I am walking along a deserted street. It is daytime and inside the houses, dogs whine, expectant; the driveways empty of cars that instead are offhandedly whiling away dollars in dirty parking lots. The autumn wind blows beneath an overcast sky and the remaining leaves rustle like bones turning to dust in drafty mausoleums. I think that you are following me.

Footsteps plod along behind me to the rhythm of my own and your icy stare crawls up my spine like an eight-legged ghoul. I increase my speed, unwilling to look over my shoulder. To envision you there is horror enough: to see you there will turn me to mortar.

In my dreams I am unable to run fast enough and I awake with a film of cold sweat coating my skin. I turn and see the silhouette of your shoulder under the covers in the bed beside me, framed by moonlight and I awake yet again, relieved to find I am alone.

But now I am sure. I feel static in the air as your hand reaches out. Your dry palm scratches against the fabric on the shoulder of my coat. I crumble, screaming, screaming at the top of my lungs. I awake.

I glance at the dog. He whines, expectant.

The Ultimate Campfire Story


Deep in the interior of Algonquin Park , far from civilization, Ty and Dennis stiffly lifted the canoe off their shoulders and dropped it as gently as their aching muscles would allow. Neither were used to the stress that alternately paddling and portaging had on their bodies. Having known each other only three days, neither wanted to be the first to admit eight hours was enough. It was their first day out. They had met through an online match-up site for 20something year old extreme campers and paired up. This particular trail, brutal as it was, wasn’t to be attempted alone.

“I’m thirsty, how ’bout you?” Ty asked, shrugging the water container from his shoulder.


“Not much left.” Ty shook the bottle. “Maybe we’d better build a fire and boil some.”

Dennis nodded. “Good idea. I’ll collect the wood.”

“By the time we get the fire going it’s gonna start getting dark,” Ty said, looking up at the sky. The sun was mid way to sunset.

“You got a point. Wanna start setting up camp?”

“I’ll go take a piss then I’ll help you with the wood.”

“Sure,” Dennis said.


At full dark, their water cooled and stored, dinner done and half their single bottle of scotch consumed, they sat beside the fire.

“So, you got a girlfriend?” Dennis asked.

“Nope, you?”

Dennis shook his head. “Not that I don’t want one…”

Ty nodded and looked down at his hands. “I got a little confession to make.”

Dennis looked at him sharply, poising to defend himself.

Ty laughed. “Little fuckin’ homophobic are ya?” He stood up and unzipped his fly and laughed again as Dennis shuffled his ass backwards on the log he was perched on.

“Don’t worry man, I’m only jokin’ ya.” He pulled up his fly and reseated himself. His demeanor turned serious. “I wish that’s all it was.”

“So, what is it then?”

“Do you like campfire stories Dennis?”


“Have I got a doozy for you,” Ty grimaced. “You see, I’ve got these imaginary friends. Two of them.”

“Will they help with the canoe?” Dennis joked, the smile quickly falling from his face when Ty growled.

“They don’t carry canoes. It’s not a fuckin’ joke. They get into my dreams, they follow me around. I don’t want them, they’re just there. They make fun of me, make me choke on my food…” He leaned toward Dennis and whispered. “They jerk me off every night when I go to bed.”

Dennis cleared his throat and began to stack the dinner plates.


“What?” He didn’t look up from what he was doing.

“They’re here.”

“Okay man, knock it off. If this is your idea of a campfire story it’s not funny.”

“It’s not.”

“Glad you agree.”

“I mean it’s not just a campfire story. It’s true. They’ve been with me since I was a teenager.”

“Well you don’t have to tell me about it. I’m not fuckin’ interested man.” Dennis said as he walked away from the fire. “I’m going to take a crap.”

“I do have to tell you Dennis!” Ty called after him. “They want you too!”

“What did you say?” he asked, turning back.

Ty grinned. “Hurry up and take your crap and I’ll tell you what we’re really doing out here.”

“What the living fuck are you talking about? Are you threatening me?”

Ty held his palms up. “Not me, man. It’s all them.”

“For fuck’s sakes.” Dennis mumbled, walking away.


Dennis had a hard time finding his way back to the camp. After wandering around for a while in the dark he finally came across the smouldering remains of the fire. Ty was moving around in the single three-man tent they had brought along and Dennis cursed himself silently for not bringing his own. As he stepped toward the tent he stopped short. For a second he saw the ghostly figure of a man standing beside it.

Imagining things, he mumbled, sneering at himself. Fuckin’ Ty.

Thinking it better not to sleep beside a crazy man unarmed, he did a u-turn toward the canoe to retrieve a fish-gutting knife from inside the tool sack he had packed. He took one last look around the campsite and dropped to his knees in front of the tent door. He heard giggling. Male giggling. Squeezing his eyes shut he took a breath. With one hand on the handle of the knife in its sheath, attached to his belt he opened the flap.

Ty flicked on a flashlight, illuminating the tent.

“Hey Dennis, come and join us.”

Entirely nude, Ty sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag. Beside him was a man of about the same age and height as the two 20somethings, equally naked, smiling, and slowly jacking off both himself and Ty.

At the same time Dennis screamed, he pulled the small knife from its sheath and backed up. He was about to stand when he heard another man’s voice behind him.

“Mind if I join the party?”

By the time Dennis hit the other sleeping bag face-first he heard the laughter.

“Gotcha!” Ty taunted him. “I met these guys when I went to take a piss!”

Dennis could hear shuffling around inside the tent beside him but the naked men, the embarrassment of being scared, and the scoffing were the least of his worries. He didn’t even feel the pain. At first he thought he’d pissed himself. Then as the world went black, he realized he’d stabbed himself in the groin with the knife.


“FUCK!!!! What the fuck are we going to do now? He fucking killed himself!!!” Ty, dressed in his jeans, sat beside the warm corpse of the man he’d met less than 4 days ago and stared at the blood that covered his hands and dripped from his elbows.

“Fucked if I know. I’m outta here,” said the naked man as he crawled toward the tent door.

“Wait! You can’t leave me now!” Ty screamed into the dark, watching the naked man, along with his companion, disappear into the darkness.

“You promised us fresh meat,” the naked man called back. “Fuck you.”

“But who’s going to carry the canoe?”

“You said it yourself,” said the fading voice. “We don’t carry canoes.”

Fit to be Tied

A little tale of revenge, by me 🙂

Blondes in the Woods

She was one of those characters that you just know she’s going to die soon. You know the ones. They’ve invariably got blonde hair and huge tits. And they’re always running, looking over their shoulder at the guy trudging through the woods behind them.

That’s exactly what she was like. Only difference, she went to work every day in an office. She was a lawyer’s ‘secretary’. (I put that in quotes because the only useful thing she did was lit the boss’s ‘cigar’, if you know what I mean.) And every afternoon when she left the office she would walk–practically run–to the bus stop, looking over her shoulder. Sidewalks were always crowded that time of day, so you never knew which guy she was watching for or who she might think was chasing her.

Anyway, this one day it happened. He caught up with her. She wasn’t watching where she was going (duh) and she tripped over her own damned high heel. She was so scared when he grabbed her by the arm that her mouth opened but no scream came out. All the legs of the people walking past were like the trees in the movies and you just knew it. Just knew that right there and right then, just like all the rest, she was going to die. Hell, even she could hear the music reach it’s climax. And sure enough, right there on the damned pavement, the bus only a quarter mile up the road, she gets freakin’ strangled. And just like the trees in the forest, nobody sees it. Why?

Because nothing fucking surprises us anymore. We’re all blondes in the woods.

It’s too bad about those characters.

Average Joe

English: Fishing rods on Worthing Pier This pa...

English: Fishing rods on Worthing Pier

I’m just an average Joe. I like fishin’ and layin’ around in the back yard. I like working with my hands and taking long walks down by the pier.

In fact I was down there just the other day. There was this guy with a bottle in a brown paper bag, staggering about and yelling at seagulls. I exchanged a knowing look at a couple of younger guys who were sitting on the dock with their fishing rods. I laughed, they laughed. It was one of those moments, you know? Doesn’t matter that we’d never seen each other before. Sometimes you just know what another guy is thinking.

Later that night I decided to go back. It hadn’t been a terrific day by the pier and I thought maybe the night would be quieter. I was strollin’ along and what do you know, the drunk guy was still there. I could hear him before I even got to the dock, yelling at the fish this time. What was even crazier, the same two young guys were there! Only they weren’t fishin’ this time, they were just hangin’ out drinkin’ beer on the grass beside the water.

I looked at them and they looked at me. It was just one of those moments, you know? They got up and joined me the rest of the way down to the pier and it wasn’t long before we caught up to the drunk. Man, did he splash about! It wasn’t easy – he was pretty strong for a guy who’d been drinkin’ all day. But together, the three of us got the job done.

I tell ya, sometimes you just know what another guy is thinking.

The Sixth of Five

AvocadoI thought it was my lucky day. I stood in line counting and then recounting the avocados in my basket. The label on the dark green plastic net bag said ‘5 Avocados’ but there was, without a doubt, six inside. I love vegetables. I paid for them without mentioning my good fortune to the cashier and left the store. That was a week ago. Yesterday everything started to go downhill.

It was lunchtime. The sixth and final avocado looked fine. It felt a little soft but when I cut into it


and twisted the two halves apart it looked and smelled perfect. Green and firm. The seed wasn’t too big or too


small. I think it was the spoon, when it came into kkkkkkkcontact with the seed that I first heard it. It sounded like static from a radio speaker. I half ekkkkkkxpected to see sparks, but that was silly.

My avocado tasted wonderful. I would go as far to say it may have been the best avokk kkcado I’ve ever had.


The twitch started an hour after I finished eating my lunkk kkch. The statikkkkkkkkkc which was coming from the outside is now in my head. I thinkkkkkkk the avokk kk kkcado might have been bad after all. Wait, no. I thought the avokkcado might have been bad. Now I think it’s it’s was


The staticcccckk kk in my head is getting worse by the minute.

Kk kk kkill them

I’m going to the store.


The kkkkccreature is large and kkkccumbersome but it has arms and le kk kk kkk gs that are useful. It ckkkkccan also drive a kkkkkccc automobile.

I ckk kk kkan’t see very well. It’s likkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkke my eyes are shaded and I thinkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

kk kk seeds for eyes yes and we kk kk kkilled them all

I thinkkkk I did something terrible at the st kkore. There was blood everywhere in the vegetable aisle. I tried to warn them not to buy avo

kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk SHUT UP! I’m a fruit you idiot!

cados but who would thinkk kkk kkkk kkkkkk kkkkk


“Honey? Are you home? I brought Mike over to… holy shit that’s a big vegetable.  You hungry Mike?”


“Step back now please,” said the police officer. He shuffled forward with his palms raised, pushing the curious crowd back across the white painted line of the parking space. “There’s really nothing to see here.”

“But sir,” said one of the onlookers. “I know that girl.”

“Which one,” the cop asked quietly.

“The one on top.”

“How can you tell? She’s face-down?”

“I recognize her tattoo. I inked her myself.”

“Step under the tape please,” offered the cop, lifting the yellow plastic crime scene ribbon. “MacPherson!” called the cop over his shoulder. “Talk to this man.”

“I know her,” the bystander repeated to MacPherson across the bodies of two naked women – a blonde on top and a brunette on her back underneath.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Reaper,” said the man. “First name Grim.”

MacPherson widened his stance. “And what’s your real name?”

“That is my real name,” said Reaper.

MacPherson shook his head. “Okay fine. So how do you know her?”

“I tattooed the knife in her back.”

MacPherson looked down at the body. The hilt of a knife was, indeed, tattooed on the woman’s lower left shoulder, the point appearing to have been plunged into her body.

The coroner stepped up to give his orders.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s lift her.”

Four investigators, two at the blonde’s shoulders and two at her hips, attempted to lift her.

“She’s stuck,” said one of the investigators.

The coroner crouched and lifted the woman’s left shoulder a few inches. “What the…” whispered the coroner.

MacPherson turned back to see Reaper grinning. “It’s a damned good tattoo even if I do say so myself.”