Never Apart by Hell.R.

Her skin is beautiful.

A perfect milky white, the complete contrast to my previous girlfriend, her skin had been a wonderful dark colour.

I don’t care about the colour of their skin, it’s always been about the condition of that skin. Always soft, no unsightly blemishes such as acne or scars.

They could only be perfect.

I like distinguishing features, the odd mole, perhaps cute freckles as they add personality.

My girlfriend has the cutest little line of moles down the right side of her stomach.

Her sparkling eyes follow my hand down her body as I trace it down her perfect skin, tears rolling down her cheeks whilst I smile in love and admiration.

“You will be the best one of them all,” I whisper.

Those eyes flashed with an all too familiar look that I am still yet to understand, all of my previous girlfriends had the same look as the blade first sunk into their skin. An angelic scream echoes around the room and makes my heart skip a few beats, I love that sound.

I sink the silver blade in at an angle in jagged movements to separate the skin from anything else, blood poured over my hand that was resting on her side. With each movement she’d let out a cry and a whimper and a smile just broke my face in half.

Once an edge was established I began to peel the skin back to reveal the red underneath and continue to dissect a large portion until it had finally fallen away completely.

One beautiful piece of milk coloured skin, stained red.

I set the knife by her hip and get up, stepping away from the table she was strapped to. Pulling the side of my shirt up, I place the piece of skin across my side, holding it there until I reach the mirror across the room.

The contrast of the skin sample against my own was beautiful, the white contrasted against my own scarred, tanned skin wonderfully.

“Simply magnificent.”

The skin makes an almost delightfully sickening noise as it slaps against the counter of the wooden table beside the mirror, right next to a needle and thread.

I move the mirror around so that I could sit at the table and have a perfect view of myself.

After removing my shirt I hold the skin against my own once again, admiring the sight with distraction before snapping out of it and grabbing onto an already prepared needle.

The first stitch always hurts the most, having the end of the needle push through the flesh stung every time, but after that it becomes an almost addictive feeling. The need to feel the piece of thread moving between your skin and tightening the new addition was euphoric.

Watching as the loose and flapping piece of slowly dying flesh attaches to yours with each new stitch was addictive.

It only takes about five minutes until it’s over and the feeling of bliss subsides, my body tingles all over as I take a wet wipe from a packet on top of the table and begin wiping the excess blood from my newly grafted skin.

With my new, milky skin all cleaned up I make my way back to the table. Leaning over this beautiful woman I smile so lovingly that my cheeks hurt, she stares back at me as her chest heaves up and down with large pants.

“Well I think that went very well, shall we continue?”

My Monster by Hell.R.

I can’t move.

My body refuses to comply with the simplest of requests, even the twitch of a single finger seems impossible.

I can’t speak.

My tongue feels like it’s been torn out and replaced with a slab of felt, stitched in place to fool anyone around me that it’s real.

I can’t open my eyes.

My eyelids feel heavy, even getting them to flutter feels like a challenge in itself.

Even with my eyes involuntarily closed I can tell that I’m surrounded by nothing but darkness, I should be led in my bed and sleeping soundly, but this feels like something much deeper.

There are footsteps to my side, shuffling along the floor to my left, accompanied by the sound of a girl muttering and whispering. They don’t sound like the typical kind of footsteps, more like a light scraping as if they had to force their feet along the ground.

The voice doesn’t sound like a young girl, more like an adult mocking a child much younger than them in a crude imitation. It’s almost pantomime like.

Within mere seconds I feel them shift on top of me, legs placed either side of me and hands splayed across my chest.

They’re as light as you’d expect a child to be, but yet I still feel my breathing become restricted. Taking in the smallest amount of air becomes a tremendous task and within moments my lungs are begging me to draw in a deep breath.

Their weight begins to shift in a pattern and it doesn’t take long to figure out that they have started rocking, using me like some kind of toy horse.

“You left us,” she coos in that horribly saturated sweet voice.

I want to respond ‘Us who?’ but still can’t speak, all that comes out sound like slurred grunts of incoherent words.

It transpires that I didn’t need to be able to talk as she mockingly replies. “You know who ‘us’ is.”

I half expected to hear a giggle at the end of that sentence, it feels foreign and almost empty when she doesn’t.

The weight shifts again and I feel strangely textured hands running up my neck and along my cheeks, eventually halting as they rest there with the thumbs pressed against my lips.

With a lot of force I manage to shift my head to the side and try to dislodge the hands from the side of my face, instead she shifts my head back up.

My body is crying out for oxygen and I feel close to panicking.

“We didn’t get to finish our last game.”

I want to push her off but it takes so much will power to simply move one part of my body, after an intense struggle with desperation I feel only my right index finger twitch a little, brushing lightly against her soft leg.

That’s when the giggle finally filled the air and shrouded me with dread, it was a haunting sound as she took glee in my weakness.

I feel two of the fingers shift up to my eyelids and push on them ever so gently, she pushed until my eyes are opened half lidded.

Even in the pitch blackness of the room she seemed to be illuminated in an odd light, one that brought out all her features.

I recognised the grotesque, grey skinned and terribly thin ragdoll of myself, her eyes half lidded and staring into my own. Patchwork marks were strewn across her body leaving the closest thing to scars that could appear on her body, her clothes matched my usual shirt and jeans style except they were much more tattered.

Her head was tilted so her straggly, woollen hair tickled the side of my neck.

Her mouth was stitched into a lopsided smile.

“I missed you,” she whispers in a husky tone.

As if she just realised that she should have no free will her arms collapse from underneath her, she drops limply onto me so her head is resting against mine.

Despite no other signs of life aside from her movement, I can hear her breathing in my ear. Almost like she was bragging about the life she was taking from me.

As she lies with her head resting against mine, the stolen breath wafting over my face rhythmically, she reminds me of a child. Cuddling up to the mother figure for comfort and warmth, waiting for those soft words of protection, she closes her hauntingly dark eyes and lets out a sigh of contentment.

My mind starts racing as breathing becomes impossible, no air was leaving nor entering my body and the world around me was getting hazy. It’s a familiar feeling, one I’ve encountered a few times in my teen years when this monster first reared her head and dragged me away from everything.

I won’t let that happen again.

I was defeated once and overcame it all, as I finally make my right hand move with great difficulty, I vow to myself that I will be sure to fight it again, get my strength back and steal my life from back her once more.

Happy Easter! With an Added bit of Potential Horror!

Hey everyone!
It's officially Easter here in the UK, so I dropped in to say that I hope everyone enjoys themselves and has a decent holiday.
The clocks have officially gone forward here, it's currently 3am and I'm tired from some long days at work, so I'm currently lounging in bed watching Criminal Minds.
Plans for Easter would be helping my dad make some chocolate rice krispie/cornflake cakes and enjoying a nice roast for dinner and trifle for dessert! Not that anyone cares but hey-ho!

Today I feel like we stumbled into a horror film earlier at work, as we were getting ready to leave and doing the final sweep of the shop to make sure it's all clean and ready for the two working on Bank Holiday Monday, and my co-worker stumbles across some random USB stick.
Now I've seen enough media in my time to know that there could be some juicy stuff on there!
Perhaps a secret link to a deep web red room ring.
Or perhaps co-ordinates leading to a location with Hostel like intentions and a location tracking device for those who look at it.
The USB stick would be left lying around for unsuspecting and curious people to pick up, stick into a computer and 'decipher', maybe a do-gooder would check it out to see if there was any information on there to contact the original owner or find an address to post the stick to. Thus luring in their next victim or victims who have to fight for their lives despite complete inexperience.
With the stick in what seemed to be it's original packaging I'm guessing they re-packed it to make sure that no-one would suspect anything, no need to worry about something that looks so innocent.
Or you know....it could just be a brand new USB that hadn't been unpacked and popped into a larger clear, plastic bag that got dropped by accident.
I'm sure I've just watched too many films, but I'd still watch another one like any of those!

Anyway!
Happy Easter everyone!

Update: We just made our cakes! Sadly we didn't have any Mini Eggs to put on the cakes, so instead we got large M&M's!

La..la..la... by Hell.R.

Why won’t it stop? I just want it all to stop.

A whimper left my throat as the sound continued to resonate around my head, it had been like this for hours. Constant yelling and screaming, thuds and crashes, the usual routine of sounds repeated over the course of two days before things would go silent for another week, their anger towards each other rebuilding over the week until one of them steps ever so slightly out of line.

It had to have been a record for them though, they usually began around early evening however tonight they’d made it until late night at about ten pm.

Usually I’d use music to try and cover the sound, my hands would cover my ears to distort the sound further as I danced around my room clumsily. I didn’t care what moves I made as long as I focused on the muffled music to take my mind off of things.

However tonight had been different.

I’d stood in the darkened hallway and watched their silhouettes in the light that rested on the floor from the open doorway of the living room, their movements threatening towards each other. Pacing back and forth, pointing as they spat violent insults and accusations at one another.

There was at least one respectable thing about them, despite me being an adult they tried to keep their arguments concealed from me and would stick to the boundaries of that single room to hold their disagreements, as if that room was sound proof to the rest of the world.

I never understood why they didn’t at least close the door, obstruct the doorway to keep the noise behind the wood. Instead they let the light from the room pool out into the hallway as their voices bounced along the bare walls.

Memories continued to flash violently in my head, I tried to stop it with all my might but it seemed impossible.

Lifting my gaze I looked towards the doorway from the corner of the hallway I sat in, I took in the sight of the bloody trail of footprints that had been left. The blood already congealing against the wooden floor, the sticky substance causing my feet to tack against the floor every time I moved my legs.

A limp, feminine hand now rested in the doorway where the footprints started. Blood dripped from the fingertips and created a pool underneath the palm of her hand.

I remember how she’d tried to block the open wound with that hand, trying to stem the flow of blood.

The look of surprise she’d given me as the knife sunk into her like it would through the softest butter flashed into my mind, her eyes shone with betrayal as she stared into my eyes, questioning why her own daughter had turned on her so violently.

Her mouth hung open unattractively, but the shouting still hadn’t stopped.

Her husband had tried to help her, running to help cover the wound with his own hand. He turned an evil glare towards me and began screaming abuse at me, making the shouting even louder. My eyes stared at him blankly until the pieces of the puzzle fit into place, realization hitting me hard.

It was him; he was the cause of my torment.

The knife had been plunged into his back, how many times I couldn’t remember but it was enough to make him slump over the woman’s body. His blood seeped out onto the floor and coated my feet. Once all movement had seized from the body I’d stepped over him to make my way back to my room, I hadn’t gotten far before a tight grasp caught onto my ankle, which I fiercely yanked away and proceeded further into the darkness without looking back to stare at the pleading face I knew was being pulled.

I had barely made it three steps away when the sound of shouting, crashing and stomping made its way into my ears again.

It hadn’t stopped, why hadn’t it stopped?

I found myself frozen to the spot until I could find the courage to turn towards the living room.

No movement met me as my eyes stared into the room where the two figures lay motionless, cuddling up to each other even in death.

The noises only seemed to grow louder despite the room being still.

I’d sat in the corner hoping that eventually the noise would fade away, my gaze glued to the hand in the doorway, just waiting for the slightest twitch of life.

The weapon lay next to my left foot, the blood coating the weapon was proof enough of what I’d done. Proof that the source of the noise was disposed of.

So why was the yelling still continuing?

I pulled my knees up to my chest and put my head on top of them, covering my ears tightly to block it all out, but it wouldn’t stop.

I’ve been sat like this for hours and silence has still evaded me.

I’ll just continue sitting here in the darkness, rocking side to side with my ears blocked until it all goes away.

Maybe I can block the persistent noise with my own voice.

“Lalala…”

Light 'Em Up by Hell.R.

The sound of their cries was like music to my ears.

The smell of bubbling flesh engulfed the room like the most delicious incense, exclusive to a particular ‘club’ of people.

It was currently only the two females on the bed who were creating such a spectacular sight, but that is only a temporary worry.

At first I hadn’t been sure if I’d doused them in enough gasoline, I should really scold myself for being so doubtful. The balance had to be just perfect, too little and it would be a rather lacklustre burning, too much however would burn too quickly.

I had managed to get it perfect this time around, it had only taken me four previous attempts. I’ll be sure to note this down when I get home.

A lick of flame caused me to step back to avoid being burned myself, I only wanted to watch, not be part of the show myself.

My gaze flicks to the male strapped to a chair beside the bed, tears ran down his cheeks as he struggled to release himself from the binds around his wrists and ankles.

The fire was slowly moving close to him and would soon draw him into its hug.

It had taken me weeks to find the perfect set of people for this spectacular view, I first had to learn everything about them.

I had followed them meticulously, stalking each for a week to get their daily routines, weird little habits and the ins and outs of their lives, even the dirty little secrets they don’t want anyone to find out about.

Such as affairs.

My eyes flickered to the blonde girl to my right, her eyes clenched tight as she screamed in pain, she wasn’t going to last much longer.

It had taken a lot of effort to kidnap that girl and keep her hidden until the opportune moment, neighbours can be surprisingly nosey when something is actually happening that you don’t want them to know, otherwise they’d just leave you to your mundane tasks whilst spying on you through cracks in their curtains.

My next victims were much easier to round up, they were a young couple and had recently moved in together, making my job all the more simpler.

Such a tragic beginning for the new couple, their first week in a new home and their lies have already been exposed, they clearly weren’t prepared for the cleanse.

The fire catches onto his leg and begins to char the fabric of his socks, perhaps teaching him for future references to not wear socks to bed.

His voice soon joins theirs in a chorus of pain and despair and I find myself once again in heaven.

As skin melts away from muscle and bone, the melody of their screams mixed with the fire alarm in the hall is like a symphony. One I wish I could stick around for to hear the encore, but as the distant sound of sirens become closer by the second, I know that the time has come for my portrait to be left for the spectators to find.

However, there is always time for one last bow.

Until the next show.

Broken by Hell.R.

I’m broken.

Don’t look too closely, you won’t be able to see it.

I can pass people in the street easily and they would think of me no differently than anyone else they have passed that day.

I’ve heard countless times how I look fine, how there doesn’t seem to be an issue.

My problems have been passed over because I don’t look like I’d have problems getting around by myself, eating, drinking or dressing.

I’ve had a medical professional tell me I was a typical young adult when I expressed that I would struggle to get out of bed, I was dismissed as being ‘lazy’ despite my underlying condition.

It’s in the human nature to judge on first appearance, I firmly believe anyone who claims they don’t is a liar. Everyone has at one point and denying it won’t make it any less true, you can feel ashamed for doing it and it doesn’t have to be a regular occurrence, but it happens to us all.

People have given me disapproving looks, or ones of dismissal, when I say in basic conversations that I can understand or at least sympathise with them a little. I’ve lost count of the amount of times people try to joke it off because of my age.

“But you’re so young,” is a common comment.

Usually I try to laugh it off and joke around about how I don’t feel it sometimes, but I always regret not correcting them. I sometimes wonder if they think I’m being pandering or condescending, perhaps I’ve even insulted some.

If I did explain would it even matter? Would they continue to believe I can’t understand because I don’t look like someone who could sympathise with the situation?

Perhaps I’m just making excuses.

Being broken isn’t always a physical break, you won’t always see my cracks but I can assure you they’re there. I’ve just mastered a way to hide my struggles; I keep to myself and don’t make it a point to constantly push my problem in people’s faces.

If it’s ever felt to anyone that I have then I apologise, it was never my intention.

I tire of having to reserve myself so much at times.

I wish I could keep up with other people.

I’ve come to learn to deal with the fact that I won’t.

But I live a good life and get the support I need when I need it.
I can smile and be perfectly fine whilst worrying that my cracks will get larger and no one will understand because I look fine.

I don’t want pity.

I just want people to understand that I’m broken.

And there’s nothing wrong with that

The Ragdoll by Hell.R.

I’m sat in pure darkness; the only source of light is coming from the space underneath the thick wooden door across from me, the smallest slither that barely shone onto the wooden floor.

My back is slumped against the wall as my hands lie lifelessly by my sides, I want to move them but I can’t, I am no longer in control of my own body.

My head is slumped against my right shoulder, I don’t have the strength to hold it up by sheer will power, I tried for so long but gave up a while ago.

My legs are sprawled out in front of me, the limbs covered by long striped socks that do nothing to keep my feet from getting cold.

My dark eyes remain fixed on the door, only half open, waiting for any sign of movement from the other side.

Time means nothing here, I can’t even estimate how long I’ve been in here, days and weeks mean nothing anymore, it has all just become one big blur. The only way to tell the passing of night to day is when the light under the door disappears; it took a while to even figure that out.

I hadn’t seen any of my friends for so long, when had I become so useless to them?

When I couldn’t move to my own accord?

When I lost all free will and could only sit in a room?

Lifeless like a ragdoll.

No one wants to be around someone who can’t keep up with them, who offers no fun and who can only listen and respond when their throat was strong enough to allow this person to speak for a few sentences, before withering away into nothing but a rasp and that all still depended on if their mouth would move to form actual words.

If my voice worked I would be calling out for help, it gets so lonely in here. The only source of entertainment is my imagination but even that runs thin after a while, eventually you simply revert back to your memories of how everything used to be.

The further into the memories you get the more you begin to imagine all the ‘what ifs’, how life could have been had you never become like this. The restrictions of your new life as a ragdoll hit you full force and you begin to miss things you never realised you cared about before, the things you took for granted for years.

I can hear voices on the other side of the door now, gradually getting louder.

Images flashed into my mind of the last visit I had, a group of people in white and blue scrubs had come in and prominently opened my chest up. Something had been removed as a man reassured me that everything would be alright, the whole world was so blurry that I barely remember what happened but I know these people in white visited me often.

A loud click resounds around the room, there’s nothing to cushion the sound as I’m the only thing in this room. There are no decorations, ornaments or any form of personality in the room, just white walls and a dark wood floor.

Light soon floods inside, it’s blinding at first until blurry shadowed figures take up space in the doorway. At first the sudden brightness is blinding and causes my eyes to ache, it’s only a matter of seconds before they adjust to the light and see all too familiar faces decorate the blankness of the shadows.

I feel the corners of my mouth try to twitch into a smile as I stare at my family, my parents and my brothers, each giving me a reassuring smile themselves. Tears visibly pricked at my mum’s eyes as they roamed over my form, slumped against the floor.

In a few large strides my dad and eldest brother had come to either side of me, eagerly pulling me up to stand. They lifted me by the arms and held me there, so my feet lightly touched the floor but I didn’t have to put any weight on my weak legs, for now standing by myself was impossible.

My mum walked over and briskly brushed off the collected dust and dirt with her hand, looking up at me every now and then with a look of relief.

“Don’t worry, everything will be okay,” she said softly, soothingly.

And I knew it would be, with the love and help of my family and friends, I knew that eventually I could become more than a worthless, lifeless ragdoll and could become a real girl again.

Ragdoll Disease

Keeping in tune with the ragdoll theme that started with my review of a book called The Ragdoll yesterday, I feel like posting my own short story of the same name.
Before I do that I will give it a little background in the shortest way I can, it's a rather long story with all the details.
So the short version is that when I was twelve I caught a chest infection that developed into pneumonia and this eventually brought out a recessive neuromuscular condition I was diagnosed with called Myasthenia Gravis.
This is essentially a condition that affects the muscles and weakens them, it's rare that it effects women under the age of forty but anyone can have it and not realise until something brings it out. Some people have a lesser case where it'll just affect their face, others have it more severe where it can affect their whole body.
Unfortunately I had the latter.
Anyway many Prednisolone and Pyridostigmine  doses (among many other medication trials, an operation and a shock test) later my MG went into remission, I was about fourteen or fifteen at the time and I'm doing much better with very few slip ups.
Now Myasthenia Gravis is also known as The Ragdoll disease due to how it affects the muscles, and I always had this penchant for drawing and writing, not meaning I was great at it or anything but I just enjoyed it.
Usually I focus more on horror, myths and legends from around the world (and...Supernatural fanfiction...) but I wanted to do something that was kind of fairytale like but still a general account of my experience, and thus I came up with an idea to write a short story and drew a small picture to go with it.
This eventually led to a longer version with no picture, and I will share both here.
The picture and original story will go on here and I'll make a new post with the new, updated story.

The original ragdoll picture created in 2011:

 

 

The original story (as I know my handwriting is not all that readable!) :

 



There once was a young girl who was loved by many.
Young and innocent, she didn't have a care in the world, but innocence blinded her to the act fate was about to bestow on her.
With a cruel spell the young girl was turned into a ragdoll, although now eternally youthful she had lost all strength and relied on others.
Slowly people began to leave her, finding no use for something that could barely move.
As people left her behind there was nothing she could do but to stay in the dark room they had pushed her into, sitting alone she waits in the dark for someone else to come and play with her once more.