Showing posts with label Ghosts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghosts. Show all posts

Saturday, December 18, 2021

"Starlight" by Hannah Lee Kidder

BOOK TITLE: Starlight

AUTHOR: Hannah Lee Kidder

YEAR: 2020

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Horror Short Stories

GRADE: B


Hannah Lee Kidder’s credentials as a writing coach are very well-earned as evidenced by this collection of shorts. From the beginning, you as the reader will be treated to descriptive writing that captures every aspect of the scene without bogging down the pace. In fact, the pace moves along quite nicely, like a smooth sleigh ride through the snow. The main characters are easy to root for due to their three-dimensional personalities and the development they go through in spite of the short word count of their respective stories. The subject matter is as dark as the horror genre suggests, but Kidder handles it in a sensitive enough way that it doesn’t come off as a nonstop trigger fest. If anybody is qualified for the job of bringing the audience a delightful read, it’s Hannah Lee Kidder.


Obviously, the longer stories of this collection are the ones that shine the most (which sounds like a Captain Obvious statement if I’ve ever heard one). My personal favorites are The Swamp Witch, Margrove, and Passing Ghosts. Longer stories mean that we get more time to see how awesome and fun these protagonists really are (another Captain Obvious statement). The witch in The Swamp Witch is easily the most colorful character in the book due to her crotchety personality meshing well with her good intentions. Margrove has a creative plot that involves trickery masquerading as magic and sorcery for unsuspecting marks. Passing Ghosts is just plain sweet since the ghost haunting the house is literally the only source of comfort that a little boy needs in an emotionally abusive home.


But just because I have favorites, doesn’t mean the book is without flaws. Flawed characters are always a joy to read about. Flawed stories? Not so much. There are shorter ones in this book that feel incomplete because of how abruptly they end and how confusing the context really is. Sliced is a shining example of this. Okay, so a dude has a bloody mouth and is stalking a girl on the street. Then what? Same thing with Contained: the protagonist watches a vent for a ragged man or a demon or whatever. Then what? There are a few stories in this book where you’ll be asking, “Then what?” a lot. I get that flash fiction isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. It certainly misses with me sometimes. But even then, I want to feel satisfied by the story’s conclusion and I don’t even know what the conclusion means.


The book’s flaws are incredibly minor, which is why I’m giving it a B and not anything lower. I firmly believe in my heart of hearts that the longer stories which have room to breathe overshadow the incomplete ones. This collection is very much worth your time, especially around Halloween season when all the ghoulish stories hit differently. The page count is less than a hundred, so you’ve literally got nothing to lose and everything to gain. You’ve got a master class in descriptive writing. You’ve got character development in such a short time span. You’ve got all these lessons you can learn from someone who is a certified writing coach. By all means, pick up a copy today and prepare to be entertained and educated at the same time! You won’t regret a thing!

Sunday, May 30, 2021

I Hate My Brain

CHORUS 1

I hate my brain, I hate my soul

I gave the ghosts too much control

I hate my heart, I hate my mind

Yet I carry on like everything’s fine


VERSE 1

The skies were blue, now they’re vomit green

The oceans were cool, now they’re boiling me

My pixies and gnomes turned to demon spiders

My love goddess has Bundy’s babe inside her


PRE-CHORUS 1

What happened to me?

Death pornography

Oh no!

The only cinema that I see


CHORUS 2

I hate my soul, I hate my brain

I fall asleep just to numb the pain

I hate my mind, I hate my heart

Too many beats will blow it apart


VERSE 2

My cats were soft, now their fur is barbed wire

My dogs loved life, now they’re graveyard tired

All of my favorite songs sound about the same

All of my heroes wallow in sewage and shame


PRE-CHORUS 2

What happened to me?

Warped psychology

Oh no!

Mourning loss of creativity


CHORUS 3

I hate my shell of my former self

All I love burns in schizophrenic hell

I hate the future, I hate the now

I broke my promise not to bow


BRIDGE

Don’t keep stringing me along

Don’t say nothing’s ever wrong

Don’t keep giving me false hope

Don’t make this torture slow


CHORUS 4

I hate my demons, the shit they say

Telling me to die and just fade away

I hate my monsters, they’re beautiful

Stockholm kisses and fucks are suitable


FINAL LINE

Don’t keep stringing me along

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Through It All

Even though the armor-donning orc Elijah Heartland was built like a brick wall, the Master Judge always knew how to make his body feel microscopic and his testicles feel like shards of glass. Towering over Elijah at eight and a half feet tall, the golden-armored and powder-wigged Master Judge held his oversized war hammer over the orc’s head as easily as a pool cue and gave him a shiver-worthy evaluation.

“I must say, Elijah,” boomed Master Judge in a god-like voice. “You’ve excelled tremendously during the physical tests to becoming a paladin. Then again, such barbaric violence is always to be expected from a member of your race. You have the strength of a thousand warriors, but not the intelligence or wisdom of them. Ever since these trials began, you’ve been nothing short of an embarrassment to yourself. Your hair-trigger temper and dagger tongue have gotten you into more trouble than you’re worth. I should consider failing you right now!”

Thunder and lightning punctuated the Master Judge’s recent words, which sent Elijah backpedaling on his ass. The gigantic knight continued, “But instead I’ve opted to give you one final test: to confront the scathing ghost of your past. If you successfully complete this test, you will become a paladin and your prison sentence will be expunged. If you don’t, you will rot in solitary confinement for the rest of your waste life. And to think, all of this hateful violence was over a woman. Heh…a woman. Pull yourself together, you imbecile, or this will be the last time you see the light of day!”

A final bolt of lightning crashed down upon the Master Judge and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Without his massive frame to cover Elijah’s field of view, the orc gazed upon the test that lied before him: a heavenly white marble staircase with black hooded ghosts lining either side of it. He wondered if he would become acrophobic at such great heights.

Whatever fear Elijah previously had from being emasculated by the Master Judge disappeared when he stood back up and spit on the ground. He drew his sword thinking he would need it by the time he got to the top. Perhaps he could cut down these hooded ghosts and flee the scene? No, too risky. It wasn’t worth being locked in solitary confinement until the day he died. With furrowed brows and clenched fangs, the orc took his sweet time in ascending the marble stairs.

To his surprise, the ghosts just stood there chanting religious hymns instead of just pounding on him. The Master Judge said it best when he iterated Elijah had the strength of a thousand warriors, but even that wouldn’t be worth banking on against these freaks. The flight of stairs seemed to go on forever, like Elijah had been walking on a conveyor belt. His muscled legs refused to give out, especially when a golden ray of light grew brighter as he neared the top.

What Elijah saw at the platform caused him to lick his lips with violent lust and sharpen his sword with the corner of the stairs: a woman in orange monk’s robes on her knees with shackles pinning her arms to the ground and a black hood over her head. No matter how intensely she struggled, she couldn’t free herself. “You’re making this too easy, Master Judge!” shouted Elijah when he approached the woman and ripped the bag off of her head.

The orc’s scaly green skin turned as white as the marble staircase when he saw who was under the hood. “No…no, this isn’t happening! Shiva?! Is that you?!”

Shiva Terkai was the name given to the purple-haired, porcelain-faced lady who peeked up at Elijah with begging sorrowful eyes. “Please, Elijah. Help me. Don’t leave me here to die.”

Elijah Heartland chuckled and scoffed, “Leave you here to die? The irony is killing me, babe. I wish I had the right to say that when you ran away with that goofy looking shit-weasel you call a human! You ripped my heart out that day, Shiva. I should really be thanking you, though, for making me open my eyes and see the world for the hellhole it is. You human women are all the fucking same!”

“It’s not my fault you turned out this way, Elijah!” belted Shiva. “There’s no rule that says you have to go on a rampage every time some girl breaks your heart! There are other women out there! I bet you would have found one and gotten married if you hadn’t ended up in prison!”

“You would have done the same thing if I found another hot sexy woman while we were dating! I don’t expect you to understand what a broken heart does to people, because you never had a fucking heart to begin with! You think infidelity is okay?! I’m an orc and even I get disgusted by that shit!” shouted Elijah.

“Don’t act like you’re the saint around here! If you hadn’t gone on that rampage when we broke up, you would have done it for some other stupid reason! Your skull is thicker than a fucking brick! You have the temper of a goddamn five year old! How do you expect me to live with someone like you?! Running off with that other man? It would have happened sooner or later, but it didn’t happen soon enough!” snapped Shiva as she wrestled in her shackles some more.

“Why you!” stormed Elijah as he raised his sword to the sky and caused Shiva to flinch. His muscles twitched and pulsated, his pores released a floodgate of sweat, and his fangs could have chewed through stone with how hard he chomped down. This was his chance to exact revenge upon the woman who “drove him nuts”. One slash and her head would roll down the stairs like a keg of whiskey. The seconds he spent frozen in this position seemed to go on forever.

“What are you waiting for, Elijah!” screamed a familiar godly voice. The orc turned his head and saw the Master Judge standing only a few stairs behind him with his arms folded and his steel booted foot tapping. “Go ahead and kill her already! Save us the time of actually having to rehabilitate you into a righteous human being! It’ll be fun watching you squirm and sizzle in solitary confinement!”

Elijah sweated and trembled some more before the Master Judge and his ghost minions removed their hoods. The orc’s eyebrows shot sky high and his eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon when he saw that underneath their hoods, they too were orcs. Scaly skin, wide noses, razor-sharp fangs, but a somehow milder stench than what Elijah was used to. The criminal gulped hard as he still had a decision to make involving the sword in his hands.

“I don’t have all fucking day, Elijah! Kill her already!” shouted the Master Judge. His orc friends chanted, “Kill her!” in succession like they were at a sports bar. The blade was raised, Shiva’s eyes grew damp, and Elijah’s muscles twitched even harder. And then, the blade came down like a bolt of lightning, a heavenly judgment for a “sinful” woman. Except the blade didn’t come down on her neck. He slashed one of the shackles in half and proceeded to slash the other, freeing her from bondage.

The two former lovers hugged it out and dampened each other’s shoulders with tears of joy. The Master Judge, on the other hand, had a face full of red hot lava and the trembling temper of a berserker. By drawing his thumb across his own throat, he signaled for his robed orc cohorts to charge up the stairs and finish the job themselves.

Elijah and Shiva got into their fighting stances and cut the ghostly orcs off at the top of the stairs. Elijah swung his blade at his opponents with rapid precision and a barbarian’s might, severing arms, legs, and heads while turning their bodies into blood bombs. One of the orcs threw a hatchet into Elijah’s arm and caused him to roar in pain. The fiery agony surged through his body for only a few seconds as he ripped it out, licked up the blood like a kissing lover, and slashed that minion’s throat with the same hatchet.

Shiva was a martial artist by nature and threw lightning quick punches and kicks at her opponents, shattering ribs and splitting skulls. Bodies rolled down the stairs and shattered even more bones on the sharp corners.  One of the minions managed to catch her in a bear hug, but she stamped the heel of her foot down on his toes and crunched them all to force his release. She delivered the final blow in the form of a back elbow to the jaw before throwing him across a group of orcs and watching them tumble down the stairs.

Body parts, shattered bones, and squishy organs decorated these once beautiful marble stairs until one orc minion remained. Elijah and Shiva nodded at each other before they both ganged up on him with a stab to the gut and a flying knee to the chest. The final minion sloshed onto the stairs like a puddle of violent pudding. “Enough!” shouted the Master Judge as he held out his hand and collected the spiritual essences of each ghost warrior under his command. Glowing white energy took the place of blood and body parts as it gathered into a silver orb in his hand until the stairs reverted back to their old beauty.

“I told you what was going to happen, Elijah, and by gods be damned, you’re going to get it!” belted the Master Judge as he held out his gigantic war hammer. Elijah and Shiva both stood back in their defensive positions expecting the Master Judge to smash them into bloody morsels. The two even held hands while Shiva whispered, “I’m sorry” and Elijah whispered back, “Me too.” The war hammer was raised high in the sky and brought down in a thunderous fury.

“Congratulations! You’ve passed the final test. I dub thee Sir Elijah Heartland,” said the Master Judge in a gentle voice as he knighted his criminal apprentice with the war hammer. Elijah and Shiva gazed up at their overlord in confusion rather than feeling instant elation. The Master Judge explained, “The paladin trials are just as much of an emotional challenge as they are physical. By sparing Shiva Terkai’s life, you’ve shown her forgiveness. Being able to forgive your enemies is a stronger feat than anything you can do with that blade of yours. The only time you needed that blade was to defend an innocent victim, which you’ve done a marvelous job of. This is what being a paladin is all about: knowing when to strike and when to forgive. Even under my harshest words, you’ve demonstrated that wisdom to a fault. You’re free to go, my friend. May you always walk in the light.”

A lightning bolt crashed down upon the Master Judge and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving Elijah and Shiva to stare at each other in awe and wonder. Shiva tried to hold her former lover’s hands, but he pushed them away and said, “We can never have what we used to have. What’s in the past should stay in the past. But if you want, I can walk you home just this one time. After that, we both go our separate ways. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” whispered Shiva while she hung her head. “But if you don’t mind…would it be okay if we…held hands while we walked home? I swear we’ll both go our separate ways, but just this once?”


Elijah sighed, “Sure, why not? Come on, let’s leave this place.” Sure enough the two of them locked their fingers together and descended the marble stairs slowly and carefully. They picked up their pace once the gray clouds gathered overhead and sprinkled some much needed cold rain on their sore skins.

Monday, August 15, 2016

Ghostbusters

MOVIE TITLE: Ghostbusters
DIRECTOR: Paul Feig
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Supernatural Comedy
RATING: PG-13 for language and violence
GRADE: Pass

Dr. Erin Gilbert is a university professor who used to tinker with supernatural experiments as a child, but no longer believes in ghosts as an adult. When she investigates a haunted house disturbance alongside her childhood friend Abby Yates and her partner Jillian Holtzmann, Erin’s fascination with the paranormal is rekindled once more. The team adds subway clerk Patty Tolan and goofy assistant Kevin Beckman to their camp and they become The Ghostbusters. Despite public backlash and skepticism, the Ghostbusters continue to track down ghosts and demons in the streets of New York City using energy weapons and containment shells.

The elephant in the room with this movie is the all-female protagonist cast, which has generated an unfair amount of criticism from misogynists and fans of the original Ghostbusters movies from the 80’s. The last time I heard that much whining, I was babysitting puppies. What’s so bad about having strong female characters? Why must all badass women run around in bikinis and have fast romances with hunky men? The Ghostbusters don’t fit any female stereotype and they’re not sexualized in any way. They’re just everyday women that you would see on the street…except for the fact that they shoot nuclear lasers at ghosts and laugh in their doubters’ faces throughout the movie. In the end, if they can save New York City from being overrun by monsters and demons, they’ve got my support no matter what. Keep up the good work, ladies!

In addition to having strong female characters that destroy obstacles and defy gender roles in convincing fashion, you’ve also got a main villain who many people can identify with despite his evilness. His name is Rowan North and he’s the one who’s been unleashing a horde of monsters on everyone in sight. He is so awkward and weird that nobody wants to even be within ten feet of him. If you’ve ever been labeled as a weirdo during your younger years, you know how much pain this man is in. Hell, there are times when my own awkwardness gets in the way of personal progress. While Rowan’s anger toward a cruel and unfeeling world is understandable, never forget that he is a villain and his weapon of choice could destroy an entire city, maybe even the whole world. Would it kill anybody to give this guy a hug? Hell, even Erin Gilbert and Abby Yates could identify with Rowan!

Now that I think about it, there aren’t very many characters in this movie that are dislikable. The monsters are brutal and violent, the humans are quirky and humorous in their own way, and there are even actors from the 80’s Ghostbusters movies that reappear, although as completely different characters. The minute Bill Murray’s face popped up on the screen, the entire movie theater erupted with laughter. When even more actors like Sigourney Weaver and Dan Akroyd appeared in the movie, there was laughter and cheering mixed into one sweet package. This blending of old school and new will create a lot of cheerful and hilarious moments, crude insults and dark jokes included.


With this kooky cast of characters all in one movie, you’d be hard pressed to find a single sorrowful moment in the whole film. Since when did positivity and fun-filled entertainment become things to scoff at? Is all of this harsh criticism really about the main cast consisting mostly of women? Do you really need a sandwich that badly? Then for god’s sake, go to Subway and shell out five dollars for a foot-long! Heaven forbid that women find their own source of strength and shatter the glass ceiling into snowflakes. Ghostbusters has earned a passing grade from me not just for the fast-paced action or the silly jokes, but also for being a model for progressive change. Nothing stays the same forever, not even hate.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

"Swamplandia!" by Karen Russell

BOOK TITLE: Swamplandia!
AUTHOR: Karen Russell
YEAR: 2011
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Magic Realism
GRADE: Mixed

In the Everglades-based theme park Swamplandia, Hilola Bigtree wrestles alligators for a live crowd of stereotypical tourists. The entertaining action is enough to keep the Bigtree clan financially stable. And then one tragedy after another strikes the family. Hilola gets cancer and passes away. Hilola’s husband, simply known as Chief Bigtree, ventures out to the mainland for a “business trip” (which feels more like crazy abandonment). Grandpa Sawtooth becomes senile and is confined to a nursing home. The eldest son Kiwi tries to earn the minimum wage at a rival theme park called World of Darkness. The middle child Oscela becomes obsessed with dark magic and runs off with a ghost to marry him. And now it’s up to Ava Bigtree, Hilola’s daughter and understudy, to bring them all back together and save Swamplandia from becoming foreclosed on.

If I could use one word to describe the mood of this novel, it’s heartbreaking. One moment of depression snowballs into several other tearjerking moments. Losing a mother is bad enough. But then the financial burdens stemming from her loss become all too real for any reader. We’re currently living in an economy where homes are being taken away, people are becoming broke from healthcare costs, and the only people who are hiring the new blood are minimum wage employers. Sometimes, working to exhaustion isn’t the answer no matter how many times the Republican Party says it is. In fact, exhaustion is what makes this novel so depressing, because we see the aftermath of trying to scrape together enough money and stay alive. It’s stressful to think about and I wouldn’t wish this kind of poverty on my worst enemies. In terms of putting together a realistic picture of economic worries, Swamplandia does that job perfectly.

I know the World of Darkness theme park is supposed to be a horrible place to work judging from how poorly Kiwi Bigtree is treated by everyone there. It is, after all, a hell-themed amusement park. The swimming pools are dyed red (to resemble fire), the merchandise has devil horns on it, the food is fattening (because gluttony is a sin), and all of the rides are basically comparable to being swallowed by a ferocious, fiery demon. While I condemn the working conditions of the World of Darkness, I praise Karen Russell for inventing such a place in her novel. I am a dark fantasy nerd and the diabolic themes of this place make me think of barreling through Diablo II: Lord of Destruction dungeons with a dual-wielding barbarian. But I know why Karen Russell had this theme park in her story: because she wanted to parody Disneyworld and hold a mirror up to their horrible working conditions. It tickles my dark fantasy urges and depresses me at the same time.

However, there is one thing that irks me about this novel and it’s the reason I’m giving it a three-star review instead of a four or five-star one. The pacing of Swamplandia feels like I’m dragging my eyes across sandpaper just to make it to the next chapter. In other words, it’s slow and it’s tiring. I don’t know if I should owe the exhausting pace to the purple prose writing style, the obscure references, the over-thinking and overanalyzing, or the constant dips into the past. I can’t quite pinpoint what makes this book such a slow read, but if Karen Russell wanted me to feel just as exhausted as the main characters after they work their fingers to the bone to protect their theme park, then mission accomplished. It may have been by design, but that doesn’t mean it’s an effective technique.


If you want to read a story about Murphy’s Law on steroids and have the patience of a saint, I would gladly recommend Swamplandia to you. A warning to the wise: if you manage to make it towards the middle and you haven’t figured out if this is a fantasy or modern day drama book, I don’t blame you. The only reason why I know it’s labeled “Magic Realism” is because I looked it up on Wikipedia. Maybe the genre confusion is all part of the suspense. That would have been a great tactic if the suspense wasn’t reserved for the near-end of the book. A mixed grade goes to Karen Russell’s debut novel. Will I ever pick up another Karen Russell book again? I haven’t decided yet.

Friday, August 28, 2015

Flipped Off

A massive red pickup truck pulled in slowly in front of the rickety three-tier house on top of Claymore Hill. On the outside the house looked like it was used every Halloween to scare the shit out of little kids. Cobwebs, broken windows, loose doors, shoddy construction, basically this place looked like a nightmare to live in.

When Ivan Savage and his heavyset buddy Mickey Ryder got out of the truck dressed in blue jeans, stained white T-shirts, and black combat boots, that could have only meant one thing: it was time to go to work on this puppy.

Ivan ran his gloved hand through his messy brown hair and said, “This feels wrong. This feels very wrong.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mickey.

“What do you think I mean? Didn’t you hear on the news who this house used to belong to? Angelo Crockett. Not just any Angelo Crockett, but the same guy who used this house for a goddamn rape dungeon. He kept anywhere between twenty and thirty underage girls here. If I start talking about what he did to them, I’m going to vomit. We should just get back in the truck and get out of here.”

Mickey made a flat tire noise and said, “Dude, what did you expect? You bought this house sight unseen at a flea market. A flea market, for shit’s sake. Hell, there are probably a bunch of fleas living in there right now. But you know what? This is the kind of work we get paid to do. As flip men, we have certain obligations and though they may seem cruel and unusual, they do include flipping houses and getting them ready to be sold at a high price.”

“Hey, I have no illusions about what I do for a living. It’s just that this is the most disgusting assignment I’ve ever had to do.”

“You think I feel any better about it, Ivan? You think I condone what that bastard did to those kids? That’s why we owe it to those young girls to clean this place up. Trust me, buddy, by the time we’re finished, Angelo Crockett’s name will be long forgotten about. Let’s get inside and see what we’ve got to work with.”

Mickey waddled his fat ass up the stairs and into the house while Ivan shook his head and reluctantly trailed him inside. The outside and the urban legend surrounding this house was vomit-inducing enough. But the inside was a disaster. The floors were covered with blood, puke, and feces. The walls were covered in even more sickening bodily fluids. The kitchen was so caked in urine and dirt that eating anything from there would be certain death. The bathroom reeked so badly that stepping one foot could mean a gut-busting assault on the nose. The basement? Well, that was easily the most sickening part of the house since it was everything the above two tiers was multiplied by ten.

Despite the horrific condition of this lonely house, the stench of it all was something Ivan and Mickey were both used to. They were flip men after all and remodeled houses as bad as this all the time. In fact, Mickey was already on the attack when it came to his plans to fix this house up.

“Alright, so here’s what I’m thinking. The carpets and the linoleum both have to be ripped up from the ground. There’s no saving them. In their place will be wooden floors. We’ll have wooden floors all around the upper two tiers and even the staircase will be like that too. We’re also going to use wood paneling for the walls, which are going to be painted afterwards, probably in the neighborhood of greenish blue. The bathroom will be a different story; it’s going to have square tiles both on the floor and on the walls. The appliances will all have to go from the sinks to the oven to the refrigerator to the toilets to the tubs. We’re going to buy brand new appliances and put them in their respective places. The cupboards are also going to have to be replaced with new wood. And finally, those light fixtures above us are going to have to be replaced with ceiling fans. You think we can do all of this, Ivan?”

Ivan gave his friend an “Are you kidding me?” look and said, “That’s all fine and good, but did you forget that this place used to be a goddamn rape dungeon for small children?!”

If either flip man needed a reminder of that, all they had to do was look on the kitchen floor next to the burned out stove. Ivan knelt down and picked up what appeared to be a porn magazine. He dusted off the cover and gagged when he saw what the book was titled: “Sexy Teenagers Weekly”.

“I’m going to be sick! I’m going to be sick! I’m going to be sick!” Ivan kept saying to himself as he dropped the magazine, ran out the front door, and retched all over the lawn. He shook hard as he tasted his McDonald’s breakfast sandwich from earlier that day. His decade-long experience of being a flip man didn’t prepare him for this.

“I’m going to go ahead and survey the basement. You can feel free to join me once you’re done throwing up,” yelled Mickey from the inside. Ivan was huffing and puffing while struggling to make it to his feet. As soon as he wiped the vomit from his mouth, he heard his construction buddy let out a blood-curdling scream followed by the sounds of fire and shredding.

Ivan slowly turned his head around and said, “Oh dear lord, no…Mickey!” He bolted inside and visited all of the rooms in the house in search of his friend. No sign of him. The one place he hadn’t looked was the basement aka Satan’s port-a-potty. Ivan swallowed a glob of barf-flavored saliva and shakily ventured down the stairs into the dark basement.

He struggled to find a light switch, but eventually found one at the bottom of the world’s longest stairs. He flipped it on and saw the ashen and shredded remains of what was once his best friend Mickey Ryder. “What the fuck?!” yelled Ivan as he rushed to the middle of the dingy basement to check on his friend. Once on his knees, tears formed in Ivan Savage’s eyes.

His sadness would be blended with fear when he heard the whispers of small children all around him. There they were: the ones responsible for the soul-stealing death of Mickey Ryder. They were the ashen souls of the thirty raped girls, who were forming a large circle around Ivan by holding hands and dancing around him.

“Please!” begged Ivan. “Please let me out of here! I never wanted to be here in the first place! I don’t even want to be a flip man anymore!”

In demonic, unified voices, the ghosts of the girls said, “Your friend had to pay the price! He wanted to use our deaths as a way to make money! He wanted to exploit us just like Master Angelo did!”

Disturbed by the fact that these girls just called their rapist “Master Angelo”, more tears formed in Ivan’s eyes when he said, “Listen…that man will never hurt you or anyone else again. He’s behind bars and he’ll never get out. He’s probably being stabbed to death in the showers right now.”

The ghosts said, “As well he should be! But that doesn’t solve the problem of you, my friend. You came here for the same reason as that giant sack of protoplasm over there. You wanted to exploit us for some easy cash! We’re not going to let you nor anyone else get away with that!”

“Please! You have to believe me! I wanted no part of this! I’ll do whatever you girls want! Anything you want!”

“…Anything?”

“Anything you want! Name it and it’s yours!”

The ghosts stroked their chins in mock contemplation before dancing around in a circle again and closing in on Ivan, who was curled in a little ball waiting to be murdered. But then the girls picked him up off the ground and made their conditions known. “You want to live, money man? Then you set us free right now. You will not flip this house. You will instead burn it to the ground. No one shall make money off of us again! Nobody! Do you understand?!”

“I…I…I…” Ivan swallowed hard. “I have a gas can and some matches in my truck. As soon as you girls let me go, I’m burning this place to the ground. Just like we promised.”

The next time the girls danced, it was in a celebratory ballet style. They hugged each other and spun around in happiness while Ivan ran past them, up the stairs, and out to his truck to do what he promised.

He scrambled in the back of the pickup truck for that gasoline. He panicked when he almost didn’t find it, but there it was buried underneath the lumber. The matches he got from the glove box. Ivan took a few deep breaths and steadied his nerves before slowly approaching this former rape dungeon to do what he wanted to do all along. He splashed some gasoline on the walls, lit a match, and watched the fire consume the entire house.

Before the fire could get too out of hand, Ivan hopped in the truck and drove away in a hurry, easily doing 80 miles per hour. Sooner or later, someone would call the fire department and the rape dungeon would be nothing more than cooling ashes. Knowing it was all over gave Ivan a sense of relief, therefore he slowed down his driving speed and breathed a sigh of relief. All he needed to do at that point was come up with a little white lie to tell his superiors when they ask him about what happened to both the house and Mickey Ryder.