STORIES FROM THE BESSED CELLAR
KEVIN STINGS' TRIP THROUGH THE DARKSIDE OF HIS MIND
MY...STORIES... PUBLISHED...ON...THIS...WEBSITE
STORY LIST
The Psychiatrist
The Witchs' Broom
A Hole In The Web (Published)
The Angel
Dr X (Published)
The Reflection Of Death
The Kollector
The Barber
Around The Bend
Echos' of the Damned
The Bessed Cellar
And more being written...many more......
***********************
NOTE:
An Introduction to Kevin Sting: The Author.
Greetings,
First of all I think I should give you an insight into a man who thinks that he is me! I think I have some explaining to do, as far as Kevin Sting is concerned. Before I get into that, let me give you a quick glimpse of how his mind works:
Kevin is quite nieve in some ways. He is a man who thinks that someone hangs the moon out there in the sky every night just so that he can stare at it. Sometimes it drives him a little crazy. This would certainly point to the fact that he is just a little bit light in the sneakers anyway.
To C ontinue:
I thought that it might be a good idea to warn you about him, because in my estimation he has only 'one oar in the water at any given moment, and has no idea that that might be a problem. (Think about that.)
Kevin Sting quit going to 'group therapy' when he decided that the others appearing there were out to get him, and that the Psychoanalyst was the ring leader. Having decided that, he never went back, but I'm sure he probably won't be missed.
EXCUSE ME! I REALLY HAVE TO DEFEND MYSELF!"
"Please ignore everything above 'this line' except the List of my stories. That man is just trying to make me look bad! Telling lies about me is just plain wrong! And discussing my mental health is a second strike against him. He is well aware that we 'both' went to the same group therapy sessions, though he will never admit it. And as for those people being out to get me? They were!"
TO CONTINUE (Without Kevin)
Not too long after that happened, he and I met accidently when we were both housed in a small cell in a large city. I was in there for knocking two cars parked at a red light, all the way through that red light, in a blinding, rain storm. He was in there because he tried to pay a taxi driver in Cuba with a bunch of wooden nickels that he had ripped off from a Game in a small store in that country.
On that account, Cuba felt it was time to deport him back to the U.S.A. The state of Florida accepted him back and promptly jailed him for trying to impersonate Jesus Christ. I was released the following monday morning. I have no idea when they finally let him loose, or if he may have just escaped. The truth about that circumstance is still unknown to this day.
It's long story after that, but I finally learned that he was a writer. I offered him a deal, and he accepted it. He writes, and I do my best to get his material out there before the general public. The explanation of that is as follows.
A few months later we met again at a corner grocery store. He said that he had his own apartment now and was sharing it with some friends. Once a month I picked up his manuscripts. He left them outside his apartment door with a note that indicated that this was the best way to handle it as I would not like the friends he was living with. He Eventually dissapeared again.
later he wrote me a letter and told me where I could find him. He had somehow obtained the use of a cellar under a very nice looking bungalow about five miles out from a small town in the country-side.
I don't know why anyone would allow him to stay there, but it suits him just fine. I've been picking up his scribblings and dribblings as he finishes them, ever since. I never stay long. His coffee is terrible, and his friends much too scary.
But, on the other hand kevin Sting is, and still remains a part of my life, although we are two very different people. I live here in front of my Computer, where it's safe, warm, and comfortable, whereas Kevin spends most of his time down there in the Bessed Cellar.
He claims that Samuel Bessed and his family own the house, and use it as a get-away summer home, and he has been hired as a caretaker and watchman for the property. The cellar is semi-dark, damp, and forboding. The walls and floor are as you would imagine, just plain old dirt. It's more like a Cave than a Cellar under a house, but he doesn't seem to notice any problems.
Another thing I'd like to mention is that Kevin has never been known to play well with others, and it shows, believe me. If the truth be known, his thirteen snakes probably do not like him much either. I think they only pretend to, in order to get fed. Kevin is not playing with a full deck, and I'm sure that his elevator does not go to the top floor, but that shouldn't surprise anyone that has known kevin for any length of time.
Personally, I can't stand him, but I can't do without him either, because he does all my writing for me. I can write too, but he does a much better job at those subjects that come only from a mind that can hear the sound of 'one hand clapping.'
Speaking of minds, (and maybe we should) we all have one camera that allows us to see the real world, and that is our two precious eyes; but Kevin Sting has 'two cameras' going, and almost all the time. One is inside his brain, and the other one is his eyes for the outside world. But it seems that there are times when he doesn't know the difference between which one is real, and which is imaginary. Thats the reason he writes as he does. You will find that there are some paragraphs within his stories that make perfect sense, but then as you read farther on, his brain leaves the road and heads for the ditch. (You'll see the difference.)
As for Kevin Stings' personal life? He is what might be thought of as a loner. I guess that if the only way you see the world is through a cellar window, you live in a dirt room, and your only best friends are snakes, you're probably a loner.
But as I always say, "To each his own."
I'm only writing this to give credit where it's due. He does deserve at least that much. He tells me that he writes from what he calls the 'darkside of his mind.' You couldn't prove that by me, because I think that it's all very dark in there.
Personally I think he is certifiably off the wall, but I don't hold that against him, because no one is perfect. Some of the worlds' best stories come from those who are not quite in touch with reality. If that is the case, then Kevin ranks right up there at the top of the heap.
A full moon is one of his favorite things, but it drives him nuts sometimes. I don't think you want to hear about that part, or that he some-times sees blood on the moon. As I said, you don't want to dig into Kevins' thoughts; not if you want to keep your own sanity.
I've probably told you much more than I should have about Kevin; still, you will get to know him and his mind alot better when you finally get to read the stories he writes. (Maybe that will not be such a great idea either) but only you can be the judge of that. Those stories will be coming soon my friends, everything will be coming soon. Maybe too soon!
There are actually twenty-five short stories, but Kevin insists that there are twenty-four, (he never agrees with me.) One or the other of the two of us, needs to learn to count without taking off our shoes when we run out of fingers.
As for the Website I am building, it is already on the interanet and google has it listed also. I'm adding to it every day on all my pages. Okay, I'll stop here!
The List again: (These are all finished) (Two are on the website)
But there are many more being worked on...
The Psychiatrist
The Witchs' Broom
A Hole In The Web
The Angel
Dr X
The Reflection Of Death
The Kollector
The Barber
Around The Bend
The Bessed Cellar?
END
**********************
"
"I tried to be a good guy, and never missed a therapy session, but when the Doc asked me to meet him for a private session, then indicated that I might have a split personalty, I knew he was out to get me. I walked out on him and cancelled all future appointments."
"Again, I want to repeat that the above Blog by this ego-maniac is pure trash. I am him, and denying it will not release him from my mind, or my thoughts. He has always hated me for my writing talents, (though he hopes to get rich from them) and tries to make me look bad at every turn. But I refuse to be intimidated and will keep fighting back. I thought that I needed to defend myself, and so have added my two cents here. Oh, excuse me again! There's someone at the cellar door."
"Hello there! Please come in! My name is Kevin Sting. Please be careful coming down the steps, sometimes they are occupied, and at other times they are just plain slippery. I do hope you read the sign outside that cautions that you enter at your own risk."
"The reason for that is I have twelve snakes running around here and you never know where they're going to be lying. Actually they are the only company I have. I have never been a people person, and the person who wrote that Blog above is right in that sense; I do not play well with others. Snakes make better companions anyway, and don't ask for much and they don't expect much."
"I grow white mice to feed them and thats all they seem to demand in day to day care. Nothing difficult if you think about it. But people? Now that's another story altogether."
"Except for you my friend, no one has ever dared to visit me here before except a man who picks up my stories as I finish them. Please sit, and make yourself comfortable. I have coffee on the hot plate, and if you'd like we can have that while we talk. Allow me to pour us a cup. I drink mine black. Oh! You the same?"
"I'm not sure why you came, unless you are an investigative reporter, looking for a human Interest story. I will gladly explain how I came to be here, then you must tell me how you found me."
"First of all, this is the Bessed Cellar. Samuel Bessed and his family use this house as a summer home. They spend a month here each year to leave the big city life of Chicago behind and to enjoy the natural wonders here in the country."
"I was offered the job as caretaker after my little shack burned to the ground one day when I was out hunting. I guess that extra chunk of wood I shoved in the stove just before I left was the culprit. That old woodstove could really get hot sometimes. Well, enough of that."
"The Bessed Family were staying here at the time and could see the smoke and flames in the distance. As I walked by on my way back home, they told me what they had seen, and offered me this job and a place to stay. I've been here ever since."
"How I ever got this far out is another story. I guess you could call it running away from home in a way. New York city people do not go for snakes in their apartment houses. One snake may have been alright, but when they found out that I owned thirteen, they got real nervious and asked me to leave, which I did."
"I checked the newspapers for a small house in the country, but could only come up with an old hunting cabin. Actually it wasn't bad, small, but easy to heat in the winter time; not a bad place to live. My friends liked it too, but now it's gone and were all here. Took me three days to round them up after the fire. Somehow they found a way out, which I was very happy about."
"The only one that worried me the most was the black Mamba, which is rather poisoness. In fact it is said to be the most poisoness snake on the African continent. I hear that it could probably take down an elephant. But I got him too, he's right over there in that glass cage. I call him number thirteen, because I feel he could be unlucky to anyone who would dare touch him. The other twelve are less poisoness and if you look down you will find most of them lying near, or across your shoes. I wouldn't make any sudden moves, you might make them nervious."
"Snakes are cold blooded and seek warmth where ever they can find it. Just be careful when you leave, if you slide your feet along the floor they'll scatter. More coffee?"
"I'm sorry, I seem to be doing all the talking, maybe you had some questions? No? Hmmm, okay, maybe next time! In that case allow me to discribe what it is that I do down here. First of all I am a writer, and I've been writing since I was eight years old. At twelve I wrote a school Christmas play. Big deal? I never thought so. To me it was just something I wanted to do, and was lucky enough to have it accepted."
"While in high school, I wrote articles, and short stories for the school newspaper. Were those aticles given high marks? Not in the least. In fact I was accused of copying published authors, and my work was thrown into the waste basket by our teacher without ever showing proof that i had cheated. That hurt!"
"I worked very hard and long on those stories. I never went back to that class, and spent the rest of the semester in the gym shooting baskets. She ended up giving me a passing grade of 'C ' and forgot about me...which was just as well I think."
"At the present time, my hope is to add to the entertainment of those who read my stories. Personally I've never seen any of those people, but my agent (who denies our relatioship) seems to think they do exist out there in the real world. If you are a reader or know someone who reads strange tales then I hope to be added to your list of favorites some day."
"If you don't mind I would like to give you a brief hint of what you may expect, that is if you ever get a notion to read any of them. Actually many of them go beyond that discription. A full moon can change a mans' thinking and on those nights I can't guarantee anything."
"For instance: Let's take one of my stories titled: "The Kollector."Actually you may spell that word "Collector" but I prefer my own spelling. I am in the habit of changing many different word spellings but I'm sure that people know what I'm trying to say. Now back to "The Kollector."
"Just imagine that you are a college professor, but you are also an avid investigator, and your real hobby is collecting artifacts, and exhibit them in class for your students. Your favorites are from the bottom of old abandoned and dryed up country farm water wells. This makes them special, and untouched by human hands for many years. All are different, and unique. Pretty mundane maybe? Boring might be a better word. Then one day you hear about an area where many of these old wells exist, and as it turns out, there are many abandoned old farms in that area. You then decide that that will be a perfect place for exploration."
"So one day you drive the miles to get there, and begin looking around. While driving down a country road outside of town you spot a large compound almost hidden by an over-growth of large trees. It appears to be some kind of installation secreted away in the countryside where few would find it, unless they knew its location."
"The large grey structures situated there are without windows or doors; at least it seems that way from looking in from the road that passes by it. There is also a forty foot high chain link fence surrounding the entire compound. A No-Admittance sign stands just inside the steel gate that leads in, but it is chained and padlocked."
"There is also something strange about the gate that if you didn't know it was there, you would miss it altogether. It's a small bell, hanging in plain sight, seeming to expect to be rung by those who knew why it was hung there at all. The reason for it will remain unknown for now. Later the Professor will learn the eerie meaning for it's ominous presence. That will be for a later time down the road, when the winds of time pull back the dark curtain, showing the surrealistic secrets of this place that was somehow left behind as time moved on and left it in the darkness."
"So far, I can guess what you are thinking. You see this large compound as just another top secrret government installation; and something straight out of The X-Files. I would guess the same, but there is more here than meets the eye."
"Just across the road is a large cemetery. When the Professor discovers that, he drives back into town to discuss the area with those who gather at a small coffee shop. He soon discovers that this huge resting place also belongs to the compound, but no one is willing to discuss it with him. In fact, they warn him away, and the subject goes dead.
"Once back to the area and parked, he continues his investigation. First he walks over to inspect the cemetery. There too, are signs that are warnings to all who would even think of visiting this place of the dead. A steel chainlink fence also surrounds the entire field of headstones."
"Our main character did not begin this journey to find the secrets behind all that he sees, but now he will not stop until he finds the truth, because now he is somehow driven by an invisible force that will not let up until he discovers the reason for this compound and its' final resting place across the road."
"His mind is telling him that this place is not real, still, it must be, the townspeople know about it too. But they don't know much, or are just unwilling to talk about it. His senses reel as he wonders if those large grey structures also hide secrets of the dead. Little does he know that his life will become more enterwined with this dark forboding phenomenon as time moves on."
**********************
To continue:
"Kevin Sting ends his story discription right at that point, stands, then turns to one of the small windows. He becomes silent stareing. For the moment he forgets the other man sitting quietly only a few feet away. The sun has gone down hours ago and there is a full moon that shines like a beacon in the night time sky. We shall leave Kevin at this point, because he is no longer with us, the blood on the moon has reappeared.
"I shall continue from this point on and discribe what he no longer seems to be able to. So come now, walk in Kevins footsteps, and follow a man who will lead you down the path of twisted realities, unexplained circumstnaces, ghosts who walk, and eventually that invisble world just inside the cemetery gate. Follow if you dare, become the second shadow as he navigates a world that can only exist in the darkness of an unreality bordering on insanity.
"You will not see with your eyes, or hear with your ears, but your mind will create those pictures that can only be found in the world of nightmares, illusions, and those things we remember so clearly, and believed only as a child. It all begins there doesn't it? Our knowledge of fear was born at a very young age, when our minds were still open to such things that only chidren can see, or hear."
"Remember the fear when it first crept silently into your mind? You were afraid for the first time in your life. But why? On that night, you became a believer. The fear in your young mind saw monsters everywhere. Well, not quite. They came alive in your bedroom as soon as the light was turned off. They lived in the attic, under the bed, and in the darkness of our closet. They lived in the darkness; and from that point on darkness was your enemy. When your mother finally left your room, said good night, then turned off the bedroom light, a chill went up your spine, and your young mind screamed out silently: Monsters!"
"Sometimes we shivered under the covers that were pulled up over our heads, waiting for the one that lived under the bed to attack. But we were good soldiers and we learned fast. Taking a flashlight to our room was the first line of defense. That would be our weapon to use against them. Actually the bedroom light would have made them dissapear too, but walking through the darkness to get to it would certainly have been a no no."
"But our main character of this story does not have either one of those options, and neither will you, as you and Kollector walk toward the darkside of a world that can only exist in your imagination, a world that can hold unknown terrors, conjure up all the ugliest fantasies, and demons sthat hell could unleash. But if you keep following The Kollector and his nightmares will soon become your new reality."
"As you travel down that path you will never see things again without doubting your senses, without wondering whether you should still believe your eyes, or the sounds that still go bump in the night as you lie in the darkness of your bedroom alone. You may be a grownup now, but remember, though we do outgrow many things as we become an adult; we never outgrow our fear of the unknown."
"Then as time goes by you may still lie there stareing at your closet door, visible in the moonlight streaming through your bedroom window, showering your room with an eerie light. You may lie there trying to remember if you had left it open just a crack, or whether it had opened by itself?"
"Our character too, knows that there are secrets that should not be found out, doors that should never be opened, but still he must continue his quest. Kevin has named him "The Kollector."
You will find out why,....and you will meet him, very soon!"
So for now, I say Good Night..
Rest In Peace......
Kevin Sting
STORY LIST
The Psychiatrist
The Witchs' Broom
A Hole In The Web (Published)
The Angel
Dr X (Published)
The Reflection Of Death
The Kollector
The Barber
Around The Bend
Echos' of the Damned
The Bessed Cellar
And more being written...many more......
***********************
NOTE:
An Introduction to Kevin Sting: The Author.
Greetings,
First of all I think I should give you an insight into a man who thinks that he is me! I think I have some explaining to do, as far as Kevin Sting is concerned. Before I get into that, let me give you a quick glimpse of how his mind works:
Kevin is quite nieve in some ways. He is a man who thinks that someone hangs the moon out there in the sky every night just so that he can stare at it. Sometimes it drives him a little crazy. This would certainly point to the fact that he is just a little bit light in the sneakers anyway.
To C ontinue:
I thought that it might be a good idea to warn you about him, because in my estimation he has only 'one oar in the water at any given moment, and has no idea that that might be a problem. (Think about that.)
Kevin Sting quit going to 'group therapy' when he decided that the others appearing there were out to get him, and that the Psychoanalyst was the ring leader. Having decided that, he never went back, but I'm sure he probably won't be missed.
EXCUSE ME! I REALLY HAVE TO DEFEND MYSELF!"
"Please ignore everything above 'this line' except the List of my stories. That man is just trying to make me look bad! Telling lies about me is just plain wrong! And discussing my mental health is a second strike against him. He is well aware that we 'both' went to the same group therapy sessions, though he will never admit it. And as for those people being out to get me? They were!"
TO CONTINUE (Without Kevin)
Not too long after that happened, he and I met accidently when we were both housed in a small cell in a large city. I was in there for knocking two cars parked at a red light, all the way through that red light, in a blinding, rain storm. He was in there because he tried to pay a taxi driver in Cuba with a bunch of wooden nickels that he had ripped off from a Game in a small store in that country.
On that account, Cuba felt it was time to deport him back to the U.S.A. The state of Florida accepted him back and promptly jailed him for trying to impersonate Jesus Christ. I was released the following monday morning. I have no idea when they finally let him loose, or if he may have just escaped. The truth about that circumstance is still unknown to this day.
It's long story after that, but I finally learned that he was a writer. I offered him a deal, and he accepted it. He writes, and I do my best to get his material out there before the general public. The explanation of that is as follows.
A few months later we met again at a corner grocery store. He said that he had his own apartment now and was sharing it with some friends. Once a month I picked up his manuscripts. He left them outside his apartment door with a note that indicated that this was the best way to handle it as I would not like the friends he was living with. He Eventually dissapeared again.
later he wrote me a letter and told me where I could find him. He had somehow obtained the use of a cellar under a very nice looking bungalow about five miles out from a small town in the country-side.
I don't know why anyone would allow him to stay there, but it suits him just fine. I've been picking up his scribblings and dribblings as he finishes them, ever since. I never stay long. His coffee is terrible, and his friends much too scary.
But, on the other hand kevin Sting is, and still remains a part of my life, although we are two very different people. I live here in front of my Computer, where it's safe, warm, and comfortable, whereas Kevin spends most of his time down there in the Bessed Cellar.
He claims that Samuel Bessed and his family own the house, and use it as a get-away summer home, and he has been hired as a caretaker and watchman for the property. The cellar is semi-dark, damp, and forboding. The walls and floor are as you would imagine, just plain old dirt. It's more like a Cave than a Cellar under a house, but he doesn't seem to notice any problems.
Another thing I'd like to mention is that Kevin has never been known to play well with others, and it shows, believe me. If the truth be known, his thirteen snakes probably do not like him much either. I think they only pretend to, in order to get fed. Kevin is not playing with a full deck, and I'm sure that his elevator does not go to the top floor, but that shouldn't surprise anyone that has known kevin for any length of time.
Personally, I can't stand him, but I can't do without him either, because he does all my writing for me. I can write too, but he does a much better job at those subjects that come only from a mind that can hear the sound of 'one hand clapping.'
Speaking of minds, (and maybe we should) we all have one camera that allows us to see the real world, and that is our two precious eyes; but Kevin Sting has 'two cameras' going, and almost all the time. One is inside his brain, and the other one is his eyes for the outside world. But it seems that there are times when he doesn't know the difference between which one is real, and which is imaginary. Thats the reason he writes as he does. You will find that there are some paragraphs within his stories that make perfect sense, but then as you read farther on, his brain leaves the road and heads for the ditch. (You'll see the difference.)
As for Kevin Stings' personal life? He is what might be thought of as a loner. I guess that if the only way you see the world is through a cellar window, you live in a dirt room, and your only best friends are snakes, you're probably a loner.
But as I always say, "To each his own."
I'm only writing this to give credit where it's due. He does deserve at least that much. He tells me that he writes from what he calls the 'darkside of his mind.' You couldn't prove that by me, because I think that it's all very dark in there.
Personally I think he is certifiably off the wall, but I don't hold that against him, because no one is perfect. Some of the worlds' best stories come from those who are not quite in touch with reality. If that is the case, then Kevin ranks right up there at the top of the heap.
A full moon is one of his favorite things, but it drives him nuts sometimes. I don't think you want to hear about that part, or that he some-times sees blood on the moon. As I said, you don't want to dig into Kevins' thoughts; not if you want to keep your own sanity.
I've probably told you much more than I should have about Kevin; still, you will get to know him and his mind alot better when you finally get to read the stories he writes. (Maybe that will not be such a great idea either) but only you can be the judge of that. Those stories will be coming soon my friends, everything will be coming soon. Maybe too soon!
There are actually twenty-five short stories, but Kevin insists that there are twenty-four, (he never agrees with me.) One or the other of the two of us, needs to learn to count without taking off our shoes when we run out of fingers.
As for the Website I am building, it is already on the interanet and google has it listed also. I'm adding to it every day on all my pages. Okay, I'll stop here!
The List again: (These are all finished) (Two are on the website)
But there are many more being worked on...
The Psychiatrist
The Witchs' Broom
A Hole In The Web
The Angel
Dr X
The Reflection Of Death
The Kollector
The Barber
Around The Bend
The Bessed Cellar?
END
**********************
"
"I tried to be a good guy, and never missed a therapy session, but when the Doc asked me to meet him for a private session, then indicated that I might have a split personalty, I knew he was out to get me. I walked out on him and cancelled all future appointments."
"Again, I want to repeat that the above Blog by this ego-maniac is pure trash. I am him, and denying it will not release him from my mind, or my thoughts. He has always hated me for my writing talents, (though he hopes to get rich from them) and tries to make me look bad at every turn. But I refuse to be intimidated and will keep fighting back. I thought that I needed to defend myself, and so have added my two cents here. Oh, excuse me again! There's someone at the cellar door."
"Hello there! Please come in! My name is Kevin Sting. Please be careful coming down the steps, sometimes they are occupied, and at other times they are just plain slippery. I do hope you read the sign outside that cautions that you enter at your own risk."
"The reason for that is I have twelve snakes running around here and you never know where they're going to be lying. Actually they are the only company I have. I have never been a people person, and the person who wrote that Blog above is right in that sense; I do not play well with others. Snakes make better companions anyway, and don't ask for much and they don't expect much."
"I grow white mice to feed them and thats all they seem to demand in day to day care. Nothing difficult if you think about it. But people? Now that's another story altogether."
"Except for you my friend, no one has ever dared to visit me here before except a man who picks up my stories as I finish them. Please sit, and make yourself comfortable. I have coffee on the hot plate, and if you'd like we can have that while we talk. Allow me to pour us a cup. I drink mine black. Oh! You the same?"
"I'm not sure why you came, unless you are an investigative reporter, looking for a human Interest story. I will gladly explain how I came to be here, then you must tell me how you found me."
"First of all, this is the Bessed Cellar. Samuel Bessed and his family use this house as a summer home. They spend a month here each year to leave the big city life of Chicago behind and to enjoy the natural wonders here in the country."
"I was offered the job as caretaker after my little shack burned to the ground one day when I was out hunting. I guess that extra chunk of wood I shoved in the stove just before I left was the culprit. That old woodstove could really get hot sometimes. Well, enough of that."
"The Bessed Family were staying here at the time and could see the smoke and flames in the distance. As I walked by on my way back home, they told me what they had seen, and offered me this job and a place to stay. I've been here ever since."
"How I ever got this far out is another story. I guess you could call it running away from home in a way. New York city people do not go for snakes in their apartment houses. One snake may have been alright, but when they found out that I owned thirteen, they got real nervious and asked me to leave, which I did."
"I checked the newspapers for a small house in the country, but could only come up with an old hunting cabin. Actually it wasn't bad, small, but easy to heat in the winter time; not a bad place to live. My friends liked it too, but now it's gone and were all here. Took me three days to round them up after the fire. Somehow they found a way out, which I was very happy about."
"The only one that worried me the most was the black Mamba, which is rather poisoness. In fact it is said to be the most poisoness snake on the African continent. I hear that it could probably take down an elephant. But I got him too, he's right over there in that glass cage. I call him number thirteen, because I feel he could be unlucky to anyone who would dare touch him. The other twelve are less poisoness and if you look down you will find most of them lying near, or across your shoes. I wouldn't make any sudden moves, you might make them nervious."
"Snakes are cold blooded and seek warmth where ever they can find it. Just be careful when you leave, if you slide your feet along the floor they'll scatter. More coffee?"
"I'm sorry, I seem to be doing all the talking, maybe you had some questions? No? Hmmm, okay, maybe next time! In that case allow me to discribe what it is that I do down here. First of all I am a writer, and I've been writing since I was eight years old. At twelve I wrote a school Christmas play. Big deal? I never thought so. To me it was just something I wanted to do, and was lucky enough to have it accepted."
"While in high school, I wrote articles, and short stories for the school newspaper. Were those aticles given high marks? Not in the least. In fact I was accused of copying published authors, and my work was thrown into the waste basket by our teacher without ever showing proof that i had cheated. That hurt!"
"I worked very hard and long on those stories. I never went back to that class, and spent the rest of the semester in the gym shooting baskets. She ended up giving me a passing grade of 'C ' and forgot about me...which was just as well I think."
"At the present time, my hope is to add to the entertainment of those who read my stories. Personally I've never seen any of those people, but my agent (who denies our relatioship) seems to think they do exist out there in the real world. If you are a reader or know someone who reads strange tales then I hope to be added to your list of favorites some day."
"If you don't mind I would like to give you a brief hint of what you may expect, that is if you ever get a notion to read any of them. Actually many of them go beyond that discription. A full moon can change a mans' thinking and on those nights I can't guarantee anything."
"For instance: Let's take one of my stories titled: "The Kollector."Actually you may spell that word "Collector" but I prefer my own spelling. I am in the habit of changing many different word spellings but I'm sure that people know what I'm trying to say. Now back to "The Kollector."
"Just imagine that you are a college professor, but you are also an avid investigator, and your real hobby is collecting artifacts, and exhibit them in class for your students. Your favorites are from the bottom of old abandoned and dryed up country farm water wells. This makes them special, and untouched by human hands for many years. All are different, and unique. Pretty mundane maybe? Boring might be a better word. Then one day you hear about an area where many of these old wells exist, and as it turns out, there are many abandoned old farms in that area. You then decide that that will be a perfect place for exploration."
"So one day you drive the miles to get there, and begin looking around. While driving down a country road outside of town you spot a large compound almost hidden by an over-growth of large trees. It appears to be some kind of installation secreted away in the countryside where few would find it, unless they knew its location."
"The large grey structures situated there are without windows or doors; at least it seems that way from looking in from the road that passes by it. There is also a forty foot high chain link fence surrounding the entire compound. A No-Admittance sign stands just inside the steel gate that leads in, but it is chained and padlocked."
"There is also something strange about the gate that if you didn't know it was there, you would miss it altogether. It's a small bell, hanging in plain sight, seeming to expect to be rung by those who knew why it was hung there at all. The reason for it will remain unknown for now. Later the Professor will learn the eerie meaning for it's ominous presence. That will be for a later time down the road, when the winds of time pull back the dark curtain, showing the surrealistic secrets of this place that was somehow left behind as time moved on and left it in the darkness."
"So far, I can guess what you are thinking. You see this large compound as just another top secrret government installation; and something straight out of The X-Files. I would guess the same, but there is more here than meets the eye."
"Just across the road is a large cemetery. When the Professor discovers that, he drives back into town to discuss the area with those who gather at a small coffee shop. He soon discovers that this huge resting place also belongs to the compound, but no one is willing to discuss it with him. In fact, they warn him away, and the subject goes dead.
"Once back to the area and parked, he continues his investigation. First he walks over to inspect the cemetery. There too, are signs that are warnings to all who would even think of visiting this place of the dead. A steel chainlink fence also surrounds the entire field of headstones."
"Our main character did not begin this journey to find the secrets behind all that he sees, but now he will not stop until he finds the truth, because now he is somehow driven by an invisible force that will not let up until he discovers the reason for this compound and its' final resting place across the road."
"His mind is telling him that this place is not real, still, it must be, the townspeople know about it too. But they don't know much, or are just unwilling to talk about it. His senses reel as he wonders if those large grey structures also hide secrets of the dead. Little does he know that his life will become more enterwined with this dark forboding phenomenon as time moves on."
**********************
To continue:
"Kevin Sting ends his story discription right at that point, stands, then turns to one of the small windows. He becomes silent stareing. For the moment he forgets the other man sitting quietly only a few feet away. The sun has gone down hours ago and there is a full moon that shines like a beacon in the night time sky. We shall leave Kevin at this point, because he is no longer with us, the blood on the moon has reappeared.
"I shall continue from this point on and discribe what he no longer seems to be able to. So come now, walk in Kevins footsteps, and follow a man who will lead you down the path of twisted realities, unexplained circumstnaces, ghosts who walk, and eventually that invisble world just inside the cemetery gate. Follow if you dare, become the second shadow as he navigates a world that can only exist in the darkness of an unreality bordering on insanity.
"You will not see with your eyes, or hear with your ears, but your mind will create those pictures that can only be found in the world of nightmares, illusions, and those things we remember so clearly, and believed only as a child. It all begins there doesn't it? Our knowledge of fear was born at a very young age, when our minds were still open to such things that only chidren can see, or hear."
"Remember the fear when it first crept silently into your mind? You were afraid for the first time in your life. But why? On that night, you became a believer. The fear in your young mind saw monsters everywhere. Well, not quite. They came alive in your bedroom as soon as the light was turned off. They lived in the attic, under the bed, and in the darkness of our closet. They lived in the darkness; and from that point on darkness was your enemy. When your mother finally left your room, said good night, then turned off the bedroom light, a chill went up your spine, and your young mind screamed out silently: Monsters!"
"Sometimes we shivered under the covers that were pulled up over our heads, waiting for the one that lived under the bed to attack. But we were good soldiers and we learned fast. Taking a flashlight to our room was the first line of defense. That would be our weapon to use against them. Actually the bedroom light would have made them dissapear too, but walking through the darkness to get to it would certainly have been a no no."
"But our main character of this story does not have either one of those options, and neither will you, as you and Kollector walk toward the darkside of a world that can only exist in your imagination, a world that can hold unknown terrors, conjure up all the ugliest fantasies, and demons sthat hell could unleash. But if you keep following The Kollector and his nightmares will soon become your new reality."
"As you travel down that path you will never see things again without doubting your senses, without wondering whether you should still believe your eyes, or the sounds that still go bump in the night as you lie in the darkness of your bedroom alone. You may be a grownup now, but remember, though we do outgrow many things as we become an adult; we never outgrow our fear of the unknown."
"Then as time goes by you may still lie there stareing at your closet door, visible in the moonlight streaming through your bedroom window, showering your room with an eerie light. You may lie there trying to remember if you had left it open just a crack, or whether it had opened by itself?"
"Our character too, knows that there are secrets that should not be found out, doors that should never be opened, but still he must continue his quest. Kevin has named him "The Kollector."
You will find out why,....and you will meet him, very soon!"
So for now, I say Good Night..
Rest In Peace......
Kevin Sting
