by J.P. Hunt
Fright, Volume 1, Issue 1 through 4
by J.P. Hunt
Copyright 1988, 2002
Dead - ication
To the class of 1988 for managing to survive the best and worst times of our lives. To Mary Jane Furtaw, #1 fan and my worst critic in Creative Writing even though she still gave me an A+ (here’s your 20%, hehe). To all my High School counselors for letting me convince them I was insane (no hard feat). To Stephen King for giving me a goal to shoot for, and of course to all the original and future fans of the Fright rag, this is for you!
Table of Contents
Frightroduction
Volume1, Issue 1
Volume1, Issue 2
Volume1, Issue 3
Volume1, Issue 4
Eulogy
About the Author
Other Books by this Author
Connect with J.P. Hunt
Frightroduction
Well hello there my darlings! Welcome to another bend in my labyrinth. What you have here in your hot little hands is the beginning of a journey you are unlikely to forget. Some of you may have even already been down this road (and already have an idea of what’s in store.) but most are first timers (oh boy, fresh meat!) so I promise to not be kind. For as the familiar few will tell you, this is an old story (although totally improved) and there is more of this disturbing madness and mayhem to come. For the most part the stories speak entirely for themselves but I’ll take some time to give you the background anyway.
In the mid-eighties, when I was but a disturbed young adult, I was wandering through my brain one day looking for a way to express myself in a shocking manner. You see I was kind of a messed up adolescent and had tried nearly everything to release my anger and hatred short of actually killing someone. Which was probably not far from happening. Thankfully I had an addiction far greater than any drugs I could take; I was addicted to horror. Stephen King, Clive Barker, Peter Straub; all had shrines in my room. They were my release from the insanity of real life and took most the pressure off my awkwardness. Through them I discovered the ability to express myself through writing. I could kill, maim and destroy all in the stroke of pen! It was fantastically exhilarating! The more I did the more I found that I also did it well (or so I was convinced) and the more I wanted to share it with others. There was nothing better than the delight I felt watching others read my writings. The expressions on their faces were priceless! Sometimes horror, sometimes disgust, but always a response of some kind. Some even talked about how much they loved what I had created, others were certain I was a sick and demented trouble child in need of serious mental help; or a padded cell. To me this was the great escape, and each story was created to serve a purpose, if only to gross you out, for it was the reader I needed to fulfill my purpose. I needed their reaction to calm the beasts inside of me. I needed the fear and disgust to fuel my fire.
Thus, near the middle of my senior year in high school, I sat before an old typewriter and a stack of ditto paper (whats that?) and created what was to be the first issue of Fright. Why Fright? Because it defined everything I needed, everything the beasts needed. Fright can come in many forms, hatred, disgust, horror; it mattered not one iota which response I got from it. It was only the response I required. So in one evening while hiding in my fathers den I hen picked the first issue. There were no re-writes or revisions, only 2 badly put together pages of psychological babbling. I even drew stick figure representations of satanic origin in the margins. The next day I went to school early so as to sneak into the library and try and figure out the ditto machine. I managed to crank out 25 complete copies, stapled them and began spreading them around, beginning of course with the most accepting folks I knew, and waited for that golden response.
Oh what a response it was! Far greater than I could ever have anticipated. Those 25 easily multiplied into a hundred and the battle lines were drawn. On one side were the folks who just couldn’t wait for more, who easily lost themselves in every line and rated me amongst the top geniuses of all time (it's my story let me tell it!), their addiction to Fright was complete and I was their dealer. Fright represented our satirical outlook at life and society. Then there were those who knew I had lost my mind. The shy, dorky, borderline nerd had done lost his marbles! Oh my god we have a future murderer in our midst! Oh the horrors, he must have been beaten as a child! What horrible things must scar the psyche of such a person! This is a cry for help! Quick, someone tell the councilor!
By the second issue, which circulated far beyond its predecessor, my fate had been sealed. Someone among my own ranks made a point of putting an issue into the school councilor’s hands. By the end of the day I was in his office being psychologically evaluated, my parents had been called; advice was given that I need professional help. My Mothers response? “Perhaps you need help typing; your spelling is atrocious!”. With that came my fathers offering which became a major fixture in the final days of my rag. Interest had peeked and I had to spend more time writing in the hopes of out doing myself with each issue. A great artist friend of mine took it upon himself to create a life size cut out of my primary antagonist King Fright (R.I.P. Mike). A comic book was planned with expectations to rival all others that it mimicked. But graduation was fast approaching and only 1 more issue made it into folk’s hands with the 4th barely on its way. Thus the inevitable change of adolescent life put an end to the reign of Fright. Or did it?
Alas, the answer would obviously be no. After several years of dreaming and planning the world of Fright has arisen! It’s alive! Its al---i-iiii-----iiiiii---ve! Well, at least this reproduction of the original rags are here. But who knows what the King and his denizens have in store for the future!
I have taken great pains to resurrect the originals for you here as an introduction to what was and is to come. Of course I am much older now (and entering my second adolescence) with a little more understanding of how these things are supposed to be done so most grammatical and spelling errors, unless intended, have not only been corrected but the stories themselves are improved in every way. I believe my mother would be proud and that I’ll probably end up owing my father money if this sells. Perhaps even the original dittos will be collectors items! Please let me know if you still own one!
So, without any further ranting I present to you the history of Fright! Read, enjoy, and share! But above all FEEL! Feel anger, feel hatred, sorrow, despair, horror, and disgust! It matters not in what form it infects you; the beasts and I will scarf it all up like a Thanksgiving turkey! And if by chance you discover that the infection starts to fester leaving you wanting for more, then by all means keep your eyes open for new and improved versions of Fright. Like we’re going to try and stop you!
For now dear reader, I leave you to the denizens of Fright. As the curtain rises and an ominous creature clothed in black stands alone on the dark stage. As the fog machine starts spewing out cold tendrils that wrap him in a cloak of gray. As the spotlight illuminates the half rotted skeletal features wearing a large iron crown. As he towers over you pointing his scepter while the fog begins to roll toward you like the heads of so many snakes. For now I leave you with Fright.
'Til next we bleed,
J.P. Hunt
Volume 1, the very First Issue, Mar. 1988
Introduction
This is the first issue to a series of papers I have elected to call “Fright”. Why? Because these are in fact short stories and clips about fear. A fear so great that it can later be driven to Fright. Fright is therefore the king of fear. By calling this paper Fright I have introduced you to the king of all things scary and nightmarish. The king of your fears!
The ruler over the boogeyman that has interrupted your life at every available corner. As a child that boogeyman may be living in your closet, under your bed, or perhaps even in dresser drawer. As an adult it lives deep within your mind. It makes a mockery of all the horrors this world provides in a regular basis. Here you will find that even your simple every day fears have been magnified. Instead of robbery you may fear rape, or murder, or just plain death or any aspect thereof. Phobias, mass murderers, fire, cancer, and the one destined to get us all eventually - AIDS. All this and so much more does our master King Fright reigns over. But here “real life” fears are mere harmless fantasies compared to the actuality of fear.
These papers are therefore designed to hopefully lend an escape from the “real life” boogeyman we share our lives with and take us deeper into the heart of that which is fear. Then again we may find that there is no escape, especially from the king of fear. This is Fright. So come with me now and we’ll go meet his highness. Take my hand interested reader, follow me into Fright’s realm...
The monster in the closet, dear
Has never left, dear
He waits in the dark, dear
Until the end, dear
The terror-able end, my dear
~J.P. Hunt~
All righty boys and girls! You already know him as the beastly monster that lurks in the shadows just waiting for unsuspecting little kiddies to let the covers down for just a moment! And then...
The Boogeyman Cometh
The door creaks open slowly to the room beyond. Pin points of red stare into the midnight darkness scanning around before resting upon the bed. Beneath the covers lay the almost motionless body of the sleeper. A pair of clawed and deformed feet shuffles across the floor to come to a stop at the head of the bed. A small head protrudes from the safety of the bed covers causing a smile to form on the grotesque face of our monster. Razor tipped fangs flashes cruel silver. The child sleeps, good. A gnarled hand touches the child’s forehead with one sharp claw. A bead of blood slowly wells to the surface of the skin from a microscopic prick in the skin. A rotted and maggot holed tongue slithers across a pair of dry droopy lips. The eye’s of child flutters open to stare into the fury hellfire of those owned by the wicked leering clown. The child screams hysterically as a clawed hand closes on his throat stifling the sound into a bloody gurgle. Thus ends this child’s nightmare. Here begins the horror of your reality, for, the Boogeyman cometh.
Hehehe, not a bad little ditty if I do say so myself. Much like a happy little kiddie’s nursery rhyme! A nursery rhyme in the realm of Fright! The King is very excited about his favorite pets that hide in the corners of your mind, as I’m sure you can see. Take for example the poor tortured soul in this next short soliloquy. For him it is truly his own...
Soul Terror
Something, somewhere. IT is there I know, and yet, I can’t find it. I know IT’s following behind me everywhere I go, but when I turn and look IT’s nowhere, nowhere to be seen! At night IT sits in my window. Sometimes when I wake I see those eyes, those burning red hellishly evil eyes. Their hellfire stares into mine attempting to consume my very soul. The searing pain tears and wilts as my mind screams in unbelievable terror. I cry out with blood in my throat at the horror of the pain in my heart. Then of course the dream ends and I am left with the echoes of my own fears.
IT will always be there, haunting, waiting for me. Filling my mind with untold horrors. IT waits for the day that I shall so that IT can feed on my soul. Until that day IT follows me forever pushing my mind to the brink, forever IT will be there. A constant memory of my wretched life and my unpleasant destiny. Until that final day when the hell IT represents destroys my soul, my essence, my will; my soul and I will live in terror.
Editorial: Do You Fear?
Have you ever been afraid to turn out the light? What is it that scares you? When things go bump in the night do you sweat? Does your heart skip a bit or go double time? Does your throat ache to scream? Picture if you will...
On a warm dark night you are walking through a cemetery. Exactly why you have no idea at the time, only that you are walking silently amongst the dead. You are spellbound by the peacefulness of so many spirits slumber. Yet you also feel a deep foreboding warning you to return quickly from whence you came before you become the next decaying sleeper. You stop before one large marble grave marker and stoop to read the inscription by the pale moonlight. A rustle reaches your ears but after a brief startle you realize it was only the wind. It’s always only the wind. A breeze cool and chilling sweeps past you bearing a scent so sickening you stomach turns in two directions at once. Moonlight disappears behind a menacing cloud as you are swallowed up by the blackness of night. You feel a gentle touch caressing your arms, your legs, playing about your feet, sending chills and goose bumps up your spine and across your skin. Does your heart race? What horrors does your mind create? Do you feel the cold and clammy hand of the dead fall upon your shoulder? Do you finally risk an ear-piercing scream? Or do you rationalize it all as it all away as nothing more than imagination while believing you will soon wake up? What if you don’t? Do you fear then? The dead now stand staggering around you in a ceremonial circle. Rotting corpses stand before you with bloodless lips drawn back over cracked and yellow teeth in mock grins. Now do you fear? Might just as well scream now. Go ahead and just let it out. This may be your only chance!
Death is finally only to the living. But what of those who never really knew what life was all about? Or do we ever really know until we die? Perhaps not even then, perhaps it is only good enough to have known life, even if it were for only a few moments. Like our next bewildered friend. Proving final thoughts are truly the end with...
Last Words
I lay here waiting for the end of what was my life, wondering deeply what will be the here after. I’m scared and yet I know the end must come to all. I fear mainly because I never had the chance to live out my life. I have barely known this world, so cold and yet with so many unexplored reaches. Now I am to pass on into another without ever knowing what joys can be found here. I know nothing about the concepts of life and death and yet for some reason I understand. Fear not, a voice inside my head proclaims as I lay her bewildered and waiting. How can I fear when real fears I have never know? There’s momma and dada again. They look through the glass at me sadly as I slowly fade away. I winder if they would like to fade away to. So strange this world. So new I am to what I see and so young to leave it again so suddenly. Momma is crying now. I remember crying only once since I entered this world. What a shock I did find when my eye’s did open! Bright lights and many faces! I wonder what will great when my eyes open again? My eyes are slowly blurring now, my thoughts cloudy and hazed. It must be time. Goodbye Momma, Goodbye Dada. If only could have known each other longer. I’m sure I could have been able to tell you ........I....................lo..............ve..........u.
This is the end of our little tour in Fright Land today my friends! Please join us again soon, as I am sure it will be just as much fun if not more! I know these little stories have left with some truly thought provoking scenes. Fright can be for only a moment or for a lifetime! If this paper leaves you with fear or god forbid even happiness, sadness or disgust that I have succeed in my quest. I leave Fright with you for the time being. Read it again or pass it on, but don’t ever forget or ignore it because it will always be there for you. Fright is for one! Fright is for all! And remember, a ghost stays around forever!
Farewell from the beasts and I!
‘Till next we bleed,
J.P. Hunt
Volume 1, Issue 2, Apr. 1988
Introduction
Hello again! Welcome back to my world. The King awaits you in the throne room. It is his wishes that you receive a guided tour of the kingdom. Follow me and we’ll see what there is in his fearsomenesses lands!
When evil
comes knocking, do you answer the door?
As you begin to read this paper and actually get into these stories wondering “What if...”. Please think about this for a moment. When evil comes knocking do you answer it? You know, like in the movies when it is certain the noise in the basement is danger, but they investigate anyway. Or would you sneak out the back door in hopes of avoiding the obvious? What is evil? Is it something substantial? Can it be touched, or even destroyed? Or is it simply a state of mind? If it is only a state of mind then why fear it? Evil is of course what we make it. We as the microcosmic gods, decide what is or is not evil. Then we fear it as we have taught our selves to do. What is it they say is the root of all evil? Greed? Money? The Devil? What or who is the “Devil” anyway? Only evil with a capital D! It’s all about fear my friends! This I tell you honestly, fear is the root of all evil. Think about it.
Now turn out the light and join me in darkness. For I have many stories to tell and many creatures to loose within your mind. If you happen to become so scared your heart stops and your body breaks out in cold perspiration, go ahead and turn the lights back on. But inevitably you find that even the brightest lights can serve no consolation. When fear posses the only thing you can do is scream. Of course even that won’t actually help!
“Enter into my dark domain and tell me,
do you fear? No? Well you will. Your
Nightmare lies just around the corner.”
~J.P. Hunt~
Not only is there fear, there is a prayer for little fear, and hope. There may be desperation but there is always offered a little comfort. Even if it is only a thought, or a prayer, or an...
Untouchable Light
A light! Aye. A light! A beautiful reddish glow of radiation it is! A sight for sore eyes indeed! I reach for it, my starving fingers searching for its inner core of heat. Further and further it seems as I stretch to meet it. My muscles tense with expectation, but I just can’t reach it. I fall back to the cold dark stone of my pity less cell. The taunting teasing light dances before my eyes. Licking my dry cracking lips I can feel my swollen tongue thirsting for water. My body gaunt from starving, my soul lost in the walls of dank and musty prison. All my life I have been reaching towards that star. Each time I get close to find it just beyond my grasp. Its power I can feel as but never touch. Hopefully I continue but never quite reach. That light of my dreams I will someday hold! Its power will relieve my soul and all my worries, troubles, and sorrows will be over. It will tell me who I am, why I am here, and how I can live without pain. Yet still I am always reaching desperately to no avail. So here I lay in prayer for little pain until that light shall be mine.
