Hearts in Bizarre
By AJ Peaslee
This book contains eight short tales. They involve romance, hatred, sadness, and many other emotions. They all take place in various times, places and realities. The tales are different, strange and some…..simply bizarre.
I. Musical Death- The tale of an assassin and his idea of “Vibrant Death”
II. Brother of Dark- A story of two brothers and the darkness that consumes one of them.
III. I Took to the Skies- A college graduate's love note.
IV. Wonderfully Grim- Death comes to Earth and causes trouble in mysterious ways.
V. Enchantments- A young boy finds a magical stone that grants wishes.
VI. Smells like Love Trouble- A young man runs into three of his exes in one day.
VII. Love Hourglass- A couple falls in love in several alternate realities.
VIII. In my Head- Diving into the mind of an author, and the story that destroys his friends, lover, family and life.
I. Musical Death
“I crafted this tune just for you Markus, just for you. It matches your crimes. I call it “The Rapists’ Lament” A deep and foreboding voice spoke in the darkness.
Apartment 16 on Bellowview drive was where it first took place, the first time blood was spilt to the beautiful sound of guitar strings. The first time “Vibrant Death” happened.
The apartment was less than normal, it was used and abused to the point where even the owner of the building shunned upon it and figured God had smited it. The wall paper was torn from various drunken nights filled with rage, and disturbing things that involved sex. The floor was an utter mess. The carpet was destroyed in too many ways to point out, and old blood stains and odd looking liquids stained it’s once white color. A single bed spring bed that looked like hell had been unleashed upon it and a moldy coffee table were the room’s assets. You could tell this place was not used for living like a normal human. It was a room often filled with evil and disturbing things that were not spoken about lightly. Torn out fingernails still clinging come flesh and bloody torn clothes also littered this room.
A man in a long gray overcoat with a dark blue dress shirt underneath sat on the coffee table. He had large, midnight black sunglasses that hid the color of his eyes, and long ragged black hair. He was a well built man, not the kind to be taken lightly in a duke out of fists and kicks. He held an acoustic guitar that was truly one of a kind. It was at one point in time, a seven string Gibson guitar that looked amazing to guitar joes. It was now littered with remains of dried, red liquid that flows from the body. These splatters of life served as memories and reminders of its past adventures.
Below him was another man lying on the floor, a gluttonous and foul looking structure of a man. He was balding all over his scalp, and his fat consumed any muscles that existed in his arms and legs. His face looked more like a pig than a man, his nose drove upward and his eyes sagging downward. He was horribly beaten by the man sitting in front of him. His white tank top was now dyed pink from the river of blood running down his chest, and his arms were mangled and ravaged by some type of sharp object. He was missing one entire ear; all that remained was a dark pit full of hanging meat and a small fountain of blood that ever flowed. A few teeth rested on the floor around him. They were painted yellow and black, and looked similar to what a chess board looked like. There was a magazine not far from him lying on the floor. The name printed on the mailing sticker was Wess Bolton. Wess just looked upward at the demonic musician above him with a look of utter fear.
The musical assassin gently struck the cords, causing a flow of beauty to catch the ears. He played slow and smoothly, his fingers moved like waves coming in and out of a coast. The chords rang out like lovely voices in a choir and it sounded like heaven to the ears. It was a song of happiness, love, and all the good, innocent things of this world.
The man suddenly raised his strumming hand up high. He held it there for a moment, as if he were waiting for the right moment. The cords still rang out, but they were quickly fading away into the dark of the room. Wess just stared at the man with a tingling bit of fear running down his spine. He wasn’t sure what to expect next, and took a deep breath.
The man’s hand slammed downward on the chords in high speed and it kept that speed going. Its chords were hit so hard that they seemed to be screaming in a raging flow of anger. The guitar’s sound became eerie and dreadful, and seemed to make the darkness in the small apartment grow. The song that was once gorgeous was now a song of terror and agony. Every time the guitar strummed it sounded high pitched and full of evil. It made Wess’ ears ring violently and he desperately wanted to evade it. He wished and prayed that it would stop.
The guitar started to quiet down, and Wess peered back up at the man. He was putting his guitar on his back, tightening the strap that ran over his shoulder. He looked down on Wess, and reached into his coat’s pocket for something. Wess tightened up fearing it was a knife, or even worse, a gun. He knew this man was going to finish him off, but he was more afraid of how he was going to do it. The man pulls out a pack of Camel cigarettes and a Zippo lighter that is beaten and old. He put the smoke to his mouth and casually lit it up. His face glew in the flame’s light and he glared at Wess with a fearsome gaze.
“Do you understand now? Do you know why the song went from a song of happiness to a song of pain and terror?” The man question Wess with much curiosity.
Wess just kept looking up at him with an expression of confusion and despair. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t even really know what was going on. All he knew was this man was practically Death, and he had come to take him to the Eternal Hellfires.
“You fucking moron. You don’t get it? The song is called the Rapists’ Lament, which should have grabbed you. The song represents the happy and innocent women that lived life normally until you came along. You ruined all that for them by bringing them here and fulfilling your twisted and dark desires. That’s where the sad and horrifying part of the song comes in. You deluded son of a bitch. But, I have a surprise for you.” The man hollers out in a rage.
He walks over to Wess, who is still too beaten and afraid to even budge a finger, and lifts him up so that he is resting on his knees. He pulls a small, sawed off shotgun from the back of his coat. He had it kept around his belt, and well hidden. He puts the end of the barrel in Wess’ bloody mouth and smiles with a disturbing grin of glee.
“All those girls you forced into having sex? Well, it’s your turn Wess; it’s your time to shine. I am going to plug you just like you plugged them!” The man shouts in a laughing tone.
The man’s finger takes pressure on the shotgun’s trigger, and he slowly applies more to it. Wess just stares at him knowing whats coming, he knows he can’t do anything to prevent this. He knows what the song means now, he knows. A flood of flashbacks to women screaming and kicking comes to him. Skirts and bras getting torn to shreds by his evil claws. Screams muffled by a cloth on their mouths as well. He did this countless times, never caring about how high the count was. The trigger starts to get closer to its ending point, and Wess begins to sweat buckets, and he feels his gut start to tingle. Wess thinks he is going to piss himself and tears start to run down cheeks in a waterfall of woes.
“Can….can this be considered forgiveness? I realize my wrongs now! Pl…Please stop!” Wess shouts out in sadness.
“I don’t know. Why not ask Satan when you greet him at the flaming and wretched gates of Hell.” The man replies back.
The trigger clicks and a thunderous explosion of smoke sparks and dull flames erupt from the barrel. The bullet rips a path through the back of Wess’ throat and continues its path of destruction all the way to his brain. When it gets there, it continues onward, and erupts in a blast of blood, torn skin and bone. The red liquid flies everywhere like a firework and sprays the ground in a red tinted rain. Parts of bone and brain matter throw themselves in various directions, causing a collection of grotesque imagery. A small rise of smoke rises over the back of what was Wess’ head, and his body sluggishly slumps over to its side.
The guitar playing assassin brushes his black hair back and lets out a deep breath. He steps over Wess’ body and proceeds out the door, leaving everything the way he made it. He knew someone would know by morning at least, and they would have the cops come and fix this mess. The man just walks out of the apartment complex the same way he came in, quiet and unnoticed. He slipped out of the complex and into the darkness of the road ahead of him.
Sure enough, the sun rises the next day over the freshly dewed grass, birds sing songs of peace and everything seems well on this fine spring morning. That is, until Mrs. Wethers goes over to check on her neighbor and screams bloody murder. She instantly phones the police after she heaves up last night’s chicken dinner all over the place. It takes the boys in blue no time to get to Wess’ apartment.
“Damn, I wish I had stayed the hell home. I can’t stand to see this shit.” Officer Minis states out loud.
“This is horrible, I have seen some disturbing things, but this is the worst.” Chief Brigands replies.
The chief, a strong looking ox of a man, and Officer Minis, a tall and lanky fellow; are the only cops on the scene. They can’t figure out what happened here, they have no idea what Wess did to those poor women in that room.
To the people that knew him, he was just an every day, hard working construction man. But at night, he was a monster that destroyed women’s lives. That terror never goes away. The police and some forensic scientists scoop the room and try to find any evidence. They find the torn and ragged clothes, and the fingernails. They also find a strand of long, black hair. They take all they can find so they can piece this bizarre and bloody puzzle together. The small town is shaken by the incident, nothing like this ever happens here. The most is grand theft auto and drug busts. Murder is a new one. The citizens talk about Wess most of the day, not knowing why anybody would want him dead. Not knowing his dirty little secret.
Night time falls again, and the the town slowly quites down as the moon replaces the sun. The guitar player came back to the town under the moon’s gaze, dressing the same and wielding the same guitar. The shotgun he once had is now gone, replaced with a more gruesome weapon of torture. A large meat hook, and a vial of some kind of white, cloudy water. The musical assassin was after someone tonight, and what ever he had in store for him was going to be full of death.
Down the road, into the farther reaches of town near the woods, was an abandoned house. At least, that’s what the people thought, they didn’t know a monster lived in that very place. A man that spilled blood many times. The house itself sat in the forest a little ways, just barely out of sight from the road and town. It had not had residents for a long time, and was rotting to pieces. It was coated in moss and spider webs, and looked similar to a generic haunted house picture.
The guitar player just walked normally to the half dead door, and waited a moment. He looked downward at the crack of the door, and noticed a latern or something emiting light was on. He saw the shadow of a man walking toward the door. The assassin rose his right leg up high, and kicked the door with tremendous force. It ripped itself off the hinges and it slammed into a burly man on the opposite side. The muscular fellow hardly flinched and quickly tossed it aside. He was well built, and his short size made him a walking muscle. His brown bowl cut and cold blue eyes only added to his Hulk like features. His clothes were lumerjack like, worn jeans and a plaid overshirt. He turned his head upward to see his attacker, but was slatted in the face with cloudy luqiud. The musical assassin stood there with the vial opened and in hand. The powerfull man tried to see better, but could not. His eyes began to burn and irratate. It started out dull, but it quickly grew excruciatingly painfull. It felt like his eyes were playing burning coals and his face felt like someone was scraping it with sandpaper. Parts of his face began to slowly bubble and make boils, and his slowly sealed themselves up.
“The music will be better and more powerfull without eyes. Your focus will go to all of it, and that’s what I want.” The music man explained in a grim tone.
The burly man stopped moving and fell down to the ground in a rag doll like fashion. His whole face felt like someone had thrown boiling water on it, and it was only getting worse. The assassin sat down crosslegged and pulled his acoustic guitar off it’s strap.
“This song goes out to you Brent. That’s right, I know all about you Mr. Greaves. I know about your crimes to humanity as well, that’s why this song is yours and yours alone. I call it “The Sadist’s Epitaph.” The assassin explained in a dark manner.
Meanwhile not far down the raod the police headquarters, Chief Brigands and Officer Minis receive some great news. They got the results back from the hair strand they found. They sit in the Chief’s office and speak of the news.
“The paper with the results on it says it belongs to a Mr. Simon Prite. And whats even better is this guy is staying at the Cod Cove Inn. He is there now, we spoke with the manager. We can go and get him now and question him.” Minis explained in an upbeat tone.
“Okay, we will not wait another minute, you and me will go and retrieve him. Bring your gun just in case this guy decides to get violent.” Chief Brigands states with much concern.
The two officers get up and prepare themselves to go and bust the man that tore a murderous hole in the town. They leave the station with much haste and get into a black cruiser bound for the inn. They drive down the road past several homes and small businesses, and arrive at a tall, elegant looking white house. The large wooden sign hanging above the door has Cod Cove Inn on it. Minis and Brigands get out of the car and go into the hotel. When they get inside, they see a dining room to the left, and a staircase to the right. The office is in front of them with an older man in a tux standing behind it. He greets the two officers and gets right to the point. He points to the dining room.
“Mr. Prite is in there. He arrived a few moments ago. He looked very tired. He is waiting for his meal to get done. Please, get justice.” The older man spoke in a shakey voice.
The two cops walk into the dining hall and look around. They see several familiar faces about the room, but one sticks out. A man with long black hair and a gray overocat sits in the corner reading a newspaper. Minis looks at Brigands and nods his head. They casually walk over and stand next to him. He stops reading and looks up at them.
“Hello, I am Chief Brigands and this is Officer Minis. You need to come wih us for questioning Mr. Prite.” Officer Brigands gruffly states.
“Oh shit, I knew this was coming. I only wanted to get rid of that stuff….” The grey coated man says in shock.
“What do mean by that? Getting rid of what stuff?” Officer Brigands quickly replies.
“You know…..the stuff you guys are getting me for…..the cocaine.” The gray coated man says.
Officer Minis looks at Brigands with a look of awe, and Brigands looks at the sky and lets out a depressing sigh.
“Damnit, we have the wrong guy.” Brigands states in anger.
The abandoned house for the first time in years, is filled with noise. The guitar plays a dark and deadly tune. The strings are hit hard and the chords ring out in violent tones. The song slowly begins to fade away like an echo. The assassin straps the guitar to his back while some of the strings still vibertate. He looks downard on Brent, and kneels down on one knee. Brent is a mess. His face is burnt to a horrid degree, his flesh is running down his face and blood flows like a small stream. His mouth is covered in boils, causing him to loose his speech. His eyes are coated over with blobs of skin and blood. He can’t do anything but think and hear.
“That was hydrochloric acid in that vial, and it was a high grade. Its potent enough to turn skin into butter and bones into mush. But, as for the song, do you understand it?” The assassin asks in a calm tone.
Brent couldn’t get any words to come out, he tried but it wouldn’t react. He thought it had something to do with how he spent his nights.
“Hmph. It was dark and full of rage because of your actions. You destroyed men and womens lives with your twisted ideas of torture. You did it with a smile on your face and happiness in your heart. I put you through similar torture, but I am going to make it worse. You get it ten fold.” The musical assassin stated with a disturbing smile.
The assassin reached behind him and grabbed the meat hook. It was as big as his head, and had three barbs on its point. It had a circular end for hanging it up. The assassin picked Brent up off the floor and stood him up to his feet. He saw a wooden post sticking out of the wall behind them. He dragged Brent by the cuff of his shirt and put him in front of it. The assassin hung the hook by the end of it and lifted Brent up. Brent’s back landed right on it, and it ripped its way through. It tore until it hit his spine and it locked itself in there, the barbs gripped tightly. Brent mouthed several screams, but no sound made it out. Blood spurted all over the wall and the floor, and a loud poping sound filled the room.
The assassin slowly walked out of the house while lighting a ciggarette. He pulled a spare guitar string out of pocket and left it there on the floor. He disappeared into the night and didn’t look back. Brent still hung there, thinking hard about his past. He saw men and women screaming in agony and pleading for God to save them. He himself cutting a man’s arm off with a chainsaw and another man was pierced by a sickle in the gut. A woman had her hair pulled out and stuffed in her mouth while another had a nail gun shoot rapidly into her chest. Brent knew what he was being punished for now, he understood the song. Brent heard his heartbeat getting louder and faster. It kept going unitl the sound abruptly stopped. His head fell down and he stopped moving. Brent hung there until morning until some kids running down the road saw him.
The town never witnessed another murder after that. Knowbody knows where he came from. All that was left was a guitar string that had only faint parts of a handprint. This had happened at several other states in the past few months as well, but the news was all the same. Officer Minis investigated the incident for years but could not get any more evidence. He became obsessed with this “Musical Death Bringer” that he drove himself over the edge and went mad. He currently resides at a rehab center after an attempt to cut his wrists with a guitar string.
Chief Brigands quit the force soon after the two murders, he said he had seen enough death in his lifetime. The musical assassin was spoke of all over the United States due to his bizarre way of killing. Knowbody had any idea where he vanished to, but many knew he would return someday. Some of the people slain had their backgrounds checked, and they all had commited a crime to humanity. People knew he would return to continue his musical murders, his “Vibrant Death.”
A sleek looking black Cadillac pulls up to a gas station in an extremely wooded area. The station attendent walks out from the garage and toward the car. The driver rolls down the tinted windows and looks at him.
“ Fifteen in gas please…..” The driver nicely asked.
“Sure, coming right up. You don’t look familiar. You ever been to Maine before son?” The attrendant asks.
The driver brushes his long black hair aside and adjusts his gray overcoat quickly. He turns and looks back at the man with sharp gazing eyes.
“No, I am here on a job. Its very important. It involves justice.” The Assassin replied back to him.
“Ah, you look like an officer type. Anything intresting?” The attentant questioned further.
The Assassin turned and looked in the backseat. A bloody acoustic seven string looked back at him. He turned back and looked at the attrendant with a grim look.
“Yeah, it involves you and Vibarant Death sir. I have a great tune just for you…….”