Do You Fear                                    Asher's Haven

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DO YOU FEAR                                     ASHER'S HAVEN 



        Arcane and aesthetically arousing in its atrociousness, the angles of the featureless frightening fiend were horrifyingly horrendous. Sharp bones protruding and jutted from black marrow which seeped at each bend of the body. Pustules of yellowish-green corroding garish sunken-in eye sockets and enlarged slitted nostrils were. Sinewy and sleek cerulean skin shown in the stark vast moonlight like rubbles of a rubber tailored well-fit suit.

IT, for it was not a he or she, IT was a thing. A reverberation of monsters nightmares. Called by many names over the vast venturing universe: Satan, Cthulu, An Otherness, The All-Encompassing Devoid Void, and more belligerent lesser titles. The Boogeyman of Boogeymen, The Dread of the Darkness, The Tumultuous Terror and such. None right or true, even close in nature. To name IT was to make IT less than IT was. To undo what IT could destroy. IT was. And IT was FEAR.


           Billy woke up startled, sweating and suffocating from an unnatural dream. Dream....

           Unlike any dream he'd ever had before or hoped to have again. The thing was....feverously and furiously ferocious. It had been creeping along his pale skin without touching him, cloying and choking him from his insides! Nothing of the nameless and everything of the inevitable unleashed rage. It frightened him beyond measure. He knew, somehow, he was its next delicacy.

          Billy Hargrove was six years old. He had dark brown hair, big green eyes, and tight, thin worrisome lips and was speckled with freckles all over his three foot one lithe frame. Adults knew when they looked at him he was going to be a beautiful man for he was a gorgeous boy. The kind pedophiles drooled and fantasized over... Beautiful in the way marble spoke to the handcrafted artist and was tamed into the rippled Statue of David. He was breathtaking piece of art growing up.

          And his revelation had just caused a deadening rift.....

          This terrified child hoped to never see his eyes shut into slumber again. He knew IT would destroy and devour his soul. And he, unknowingly, craved it.

          Insipid and loosely based in the here and now, demons sang the 'Song of the Damned.' Another great hellish rebellion was waiting in the rafters when this hellion was finally summoned to do His great work. Those of envious nature entail endless eons of enduring pain. Pain for the gluttons who imbibe incurably. Incurable lust wanes and waxes burning flesh. Flesh of the slothful ignites dirty, foulness. Foul pride of stagnant strife to hell bound souls. Souls of wrath, vengeful and petty flayed nicely. Nicely gobbled are the greedy. Damnation was foretold ages ago and finally time to come to fruition...


          Night crawled upon dusk and the yawnings of drizzling REM sleep washed upon the innocent boy in the middle class suburbia neighborhood. The street was cookie cutter 1950's everymanville. Nothing stood out. No special reason for this child to be the foretold destruction of the world except the planets, stars, and Hell lined up upon his birth. How lucky of him to be bestowed such a crowning chaotic blood right of incredulous death to humanity. Tonight, the what of why and the knowledge of how IT would sustain him for his rightful birthright and would be glorified. IT would create nine circles of demonic pilfering untold joy.

            Begging Mom and Dad to sleep in their bed, the boy threw the tantrum of all whiny tantrums to no avail. Billy needed to learn to be a big boy. He was only out of diapers and a padded bed for two months and their therapist said no caving in. It would set back their progress months. Even so, there was a flutter of unease in their loving hearts. Such a good boy, never in trouble, always listening. Liked by all and his laugh: like angels laughing in pure echo. A seraphim cherub that brightened every room with cascades of happy miracles. So blessed they were. But still, no caving.

           "Sweetheart, you know Mummy and Daddy love you lots, you tiny tot. You're becoming a big boy, right? Don't you wanna stay up late and have your friends sleep over? I promise there are no monsters coming to get you. It was just a bad dream. You're safe, dumpling,” Mother cooed in her pride and joys ear. It seemed to abate his anxiety just enough to tuck him in and sing him off to a lullaby.

         "Hush little baby, don't say a word....," she mused till he was in La-La Land.

        Betwixt and between, crooning its cry, IT was near. IT supped at the tears of the frightened; IT reveled in the basking hate of the pestilent world. Crowing for the symphonic disturbances of vibrant loneliness of every soul, it fueled the rage.

        In the realm of pitter-pattering ever after, Billy was cajoled by Sir Lickalot, the family golden retriever. The two year old pup romped and fetched the bright neon tennis balls in the field of four leaf clovers. It smelled of lilac and rosemary rainwater. Lollipops and chewing gum grew in patches all around and spouts of orange Fanta sprung in small geysers. There was a doggy bone fairy that sprinkled treats for Sir Lickalot every time he caught the ball (which was every time.) They rolled and laughed and life was good. In the distant wind, the cookie elves were baking his favorite: honey-maple chocolate chip with rainbow frosting. Yum!


        IT leaked into his lovely tenderness of a bright dalliance with Heaven. Heaven, such a disgusting notion and unbelievable lies. The filth it spat. Sins forgiven, ha! Then why was Hell so full? That....Being above the biggest deceiver of all while His earthly Majesty that ruled below told untold truth. IT was Beelzebub’s boss, so to speak. The creator of all wicked everythings. A conjector on conjurers, mysteriously mesmerizing the sweet sinners to estrange themselves with ITs’ beguiling tongue.

       Billy was going to bring forth eternal delights of undoing. TONIGHT.



       A stray cloud appeared over Billy. It was a dull, lackluster grey and squeezed raindrops from its midst. The droplets began to turn different shades of red: pink, rose, crimson, and fire engine. It grew thicker and more globular. It was beginning to pour and gush: this blood-like substance upon him.

The boy ran. He ran with all his might, as fast as his legs could carry him to the lollipop tree for cover. Sir Lickalot followed a sense of melancholy rose from the dog. A feeling, a sixth sense.

         The bright tree of candy greens and gumdrop purples began to fester and rot, falling off the branches in shambles. The bramble below caught fire and the child lurched away in fright. Where to go?

         The boy knew. Across the Chocolate Milk River was his gingerbread tree house. He knew beyond an innocent doubt safety was there.

Frightened and calling his beloved pet, they ravaged the decaying landscape for his only hideaway.

        Over the hill and through the woods, bound with the knawing unease of a stomach wrenching and churning, the pair raced onward. The licorice bridge was braided red and black, bejeweled with peppermint. The once fragrant smell turned acrid and sour in Billy’s nostrils and he almost vomited.

         Still they ran with the scent of rancid river milk lingering in the winds.

         So close.


        IT was enjoying the chase. For there was no chase. The inevitable just...was. Good had had its day, it was done. Good would not try, it laid down and let be. Evil was to prevail. It was told, so shall it be. IT was about to distinguish this boy-babe its first glimpse of ITs insidious lavishness. Behold the Sulphurous Sulpher, the Singeing Serpent, and the Sheer Shriek of Screams. Such a thing was unheard of. No one or no thing had ever beheld ITs guile and told tales after. A doom of days.

          "So close! We're gonna make it. Yippy Skippy! Look Sir Lickalot, it’s the Gobble-It-Up Gingerbread House. We're safe!" the little innocence exclaimed.

Suddenly, the ground shuffled. A loud thundering crack ripped the ground apart and from it rose a slithering shadow. Slinking in a sultry sway of macabre moroseness, it lingered a few inches off the ground swirling like a hypnotic diseased lolly.

           A grandiose belch escaped from within IT and roared across the vastness of what was once a child’s wonderment, now a decrepit dilapidation of dust and death. Swirling faster and with more unsightly garish perversity, IT formed.

         Glowering tall and gangly, IT reeked of malice, contempt, and pure disdain. All within the vicinity instantly crumpled into black cesspools of vomiting intestinal fluids and bile. The stench destroyed both the dogs and boys sense of smell, crushing their nostrils internally inwards.

           What had a few moments ago been a cute boys' pug nose was now a gaping hole oozing maggots.

           Sir Lickalot was lucky. He died instantly, seizing in disemboweling pain so perturbing, dilapidated scrolls were written about it

Billy’s eyes bugged and bulged, ballooning to twice their size. The small sockets couldn't contain them and a soft 'pop' dislodged them. Leaking marrow down his sad little scared face, his orbital orbs beheld IT.

           He saw IT only for two heartbeats before his heart imploded upon itself, concaving his chest, collapsing inward. Crushing his larynx and lungs, the final image burned in his retinas was terror everlastingly unleashed.

           The kids’ legs bent backwards, then forwards, splintering with eerie bone-shattering cracks of discombobulating disjointedness. The kneecaps fused to his forehead as he started to become.....something else.

           His new father was proud.


          In the plague of the pits, the demonic dire, incestual ranting began. Perverse nuances of now to be endeavoring destruction were at hand and claw. At hoof and foot, snout and blazing nostrils. Its aromatic aroma creased into every spinal fold, verberating the vertebrae. Tenacious tingling of raving lunatics, murdered masses, scarlet sinners, and suppressed suicides hailed their homecoming.

         IT waited......and relished. Revenge after all these eons. Bitterness, blithely benign amusement became.

         A twinge...of what? Doubt? Demising delicious doubt. Cremated creations, how infallibly infintcimal and miniscule it was. It loomed, lurking behind. Left asunder.

         Playwrights would plagiarize, songsters would squander, dreamers would devastate. Creation was about to be undone and remade incandescently innocuous.

         Behemoth blasphemes and battering bugles sounded. The Nocturnal Nightmare had come! CARPE DIEM Y NOCTURNUS

         Resplendent waves of wearing skins and drum beating bones reverberated the Halls of Hades. Inhumane trumpets blared to the wail of unborn children already rotting in the wombs.

         Billy was awake. Or....what was once a boy called Billy.

         From the demonic depths of roving, ravenous fire sprang forth the new son of FEAR: MORTE DE LEVITH.

        This babe of the below was a sight to behold! Demons cowered, Satan bowed and MORTE DE LEVITH cawed a staggering laugh that shattered brittle bone and bended the breath of all.

         Looming twelve foot high, hoven cackles struck the clouds and lightening clamored from what was once the heavens. Sinewy, grotesque canine legs, elephantine in size, rumbled the planets. MORTE was pitch. Black of the voidest void. Light singed in his presence. LEVITH was purity in its most absurd form. Atrociously astounding, urchin-like spears protruded from his belly, wrapping to his jowls, chest and back. Poison seeped onto the ground, acrid and acidic, creating craters no less than three feet wide. Adorning its neck was a cow-like head with bestial eyes, in sighting crazed thoughts of delusion.

        The Monstrosity of Mischievous Mayhem made a musing moan.

        Earth split and began to shatter...


New York Times


OCTOBER 22, 2013

         "An earth-shattering earthquake occurred yesterday, causing a new fault rift from East to West. Scientists are unclear of the cause, sighting platonic shifts and plates below the core surface. 8.7 on the Richter scale, pantheoning any quake in history.

          "No telling what repercussions and catastrophic calamity this will incur upon the world. Scientists are sending a Rover into the crevice to investigate later today."

          Belinda Carrows was aghast. The end was upon us. SALVATION! God would protect the just and righteous. Praise the Lord! It was the sinners doing. She tried, time and again to save their immortal souls. How can you save such lecherous creatures? Hell hath spouted forth its vengeance upon them.

"For thine is the kingdom and glory of God. HALLELUJAH."

         Azaziel Bluter laughed at what he considered to be a gag. The medias vain attempt at keeping the masses in fear. Another ploy to disrupt life and sell more papers and give more money to finance government affairs. Like they needed more reasons to pilfer money

Grace Tathoway pondered. What caused such a thing? Mother Earths' vengeance? Unnatural forces? Natural chaos? No matter what the cause, the effects would be drastically devastating.

        Vera Floyd finally was deflowered against a wall, wearing only a pink bra.

        Jenks Jankans and his five voices laughed and found the will of God. His voice known as Pretty Bobo said "People are strange." McGee Joplin wanted to travel. Morrison Macy agreed, a ship of crystal. Jackson Black was just thrilled. Corbin Cobain shot himself...

         THE WORLD BEGAN TO COWER IN A MATTER OF HOURS. Mayhem, masoginy, and murder went up tenfold while survival of the fittest was underway. The neither fit nor meek stood a fleeting chance. Eye for eye, cheek for cheek, tooth and drove-home nails couldn’t build a wall high enough to withstand what was foretold.

The Scroll Of Is To Be

Jesters sequestered to rant and rave

Told a tale to bequeath and stave

Earning the yearning to dine on breath

Year thirteen leads to death

Gripe and grind, soft fleshy ground

Boy Bobby must become hell bound

Innocence lost, matter trite

He will bring about untold smite

Pain of pleasure, plead the time

Evil ensues, rapture divine

So to be. HAIL EVIL


         Doom, gloom and grimy glee as IT and MORTE DE LEVITH careened the cavernous chaliced oceans, plucking life on skewers to devour. A taste of frau gras frog, electrified eel, wailing walrus, and sultry sharks were petite hor d'oeuvres to cleanse the insatiable palate.

         The viruses called humanity finally understood its apocalyptic plight and scurried like rampant mice to cower in burrows. All the better, less of a fight from the fledgling earth-dwellers. For Earth was just the beginning of a long, arduous excursion across the ancestral planes. Time, tide, and terror were.

         One by one, many by multiples, gaggles of fleshy puppets popped into their diamond-tiered teeth to crunch and munch, mash and gash bone to brine.


         There were four lines forgotten in the scroll, unwritten....

A trivial matter of misfortune might

A mother’s love destroys evils sight.

Hopeful bound and compassion laid

Sight to sound will make abayed.

         MORTE DE LEVITH had consumed, lavished languorously in lividity, scrupled unscrupulously with angel wings as toothpicks. Jutting forth spew and virulent venom upon man, woman, and babe.

         Upon one special human he crept. Mother.

         Mother wept baleful tears at the sight of her precious, beautiful baby boy. She remembered coddling him with a tummy ache, swaddling him as a newborn, and baking his favorite cookies....

         She had made this monster cookies. Honey-maple chocolate chip cookies with rainbow frosting.

         Death died and life lived.

                               SOME WORDS OF PROUD PROSE


The matador of bullshit waves his red flag at the green light of time travel. My sense memory plays with a Rubix Cube while a Tesseract plays dice. Holy Rollers sing drunken laments of one hit wonders to the sound of vomiting sob stories. Poor me, have another round of bucket shit piled high on top of spaghetti. Damn that fucking meatball!

Must have mad cow disease! Tip that meat bag over and find those oh so euphoric mushrooms so i can expand my racing mind to infinity and beyond. Down the hatch, the rabbit hole,, in the wormhole, doing the time warm, space jump, sling shot into the next mental breakdown to pump me full of good time feely stuff. Why, you ask?

If i'm doped up, shot up, done up, trussed up, blown up, overdone, a has been, wanna be, sight to see, lack of respectability, i'm worthless! Then i have no thoughts, no connecting dots, blots, hot to trot times, crimes to commit, shit to hit, nothing fits and life is no longer the Ritz.

I become cast out, left out, dried up, fried up, pumped full of lies., then i don't try to or ask why. I stop asking, start hating, mutilating, defecating deluded bullshit. And then I run into that God damned matador!



From under the bed or closet creaks,

Under the covers you’ll shake and sneak

Whispers in the dark seem distant and eerie,

Listen to the silence, very close dearie.

Monsters are patient, we’ve time to spare

Unlike silly humans, fear is our care.

Delicious fear…makes us giggle with delight

You won’t know when or how, you’re in for a fright

You poked and taunted the beast

So let’s play, time for my feast

Tease me once, twice and thrice,

Monsters don’t think that’s nice.

I’ll show you taunting, we surely invented

I’m maliciously joyful you finally vented

Sights to show, toys to share

Here kitty kitty, I want your hair

I’ve let you watch, see what was shown

You’ve asked, terrible horrors will be known

Rules to know to stay alive,

Keep to yourself, that’s how you thrive

Don’t poke, don’t tease, or ruin

Boils our blood, gets us brewin

When asked to be alone, heed that word

To do otherwise is just absurd

If you dare to do different than said

Bad things happen. patience we have till you’ve bleed

Knowledge is power, we are old

Prophecy is written, already fortold

Wanna hear the words of mischief and lore

You won’t like it, it ends with tons of gore:

Jester, fester, thrive and snide

Pester the sequestered, those with pride

Dare you don’t, will be done

Prose and pander, monsters already won.

The moral of this tale, if one at all

Fuck with the beast and you will fall

Heed this word, hear our rhyme

Poke us again, it’s dinner time.