by J.P. Hunt
“Jonnie” a voice whispered cruelly in my ear, “Jonnie, where’s your hat and coat? You know better than to be out on a night like this without your hat and coat!” It was the dreaded voice of my mother!
I wheeled around screaming. There was my mother standing before me as alive as she could be and not a day older than when last I saw her breathing! Her voice hissed behind clenched teeth as her thin bloodless lips stretched into a sneer.
“When your father gets here you’ll get the whip for sure boy! At least two hundred times!”
Abruptly a large man with a face of stone stepped into the beam of my flashlight. It was my father! My eyes were glued to his right hand which always held the whip I learned to fear as a child.
“So” he growled deeply, “You still refuse to wear your hat and coat when you go out do you boy?” He deftly snapped back the whip and WHACK! The steel tip ripped through my shirt and traced a long red line across my chest. The pain was instant as I screamed and fell to the ground in a fit of vicious tears. A thirty-year-old man at the feet of his dead father crying for all eternity, blubbering like a baby! The whip struck again and again as my father bellowed at the top of his lungs
“Stop that god damned crying and take your beating like a man! Who cry’s Jonnie!? I’ll tell you who cry’s! I tell you the weak cry Jonnie! There is no place in this world for the weak! Those that know REAL pain cry! Those pathetic souls that are beaten till there’s nothing left of them cry all the way to hell! Where they cry still Jonnie! I’ll give you a REAL reason to cry boy! Learn the meaning of REAL pain Jonnie! Then you tell me, who cry’s!”
Through a sheet of tears and blinding pain I saw my father melt away into a visage of horror. Rotted and mutilated as his mangled arm repeatedly swung the whip. His lips were drawn back in a cruel smile showing glistening fangs that dripped with rabid foam. He lashed at me savagely , without mercy.
“Who cry’s!?” He growled, “Who Cry’s!!?” He screeched, “Who CRYS!!!?”
I cried, then all my sanity died.
A tear falls on a page as I write this. A drop of salt water that deeply stains the paper. A letter grows in size then smears as the tear dries. I sob deeply, then sigh, staring at what I have just written. I look up at the man who now takes my place on a similar occasion. I look pleadingly into his eyes begging him to let me stop here. He smiles somewhat reassuringly. I think it is a fake smile. I grin and snicker uncontrollably. Then the orderlies come and lead me to the door. I am compelled to turn to him before leaving as a feeling of almost real sanity comes over me for just a moment.
“Don’t go there” I hear myself say, “You’ll want to but don’t. It’ll...It’ll kill. Or worse.”
He only smiles tiredly to humor me. I can see the mirth in his eyes. I return to my snickering as I am carried away. I hope he is not weak.
Intermission: A brief pause in our regularly scheduled program. A commercial if you will, more like an infomercial! A little limerick about Fred, with a moral attached I’m sure (gasp!)...
The Man Without A Head
By Frederick Headless
There once was a man named Fred,
Who had a slight problem with his head.
Whenever he said yes,
Even if it were a guess,
He’d give a nod that was slow.
His head would fall to floor,
And roll straight out the door!
Embarrassing as it may be,
He couldn’t even see!
So the moral of the story should be.
Take it from Fred,
Hold on to your head,
Whenever you agree!
(Resounding laughter) Ah yes, poor ole Fred! I knew him well. How sad a predicament. But the denizens of Frights’ mighty kingdom do love him so. He is always the center of attraction at many gatherings. We just love to ask him questions!
Now back to our regularly scheduled Fright-fest!
Have you ever seriously considered killing someone who bothered you so much you thought were going crazy? Where did you draw the line? Or did you? Perhaps you were crazy! Or perhaps there is no such thing as crazy after all. Perhaps you just had to do it. Maybe it was the only sane thing to do! Well this guy is not crazy. Just ask him! But he does have a desire to be rid of a little pest, and he doesn’t plan on using a flyswatter! We call this ditty...
A dark and dreary evening in the countryside far away from anyone
By The Madman
I really don’t want to do this but I have to, I really do! No! I am not mad or demented! So why do you insist that I am? Just because I want to solve my problem by killing it? What is so wrong about that?
I knew how she felt about me but we’re just not made to be together. Or are we? I say we are not! And to prove it I will end it! I am sure she knows what is going to happen. Only a brainless twit wouldn’t know by now! I feel her eyes watching as I open the door and bring in the knife and crowbar. Why, I can see in the back of my mind her cold and clammy body crawling after me with a knife in her chest! Ha!
Mad! You say I’m mad!? I’ll prove that I am not! How dare you! How am I not worthy of acceptance? How mad can I truly be when I planned and carried this out so carefully?
And finally the moment I know you all have been waiting for. Our sequel continues in yet another installment from our unknown contributor. Will our young friend ever escape from his prison maze of rock? Read and see as the story unfolds. Perhaps it’s all truly just...
The Dream
Part 2
In the midst of my crying my stomach rumbled loudly and I realized that I was hungry. All this time I had not even considered food, but in this moment of weakness it came to me. Where was I to find food? Was I doomed to wander until I starved to death? What have I done to deserve such a fate? I was a law abiding, god-fearing citizen! Sure I had stepped on a few toes on the way up, but what successful person had not?
I quickly erased these thoughts from my mind. No time to start thinking about that. Long ago I had taught myself not to feel sorry for myself; or anyone else for that matter. I had closed my mind to the feelings of other people and thought only in terms of my own gain. That’s how I got to where I am today.
#
I felt a chill go through my body, “That’s how I got to where I am today,” I repeated slowly. Was that indeed the case? “Nonsense,” I told myself. I was losing my mind if I thought that way. I started to walk again, only not as quickly this time. Still with my eye on the North Star, turning, walking, and turning. Was there no end to this? Walking! Turning! Walking! Was I ever going to find a way out?
Of course I would find a way out! I laughed out loud. Had I not always found a way, even when there seemed none? I would find a way; make a way if I had to! Nobody could get me! Nobody ever would! I was way to smart! Too damned smart for anyone to fool! I walked boldly in a new direction, not watching anything but the sky. I stepped off into nothing and started falling.
#
I do not know how long I was I was unconscious, but when I came to the darkness was still there. Clouds covered the sky and I could see very little. I sat up, noticing that my back ached considerably. I stood and began to look around. I could see very little but what I could see gave me no hope or inspiration. Just the same dark gray rock I seen for the last few days. Days? How did I know that it had been days? I looked closely at my watch. It had stopped at 9:30 on July 12. July 12 was the day I started this mad adventure! How long ago it was I had no way of knowing.
I started walking again in the same manner as before, wandering from one passageway to another. The sharp pain in my stomach was a constant reminder of my hunger. I had not eaten since, well, since I started this journey. The lack of food had also made me weak. I felt dizziness overtaking me and fainted.
#
I was a young boy again. My father had just returned fro
m trying to find a job. Jobs were not easy to find in those days. I remembered my father telling me not to ever let anybody push me around. “It’s not how you play the game,” he said to me, “It’s whether you win or lose.” I carried that philosophy with me through college, working my way through by participating in some things that might be considered on the other side of legal. But it worked, and that was all that mattered. I started in business honestly, but found out it was easier to get ahead by stabbing other people in the back than by hard work. And that was how I got ahead. Stealing others’ ideas was easy. When they griped I complained and they were fired. And there I was, president of Gyrex, Inc., makers of precision technical instruments the government could not do without. I smiled to myself when I thought about it. It was so easy...
#
I awoke with a start. That was why I was here! This was my punishment for all the things I had done! Doomed to walk around in a murky world until I starved to death or cracked my head on a rock. I wondered if this was to be my hell, to wander around alone forever, never finding an end to this maddening puzzle. I prayed to the powers that be for guidance out of this and promised my life and soul should I be spared!
(To be continued)
A Final Editors’ Note
So, here we are again at the end of yet another very long frightening account of your fears. Please don’t forget the folks we’ve met tonight and always remember that Insanity is not what the world makes her out to be. It’s what you alone make it. And that is not necessarily a bad thing! Or is it? Is this crazy enough for ya!?
Before I leave I leave you to your fitful nightmares I’d like to spread a little more dreadfully demented philosophy. This is not the last issue so please don’t think your safe with the light out yet. As if you ever were!
I hope all you unsuspecting readers realize the importance of this thing called Fright. I am not referring just to these collections but also the actuality of fright. Fright is an entity that lives in the minds of all of us. Without out it, the entity Insanity would rule supreme, and we have enough of that already. The use of Fright is more than just a thing that or any writer uses to scare the beejeezus out of it you. Although I do have to admit we get a big thrill out of hearing your screams and seeing you rush to feed the toilet after watching Jason do his latest piece of artwork. He really does does have such style and finesse doesn’t he? I prefer his Red Period work myself. Such creative uses he has for the color! But back to the point at hand, Fright is to real in many senses and real fear rules already rules our hearts and minds daily.
Whereas Fright, on the other hand, is a way we can take you beyond the real insanity and really scare the hell out of you by introducing you to something far greater. Thus you may find it easier to deal with the real insanity. So you don’t really have to learn 'Who Cry’s?' or even the true nature of 'Evil Insanity.'
There is no escape from fear, mind you. Fear is everywhere, and I sincerely hope you will never know the true nature of the fear written here. But if you do, please pass along your story to us!
I told you I was going to get philosophical. Well then, enough of all this mumbo jumbo! Insanity was never meant to be taken so seriously! See you again next ish! May all your dreams be infested with nightmares! Lots of love from the beasties and I...
J.P.
We bring you fantasy
We bring you pain
It’s your one great chance for a miracle
And a miracle is something you’ll need
~R.J.D.~
Next Issue...
Red
Misery
Daemons Child
The Dream (conclusion)
In just 30 days!
Volume 1 Issue 4
This particular issue of Fright was a long time in the making. It began back in 1988 and will finally be completed today, a long time afterward! It was during my quest to recollect the Fright stories and ‘zines that I realized I had an unfinished paper that never got published. The real reason for all this is, well, I graduated! These stories were being handed around throughout my last 4 months in high school and graduation kind of interrupted this issue, and it promised so much! Unfortunately since it was never completed back then, you’ll not only find those stories intended to be here but some new stuff as well. Thus on this, the 12th anniversary of Fright, I have chosen not only to resurrect the classic ‘zine but also continue it’s legacy with completely new and recently unpublished works of the macabre as I return home to the realm of Fright and rejoin all our friends where we left off those many years ago. After the initial edition you’ll find little glimpses of the future of Fright. A full-length collection of the entire classic ‘zines and new stories you will soon find on bookshelves everywhere! It’s only a shame it took so darn long! So read and weep ever-loyal listeners. For the future of Fright looks very errrr, Fright-ening!
Introduction
Welcome one! Welcome all! Welcome back to the ever threatening land of Fright! We here in Frightendom welcome you with racking claws and glistening fangs! My writing staff and I have decided that in this issue we have a very special treat for you. We are aware that we could never expect you to fully understand Fright with out some blood and guts. Like a very important person has said at least once, “I write to terrorize. If I can’t do that I write for fear. If that doesn’t work it’s time for a little disgust. If all else fails, go for the big gross out!” What a guy! And oh how I do love that Stephen King!
So here we are with a selection of snippets chocked full of bloody goodness! Here you have it, the blood issue. We call it the blood issue because it’s only slightly better than calling it the Big Gross Out! Although the latter does have a delicious ring to it don’t you think? But Blood issue goes well with our first little tale of crimson beauty. Why?
There are books of blood in all of us,
Open us up and we’re red.
~The Books of Blood~
Clive Barker
I do sincerely hope none of you get squeamish at the sight of blood. You might see some oozing from the pages of your skin! Thus, with out any further ado, we present to you...
Red
If your wondering why I didn’t start at the beginning it’s because the beginning is a jumbled bunch of shit that only causes dark souls to cry out a chorus of “Big Deal!” Well to me it all is a big deal. But I’ve jumped to the end for a reason. Because this particular end opens my soul to float away weightlessly mad only solidify so that I may cause my blood to create these words.
A finger for a pen. I gave my finger for a pen. They told me it would just as well so I didn’t see any harm in it. The dead feel no pain, they say. Funny, I felt every nerve flame as I bit my finger off. I use the bone. I peeled away the skin and muscle while sickly admiring every aspect of my self-dissection. But the bone works well as you can see. If you hollow out the marrow you can fill it with blood, which makes a mighty fine ink. With a sharp edge to the bone the blood flows like a fountain pen. My favorite type of pen I might add. So my genius serves me well on this.
A leg will serve for paper since I do not intend to take long in explaining myself. That was also a very painstaking process. To carefully peel layer after layer of skin from your body with out the aid of sharp medical instruments is laboriously painful. But what skin I have will serve quite well. It has finally dried well enough to write.
My leg still hurts terribly. I can feel the exposed muscles harden as I sit here. Ah well, it will be done soon. Then I can be dead completely. Or at least that is my hope. With my last final retribution perhaps I can finally get some rest.
All my life I lived by the philosophy that people were books. And as an ever-aspiring professional in medicine I was always more than happy to open them up and read all about them. Perhaps my methods were not ethical but then again where would medicine be with out me or even the likes of those who committed those heinous
acts in Germany. I thought I could always live with my decisions. I guess I never really figured my death into the picture. Not that it mattered. I would be dead! What would I care of those who wished to slice me up and figure out how I work. The dead don’t feel anything!
Yet here I am, as dead as I can possibly be, dissecting myself for a pen and a few scraps of paper just so I can have one desperate moment of pride. Yes, it is true. We are all books of blood. And with the completion of my manuscript I have made mine a reality. I wonder if I will be red.
If Death were merely a entity
Then no one would fear his presence
Anyone who saw him on the street
Would perhaps stop to discuss politics
If he were to knock on the door
He'd be invited in for dinner and a drink
Except Death is more than this
One who is feared and unwelcome to most
When Death comes knocking on the door
People turn and run away
How rude this must seem
To Death anyway...
Misery
Death’s misery was a bloody corpuscle in his meager brain. Thoughts of growing disaster nagged and exploded in fiery fury forming the belief that life was best ended in mutilation. The fever burned so deeply in his mind he could feel the flames roaring in his ears and searing through his eyes.
Death walked the dark shadows of the city; his cloak pulled tightly about him like the shroud of a mummy. He clutched his scythe tightly to his chest. He was waiting for a message. A sign that would tell him what to do next. He knew the beast would be set free tonight and the world die. He was ready.
He found a lone soul trudging through an alleyway. The exploding fire raged as death shivered with anticipation. Would this be the messenger or a victim? Did it really matter? Death was after all, Death. Be it either he would deal his blow with reverence! Slowly the figure came closer as the fever burned its way through Deaths’ body. He shook convulsively with blazing sockets fixed on the approaching one. His mask of skull of bone glowed red with the heat. He almost couldn’t stand it any longer when the figure stepped into the ghostly light of a street lamp.
