Archive for Octobernomicon

“As I stared into the open mass grave–filled with our men, women and children–my despair overcame the revulsion of the horrific stench. Slowly, my despair devolved into seething rage and a desperate need for justice. God had turned his back on us, so I called out into the universe for any who would provide retribution. The thousands of flies which crawled upon our people swarmed upward, swirling into a black mass which settled into the form of a man from whom I felt an ancient and terrible consciousness. My initial horror slowly bled into a sick form of worship as I realized this being, this god, would gratify my lust for vengeance.”

Fly man will manifest only in the presence of someone who is in blind rage of unjust, large scale killing and of the dead themselves, who must be swarming with flies.

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“Me and Luke was out checkin’ our mud bug traps and I heered splashin’ comin’ toward me.  Luke started screamin’ sumpin’ awful.  I looked over and there he was, all white in the moonlight and his skin wrigglin’.  It was Missa Grits alright. Poor ol’ Luke tried to run and slipped.  Missa Grits grabbed ‘im up and just kinda melted all over ‘im.  I ain’t never been so scared in all my life. I turn and run, got to the truck and drove like hell outta there.”

Mr. Grits is a manifestation of the rage, fear and torment of all who have been raped, tortured and murdered in the local swamps, or who have been killed elsewhere and dumped here.

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“The boy was naked and shivering. He said he was lost and wanted to find his family. I moved closer to help him and, as he reached toward me, I saw that his spine was rooted directly into the base of the huge and twisted tree. His eyes darkened and his mouth split into a gruesome smile of spiked teeth. A cold, black and bitter-tasting rain began to fall, running down my face into my mouth.”

–“D,” agent of the Top Secret Project Catalyst, whereabouts undisclosed.

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It took effect that’s for sure. Next week, this awful lookin’ little bastard showed up. Followed me everywhere, mumbling a bunch of crap nobody could understand. Even when I ditched him, he’d just show back up. My gambling luck went to hell, I’d slip and fall, and getting a date? Shit. People around me too. Lock their keys in the car, burn themselves lightin’ a cigarette, cut themselves cooking. One time I took my shotgun and blasted its arm off, thank God mine stayed on. Next day, there he was.

Finally, we went to see the witch. We’d done business with her once before when we was desperate, the worst and only time you’d try such a thing. She wasn’t no wrinkled old hag livin’ in a swamp neither, had a real fancy apartment in the city. She looked damn fine, too; don’t know if that was real or not and I don’t much give a damn.

She did her thing and the little asshole was just gone, never seen him since. She didn’t ask for nothing, up front, but we knew she’d call in the favor. Based on the first time, we knew whatever that was, it wasn’t gonna be good.

–Earl West, shotgun man for the Society of The Oath-Bound.

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