Smoke was spewing out of the bonnet of the car. Lights were flashing, and Dan started to stir back into consciousness as the men in uniforms pried open the driver seat door and dragged him from the wreck. He was bruised, surface deep cuts all over my body, and a few deep cuts, but no broken or fractured bones, nothing they couldn't take care of. It was somewhat with relief that Dan's cuts were bandaged up, and his blood soaked clothes were cut from his body. The stretcher in which he was tightly bound to was lined with a soft, even if only wafer thin, sheet, it hugged his skin with affection and warmth, and he was wheeled into the back of the ambulance and driven away.

There were two paramedics in the back of the ambulance, making sure that Dan remained in a stable condition.
"Hey there, mister! How many fingers am I holding up?" One of the paramedics had something in his hand... a... doll? And he was doing a very poor ventriloquism act with it.
Dan lifted his right arm and extended all digits on that hand. The doll had one arm up, of which all the fingers were permanently pointed outwards.
"Barry, don't be a tool, stop playing with this guy's doll..." the other paramedic seemed like the senior of the two, snatching the doll off him and placing it out of Barry's reach.
"The... doll..." Dan croaked. The two paramedics leaned in, and Dan mustered up all the energy and contempt he could, and said "Throw it... out the window..."
He was feeling short on energy, and sensed that he was drifting out of consciousness. He witnessed the man that wasn't Barry fling the doll out onto the side of the road, just moments before he closed his eyes.

Head pounding something chronic, Dan opened his blurry eyes, to see a bright white ceiling, fluorescent light tubes rolling past, as he was pushed through the hospital. He could just hear muffled voices of the people surrounding him, their footsteps resonating through the hallway, the wheels on the stretcher racking up a low rumbling in his skull. Bang! The saloon style doors swung open as he passed through the hospital, steering towards the operating theatre. Entering through another set of double doors, it was obvious this was where doctors would stitch Dan's wounds closed. The room was circular, concentric circles lining the ceiling, and the bright white lights in the centre of the room were almost blinding.

The operating table stood directly under the lights, and Dan was struggling to keep his eyes open when the doctors carried him off the stretcher to the table. A doctor leaned in over him, blocking the light, and gently placed a gas mask over his mouth and nose. It took only a few moments before Dan drifted off into a disturbing dream like state. The image of the crash flashed through his mind, the toy warehouse, the body in the van, the jack-in-the-box with the shrapnel in Jaquie's body, the toys killing Jacque in the trolley, the clown... It was all just one blurry nightmare, and it shifted and transformed, Dan was watching his own surgery. Cutting away his clothes, one doctor said something to the other doctors that Dan couldn't hear, and then he did the unthinkable, with his index and medius fingers together, he slipped the gloved digits into one of the many cuts on Dan's body. The others laughed maliciously, and they started doing it too. Dan, in his mind, was screaming in pain and agony, clenched teeth, breathing deep, these doctors would be the death of him, and he couldn't do a fucking thing. The first doctor, now with excessively bloody gloves and scrubs, held up a razor sharp scalpel for inspection, before stabbing it deep into Dan's chest. Another doctor was quick to follow suit, picking up a surgical saw, and hacking Dan's ribcage to pieces, surgical hammers, knives, drills and saws, they were all playing this violent little game, mutilating Dan's body beyond repair, beyond recognition.

Thank God it was only a fucking dream. Dan awoke in a cold sweat, wearing a flowered hospital gown, sitting upright in a wheelchair. There was a lot of bandage all over his body, and he could feel where the cuts and stitches were pulling at his skin. According to the clock, Dan had awoken at near on 2 O'clock in the morning. Grasping the rubber wheels with his cold hands, he rolled out of his dimly lit room into an even more dim hallway. A fluorescent light flickered somewhere behind him, becoming an annoyance in the back of his mind. At the forefront of his mind was the ominous light calling to him from all the way down the far end of the hall. It was the glow of a green exit sign. A fixation, a goal. He had been taken in by the mother bird, and been nursed back to a condition of independent living, and after the night's events, Dan just wanted to be alone. More than alone, isolated. There were people in this hospital, even if they were out of sight.

So Dan propelled himself down the hallway, rolling closer to the exit, closer and closer. He saw the cold green glow of the exit sign growing larger, but he also saw another form of life come into vision, and stand between him and his goal. It was an elderly man, with infinitesimally thin wisps of hair, marking their ways across the otherwise sparse nothingness of his scalp. Skin sagging something chronic, the man clung to the pole that supported the IV bag that ran tubes into his body. What exactly this man wanted, it was impossible to tell, but he stood squarely in front of the exit door, and signalled to Dan to follow down the hallway perpendicular from whence he came. Dan, as compromised by his wheelchair, was in no place to bargain, let alone bargain at a tempo that doesn't wake the patrons of the hospital. The estranged man hobbled clumsily down the hallway after Dan, his footsteps echoing heavily throughout the hallways.

Through the deserted hospital, the stranger guided Dan, clueless as to his whereabouts, it was only as they approached a foyer area that the stranger placed a hand on Dan's shoulder, indicating him to stop. Dan had figured out from the signage that they were in the emergency corner of the hospital, and quite close to the operating theatre where Dan had his operation.
The stranger leaned in and said "There's a woman at the information desk over there" pointing through the wall, roughly where the information desk would be. "Make sure you keep out of her sight". Disregarding his own comment, he made no hesitation before moving through the open foyer towards another hall on the other side of the room.
Once there, the man signalled Dan when to make his dash across the room. As Dan made his pass, he glimpsed the woman at the information desk, who had her back turned on the room, as she poured herself another coffee.

Down the hall they went, until they reached the double doors that opened out into the emergency operating theatre. Dan pushed the doors gently open and rolled inside. He shifted towards the middle of the room, and took a long, heavy sigh, gazing at the flat rectangular table that had seen many a death, and had brought Dan's brutal life back into the foreground of reality. He turned around, looking for the stranger that had brought him here. The man was nowhere to be seen. Dan told himself that "he might just be waiting outside" but he knew that this was not true. Next to the door stood a tall and narrow whiteboard, a pin in the middle to spin it over. Dan pushed himself over to the whiteboard, and spun it over. On the other side was a mirror, and Dan stared into his reflection, the stitches crawling across his face, pale grey skin gave him quite a zombified appearance. He touched his face with disgust, running his fingers across the cuts. He held his arms up to his eyes to see that they were in the same condition. Grasping the arm-rests on his wheelchair, he pulled himself to his feet and inspected his whole ghastly body. He threw his nightgown to the floor. There was some bandaging over his chest, arms, legs and head, but there was so much stitching across his skin, holding him together like an ancient rag-doll that a little girl refused to part with. The stitches held themselves together well, however, the wounds were still fresh, and with all his movement, some blood seeped through Dan's bandages, just another stain on his already tarnished appearance.

Dan threw a look of utter revulsion at the self in the mirror, before determinedly searching through the room, rummaging in drawers, hoarding significant items, like a bluebird would of shiny or blue objects to decorate its nest. Dan took to the small underneath compartment in his wheelchair; several scalpels if different shapes and sizes, small drills and saws, some cloths, bandage, needles and thread, along with other bizarre collectibles. With these safely tucked under his wheelchair, concealed with his nightgown, he pushed his wheelchair out of the operating theatre.

Dan walked down the hallway, retracing his steps back to his room.
Without thinking, without hesitation, he walked through the foyer area, when a woman spoke out "excuse me sir, where did you just come from?"
Dan froze in his tracks, and turned to look at the source of the voice, and there behind the information desk stood not the young woman of before, but a man wearing clown make-up, and in his hand was a scalpel. He spun it cleverly through his hands several times before throwing it at full force at Dan. It scraped past Dan's scalp, shaving the stitches on a deep cut on his head. Blood dripped to the floor. The clown pulled another scalpel from his pocket, and Dan didn't need to be warned twice, without hesitation, he tore through the passages, footsteps echoing with all the weight of fear and anxiety, the wheelchair only making things infinitely more difficult. Surely someone would wake up and find Dan out of bed at night, running from a homicidal clown, and they'd find all the surgical tools that Dan stole, hidden in his wheelchair, and he'd be in the shitter.

But it was miraculous that no-one did find Dan. Several glances across his shoulder, he had come to the conclusion that the clown's initial threats had diminished, and it was safer now to resume stealth mode, and creep carefully towards his room. He was a the door. Rattling the doorknob, he pushed the door open, and stepped into his room. It was a plummeting sensation that Dan felt when he realised that this wasn't his room. It was somewhat of a staff lounge, and there on the couch sat a doctor, and he was watching some low budget hospital slasher flick. As Dan slithered closer, he noticed that it was his friend, the clown, and in his hand was another scalpel, twirling through his fingers like a teasing ballet of torture. Well, Dan thought, two can play at that game...

And he quietly reached underneath his wheelchair and pulled out his own scalpel, a vicious blade with serrated teeth. Dan crept up on the man that had made his life a living hell, and gripped his head, slicing the blade across the throat like cutting butter. The clown's scalpel fell from his hand, and stuck straight up and down on the hard wooden floor. Dan dropped his own scalpel, upon the realisation that it was being coated in copious amounts of blood, not to mention the blood gushing onto the couch was more than enough to make any normal being queasy beyond belief. Dan didn't want to look, but it was by mere accident that he caught the eyes of the dead man gazing soullessly up at him, and it was only with that did he notice that this was not the clown doctor at all. So Dan ran his wheelchair out of the room again, intent on distancing himself from his murder. He was in such shock that he failed to notice that the TV was not tuned to the cheesy hospital horror he initially thought, but rather an infomercial on cooking appliances, nor did he notice that the doctor's scalpel was nowhere to be seen.

Breathing deeply, standing in an isolated hallway Dan pulled his nightgown over his head, and wiped his bloody hands on the material. Then, he sat himself down, and tried to wheel himself back to his room. His palms were sweaty, and his hair was slicked to his forehead, drenched in a similar cold sweat. He rolled along the hallway, thoughts rushing through his head. The dim lights that illuminated the path seemed to be burning white heat inside his skull, blurring his vision. Pushing along the hall, confused, angry, scared, Dan knew not where he was heading, he couldn't make out the writing on the signs he passed. His head swelled, and the feeling of drowsiness and hopelessness consumed him, it was almost with a sigh of relief that Dan could see the vague blurred outline of a human being moving towards him.

"Excuse me, sir? Sir, are you okay?" The woman could have been a dream, a figment of Dan's imagination, but he had an instinctual feeling to trust her.
"Unnhh..." Dan said. His mouth was dry, and he felt that he was moments away from passing out. Dan held a hand up and pointed it to his mouth.
The woman, whom Dan presumed to be a nurse wheeled him out into what looked like a waiting room. She left his side, and returned momentarily, lifting his chin to pour a cool clear liquid into his mouth.
"Thanks" Dan said, with a hint of gratitude. "Can you take me back to my room, please?"
"What were you doing out of your room at this time of night, anyway?" she sounded a little suspicious, but Dan could tell that she was just following standard protocol, and really had no clue as to what he'd done.
"I... I needed to use the bathroom. So I left my room, and... yeah. And on my way back, I felt feverish, you know, hot... sweaty... and tired... and then, you came along." Dan gave a wry smile, he was going for an Oscar.
"Are you sure you're okay?" the nurse asked. She seemed afraid that Dan might almost die on her, or something of the sort.
"Haha, yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks, but I really just need to get back to my bed and and get some sleep." Of course, Dan knew he'd never get any more sleep tonight.
"Okay," she laughed nervously and started to push the wheelchair along.
Back in Dan's room, she tucked the sheets around him.
"Thanks again, miss" Dan said, leaning his head back into the soft pillows.
"You're welcome." she said, her cheeks turning slightly pink. "I should leave you to get your rest, but can you tell me one more thing before I go?"
"Hmm?" Dan lifted his head off the pillows slightly.
The nurse turned towards the door and asked "if you needed to use the bathroom, why did I find you all the way over the opposite side of the hospital?"
She turned to see him respond, but he had already fallen asleep. She turned back around and left the room, and Dan's eyes snapped open again. That was a close one.

The next morning, Dan's doctor came in to his room to see how he was recovering from the surgery. Following him was the nurse he had met last night, who was somewhat concerned about the patient, after last night's peculiar encounter. The room was dark as night, the blinds on the window were closed, and the curtains around Dan's bed were pulled tight.
"Good morning Daniel" the doctor called through the curtains in a simply cheerful voice. But the smile was wiped from his face when he drew open the curtains to find an empty bed. He heard a sharp click coming from behind him. Turning around, he saw Daniel, standing by the door, as he took his hand off the lock on the door.
"Daniel... Daniel... Daniel... what are you doing?" the doctor spoke down to his patient as if he were a mere child.
"Something I badly need to do" Dan replied, with a malicious tone in his voice, he had overcome the initial shock of last night's murder, and he stood next to his wheelchair, revenge shining in his eyes.

"Stop, you're still in shock from the accident and the surgery. You don't want to be making any rash decisions. Think it through, Daniel." the doctor spoke with an urgency and panic in his voice, for once, life and death and the fine line between the two fell outside his controlled and well educated hands.
"Oh, I've thought it through, doc. I've thought it through very well." He leaned into his wheelchair and pulled out a scalpel. "I'm sorry" he said to the nurse, and he threw the instrument at her.
With the cry of a wounded animal, she fell to the ground, with the scalpel sticking out of her chest.
"Daniel, stop, you're being ridiculous!" the doctor yelled, and knelt down beside the nurse.
Dan rushed towards the doctor and took a hard kick at his face. The doctor fell back, in agony. There were broken teeth. It was now Dan's turn to kneel by the nurse. Her face was white, and blood was bubbling from her mouth. Dan ripped the scalpel from her body, and she cringed over, crying out in agony, squeezing her hands to her wound. Stab. He plunged the scalpel back into her. Another cry. And again, and again. Stab, stab, stab, stab, stab. Blood soaked the once sterile instrument, and blood soaked the body, floor and Dan himself was covered in fresh blood again, although now he was absolutely soaked, there was no way he could hide this crime blaming the stains as leaking wounds of his own blood, this time he wouldn't hold back, he wouldn't stop.

Turning towards the doctor, an even more sadistic, demonic grin crept across his face. The doctor, after spitting out his teeth, had not bothered to get to his feet, but rather allowed Dan to handle him like a rag-doll, throwing him unceremoniously onto Dan's bed, tying him to it and taping his mouth shut. Dan pushed his wheelchair up next to the bed and retrieved all the implements he had stolen, placing each on the bedside table, enjoying listening to the doctor's nonsensical moans, muffled cries, pleading on deaf ears. He watched every singly motion Dan made, sweat trickling off his brow and onto his wide eyed face.
"Oh no, Daniel, look at all the cuts and lacerations on your skin" Dan said to himself, as he ran a scalpel across the doctor's body, listening to his deep, fearful breathing, and groans as the pain of the scalpel tortured his body.
"Shh... shh... it's okay, it's okay, I'm looking after you" Dan had replaced the scalpel with needle and thread, and began stitching the cuts back together. "There, good as new."

Tears trickled down the doctor's eyes, and he struggled in his bondage. The wounds freely leaked blood, and the poor stitching job did nothing to prevent this, but Dan paid no attention.
"Yes, this needs quite a lot of work... the leg, it must come off, and that arm!" Dan said, enthusiastically, as he picked up the surgical saw, and cut through bone to sever the leg at the ankle and the arm at the shoulder. The doctor was writhing terribly, tensing up, trying to bear the pain, but crumbling into agonising cries like a helpless child. And Dan laughed. He was psychopathic, a complete madman, this boy is beyond therapy, and the doctor lay, taking the abuse, willing the torture to end. But Dan was patient, savouring the moments of "revenge". He brought out the needle and thread for a second time, and crudely, yet with some affection, stitched the doctor's foot back to his leg, and arm back to his body.

"We've got a problem, we've got a very big problem here" Dan picked up the scalpel again, and dug it into the doctor's leg, then in his other leg, and his arms. He then made a long thin incision down the doctor's face, with a delicate and soft motion.
"You thought you were doing me a favour, saving my life. You thought that, didn't you? Didn't you?!" The doctor nodded. "And you thought that I, a youthful man with his life still ahead of him would want nothing more than to breathe and think and live again. You thought that you would be greatly rewarded for this selfless act of giving, when it was never really selfless at all. You want praise, you want approval, you want acceptance, well you're not getting that from me, you don't even get my sympathy. I hate you, I hate you! Look what you've done to me!" Dan yelled, on the verge of tears himself. He picked up a small surgical drill and thrust it into the doctor's chest.
"Look at me!" he cried again, pushing the drill deeper into the chest. Dan picked up the scalpel again.

"Why? Why did you do this to me?!" He stabbed the blade into the doctor's chest, and tore down, ripping it open. "Why do you punish me? I've done nothing to deserve this! I've done nothing wrong!" And with one last maniacal outcry, he took the saw, and ran it all through the doctor's chest, arms, legs, the entire body. And that was when two armed police officers broke the door down, and dragged the bloody Daniel Freeman from the mutilated corpse, blood curdling screams ringing in their ears.

And so Daniel wound up with life in prison, taking weekly psychiatric sessions, and mostly keeping to his own confines. He never talked to the other inmates, never had any visitors, nor did he send or receive any mail, so it came as a surprise to Daniel when he received his dinner, that a package also slid through the hatch. Dan looked at the package, and started blankly at the guard that had made the delivery.
"Who's it from?" Dan asked. The guard said nothing. "Hey, guard! I'm talking to you! Who's this package from?!" But again, he was met with bitter silence. And in that momentary silence, Dan heard a sound coming from the box... a tune of some sort. So Dan lifted the lid on the box and pulled the item out. The tune was growing louder and louder, and Dan slid the package into the corner of the cell. It was too wide to fit between the bars, and he knew damn well that was intentional. He also knew whom had sent the parcel. It was a jack-in-the-box. Dan pressed himself up against the bars on his cell.
"Guard! Guard! Help, let me out! Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out!" But the guard stood firm, dedicated to averting his eyes from the notorious prisoner. The music played innocently through Dan's desperate pleads for help, but as the jack-in-the-box played its final notes, the clown had his last laugh, barely containing his malevolent grin behind his guard uniform, the game was over; click, boom.

The End

Daniel was a man of great confidence. A natural leader and a loyal friend, there weren't many that thought ill of Dan Freeman. He took pride in the fact that he could think on his feet, and he was ever the high achiever, some say that Dan had developed a knack for being exceptional, and others would admit to thinking that he was born ready, for whatever life might have to throw in his direction, so it was not out of character for Dan to be driving through the outskirts of town to one of his favourite make-out spots with his date, Jacqueline MacKenzie. Of course, she had enjoyed their movie date, and Dan knew it. He was brimming with confidence, although he had enough grace to cover for himself, lest she misinterpret his body-language as "arrogant".

The travelling became more battered and brutal, of which the rain pummelling down on the car and road did nothing to improve. Thunder rolled through their ears, lightning launching through the sky silhouetting the trees on the side of the road, capturing the violent angular branches and torturous shapes in a mere instant before flicking out to the nothingness of moments before. The car's wiper blades slashed across the front windscreen with speed and aggression. As they travelled further from town, the buildings became smaller and spread over a wider distance. The scattered lights on the side of the road were either too dim, flickering violently, or were victims of vandals, and had been shattered completely. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to see the road ahead, so it was somewhat with relief that Dan turned the car into the large patch of earth (or mud, to more accurately describe it), and parked outside the old abandoned toy warehouse, the Little Chickadee's Emporium of Wonders. The large iron gates harboured an impressive rust infestation, to the extent that holes had been eaten out in seizable chunks. Beyond those gates stood the building, itself. Massive for a toy store, but quite the child, when the term "warehouse" is thrown around. The sign had faded, the building was falling apart. Some holes were patched up crudely using old sheets of scrap metal, a sure-fire sign of shoddy workmanship. But Dan wasn't here to go sight seeing, well... not that site anyway. So, Dan turned the ignition off and turned towards Jacquie, a grin spreading across his face. She returned the grin, and added her trademark penetrating glare that was oh so seductive. They were lost in each other's eyes, and, leaning in, breathing deeply, they prepared for the embrace...
THUD!

The two lovers snapped out of their trance, upon realizing that something had dealt a forceful blow to the rear end of the car. Jacquie was quick to jump. It wasn't hard to tell that she was on edge. Dan wanted to stay in the car, but he knew she wouldn't calm down until she knew what the noise was. So, with their jackets held over their heads to shelter the rain, they got out of the car and inspected the back of the car. The dent was relatively small, and there was nothing to show what had actually hit the car. In fact, the only thing that lay out of place near the car was a small ribbon, that looked like it had fallen delicately to the ground.
"W-what the hell was that?" Jacquie asked, a little freaked out.
"Beats me" Dan responded. In all honesty, he didn't care, he was only interested in her. It was that lack of awareness that meant that he didn't notice the minute microphone pinned to the ribbon on the ground. Nor did he notice the sleek new security cameras that were perched atop the fence...

An estranged man sat in the dark confines of his office, watching one of the many screens in front of him, listening and watching, feeding off their every move.
"Beats me" He heard the trespassing youth say.
"Yes it does" he said to himself, allowing a malicious cackle echo through the room.
He watched as the strangers returned to the confines of their car. The rain continued to bucked down, the increasingly frequent lightning illuminating the sky, followed shortly by the thunder rolling through the night, the ribbon-microphone clipping and distorting the sound.
Dan had, yet again, become oblivious to his surroundings, so it was to his great annoyance that Jacquie continued to show her irritation at him, and her imaginative fear of what might possibly be outside. Dan held her arm gently, leaning closer to her, trying to lull her into the security of his arms, but she couldn't, she had a dull lurching feeling in her gut, like there was something outside. Another flash of lightning and crack of thunder and she was never coming back from this tense anxiety. She saw what looked like little people, children, silhouetted against the lightning, and they were all surrounding the perimeter completely.

"There's definitely something out there" said Jacquie "let's go, let's go back home, please".
"C'mon, there's nothing out there, and if there was, it couldn't get in the car anyway. Shh... just calm down, it's just the weather" Dan had guessed that any attempt to pacify would be useless, but he tried regardless.
It was rather unfortunate that Jacquie was so paranoid, convinced there was something (or things) out there. They WERE outside, and they would come up to the car and do something utterly unimaginable to them lest they leave immediately. Dan continued to attempt to comfort her, but every moment he moved closer, she shuffled further up against the car door. Wild eyed, Jacquie looked everywhere but at Dan, trying to keep track of where these creatures were. She let out an ear piercing scream, only to have Dan jump out of his skin and split his skull on the car roof.
"Argh! Jacquie!" Dan winced and clasped both hands over his head.
"Dan..." She said in a shaking whisper "it's... it's in the car" she was staring in the rear view mirror at the little creature in the back seat she could only describe as a robot child-doll, possessed with the gleaming red eyes of Satan himself.

Dan slowly turned around, staring wide eyed at the back seat of his car.
"Holy shit, Jacquie! It's got a knife!" Dan spoke with an urgency in his voice.
Jacquie turned in her seat, fear taking full control of her actions. She started towards the back-seat when Dan began to laugh mischievously.
"Fuck you, Dan." The doll was nowhere to be seen. But his little prank had loosened her up a bit, and she let a small smile creep onto her face. Maybe it was just paranoia after all, she thought. But maybe the doll was hiding in the boot of the car, which she would have figured out, had she looked hard enough to see the lock of hair jammed in the uprights between two of the back seats.

Dan saw this ease of tension in Jacquie and milked it for all it's worth. The thunder had stopped, for the meantime, and the rain had certainly lightened up, so Dan got out of his car and started running towards the warehouse.
"Dan, what are you doing now?" she asked, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
"Come on, let's go inside, Jacquie!" he replied in a playful tease. He ran towards the fence, planning to slip through one of the numerous holes in the fence.
"No, Dan... stop it..." she stepped out of the car somewhat reluctantly, perhaps hoping to get Dan and bring him back.
Soon, Dan was through the fence and jogging towards the battered down warehouse. Jacquie felt somewhat annoyed, and still slightly on edge. Staring up at the massive building, with its faded and battered sign, she couldn't help but imagine this place in its prime, full colour to the clown's head that served as the store mascot. Plastered on the sign, the clown's head was now lifeless and drained of all colour, a vandal's work showed a rough hole through his nose.
Dan noticed her looking at the clown. "Haha, I remember Krinkels the Clown. You know... my father used to work here when I was little." Dan said, with a slight sentimentality in his voice.
"I-is that why you wanted to come here?" The forceful wind and rain made standing outside the warehouse bitter cold beyond belief.
"Yeah. Do you mind if we go inside?" Dan was really milking the sympathy card for all it was worth.
"Or what, we run all the way back to the car... again? Yes, now we're here it'd be pointless not to have a look around" Jacquie pulled her jacket around herself tighter and made for the door.

She pushed open the age-old door, an expected creak whining out from the rusted stiff hinges. There was a little light coming through windows high up on the wall, cold grey moonlight spilled onto the shop floor. There before them stood many empty shelves, some had fallen over, others had been completely broken apart. There were still the occasional pieces of junk lying around the place. The usual empty buckets and bags, a few broken chairs, some bins tipped on their side. There were still a few toys and dolls lying around, a lot of trolleys, some were half filled, just sitting in the isles. They started to wander through the isles, just looking at the state of the shop,it looked like it had been deserted in mid-use, rather than shut down from a manager's decision.
Dan ran over to one of the trolleys and said to Jacquie "hey, come here, hop in!". He had that mischievous look in his eyes.
She obeyed, a little cautious, a little excited and rebellious, but all caution was erased from her mind when he started pushing her in the trolley down the aisle faster and faster, going deeper and deeper into the store. She let out a whoop of excitement, and laughed as if this were the most wonderful night of her life. But it was a short lived game.

They had reached the back of the store, and Dan had slowed down to walking pace, a little short of breath. He wheeled Jacquie out into the stock loading bay to find the back doors flung wide open, and a delivery truck parked for a delivery. It took only a moment to see that the truck had been abandoned too. It sat there, collecting rust, its wheels stolen a long time ago. Jacquie pulled herself out of the trolley and the pair of them walked down to the vehicle to check it out. Dan wandered around to the driver's side of the truck's cabin and wrenched the door open. He let out an agonising and fearful cry when the half decayed body of the driver fell out of the seat onto Dan.

Jacquie, who had just opened the back doors of the truck, ran over to him, and started anxiously talking and crying, once she realised what was lying atop of Dan.
"Oh, God! I knew this was a bad idea. Dan, who is that? Who is that!? We need to get out of here, Dan, we need to get the FUCK out of here!" the tears were flowing freely, and she continued with her uncontrollable blubbering, while Dan lay in shocked silence, with the corpse atop of him. Near the back of the truck they heard a sound that made their hair sit on end. The sound of a lone music box rang through the night air, piercing their ears like knives. Dan heaved the body off himself and got to his knees, looking towards the source of the sound. It was a box with spider-like mechanical legs, and a spinning crank. It was a jack-in-the-box. It was just a child's toy, but who put it there, and why? It walked closer, and Dan and Jacquie moved farther away. It continued to play its song, and it appeared to be... laughing? The song came to an end, and the music box plucked its last note, before ceasing movement. For a single moment, there was silence, only to be broken by an eruption of fire and shrapnel. The box was a bomb. Dan was quick to ball up and protect himself, only sustaining light scratches to his back, but Jacquie was not so lucky. Down she fell, several sizeable chunks of wood and metal protruding from her body.

Dan didn't hesitate, he got back to his feet and picked Jacquie up, carrying her back towards the store, placing her gently back into the trolley. The shrapnel appeared to penetrate deep. Blood dripped freely from the large cuts, leaving a warm red trail as Dan pushed her towards the front of the store. It was only now that he noticed that the rain had stopped, and he walked fast, eyes darting around the store, in case the bomber was still around. Nothing. He reached the front of the store believing that he was alone with Jacquie, they had no idea of the man sitting in the upstairs security office was watching their every move on camera. Dan gave the door a tug, anxious to get Jacquie out of here, and to a hospital safely, but the door stayed firmly shut.
"No..." He cried out, "NO! Get out of here, we need to GET OUT!" He pushed and pulled the door with all his might, but nothing would move the thick, heavy sleeper that had jammed the door closed from the outside.

Footsteps. Dan heard some. Light, quiet, but definitely, there was something else in the store. His feet were rooted to the ground, but he twisted every which way, searching for the source of the sound. It wasn't until he heard a spray paint can fall flat that he glimpsed the silhouette of the offender he was after, duck behind a wall. He was upstairs, and it looked like he had nowhere to go. The can of spray paint had started rolling, down towards the checker plate steel staircase. It fell down the first step to a loud clatter, which reverberated throughout the building. Another step, and another, and it somehow rotated around the corner step and down further still, to the bottom, where it rolled to a stop at Dan's feet.

He left Jacquie at the front door and tore off up the stairs. It was just around the corner. He took a few steps towards the edge. A few more... a few more. And there it was, compressed into the corner, a little doll like creature. Dan grabbed it by its neck, and felt a cold shiver run down his spine, it was made of metal, a robot, simply painted to resemble a doll. Knowing it might explode at any moment, like the jack-in-the-box, he threw it over the second story balcony on to the hard concrete shop floor, where it landed with a sickening crunch. He made his way back down the stairs, to see that a group of these "dolls" (he noticed there were bears, too) approaching in on Jacquie, following the trail of blood to her, licking it up as they went along. At this point, Jacquie had seen them too, and started screaming. And then, with fear and madness emblazoned in her eyes, she pointed wildly into the opposite corner of the store, at another second floor room. There was a window in the room, overlooking the shop, horizontal blinds tilted open, and there stood a man with the appearance of the store mascot, Krinkels the Clown. He had in his hand the PA system's microphone.
Watching the toys closing in on Jacquie, he leaned in to the microphone and laughed menacingly. "Dear valued customers" he spoke with a milky smooth tone. "I would like to thank you all for choosing to shop at the Little Chickadee's Emporium of Wonders this evening, and I do hope you're having a magical shopping experience."

The words rang in Dan's ears, so much so that he hadn't noticed that Jacquie was still screaming, and now was being torn apart by the vicious robotic toys. Bits of her flew through the air in a bloody mess, showering the toys in her blood. It was too late, she couldn't be saved. So Dan made the gut wrenching decision to leave her and make his way towards Krinkels' office.
He spoke again, this time with some aggression. "There is no use, Daniel. I control them. They can control you. If you try to control me, you will end up like her." he cackled again. "Come on, I just wanted to have a little... fun, why won't you play this game with me?"
Dan continued to run across the store to the office. He was climbing the stairs to the office.
"There's no use Daniel. There's no easy way out, here. You can try to kick the door in, but then I'd have to kill you. But I don't want to kill you, then there'd be no one to continue the game. Don't forget to tell all your friends".

Dan was shaking with rage. He kicked at the door.
"I told you not to do that" Krinkels said in a sing-song voice. He opened the door and threw a small spider toy at Dan's face. He staggered back, grabbing at the thing on his face.
Racing down the stairs, he struggled with the mechanical spider. It gouged into his face, and it was only with a deep tearing of his skin that he pulled the thing loose and ditched it over the racking towards the centre of the store. But now the dolls and bears had finished with Jacquie and were now chasing after him. He raced through the loading bay and out around the truck. Knowing that these small robots couldn't possibly keep up with him, he accepted the cold wind as a small victory, the fresh drops of rain cleansing his face of dirt, blood and tears.

Cramming himself roughly through the fence and into the front seat of his car, he sped off down the road, the rain picking up into a heavy downpour. But he didn't care, he was safe. The half eaten body of Jacquie was freshly implanted into his mind, and he drove to get away from it all. He drove faster and faster, faster and faster.
"You will never escape me" The doll had crawled from the boot through the back seat and shocked him into veering off the road, crashing into a tree.

Part 2: The Outsider

And so I drove right by that park bench, glad to be liberated from its clutches. The man introduced himself as Chuck. He was mostly a quiet person, but we talked a little bit as we made our way through the outskirts of town towards the slightly battered and unkempt (but not unwelcoming) home of Chuck's. On the contrary, I found the hot water, soft furniture, and fresh food simply heavenly. I was given clean clothes in which to change into after a long wash to detox all the shit nestled in my skin. When I came out of the bathroom, clean shaved, I noticed that Chuck had brought all the boxes from his car inside, and in his hands was a small card. He walked up to me and handed me the card. I took a glance at the text written on the card: "There ain't no motive for this crime, Jenny was a friend of mine- The Killers". As much as I wanted to forget about the park bench, and the situation with the police, this card reminded me that I wasn't here to lay low until everything blows over, I'm here to find the truth and bring justice to the death of Mr. Westacott, and his family. His wife and daughter died shortly before he did. The trail of evidence lead me to believe that the deaths of Jenny and Amber Westacott were caused by John, but it's clear that a murderer is still out in public, posing a threat to myself, to the police, and from the considerable amount of information Chuck has spilled to me, I'd say there's a good chance that he has a target on his back, too.

Chuck had started spreading the contents of one of the boxes out onto his dining table, and he seemed eager, ever ready to get down to the bottom of this mystery. It was a shame that three people were dead, but it's times like these that you need to keep your head on straight and bring some justice towards the people who were wrongfully robbed of their lives. It was with that motive that I pulled my mobile out of my pocket and called my (former) boss, Senior Sergeant Michael Lincoln, after all, I've found myself to be in an uncomfortable situation.
"Hello, Senior Sergeant Lincoln speaking" the all-too-familiar voice droned through the speaker of my low-tech shitty mobile phone.
"Hey, Mike. Ol' buddy ol' pal!" It was hard to hide the sarcasm in my voice, but I think it worked.
"Who is this? Do I know you?"
"How about I give you a hint. You stuck me on a park bench, and left me there for months! Looking for a man who was already dead! Do you know who I am now?! Guess who, Michael, guess fuckin' who?!" Okay, I was in a cynical mood, so sue me.

"David. David, David, David... what were you thinking?"
"What was I thinking? What were YOU thinking?! Why did you do this to me, why did you have to stab me in the fuckin' back?!"
"Stab you in the back?" He cried, voice growing more irritated by the minute. "I did no such thing. You stabbed yourself in the back. You stabbed yourself in the back, you stabbed all of us in the back right about the time when you started handing information to this Westacott guy, served on a platter! You turned your back on us, David, and now you have to accept the consequences."
"Bullshit. I was one of the few people who actually gave a damn if we caught the prick or not. I wasn't about to hand him inside information on a platter. I could have caught him, I could have caught the sonofabitch. But you... why did you have to be so paranoid about me? Why did you throw me out of the circle, no questions, no inquiries. The least you could have done was talk to me about it. And now Westacott is dead. He's been given the easy way out. He deserved to rot in a jail cell for what he did, but you had to stir this shit up, well now it's a mess, Mike, now it's just one huge fuckin' mess. And what's more, you've got your head so far up your ass, I wouldn't be surprised in the least if you were the one that pulled the trigger and killed Westacott. Good bye, Michael. Good fuckin' bye." I hung up, hands shaking with rage, this bastard ruined my life, and I wasn't about to forgive or forget any time soon.

For a moment there, Chuck had stopped re-organizing John Westacott's possessions, and was staring blankly at me. I guess I shouldn't have snapped like that, but what else was I to say to the man that had ruined my career, and perhaps my entire life? Needless to say, I was hardly going to have a civilized chat with the man anyway... why not give him a large slice of the David Bradshaw mind?
But it wasn't a major concern for Chuck. He just bent over the table again, reshuffling papers, he called across his shoulder "That should be the last time you contact these guys, okay?" I nodded. "As you damn well know, they'll be organized. They could easily track your call, not this one, but any time from now on. I'm certain they already recorded this call, although it'll be no use to them. They don't know where you are, they don't know all of what you know, and they don't know that I know you."
I nodded in agreement. I knew (or thought I knew) Senior Sergeant Lincoln so well. I could easily believe that he would be examining my case file under a microscope, using all the resources he could to track me down. Well, here I am Michael, don't expect me to go down without a fight.

I sat down at the table with Chuck, and watched him methodically work through the belongings. After I decided that I had no place to assist him, I picked up Chuck's keys and made for the door.
"Where are you going?" Chuck asked suspiciously.
"I'm just going to go to my apartment and gather a few things..." I didn't like the look he was giving me, but I wasn't going to let that stop me. I turned the handle on the door.
"Are you fucking nuts?!" Chuck was now on his feet. "I'm sure your apartment is already swarming with cops already, if you go there, you're a dead man."
"If there are cops there already, it'll be damned obvious, they'll be out the front, they won't be expecting me. What significance is another car driving past the building?" I had my foot out the door.
Chuck stepped away from the table. "Look, if it really matters, I'll come with you. Think about it, what if your guys showed up while you were in the apartment. I'll be another pair of eyes. You can gather your shit, and then we can get back to the task at hand." He then strode towards me, picking his coat off the hook next to the front door.
"Fine, but I'm driving" I said. I had a hunch that he already knew where I lived, but it put my mind at ease to drive myself, and keep the extent of his knowledge unknown. After all, I was stuck with this guy, the last thing I want is to have doubts and trust issues...

So I drove with Chuck across town to my small apartment home. It was with some relief that I pulled into the driveway to find everything appeared just how I had left it. No police cars, no busted doors or broken windows, although if I remembered correctly, the guys back at the police station had a copy of my house keys. Wasting no time, I unlocked the front door, and welcomed myself back to home. Everything still looked to be in order. Nothing obviously missing, and the only messes were the ones that I had left there myself. I went from room to room, checking to see if nothing was disturbed, moving through the apartment to the master bedroom, where I was hoping and praying that everything remained undisturbed. Chuck mostly wandered around behind me, mostly uninterested, and with a feeling of impatience about him. I was at the door of the last room, and I grasped the doorknob, giving it a twist.
"Hey David?" Chuck spoke from the kitchen.
I pushed the door open as I turned to face Chuck (somehow that mattered, even though a wall divided us). "hmm?"
"You've got a new message on your answering machine." Chuck said.
"Okay, play it then." I called back.
"Hello David" The anonymous voice spoke with a chilling, mirthless tone.

"I'm sorry things had to turn out this way, but it's the only way you'll ever learn, after all, that which does not kill us, only makes us stronger, isn't that right? I hope you don't take this as a personal attack, after all it just comes down to the survival of the fittest mentality. Don't lose, David, and you could still make a name for yourself." There was a click, a beep, and then there was nothing. The words echoed in my head, what on earth could provoke an anonymous caller to leave such a cryptic message? I turned back to face my room, and it became more evident as to what he was talking about. There, sprawled unceremoniously upon the sheets of my queen sized bed was a brutally lifeless corpse. I turned away as a convulsive reaction, with an initial reaction to gag, but I knew I couldn't afford such weak moments, so I took a deep breath and plunged into the room, trying to distance myself from the body, but knowing there was no point. From the amount of dried blood on the mattress, I knew two things; that this victim was definitely dead, and that he had been dead for a while, probably more than one or two weeks, and probably no longer than a month, a month and a half. The body hadn't decomposed too much as of yet, but there were significant signs that it wouldn't have been long before this process was well under way. The body was male, but who, I couldn't be sure just yet, he had a heavy duty plastic bin-bag wrapped around his head.

The sight of this lifeless, this dead weight... this sort of sight comes around frequently enough with this profession, but it never gets any easier. In fact, this time it hit me harder than it has in the past, it wasn't just another faceless, nameless stranger, this was a warning, a threat, a personal attack on me. The words were running through my head; "...It's the only way you'll ever learn...".
I sat down on the bed and nested my head in my hands. I could hear Chuck walking around in the kitchen, but I took no notice, I heard his voice, he was talking to me, but all I heard was a jumble of noise. Everything just felt so surreal, I had no idea what to think, I had no idea how to feel, I was at a loss as to what I should do.

Then Chuck walked into the bedroom and saw me sitting on the bed, or rather, saw the empty shell of me, my mind had regressed to foetal stage, and I probably would have stayed there for hours, days, maybe even weeks before I'd move, if not for Chuck. He had noticed the body, obviously, but unlike me, he seemed to burst out in pure, destructive, energy. He shook me violently, and yelled words I couldn't comprehend, next thing I know, I'm not the four month old foetus any more, and I'm yelling back at Chuck, I'm yelling things even I can't comprehend. He's at his wit's end, and he decides to drag me from the bed struggling and screaming what I could only imagine as profanities, and he drags me through my own apartment into the bathroom and runs me through and ice cold shower to bring me back to reality.

I sat in the shower on the hard tile floor, in my soaked clothes, and an icy wet chill running deep into my bones. Chuck stood over me and I looked up at him with pleading eyes. He switched the taps off and lifted me to my feet.
"What should we do about the body?" I asked in a somewhat croaky voice.
"What should we do? What can we do?! What did you have in mind, that we take it with us, that we hide it from your cop buddies, that we bury it somewhere in the middle of nowhere?"
"Well we can't just leave it here!" Warm blood was starting to circulate through my body again.
"Yes we can, and yes we will. All we can do is take notes and hopefully find out a little more about who it is and why it's here. You're a detective, detect." Chuck appeared to be running short on patience. And for good reason too, we were both distracted, there was a corpse at our disposal and we'd well overstayed our welcome.
I knew he was right, we couldn't do much with the actual body, but whatever else we did have, we had to capitalise on it.

So, with a sense of determination, I went back into the bedroom where the corpse was, first and foremost to complete my initial objective. This time, I made the effort to glance away from the corpse as I strode past it towards my wardrobe. I pulled the doors open and got to my knees. There, in the deep corner of the wardrobe, there, standing strong and tough, away from prying eyes, was my safe. It was quite scarce in terms of prized possessions and family heirlooms, but it served its purpose for me. I had placed inside my safe all my police standard equipment, before I started my undercover investigation, my badge, my gun, my standards which had given me so much leverage and authority over the years. It was an essential requirement of my role in the investigation. I thought it was a bit ridiculous at the time, but now I understand that the request was not just a bit ridiculous, it was completely fucking diabolical. Luckily for me, I opted to take care of the safe keepings of my own means, rather than handing my badge and gun over to Lincoln, as was the ideal he was pushing for. Of course, he couldn't force my decision without raising suspicions.

I spun the combination lock on the safe, and heard the resounding click as the safe swung open. Click. This was a sharper, more aggressive click, like that of a police issue pistol being cocked. I looked over my shoulder to see Chuck kneeling at the mercy of a masked stranger, who was holding my gun. I glanced back into the safe. It was empty.
The man kept the gun pointed a Chuck and said "What the fuck are you doing here?"
I gazed into Chuck's eyes. He was shaking from fear, with a desperate pleading shining off his eyes. "We were here to pick up a few things, that's all" I said. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"I was here to get rid of this body, but I'd have thought that you had been here already. I came, saw your car out the front, and thought I'd make a formal introduction. All you need to know is that they call me 'The Grim'."
"What did you need my gun and badge for?"
"I don't. I just needed to keep them from you. I suppose there's no use for me holding on to your badge..." he tossed it at my side "... but I'm keeping your pistol. And I'll be taking your car, too. There's no way I could move this corpse without it." He acknowledged the body tangled in my blood soaked bed sheets.

The Grim continued to aim the pistol at Chuck's head. He instructed the both of us to get to our feet, and then, following us closely, he forced Chuck and myself to carry the corpse (wrapped loosely in my bed sheets) outside to my car. How fucking obvious would that look, if anyone should pass by the house? I popped open the boot, and we heaved the body into it. The Grim, holding the gun inches from Chuck's head, extended an open hand for me to hand over the car keys. Knowing I was helpless, I dropped the keys into his hand, and stepped back towards the house. He pushed Chuck back towards me and hopped into my car, driving off down the road leaving us to fend for ourselves.
"What the fuck was I thinking, letting you come back here!?" Chuck shouted at me and strode back into the house.

Okay, so my previous two music recommendations blogs have had a few Aussie bands playing some awesome music, so I thought this time I'd go all out Australiana and pull out some great home grown tunes that are overflowing with awesomeness.

This first song is from a dance music duo from Sydney, Pnau. The song is called embrace, and I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH. Seriously, get your dancing shoes on or go away and never communicate with me again. It's catchy as fuck, how can you not dance to it, or at least nod your head and shake your body in your chair a little?

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John Butler Trio. Better Than. John Butler is a brilliant guitarist (actually, in this case he's playing the banjo). He's a bit of a hippie, weaving some meaningful lyrics into the music, and the John Butler Trio have stuck to their roots and remained as humble musicians trying to make the world a better place.

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Now for some hip-hop. I used to be pretty anti-hip-hop, but I like listening to some of these Aussie hip-hop artists/groups. Hilltop Hoods, the Herd, this one's by a hip-hop singer from Perth called Drapht. The first song of his I heard was called Jimmy Recard. It was pretty catchy, but it didn't really hook me in. This one did. It's a more serious song, but he doesn't have that "yo I'm so badass" pretentious asshole tone to his voice that other hip-hop acts do, so his voice sounds more genuine and real. This song's called Falling.

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The Presets. Another electronic duo who are, like Pnau, from Sydney. These guys are pretty awesome, the music having a strong driving beat, dancefloor tunes that are kinda badass. This song's off their latest album Apocalypso, it's called Talk Like That. Energetic, a little dark, a whole lot of fun.
Oh, ohh.

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Now here's my all time favourite Aussie band, Melbourne trio The Living End. Part punkabilly, part alt. rock, these guys take their music to the max. Hollow bodied guitar, double bass, drums. They're brilliant musicians, in performance and composition, I haven't heard many bands that come close to what these guys have.
Here's "West End Riot" off their self titled 1998 debut album. Every time I hear this song I feel compelled to sing along. It's damn catchy, in that anarchistic punkabilly way. It's one of my favourite songs by these guys. Listen up, and listen loud.

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And here's another mellow tune by Melbourne mellow pop rock band Augie March. This one's off their 2000 debut album, Sunset Studies. Here Comes the Night is a song that fluctuates and grows into the very thing that slow dances are made of. The vocals are warm and delicate, lyrics rolling sweetly off the tongue of lead singer Glenn Richards. This song is one you can easily close your eyes and drift away on.

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Fourth Floor Collapse. These guys are from Perth, and they're not too well known, I'm afraid to say. They have some brilliant songs. They usually have quite a soft and slow style, not your typical radio hits, but they're a rare gem worth listening to. They've just released their fourth album, called Victoria, I'll definitely keep an eye out for it, as should everyone else. Here's their song; Sun, from their album "From the Cold". The sound quality is a bit of a bummer...

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Another band out of Melbourne, punk rockers Bodyjar. They've been around for about 14 years, Lights Out is one of the string of catchy tunes off their self titled 2005 album. They're loud, they're riff-tastic, they're fun to listen to. Check it.

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More Perth. More Rock. Birds of Tokyo. They've climbed quickly to mainstream success with their two albums, Day One and Universes. I can vouch that these albums are VERY good. Go buy them. ;D
Here's "Get Out" from Day One.

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The Butterfly Effect. A hard rock/prog. rock band from Brisbane. They've just released a new album "Final Conversation of Kings", and this is the title song, "Final Conversation". It's damn awesome music, if you ask me.

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And here's some good ol' West Australian folk rock. It's got a nice groove, it's got sweet vocals, it builds into a great song. The guitar is nice, and there's a harmonica! Lighthouse is a brilliant, catchy, exuberant song from the album "Up All Night". Enjoy! :)

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Back into the rock music again, here's Karnivool. If you think the vocals are familiar, yes, that's the guy from Birds of Tokyo, he's just in a slightly heavier band. Off the album Themata, the song is Themata. It's like one giant chunk of awesome. It's heavy, it's powerful and driving. I love it with an almighty passion. It's got a huge sound, I'm half expecting massive beasts to lunge out and rip off my head. It's that awesome.

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From Perth, all the way across the country to Sydney, here's Cog with the song "What If". It starts out pretty slow, and builds into a killer rock chorus. This song's off their second album, Sharing Space.

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Some light punk music with Something With Numbers. Off their "Engineering the Soul" album, here's their song; Stay with me Bright Eyes. The music is upbeat and fun, the vocals are pretty cheesy, but catchy as hell. The chorus is a wonderful blast of music. It's a cool tune to listen to. This band's pretty good, but I don't like the lead singer's hair. =P

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That's just about it. I'll hopefully see a few of these bands live on February 1st in Perth for the Big Day Out Show. The Living End, Birds of Tokyo, Cog, Pendulum's going to be there too. I can't wait for BDO '09, it's going to be awesome.

Also, here's something by an unsigned Australian artist, based in Western Australia, this is Prologue, by WritersBlock. LOLZ. Hope you enjoyed all the music. I <3 supporting the Australian musicians.

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Ok, so lately I've been in a story writing mood, and it was only a week (or so) ago that I decided to compile the 6 short stories I've written this year, and print and bind them into a book. I've got all the supplies (see this thread for more detalis and information) and I've drawn some concepts for art I'd like to sprinkle through the book. All that's left is to finish the last story. I've got 1 part (or "chapter") done already, for a story I started a while ago, called "The Beating Heart of Mr. Lincoln", which is a kind of crime/thriller story that takes a while to evolve and develop characters. Character development was the main target for this one, and I think I'm going alright thus far. I started chapter 2 a while back, but then got distracted by other things. Today, I came home from work, turned on my computer, got myself a packet of chips and opened a can of Jim Beam and picked back up on where I last stopped (I thought it was the most sensible place to continue from...). My plan is to give this story 5 chapters, the chapter langths of which will probably be all around the 3-4 page mark, making it my longest story to date. Maybe one day I'll write that novel I've always wanted to write. But for now, it's short stories. So, the idea is to get the book's art drawn up, and the story finished, so I can print and bind 2 copies of the book at first. One of which I'll mail to myself to copyright the book, and one to keep to myself, so I can take pride in owning my own work. Next thing will be to print several more copies for friends and family.
If these goals become a reality, I also think sending a copy to the Newgrounds office, to see what the guys there would think would be a good idea, and maybe running a writing competition (much like the one gumOnShoe ran a while back, which got me back into writing) and offer up a copy of the book as a prize. From then, perhaps selling/giving away a few copies to the Newgrounders I've come to respect and befriend. I'm not sure if hoping to see the book for sale in the NG store would be a bit too much of a stretch...

I've also put serious consideration into adopting a pen name, at the moment; "Arthur Blane", a few incorrect letters from "Author Blank" which has sysnonims for "Writer" and "Block", so it's a little twist on my username.

The book is currently at 54 pages of text, and it'll probably easily go up to 80 (or so) pages once completed. I'm considering, once I'm done handing out copies, of just opening things up for sale, if there's a demand for it. The materials cost me $70 AU to get my gear together, so it'd be nice to get some of that back. I'll probably be able to print 10-12 copies from what I've got, but the cost to make more should go down.

Part of me thinks it's all wishful thinking, I really should print out the first copies before I start making goals that up until that point of first succesful printing/binding are little more than vivid dreams, trying so hard to become true.

On another note, I'm just about finished reading "Misery" by Stephen King. At points, it's pretty sick and twisted. And to read such comments about him being a brilliant author, it's somewhat comforting to know that that is the perception some people take on such dark, psychopathic material, it makes me feel a little more normal, as I see quite a bit of Stephen King in myself. I'll probably finish the book today or tomorrow, and then buy another of his books, or go back and read a bit more H.P Lovecraft. Or finish the beast of a sci-fi novel that I've been trying to bite down on for ages, but as with everything, time has escaped me, and I'm left at the same page as I was when I last put the book down some months ago. Which is a shame, because the author of said sci-fi book is brilliant, and I hate that I haven't finished this book, let along the following two in the trilogy (of which I mercilessly hunted down to get my hands on them).

So, yeah. I'll now reflect on the time taken to write this blog. I could have spent this time working on my short story.
Oh wait, gtg pee, it seems the two Jim Beams I just crank have travelled right through me.

So, yesterday I showed up to work at around lunchtime, and I did my usual thing, collecting trolleys from the car park and putting them in the trolley bay, but one trolley had a plant in it that a customer had obviously left behind. It was a herb, "lemon grass". So I took it back inside and showed it to the other cashiers, and it turns out that the guy that had bought it had left about 5-10 minutes before I came to work. And it also turns out that this guy had bored the brains out of the cashier that served him by talking solely about the herb for over a quarter of an hour. So the staff (or "team members" as we're called) made a bit of a joke about it throughout the day. A cashier would say "herbs" and then someone else would say "herbs" and the next thing you know, everyone who works here is saying "herbs" to one another. Sounds like a pretty poor joke, huh? Well, it doesn't end there! I had the closing shift, along with two other guys. We shut everything down, and then one of the guys walks over to the PA mic and flicks the switch on and says "herbs" for the whole store to hear. The other guy had gone into the office. We hear the pager on the phone network beep, and then we hear him yelling into the phone "HERBS!!!"
It was so unexpected it was funny. And now, as an inside joke, I find the word "herbs" funny. So sue me.

[Edit] I've got a new song out in the portal, Circle of Flight and I'd appreciate a listen and a vote or comment on it. It's for this month's MAC, and there's plenty of time to submit a track for it, or, if you don't think you can write something for the competition, I'm sure Maestro would love all the assistance he could get with some good, reliable judging. Seriously, he busts his ass off for NG, it's the least you could do.
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Same deal as Vol 1, I'm just going to post a bunch of awesome songs that I think are awesome.

This first song is called Pennywhistle. It's a single off the brand new album from Melbourne band Augie March, the album's called Watch Me Disappear, named after the lead single. The lead lyricist/vocalist in the band is a real poet, he's got a real gift for words, and listening to the flow of these words in the soothing melodies that Augie March makes, the songs have a captivating finesse about them. I wouldn't call Augie March an "awesome" band, "beautiful" would be a better term. You wouldn't be ashamed to invite these guys home for a Sunday lunch with your mother or grandmother.

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This next song is also a very recent release. The official vid's been disabled for embedding, so here's a vid with just a slide show. ;D
It's called Re-Education (Through Labor) by Rise Against, from their 2008 album Appeal to Reason.
I got into these guys after hearing "Like the Angel" on one of the Tony Hawk skating games (THUG, I think it was?).

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Australian Hip-hop? I'm not a huge fan of hip-hop, but the content material in this song had something drawing me in. It's called Clockwork by Australian Hip-hop artist, Phrase.

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I was going to put in a song from Metallica's new album, Death Magnetic, but there are a few Metallica songs that I absolutely love. So here's Unforgiven II, from ReLoad. It's songs like these that got me into Metallica in the first place.

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Band: Kings of Leon
Song: On Call
Album: Because of the Times

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Starlight, by Muse, from Black Holes and Revelations. This was the second song I heard of theirs, and from there on I've been a fan. It's still one of my favourites of theirs.

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Pendulum's Slam, from Hold Your Colour. Love this vid. <3
Also, these guys are touring on the Big Day Out tour '09, I should totally try and get tickets for the Perth show.

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3 Doors Down: Kryptonite
This song is pure awesome.

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Placebo: Meds

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Love Hurts, off of Incubus' album Light Grenades.

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Aussie rockers, Bodyjar, with Too Drunk to Drive. A catchy song with a duet vocal line that sounds kind of retro.

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Another band and another song I first heard from the Tony Hawk skate gaming franchise. The song: Armageddon. The band: Alkaline Trio.
Lol at 0:15 He slits everyone's throats.O.o

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I also really wanted to embed this song but I couldn't find a good video that didn't have the embedding feature disabled. >:(
I was around 10-11 years old when I first heard a few songs from these guys.

That's pretty much it. I'll leave you with one last video, Schubert's Der Erlkönig. I heard it last year in music class, and I've got nothing to say other than it is completely brilliant, the vocals are imaginative (4 different "characters" sung by the one vocalist) and the piano accompaniment is off the fucking chart.

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The Delusion Duology: Little Chickadee's Emporium of Wonders and A Surgeon's Lament (working titles)

The deal: I'm doing a collab with Lochie (Night-Mare) and I'm doing a collab with Whirlguy. The fun part is, they don't know they're doing a collab with eachother! Oh, wait... yes they do. I'm writing a wicked horror story for dems then cutting it into 2 "chapters" so that they can each animate their individual chapters and submit two flashes for the halloween competition that work fine on their own, but become completely awesome and makes sense played one after the other.

The plot: Because of the way I write, I won't say a lot, only that part 1 is in an abandoned toy warehouse and part 2 in a hospital. I want plot twist, Plot Twist PLOT TWIST!!! Like putting your head in a vice and tightening it until it won't go any further, and then keep on turning it. Muahaha *lightning/thunder*.

The style: Because of the wishes of the two animators and their styles, I'm factoring that in to their respective parts. Lochie's part has some over the top tension builders, some Lochie style cliche jokes that overall will hopefully work as a good builder of tension, so that you're expectimg more jokes when BAM! Shit your pants. As much as Lochie's part will build tension slowly through horror comedy, Whirlguy's part will be scripted with a more serious approach. Hallucinations, more brutal and shocking, confrontational in a way that humourous horror can't be confrontational. Whirlguy's shown me some psychological horror (or "soft horror" as Lochie calls it) videos that I'm using to inspire me. I'm really looking forward to writing Lochie's part of the story, because it'll be fun, whereas Whirlguy's part will just be like, messing with your heads, in a completely awesome insane way. Needless to say, it'll take more finesse and careful plotting to get WG's part to sit just right, so there's more of an expectation to get that part right.

The writer's block: I feel like writing something like this would really mark a testament to my skills as a writer, but such is the brutally dark nature of the project, I've found myself questioning why I'd attempt to write something so repulsive and angry. At first I thought it would be cool, but then a bit of dread and fear kicked in, and I was really feeling messed up, like I could understand the thoughts of the coldest of killers, but now I think I'm settling down to get to it and have some fun exploring a style that leaves the reader at their most fragile state.

The story: Can you read it? No. Not at first. It'll be for Lochie and WG's eyes only, maybe a few of my RL friends, and even maybe a few NG users that I trust and value their opinions and friendships (you'll know who you are). I'll post the story as soon as both flashes are up, so you can read it then.

Got any ideas? Well I don't want them! Not unless you're Lochie or WG. I've pretty much got the whole thing plotted out now, just needs writing. :)

Here's a story I wrote for Rucklo's departure. It's short and sweet at 1000 words. The ending could be interpreted two different ways. I was going to go for the happy ending, but I decided to leave it open.

To the Ends of the Earth

I sat here, faced with my life well lived. I didn't always make the right choices, but in the end, I knew what was best for me. I was a well respected person, a person of authority and trust. It was with the utmost confidence that I stood at the Burleigh Cliffs with my badge, my baton, my taser and the other belongings of mine that I had stockpiled from the office. I cleared out my desk and locker this morning, and here I was, on the edge of the world, the wind blowing through my hair, not another person as far as the eye could see. There was a small fishing boat out on the horizon, but other than that, other than myself, and my car, which I took on a brutal off-road adventure, there was nothing else. I left the road long ago, and all I had with me was a box of the things that meant the most to me, and the injection of fresh adrenaline that reminded me that I was very much alive.

I sat on the rocks, my feet dangling over the edge. It was a very long drop to the jagged rocks below, waves bashing up against them, like starved, ravenous wolves snapping at the child being lowered into their cage. It wouldn't be much to just shift forward a little more and plummet into extinction. But I just sat there, with my box beside me. I picked up my files and papers, and ditched them off the cliff. They fluttered down and blew in every direction, a free form ballet into the unforgiving ocean. I had taken enough of this life, and I was willing to make a change of plans. Everything had changed in an instant, although I felt that this choice I made would be something inevitable, something I couldn't put off forever.

The baton, just an accessory. What would I want with it where I was going? I would need nothing other than a name where I was going, although, now that I come to think of it, I'd probably end up throwing that away too, and going somewhere completely different from there. My taser. I pulled it apart, and threw it to the ocean too. I could see the papers simply floating out along the ocean, out into the vast untamed blue. My passport, just another possession. I wouldn't need it to start my new life, I wouldn't need much physical distance from home to give me comfort, just a spiritual distance. And down the passport fell, down onto the rocks. I doubted that anyone would find the passport, as the thought of my family seeing a report on the news would just tear them apart, and I couldn't do that to them. It was tough enough, what I was doing now. But I continued to lay bear my soul to the ocean, the great expanse of water accepting my gifts but offering no comfort or condolence, this burden was mine to bear, and mine alone.

My shirt, my shoes, my tie, socks, belt and pants. All gifts, part of the duties of the job, maintaining image. They all fell down, more victims to the ocean, more memories I can liberate myself from. There were only a few items left in the box now, just my badge, some family photos and my gun. I picked the badge up, and, holding it in my hands, I felt an undeniable force of responsibility, power and trust. There was so much expectation to live up to, all because of the title connotative to the badge. I held the badge high behind my head, and with half a sense of sadness, and half a sense of relief, I threw with all my might, the badge that had been my life, all I had worked for, worked to obtain and maintain. A burden no longer on my shoulders, the badge soared through the sky, as if it would carry on forever, but like everything before it, the badge too sunk into the velvet blue depths.

I reached into the box, still gazing into the place where the badge broke the surface. I felt my way towards the photographs, and clenched my fist around them like a child would around its comfort toy. My parents, into the ocean, my wife and friends, into the ocean, my one and only child... into the sea. I knew it was a huge thing to give up on these people, but it was the only thing I could do, there was nothing more I could get out of that life,nothing more I wanted. And I didn't want to live the rest of my life in that same place, an empty shell, holding me back from destiny.

The breeze was beginning to pick up, and the sun had begun its descent into the night. The fishing boat had gone back, and I was entirely isolated. It was some time before I reached into the box for the last of my possessions. The gun. To serve. To protect. It had served it's purpose, and now it had a new purpose. I fired the gun several times into the sky. I squeezed the trigger for all but one. I closed my eyes, my grip on the handgun tightened for one last shot. It was the end. My gun fell into the ocean, and I sat there, waiting for my new life to begin. I would hitch a ride with a stranger, catch a train, change my name, and do everything on my terms. Hell, if it all feels right, I could do the whole police thing again, but as I've experienced, nothing is certain, only time will tell what will happen. And my past will forever more be lost in time, fallen to the depths of the ocean, far from forgotten in my mind, but void of relevance, never to be seen again...