I unfold my caloused fingers and roll a tale of loss before you.

I lay it unto your eyes for you to analyze. Mr. Deadman got lost in lust and slowly discovers a terrifying place .

Funny, how his secret grows.

The Hidden Valley Motel sign jiggled under rising winds as unseen forces cut through the barren winter hollow where it stood. The structure shoved its concrete claws into the earth and held on despite it all. With its cold tile floors, and 1950‘s color schemes of pale greens and blues, the motel turned to brick with black shingles and there it was surrounding him. Invisible things now crawled from its binding fibers while peeking into frosty windows and manipulating the crazy world beyond.

Richard Deadman stared out …to a dying dream as ice clung to the rusty chains of wind blown swings. What a cold world it had become out there. He felt things looking at him now, but who would believe the inner workings? He’d explained it to himself many times, and things never checked out. The logically illogic was in her work and what a design it was. If no one believed him, did that mean it wasn’t real? What a strange series of events to analyze.

All around her cyclone quietly raged, running him down steel rails that stretched into a lost realm designed just for the attack of his sanity.

He should have never let her in.

Where were the days of toy trains and bright childhood eyes? He believed in things then. The past drifted so far off that he wondered if he had dreamed it or was he always right here…in the middle of All…centered in the eye of the storm. Was he then falsely sheltered by paper walls that protected something unvalued, yet he now longed for once again?

Sacred Ignorance.

Nothing warmed a thing inside, and this thing grew outward like an angered, drooling beast, rising up to claw down and gnaw upon his deteriorating framework and chew it to splinters. Time sure played some dirty tricks; it was a wicked game. If he could erase the past and only get those eyes of hers out of his mind. What a diabolic bitch she was with much evil plotted behind her twisting stare.

Then there was his wife Judy... who hung her head as hair draped over one cold eye that peeked out from behind a deep brown curtain of strands. He watched her laugh as his insides squeezed in with that old agonizing grip. He wondered as he looked to the floor,

'Could she hear his internal screams?'

2

“I have destroyed you,” Judy softly said and smiled. “You are defeated from the inside. “

“Yes,” Deadman replied. “You are very clever to go right for the guts. You may as well have my insides hanging from your hand.”

Hair fell over his brow as he sternly looked up from the floor, “I am broken.”

Judy laughed and bit down on her index knuckle.

“I did the vilest, of the most wonderful feeling, things,” she added and winked.

Deep within raging thoughts, fires and steam clouds pumped hot vapors into the tragedies of Deadman. Gray faces arose into steam, casting manipulation and psychological distortions under a trudging train. The distortions wove together like vines and penetrated the intangible factors of who Richard was, who he had always been.

The train's whistle echoed through his mind as nerve endings twisted and grew into strange new places and ignited.

Judy brushed her hair back with her fingers and smirked.

Deadman observed her standing there by the door while rattling her keys.

“Are you going to leave now?” Deadman asked.

“Yes, I am.”

Deadman looked puzzled, “I've never seen this in you. This is a whole other side to your nature?”

“She has her own nature.”

Deadman tightened up inside again as a clawing sensation raked down the inner walls of his bloody rib cage.

“She? And is this Eva still working through you to destroy me in some way?”

“That’s right.”

“And do you want me to believe this crap?—that there is some psychopathic bitch that you can’t control pulling your strings.”

“It doesn’t matter what a liar believes. You know her well. I just need that car of yours.”

“You have a good damn car Judy,” Deadman said while griting his teeth.

Silent eyes shifted.

“She wants yours, that pretty little gold one in the driveway. The one you wash twice a week.”

“Why? What is so special about it?”

”I think you’re a link of some kind. I think it is the sickening goodness and the way you take care, like your dreaming of something that she wants to take from you." Judy laughed. "She dreams of things too."

“Well, you’re not getting it!”

“Richard. She will get that car of your own free will. You keep resisting her. It‘s not good for your withering soul. She will shrink you down to nothing.”

“This is a twisted game you’re playing Judy. I don‘t think I want you around anyway. I think you have lost your mind, and I will get custody of Billy because you are unstable.”

“But that will take time Richard. Time is something you haven’t much of. When Billy isn’t a child anymore, she will get him too. I did what I had to do and bought him time. Now do what you have to do and give her what she wants.”

3

The door banged open and the wind howled in, bringing little Billy Deadman.

“Daddy!”

Snow covered Billy's mittens and the chrome wheel of a toy chopper stuck out of his coat pocket.

“I thought I told you to stay in the car, “ said Judy. His cheeks were rosy and his lips were chapped from deep artistic concentration. His toy looked better in black marker.

A wave of cold air spread across Richard’s face. The wave swept over him, and All came alive with a zing. It was a strange land out there covering his existence, bringing in factors that didn‘t seem to add up, off kilter kinks. She had his head all screwed up.

“This ain’t real! What kind of fucking witch are you?”

Little Billy stopped in the living room and stared at the wood floor. He pulled the toy chopper from his pocket and quietly rolled it over the furniture, popping wheelies over pillows as chrome spokes sparkled in his eyes.

Judy stared Blankly, "Oh it's real, and it is your own creation."

Deadman said nothing and only stared into her piercing eyes.

4

Silence softened every thing except little Billy’s chopper sounds. Richard watched Billy playing. The boy stood up and took off his coat and as the coat fell to the hardwood floor...

“What are those marks on your arms Billy? Are you into marking up your arms now…your arms now…arms now?”

“I was coloring my chopper and my arms kept itching. It started on the way over here.” Billy suddenly scratched at his marked up forearms and cried.

Richard tensed up and drew back as welts rose up on Billy’s injured skin.

“Billy?”

He winced at bloody traceries of devilish faces surfacing on his son’s tiny forearms; his heart pounded as the images reached out.

“This shit can’t be real!” Deadman walked off down the hall then into his room and slammed the door. Then he locked it. The devils squirmed in his mind. The bitch was everywhere.

5

“What’s the matter with dad, momma? Is he sick?”

Judy slyly smiled, “Yeah.”

“I’m hot. Are we leaving now momma or can I take off my coat?”

Judy saw the whole wicked illusion in her head again and grinned.

“Just keep it on.”

6

Mr. Deadman sat on the corner of the bed and stared at the closet door.

Click. Poof. Fire.

Furnace flames jumped in vivid blue as Deadman stood up and flung the closet open, grabbed a suitcase and packed it with clothes. He’d never give her the car. This shit didn’t make sense. It had nothing to do with the car. She had lost her mind. This was some kind of psychological war. She was slowly taking him over with her clever game.

‘She’ is ‘Her,‘ he thought.

“It’s all fucking crazy!”

Then he pictured those filthy creatures doing things to her and her liking it. That’s right; he had to do what he had to do. Judy wasn’t herself, and he wasn’t either, madness. Why did she have to use such graphic detail?

As Deadman walked down the hall to leave, he knew what he should do. He should do what any normal person would do and inform Billy like a father should. There Billy stood sadly looking right at him, with a lower lip sticking out, while rolling a finger over the wheel of his toy chopper. Deadman glanced but said nothing and walked on.

“You’re making a big mistake Richard,” said Judy as he passed her at the door.

Deadman stepped out then leaned back in the door. He had to say something so he did.

“Billy, there is no god. “

Billy stared blankly then looked down at the toy chopper.

“But there has got to be a devil, “ said Richard.

He looked at Judy and walked on his way,salmming the door behind him.

He kept looking at the ground as he walked to his Chevy II. He opened the door, tossed the suitcase in the back seat, fumbled with his keys and fired the six-cylinder up. As he left the gravel drive, the back tire spun a pile of rocks and dust. He reached over and turned on the AM radio.

“Actress Sharon Tate was found murdered in her home today…”

Click. Deadman switched off the radio.

“The whole damned world is going nuts!”

The little Chevy II buzzed off into the night with Richard cussing the planet, patting the metal dash and looking at the gas gauge, empty.

(That fucking figured.)

His guts twisted as he rolled into the gas station, and a powerful image flashed in his mind.

The image repetitively dripped, and he had to say it out loud as he shut off the key. “Blood,” he said, then came to a great realization, “It‘s fucking everywhere.”

7

Deadman noticed the man at the other pump had a 54 Chevy truck loaded with an engine block in the back. The guy wore a service station jacket with a Standard Oil patch on the front. He appeared to be in his forties and had a greasy rag hanging from a dirty back pocket.

“You been working hard?”

Deadman pulled the nozzle from the tank of his little Chevy and replaced the cap then hung the nozzle on the pump.

“That seems to be all I do as I get older,” the guy said.

”How would you like to by my little car here…it’s goin cheap?”

The guy smiled and looked at the deuce, “Money is tight buddy. Can’t help you. I wish I had some doe ‘cause I love those little cars. I noticed that one as soon as I pulled in here. It sure looks good, nice and clean.”

Deadman paused and stuck his hands in his pockets then seriously looked into the man‘s face.

“Well, I’ll just have to give you the damned thing then.”

The man’s eyes popped open.

“Give it to? Are you serious? You’ve got to be kidding. Is it stolen?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it. Take the car and you’ll be doing me a great service. Pick it up at the Dark Chasm around three in the morning. The papers will be signed and in the glovebox. The keys will be under the seat."

The man appeared leery.

“I don’t know buddy...that place isn‘t too cool. I hear some crazy stories about that place.”

“Look man, I don’t have a lot of time. I am battling things no one understands, things I‘m not going to explain. If you want the car, it will be there or the bitch gets it.”

“This all sounds fishy to me mister, but I think I get it. It must be really bad then huh.”

“If you want the car it’s yours. I hope you take it and treat it well.”

The guy smiled and looked at the the shinny gold paint of the duece. He looked back at Deadman with a knowing stare.

“So I guess this is my lucky day then? This feels like one of those oddball moments in my life. Why did you pick me?”

Deadman stared and blinked.

“I don‘t know why, and I never do buddy. I just follow my gut and react accordingly. ”

8

Frosty windows at The Hidden Valley now creaked and popped under the wind.

Richard awoke in the bed of his motel room to the sensations of tiny legs running rampant over his body again. He bolted up shouting and urgently brushing his hands over his arms then fumbled and switched on the light beside the bed. Nothing. The feeling quickly faded as usual. He spun to the side of the bed and dropped his feet into broken glass.

There was one good thing about cold tile floors. Whiskey bottles shattered like bombs after he choked down the last drop.

Then he thought of her; she was always moving, calling to him through intrusive visions. She slipped about and teased. He realized once again that she was never out of reach, yet never in touch, but always there spinning delusions into him, building falsehoods in unexpected places.

“What a fucking dream,” he sighed and placed his head in his hands then replayed it in his head in some hopeless effort to understand it ;

He breathed in a black void, feeling his way through nothing while anticipating injuries from misdirection. Then she was kissing him, but she wasn’t there. He smelled her wonderful scent as she brushed against him. Her hair tickled against his skin, but where was she? Where was he? She had him in some other place where there was nothing, nothing but invisible her.

The sounds of her voice amplified tin echoes that rose and lowered in volume around his head.

“You are with me…” she said,”…in the darkest corner of All.” Hot breath puffed on his mouth. Slimy finger-like things touched all around his face. Saliva dripped down his chest, yet his mouth was bitter-dry.

“You're a Witch?”

“Witch is entirely too shallow of a word. I have no pointy hats or flying brooms.”

“What’s with you and my car, and why can’t I see you?”

Eva laughed when flames blasted out of black nothing.

Then Eva was gone.

Deadman stood alone in the dark with his heart beating in his ears and his face aching.

He heard subtle pecking sounds moving towards him. The sounds made him picture tiny legs in huge numbers that seemed to keep multiplying. Then floods of spiders crawled up his shins and over took his body.

“Aahhhhhhh”

Venom.

10

A shard of glass punctured Deadman’s foot. He felt it. He looked at it. He sat back on the bed and trembled, but didn’t care.

“She’s trying to defeat me through my own actions…and she continues winning.”

He didn’t make a sound as he pulled the shard from his foot. He shook the blood from his toes, grabbed a dirty sock from the nightstand and slipped it on over the wound. Shoes came next.

“She’s slowly killing me. I can feel it.”

Deadman stood up and crunched his way to the bathroom.

“Walking on broken glass,” he mumbled and limped beyond the restroom door.

10

Deadman fumbled with his keys then the little six cylinder fired up. He gunned it a few times to hear the power glide whine. The car warmed up in a matter of minutes, and the little deuce buzzed down the road once again. He was tired of it all. It was time to dive straight into the mire of the muck. “Whatever happens… happens,” he said. The Chevy II passed over an old iron bridge then hooked a right where he viewed the words Dark Chasm painted in purple and lit up by spotlights hidden in the weeds.

So maybe this was it. Dread washed over him as he rolled into the gravel lot. Everything was so quiet except rocks crackled under the tires. There was only one other car in the lot, a red 67 Camaro. Deadman gave it a glance as he shut his little Chevy down. Here he was. What did he care? He stepped out of the car and backed up a few steps and stared in every direction as far as he could see. The whole world had warped; it wasn’t a place for him anymore.

“Richard Deadman. 1935-1969,” he said and shut the car door. He pulled his coat tight. He gave the deuce a final pat on the quarter panel and walked away.

“Bye, Bye, Baby. It‘s been real nice.”

11

When he walked into the Dark Chasm, the moaning inside him sounded like barriers between life and death being tied across rusty trestles and severed by hot steel wheels spinning backwards for salvation. The screeching threw sparks over his withering soul, cutting pathways through blackness with flashy orange light as observant orbital-eyes surfaced in the confines of All.

She was closer than ever now. She whispered from dark corners, promising passion and filthy deeds wilder than his dreams had ever been.

Deadman heard something gurgle and turned to see a long-haired man frothing into a scraggly beard. The man wore an army jacket and jeans. He bobbled in the chair then tumbled to the floor and twitched uncontrollably.

Deadman stared for several seconds, had a great realization and said,

“You’re better off dead, man.”

He left the man be and walked on as sultry invisible lips toyed with his ears, sending warm chills up his spine. She had his number. If he could not escape her, he would jump into her heated lap and hold on to her until the time came...as if that would ease the pain. His soul was all ready down to nothing, spinning like a shrinking funnel cloud, and she had it by the tail… slowly drawing him in with the tip of her clever tongue.

From shadowed corners fine bodies gyrated and moaned, pushing against things and grinding into the firing synapses of his mind. Slender fingers displayed damp places, sending his pulse through worlds of conflicted reasoning. She was everywhere he looked, doing everything from his wildest dreams and calling out to him by last name.

12

Deadman sat down at the bar. A blond woman brought him a glass of whiskey, half empty, and then she dropped in some dark yellow cubes. He rolled the ice with his index finger and looked over the odd shapes.

“For the soul," the blond said and stared into his.

His mind filled with swirls of green light as he took a deep breath and a first taste. It was unexpectedly sweet. He never tasted anything like it. It was real good and sent a hot feeling through him on contact so he drank it down. The stuff could be a lethal poison; it didn’t matter to him anymore.

A flash of little Billy crossed his mind. Billy sure liked that motorcycle. Then devils reached out from Billy’s little arms again and Deadman saw his own toy train set. In his childhood he saw the smoke stack pumping steam. He heard the chugging and the whistle blowing, just like at the station. He laid his head on the bar and exhaled, “What happened to me?”

A tremendous force hit Deadman from the side and knocked him from the stool to the floor. The impact took his breath and left him gasping as a man fell on top of him, grabbed him by the shirt collar and growled.

“Get me out of here!” the man shouted again and again with drool spraying out of his mouth on exploding bursts of, “She’s killing me!”

Then a shower of froth spattered Deadman’s shocked face. The man fell into a seizure and his body turned rigid. He bucked and jerked across the filthy floor this time. Deadman jumped up and kept watching. The guy’s army jacket had blood on it this time and so did his face and hands. Deadman quickly checked himself for wounds and found none. Then a wave of bubbling blood leaped from the guy’s mouth and painting his wrenching face. The guy went limp and gave a final twitch and expulsion of air. Deadman suddenly turned his head and gagged to the smell of shit.

Maybe dying wasn‘t such a good idea.

Richard heard something squish and winced at the horrible sight. He recalled his nightmare as bloody, black spiders forced the man’s lips apart and scurried off into shadowy lines of gyrating bodies.

Deadman’s vision blurred and swirled as each one vanished.

He caught his breath and leaned over to the bar to drink down the rest of his drink. It was good stuff. This guy just died before him in a grotesque display of blood, frothy-spit and arachnids, but Richard quickly wanted another taste of what he was drinking. He noticed this as an abnormal reaction but only wanted the taste in his mouth again. It was fabulous. It seemed to make him see something strange; these beautiful women were turning ugly, and their ugliness appeared even more beautiful.

Suddenly rancid bodies bumped against him. Women now moved All around while arching their backs and showing him things he had only begun to pay for.

These women had sunken eyes that bled. They smelled foul and unsanitary. Their tongues were too long and the tips were split. Their bodies were rotting, sagging and wrinkling before his eyes. He knew his feelings were fucked, but they all looked so sexy.

“Oh, Richard. We are here for you. We will love you forever.”

Richard limped and turned around as the women encircled him while feeling on his body. Hands kept touching, gripping and ripping at his clothes. Suddenly his shirt shredded, and the animals rushed their cold hands over his skin.

Richard’s eyes rolled back. “Oh yeah,” he mouthed and then panicked.

“Get away!”

He knocked and punched them to the floor as they moved in, but the vixens kept getting up even more determined than before. The beings tore at his pants. These beautiful monsters licked and touched him in many places then grew hornily enraged to the point of eminence.

Jagged teeth snapped at his limping body as he tripped over the hippie’s corpse. Sharp points chomped at Deadman’s legs. He saw his blood on their faces as bits of muscle and shredded jean hung from bloody twisted mouths… and it felt fabulous. Richard grew overwhelmed with pleasure and groaned. He wouldn’t last much longer. The vixens franticly feasted on his restless legs as fear slammed across his brain like a pipe with one skipping needle

of repetitive thinking…get the fuck out .

Deadman dug at the floor with his fingers while drooling vixens tugged and pulled at him, taking more bites from his body as he tried to escape. He moaned with ecstasy and screamed with fear as he reached and tripped Dark Chasms door to see his car, to run, too get away from this place, but the taillights of his Chevy trailed away from the lot.

“Help me! “ He screamed.

A vixen growled and yanked him back inside by his hair. She crawled on top of him. Her backwards beauty sickened him for the world, as blood, flesh and drool dripped over his face. Her tongue extended as the mixture of rank fluids blinded and sent him spinning forward into to the swirling sounds of wicked eroticism and into the great empty pit of his soul.

13

“She is one fine beauty.”

The Chevy II purred down the road. Hector Miles reached and opened the glove box. He pulled out a paper. “There it is, signed and everything. Free! Didn‘t cost a dime. Thank you,” he turned on the dome light and looked at the title, “Richard Deadman.” He gripped the steering wheel and laughed out loud.

“Thank you, very much. I love you!”

Then he kicked it into passing gear, and it wasn‘t fast enough.

14

Deadman awoke screaming to the throbbing pains of his wounded body while slopping around in the warm wetness of his blood. He wanted to pass out or die in this darkness. He even pleaded with god, yet never got an answer.

The bites to his flesh radiated big circles of pain, but he couldn’t see well and didn’t dare to touch the ragged wounds. Now there was no pleasure, only the agony of this excruciating existence.

He heard tiny legs gathering around and prayed it wouldn’t be much longer.

“Mr. Deadman,” a feminine voice said. He listened to foot steps approaching while strange music arose in the background. There was the sound of a church bell and falling rain.

“Do you like Black Sabbath?”

The voice came from all directions.

“What do you mea…?” he said as his voice cracked and fell apart.

“Would you like another drink?”

He heard ice clinking in a glass then felt the glass press to his lips. What followed was sweet and wonderful to him, a pure candy relief as a dim green light slowly revealed the Dark Chasm‘s crimson walls. The place slowly surrounded him again but was much different than before;

The walls shifted and moved with thousands of spiders. The floor bubbled with the erotic creatures. And the greenest eyes he’d ever seen, stared back at him.

“Eva,” uttered Deadman.

As he lay on the floor, he watched her smile from the center of this evil canvas.

“Very good, “she said. “Do you feel better now?”

Deadman weakly struggled to sit up. He spit blood on his lap then dropped his head and briefly choked.

“You have been through a horrible ordeal here,” said Eva in a most compassionate tone. “One more drink from the glass in my hand and all your pain will be gone. Would you like that?”

Deadman struggled and barely nodded his head, yes.

“It will be an even trade then, for your car.”

Deadman didn’t respond at first then a faint burst of laughter spewed blood from his mouth. The laughter paralyzed him, hurting his whole body like he himself was a living wound.

“Fuck you. I gave it away.”

“Now, why would you do that?” Eva shouted.

“Evil bitch,” Deadman said and choked again, “I’d rather die.”

Eva leaned down to him and kissed his head. He jerked away.

Then she licked her lips as she stood above him.

“What a fool,” and the Dark Chasm began to rumble and shake. Spiders rushed towards him then burrowed into his wounds as he tensed up and screamed. Snakes slipped over him, striking at and injecting poison into his face, time after time as a deafening train whistle blew the sounds of All away.

White light lit up Deadman’s bloody hell as a locomotive-wall of steaming steel blasted through the center of his brain, its wheels thumping violently down red hot rails that slipped away into the void.

Richard exploded on the wall.

Eva sneered, “Enter the scavenger.”

She drank the last of Deadman’s drink.

“Choo- Choo, mother fucker.”

Then she slammed the glass on a table.

“It was what you had left.”

Richard Deadman

1935-1969

R.I.P.

Little Billy Deadman turned on his night light and pulled the covers over his

head.

“Please, let there be a god,” he whispered and stuffed his toy chopper under his

pillow as Judy tucked him in.

“Sweet dreams Billy.”