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EROS & RUST Vol. 2, Issue 1, A Newsletter/Ezine of Good Fiction and Writing Resources This ezine is distributed by subscription only. To unsubscribe, check the details at the end of this email. If you were sent this ezine by a friend and wish to subscribe just send me an email at sueateros@yahoo.ca I do this all by hand - no autoresponder, no mailing lists, so shoot me over an email and I??™ll add you to the list. Susan Snively, Editor (sueateros@yahoo.ca)
IN THIS ISSUE ... SPECIAL HALLOWEEN EDITION * Editorial ??“ A Change of Hands * Farewell & A Fare Thee Well from Kenyon * Original Fiction & Poetry * Eros & Rust??™s Contest Winners * Author Showcase ??“ Mike Philbin (aka Hertzan Chimera) * 2 Scary Stories: ?· Strange Breed by Queenie Tirone ?· Need by Steve Short * Bragging Rights ??“ NEW SECTION! * Calls for Submission & Market Listings * Agents & Contests * Articles & Columns * Articles * Writer??™s Jokes and Other Miscellanea * Prompts for (month):Use in Journaling or Free Fall Writing Exercises * Classes & Services offered by M Kenyon Charboneaux * Advertisements * Info for Advertisers * The Legal Stuff * About Me * Subscribe/Unsubscribe information ************************************************************************ Editorial: A Change of Hands Here I am at the helm of Eros & Rust as editor now that Kenyon has stepped down. I didn??™t expect to be here so soon. I??™m nervous to be taking over since I know Kenyon had many supporters. However, she needs time to rest, recuperate and write. I would like to thank everyone for their kind words and offers of help when Kenyon put out the notice about handing over Eros to me. I appreciate every kind gesture and I will be in touch with all those that made suggestions. I??™ve decided to start with Vol. 2 since Vol. 1 belonged to Kenyon. As the new editor, I will be keeping Kenyon??™s dream alive of making this a literary ezine/newsletter. I want to celebrate writing in all styles, genres, and forms. I hope that everyone continues to subscribe for I do have some great interviews and stories coming up. November??™s Author Showcase will be C. S. Friedman, the awesome fantasy/science fiction writer and author of the Coldfire Trilogy. In December, I??™ll be showcasing The Poetry of Akintiunde. Here??™s to a slightly different Eros; I hope everyone enjoys it. All the Best, Susan Snively ******************************************************************** Farewell & A Fare Thee Well By Kenyon Charboneaux
Greetings, Fellow Erosians :
You all know how loquacious I can be - for once I promise you to keep this short. I hate long goodbyes.
For goodbye this is. For real this time. Eros & Rust is being handed over to a person perfect for it - more perfect even than I was. Susan Snively, who proved herself a tireless worker for Eros during her short tenure as assistant editor, tireless and I add humbly -much more aggressive at getting interviews with really famous writers than I could ever be - is now the editor and owner of Eros & Rust.
Eros was a labor of love for me and I know it is for her, too. No one puts the kind of time and effort into something that she has put into Eros if they don't love it. I am well content that Sue will be taking my baby and making it into her own Baby.
I loved most getting to meet new writers, like Shannon Young and Akintiunde Kofi Camara, who'll be the focus of the Author Showcase in December; ld Larson and Alison Goodchap, who was the first winner of an Eros contest and who lives in the fairyland of Druids and Avalon (lucky,lucky her!). And I loved getting email from you - the subscribers - saying how much you enjoyed this or that story, this poem or that article. It was you, the subscribers, my fellow Erosians, who made the work involved in putting out Eros each month worth the effort and worth the time.
I know I don't have to ask you to give the same support to Sue as you gave to me, because your support was for Eros not for the person behind it. But I'm also very sure that Eros will be a better newsletter/ezine with Sue at the wheel. As I said, she's not crippled with terminal shyness and has no compunctions about simply emailing anyone, no matter how famous, and asking them for an interview or stories for a showcase. She's also got a sense of humor that penetrates even my perpetual melancholia and that will, I know, translate itself to Eros, making it a lighter and funnier newsletter when and where appropriate. Because she really is tireless, she'll always have the newest markets and agent and publisher listings. In short, this should have been Sue's baby all along - but better late than never, right?
So I want to say thank you to all the faithful Erosians who stayed with the newsletter from my first issue to last and even re-subscribed (some of you) when my computer crashed and I lost the subscriber list (along with everything else). I wanted to say thank you before I said farewell.
And to you, Sue, a fare thee well in this new venture that I know your talent will only make better. I'm always around if you need anything. I'm going to take my health problems and disappear into the silence of non-cyberland and write but you'll always know where to find me. And I wanted to thank you again for taking Eros & Rust and for promising to make it YOUR vision now, instead of trying to keep my vision alive, which wouldn't be fair to you or to the subscribers. Recycled me sounds like seaweed quiche for dinner. Yuk! Original you sounds like chocolate for breakfast - a big YUM!
I just have one question - does this mean I can enter the contests now?
Until we meet again, then, somewhere else, Fellow Erosians -- Farewell, from your past and always grateful one time editor of Eros & Rust, M. Kenyon Charboneaux ************************************************************************ ABOUT THE EROS & RUST CONTEST: Every month we hold a contest here at Eros & Rust. Submissions are taken between the 15th of the current month and the 15th of the following month. The winner is announced in the next month??™s issue and his or her story also appears in that issue. All stories must be original by the author submitting them and unpublished prior to the date of publication in Eros & Rust, to win the contest. Three outside judges will be doing the judging so that there can??™t be any appearance or allegations of nepotism or favoritism. Virginia Woolf took a lot of heat for reviewing her friend??™s books and for situations like this one - I don??™t want to have to take the same heat. There is NO FEE for the contest and the PRIZE is $20. All stories should be 2500 to 5000 words and unless a topic is announced for the month, your subject can be anything you like EXCEPT PORNOGRAPHY or HATE LITERATURE OF ANY KIND THE SUBJECT FOR NOVEMBER??™S CONTEST IS ???THE HOLIDAYS???. Something with a twist for an ending would be great. Send all contest submissions to erossubmissions@yahoo.ca and be sure to put Contest Entry in the subject line so I??™ll know. GOOD LUCK!!
******************************************************************** OCTOBER??™S CONTEST WINNERS I??™m sorry to say that there were no entries for this month??™s contest. I??™m hoping this is because everyone thought Eros was shutting down. I have raised the prize money to $20, so maybe I can get a few submissions for November??™s. GET THOSE STORIES IN! ******************************************************************** ORIGINAL FICTION & POETRY This is, remember, a paying market - it??™s nominal pay, $10 per story or poem, but my piggybank is small and it is proud to be able to contribute anything at all to that great feeling it is to a writer to not only see their work in print, but to be able to say to their friends, relatives and nay-sayers (and sometimes the same person can be all three - a friend, a relative and a nay-sayer), "See? I even got paid!" There is a new address to send your submissions for the Fiction and Poetry submissions Please send your submissions to erossubmissions@yahoo.ca with Fiction Submission in the subject line. *************************************************************** This month, Lorrine Martell (aka Winter Wolf) was good enough to share some of her original poetry with us. Her themes tend to be on the darker side, and she writes a lot about wolves. So for this special Halloween edition, I thought her spooky poetry would be perfect. Lorrine gets her inspiration from the objects and pictures around her. She surrounds herself with wolves and different objects that might set off a new thread for her poems. She enjoys the outdoors and crafting, so her inspiration can come from anything, from a wolf to a doll??™s rocking chair; she just never knows. The first poem is a chilling little verse called Will You Come Out Tonight? The second one is called The Nightly Visitor and has an almost singsong quality to it. I hope you enjoy them. Will You Come Out Tonight? We patiently wait, for that special time When we stand as one, in a straight line If only, It would come soon So we can howl, At the silvery moon I need to feel, That strength and power Anticipating, The first magical hour I look forward to everyone I meet Because maybe, One of them I shall eat! The hour of change fast approaches, I shall stomp on the dead, Like little cockroaches, The pain it brings, Is ever so sweet, I can taste the flavor, Of blood red meat, Our bodies??™ change, We run to our place All I can think of, Is your embrace, Maybe tonight, I shall make you mine Then at the next moon, Together we shall dine! At the gathering place, I am found To another, I am bound We race through the field Where to him, I must yield I scurry away, To find my first kill I shall not bend, To his dominating will Ripping a hole in the dead man??™s heart Then slowly, Tearing him apart Enraged am I At this werewolf??™s struggle I strike out, At his whiskered muzzle A fight he wants, And he shall get A claw tears out, What was a set No longer whole is his face One eye now, There is no trace A bite he takes from my arm But he, Is the one who is to be harmed. There is no fury like that of a mother Now he is dead, my poor dear brother. My tender child, do I hide I keep him always, by my side. He is so young, to be like us. But I had no heart, So I do what I must. I would rather he, be here with me He is a great hunter, as you will see. You, Are our prey, on this glorious night. We hope, You closed your windows tight! We wait, Just outside your door
You always come out Around a quarter till four The dawn is about two hours away But you, Shall not live To see the light of day! ?© Lorrine Martell McCain The Nightly Visitor As I sit here, In my chair, Wondering, Who, what, when & where, The night falls. around the house, Nothing stirs, not even the mouse, Closing in, like an oceans fog, My family asleep, and sawing logs, A chill creeps in, From our front door, Slowly, it slithers, across the floor, Deathly cold fingers, seek to caress, Wanting to destroy, all happiness, An evil. needing to be free, Where there was one, Now, there are three, A mother, a father, and a little child, GO out the door, Into the wild, As they take, Their last breath, They step inside, a carriage of death, Skeleton horses, Scream in protest, Their handler misshapen, And horribly grotesque, Nocturnal creatures, Run and take flight, When the Reapers carriage, comes into sight. ************************************************************************ AUTHOR SHOWCASE This month??™s Showcase Author is Mike Philbin, or sometimes known as Hertzan Chimera from CHIMERAWORLD fame. I remember the first time I saw the paintings of Pablo Picasso, years ago in high school. I remember thinking ???This guy can??™t even draw!??? Then I began studying the great artist. Earlier paintings of people and still lifes, rendered in high realism, made me instantly change my opinion of his work. Now, when I look at the works of Picasso, and my favourite surrealist, Salvadore Dali, I understand. In order to be able to warp reality, you first have to master it. These artists had such a great understanding of the ???real??? that they could distort it with the finesse of the truly insane. Such is Mike Philbin, aka Hertzan Chimera. Mike (aka Hertzan) is the editor of ChimeraWorld #1 and will be for #2 as well. I had the chance to talk with Mike after seeking permission to publish three of the stories from ChimeraWorld. The first was Web by Kevin Anderson that I hope everyone enjoyed from the September issue. The next two are called Native Breed by Queenie Tirone, and NEED by Steve Short. I loved these stories and just wanted to share them with the subscribers. These are not safe stories, for they??™re almost repulsive, but they are good. I don??™t want people to think that I??™m ???plugging??? this book. It really struck some chords with me and I wanted to share that experience. Plus, I??™ve always been a firm believer in reading genres that are outside your normal scope, just to widen your reading repertoire. If you are interested in purchasing a copy of ChimeraWorld #1, here??™s the link: http://www.lulu.com/content/40508 I want to ask my readers not to be offended by the language in this issue. We??™re all adults and a little swearing shouldn??™t put off anyone. I??™m like the biggest prude in the world and do not swear (don??™t listen to anything my husband says), and bad language offends me to no end. But sometimes you have to take a little bad for a lot of good. I promise that this will not be the norm in upcoming issues. ******************************************** Interview with Mike Philbin: Q: First off, you decided to kill the pseudonym Hertzan Chimera, the persona you used for the CHIMERAWORLD anthology. Why? Is there some deep dark secret for doing this? Mike Philbin: Hertzan Chimera is a name I have been writing under for the last twelve years. I started out writing under a few names, Michael Paul Peter, Jane Louxis and Vierlande Brecke in such journals as Psychopoetica, Dementia13 and Dreams & Nightmare but decided to conglomerate the output under one banner. I decided to finally kill Hertzan Chimera since my visit to Horrorfind 2002. I had people coming up to me saying what does it mean, Hertzan? or how do you pronounce Chi-me-ra? and I was never really comfortable being addressed as Hertzan. I am Mike Philbin. I
have finally realised I can??™t live the lie. Q: Where did you get the name Hertzan Chimera from? MP: I was working on a revolutionary theory of gravity and I needed light to travel backwards towards the source for it to work. One night I had a dream about the perfect mechanism for what I termed Universal Equillibrium. The thing kept changing the shape of spacetime clockwise then anticlockwise over a fixed cycle, hence Hertzan Chimera. I thought it would be funny to write fiction from a totally turbulent theoretical premise such as this, and it was. This name chose itself. And the personality of Hertzan Chimera became virtually uncontrollable. Q: Let??™s talk about CHIMERAWORLD. Why did you put together such an anthology? Was it to seek other authors such as yourself, or perhaps to make a point, or just to depress and horrify the reading community? MP: I am bored of most of what you humans would call horror fiction. It??™s just a little grey and staid. Well tedious in the extreme would also describe how I feel about the modern horror product. Chimeraworld is all about unique perspectives on horror aligned down one extreme vector. There are a gazillion great writers out there who are not part of the ???chosen few??™ and Chimeraworld is a great way to see these future talents. Q: How is CHIMERAWORLD #2 coming along? MP: I have literally been inundated with submissions. I am currently running with a 3/1 rejection/acceptance ratio. There are still a lot of submissions I haven??™t had time to read. I??™ll have far more than the necessary 23 to fill the issue, I always choose more than I??™ll need and then refine the choice later. It??™s for this reason that I send out only rejections early, so that I can choose from the best come End September 2004. Q: When did your passion for writing begin? What made you turn to the ???dark side??? or were you always there? MP: I used to be a painter of psycho-erotic artwork lifesize surreal anatomies oil-on-hardboard. I only started writing novels to get my paintings on the covers of books. It worked rather well. In 1995, I destroyed the majority of those paintings with an axe ??“ very therapeutic. Material-wise, I??™ve always had a dark tooth. Q: You??™ve written two stories with erotic horror writer Alex Severin, co-author of BoyFistGirlSuck. How did you meet her? How do you like co-writing with another author? MP: I met Alex Severin on the internet. I, like many before me, thought she was a man. I said, ???Fancy a collab.??? I??™ve collaborated on two projects with Severin BROKEN from Medium Rare Books (sold out) and BFGS from Massacre Publishing (#1 bestseller on Shocklines). I LOVE collaborations, the collaborative experience itself takes the place of formal narrative, each writer suggests cliff-hangers for the other to suggest cliff hangers for.... until some agreed resolution. I??™ve done two other books of collaborations with about 15 or 20 other writers called CHIM+HER and CHIM+HIM (both available from Cyber Pulp). Collabs are
great fun. Q: Do you think your work is primarily plot driven or character driven? Despite the immorality of your writing, your characters are definitely defined and thought out. What??™s your view of your work with regard to this question? MP: Character ??“ plot can go fuck itself in the dark spidery place, IMHO. I see the characters in my writing the way a natural history programme puts wild animals in the spotlight. They are anecdotal studies, glimpses from the more extreme realm. You wouldn??™t wanna live there, but you??™d love to watch. And that??™s the allure. Q: Where do you get the ideas for your books and stories? And how do you choose one over another to actually write? MP: I don??™t choose ideas, I write. There??™s a big distinction here between what normal three-act narrative writers do and what I do when creating an imaginary world of words, as you??™ll see with my answers to the next few questions. I am on the road of pure imagination alongside Kerouac. I tend to write in one big brain-puke. I edit later if I need to but really these are only grammatical or spelling fixes, a shine of prose or a total line or paragraph delete. I like to write in the raw, with my cognitive brain shackled in a dark room unable to influence or ???mother??™ the result
until much later on. Q: When you write a book, do you follow a routine? Are you disciplined with a schedule or do you just write when the mood strikes? MP: I write almost every day. On a good day I can write 5,000 words. Short stories I can write in the time it takes for a CD to play twice. My record for having something written, edited, submitted and accepted was the time it took for Marylin Manson??™s MECHANICAL ANIMALS to play through twice. A story called SHE GIVES ME THE FEAR, published in the well-respected Urbanite magazine. Q: How do you prepare for an idea for writing, for turning it into a book or a story? Do you outline the characters, setting, plot, etc. before you begin to write? MP: I write whatever is on my mind. I never take notes. I only write when I??™m at the keyboard. It is important that I get very lost in a book when writing it, I have to dig my way out of the narrative, that is very important to me. That feeling that it is unfinishable. Q: Do you do research and if so, how much? For instance, in the short story Face Seventeen, taken from the BoyFistGirlSuck collection, did you do any research on skinning, or on the perverted minds of Skin Wearers? MP: No comment. Q: What do you think is your greatest strength as a writer? MP: The ability to really let go and totally forget that there??™s a reader out there with social responsibility and societal sensibilities, someone who can be offended, someone who can hate like a psycho, someone who can fall in love with you, someone you can play with. I don??™t really think of my work as being read when it??™s being written. You have to plug right in and accept everything or you??™re not giving it the credit. I like to get under the skin of a reader, draw him into my world. You can only do that through strong character, narrative is a bonus. Q: And of course, then, what do you think is your greatest weakness as a writer? MP: Probably all of the above. :) Q: What advice would you give a newbie? MP: Write, write, write. Read, read, read. Read other writers but never copy their style. Write from your heart. Only you can be you and you??™ve only got one life to live. Make it count. Then try to get as much money as possible from your publications. Unless you have a full-time job to support your junkie writer habit. Q: How much time do you spend on marketing your work? Do you have any marketing tips for writers? MP: I don??™t spend half as much time as I should on marketing, and to be quite honest, I wish I didn??™t have to spend half the time I do. The publisher and distributor and shop should be taking care of that ??“ they take the major cut, they should do the most work for each title. Marketing tips? It??™s not that easy. You really gotta research what you??™re doing with your career ??“ if you don??™t know what you??™re getting in to prepare to get severely ripped off. Q: Do you feel you have found your voice? Or do you think there is more than one voice? Is there a literary novel still to surface under the name Mike Philbin? MP: I am working on brand new Mike Philbin novels. The style is much cleaner, maturer than the mind-blown Hertzan Chimera craziness. It cares a little more for the reader, it is more accessible and dare I say it ???has MASS MARKET appeal??™. Q: You??™ve usually published with smaller presses, such as Massacre Publications. Do you want to be published by a traditional publisher? MP: I will be releasing no Mike Philbin books through these creatively interesting but financially throat-choking small presses. I am now actively pursuing Q: Tell us about your webpage Horrorquarterly.com. MP: When I??™ve finished with my plan for Horror Quarterly it??™s gonna take over the world of horror fiction and alternative life-style investigation. It??™s mostly non-mainstream subjects and treatment. There is no censorship whatsoever ??“ if you write it well for each themed quarterly issue it??™s in, and be damned. The first was Body Horror. The second was Fuck Horror. The third (coming at the end of September) is themed Blood Horror. So with this AND the Chimeraworld editing you could say I??™m a bit busy busy busy. Just the way I like it. Q: You??™re one of the editors at Cyber-Pulp Publishing (http://come.to/cyberpulp). How did you get involved with them? MP: I asked, they said yes. Q: Is there anything else I should ask you? MP: Why don??™t you ask me my favourite food? Mike??™s webpages include: http://www.mikephilbin.com - website ***************************** Here is the beginning excerpt from Mike Philbin??™s newest short story, entitled Planet of the Owls. I??™m very proud to present it here for the first time. PLANET OF THE OWLS by Mike Philbin I awoke that fateful morning to the recession of a huge fluttering shadow. The sun was easily tearing through my thin bed-sit curtains to my right. I remember it like it was only yesterday. My eyes opened. The shadow leapt off my 2nd floor attic window. Flapping it??™s big shadows for wings. I saw then the sun and how it refracted through those frenetic shapes, those wings. I had heard them all morning. They appeared louder than normal but that is a clear-cut case of me leaving the double sash windows open last night, so stifling was the stillness of the summer air. That one giant silhouette though, that was scary. Of course I knew it was because of the way a solid object bent light around
it, the way a solar eclipse ???diamond rings??™ the sun??™s rays before and after apogee. The bird was like man-sized. I remember it more and more clearly. I could hear it even before I awoke fully. I now realise I had been listening to that thing, perched there on my windowsill, trilling away like a pneumatic drill. I had been listening to the way it periodically preened its arm-long feathers, they sounded like stropped silk. I had been listening to the scrape of its curved claws on the window sill, I could hear the wood splintering, the windowsill shattering, fragmenting into splinters ??“ I had this vision of the scene with my landlord ???A huge bird did it!??? he??™d laugh his ass off and call me a ???fucking drunken student prick??? as I??™ve heard him talk about some of our other tenants when he??™s
been in our communal kitchen making himself breakfast. He didn??™t even live here, he was just the landlord, but he treated the place like it was his own; used our kitchen when he wanted to,
stopped by to use our toilet or have a quick shower in-between construction jobs. He was always renovating old property into bed-sits to sell onto unsuspecting students like myself. ???Ready to fleece the rich.??? he??™d say. I had been listening to the solemn song in the back of its throat, a woeful warble. I had been listening to its creaking lungs that sounded like an idling turbo charger pulsing soft and dangerous like the neck bite of a one-night stand. I even wondered if it would slip in under the uplifted sash window. I could see it peeking its huge feathery head through the curtains. The curtains were an arm-reach away. I could see that lethal beak then that feathery nose, then those yellow and red eyes. I awoke because of the scream. That thing only realised I was lying there in the orange glow through the curtains too late. It had its head and neck through the gap in the curtains, it was looking around, surveying my near-derelict living condition. It was measuring up to move in, it looked like. That giant bird wanted my bed-sit for its nest. I couldn??™t believe the utter shameless trespass. Just then I thought it might be a cuckoo male, something flashed up from my memory about ornithology and feather patterns. It was scooping out my nest for its own, waiting to move in and oust me from my own property. But it hadn??™t made the ???cuckoo??? sound so I??¦ I couldn??™t believe the size of that thing. I awoke in
mid-scream, flapping my arms and flailing at the thing, my mouth agape. I had woken myself up coming out of an awful dream about the thief of dreams come to peck my mind clean.
And there it stood like a concrete sculpture you see on those old mansions out in the country. It stood there piercing me with its yellow and red eyes. I could suddenly feel the crystals of sleep in the inner corner of my eyes like a high-alkalinity irritant. The bird??™s beak opened as slow as anything I have ever witnessed, the colours refracting through it??™s separating neck feathers were just psychedelic. And this deafening shriek, this near-human scream came out of it. The curtains settled as I unscrewed my face and let my hand fall from my ears. My heart was literally hammering against my chest. I was damn-near deafened, a soft hissing overlaid the normal sounds of the morning for an hour after that like tinitus. I got up out of bed then, wiping a cold sweat from my forehead. I had never had such a fright. My body knew what it needed...
c 2004 Mike Philbin ********************************************************************* Now here are two scary stories taken from the pages of ChimeraWorld #1. The first is a lovely little twisted story by Queenie Tirone. I guess the story took a little work but turned out to be a real gem. Strange Breed I remember the day I gave birth to it. It was a rainy, spring afternoon, and my mother had dropped everything to meet me at the hospital. My mother was worried for me, telling me she had nightmares about my baby. I thought she just read too many magazines and got herself all worked up like she usually did, so I ignored her whining and complaining, till I saw the creature myself. The labour pains were horrific, and it felt as if the beast was tearing its way out of me with its talon-like nails. It was strange how the creature's seemingly fragile-looking fingertips could do so much damage to my tender flesh. The doctors gave me something for the pain, but nothing could dull the sense of dread and shock that overwhelmed me when I looked into those beady, icy-blue eyes. I knew the moment they held it up to the light, with the confusion and terror on their faces, my life would be forever changed. It was smaller then I ever pictured one of those . . . things. It had a small round head, tiny light-coloured fur that seemed to cover its entire body. It??™s head hair got darker and richer as it grew. Don't even get me started on its flesh tone; the ghastly pigment of its skin sent shivers down my spine on first sight. Its skin was so pale and translucent, every time I held it in my arms I was afraid my hands would go right though it. And it seemed so delicate, so soft to the touch. It would cut and bleed just like ours, but the blood was unlike our own. The colour was all wrong. And the blood, it tasted salty, kinda metallic in flavour. No blood should taste that sullen, forbidden, and repulsive. The creature's evil could be tasted even in the blood. It was an abomination. But I tried to love it. It was my own abomination. I went though the agonizing forty-nine hours of hellish labour to bring the blanched beast kicking and screaming into the world. I had to let it have a chance to live, even when the doctors and nurses insisted I kill it. They said the beast might turn on me one day, and they were right. But back then I had to try to give it a normal life. I had to see if it had a soul just like we did. Maybe it would learn to accept me, and even love me. You can't blame me for trying. Sometimes it did enchant me, even while it sickened me. Perhaps it was because I was its mother, and the bond between us still existed, even through our differences. We endured this life together, and a bond between a mother and her child is the strongest bond one can experience. I tried to ignore the way its bones would protrude crudely out of its elbows when it bent its arms. The skin wouldn't rip or tear, just stretch strangely to offer better movement for the child. I did eventually name it. Since it seemed to be a he, I named him Daniel Joseph Egan. It was my father's name. My mother insisted I name my first child that, even though I really would have considered a different name. She complained afterward though, saying she didn't want a devil spawn like my son to have her father's name, and that it was a curse to name him so. But she is a strange woman, and she didn't see the love I had for Daniel. I knew if I just tried hard enough, I could make him a wonderful, loving boy, despite his hideous looks. All he needed was a chance to prove himself, something I was willing to give, even to something that looked like a demon. So I raised it ... him. I decided he deserved a chance to have some sort of a life. And sure, I didn't let him go outside to play most times, and yes I shouldn't have locked him in the attic for most of his life, but it was only because I was scared. What would you do if you had a demon child of your own? A child who was a threat to society? He was a glaring reminder that I have been cursed, that my womb was so filthy, I had spewed forth a terror upon the world, having it forever changed by my mistake. So, maybe I should have controlled my temper a little better. But I still loved him. I was still willing to try. It was all I could offer him. I never meant to hurt him. He knew that deep down. But he did horrible things. Like the time I found him hiding in the attic, and with his strangely shaped teeth he tore flesh off a helpless little kitten. He was eating it alive! The thing still twitched in his hands, its eyes staring listlessly and meowing weakly, begging to be put out of its torment. I was so freaked, I tore the thing away from him, and grabbed him roughly by the collar, I flung him into the wall. I didn't know his kind could be so fragile. I heard his bones make a strange popping sound, and I had to take him to the hospital. It was embarrassing. I had to wrap him in as many blankets as I could find, trying desperately to cover his face. I showed the doctor his face when he examined him, and he gasped. Everyone does the first time they see him. I had to practically beg the doctor to fix Daniel's back. I did tell him what happened since I felt terribly upset I had hurt him so badly. But the doctor seemed to sympathise with my plight. When he was finished, he took me to one side and murmered, "Ms. Egan, his wounds will heal, but I am afraid I need to warn you about such ... an abnormal child. What if he attacks you next? If he is eating kittens for gods' sake . . . " "He is my son," I said harshly, "He will stay with me. I will teach him to do better." I took Daniel home and locked myself in my room. I cried for several hours. It was worse when he got old enough for school. I tried home schooling him first, afraid of what he would be put though if he did go to school with the other children. Kids tease, but when they see him they will flee in terror. Having his skin tone, his bone structure, those icy eyes, would scare the living hell out of me. I didn't want to put him through that, or the other children. I got so frustrated with his short attention span and acting out, I tried to hire a private teacher for him. It went well for the first three weeks, then one day I came home from work to find his teacher dead. She had been skinned, her heart ripped out and eaten. He stood with the leftover bites of her blood on his hands and face, looking at me like a cat caught with a mouse. "I was hungry mom. She told me if I wanted to be normal, I had to eat things. Like all you normal people do. So I ate her." I screamed, "That's not what she meant! Oh my god, Dan, what were you thinking! You can't keep doing this, its wrong!" After seeing the poor woman's body there I snapped. I beat him. I was so angry, so ashamed, I just flipped out I guess. I am usually a patient woman, and not one to hurt anyone, let alone my own son. But I beat him to a bloody pulp, and when I saw the blood seep from his wounds, in that freakish color, I hit him one last time for causing me so much pain. I guess, I hit him the last time because he was different. I didn't take him to the doctor that time. I did clean up his wounds, not saying a word to him. He was shaking the whole time, probably afraid I would strike him if he dared to breathe. It was despicable of me, I know. I could feel my heart becoming colder to him as time went on. I guess in the end that's what broke inside me, the jaded feeling of hopelessness. You try to make do with what you have, hoping someday it would become a beautiful butterfly somehow. You think love, time and care will cultivate it into something no one ever thought possible. But in the end, when you realize it's fruitless, and you look back at it, realizing it's just a monster, you know that there is nothing you can do to change things. You know you need to put it out of its misery, and yours. Daniel did try too hard to be like us. He tried to dress like us, eat like us. He learned our language and mannerisms as if he was one of our own. Which only made things worse, just like they all told me it would. He was now a person, not a thing. I gave him an identity, which made it worse when I killed him. The guilt in my heart still ways heavily on my soul. But I did do it. I waited till he was asleep, and crept soundlessly up the stairs to the attic. Carrying a butcher knife in one hand, I slowly opened his door and snuck up to his bedside. He was curled sweetly around his pillow, this dark fur reflecting the moonlight perfectly. It nearly broke my heart, but I used all the willpower I could muster and brought the knife crashing down into his side. He opened his eyes and let out a small cry of pain, which became muffled after the repeated strikes filled his lungs with blood. His hands reached out for me, begging me to stop, touching the side of my nightdress. I screamed the whole time, partly in agony, partly to drown out his muffled, pain-filled moans. I could feel myself start breathing again after I did it. It felt like the world had finally stopped spinning, and he lay there, like a dead angel, perfectly quiet and covered in rich dark blood. That strange dark blood he always seemed to have pumping though its veins. The last thing I remember doing afterwards was calling my mother. "I did it." My mother sighed, then said simply, "Good. I was wondering when you would. Was it messy?" "Yes. Blood everywhere. It's so red mother. So red... " My voice began to shake now. I was still holding the blood-soaked knife, all the while seeing his face as I told mother the story. "Yes. Mortal blood tends to be red. That's why we usually bleed them first before slaughtering. I'm sorry you got attached to it. It's a hard thing to deal with, after all, they are supposed to be food. Do you want me to get the rest of the family? We really should eat him together you know." "I know. I guess that would be best. I'll let you handle that ok?" "Ok, dear. I'll be over soon. Try to relax and put the deed out of your mind." After I hung up the phone, I went to the washroom to clean the blood up. It was |