Two-sentence Horror Story: Boy from Andromeda

Today Flanagan, the boy from Andromeda, celebrates his eleventh year on planet Earth. Parents step into gooey puddles on the front lawn as Flanagan waves his new blaster in the air. “Who else wants to play laser tag?”

Your Stocking

I hung your stocking

It’s lumpy and quite heavy

Your foot’s still in there

Illustration By Poet Rummager

Merry Krampus !!!

Happy HorrorDays !!!


SMM Christmas Carols: Spreading Holiday Fear


Put on your Santa hat—it’s time to spread some holiday fear! Learn the words to these frosty SMM carols and sing along…if you dare. Are you in a jolly mood? Write an evil SMM carol and then share your creation in the comment section.

Jingle Yells



Jingle yells, jingle yells
yelling all the way!
Oh what fun it is to have died in a no remorse whoopin’ melee
Jingle yells, jingle yells
yelling all the way!
Oh what fun it is to have died in a no remorse whoppin’ melee
Bleeding on the snow
During my no remorse whoppin’ melee
under the graveyard, all we feel is woe
Yelling all the way—ahhh! ahhh! ahhh!
Heads and spine ring
Making our spirits fight
What fun it is to die and sing a depressing song tonight
Jingle yells, j-j-jingle yells
Yelling all the way!
O’ what fun it is to have died in a no remorse whoppin’ melee
Jingle yells, j-j-jingle yells
Yelling all the way!
O’ what a lot of fun, what a lot of fun to die and sing in a no remorse whoppin’ melee
Bleeding on the snow (we are bleeding)
In a no remorse (whopping melee)
Under the graveyard, we go (under the graveyard we go, we go)
We are dying all the way (all the way)
Heads and spine ring
Making our spirits fight
What fun it is to die and sing a depressing song till night
Jingle yells, jingle yells
Yelling all the way!
O’ what fun it is to die in a no remorse whoppin’ melee
Jingle yells, jingle yells
Yelling all the way!
O’ what fun it is to die in a no remorse whoppin’ melee
Jingle yells, jingle yells
O’ what fun it will in a no remorse whoppin’ melee
Jingle yells, jingle yells
O’ what fun it is to die in a no remorse whoppin’ melee
(Jingle yells, jingle yells
Yelling all the way!)





I Saw Mommy Killing Santa Claus


Wow, mommy’s killing Santa Claus!
I saw Mommy killing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night
She didn’t see me creep
Down the stairs to have a peep
She slaughtered the fat guy like a sheep
With daddy’s razor blade now buried into him pretty deep
Damn. I saw mommy slashing Santa Claus
Turning his snowy white beard bloody red
And now he can’t ho-ho-ho cuz he’s dead
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy killing Santa Claus last night!





Rudolph the Red-knifed Reindeer


You know Disaster, and Danger, and Plunder, and Vermin…Damnit and Corpus, and Murder, and Bitchin…but do you recall the most infamous reindeer of all?

Rudolph, the red-knifed reindeer
Had a very shiny knife
And if you ever saw it,
You would beg for your life.

All of the other reindeer,
Used to scream and call God’s name.
They’d run away from Rudolph
Or risk getting sliced and maimed.

Then one bloody Christmas Eve
Santa came to say
“Rudolph with your knife so sharp,
Won’t you stab my wife and roll her in a tarp?”
Then all the reindeer loved him
And they shouted out with glee
“Rudolph the red-knifed reindeer,
Kill Mrs. Claus but let us be!”






Poet Rummager


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How to Survive Christmas With Your Soul Intact


Have you been naughty or nice this year? Your life may depend on it! Most sane people think Christmas is about elven exploitation or exchanging wrapped pairs of socks. There’s an unknown place where holiday lights don’t glow—the dark side of Christmas. Stories, myths and ancient legends used to be shared during the holiday season, just like forgotten ornaments that once hung on a pretty spruce tree.

Are you gonna survive Christmas with your soul intact? We’ll see.




Only Give Designer Clothes



The Yule cat ((JÓLAKÖTTURINN) devours the souls of people not properly dressed for Christmas. Fork out those big bucks for Nike, Dior, and Coach, or risk turning into the goose on Yule cat’s dinner table. Yeah, sorry, but no cheapskates allowed this year, grandma. Showoff your new threads and prove you’re worthy to live one more year. Good boys and gals are awarded scarves and mittens. Bad boys and gals have to live the rest of their short lives in the coat they wore last year. The Yule cat preys upon the rotten kids…you know the ones…the kind of kids who don’t earn their new coat. Now go put on your beanie or the Yule cat is gonna spit out a human-sized hairball, and it just might be you.



Don’t Trash people


Frau Perchta Illustration by MegaEggz


Frau Perchta, a winter witch, eviscerates rude people and replaces their vital organs with nasty garbage. If you’re ugly, you gotta be ugly from the inside out. Do you want spoiled Ramen noodles instead of a spleen? Don’t you dare be a bitch on Christmas Day or you may find a rusted, leaky battery where your heart used to be—good luck charging that mofo!



Just Be Good For Krampus’ Sake




Krampus only give one present for Christmas—a yuletide beating. You learned your manners, right? Krampus doesn’t nibble on sugar cookies or drink milk! The goat-demon terrorizes misbehaved little misfits, and that’s how the demon gets its fill. All the young runts fear Krampus, that’s the only reason why they take out the trash or clean dishes. Not because it’s the right thing to do…because they fear being chastised by a goat-demon. Clean your damn dishes. Or else.




Don’t Kill Spiders! Kidnap Them Instead


Image credit: FlyTrapMan


Don’t have any cash to spend on Christmas tree tinsel? No problem! Kidnap a local spider and place it inside your bare spruce tree. The arachnid will supposedly feel sorry about your current financial situation and may spin a magical thread. Make sure you weep during the night. Try to make it sound believable. Wait until morning and voila! Sunlight transforms the icky spider web into silver tinsel. If you ever see a spider in someone’s pretty spruce tree, well…now you know why. Think about all the moolah you’ll save during the holiday season, because now you never have to buy expensive tinsel. Nice.




Donate Your Cash to Needy Folk


Belsnickel Illustration by MegaEggz

Don’t hoard all the cash, you greedy grinch! Belsnickel is a nosy demon who sniffs out dough in your hidden pockets. If he finds any Benjamins stuffed in your pockets or pillowcase, watch out! Belsnickel will whip your stingy ass with a thorny switch till your skin sloughs off like a banana peel. He’s the Robin Hood of demons who demands monetary donations for the poor. He gives you two choices: go broke or go dead. Which will it be? Choose wisely (ask for advice from the Three Kings), because oh no-no-no….Belsnickel is gonna come collecting, you motherfucker.




Sleep With One Eye Open


You gotta lot to worry about this holiday season: blizzards, black ice, fruitcake…and demons. Yup. Demons. Not just any demons—mischievous ne’er-do-wells. Kallikantzaros stalk the frigid nights during the winter solstice, and their only duty is to make your cozy life a living hell. They’ll drink all your spiked eggnog or eat the nutritious ornaments hanging from your pretty spruce tree. These pint-sized pests hack away at the Tree of Life, but the winter season is apparently their off-season. Kallikantzaros are filled with pent-up aggression so they don’t have the patience to count past the number 3. They also hate coriander but that’s completely understandable. Everyone hates coriander. Do you wanna survive Christmas with your soul intact? Guard the bowl of spiked eggnog because if you feel something looking at you, it’s probably Kallikantzaros. Good luck, my jolly friend.



It takes real guts to survive the holiday season, and if Frau Perchta hasn’t paid you a visit, then all your squishy innards should be intact. Don’t be rude, and remember to earn your new mittens or the Yule cat will devour your pathetic soul. Kidnap a few spiders and you could save some major dough. Christmas is not just about unwrapping gifts. Hug your soul tight, my festive friend, or demons just might steal your Christmas spirit away.









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Additional Resources




Ivor Steven: Pumpkin Soup Again



Head’s falling like an unpinned grenade.

Soon ready to explode.

Burying shrapnel pieces in corners of shade.

Scattered like broken retina globes.

Razor blades shredding memory lockets.

Slivered icicles inside blurry sockets.

Needles of pain.

Sheets of sleet before the rain.

Bloodied eyeball tracks like meteor trails.

And the pain-numbing capsules do fail.

Oh please, blindly needing to set sail.

Upon swirling Oceans, like Homer’s tales.



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Ivor Steven: Ripe Tomatoes and a Garden Spade




Ripe Tomatoes and a Garden Spade


Only another week to go

I’ll be on the cruise

I’m not feeling nervous

More that I’m fearful

Scared my plan might go amiss

Before the high seas deliver bliss


Taking two suitcases is normal

Other passengers may have three

I won’t look suspicious

I’ve bagged her precisely

Chopped her into small pieces

Stored separately in the freezer


The old witch, I caught her trespassing

In my private courtyard

Stealing my precious cherry tomatoes

I whacked her with my garden spade

Across the top of her green head

I didn’t hit her too hard

She lay there bleeding, not dead

How dare she come into my yard

She’s pleading with me, no mercy I said

And I dragged her into the shed



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Monsters in the Abyss: 5 Facts About Sea Pigs & Sea Cucumbers


Are you ready to get wet? Put on your diving helmet and let’s dive into a watery abyss—the primordial dimension where aquatic monstrosities shine like hypnotic stars.


5 Facts About Sea Pigs


They can fit in your pocket:  Sea pigs are only 4-6 inches long.

Sea pigs like mud: You know how land pigs love to roll in mud? Sea pigs love to roll in very deep waters (as deep as 3.7 miles below the ocean surface) where they scour for decaying plants and animal matter in the sea mud. Yummy.



Those aren’t antennae on top of their heads—they’re feet: They may resemble antennae, but the structures on top of the sea pig’s head are feet which help them propel along the ocean floor, or they may help detect a tasty meal by sensing chemical trails.


Sea pigs have extraordinary mouths: Their mouths are surrounded by tentacles that help them sift through the mud for food.

Other animals live in the bodies of sea pigs: Small snails and crustaceans bury in the sea pig’s body where they feed on them internally.


Illustration By Poet Rummager

5 Facts About Sea Cucumbers


They have a special guest who lives in their anus! Pearlfish live in a sea cucumber’s cloaca or anus; which also serves as their mouth—using it for protection from predators and also for food (the pearlfish eats the waste product of sea cucumbers).

Size of sea cucumbers depends on their species: Smallest species can reach 0.12 inches and largest ones can reach over 3 feet in length.

Sea cucumbers have a unique technique of warding off enemies: When faced with danger, sea cucumbers can eviscerate or shoot out their internal organs from their anus! Any missing organs can be regenerated in 1.5 to 5 weeks.

Their lifespan depends on the species: Most sea cucumbers live between 5 and 10 years in the ocean.

Sea cucumbers are shapeshifters: Sea cucumbers modulate their squishy bodies to pass through tight spaces.



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(Introduction Written By FlyTrapMan)


Dark History: Archbishop Mummies & Hungry Vultures


Grab a torch and let’s explore the next episode of ‘Dark History’. Shine a light on the shadowy realm of humanity’s ancient past and uncover how ancient cultures lived with death. Get ready to exhume dirty facts about archbishop mummies, purgatory, hungry vultures and sky burials.


Say, “No Way to Decay”

We learned that tossin’ dirt on a vacant body won’t preserve its squishy innards. Unfortunately.

Sophisticated techniques needed to be discovered, and tricks of the ancient’s trade, are still buried outside the realm of our knowledge. Creating a mummy ain’t easy. You only have one chance to get things right or you’re just cookin’ maggot food. Tasty.

Every culture has a special way to deal with their dead.

Ancient Tibetans hauled their deceased comrades on top a mountain—hungry vultures took care of the rest. Literally. And hopefully. This ritual was known as a ‘sky burial’ and it’s still being practiced.

Picky avian eaters nibble on carcasses, and they don’t leave behind any leftovers.

If deceased individuals were not offered to insatiable vultures, they returned as a vengeful ghoul, and, well…you can imagine what happened next.

Other cultures just said, “No way to decay”.

Mummification is the ancient art of ripping off Death, because Death, after all, is a greedy bastard. We’re supposed to give it all up after we bite the big one: skin, organs, eyeballs, hair, nails—all the good stuff. Giving up our life just ain’t enough.

Medieval clerics devised clever methods which were designed to rip-off Death, and so did Egyptians, of course. Medieval mummy recipes probably weren’t the same as the ancient Egyptian’s recipe, however, the outcome was the same (more or less).


Are you ready to meet a real mummy?

Here lies…

Archbishop Dom Lourenco Vicente.


Image Credit: Karina Pinella


Dom is a certified mummy, and a good lookin’ one, too!

The archbishop’s teeth seem like they were bleached by angels. Dom’s skin looks like turkey jerky, but he’s still got it, and that’s impressive. Lips are overrated. Do you know a dead person who still has their nostrils? Exactly.


Image Credit: Karina Pinella


Peder Winstrup, a magnificent 17th-century mummy, forfeited his life in 1691. Peder kept his beard, though. And that’s what matters.

Researchers discovered that Peder’s coffin was loaded with spices, and that helped preserve biological tissue. Specific climate conditions also dispelled the curse of decay.

Dom and Peder probably have a few things in common—including what’s hidden inside their comfy pillows. Peder’s pillow was stuffed with secret herbs, and it looks like Dom’s pillow could actually be his personal spice rack.


Need more spices and mummies? Click here!



Living on a Prayer

Let’s face it—how long would it take you to absolve all your sins?

Purgatory is where dirty souls get blasted with a fire hose. Souls gotta be squeaky clean, especially if they want to ascend through the Pearly Gates. Oh! Remember that scrumptious candy bar you stole? Guess what? That artificial nougat bar is now gonna cost you some time, and a lot of it, pal.

Purgatory is also where bad souls sit in a dark corner and think about every pitiful atrocity they committed, like forgetting to feed their sister’s hamster, or banging the boss. Everyone needs a raise, right?


Knight Effigy Image Credit: Britain Express


Prayer helped to speed up the process.

Many people (knights, for example) commissioned effigies—carvings or sculptures which eternally depict themselves praying. Medieval effigies were commonly placed inside churches, that way people could offer their free prayer to the dirty soul who’s trying to absolve a few thousand sins. No big deal.

The more prayers, the better. Apparently.

Archbishop mummies could be a type of effigy. Someone needed a way to soak up more prayers than their competition. But that’s pure speculation. Think about it: would you rather give your prayers to an artist’s shitty rendition? Or would you rather offer your prayers to the real deal?


Secret herbs, mummies or hungry vultures—we’ll continue to cheat Death and find a way to take our life back. Keep your torch nearby and someday we’ll shine a light on the next episode of ‘Dark History’.



** Further Resources **

Mummified Bishop of Lund

The Egyptians: Mummies

Ancient Origins: Sky Burial

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Ivor Steven: The Other Side of Red, White, and Blue


It was the fourth of July

The party seems to be finished

Wondering how long I dozed off for

Most of my friends have gone

A few bodies left, lying on the floor

Best I have a piss before I go

Now where’s that bathroom

Whoops, there’s a girl in here

Dressed all in blue, and she’s on the floor

Slouched in the corner, not moving

Her skin’s “a whiter shade of pale” *

Red lip-stick all askew

Then I see myself in the mirror

Agape, my white shirt’s moist and filthy

Splattered, deep dark red

Oh no! It’s human blood

I turn the crumpled girl over

Her pretty blue dress, covered in blood too

What’s happened, I can’t remember

Only blurry images of red, white, and blue

My mind goes numb

And my legs start running

Out of here in a hurry

“Thump”, I trip over

I thought that bloke was asleep

I didn’t notice at first

His red shirt’s also oozing out blood

Holy hell, he’s dead too

I’m stumbling through the front door

Grappling, panicking, now where?

Where do I flee to?

Think! Yes, a nearby Church

Has an early dawn service

A sanctuary for my burning fears

And bumbling into the Church I go

Settling upon the nearest pew

I’m white as a ghost and turn to see who’s beside me

An eerily stunning red-haired girl

Wearing a dress of red white and blue

Memory flashes back, it’s her, from the party

She’s staring at me now, with livid red and white eyes

I see fangs protruding over her blue lips

Dribbling fresh blood, hissing at me

She gurgles, “Did I miss one?”

The Filia Sanguine suddenly grabs my arm

And her dark-blue fingernails dig deep

I’m seized, I’m gone, I know

There’s no safe haven here

“Where do you go to my lovely”**

Screaming tears of red, white, and blue.


*A Whiter Shade Of Pale, a Procol Harum song title, 1967

**Where Do You Go To My Lovely, a Peter Sarstedt song title, 1969



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Dr. Agonson: The Undying Heart


I swear never my heart to give again,
but locked away, letting it rest awhile
out of the air—a shoebox burial—
keeping its memory, so to forget
the unfulfilled future. It still won’t die.
I hear its thumping underground, beneath
the wet soft earth it pounds and pounds. It will
not go unheard. I fear at night for that
drumbeat, and in the day look worried still:
undertakers, quietly paid, may tell
the tale as that barber whispered the king’s
secret; so might I be revealed an ass
by corpses sprouting from their pits to sing
unhallowed chorales of my past mistake.
To love is a mistake: desire makes
asses by teaching us to love others
who, finding love too tough, lessons forsake.
The heart beats on, and without home searches,
as like wayfaring ghosts, for space to haunt.
This rotting heart, spreading its foul odor,
nightly awakes, this dreadful revenant,
to stand inside my room. No sleep may I
afford until its message sent, “Avenge
my foul murder,” and then sick dreams
—they once were sweet that now are tainted goods—
it sends to me. Desire comes, but it
pleases me not. I’ve seen through its sad mask
called love; I care not for its face. Let me
alone, current, O rising tide; divorce
me from humanity’s continual
drumbeat. I cannot love with undead heart,
save with the body sole, and without soul
what is that love except undying hell?
Thus will my song by generations go
unsung, and I, haunting the future from
the shadows, here erect my heart’s tombstone.

“But be at peace,” Heaven whispers to me.
“Erstwhile, began you with hopeless smiles,
whose untamed bloom, like fire, ate that small
foundation laid. Mask not your youthful love
in Freudian half-truths. Your crime: you loved,
and fitting punishment shall be you love
again. How could you learn the truth without
tasting the false? So let what’s dying die,
for from the grave will it arise anew”


Written By

Tale Told

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