Hades Emergency Meeting

July 29, 2019 at 10:52 pm (Aesthetics, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

Hades Emergency Meeting

“Ugly looking female teen stoat/ human hybrids grow up to be ugly looking adult female stoat/human hybrids,” Pan Goatee remarked as he beheaded the ugly looking female stoat/human hybrid as she was riding a bicycle down the street.

Meanwhile down in the Underworld, the Greek god Hades (who was known as Pluto to the ancient Romans) was holding an emergency meeting with his advisors on the huge number of repulsive looking spirits that were showing up daily from Calgary to cross the River Styx over to the Underworld.

Said a phlegmatic Phlegyas (who was extra phlegmatic this morning because he had eaten a full English breakfast as opposed to his usual continental breakfast), “We’re having to have orangutans wearing special darkened glass visors (whereby they see the shades of the dead as mere shades) hand out paper bags at the ferry docks for Charon’s boat to any Caucasian female soul arriving from Calgary on the high probability that they’re quite repulsively ugly. They are instructed to put the paper bags over their heads for the crossing across the river Styx. This is to prevent the occurrence of unstoppable vomiting on the part of both Charon the ferryman and Cerberus the 3-headed dog (all of whose 3 heads immediately start vomiting simultaneously) upon seeing the said hideous spirits.”

“Hopefully this will put an end to the problem,” said Hades.

“Until Pan Goatee manages to find the sinister Nazi criminal network responsible for breeding a certain type of brainless male with female walruses, stoats and gargoyles that’s producing these hideous looking hybrids by the thousands in that poor city,” Phlegyas coughed up more phlegm.

Meanwhile on the Caribbean Island of Little Saint James (owned by Jeffrey Epstein), the Caribbean Sea kraken Uhluhtc (666 meters tall) was strolling across the island accompanied by a Haitian voodoo high priest Samedi.

Uhluhtc stood on one spot and grunted.

Samedi waved to one of the island employees who no doubt lived on the nearby island of Saint Thomas.

Samedi spoke to the island employee, “The Great Kraken says that while he lived in the depths of the Caribbean, he had a vision of a great Temple that stood on this spot. The Temple was guarded by two small statues of owl wearing goddesses. He wonders what happened to this Temple.”

“It was torn down a while ago,” the employee answered.

Uhluhtc once again grunted.

“What did he say?” The employee inquired.

“He said merde,” Samedi answered.

Meanwhile in New York City, Peter Whitstable the man they called the Fox Mulder of Interpol was sitting in his hotel room where he was receiving information about much bizarre occurrences occurring across the world the past few days.

The Celtic stag god Cernunnos had been spotted on a Florida golf course this past weekend drinking a bottle of Dalmore Port Wood Reserve single malt whisky and slaying a bunch of country club Republicans on the golf course with his bow and arrow.

Meanwhile in Vienna, the infernal Underworld centaur Acheronus had been seen killing diplomats with his bow and arrow at various hotels across the city.

In Canada, reports of the ghost of Albert Johnson (the man they called The Mad Trapper of Rat River) had been seen at various locales in Canada.

Johnson (who had killed 3 people) had eluded the Royal Canadian Mounted Police for more than a month in a massive manhunt that stretched across the Northwest Territories and the Yukon Territory in northern Canada.

Johnson was killed on the Eagle River in Yukon on February 17th 1932.

Johnson’s ghost had been spotted in northern British Columbia, northern Saskatchewan and northern Manitoba.

After talking with a psychic friend of his, Whitstable was told that Johnson’s ghost was headed for the town of Lucan Biddulph in southwestern Ontario.

Whitstable was also told by the psychic that the Egyptian god Thoth was currently in the town.

“What the Hell,” Whitstable wondered, “is Thoth doing in Lucan, Ontario?”.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday July 29th
2019.

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Just Another Day and Night In The Wild West?

July 3, 2011 at 1:44 pm (Horror, Short stories, Short Story, The Supernatural) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

Sheriff Cecil Cartwell proudly looked over the graves of the Boot Hill Cemetery.

The Boot Hill Cemetery wasn’t where they planted regular folk like the townspeople might say.

Regular folk were planted in the town cemetery.

No, Boot Hill was reserved for outlaw gunslingers, ne’er do wells, the tough guy bandits of the Wild West.

And Sheriff Cecil Cartwell had shot and killed them all.

All 32 of them.

That now lay dead and buried in the cemetery.

At Boot Hill.

Given the boot by Sheriff Cecil Cartwell.

Sheriff Cartwell got on top of his Pinto horse Kiss My Grass and rode on back into town.

He stopped off at The Wild Horse Saloon and had himself a whisky.

Then he went back to the sheriff’s office and slept the rest of the day.

At 6 P.M. he went to Kate’s Dining Hall and had something to eat.

When he left Kate’s Dining Hall at 7 P.M. a stage coach rode into town.

A well-dressed black man got out of the coach.

Sheriff Cartwell wondered if he was one of the freed slaves from the Civil War that had been over some 11 years now and was coming to make his home in the American West.

But Sheriff Cartwell heard the man speaking perfect French.

He reckoned not many of the slaves in the American South could speak perfect French.

Sheriff Cartwell walked on down the street.

A defiant looking 16-year-old blonde girl in a long blue dress blocked the street in front of him.

“One of these nights, you’re going to get yours for shooting my pa dead,” the girl spat at him.

It was Daisy Durkins- the daughter of Dukehart Durkins one of the West’s most notorious outlaws- and one of the 32 who now lay dead and buried in Boot Hill Cemetery- shot and killed by yours truly- Sheriff Cecil Cartwell.

Sheriff Cartwell grabbed the bratty blonde, threw her across his knee and spanked her. Fifty good whacks across her backside with his firm powerful hands.

He left her in the dusty street and continued home.

At midnight, the deputy came pounding on his door.

“Sheriff Cartwell, Sheriff Cartwell,” the deputy screamed, “there’s some sort of trouble going on up at Boot Hill Cemetery”.

Sheriff Cartwell ran to the town livery stable, got on top of his horse Kiss My Grass and rode off in the direction of Boot Hill.

He noticed a group of people standing around.

“Disperse in the name of the law,” Sheriff Cartwell commanded.

The people turned.

They were all men.

Dead men.

Corpses.

With vacant eyes and soulless expressions, the corpses raised their arms and headed in Cartwell’s direction.

Watching the spectacle was the well-dressed black man who spoke perfect French.

Standing alongside him was the beautiful blue eyed blonde haired Daisy Durkins in her pretty turquoise blue dress still rubbing her sore and well-spanked bottom from the spanking she had received at Sheriff Cartwell’s hands earlier this evening.

The corpses pulled Sheriff Cartwell off his horse Kiss My Grass and then tore him to pieces eating what was left of him.

All that was left of Sheriff Cartwell was a single ear.

Daisy Durkins picked up the ear and buried it in a grave.

Grave #33 of Boot Hill.

The black man who spoke perfect French handed her his card and addressed her in perfect English, “Should you need me again, my lady.”

The card read, BARON SAMEDI Voodoo Practitioner, Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

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