, the Wolf Girl is confined to a dark and dismal cell.

By C. Michael Forsyth

PYONGYANG, North Korea — Demented, diminutive dictator Kim Jong Un has threatened to launch a nuclear attack on the U.S. and embroil Southeast Asia in war, killing millions of innocent people. But even more sickening, the twisted tyrant has beefed up his dad’s notorious human menagerie — where as many as 150 pitiful freaks are now being held prisoner.

Kept in filthy cages and treated like animals, the “exhibits” are said to include a 17-year-old “Wolf Girl” covered head to toe in fur. The young woman, who has no name, lives in a squalid 6’ X 4’ cell, where she sleeps on a bed of straw, eats slop with her hands and defecates in a bucket. Never taught to speak, the tragic creature communicates only in animal-like grunts and howls.

“She’s Kim’s favorite exhibit,” revealed Katsumi Yamashima, spokesperson for the Tokyo-based Pan-Asia Foundation for Human Rights. “He loves to go down into his ‘zoo’ beneath the palace and taunt her with a walking stick — then squeal with laughter when she snarls at him. It is outrageous that any person would be treated this way. It’s an affront to human dignity.”

 

The REAL monster: Heartless Kim Jong Un delights in tormenting freaks of nature.

The REAL monster: Heartless Kim Jong Un delights in tormenting his collection of freaks.

 

A photograph purported to be that of the Wolf Girl was snapped by a former professional athlete who visited the palace and smuggled the shocking picture out of the country. International watchdog groups believe the hirsute teen was snatched away from her parents as an infant by the dictator’s dad Kim Jong Il’s Gestapo-like secret police.

“Any human oddity that attracts the interest of Kim Jong Un, like his father before him, is whisked away to a cell in The People’s Hall of Curiosities,” explained Ms. Yamashima. “That’s what the menagerie is called — although only the North Korean leader, his henchmen and a handful of curious foreign dignitaries are permitted inside.”

FILTHY cages like this house countless human oddities in North Korean madman’s private “zoo.”

L’il Kim, as the squeaky-voiced, pudgy strongman has been dubbed by wags in the U.S. media, inherited the human zoo from his father and has rapidly increased its numbers from a few dozen to scores. The unwilling residents reportedly include a three-headed boy, a Snake Man, a “mermaid,” and a Human Rhinoceros.

“The poor wretches are held in deplorable conditions, maltreated and malnourished,” blasted the human-rights activist. “Just as you might expect in a country where starving peasants have resorted to eating their dead. This is one of the worst — and most under-reported — human-rights outrages in the world.”

The Wolf Girl likely suffers from a rare genetic abnormality known as congenital universal hypertrichosis, experts say.

“It’s associated with a defect on chromosome Xq24-q27 and affects fewer than one in 1 in 340 million people,” explained British geneticist Dr. Christopher Jerbins. “Only a handful of cases have been reported since it was first observed in the Middle Ages. The best known instance is an extended family in Mexico, several of whose members are circus performers.”

What makes the Wolf Girl so unique — and Kim Jong Un’s most prized possession — is that she also suffers from an unrelated condition that is almost as rare: an atavistic human tail.

“Every human embryo goes through a stage in which it develops a short tail,” Dr. Jerbins revealed. “At around eight weeks, white blood cells normally dissolve the tissue. When that doesn’t happen, the baby is born with a tail. There are about 100 cases of a true tail in the medical record.”

AMAZING TAIL: Some babies are born with tails that can wag like dog's.

AMAZING TAIL: Some babies are born with tails that can wag like dog’s.

Congenital universal hypertrichosis is sometimes accompanied by deafness and language impairments.

“The young woman’s intelligence is probably normal,” noted the expert. “But raised from birth like an animal, she could be expected to behave like one.”

Officials of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea dismiss the photo of the Wolf Girl as a “laughably crude fake” created as propaganda by enemies of the communist regime.

The government acknowledges that people with birth defects are patients at an underground “hospital” on the palace grounds. But a spokesman denounced claims that the prisoners are abused.

ROGUE STATE: North Korea is a charter member of the Axis of Evil.

ROGUE STATE: North Korea is a charter member of the Axis of Evil.

“Most of these unfortunate individuals were shunned in their communities, where they were reviled as ‘nature’s mistakes,’” declared Hyang Soon Kangjon, Deputy Minister of Information. “Many were mocked, stoned or cast out. That our Beloved Leader would provide a safe haven for them demonstrates his great compassion. In a nation that has, through no fault of its leaders, suffered from widespread famine, you can be sure that these patients are grateful to have food and shelter.”

Copyright C. Michael Forsyth

If you found this article entertaining, check out C. Michael Forsyth’s collection of bizarre news, available on Kindle and in other eBook formatsBizarre News Cover 5.

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.

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“Strippers Versus Werewolves” Bares More Than Fangs.   Leave a comment

No "Gone with the Wind" or even "Howard the Duck."

No “Gone with the Wind” or even “Howard the Duck.”

By C. Michael Forsyth

It would seem impossible to screw up some movies. Take “Strippers Versus Werewolves.” As a viewer, your expectations aren’t very high. You just want a campy, tongue-in-cheek romp with a healthy dose of T & A and a few scares.

Sadly, nothing is completely idiot-proof. This amateurishly filmed excuse for a horror-comedy makes the dismal “Zombie Strippers” look like a cinematic masterpiece.

First problem is that the strippers are clad in unflattering and unrevealing outfits, while executing dance routines that are relentlessly unsexy. Second problem is that less effort went into creating believable werewolves than would take place in an unambitious student film.

HUBBA HUBBA! If images like this get you hot and bothered you'll love the movie's striptease scenes.

HUBBA HUBBA! If images like this get you hot and bothered you’ll love the movie’s striptease scenes.

I’ve long wanted to see another werewolf flick with minimal makeup, like Henry Hull’s in “The Werewolf of London” or Jack Nicholson’s in “Wolf. “But the rubber noses, ears and fangs in this British movie look like they came from the Halloween discount bin at Wal-Mart — not even a real costume shop.

LESS than convincing werewolf effects pump a silver bullet into film.

LESS-than-convincing werewolf effects put a silver bullet in the heart of this film.

The one starlet in the picture I wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers is spectacularly well-endowed Lucy Pinder. Unfortunately, instead of making full use of her assets, the producers don’t Lucy cast as a stripper — but rather, almost perversely, as a member of a vampire duo who show up for a few seconds.

ASSETS UNDERUTILIZED:  Lucy Pinder appears but, tragically NOT as a stripper.

ASSETS UNDERUTILIZED: Lucy Pinder appears but, tragically, NOT as a stripper.

DOUBLE D TROUBLE: Vampire duo add to the woes.

DOUBLE D TROUBLE: Vampire duo add to the woes.

There’s one cool idea: The pack of werewolves are basically a gang of English houligans. There’s one really good performance: Robert Compston as a young member of the pack whose girlfriend turns out to be one of the strippers. Robert Englund has a cameo as the imprisoned former leader of the gang, the Alpha male” as he puts it, and the “Nightmare on Elm Street” star is at his menacing best in the five minutes he’s on screen. But Englund, who also livened up “Zombie Strippers” a bit as a sleazy club owner, couldn’t save this dog of a werewolf movie.

Instead of blowing cash on this DVD release, better to invest in a lap dance at your local topless watering hole.

ALPHA MALE: Robert Englund has brief cameo as ex-packe leader..

ALPHA MALE: Robert Englund has brief cameo as ex-pack leader.

PRISON life becomes even more hellish when a vampire epidemic erupts in a women's prison.

PRISON life becomes even more hellish when a vampire epidemic erupts in a women’s prison.


*********************************************************************************************************

I’m excited to announce the launch of my first graphic novel, Night Cage! The premise of the horror story is simple: Vampires take over a women’s prison. Just imagine Orange is the New Black meets Salem’s Lot.

The project is being funded through Kickstarter. Folks who jump on the bandwagon will get a boatload of goodies and rewards, ranging from advance copies of the book and exclusive art, posters and T-shirts to a chance to be drawn into the graphic novel as a character!

Please check out the video out HERE, and share the news with all your social media friends!

PRISONERS fight for survival against a bloodthirsty army of the undead in the graphic novel Night Cage.

PRISONERS fight for survival against a bloodthirsty army of the undead in the graphic novel Night Cage.

<img src="https://freedomshammer.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/hour_of_beast_cover_web1.jpg" alt="Speaking of werewolves and sex, in this reviewer's acclaimed horror novel Hour of the Beast, a bride is raped by a wolfman on her wedding night — then things start to get out of hand! ” width=”466″ height=”324″ class=”size-full wp-image-933″ /> Speaking of werewolves and sex, in this reviewer’s acclaimed horror novel Hour of the Beast, a bride is raped by a wolfman on her wedding night — then things start to get out of hand!

To check out Hour of the Beast, click HERE,

MOST SCARY WEREWOLF STORY EVER — FREE!   Leave a comment

Halloween is almost upon us and you STILL haven’t picked up a gift for that special someone? Don’t panic. There’s still time to purchase the critically acclaimed novel Hour of the Beast for four bucks off the Amazon.com price AND receive the awesome poster of the cover art free! What better way to spend Halloween night than snuggled under the covers with a good book? Hurry! Special offer is good only through October 31.

 

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.

The 12 Greatest Horror Movies You’ve Never Seen!   1 comment

C. Michael Forsyth

There are great horror movies that even aficionados of the genre have missed and are often overlooked on top 100 lists. Here are a dozen rarely viewed films that gave me the willies:

A remote forest is home turf for a demon in “Equinox.”

EQUINOX, 1970

Four young people searching a remote forest for a missing scientist get more than they bargained for when they encounter the demon Asmodeus. Taking refuge in a cave, they come across an ancient book the evil being needs to spread destruction beyond his wooded domain. Heroically, the humans fight to keep The Book out of the demon’s claws, while trapped within his forest by a mysterious force field. Asmodeus sends a series of monstrous minions, including a giant ape-like creature with cloven hooves, to retrieve The Book.

Though shot on a shoestring budget, the movie makes create use of Ray Harryhausen-type stop motion animation. Plot-wise, it is a forerunner to “The Evil Dead,” and the filmmakers could show the producers of “The Blair Witch Project” a thing or two about telling an entertaining story with no dough.

A rustic European town harbors a terrible secret in “Vampyr.”

VAMPYR, 1932

Most horror buffs have seen the silent-era vampire film “Nosferatu,” an unauthorized adaptation of Dracula, but only hardcore enthusiasts have seen this 1932 picture from Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer. Though less well known, it’s every bit as creepy as “Nosferatu.” Inspired by a tale by Carmilla author J. Sheridan Le Fanu, it’s about a student of the occult who stumbles across a village under the curse of a vampire hag.

Although made in the sound era, it too is silent. It benefits from a haunting atmosphere and imaginative effects. Among the most striking, the vampires slinking around the deserted town are seen only as shadows.

A young woman rubs shoulders with history’s most infamous sadist in “Waxwork.”

WAXWORK, 1988

A group of students visit a wax museum featuring 18 villains from horror lore and history. Two are sucked into the waxwork displays, where they run into a werewolf and Dracula. Another two find themselves pitted against zombies and the infamous Marquis de Sade. The concept of universes within the displays struck me as quite original, and I loved how each one is depicted as real as our own. A kinky highlight of the film arises when the teenage girl drawn into de Sade’s world is whipped by the infamous sadist…and kind of likes it! Zach Galligan, who had vanished from the screen after “Gremlins,” does a smashing job as the young hero struggling to rescue her.

Homeowner Jesse (Ayre Gross, left) learns there’s more problems with his new digs than mice in the attic in “House 2.”

HOUSE 2

This horror comedy is a rare case of the sequel surpassing the original. Charlie and Jesse, a pair of yuppie pals, move into an old mansion Jesse has inherited. Rummaging through the basement, Jesse finds a picture of his great-great grandfather in front of a Mayan temple holding a crystal skull. The buddies soon learn that the house has been transformed by the skull his ancestor swiped and that each room is a doorway across space and time. The guys must keep the skull out of the hands of evildoers, while their mettle is tested in a series of harrowing adventures on the other side of these portals. Jonathan Stark, best known as the vampire’s henchman in the original “Fright Night,” is great as the goofier member of the duo. And look for an appearance from a smartalecky young Bill Maher.

A visit to the family crypt reveals clues to an awful curse in “The Undying Monster.”


THE UNDYING MONSTER, 1942

Mystery and horror combine in the curious case of the Hammond family which has been cursed since the Crusades and whose members frequently die under strange circumstances. When the latest Hammond heir is slain by an unidentified creature, intrepid private detective Robert Curtis and his plucky sidekick Christy are summoned to investigate. An early clue is a very peculiar statue in the Hammond family crypt.

What delights me about the film is the successful blend of genres. Curtis brings the logic of a Sherlock Holmes to the case and his relationship with Christy is reminiscent of Nick and Nora of “The Thin Man” fame. The detective takes a scientific approach, which makes the increasingly uncanny events all the more alarming. In one memorable sequence, he uses a microscope to examine a strange hair and it vanishes before his eyes!

Boris Karloff is a father who returns home from a vampire hunt and brings terror with him in “Black Sabbath.”

BLACK SABBATH, 1963

This anthology film boasts some truly terrifying segments. My favorite, “The Wurdalak,” is drawn from a common theme of vampire folklore rarely depicted on film: that when the undead return they first prey on their own relatives.

In 19th century Russia, a young nobleman on a long trip stops at a small rural cottage to ask for shelter. He learns that the family patriarch has disappeared for five days while searching for a vampire, or “wurdalak” as the locals call it. At the stroke of midnight, Dad — Boris Karloff at his creepy best — shows up at the cottage. His disheveled appearance and odd behavior lead his sons to suspect he’s joined the ranks of the undead. The situation makes for a rather tense evening.

“I tell you, I’m not crazy. Now get that hand off my mouth.” Michael Redgrave is a ventriloquist with a sinister dummy in “Dead of Night.”

DEAD OF NIGHT, 1945

Another chilling anthology film, it includes the granddaddy of all evil-ventriloquist-dummy stories and a chilling yarn about a haunted antique mirror. The frame story itself (often laughable in such movies) is truly unnerving. In the frame story, a man arrives at a country house party where he reveals to the assembled guests that he has seen them all in a dream. They begin to tell various tales of the supernatural and the uncanny. The frame story climaxes with a haunting twist ending.

“I don’t much like the look of that.” Peter Cushing, right, finds that a fellow scientist has created a deadly new lifeform in “Island of Terror.”

ISLAND OF TERROR, 1966

The great Peter Cushing stars as a scientist investigating the peculiar case of a farmer found dead on a remote British isle without a single bone in his body. He and his companions learn that a researcher working on the island accidentally created a new lifeform from the silicon atom while searching for a cancer cure.

The tentacled creatures, dubbed “silicates,” kill their victims by injecting a bone-dissolving enzyme into their bodies and are virtually indestructible. Trapped on the isolated island, the heroes battle the monsters with guns, Molotov cocktails, dynamite and other weapons to no avail. In one hair-raising scene, Cushing is grabbed by a silicate. With a stiff upper lip, the Englishman sternly instructs a companion to chop off his hand with an ax before its too late.

Wicca is for wimps. These witches are the real deal in “Horror Hotel.”

HORROR HOTEL, 1960

A college coed visits a small Massachusetts town to research the witchcraft trials, unaware that her landlady is the reincarnation of an infamous witch burned at the stake in the 1600s. The accused witch wasn’t innocent – not by a longshot. She and her evil cohorts practice virgin sacrifice in order to remain immortal. Christopher Lee as the missing girl’s professor and her friends must solve the mystery of her disappearance before an unholy ritual on Candlemass Eve. Look for one of the most startling heroic rescue scenes in horror cinema history.

A madman (Patrick O’Neal) doesn’t let a disablity stand in the way of exacting bloody vengeance in “Chamber of Horrors.”

CHAMBER OF HORRORS, 1966

Cesare Danova, the suave actor with the sexy foreign accent that made him a ubiquitous TV guest star, plays the proprietor of a wax museum and amateur sleuth, aided by a dwarf sidekick. When a deranged man named Jason Cravette murders a woman and marries her corpse, Danova helps police bring him to justice.

Unfortunately, the killer escapes from a manacle by amputating his hand and vows vengeance on everyone involved in his capture and trial. In place of his hand, the madman wears an array of deadly weapons. He associates his foes with body parts – for instance, the cop who arrested him is the “arm of the law.” So after each revenge killing he makes off with that body part. The wax museum owner has a special incentive to stop the culprit, because he solved the initial murder and Cravette has indentified him as “the head of the law.” Gulp.

The movie was filmed as a pilot for a series to be called “House of Wax,” but it was deemed too gory for TV. But I would have tuned into such a show every week!

The devil is afoot in Merry Old England in “Blood on Satan’s Claw.”

BLOOD ON SATAN’S CLAW, 1971

This movie is set in village in 17th century England, where a series of bizarre events suggest to superstitious peasants that the devil is afoot. The trouble begins when a farmer plowing a field uncovers a deformed skull with one leering eye. Later, young townsfolk begin to sprout patches of fur and other odd markings on their bodies. It’s up to the local judge, a rational man who is initially skeptical of the supernatural, to stop the epidemic and solve the mystery. High production values and convincing period dialogue elevate the film. It’s like watching a version of “The Crucible” in which Satan really is on the prowl.

Dinner is served! An army officer resorts to cannibalism in “Ravenous.”

RAVENOUS, 1999

The always compelling Guy Pearce ( “L.A. Confidential”) stars in this film, which offers a unique take on cannibalism.

The story takes place during in 1840s California during the Mexican-American War. Pearce plays a U.S. Army captain who comes across the aftermath of a Donner Party-like disaster. The sole survivor, a Colonel Ives, is now hooked on human flesh. According to a Native American legend recounted in the movie, a man who consumes the flesh of his enemies takes their strength but becomes a Wendigo, a demon cursed by a hunger for man meat. Turns out the Indians were right. Col. Ives has cured himself of tuberculosis and turned himself into an invincible superman through cannibalism. Worse still, he gets others addicted and is bent on turning our hero Capt. Boyd into a cannibal too.

I found the notion of cannibal as a sort of vampire thought-provoking and appreciated the film’s dark humor. With great performances from Pearce and Robert Carlyle as the sinister Colonel Ives.

The author of this article also wrote the acclaimed horror novel Hour of the Beast. In the opening chapter, the unthinkable happens. Then things get out of hand.

Hour of the Beast is available in hardcover and softcover at Amazon.com. But you can save $4 by clicking HERE! The Kindle version is just $7 and the Ebook is a measly $5. Be the first on your block to read this bone-chilling tale — before the motion picture hits the big screen.

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.

WEREWOLVES & VAMPIRES ARE THE BEST OF FRIENDS, RESEARCHERS NOW SAY   10 comments

By C. Michael Forsyth

CHIGAGO – Forget what you’ve seen in Hollywood horror flicks like “Underworld.” Vampires and werewolves get on famously — and the friendly relationship dates back many centuries, according to top experts in the field.

“Many of my closest pals are werewolves,” reveals Charles Vinowinski, a self-proclaimed Chicago vampire who says he’s 128 years old, but looks a spry 60. “We go bowling together, hang out and visit each other’s homes to play board games on Saturday nights.”

The chummy relationship between the two species is a far cry from the hit movie “Underworld,” which depicts a war that’s been waged for eons.

“The vampire-werewolf alliance can be traced at least as far back as ancient Rome,” asserts folklorist Dr. Hans Reintenhauser of the Berlin Institute for the Study of Unusual Phenomenon.

“During the dark ages, vampires and werewolves were known to hunt together and operate in pairs. During the day, while in human form, the lycanthrope would protect the sleeping vampire from those who would do him or her harm.

“Because in those days both species were persecuted by ordinary people, they needed to work hand in hand for the sake of their own survival.”
Such “odd couples” still exist in modern times, according to the expert, author of the upcoming book, “Friends Forever: The Untold Story of the Vampire-Werewolf Kinship.”

“Yes there is sometimes rivalry between the two, which are so different in their temperaments; some good-natured ribbing and occasional bickering,” says Dr. Reintenhauser. “But it’s like something you’d see in a buddy movie like ‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,’ or between Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker in the ‘Rush Hour’ pictures. Deep down, there is an abundance of love and respect.”

Since both vampires and werewolves are believed to be immortal – barring a run-in with the business end of a sharpened stake or silver bullet – “buddy” pairs develop an incredibly strong bond over the centuries.

“Imagine a comedy duo like Abbot and Costello, who’ve worked together so long they can anticipate each other’s every thought, can finish each others’ sentences and have impeccable timing,” explains the researcher. “Now imagine that kind of link strengthening over the course of a thousand or more years.”

Wolfman Henry Yerbrough, 241, has such a close-knit bond with his longtime associate Jean-Claude Dujardane, whom he claims he met in a field hospital during the War of 1812.

“Jean-Claude and I are like brothers,” smiles Yerbrough, of Milwaukee. “He was the best man at my wedding and I’m the godfather of his three kids. When we travel, we share a hotel room and once a year we go fishing together in the mountains.

“A lot of people assume we’re gay, especially since I work in a hair salon,” he adds with a chuckle. “But trust me, I love women as much as the next guy.”

Brooklyn native Ed Neidorf Jr., who is comparatively young as vampires go, at age 78, says he can only remember a single violent encounter with werewolves.

“This was in the early 1950s and there was a ‘rumble’ between a couple of rival vampire and werewolf gangs,” recalls the plumbing contactor, who still sports jet-black hair. “No one was killed, but there were some minor injuries. I remember some pretty nasty epithets being hurled at me, like ‘bloodsucker’ and “leech.’

“We were all just young and stupid then.”

When vampires and lycanthropes see movies like “Underworld” and “Twilight Saga: New Moon,” which also portrays the two groups as age-old enemies, it makes their blood boil.

“Hollywood makes it look as if we fight like cats and dogs,” fumes Vinowinski, a house inspector. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Copyright C. Michael Forsyth. All rights reserved

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.

Bizarre News Cover 5.

SPEAKING OF VAMPIRES

PRISON life becomes even more hellish when a vampire epidemic erupts in a women's prison.

PRISON life becomes even more hellish when a vampire epidemic erupts in a women’s prison.


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I’m excited to announce the launch of my first graphic novel, Night Cage! The premise of the horror story is simple: Vampires take over a women’s prison. Just imagine Orange is the New Black meets Salem’s Lot.

The project is being funded through Kickstarter. Folks who jump on the bandwagon will get a boatload of goodies and rewards, ranging from advance copies of the book and exclusive art, posters and T-shirts to a chance to be drawn into the graphic novel as a character!

Please check out the video out HERE, and share the news with all your social media friends!

PRISONERS fight for survival against a bloodthirsty army of the undead in the graphic novel Night Cage.

PRISONERS fight for survival against a bloodthirsty army of the undead in the graphic novel Night Cage.

To check the shocking and controversial Hour of the Beast, CLICK HERE.

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