Story of the Day: Horror 6

Mavis lit the jack-o-lanterns that surrounded the front porch and walkways and went back into the house, where she took the carving knife dirty with pumpkin guts and washed it off.

It wouldn’t be long, she thought - some lone child with his mother, a lonesome twosome for her gruesome work. It took a few hours, but eventually they showed up, a young mother of about twenty-five and a seven-year-old boy dressed as some superhero. She invited them in to get candy from the foyer and shut and locked the door behind them. That was when she sprayed them with stunning mist, causing them both to drop to the floor. The mother she dragged unceremoniously down the cellar stairs, letting her body bump and slam into anything as it descended into Mavis’s hellish pit on its last journey to anywhere. Then she went up and slung the boy over her shoulder and walked him down.

She was halfway though skinning the child when the mother came to and saw Mavis at work, preparing her feast. It was something the mother’s brain couldn’t process at first; too horrific to be real, but it was. She enjoyed watching the mother realizing everything, but after a few minutes of screaming it just got annoying so she sprayed her down again.

When the mother came to the second time, she was tied to a dining room chair, gagged, watching Mavis place a beautiful silver platter on the table with what looked like a large loin. No, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be. Mavis was carving up her meal, putting slices of meat on her plate next to a cluster of steaming potatoes peppered with fresh herbs and doused in butter. Mavis relished her meal, chewing slowly and making eye contact with the mother as she devoured the son in front of her. The mother looked like she was going insane with grief and traumatic shock, but for Mavis that was the best part. Not just enjoying the meal, but watching the mother lose her mind. It was her favorite game, and she only let herself play it once a year, on Halloween. As the mother sobbed behind her gag and her eyes puffed up with tears, Mavis drew her knife delicately across the meat on her china plate, letting every moment hang in the air, enjoying each horrible moment before she moved on to the next. This was her night, and she was going to enjoy it to the max.

October 7, 2022

Story of the Day: Horror 5

Dear Henry,

I have been meaning to write to you for some time, but circumstances have been preventing me. To say that the circumstances are unusual is a grand understatement, but I will endeavor to explain as concisely as possible. Upon inheriting Lipton Fields, it was my intention to rehabilitate the estate enough that it might become either a touristic destination or even, to the horror of my siblings, a hotel of some sort. At the very least, I imagined that it could be leased for grand events, such as weddings, but these were the products of my imagination, and reality has come crashing down with supernatural force.

To put it bluntly, the bloody place is haunted. Oh, I’m sure you are drolly imagining a frail old woman crying at night in the hallways, or curtains blowing because the windows have opened themselves. How I wish a benign spook like that were my lot. No, what we are contending with at Lipton Fields are a collection of malignant, vicious and maleficent haints.

The first incident occurred on the day I visited the manse after completing the paperwork with the lawyers. I drove into the country straight from the lawyer’s office, picking up a sandwich at a quaint farm shop along the route, and arrived in the later part of the afternoon, all by myself, excited to turn the key for the first time. Within minutes of entering the place, I was assaulted by screaming apparitions, blood-curdling screams that seemed to come from the mouth of hell itself. I held my breath and perhaps would have embarrassed myself had I not been quite alone, but was undeterred by this attack. No, I thought to myself, this is my house, and despite what may have settled in during the long duration of neglect, I was not going let a spiritual infestation deter me.

I managed to get through only a portion of the place before I was pushed down a flight of stairs and was dragged into the basement by the most unsettling creature I have ever laid eyes on. It was humanoid, hairy and smelled like an infernal barnyard gone to seed. The sensations were as shocking as the reality of being dragged toward something I could feel in my body was a pulsating force of evil.

Into a room they pulled me, where a hole in the ground - a literal hole - had been opened and I knew in my bones, in my guts, in my SOUL, Henry, that this was a gaping maw that led to Hell itself. As a nonbeliever, it was shocking to confront such a reality, for if I do not believe in Heaven than it follows that I do not believe in Hell, either, but I have no other word to describe the place that this hole was an entrance to. Without seeing anything, I knew it to be true. The creature that dragged me there vanished, I did not see it depart or dissemble or what have you, I know only that it was gone. What purpose it had was clear, to show me this portal, to warn me, to invite me? I do not know.

Scrambling up and out of the house, I ran to the keeper’s modest home on the edge of the property and engaged him with my story. He was not amused, as something of this was known to him, but it not being his place to fix it, he left it alone. Further, to what good end would it be to mess with evil spirits? Well, I was undeterred. I began a quest to use any resource I could find from the religious to the psychic to the scholarly. It has been an interesting process, requiring me to swallow my first instincts of disbelief and to scoff at the various theories and proposed solutions, but I do know what I experienced and I cannot shut that out. It is my home and I am prepared to do whatever I can to lay proper claim to it - in all dimensions.

Knowing me as you do, Henry, you must be quite amused and perplexed at this state of affairs I find myself at the helm of. Trust that you are always welcome to visit and observe for yourself. Next week, we are preparing for a first-stage exorcism with seven priests from various countries. I am also planning to re-enter the premises under the guardianship of an “armed mage”, or so he calls himself. Armed with what, I have no idea.

Please accept my apologies for missing your birthday and know that I am always looking forward to seeing you again.

Yours ever in friendship ,

Phillip

October 5, 2022

Story of the Day: Horror 4

In the evening, do you ever feel a chill in the air, even inside, and wonder - was that a ghost? Amy used to feel that way often. As a child she used to see the entities, they would appear and talk to her, tell her their stories, but as she got older and her brain got busier, it was harder to focus on them, and eventually she stopped seeing them at all. Until the night she brought Jason home.

Jason had been flirting with her heavily for months, and after some arm-twisting she accepted a date with him, which led to them going back to her place. When he was in the bathroom a specter appeared before her, it was an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, early sixties, who warned her desperately to “Get the man out of your house. He’s dangerous!” Amy was in shock as the door to the bathroom opened and Jason reappeared, and the woman looked at her as she evaporated or disappeared or whatever happened.

Amy looked at Jason then, and all the heat and spark that had filled the evening and weeks previous was gone. She saw him plainly for what he was: a sociopathic, opportunistic brute who happened to be cute. She had let the flattery take her away from herself, which was obviously his plan. As he moved toward her, sex in his eyes, she smiled and stood and apologized for having brought him up, but that she was feeling like she had to stop the evening where it was. Jason balked and looked annoyed and disappointed, but she held firm, keeping it light and ushering him to the door with aplomb. “Let’s go out again soon,” she said, “I just have to turn it in now.” She was clear and sure, he could tell, and didn’t fight back, but she was proud for not hesitating.

Once out the door, she cleaned up for bed and as she moved into her bedroom the woman revealed herself in the corner. “He would have killed you. Dead dead dead,” and vanished again into the night.

October 4, 2022

Story of the Day: Horror 3

Giles was a mama’s boy and no one thought he would amount to much, either. He didn’t have many interests and seemed content to just watch the world go by, most of the time, or get absorbed in mundane things that just looked idiotic to his father and many of his minders. As he got older, he grew to love nature, and at a certain age started taking long walks in the woods. Nobody minded, really, but they did feel annoyed by his self-possession and lack of interest in “normal” things, nonetheless.

It was about the age of thirteen that he was bitten. He was on a walk deep in the forest, farther than he normally went, and he was mapping the area for himself in his own code, marking and naming the trees, rock formations, and other notable details of the wood. It was getting late, he realized from the height of the sun, although he did have to remind himself what month it was and whether it was late or early, when he saw the wolf. He just turned a corner and looked up from his map and it was standing in the path, growling at him. Knowing that wolves were often not alone, he glanced in a few directions to gage his safety. Running was a bad idea, he knew that. Also, where would he go?

He tried to maintain eye contact and was surprised to feel a warm shot of sensation running along his spine, like a message or a communiqué. It told him to relax and let it happen. That’s what he remembered, “Relax and let it happen.” It was a fully formed thought that entered his mind like a statement. Giles remembered his shoulders dropping, the fear not leaving him, but settling into a comfortable place, and the wolf walked up to him and bit him on the leg. Giles cried out in pain, but the wolf wasn’t devouring him or trying to kill him. It just stood over him, the rank fur, the intense eyes, the strong breath from its nose and mouth, panting. Then its ears pricked up and it ran away.

Giles cleaned the wound in a stream he limped to and tied his shirt around it. When he finally limped out of the wood, he was freezing from being half-naked, the sun was fully down and a small search party was making its way to the wood. They cried out as he emerged, and carried him back to the village. Giles was swooning, and it only got stronger, worse, the more he was fed and warmed by fires and given water to drink.

Melinda, the spinster who had always smiled at him with kind eyes, was nearby. He could hear his father cursing his name, and his mother saying that she knew he was stupid, but this was the last straw. When Melinda saw Giles stir, she moved to him quietly and gently asked him questions. “Did it speak to you?” Giles looked at her, backlit by the fire, so kind and warm and intelligent. “Did it warn you first? It did me.” Even though he was swooning with strange sensations, he couldn’t believe what she was saying. He hadn’t spoken yet, had he? Was he speaking in his sleep? “Was I talking in my sleep?” he managed to make out in desperate curiosity. “No, child. I saw the mark.”

Melinda pulled the blanket aside to show his leg, which was wounded, but scarring in a strange way, there were wiry hairs, and it didn’t look bloody. “The change will be hard, but once you are through it, I’ll run with you. It might be best if you come to live with me.” Giles tried to speak, to make sense of what he was hearing. “I’ll tell your parents I need a worker to live with me and help with the chickens. I suspect they will be relieved to get you off of their hands. It costs a lot to feed a boy. They’ll see you are fine, it won’t feel like they are selling you off to parts unknown.” She smoothed the hair from his forehead, he felt a wave of nausea and heat coming through him. Melinda was already moving a bucket to his bedside. “It’s going to be strange and scary, but when you are on the other side, just remember that I’ll be there.”

The images he saw in his mind were frightening and intense, running through the woods, ripping animals to shreds with his mouth, and the moon - the great, big moon shining down from above. He needed to be closer to the moon, he ran up the slope, scrambling up the rocks to a promontory, there it was clear, there he could see the big sky and the big mother moon shining down upon him and he threw back his head and howled and howled and howled.

October 3, 2022

Story of the Day: Horror 2

Lindsay was sure the old woman was a witch, she just felt it. There was something about the way the old woman was always so sure of herself, despite being so old - so unequivocal, and it wasn’t just a being older thing. No, there was something in her demeanor, the old woman’s, that spoke of some unsung power, something thrumming just under the surface. Lindsay was determined to find out what it was. She told her friend Syrah about it, and Syrah kept laughing at her, but by the end of the night and a second bottle of pinot, Syrah had committed to the bit: they were going to find out the background of the witch woman.

Lindsay’s first impulse was to bake a cake and bring it over to the woman, which she did. A coffee cake. Baking was fun, and the whole dirty reason behind it made it more thrilling. When it had cooled, she popped in toothpicks, wrapped it in plastic and drove it over, her heart racing ever faster the closer she got to ringing the bell. The old woman came to the door and eyed Lindsay and the cake with deep suspicion. “What is this for?” Lindsay hadn’t thought this through and stumbled upon a stupid, innocuous lie. “Oh, I was making one and made too much batter and figured I’d make another and thought I’d be a good neighbor.” The old woman almost smirked, but was also frowning and her brain churning away trying to figure out what Lindsay’s motive was, beyond raw curiosity. “You’ve lived here for seven years and never said a word,” the old woman replied, throwing down her gauntlet of truth. Lindsay was nearly agape at the realization that the old woman knew exactly how long she had lived nearby. “Oh, I didn’t know you noticed me,” said Lindsay. “I could say the same,” came the reply and the old woman made her move. “Come inside for tea and have a slice. I insist.” Lindsay could feel herself recoil, but told herself that this is what she wanted, to solve the mystery. She could already hardly wait to tell Syrah.

Crossing the threshold into the house, Lindsay already regretted her choice, and she followed the old woman down a long hallway to the other end of the house into the kitchen where she put a kettle on. Of course there were no teabags, just jars and jars filled with herbs and mushrooms and things she couldn’t recognize. It was cozy, almost cottagecore, although a lot darker and more rustic and real. A wildly colored cat emerged from a side room to eye Lindsay. “Isis, this is - what’s your name, girl?” “Lindsay, Lindsay.” “Isis, this is Lindsay, and I’m Cora.” The old woman looked very determinedly at Lindsay’s face, searching it - for what? Lindsay wanted to leave but didn’t want to offend Cora or make trouble, it was already going too far.

The old woman turned to fix the kettle and make a plate, and Lindsay looked around the room, eyeing all the items in the jars more closely, answering the simple questions that Cora was asking. “Where are you from? What brought you to the area?” When the kettle sang, Lindsay was noticing some dolls in the next room and moved to look closer at them. “Don’t touch those,” came the sharp, commanding voice from the kitchen, and Lindsay pulled her hand back fast. “Those aren’t to be played with.” Cora smiled, but it did not hide a pointed intensity that was aimed at Lindsay. “I can’t really stay long,” Lindsay started to plan her escape. “Who said anything about staying long? We’re going to share some cake and tea.” Cora nodded her head in a direction and Lindsay followed the hallway to a door that led outside to a garden, a lovely little garden. They sat down and Lindsay sipped her tea when it was cool enough to drink as they picked at the coffee cake, still warm inside.

Lindsay awoke in the middle of the night, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. The walls seemed to be breathing, pulling back and forth, and her heart was beating so hard she thought she might die at any moment. Her last memory was sipping the tea. A light seizure passed through her and left her shaking with chills. Her face hurt, like her skull was pushing its way out of her. Swooning, she ran to the bathroom to throw water on her face, and that’s when she saw it, the beak pushing out of her face, the feathers pushing out of the skin on her arms. Her eyes were black and beady. She wanted to scream, to call Syrah, call anyone, was this real? She must be hallucinating. She must be dreaming still. And those were the last conscious thoughts that Lindsay had as a human being.

October 2, 2022

Story of the Day: Horror 1

The bats flew in seeming chaos, although they were perfectly synched to their echolocation, hunting big bugs and using the dark as cover. Tom observed them and smiled, getting into the driver’s seat of his big, black and chrome 1980s Cadillac to cruise the streets for prey. Listening to booming, raucous rock music, Tom swept along the highway to the main drag of Proctor, a town in the next county.

Parking a half mile or so from where he was going, he observed the buzzed and drunken nightlife denizens walking to the next bar or back to their cars to make out. He saw one that he liked already, a lonely guy trying to check his phone who looked a little drunk, wavering a little. Tom preferred them not to be filled with so much alcohol, but he was edgy and wanted the first kill out of the way. The guy was muscular and decent looking, but he couldn’t tell how much he’d fight. There weren’t many people on the street, but Tom did a quick check, chirping out a sound that gave him the shape of the alley. Fuck it, he was hungry.

He went to a random car and asked the guy if he could help him with the door, it was stuck. The guy looked up confused and that’s when Tom knew it was time, he leapt up and put the guy in a quick headlock, dragging him quickly into the alley just off the street behind the closed toy store on the corner. There was a dumpster he wanted to get behind, but the shock had moved through the dull cushion of alcohol and the guy’s adrenalin was now surging and he was fighting back with serious strength behind him. It was a messy move, not smart, but Tom decided to go for it, he was fucking hungry, and moved his mouth to the guy’s neck to tear it open. The guy kept swinging his head, though, so he couldn’t get a good lock. He decided to try the wrist, it was slower but at least might give him a good wound to slow the guy down. Tom launched his face at the wrist at the wrong moment, the guy was bringing it up to punch him at the same time and connected; Tom went sprawling off of him into the alley.

When he got up, the guy was running, although thankfully not yelling for help, blessed be for masculine pride. This was already a disaster, so it required swift and daring moves. Tom launched himself directly at the guy’s back, grabbing hold of him just before the entrance to the street. Before anything else could happen he jammed his teeth into the guy’s neck and rigorously wrenched his mouth across, tearing open the veins and skin, a propulsive spurt of blood his reward. He couldn’t help himself, he put his mouth on the neck and sucked and swallowed the lode. Energy coursed through him as the man’s life filled his belly.

There wasn’t much time, he took his mouth off and quickly jammed the back of the guy’s shirt over the wound to stanch the flow. Tom only had fifteen minutes or so before he started to swoon, get lethargic, he needed to clean up the scene before he lost his gusto. Dragging the guy to the dumpster, he heaved it open and was throwing the still-dying body into it when he sensed eyes on him. Turning quickly, the body over his shoulder, about to be tossed away, he locked eyes with a slight, nerdy guy standing near a car, keys still in his hand.

Tom finished what he was doing quickly and turned back to the guy, who was opening his car door, looking back nervously as he made his getaway. Tom used everything he had and ran to the car, getting there just as the door closed and he heard the lock click. No time to think, Tom pounded on the window as hard as he could as the man in the car frantically tried to start his car, which whined as the engine didn’t catch. One last smash and the glass gave way, showering the man with shards as he screamed. Tom grabbed the guy by the neck, his own hands covered in blood, and pulled his head to the window and reached in to tear him open with his teeth. The guy started to scream, but the life sapped out of him pretty quick and the shock shut him up.

Tom reached in to fiddle with the lock and shoved the guy to the passenger’s side. He got in and turned the car on, feeling the glass cutting his ass. He wondered if he had time to get the other body. Eh, he could come back for it later, best to get the fuck out and clean up the scene. He drove up into the neighborhood, away from where cops might see him driving with a broken driver’s seat window, glass still falling away. The body was twitching next to him. Dammit, one of his favorite parts was feeling the life ebb as he sucked, the climax. Oh well, he was still high from his first meal, this was just a clean-up job anyway. Still, it irked him that he couldn’t enjoy his feast.

He looked around for a clearing with trees. After gathering some sticks, he dipped a few of them into the gas tank, and then lit them on top of the body, making sure to leave a trail of gas anywhere he might have touched something:, the door, the wheel. Then he set it ablaze and started walking back to his car. He’d probably have time now to get the other body into his trunk, but it might be smarter to just set a dumpster fire. He wanted to get back home and rest. Tomorrow was another night.

October 1, 2022

Adam appears in UBU THE KING directed by Tim Robbins at The Actors' Gang

Chas Harvey as UBU in the 2022 production, photo by Adam Dugas

UBU 1981 Flier drawn by David Silverman

I’ve been attracted to the theatrical work of The Actors’ Gang since the first show I saw there in 1997. It is visceral, surprising, rude, extremely presentational and very much alive. I began taking their workshops this Spring and was swiftly invited to do more and more with the company.

I am currently making my company debut in the ensemble of Alfred Jarry’s UBU THE KING (UBU ROI), directed by company founder and artistic director Tim Robbins.

If you know UBU, you already know it is loopy. A seminal piece of avant-garde theatre, the play famously debuted in 1896 to a riot (Jarry may have paid friends to do this?), and has been a touchstone of the underground ever since. It is where the punk band Pere Ubu took its name, as well as the alternative arts website/museum Ubuweb.

Tim Robbins and friends founded The Actors’ Gang in 1981 with a production of UBU that ran for six months. Since the company is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year (pandemic math), Tim decided that it was the right time to relaunch the show. Springboarding from a base of the original production, we have built a new show that is fast, dirty, weird, athletic and super fun. We are basically fourteen adults playing dress-up and war.

I am in the ensemble playing a multitude of roles. It is a thrill to be on stage again, performing alongside some of the funniest and most talented comedians and performers I’ve ever met, under the direction of a talented and committed theater artist who also happens to be a movie star.

Please come if you can! It is a short play, about 70 minutes, and a short run.